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marvelcriminalhoe · 3 years ago

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Stumbling West

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Chapter 8

The Next Step

Summery: Smut. That’s it. That’s the chapter. I know not everyone likes to read smut, so this chapter isn’t really anything else but that. You can skip it if smut isn’t your cup of tea and not miss anything regarding Aaron and Readers relationship. I just wanted to try writing something new and get out of my comfort zone. Idk how much smut I’ll actually write in the future because this was hard to come up with but, here we go :)

The case talk is from Season 7 episode 21. We are almost into season 8! One more chapter left of season 7!

Series master list

Word count: 2,926

TW: Smut. Badly written because I’ve never wrote smut before. Very little plot. Oral (Fem receiving). Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it dudes). I’d skip this if I were you, I hate it. 18+ Minors do not interact with this post.

3 months.

You and Aaron Hotchner have been dating for 3 months.

After meeting Jack last month at the triathlon, you’re relationship has only grown. Aaron takes every opportunity given to him to have you over for dinner, or Saturday lunches, or Sunday breakfasts.

You were a bit scared that maybe it would take awhile for Jack to warm up to you, but that was quickly shut down the first time you had breakfast with them. He was immensely impressed with your knowledge of superhero comic books, something you had to thank your 2 nephews for, and was always excited when you came over for dinner.

While your relationship was moving forward in these areas, there was one area that hadn’t moved.

Sex.

You and Aaron haven’t had sex yet. That’s not to say you don’t have any form of a physical relationship, because you do. There have been plenty make outs on the couch after Jack goes to sleep, and some heavy petting and groping, something that did surprise you.

Aaron Hotchner is a boob man.

Who would have thought.

Now this is not to say he doesn’t love your ass to, because he does. You’ve grown accustomed to getting your butt slapped at random times. You’ve even had to get onto him when he did it as you were leaving his office.

“Do not test me Aaron Hotchner.” You told him.

He only replied to you with a smirk, shutting his office door.

And he says I’m the trouble maker.

But regardless of the fact you do have physical affection for each other, sex is not something that has come up, but you have talked about it.

It’s been almost 5 years since Zach died. You’ve slept with 2 people since then. One was a one night stand, and the other was a relationship that ended up just running it’s course.

You were surprised when Aaron told you he’s also slept with someone since Haylee. Granted it’s almost been 3 years for him, you did not think Aaron Hotchner was a one night stand kind of guy. Apparently it was when he was in Pakistan, and you definitely teased him about it. All good natured-ly of course.

Honestly, it’s not like you are waiting to have sex, it just, hasn’t happened. Before you were introduced to Jack as his dads girlfriend, all your dates ended at the door. Since then, you have had a bit more, productive alone time, but you haven’t had a night alone, and the knowledge that your boyfriends 6 year old is in the next room over, is a definite off switch. So you haven’t spent the night together.

You’re drawn from your thoughts, by JJ’s comment, “Firing squad. That’s not something you see everyday.”

Right. You’re on a case. Copycat in Oklahoma.

Focus on something other than getting into your boss’s pants.

You’re very hot boss, that is sitting next to you on the planes couch, right now.

Stop it. Focus.

You look down to your file, reading the case notes, “Well, Garrett had the option of lethal injection, but he chose this instead.”

“Flare for the dramatic.” Rossi quips.

Hotch reads from his own file, “Initial reports indicate no forensic evidence at the crime scene.”

“What about the icepick?” JJ questions.

Derek is the one to answer her, “It was generic. No serial number or unique metallurgy.”

Hotch’s phone goes off, making him get up from the couch and walking to the back of the plane to answer it.

You watch him walk away, lingering on how his shoulders look in his new jacket.

God you need to get laid.

Focus.

You shake your head, trying to, again, focus on the case and the information Garcia is giving the team over the computer screen, “I just got a transcript of Rodney Garrett’s last words, and first place to whoever can guess where they are from. ‘She comes like fullest moon on happy night, taped of waist-‘ “

“With shape of magic might.” Reid interrupts, “It’s from the ‘Thousand and One Nights.’ Not the exact translation I would have used, but it’s got its own merits.”

You and JJ glance at each other, shaking your heads with small smiles, as Emily pipes up, “And in a shocking non-upset, we have a winner.”

Hotch comes back to the group, hanging up his phone, “Another body’s been found a half mile from the first victim, same M.O.”

“Six hours later. This guys not wasting anytime.” You remark.

Hotch nods, “We land in 20 minutes. Reid you and JJ go to the latest crime scene. Rossi you and Prentiss talk to Garrett’s widow.” He gives out orders to the team, before looking at you and then Morgan, “You, Morgan and I, will go to the prison. If Garrett’s got a disciple, we need to find out who he is and fast.”

You really need to focus. You know you do. But you can’t. Not when Hotch is standing like that, his arms crossed over his chest, making the muscles under his suit jacket stretch the fabric just enough to see the outline of them. How can you focus on anything when his fingers are taping against his arm in a rhythmic pattern.

His long. Slender fingers. The ones that could feel so good tapping against your-

You close your eyes, wiping your hands on your pants and shaking you head.

You. Are. On. A. Case.

When you open your eyes, Aaron is looking at you. He tilts his head a bit, raising his eyebrows at you. You send him a small smile to let him know you’re fine, though you can see he doesn’t believe you, by the hesitant nod he sends back.

JJ turns around in her chair, “It sounds to me someone just needed Rod Garrett out of the way.”

“But Garrett was on death row, confined to his cell 23 hours a day. How was he in anybody’s way.” Aaron Hotch, you are on a case for quite sacks be professional, asks, arms still crossed, muscles still bulging.

Rossi brings everyone’s attention to him, “Since we’re on the subject of things that don’t make sense, the cutting of the hair? And wouldn’t he want Garrett alive to show he could do better than him?”

The frown of Hotch’s eyebrows gets deeper, “We’re missing something.”

You’re in the conference room of the local PD, going over Garrett’s file again, when Hotch slips into the seat next to you.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly.

You don’t look at him, instead keeping your eyes on the file in front of you, “Fine.”

You can feel his gaze burning the side of your face. He’s waiting, you know he’s waiting. Huffing air out of your nose, you turn to make eye contact with him, “I’m fine, really. Just a little distracted.”

“Anything I can help with?” He reaches out, grasping one of your hands that’s under the table.

At his touch you freeze. You’ve been craving his touch, and it’s taking all of your willpower to stay completely professional and not do something that could cause either of you to potentially lose your jobs. You know Aaron caught your body stiffen, and by the way his eyes widen and lips slightly turn up, he knows why you’re distracted.

“I see.” he clears his throat, eyes amused as he looks over you, squeezing your hand with his before retracting it back into his own lap, “Perhaps this is something we should talk about after the case?”

You nod, absolutely mortified, that your boss/boyfriend knows you can’t focus on a case because you’re horny for him. You force yourself to not grimace as you whisper, “That would be best.”

He nods, running his eyes over your figure one last time, before standing up and walking back over to where Rossi and JJ are talking.

Could you GET anymore embarrassing?

The team was able to wrap up the case, catching the copy cat, and make it home in time for dinner, we’ll, a late dinner.

You just got done with your after action report, knocking on Aaron’s office door, waiting until he called you in.

“Here’s my report.” Putting it in his outstretched hand.

He looks up from his own report, placing yours on his desk with the others, before nodding to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

You sit down as he leans back in his own chair, arms crossing, a smirk forming on his lips.

“Out with it.” Your voice flat as you roll your eyes, too tired to care for his teasing.

“Out with what?” He jokes confusion.

You whine, dragging out his name, “Aaron.”

“Alright, alright.” He laughs, his arms unfolding and laying on his desk.

You both stare at each other, small smiles on your faces, yours evidently more flustered then his.

He breaks the silence, “Come over for dinner tonight.”

“It’s late.” You remind him.

“I know.” He nods, “But Jacks at a sleepover, and I would like to spend some quality time with my girlfriend that doesn’t involve hunting down a psychopath.”

Aaron’s idea of dinner, was boxed Mac and cheese, not that you were really complaining, you didn’t have much in your pantry either. Now you’re both cuddled up on the couch with a glass of wine, talking over the last case.

“Seriously, two serial killers obsessed over her. What type of vibes is she putting out there?” You put your glass on the coffee table in front of you, before laying your head on Aaron’s chest, looking up at him.

He puts his glass on the side table next to him, before wrapping both arms around you, one on the side of your ribs and the other in your hair, “Well I’m obsessed with you.” He grins.

You scoff, “Not the same thing.”

“No,” His face drawing closer to yours, “Guess not.”

His kiss is heated with want, quickly overpowering you. He pulls you closer to him as you move your legs to straddle his waist. Your hands cup his face, as his own roam your back, down to your butt, squeezing it and drawing a moan from you that he swallows. Aaron pulls back from the kiss, just enough to mumble against your mouth, “I’d like you to stay.”

His voice is a gruff whisper, sending chills down your spine. You can’t seem to find your own voice, but nod your head vigorously, before pulling him back in for another heated kiss. Aaron moves his hands from your butt to the back of your thighs, before grabbing you and standing up, earning a surprised squeal. He smirks into the kiss, as he makes his way down the hallway to his bedroom.

He closes the door with his foot and moves towards his bed, laying you down. You watch as he takes off his shirt before leaning over you, his hands moving under your own shirt and his mouth kissing up and down the junction of your neck.

You whimper at the scratchiness of his 5’o clock shadow he’s sporting, imagining what it would feel like on your thighs. His hands move to your back, unclasping your bra, before slipping them from your shirt. He pulls away from your neck long enough to remove your bra your top, before leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down the valley of your breasts.

He looks up at you, making eye contact as he brings one of them into his mouth, sucking on it, while one of his hands plays with your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he lightly bites down on the one in his mouth. You close your eyes, moans leaving you as he switches breasts with a pop of his mouth.

“What was it that got you so distracted?” You think you hear him ask, though you're so into the assault he's committing, you can’t be sure. You whine when you feel him stop and pull away, looking down at you at you smirking, “I asked you a question sweetheart.”

You breath out an impatient sigh, “You did.”

He hums, grabbing your hands that are trying to draw him back into you and pins them above your head with one of his, “What, exactly, baby?”

“Your hands. Your fingers.”

“My fingers?” He questions, drawing his free hand down your chest to the top of your pants, “What did you want with my fingers?”

You wiggle your hips, begging him to keep going, “I wanted them on me.”

Aaron raises an eyebrow at you, “Just on you?” He unbuckles your jeans, before sliding his hand under both layers of fabric you have own, stopping just short of where you actually want him.

“In me.” You whine, “I want your fingers in me, please Aaron.”

He kisses your neck again, drawing his hand even lower, to your awaiting core, “All this for me honey? I haven't even properly touched you yet.” He sounds surprised at how wet you are for him.

If only he knew he didn't even have to touch you to get you this wet.

That will stay a secret.

He raises above you, moving down your body and starts tugging your jeans and panties down. You raise your hips to help him, before they hit the floor below the bed. Aaron spreads your legs, both hands gripping your thighs, as he looks up and makes eye contact with you. He leans down, painstakingly slow.

He keeps eye contact as you feel the first strip of his tongue. Your eyes close involuntarily, head going back as he his tongue does another, even slower than the first, before diving in, taking your clit into his mouth. You buck your hips up, trying to create even more friction, chasing the feeling he's giving you.

You feel him slowly start to slide one finger into your warmth, curling up, “Aaron, please.” You beg for more, needing more. Your hands find a home in his hair, tugging on it gently, but with enough force to keep him going. Aaron moans around your bundle, sending sparks up your body before adding another finger, bringing you closer to the edge you are so desperately chasing, the edge you have been wanting to feel for the last 4 days.

You come with a loud gasp, back arching into one of Aaron’s hand and his mouth, as his other hand goes to hold your hips down, letting you ride through your high.

Aaron moves up your body, stopping as he reaches your face, “You are so beautiful when you come baby.” He whispers to himself, as if you weren’t meant to catch it, “So beautiful.”

You open your eyes when you feel Aaron get up from the bed, he stands above you, taking off the rest of his clothes. You drink in the figure of the man in front of you, your gaze traveling down his sculpted chest and the deep v of his hips. Your eyes widen when the reach the area you’ve been craving all week. Looking back up at Aaron’s face, the cocky smirk on his painting it, tells you he knows exactly what you were thinking.

He definitely has nothing to be shy about.

“Like what you see baby?” His voice husky and low, body climbing back over yours.

Good lord.

you grab his hips, bringing them down to meet yours, “God Aaron, you're so beautiful.”

He breaths out a laugh, shaking his head and smiling down at you, “Are you sure you want this?”

“I think you know how much I want you.” You smirk up at him and kiss his jaw.

He leans over to his bedside table drawer, reaching in before he sighs, head falling onto your shoulder with a groan, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’m clean and on the pill.” You tell him, almost desperately.

He kisses you before whispering against your lips, “I’m clean too.”

Aaron reaches down between your bodies, grabbing his hard cock and sliding it between your folds, gathering your wetness, and mixing it with his leaking own leaking from his head. You feel the burn of the stretch when he starts to enter you, slowly going further and further until he bottoms out.

His forehead lays upon yours with a rough grunt. Aaron breaths in heavily, giving you time to adjust, eyes staring into yours. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip, “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you like this.”

Your lips softly kiss his thumb, mumbling against it, “Show me handsome.”

He starts moving in and out of you, both of you moaning together. You wrap your legs around his waist, making him go even deeper.

“You feel so good sweet girl. So good.” He moans into your neck, leaving small love bites on your skin, that you will no doubt have to cover up.

Whimpers leave your mouth as you gasp, hands traveling to his back, bringing him as close as possible to you, nails sliding down his skin, “Aaron, harder. Please go harder.”

He starts thrusting at a brutal pace, chasing both of your highs as you squeeze around him, “You like that baby? You gonna come for me pretty girl?”

All you can do is nod, as you close you eyes, your body reaching its second climax of the night, back arching into Aaron, hips becoming impossibly close to his, as he follows after you. Warmth spreads within you as you both pant and gasp for air, Aaron drawing the bliss out for the both of you, whispering sweet words in your ear as you both come down.

You feel him pull out of you and hear as he goes into his bathroom, turning on the sink. You open your eyes when you feel a wet cloth between your legs, he gazes up at you, a small, euphoric smile gracing his face, one matching your own.

He discards the cloth in the hamper, before making his way back to the bed, pulling the covers out from under you and sealing you both in warmth. You turn towards him, laying your head over his chest and throwing an arm around his waist. He pulls you in closer, holding you tight, his legs intermingling with yours.

The only sound in the room being your beating hearts in perfect rhythm together, as you drift off to sleep, with a kiss to your hair, and an unspoken promise of the future.

*****

Tag list: @bakugouswh0r3 @averyhotchner @rousethemouse

If you would not like to be tagged during smut chapters please just let me know and I will only tag you in the normal chapters :)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #bau reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotch x reader

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years ago

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Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

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mendesblurb · 4 years ago

Text

Show me your phone

GIF CREDITS TO OWNER AND MAKER @dreamofwonder

Shawn Mendes x female reader

Warning: fluff, maybe grammar error and maybe some punctuation errors

Oh My God! You thought to yourself. This was the day. Its finally here. The day you and your husband had been waiting for a while now. It was finally here.

Your nerves were absolutely racking and your heart was beating fast. the test showed you 2 lines. YOU WERE PREGNANT.

You looked at the pregnancy test again and the other two that sat on the vanity, all positive. Now it was time to tell Shawn the news.

“We’re going to have a what?” Shawn asked, his face turning up toward you.

He was sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, having some much needed relaxing time after being in the recording studio all day.

You’d discovered you were pregnant this morning after he’d left for work and decided to keep the news until he was home.

For the time being you kept your news a secret from the media, afraid of the possibility of things happening on the first trimester. So you started going out in baggy clothes so the paparazzi will not know and throwback photos became a thing in your Instagram feed.

However, you knew that sooner or later it would be discovered, it didn’t worry you too much, but you wanted to feel comfortable first with the idea of having a growing human inside your belly and also because Shawn and you are a pretty private couple.

————————-FOUR MONTHS LATER————

Tonight , Shawn was going to be interviewed on Jimmy Fallon’s late night show because of the recent release of his album “wonder.”

It was a routine that before one of you came on, the other would send a text message of encouragement and an occasional “I love you ” were sent along with it.

You: enjoy the talk show with Jimmy 😙

Shawn: thanks baby, love you 😘

You: love you too ❤️

Shawn: see you at home ❤️

You: send image

This time you decide to send a pic of you and Tarzan at the living room couch and the pic also displayed your growing bump.

You: see you at home Shawnie❤️, lots of love from me, Tarzan and little Mendes

As the crew began counting down the seconds before going live Jimmy sat down slowly and Shawn adjusted his jacket as he got comfortable in the chair.

“Now Shawn…” Jimmy started, leaning on his desk casually. “quite a bit has happened since the last time I saw you.”

He nodded slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “Yeah it’s been a while dude.”

Jimmy laughed partially, “that’s right… the last time you were here you were single, and now you’re married.”

Shawn nodded as Jimmy continued, “now Wonder just came out a few weeks ago and it was a huge hit..”

Shawn smiled, “yup it did alright.”

The rest of the interview was great, Shawn talked about the highs and lows he experienced when creating the album and how all his songs were about you and how grateful he was to have you by his side through it all.

That night both Shawn and Jimmy were going to play ‘Show me your phone’, a game where they had to show whatever was hidden on their smart phones.

As the game was about to start, Shawn realised he wasn’t prepared at all. At this point he knew your secret is about to be exposed, I mean your whole relationship was not a secret but it was mostly private.

Both of you seem to have a habit of dropping the bombshell to your fans. Like that one time you finally made your relationship social media official, another time you secretly got married and now you’re secretly 4 months pregnant.

Now sitting across from Jimmy, Shawn could feel his heart pounding , and his hand began to feel clammy.

In front of them there was a red button, in the centre a tripod that will act as a phone holder and next to it was an electronic panel showing all the possibilities that could come up.

There was the icon for messages, Safari, photos , Instagram, Twitter, mail and call.

“Okay, you ready?” Jimmy asked and Shawn just nodded his head.

“Okay, for anyone who don’t know, here’s how game works. Shawn and I will take turns pressing the red button we have here, which will randomly select one of these icons we have on the board.”

After He explained how the game works , then he opted for Shawn to go first as he was the guest.

Laughter was heard among the audience as they saw the nervous glances that was displayed in both Shawn’s and Jimmy’s faces.

“FYI, neither of us know what’s behind each icon.” Jimmy looks at Shawn who was now laughing. “Let’s go and explore our phone.” Jimmy said

“Let the adventure begin,” Shawn said while trying to hide his face. “I think I forgot to clean my phone before the game.”

“You and me both dude,” Jimmy said laughing along with him. “Alright, here we go. Since you’re the guest you press first.”

“I am honoured ,” Shawn said sarcastically , which drew another laughter from the audience. “Here goes nothing!”

Shawn pressed the red button and quickly the icons on the panel began to light up and the light stopped specifically on the Safari browser icon, so that a text was displayed that said 'Show and tell us your last Google search’.

“Shawn if you could please show us your last Google search my friend.” Jimmy said while trying to control his laughter.

“Okay!” exclaimed Shawn grabbing his phone and heading to the app. “If I’m being honest I forgot what my last search was… Oh never mind!”

Shawn started laughing and tried to hide his phone, which only caused the audience to laugh hilariously.

"Okay, fine,” Shawn said as he put the phone down on the small platform. “I was just trying to do a kind gesture.”

The camera pointed straight at him, checking that his last search had been ‘nearest grocery store with Oat milk’.

The set erupted in laughter, Jimmy clasped his hands to his chest, laughing his head off.

“This- This is actually funny because it’s so specific but it’s actually very thoughtful,” he said between guffaws. “Did you end up buying it though?”

“I did!” Shawn said. “I found two brands and you know I was just trying to buy it because Y/N being a good wife she is wants me to start living a healthier lifestyle.”

“Awww,” Jimmy said . “Come on! Here we go. My turn.”

The panel came back on, the light moving between icons until it stopped on the photo app. Jimmy frowned, and the panel informed him that it should show the last picture he took on his phone.

“Come on, show us!” exclaimed Shawn encouragingly.

“I’m extremely scared,” said Jimmy with a serious and comical look on his face, reaching for his phone. “I am deeply embarrassed … Oh!” he began to laugh. “Okay, okay. This… is me trying to be a good Dad, don’t judge me.”

The picture showed Jimmy trying to pose with a random Snapchat filter and the caption was ‘Goodnight Frances & Winnie’ . In response the audience started laughing.

“All right, all right,” Jimmy held up his hands. “I have an explanation . The other day my wife said my kids won’t go to bed until I said goodnight to them and I was still on set.”

“That’s actually cool man!” exclaimed Shawn.

“Anything to put your kids to bed,” he laughed and picked up his phone.

“Show us your last text message” Jimmy read out eliciting cheers from the audience. “Come on!”

“Okay,” he began to laugh nervously. “It says there the last message I sent, in details too?”

“Well, just put the phone down,” Jimmy laughed.

“Okay,” Shawn started to look up. “Last text message…” he took a breath and looked at Jimmy hesitantly.“Oh here we go…”

Your last conversation appeared before everyone’s eyes, showing only the last photo you had sent him with Tarzan and your growing bump was present and the caption was the true bombshell of all.

“Wait, wait back up Mendes,” Jimmy said looking at him and questioning “little Mendes? Is this why she’s taking a break?”

The audience exclaimed a sweet 'aw’ again when they got a glimpse of the photo and Shawn was just widely smiling.

“This is really sweet!” said Jimmy looking at Shawn, “This is the best news ever.”

“I know, I know,” Shawn commented and nodding his head slowly.

“Do you know the gender?” asked Jimmy hesitantly, to which Shawn took another breath before replying.

“Yes we do,” Shawn laughed nervously. “We are going to have a baby girl.”

“There you have it, folks! The show is about exposing secrets! Thank you for watching, let’s all patiently wait for the arrival of baby Mendes.”

Shawn was seen hugging Jimmy as the camera flickered off, the curtains closing - concealing them from the screaming audience.

Taglist: @holland-styles @itsalwaysbeen305 @nervousmendes

TAGLIST & REQUESTS ARE OPEN

#shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fandom #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes x y/n #Shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes one shot #shawn peter raul mendes #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes fanfic

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lueurnotes · 4 years ago

Text

Kissing Din

based on this ask

Din Djarin/Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: blood mention, canon-typical violence, sexual situations, nudity

a/n: been a minute since I posted!! hope everyone is doing well <3

In Hyperspace.

You were sleepily rocking Grogu against your chest in the co-pilot seat. The little one was already fast asleep, a small snore coming from the bundle of cloth. The cabin was dimmed, with the small blinking control lights glittering through your sleepy haze. Hyperspace washed over you in blue-white streaks of light that kept you from falling asleep. Despite the rest that pulled at you, there wasn’t anywhere else in the Maker-forsaken galaxy that you’d rather be. Safe next to your partner with his son fast asleep on your lap.

It’s been an incredible journey together. Only a few short months yet so much has happened. Fixing up the Crest when you were all stranded on an icy, krykna-infested planet. Patching up Din whenever he returned, staggering into the hull. Giggling with the kid in your lap as he pushed your tools around. The memories you shared with this clan were few but your heart ached like it was forever.

A rustling sound coming from the pilot’s chair got your attention. Hm?

“Close your eyes,” Din hushed.

You obliged, more than happy to shut your sleepy eyes. Frequent hyperspace travel never did get easier for you.

The sound of his helmet hitting the metal floor of the cockpit nearly caused them to snap back open.

“Din what are you—”

A bare hand traced your face and you tried to fight the shudder that wracked your body. The warmest hands cradled your face upwards, a thumb brushing across your parted lips. The mere thought that Din was bare-faced inches from you... Your mind kicked into hyperdrive.

“Please,” the hushed whisper fell from his mouth, stilted breath ghosting right over your panting lips. The voice you seldom heard unmodulated was steeped with longing. One word spilled into a sentence.

“I want to kiss you.”

Your face broke into the sweetest grin he had ever seen. Really seen.

“Like you even have to ask,” you shifted your body upwards, heart racing as your lips finally met.

On Tatooine.

The blaring wind outside rocked the Razor Crest in it’s docked spot. Some dusty backwater place you could absolutely care less about. You spat out some lingering dust into the sink.

The little one was dropped off at Peli’s, which meant whoever this bounty was they were high-risk for Din.

Not a lot of people made that list.

Also meant that maybe you shouldn’t be blasting music throughout the ship, but kriff you were bored. It’s been a couple days at this point and you were told to “lay low”. Din didn’t say anything about music though. Plus, the Razor Crest was a well-fortified gal. Sure, a couple of bits flew off here and there and the hyperdrive could use some work, but whatever was in the armory could ward off any sane being in the galaxy.

The muffled sound of your playlist could be heard through the refresher door, jumping to full clarity as you exited. You broke into a grin, hips swaying as you sang the words loud. I wonder if Tin Can ever sings? You burst out laughing at the thought of the sound of scratchy-modulated humming. The man hardly talks as it is. I’d bet the Maker that he has a worse voice than me.

“Something funny?”

Crap.

You yelped, in a certainly dignified manner, you hope, “Mando! Glad to see you back home.”

Home?! Oh my stars, I’m done for.

The slightest tilt of his helmet let you know that he definitely heard you. He continued, “If you’re done using the comms, can you let Karga know we’re on our way?”

“Or we could just, you know, not do that,” a voice strained.

You finally focused on the bounty that Mando dragged back, a young twi’lek man with deep, blue skin. He wore a similarly draped sand-colored cloth you saw the locals wore. Arm wrappings covered to his wrist where there was no dirt under his fingernails. Your eyes wandered to his shoes, a type of thicker sandal with cording to attach… Yep, definitely not from here.

You smiled back at Mando, “Gotcha, Captain!”

“Wait!” The twi’lek croaked out, “Please, you can’t let him take me!”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, chancing a look at Mando’s visor as if to say can you believe this dude?

“Fine, I’ll bite.” You leaned on one hip, “Why should my partner and I not take in a bounty that we have been searching for I don’t know … ” you counted your fingers, “six days? Explain.”

And here come the waterworks.

He wailed, still on his knees next to Mando as he groveled, “It’s a false bounty! I was framed and I didn’t know what to do but run,” he looked at the carbonite cases, eyes growing larger when he saw their blank gazes frozen wide, “I swear to the Maker you’ve got it wrong!”

You bent down to his level, hushing him as you gently rested your hand on his cheek, “Are you implying that my partner is wrong? That he is being dishonest with me?”

Your wide eyes fell on Mando who stood unmoving. You turned back to the bounty before you could notice his hand clenching into a fist as you touched the other man.

The twi’lek silently nodded, tears slipping over his hairless face.

“Well you’ll be sure to know that I loathe liars,” you nodded solemnly, “Especially if it’s to my face.”

He opened his mouth to say something, sharply gasping as a blue ring of light exited your blaster. He slumped over, mouth still gaping open.

You looked back up at Din, catching him as he adjusted his pants. Smirking, you stepped over the bounty until you were standing right in front of Din, feeling the heat of his body past the beskar. Extending your arms up, you rested your hands on his pauldrons, hand tracing the Mudhorn signet. Gingerly, you placed your palms up just under Din’s ice-cold helmet, eyes questioning. He gave a simple nod, bringing his gloved hands to wrap around yours.

“I missed you,” you tilted the beskar upwards just the slightest amount, exposing a sliver of skin that was roughened with stubble. You tiptoed upwards and placed a short peck on him.

“It’s good to be home,” he gruffed out.

Keldabe

The overpowering scent of blood filled your mouth and nostrils. Tears tracked down your face as you let out a groan, spitting to the left of the man you just knocked out. You rolled over to lie back on the gritty pavement of the alleyway, uncaring of the unconscious man next to you. Somewhere down the dim alley, you could hear the distinct clang of metal against metal as Din fought the other bounty. The sound of a single blaster shot followed by a muffled yelp was the end of that.

Never bring a vibroblade to a blaster fight.

Your head pounded as you fought the urge to laugh out loud. You were lying next to a man that was set on killing you. You were pretty sure Din just shot the other one in the leg. And on top of that you were probably one wrong head turn from unconsciousness.

Din’s shadow suddenly looming over you snapped the cord and you burst in giggles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, immediately bending down to run his hands over any area that got impacted.

“You should have seen the other guy,” you winced as he grazed over your ribs.

“Looking at him right now,” he deadpanned, “Good work. But I’d prefer if my partner would ask for help if they need it.”

He pulled you up, half resting in his lap as your legs splayed out in front of you. Instantly, you curled towards the cold beskar, seeking the warmth past it.

“Hey Mando?”

“Yes?” He said lowly.

“M’head hurts,” you slurred, “Kiss me better.”

You couldn’t see it, but he smiled under his helmet. Even with the absolute shit knocked out of you, you still wanted his attention. Kriffing adorable.

He obliged, head tilting down so he could rest his helmet against your forehead. His eyes closed underneath, savoring the moment.

“Ah,” you sighed, “Much better.”

“Are you using me as an ice pack?”

“Maybe,” you whispered.

He let out a breathy chuckle before drawing away, “Come on, let’s get back to the ship so we can take a nap.”

A kiss on the thigh

Several months ago when you first started co-piloting for Din, you never would have thought that the Razor Crest could be anything but damn near freezing.

This heat was something else. Panting breaths exhaling hot air. The blazing touch that seared across your thighs as Din hovered over you. Even your skin was starting to dampen in the cramped cot.

“Cyar’ika,” he groaned, “Look at you.”

You opened your eyes, glancing down at yourself pressed so deliciously against Din. He was right there. Biting your lip, you tried to grind against him, only for Din to pinch at your thighs in warning. He continued his teasing, rubbing tenderly at your heated skin.

Your back arched under his ministrations. Din was taking his time during the reprieve of a lengthy hyperspace pass, massaging enticingly at your thighs, touching everywhere but where you needed him most.

Twelve hours.

You moaned, “Kriff, stop teasing, Din.” You writhed under his hold, your thighs pinned down by just his hands. How does he feel so good without doing anything?

“No, I don’t think I’m going to stop.”

You gasped as he replaced his hands with his mouth, bending down to suck harshly at the inside of your thigh. Din licked at the sensitive spot, satisfied as he looked up at your panting face.

“You look fucking pretty like this.”

A kiss on the hand

"Glove,” you commanded, “now.”

Din put a hand on his hip. “You don’t need good luck right now,” He jutted his head toward the distant tree trunk that was today’s target, “Just hit it.”

You rolled your eyes, making sure he saw. Like, really saw. You swore up and down that he lacked actual peripheral vision because it was always you that caught the little one getting into places he absolutely should not be. The armory being one of them. You shuddered, finger flicking the safety on as you remembered that very eventful day.

“Focus,” he intoned, “You’re in your head.”

You cursed to yourself, flicking the safety back off. Raising your arm smoothly, your eyes followed the barrel of your blaster.

Tree, damn it. Let me hit you.

Your eyes shut for a split second as you squeezed the trigger. A slight burst of energy shifted your hand half an inch. No sound of impact.

You looked at the tree in dismay.

The stump was definitely still there, not like it could dodge blaster bolts. Even if it could move, it wouldn’t have to avoid anything. The patch of brush next to it though? Thoroughly burnt.

“And this is why I train close combat,” you patted at your vibroblade strapped to your thigh.

“This is why you need practice,” Din moved next to you as you holstered your blaster, “Here.” He held his bare hand out to you, glove clutched in his left.

“Thank you,” you mumbled. Gingerly, you grasped onto his hand with both of yours, thumbs tracing across his bruised knuckles. Din gave the slightest tilt in acknowledgement. You brought his warm hand right to your face, breaking out into a smile.

“I’m gonna get it for sure this time,” you said before placing a small kiss on his hand, “Now put that glove back on and watch me hit this damn target.”

Din chuckled as he backpedaled a few steps, looking on as you drew your blaster, aiming perfectly at the tree.

Breathe. You got this. It’s a completely immobile target. You thought to yourself.

You squeezed the trigger and with a loud crack, the stump had a glaring split right down the middle where your bolt hit true.

“Stars, yes!” You shouted in glee. Deftly turning the safety back on, you holstered the blaster and ran to Din, his arms already opening to wrap around you.

“Knew you could do it,” he said, pulling you in lightly so the beskar wouldn’t bite into your skin.

“Does this mean I can try out the rest of your armory?”

“No.”

#hi it's been a while lol #lueur writes #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #Pedro Pascal #din djarin fanfiction #also this is out of order bc I'm fun like that

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mandoinevarro · 5 years ago

Text

NO REFUNDS

Words: 5.1k :))

Rating: E, baby

Warnings: Smut (surprise surprise), bad words :0, masturbation, a biiiit of praise kink, face fucking, cumplay? let me know on the comments, etc. etc.

a/n: Happy Star Wars day!! The first few lines of this are an attempt at dumb comedy, but humor me a little and you’ll get a reward (smut) along the yellow-brick road

Finally, the lanky kid behind the counter stops air drumming with two chicken bones gnawed dry and trails his dopey eyes from the gloved fist on the table, up a bracer, and along a flexed arm, until they settle on the Mandalorian helmet staring him down and waiting for an answer. The employee removes the music bandeau from around his ears and settles it down, its noise so loud Mando can hear it from where it lays. The kid scratches the whiskers of facial hair growing patchy on his cheeks and thoughtfully nibbles on one of the bones, trying to figure out what one does when a client shows up.

“Uh, what?”

“I need to speak to the owner,” the Mandalorian repeats slowly.

“Oh, uh.” Mouth gaping like a fish too stupid to know it should fear hooks, the kid calmly turns his attention to the four walls of the hardware store, searching for guidance in the fluorescent signs hanging around the room and dictating the store’s rules like they’re ancient scriptures:

NO CHILDREN

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

NO IMPS

NO REPUBLIC OFFICIALS

NO REFUNDS

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

“You, uh,” the kid continues, lingering on that last stanza and flicking open a dusty agenda that probably hasn’t been touched since the war ended, “you got an appointment, uh, sir?” He drags a greasy finger down the planner, squinting at nothing and pretending to read the page that Mando can clearly see is empty.

The bounty hunter sighs, holding on to the last reserves of patience that hang precariously on the cliff of his self-restraint, threatening to let go and leave him to his own anger. “No. But she’ll see me.” You better. You better fucking see him. “I was sold equipment here a few days ago, some of it faulty. I need to speak to her.”

The navigator. The fucking navigator. Of all the bunch of overpriced, black market scraps you’d somehow convinced the Mandalorian to buy from you last time, it just had to be the navigator. He still has his old blasters. Pumps are cheap. Even the deflector shields he could’ve done without for a couple of months. But the fucking navigator. The lack of droids on the Crest means that Mando relies solely on the navigator to set coordinates. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to find his way out of a system, let alone make hyperjumps. Even worse, the model is so old, its glitching isn’t recognized by the control panel, so he had to hover around the atmosphere of this damned planet for three days before figuring out what it was, throwing off his schedule and losing track of two bounties in the process. All because you sold him a damaged version of the one part he can’t do without.

But your gaping-mouthed kid worker seems too unused to visitors to really care about Mando’s request, too entertained nibbling on a bare bone and eyeing the costumer in front of him as a knowing smirk cracks his lips and he says, “I dig it.”

“You…you ‘dig it’? I don’t…”

“The whole, y’know.” He draws circles in the air with the bone, signaling the beskar armor while he wipes the sauce around his mouth with a sleeve. “The, uh, Mondolarian vibe you’ve got going on. Very retro, dude. I dig it.”

Mondo…? Bewilderment overshadows irritation for a second, and Mando focuses all his energy into searching the kid’s vacant eyes for a sign of intelligent life. “I…I am a Mandalorian.”

Fucking stars above, it’s never easy with you. If not your endless teasing, it’s the exorbitant prices, your unwillingness to compromise, or your scurrying around so he’s forced to play cat and mouse with you. Your latest impossible challenge for him to tackle is, apparently, getting a straight answer from the obtuse employee you must have handpicked from a catalogue of idiots to torture Mando. Maker, he’s surprised your store hasn’t gone bankrupt yet. He can’t imagine anyone else in the galaxy putting up with your whims. And he only does it because…well, because…

After dedicating a couple of seconds to crafting the perfect response for what appears to be his very first client, the kid muses, “Well, shit, what do I know.” He flashes a toothy smile as he rereads the dogmas on the walls. “Says nothing about Mondolarians here, but, uh—”

“—Look,” Mando bargains with your gatekeeper, trying to level the exasperation escaping the vocoder, “I only have one faulty part. Let me talk to the owner, and—”

“—Shit. I bet it was the microvalves.” Your staff of one hangs his tuff of hair in shame, swaying it limply from side to side, before staring straight at the visor apologetically. “My bad, dude, I’ve been trying to get them right, but I always fuck them up. It’s hard, y’know? Red with red, white with white. Why not red with white? Or—”

“—No. What? No. Listen to me. You sold me a busted—”

“—I sold you?” the kid scoffs, his eyes suddenly snapping wide and offended, ignoring Mando’s clenching fists, which usually make normal people cower. “Excuse me, mister Mondolarian sir, but I don’t, uh, don’t recall selling you shit, in fact—”

“—Not—not you personally, the store, look, just—”

“—in fact, I’ve never even met a Mondolarian before and you’ve, uh, no right—no right— to judge my microvalves that I worked hard on—”

“Let him in.” Your voice carries its usual amusement as it cuts between the Mandalorian and the kid, breaking off the bickering from both ends and drawing their attention to the melody’s source. You lean on the doorframe leading to your workshop, holding a pair of pliers in one hand and a wrench in the other. Grease is smeared on your face, where teeth bite down on a playful smirk and the twinkle in your eyes speaks of terrible intentions—like always. You tilt your head back to the room behind you. “C’mon, Mando. Let my receptionist work.”

With a sigh, the hunter moves towards the separate room, not before glancing back at the receptionist, who throws him one last disapproving look and wraps the bandeau that never stopped blasting music around his ears.

“Why do you keep him here?” the Mandalorian grunts as you push yourself off the doorframe to move inside your studio.

You shrug. “It’s him or droids.”

Mando trails after you inside the cramped workshop, filled to the brim with piles and piles of sensors and motors and all the other scraps from dubious origins you collect, fix, and resell. He closes the door behind him and pushes a large tube hanging from the roof to the side to walk closer to you.

Facing him, you plummet on your wheeled chair with a sigh, your arms dangling off the armrests, still holding the wrench and the pliers, like you’re the monarch of your little kingdom of junk granting him an audience.

There, Mando finally gets a good look at you, and—much to his annoyance—you’re as lovely as always. Glistening and greasy, you’re still beautiful with oil stains on your skin and fat droplets of sweat trailing your temple. You beam at him from your squeaky throne with that faint grin that attracts nothing but trouble. Maker, no wonder you always manage to talk circles around him. But not this time. This time he won’t fall for your little games. He won’t, he won’t, he won’t. Tonight he’s walking out of here with all of his money, no matter how much you bat your pretty eyelashes at him.

The Mandalorian squares his stance and straightens his back in a futile attempt to intimidate you, strutting ahead firmly and pointing an accusing finger at your face.

“You sold me a—”

“—a busted navigator.” You roll your eyes and push yourself to your legs abruptly before the hunter can get any closer. He stops dead on his tracks. You wave the wrench and the pliers in the air like the conductor of an orchestra. “I sold you a busted navigator.” The vowels are dragged out with an exaggerated tune to make fun of him. “Yeah, I heard you the first four thousand times, Mando.”

Without looking, you drop the pliers to the side. They land dead center on an open storage box. Perfectly. Almost rehearsed. Something clicks. The Mandalorian suddenly finds the missing piece of a puzzle he didn’t know needed solving, and he feels his shoulders deflate and release some of the anger that drove him to your store in the first place.

You peacock closer to him, one foot in front of the other and swaying your hips as you look down to the wrench in your hand. “But, you should know by now,” you murmur once you find yourself only inches away from the beskar, your voice morphing its earlier mock exasperation into the tone you only use whenever you two aren’t talking business. You look up at him, failing miserably at masking the mischief in your eyes. “I don’t do refunds.” You lift the wrench and grin as it taps the beskar breastplate lightly with a tink.

And before you can blink, Mando’s hand flies to your wrist to clutch it roughly, squeezing without hurting you, but with enough strength to force your fist open. Just like he knows you like it. The wrench falls to the floor with a bang that makes you jump. It’s Mando’s turn to smile when he pulls you by the wrist to press you closer against him. The cocky glint in your eyes dulls into confusion.

“I never said it was the navigator,” he informs you lowly.

You tense under his grasp and shift your jaw. “You knew I’d come back,” he continues, encouraged by your grimace. Staring at your feet, you half-heartedly try to wriggle away from his grasp, but he grabs your other wrist instead and holds you flush against the cold beskar. “Okay. I’m back. Now give me my money.”

But his satisfaction is short-lived, because if there’s anyone in the universe who knows no shame, that’s you. So you simply bite your lower lip and move your head from side to side to shake hair and embarrassment off your face. When you look up at the visor again it’s with that brazen insolence that secretly gets the Mandalorian going like nothing else in the galaxy.

“A girl gets lonely in here,” you purr. Your wrists relax, and make no attempt to pull away. “Can you blame me for wanting you back a little earlier?” Your plush lips curl into the perverse smile of someone who’s holding all the cards, making heat rush involuntarily to his crotch. And it drives him fucking insane. He could have you tied, shackled, or bent over, and you would still sneer at him like you had him wrapped around your finger.

At his silence, you wedge a leg tightly between his thighs and massage it against the bulge between. Your gasp in fake surprise when his length hardens at the first hint of a brush, too unused to any sort of physical contact to remain neutral to your bold caresses. He bites down hard on his lip to suppress a moan. He won’t give you the satisfaction.

Mando’s learnt, though, that his restraint only feeds your audacity. Only makes you taunt him more. His lack of response spurs you on, and you crane your neck forward to lick a slow line along the beskar of the chest. You blink at him playfully as you go, stuffing your tongue back into your mouth once you reach the top edge of the breastplate.

You must find it funny. How his ribs expand and contract in anticipation. How he tends to roll and unroll his fists in an attempt to suppress the instinct to throw you on top of the table so crowded by clutter that he can barely see the surface beneath and fuck the smirks off your face. How he always gives in. How he stiffens both scandalized and impossibly aroused every time you introduce him to some newer, filthier act. You must think it’s so fucking funny.

And as much as the bounty hunter wants to shove you back against your crumbling wheeled chair, he knows you’ll only enjoy it more. So he simply lets go of your wrists and steps back.

“I’m only here for my money,” he lies.

The vicious grin grows wider. “Oh, so you’re making me work for it tonight.” You step back and lean against a table with your arms crossed over your chest, purposefully pushing your tits against the cleavage. Mando shifts in his place. Licking your lips until they glisten, you give him a once-over. You study him inch by inch, and an uncomfortable rope knots in his stomach when he realizes that this is how his bounties must feel when he watches them wordlessly.

Your eyes settle on his visor, and a decision seems to cross them as you walk over to sit on your creaking chair. “Or maybe you just want to hear me beg.” You part your legs wide and clutch the armrest with one hand while the other disappears under the waist of your pants. The contour of your hand shifts up and down slowly inside the crotch of your trousers, and your lips crook into a full O as they release a deep, foul moan. “Is that it?” Your eyes are glossy and malignant, trained on his visor. “You want me to beg for your cock?”

His leather gloves ball into fists, trying to coax blood into his head and away from his…well, his other head.

Yet you hold him in place with that sinful stare and the lewd whimpers that you know get him off, and yes, fuck yes, he wants to hear you beg and sob for him all night as much as he wants to clog your throat with his shaft and make you swallow your teasing.

But he can’t let you win. You can’t scam five thousand credits out of him and expect him to throw himself into your arms no questions asked. He wants to put an end to your little tyrannical rule on his cock. And he wants his fucking money back.

So the powerful Mandalorian watches helplessly as your hand quickens under your clothing and you throw your head back in ecstasy. That fucking smirk doesn’t leave you, though. Even less so when your palm picks up some speed and you hear his breath hitch involuntarily at the visual, loud enough to override the vocoder.

“C-come on, Mando, don’t—” Your hand sinks deeper into your pants and you hum at the adjustment. “Don’t you wanna teach me what—what proper cos-costumer service looks like? Huh?”

His cock jumps in his pants when you say his name in a wanton gasp, and Mando can see you’re sweating and moving your hips faster against your palm. He’s so hard it hurts.

Your smile falters and you frown impatiently as the pent-up tension threatens to snap in your body.

“Don’t cum,” Mando blurts before he can stop himself.

“Or what?”

“Or I won’t give you what you want.”

Your movements halt on command, and the hunter almost envies the control you have over your own body to be able to backtrack on the very edge of your release. You hold your hands up in triumphant surrender as you watch the Mandalorian approach and stop just a breath away from your body. He stands tall before you, crowding you with his size and turning down the volume on the nagging voice that reminds him that he’s letting you win.

Eyes on the prize ahead of you, you lick your lips and snake a hand beneath your sit. You pull a lever and the chair plummets a few inches until your mouth is directly in front of the rigid tent growing in his pants. Expert fingers undo his belt and lower his fly, but, stars, nothing is fast enough when Mando already feels the veins of his cock growing thicker and thicker. Skipping all formalities, your hand sneaks inside, cups his balls, and pulls all of him outside. He groans when you grab his shaft and squeeze hard from base to tip, your bare palm catching awkwardly on his equally dry skin. Mando melts into the sensation all the same, but you seem displeased with your palm’s lack of fluidity.

“Fuck. Hold on.” A pair of fingers disappear into your mouth and down your throat as far as they’ll go. You choke on them dramatically and your eyes water slightly, but they shine when the two small intruders drag outside your mouth, pulling a thick string of elastic spit with them and dropping it on his shaft, pulsing with anticipation. You lean forward and look up through your lashes as you unroll your tongue slowly and more gooey saliva dangles from it. It’s too dense to spill onto its target, so you pluck the heavy ropes from your mouth and smear it manually on his cock, while a thread of it hangs on your chin.

“Fuck.” Your tiny clenched fist wakes up every nerve in his body as it drags up and down his shaft, obscene and perfectly lubricated. Mando’s hips buck into its grasp involuntarily, so suddenly that you flinch at the unexpected jolt. It’s a small comfort for him, to see that he can also surprise you. But then you’re giggling again, locking him in place by grabbing the buck of his belt with your free hand.

“Eager,” you remark. You lean forward and place a chaste kiss on the tip that digs into his spine. Maker, it was barely anything, but he’s so hard and your mouth is so close. “Aren’t Mandalorians,” you tease, “supposed to have self-restraint?”

Mando’s only answer is a low groan and a gloved hand that tangles on your hair and pushes you forward. You resist, though, instead wrapping a fist around his base and dragging your hot tongue up his underside, stopping just before the tip. A tortured whimper echoes around the helmet, and the Mandalorian is not sure if you could hear it because his muscles pull tighter, drawing his attention to his cock and your mouth and the fact that the latter is not wrapped around him for some reason. As if you could read his mind, you suddenly engulf him whole. Spit gathers on the edge of your lips as you suck on his length, swallowing around the tip and swirling your tongue around his girth.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking g-good at this.” You hum in response, sending vibrations through his shaft that make his knees buckle. He always forgets how good it feels with you. He forgets that you take him perfectly like all your holes were made for him to fuck. That you make his blood run hot with every swing of your tongue and every spasm of your cunt and every insolent remark that escapes your lovely mouth, now busy pleasuring him.

You settle on his head and suck on the bulb, hollowing your cheeks to let him feel the delicious inside of your mouth. Mando grabs handfuls of your hair with both hands, still trying to extinguish little whimpers before they leave his throat. And you can tell. He knows you can tell because determination clouds your eyes as you yank him closer by the belt. You drag your tongue in a circle around the ridge of the head, before dipping into the slit on the tip and finally earning a punched out groan and some beads of precum as a reward. Somehow, you moan and chuckle at the same time, opening your mouth as strings of spit fall to the floor.

“You’re hard, Mando,” you coo, pumping his length while you rub it on the side of your face, “throbbing and so, so hard. You should’ve come to me sooner, baby. You’re desperate.” You suck on the head again, and the Mandalorian’s grip on your hair turns to steel, pulling you into him and no longer asking. Moaning, you let him, taking him as far as you can and wrapping a fist where you can’t reach. Your other hand releases his belt and snakes down to your lap, fumbling with the waistband of your pants.

Somewhere in the swamp of sensations drowning his thoughts, an idea flashes in Mando’s head, and he holds on to it before you can suck it out of his tip. One glove lets go of your hair and quickly grans the hand lowering into your heat to resume touching yourself. His cock still in your mouth, you look up at him with furrowed eyebrows and a silent question.

“You can’t c-cum,” he explains, forcing words out of a throat that right now only wants to moan, “un-until you give me my—my refund.”

You groan and roll your eyes, taking your mouth off him with a pop. “Fuck no,” you breathe as you pump him faster and harder, almost making Mando lose his resolve. Almost. His hold on your wrist tightens. “It’s store policy.”

“Y-yeah?” You continue sliding your fist along his shaft, as you lean forward and lower your face to start lightly licking his balls. The room spins around Mando, and his grip on your hair pushes you into him until you suck on one ball gently. “Is—is it store p-policy to—ngh—to f-fuck your clients?”

You chuckle against his taint. Your head straightens to set your attention back on his tip, where he’s leaking an almost embarrassing amount of precum. A thumb brushes over his slit, gathering the pearls and bringing them into your mouth to taste him. The way you rub your core slightly against the chair is sneaky enough, but the Mandalorian catches the movements and tugs your hand and hair tighter as a warning. Your shoulders slump. “I’ll give you half,” you offer.

Mando guides your hand lower and curls it around his swollen cock, silently begging for your attention. His hand wraps over yours as he squeezes your fist and drags it along his shaft at a pace of his liking that sets his insides ablaze. “Eighty.” The helmet falls back as he revels in the wet sounds of your hand sliding back and forth his cock and giving him a nice enough memory for when he inevitably goes back to the Crest and is forced to take care of his needs himself.

You let him guide you, cupping his balls with your other hand and swirling your tongue around his darkening tip. Mando’s chest trembles with a long moan at the toe-curling feeling of your warm spit and your clenched fist working so hard for him, until you drop him from your mouth and answer, “Seventy.”

“N-no, I—”

“—Seventy,” you repeat and twist your hand away from his grasp, leaving his seeping cock throbbing and abandoned, “or you don’t cum.”

Fuck, he was close. He was so fucking close, before you turned the tables. Like fucking always. A part of him cradles his already bruised pride, shaming him for—yet again—not being able to hold it together around you. But his cock tugs harder. More insistently. It pulls every fiber in his body and screams at him to give you whatever the fuck you want.

“Fine.” He nods his head once, before his better sense can convince him otherwise. “Seventy.”

A full, beautiful smile that almost makes Mando forget he’s getting scammed graces your plump lips. You waste no time shoving your hand inside your underwear again and moving your arm frantically as you give him a couple of throaty whines. You open your mouth as wide as it’ll go and blink up at him, inviting him to take you however he so pleases. He tangles his fingers on your hair and shoves you against him as you wrap your lips around his cock and muffle your mewls on it.

The Mandalorian starts fucking your face, getting his money’s worth as he moves you back and forth. Your eyes water and you gag with every shove, but you work earnestly for him, hollowing your cheeks and moving your tongue and pulling just about every trick on your toolbox to make Mando’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

And stars, even through your pants and his helmet, he can still smell your arousal. He hears the wet squelching of your fingers working your pussy fast and if he could only get a look. One look is all he needs to cum, he’s sure, one fucking look at your clenching cunt and he’s done.

“F-fuck, l-let me see,” he pants, “let—let me s-see you—see your p-pussy cum, just—fuck—just a mo-moment, please, j-just…”

Tears from all the gagging fall out of your pretty eyes as you open your mouth and stand up, taking your trembling hand outside to fumble with your trousers. Your thumbs are hooked under their waistband and push down slightly before you suddenly stop and stare at the Mandalorian gulping all the oxygen he can get and waiting for you. “Sixty,” you say carefully.

Too intoxicated with you and too focused on the blood beating hard on his cock, Mando couldn’t care less. He doesn’t give a shit about percentages or money or parts or whatever half-forgotten excuse he had to come here tonight. All that matters and all that’s real is whatever he needs to climax, and if it means letting you win, so be it. “S-sixty. Yes. Whatever. Just—just take your fucking pants off.”

One swift movement and your pants and underwear pool around your ankles. Yanking hard on the hem, you manage to pull the right leg off your boot. You don’t bother with the other one, letting it hang on your left leg as you climb back on the chair, spreading your legs and hooking one thigh over the armrest to offer him the best view possible.

Mando’s cock threatens to spill at the sight. You’re fucking soaked. Your folds are blushed and slick and swollen with all the blood accumulated on your cunt. Three fingers rub your aching clit and everything around it with messy strokes, as you stare at the bounty hunter with raw lust and moan for him loud and clear, and this. This is worth the fucking navigator.

As soon as his shaft ghost over your face you lean into it and reach for him with your mouth. Mando takes your head between his hands and resumes his previous brutal pace, his eyesight now directed at the way your cunt spasms and seeps more juices with every circle you press against your lips. And, fuck, you’re taking him like you’re hungry for his cock. Pushing harder and further and faster despite the gagging, you’re making Mando see blotches cloud his vision and feel how his muscles turn into hot, thick magma. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he can’t hold it in anymore. His balls start pulling up as a warning and you’re sucking harder and mewling around him.

“I—I…I’m gonna—I—”

Mando can’t find enough words to put together for the life of him, but you nod and manage a chocked “Mhmm” and bob your head to the pace of your quickening fingers and stars oh fuck—

The wave of his climax hits him hard on his back and makes him curl around you. He braces himself against the top of your chair and the change in position makes his cock slip outside of your mouth, but his vision goes completely black and all he can feel is the rush of pleasure crushing his bones into dust. Maybe your name is falling from his lips, but he can’t be sure. The never-ending spurts of cum falling somewhere hoard most of his attention, and he focuses on that thick and heavy release, so rare for him that he puts his mind into savoring every second.

It’s not until the echoes around his ears dissipate that the Mandalorian hears you’re still whimpering. Hunched over you, he opens his eyes just in time to see you gather some of the seed that he spilled on your neck and bring it down to smear it over your bundle of nerves, rubbing it one, two, three, four times, before you’re sobbing long and loud. Your hole tightens around nothing, your forehead resting on his cuisse, and Mando thinks he could get hard again just from the image.

You both stay like that for a while, curled into each other and panting in turns, until Mando gathers all the energy left in his system to pull himself upright and shove his softening shaft back into his pants. It’s only then that he sees just how much of a mess he made: Cum landed everywhere. It hangs thick all over your face, on your neck, on your hair, on your clothes. He blushes darkly and he’s about to open his mouth to apologize, but you sense it. Somehow. You wink and brush off his shame with a smile and a wave of your hand, standing up to get dressed. But Mando’s quicker. He kneels in front of you and gently raises your underwear until it hugs your hips, wishing for a fleeting second he could press a kiss on the supple flesh there. You grab his pauldron for balance to sneak your foot into the pantleg that Mando holds open for you.

For once, it’s he who breaks the silence. “I…I do want my sixty percent, you know.”

“Of course.” You smile sweetly at him, reaching back to your work table to grab a clean rag, rubbing it against your face and neck. “I’ll even throw in some free microvalves for good measure.”

—

Taglist of two so you can keep each other company :) : @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon

#the mandolarian #the mandalorian x you #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian x ofc #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #mando smut #star wars smut #star wars day #his fucking microvalves that he worked hard on

1K notes · View notes

radiorenjun · 4 years ago

Text

I Don't Need It

• Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader

• Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

• Na Jaemin despised the idea of soulmates, he wanted to fight against fate for choosing his soulmate for him. Even if it means his stubborn childhood best friend wouldn't stop trying to make him accept about the similar tattoos on their wrists.

• Warnings: mental breakdowns, heartbreak, rejection, major angst, arguments, flashbacks, physical injuries, fighting, underaged drinking, panic attacks, mentions of death, slight mentions of drugs(?), BY FAR THE ANGSTIEST CHAPTER I’VE WRITTEN IN THIS DAMN SERIES.

• Wordcount : 11 k

• Masterlist here!

• Chapters: XII, XIII

“So are you coming to Hyunjin’s party this Friday?” Hyuck asked, poking your hand with the back of his pencil. You turned to him, humming in response. “You know! His parents are on a business trip for the week and his dramatic ass decided to throw a party,” he explained causing you to let out a small ‘oh’.

“Donghyuck, you know very well I don’t do parties. Plus the bad kids usually spike the coke with alcohol. We’re underaged,” you stated with a roll of your eyes, glancing at the teacher, who was marking papers from last week’s pop quiz, for a split second. “We’re almost 18,” he deadpanned.

“The keyword is ‘almost’, Hyuck. We’re not of legal age yet. Sure a few of us are but that doesn’t mean we should,” you huffed as Hyuck let out a small scoff. “Come on, you’ve never been to a party in months! Let loose a little! Exams are catching up, we need to relax for a bit before we get stress piling up our backs!” Hyuck exclaimed before being silenced by the teacher.

“Lee Donghyuck! No talking in class!” he barked, causing Hyuck to flinch at the loud tone. “Sorry sir!” he said with an enthusiastic tone before turning to you with an unbothered expression, tapping his pen against the book in front of him. “So, you in or not?” he asked, raising a brow at you with a smug expression on his face.

“Why are you so keen on getting me into this party anyways? Hyunjin, himself, doesn’t mind that I’m not coming,” you chuckled, taking your whiteout to remove the word you misspelled. “I just haven’t seen you loosen up in a long time, you know? Enjoying music with your pals, hanging out and drinking some coke. The fun things people our age do,” he explained, causing you to scrunch your nose in confusion.

“I don’t think underaged drinking is ‘fun’, what if the police come or something? The neighbours could’ve called them for being too loud,” you raised your brow, causing Hyuck to take a deep breath as if to say ‘you’re overthinking this too much, you dumbass’. “Come on, you’re an extrovert, aren’t you? Can’t you at least show a bit of interest in this? This could be the last party of our senior year,” Hyuck whined.

“It is tempting, I admit. But the thought of getting my drink spiked or the police coming in to arrest me isn’t that sexy, you know?” you said with a sarcastic roll of your eyes. “It’s still tempting, right? Good enough, I’ll have Renjun and the others pick you up on Friday, then,” he gave you a small thumbs up before finally focusing on his work.

You couldn’t even refuse, you knew once Hyuck set his mind onto something, there was no turning back. Accepting defeat you went back into working on your own assignment before your head shot up in alarm as your mind finally processed his words. “Wait, Renjun and the others are coming too?” you asked incredulously.

Hyuck nodded, letting out a small hum of confirmation, not looking up from his paper. “The others managed to drag both Renjun and Chungha into this so you won’t be alone if you end up sulking in some corner of the party,” he jokes, scratching out a sentence he wrote aggressively on his paper. “That’s seriously concerning,” you furrowed your brows.

“It works either way,” he shrugged casually.

“I can’t believe you actually dragged me to a party,” you groaned, glaring daggers into Renjun’s skull. The said boy rolled his eyes at you, “in my defense, I’m also getting dragged into this party!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the sunshine-like boy smiling gingerly in the driver's seat. “You guys need to relax before the exam season starts. You’ll be thanking me for dragging you here in the future,” Hyuck said as he made a left turn.

“I’m sure that’s not happening anytime soon,” Yeoreum snickered, shaking her head as she continued to text on her phone. “Come on! Almost everyone in school is coming! At least look happy for it. Hyunjin always throws the best parties,” Hyuck whined, finally parking in the vacant spot beside what seems to be one of the football player’s cars.

“True. I rarely go to Hyunjin’s parties. His house is large as fuck, I rather not get lost again to see people making out or drinking in every corner,” Hwall joked, fixing his hair in the rear view mirror. “No kidding, he’s a rich kid! Second rich I mean, right below Chenle,” Yeoreum exaggerated, giggling when she remembered how Chenle offered to buy her a laptop in exchange for her homework answers.

You rolled your eyes at them, opening the door to step out of the car once Hyuck parked properly. Loud music pierced your ears as you turned your head towards the large house. You and your friends walk up the porch, watching how a few students you barely know were sitting on the porch drinking whatever liquid they poured in their red solo cup.

“Ugh, it reeks of alcohol,” you scrunch your face in disgust when you enter the door, standing close to your friends as your eyes scan the crowd of bodies in the room. “Someone must’ve spiked a few of the drinks,” Renjun commented, a frown placed on his lips as he examined a half filled cup filled with what was supposed to be coke but reeks of alcohol. You peeked into the cup, scrunching your nose when you smelled the ever-so-familiar bittersweet scent.

“Whatever. Dude, look! I forgot how Hyunjin had a cheese and chocolate fondue maker!” Hyuck exclaimed, pointing at the table filled with foods and drinks. “Hey! Hyuck! Y/n! Renjun!” a familiar voice called out from the sea of people dancing and chatting. You turned your head to see that none other than Hwang Hyunjin, the party hoster, himself had come up to you.

“It’s so good to see you here, it’s been a long time since I saw you guys in this kind of an environment,” Hyujin chuckled, giving Hyuck and Renjun those typical bro-hugs that they usually do. “Well, I would be fast asleep in my bed right now if it weren’t for a certain someone,” you nodded your head to Hyuck who was sinking a strawberry under the chocolate fountain with a toothpick. Hyuck grinned, “yep, that’s me! You’re welcome, by the way!”

Hyunjin laughed, taking a sip of his own red cup afterwards. “Well then, don’t let me stop you from having your own fun. Go crazy and relax! This is our last year of highschool after all, embrace it!” Hyunjin raised his hands up enthusiastically with a giggle. You chuckled, eyeing the cup in his hands before asking, “whatcha got there?”

Hyunjin’s bright smile faltered as he stared down at his own cup with confusion. He shrugged at you. “Don’t know, really. A few of the seniors came in with some liquor and sodas for the ones who don't like alcohol so I think this is a bit of both? I don’t know, Hendery gave it to me a while ago,” he explained, shaking the cup to watch the liquid inside swoosh around.

“But it’s good, though. Want to try?” Hyunjin asked, stretching his hand to gesture you to take his cup. Renjun stepped in before you could reply, pushing Hyunjin’s hand away as he shook his head. “No thanks, we’re good.” he replied shortly. “Cokes good for us, thanks anyways.” you added with a soft smile, grabbing a new cup from a box below the table.

“Where’s Hyuck?” Renjun asked all of a sudden, making you turn to where the boy in question had been previously helping himself to some fondue who had disappeared. “Dammit, he must’ve run off somewhere,” you mumbled, pouring yourself some coke from one of the large bottles. “Typical Lee Haechan, the party animal himself,” Hyunjin chuckled, trying to spot the honey skinned boy somewhere in the crowd before shaking his head.

“Anyways, I’m gonna get going. Enjoy the party,” Hyunjin gulped down the remaining contents of his beverage, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he placed the cup back down on the table. “Try not to get into too much trouble,” he smiled, patting both of your shoulders before walking away. You clicked your tongue, sighing heavily as you spotted a few of your friends in between the crowds, smiling at how happy they looked.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom for a minute, you good with being alone?” Renjun asked, patting one of his pockets to check if his phone was still in his pocket. You nodded, shrugging. “Go ahead, I’m going to walk around and explore,” you shook the cup in your hands, watching the liquid swivel around. “Explore? What are you? Five?” He snorted, pulling out his phone.

You rolled your eyes, shoving him forward playfully. “Just go, you idiot. I’ll call you if I need you,” you snickered, watching Renjun stick his tongue out playfully at you before going to find the bathroom. You sighed before standing up straight and started walking around the party. Taking a sip of your drink before scanning the room, hoping to find someone you knew.

“Y/N!”

You turned your head, cup in between your lips to see Jeno waving at you from the ping pong table. Smiling, you head on over to your friend, relieved to see a familiar face “Hey, I didn’t know you’re here,” Jeno greeted, patting you on the shoulder as you came up to him. “I just got here with the others, Hyuck dragged us here,” you explained, taking another sip as you examined the almost filled cups displayed on the table.

“We’re playing beer pong,” Yongbok, one of Jaemin’s teammates, explained, closing one eye to aim his ball on the target. “Beer pong?” you gaped, “aren’t you still 17, Yongbok?” you added with a raise of your brow. “Loosen up a little, y/n. It’s just a game, the loser has to chug this all down. And I’m not going to lose,” Yongbok replied with a small wink before tossing the ping pong ball, cheering when it landed on the cup.

“It’s just a little game, don’t worry, no ones actually going to drink,” Jeno waved it off, attempting to convince you to join in on their game. You raised your brow at him, “really?” you asked with a deadpan expression. Jeno let out a childish smile, grabbing the ping pong ball when Chanhee threw it at him. “Want to try?” he offered, handing you the small orange ball in his hands. “Me?” you raised your brow at him incredulously.

“Yeah, why not?” your friend shrugged casually. “It’s easy, just toss the ball till it lands on one of the cups,” he explained. “I know how beer pong works, you dumbass!” you retorted, eyeing the ball for a short moment before grabbing it from his hand. “I guess one game wouldn’t hurt,” you sighed, handing him your almost finished cup before moving to stand beside Chanhee and Younghoon.

You eyed the cup you wanted your ball to land on, aiming the ball slightly to the left before tossing gently, watching as the ball bounced on the liquid surface of the cup and landed perfectly in the middle row. With a loud cheer you continued to play for the next fifteen minutes till you finished your drink. “Damn!” Younghoon cheered, giving you an impressed expression. “You’re pretty good at this,” he commented, grabbing the ball from the cup with a chuckle.

You shook your head with a small laugh, “no, dude. Jaemin taught me how to throw like that,” you explained. “That explains everything. Soulmates do think alike, huh?” Chanhee laughed, pouring more liquor into his cup. Your heart clenched slightly at those words as Jeno handed you your cup back. “Definitely,” Younghoon agreed with a nod.

“You want to go for another round?” Chanhee asked, filling the cups with more beer to make the game slightly harder. You gulped, finishing your drink before shaking your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m good. I’m going to go get myself more coke, this one tastes kind of funny, though,” you placed your cup on the table before waving your friends off to find your way to the kitchen.

Jeno furrowed his brows, noticing how your words were slightly slurred. “What’s up with her? She looked pretty sad,” Chanhee asked, running a hand through his hair, tossing the ball in his palm to the cup, cursing when he missed inevitably. “What? Haven’t you heard? She and Jaemin aren’t on good terms lately,” Younghoon hissed before giving the boy a smack on the back. “No one for sure knows what happened but people said Jaemin did something real bad to make her that sad,” he added on.

“Excuse me, how was I supposed to know that?” Chanhee retaliated in response. “I don’t go around listening to gossip from the cheerleaders like you do,” he snapped back. Younghoon rolled his eyes at his friend, “here’s the actual tea, though.” he started again, taking a large gulp from his cup. “You know how if you hurt your soulmate, like emotionally, they’d start to feel burns in their mark?” He murmured under his breath.

“Yeah, isn’t it some sort of old tale or something? I mean, come on, your tattoo suddenly burns you because you can’t handle a few harsh words? That’s preposterous,” Chanhee scoffed, tossing another ball towards one of the cups, missing once again. “You don’t know if that’s fake, dude! People are saying how those two kept covering up their marks to hide the burns! And that’s on having a toxic soulmate relationship,” Younghoon exclaimed, nudging his friend playfully.

“Damn, that’s just depressing. I feel bad for them, really,” he replied with a sympathetic tone. Jeno, who was quietly listening to their conversation, was lost in thought. He wanted to shut down the rumors and help his friends, but yet again, he doesn’t know the full story of what went on between the two of you. “Jeno?” his friends call out, snapping the boy out of his train of thoughts. He hummed in response, looking up from the cup he was holding, which happened to be the one you left behind.

“You okay, dude?” Yongbok asked with a raised brow, grabbing a ping pong ball of his own. “What? Oh, yeah, I’m good. Did you notice how funny y/n was acting before she left?” Jeno asked, lifting the cup up to his nose to take a sniff. “No, not really, why?” Younghoon shook his head, furrowing his brows at the boy.

The familiar scent of alcohol hit his senses when he took a small sniff of the cup, making his eyes wide in alarm. “Oh shit,” Jeno cursed, dropping the cup to the floor as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “What’s wrong?” Chanhee asked, his lips forming a concerned frown. “She drank alcohol, I need to call the others before something happens,” Jeno explained briefly, his thumbs fiddling with his phone.

Meanwhile, you found yourself walking into the backyard. Hyunjin’s parents are quite loaded, so you weren’t that surprised to see how spacious and large it was. “Y/n?” a voice said. You turned your head to see Jaemin sitting on a lounge chair beside the door, a red cup in his hand and a lollipop in the other. “Jaemin?” you replied with a raised brow. “Hey, I didn’t know you were here,” Jaemin smiled, sitting up straight.

“Hyuck dragged me here a while ago,” you explained shortly, examining the backyard. “What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t like parties that much?” you asked, walking closer to him when you realised that you didn’t see his car parked on the sidewalk before you left for the party. “A party from time to time isn’t too bad. Hyunjin said it’ll do me good to relax once in a while,” he chuckled, shooting you a sweet, charming smile.

“You wanna sit down?” he offered, patting the empty lounge chair beside the one he was sitting on. You bit your lip, eyeing him for a moment before mumbling a small ‘okay’ under your breath and sitting down beside him. “Why aren’t you inside with the others?” you asked quietly, your tone almost hushed as you succumb to the serene atmosphere. The loud music almost muffled by the closed door.

“I.. I just wanted some fresh air. The smell of alcohol was getting to me,” he responded almost hesitantly. “You?” he turned to look at you, popping the lollipop into his mouth. “Same as you, I was playing beer pong with Jeno and the others not too long ago,” you smiled, watching how Jaemin’s light hearted expression grew into a concerned one. “You played beer pong with them?” he asked with a low voice, almost in a motherly tone.

You raised your brows in alarm, waving your hands around frantically. “No! I swear it’s not what you think! I didn’t drink anything, I just tossed ping pongs into a few cups! I promise you!” you shook your head vigorously as Jaemin eyed you suspiciously. “You sure?” he asked, leaning forward towards you to see if you were actually lying before giving you a small smile when you gulped. “Okay then, I believe you,” he nodded with a small chuckle, his heart fluttering at how adorable you looked.

You pouted when you saw his amused expression, slumping back against the chair with a huff. He let out a small giggle at your little antics, watching you dramatically sling your leg over the other and turn your head away. “You’re still as dramatic as the last time we hung out,” Jaemin commented, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you frown, jerking your head towards him with an offended tone.

He shook his head, reaching over to pinch your cheek gingerly. “You know very well what I meant,” he giggled, retracting his hand and setting it back on his lap. “You’re always acting dramatic for the sake of making people laugh,” he said, winking as he gave you a knowing look. You chuckled, smacking him on the shoulder playfully. “Shut up, remember that time when I gave you a rock for a gift,” you giggled, smiling brightly at the distant memory.

“You literally saw the rock a couple weeks ago, you know I kept it all this time. Of course I remember, you even stuck a fucking Doraemon sticker onto it for ‘decoration’,” he used his two index and middle fingers to emphasize on the ‘decoration’ word, laughing lightly. “Shut up! I thought it was funny! Clearly, I should’ve taped a picture of my face to it so you’d remember my existence bugging you on a day to day basis,” you joked, laughing along as your mind flashed back to the deadpanned expression Jaemin had when you gave him the rock.

“In my defense, you could’ve gotten me something nice like- Oh I don’t know, a jar of your Mom’s peanut butter cookies? Some homework answers? A fucking hug? But no, you decided to go for a damn rock you found on the streets,” he exclaimed incredulously, waving his hands around to exaggerate at his words.

“I’m unique, Jaemin. You loved that gift! Trust me, when I saw that smooth ass rock I instantly thought of your annoying ass constantly throwing paper planes to my window in hopes of talking to me when you could just knock on the door like a normal person!” you laughed, pushing his shoulder playfully as he pouts at you. His doe eyes glaring daggers at you as he cocked his head to the side in an almost offended way.

“This says a lot of what you think of me. If you’re unique then I’m unique as well because who the fuck needs to walk to your front door when you can throw paper planes like a hopeless romantic?” Jaemin huffed, puffing his cheeks out as he crossed his arms against his chest. “You should be grateful to have me as a best friend,” he mumbled under his breath, causing you to giggle even more. A small smile reached his lips as he watched you laugh so innocently in front of him, a light laugh eliciting from his own lips.

Your giggles died down slowly as your bright smile faltered as you gazed up at the night sky, sighing deeply as thoughts rushed through your brain. “I can’t believe this is actually our last year of highschool,” you sighed, tucking your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs as you leaned your chin on your knees.

“Yeah,” Jaemin sighed, a frown now forming on his lips as he followed your actions and gazed up at the cloudy sky. “In a couple of months, we’ll be off to college and having more responsibilities laid out on us,” he added with a heavy heart, biting down on the stick of his lollipop to hold himself back from engulfing you in a tight embrace.

“God, it’s so weird. It felt like I just turned fourteen yesterday, you know?” you turned to look at Jaemin with a sad smile, who nodded quietly in agreement. “Time flies so fast,” he mumbled in response, his heart feeling heavy by every word. He was too caught up in his own problems to realise how his school year was coming to an end.

And honestly, Jaemin felt as if he was taking one step further away from you with each passing second. He knew if he couldn’t get you back in his life by graduation, then he would live on not knowing what to do for the rest of his life. He truly didn’t want that, he didn’t want to go to college without you standing by his side.

“Remember when we were still 15? We dreamt about all the things we wanted to do when we get to college?” he asked, wandering his gaze down from the sky to the soles of his sneakers. “I do.” Jaemin turned to see you looking back at him with a sorrowful expression that mirrored his own. “We wanted to go to apply for the same jobs, the same college, live in the same flat. Everything,” you added on with a small smile. “It’s been so long since we had deep conversations like this,” you chuckled.

It pained both of you to know how you two were getting further and further away from each others’ grasps as time went on. How life couldn’t just stop for a split second to let you two catch up, to let you two talk it out. To let you learn how to let things go and forgive him. But you both knew that was close to impossible. Life was getting into the way of fixing your relationship.

“It’s been so long since we had a long conversation in general, actually,” he chuckled, causing you to giggle, nodding in defeat. “You got me there,” you chuckled, feeling your heart clench slightly at his words before letting out an exasperated sigh, eyes looking back up at the sky.

“God, I just can’t believe it. Soon, we’re going to have jobs, study whatever for college, go out of town and live all on our own. Go down our own separate ways in life. Is this what growing up feels like? If only I could go back to when I was still in elementary school, really. Life was way simpler back then,” you rambled on, your tone getting quieter and quieter till Jaemin could barely hear you speak.

“I’d give anything to be fourteen again,” you sighed, leaning back against the chair with your arms outstretched beside you, closing your eyes to bask in the comforting atmosphere. Jaemin stared at your content expression, his lips parted ever so slightly as he tried to find the words to say next. “Who said we have to go our separate ways, though?” Jaemin asked in an almost inaudible tone after a pregnant pause.

You hummed in response, opening your eyes slowly to look back at the starry sky. “What did you say?” you murmured, fearing that you misheard him, your heartbeat beginning to pick up its pace. Jaemin took a moment to take a deep breath, mustering up the courage to repeat his words as his heart raced in his ears. “What if..” he gulped, his voice trailing off.

He turned to lean closer to your chair, watching as your eyes widened slightly at the sudden proximity. “What if I don’t want us to go our separate ways?” he asked in a brave tone, his eyes filled with determination and nervousness. You furrowed your brows, your pupils scanned his own as you sat up from your relaxed position, scooting back a little to give you both some space.

“What do you mean by that exactly?” you asked, cocking your head to the side in confusion.

He gulped, feeling his palms getting sweaty as his heart beats rapidly against his chest. “What if I still want to do the things we wanted to do back when we were 14?” he blurted out, pulling out the lollipop from his mouth and placing it in his red cup. “What if I still do want us to live together in the same flat? Go to the same college?” he rambled, catching you off guard with how bold he sounded.

“Jaemin, what? You know very well we-”

“We what? We stopped talking, so? We can start over and we can rekindle our friendship, right? Come on, we’ve been through thick and thin,” he leaned closer to you, causing your throat to run dry. “Jaemin, you’re getting a little too cl-” you stammered before Jaemin cut you off briefly. “Y/n, we’re soulmates, right?” he whispered, his face coming dangerously close to yours. You tensed up at the word, putting a hand on his chest to try to gently push him away, but for some reason you couldn’t.

You didn’t want to.

Something inside of you didn’t want you to push him away. Both of your eyes were locked in a trance when you felt Jaemin leaning closer and closer towards you, his head leaning to the side as you felt his breath hit your face gently, one of his hands coming up to lay on your knee for support. Your heart beating erratically in your chest, breaths hitched, eyes half-lidded when you felt the soft surface of his lips brush against your own.

Before Jaemin could actually press his lips against yours to kiss you, you felt your heart clenched tightly against your chest. The memory from the night at his house and the dinner party hitting you like a truck, causing you to use all of your might to shove the boy harshly off of you. He grunted in response, his back hitting the table beside his chair.

Your eyes shut tight as words came rushing through your brain, your heart beating fast and aching like hell against your chest, you clutched your left wrist in your palms, trying to ease down the burning sensation against your chest. You leaned your head down, tears pricking your eyes as you let out small whimpers under your breath.

Jaemin’s frantic apologies turned deaf as your thoughts became messy, all you could focus on was the pain in your chest and the flashbacks coursing through your brain. Your vision blurred as tears cascaded down your cheeks, small whimpers turned into small cries. Your thoughts became loud, you wanted to cup your ears in an attempt to shut them out but the pain in your left wrist was too great for you to pull away for even a second.

“I’m sick and tired of being constantly reminded that I’m bound to be soulmates with someone I didn’t choose to love.”

“I’m sick and tired of you constantly forcing me and telling me things just because we have the same stupid mark! You don’t know what it’s like when people tell you how to feel!”

“It’s exhausting to be with someone who’s so whiny and pushy. No matter how many times I fucking turn you down as gently as possible you’re stubborn self couldn’t see how annoying this whole thing is.”

It felt like hell.

“I-I’m so so sorry! I don’t know what came over me, oh god, what have I done? Fuck,” he rambled to himself, panic rising up his body as he apologizes repeatedly, oblivious to how much pain your were in. “God, I shouldn’t have done that. I-I’m so so sorry, I swear I just couldn’t take it anymore. I just- Y/n?” he looked up to see you clutching your wrist against your chest, breathing heavily to stifle your soft cries.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Jaemin asked, his tone becoming worried and more panicked. He could feel his heart shattering into pieces when he saw your frozen state. You were trembling in your seat, your knees tucked against your chest as you held your left wrist protectively against you, small cries and whimpers eliciting from your mouth. “Y/n, hey, I’m so sorry for getting into your personal space like that, I really really am I-”

“Jaemin, I’m sorry,” you whimpered out, taking Jaemin aback. He watched as tears streamed down your face like a leaking tap as you mumbled small (almost inaudible) apologies under your breath. “I’m so so sorry, Jaemin,” you cried out, your voice breaking as sobs came out of your throat. “I didn’t mean to annoy you, I didn’t mean to ruin our friendship, I didn’t mean to do anything bad,” you cried, sniffling back your tears as words echoed in your mind repeatedly like a big cave.

“Anyways, I see you two are still getting along well. Tell me, Y/N, has my son finally accepted your undying love for him?”

“It hurts, it hurts, it really fucking hurts,” your breathing became unsteady as you gripped your wrist tighter, clenching your teeth to keep yourself from crying out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to have a soulmate who loves me back.”

Jaemin froze in his spot, his eyes going wide and red. His own heart was aching and his own tattoo mark started burning against his skin, but it was nothing compared to the pain he was feeling as he watched you break down in front of him. His mind screamed at him to comfort you, to hold you, to remove your pain away, anything to help you. But his body refused to move, he couldn’t move.

Does this always happen behind closed doors? Did you feel this much pain and guilt whenever he wasn’t looking for the past two years? Is this what made Donghyuck and Jeno glare at him with disappointed looks whenever he talked crap behind your back?

He felt sick to his stomach, guilt swallowing him up whole as memories of the warm smile you would always give him whenever he was in your line of vision was almost too painful to look at. Why were you willing to go through so much pain just for him? Just for someone who never treated you in the way you deserved?

It took him all this time to realise that you were constantly putting up a cheerful facade to convince everyone how you were determined to get Jaemin to fall for you, when really, you were just trying to convince yourself. He now realised why you said no to him. It did look pretty ominous for him to just show up two months after completely cutting off contact. God, if he were you, he never would’ve forgiven himself for all this.

It reminded him of the first time he felt his heart ache. How intense the pain was, so intense that he couldn’t even move from his spot. He felt his fingers twitch at his sides when he realised your tattoo mark was burning you. He heard his own heartbeat in his ears as he hesitantly leaned forward to you, his hands reaching out to hold you.

Your heart was ready to burst in your ribcage, you could practically feel burn marks forming against your wrist. Your heart screaming and pleading for the pain to stop but the voices in your head didn’t want to shut up. The voices- no, Jaemin’s voice inside your head was making the pain more unbearable by each passing second.

“I’m sick and tired of you not leaving me alone. I don’t like you like that, and I never fucking will. Get that through your thick skull, y/n.”

“Y/N.” a muffled voice called out.

“I mean it, y/n.”

“Y/N!”

You felt your left wrist being tugged out of your grip, a warm figure leaning close against your own, engulfing you in a tight embrace. You opened your eyes wide, feeling your breath hitch. It took you a second to realise that Jaemin was hugging you as tight as he could, his arm was wrapped around your shaking frame. His head was tucked in the crook of your neck, nuzzling against your skin comfortingly.

His thumb managed to slip into the cuffs of your sweater, softly caressing and soothing the burning pain, running the pad over the burnt skin and your redden tattoo mark. The sweet scent of his cologne hits your senses, calming you down almost instantly. The voices in your head disappeared as if they were shadows and Jaemin was your light in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled weakly, feeling Jaemin pull away slightly. “I’m sorry for annoying you so much back then,” you whispered, basking in the feeling of Jaemin’s gentle hold on your wrist tightening, his arm that was previously around your waist had been retracted to his side. “I know I’m an annoying person in general but I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable all this time, I swear,” you used your free hand to wipe your tears off.

Jaemin smiled softly at you but before he could say anything, the universe decided to break into the comforting silence between you two.

“Y/N!”

You and Jaemin turned with wide eyes to see Renjun had opened the door widely, a worried expression spread across his face. Renjun’s pupils flickered from your teary eyes to Jaemin’s hold on you, his mind immediately going places before blood boils in his veins. “Na Jaemin, what the fuck are you doing to her?” he exclaimed, stomping over to the two of you.

“Renjun, calm down!” Jeno and Hyuck suddenly came into the scene, running with their phones in hand. “Oh shit,” Hyuck cursed, his eyes going wide when he realised they must’ve interrupted something. “What the fuck happened here?” Jeno exclaimed, feeling the tension in the air as they came up to the both of you.

Renjun pulled you off of Jaemin gently, “what were you doing to her?” he glared at the poor boy who gaped at him, not knowing what to respond. “Renjun, I-” you started before Renjun gently pushed you to Jeno and Hyuck’s grip, stumbling at your feet, you felt Jeno grip on your arm to help you stand up straight. Your mind spun as you tried to process what was happening.

“I said, what the fuck were you doing to y/n?!” Renjun grasped Jaemin by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up as he glared down at the younger boy almost menacingly. “We weren’t doing anything,” Jaemin shot back, pushing Renjun’s hands off of him as he stood up from the lounge chair with a deep frown on his lips.

“Really? Then why is she crying, huh? You must’ve done something to her,” Renjun growled, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy, who raised his brows in surprise. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the one who spiked her drink,” he spat, his eyes filled with anger and disgust towards the boy who he once called a friend.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jaemin yelled, his blood boiling at how Renjun could accuse him of doing such a thing. Why the hell would he say something like that? “Jaemin,” Jeno called out in a strict tone, causing the two boys to turn to him. “Y/n’s drink was spiked.”

You and Jaemin’s eyes widened at his words, mouth gaping. “What? But I’m fine,” you said, shaking Jeno’s hold off of your elbow before feeling weak at the knees. “She was fine a while ago?” Jaemin stuttered out, his heart dropping to his stomach when he realised if you didn’t push him away, he would’ve kissed you while you were intoxicated.

“Someone poured in some spiked alcohol while we weren’t looking, I don’t know who but I saw some white stuff in her cup,” Jeno explained, extending his hand to help you get up as you leaned against Hyuck. You felt dizzy, nauseous and hazy. Whatever you were drinking must’ve started kicking in now.

Oh god, why does this have to happen now?

Why now? Why you?

“Y/n, I-” Jaemin took a step closer to you before Renjun tugged him back by the fabric of his jacket. “You’re not going anywhere, you asshole!” he barked, the strong grip he had on his shirt causing Jaemin to stumble back on his feet, almost falling in the process. “Cut it out, Huang, I need to make sure if she’s okay-”

“No you’re not! I saw you try to kiss her, you’re not getting even an inch closer to her, you prick!” Renjun grunted when he shoved Jaemin back when he tried to push through the smaller boy to get to you. “I think we should get you inside to sober up,” Hyuck mumbled to your hazy state, watching you nod ever so slightly as you felt sick to your stomach. Renjun and Jaemin’s argument fell deaf to your ears, everything was spinning, your vision blurred and your mind pounded.

As Hyuck and Jeno dragged you back inside to get you to a quieter environment, Jaemin and Renjun continued to argue. “Fuck off, Huang! I need to check if my soulmate is alright,” Jaemin hissed at the shorter boy, shoving him backwards before turning around to go after you. “You heartless monster!” Renjun called out, causing Jaemin to stop in his tracks.

“How could you call yourself her soulmate after all the things you did? Do you have any idea how much she’s cried over you?!” Renjun gritted his teeth, fists clenched at his sides as he took a few steps closer to Jaemin. Jaemin stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding against his chest as he listened to the other boy’s words clearly.

“Y/n deserves to be happy, you sick bastard! She deserves to actually be happy, even if it means getting you away from her, you should be fucking ashamed of yourself!” Renjun exclaimed, knowing his words finally got through him. He couldn’t take it any longer, he was tired of seeing you cry over Jaemin everyday, he was tired of you putting up with so much pain just to move on from him.

He knew that you were moving on for the sake of Jaemin’s own happiness, not yours. So Jaemin doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable standing next to you, so that Jaemin doesn’t have to put up with anyone saying how he should be more considerate of having a soulmate like you. So you two could stop feeling so bad whenever your friends, your parents, your family would bring up the soulmate topic.

He was tired of seeing Jaemin so selfish all the time. It was time for him to get a taste of his own damn medicine, even if it meant saying what he promised he wouldn’t tell.

“You think I don’t know about that Renjun? You think I don’t know how much pain she’s been through because of me?” Jaemin snapped back, his fists clenched as he trembled, his guilt swallowing him up whole as he continued to speak. “You don’t think I’m tired of her looking at me with a fake smile just to convince me that she didn’t mind me rejecting her all the time? You don’t think I feel bad for her?”

Jaemin turned to face the boy who held a stone cold expression, he walked up to Renjun with a cold glare. “I don’t know if you know but lately, I’ve been trying to compensate for all the things I did in the past two years. I want to make things up so neither of us can be in pain anymore, y/n always wanted a soulmate who would shower her with countless love and affection. She deserves at least that,” Jaemin spat out, his heart screaming at him to let all of his pain out.

“Oh so you’re just doing this just to repent for your sins. You don’t actually like her, huh? That really says alot about you, Na Jaemin,” Renjun crossed his arms with a disappointed shake of his head. Jaemin jerked his head back, eyes wide at his statement, shaking his head vigorously. “No! She’s my best friend, of course I love her!” Jaemin couldn’t stop the words from exiting his mouth.

He never said he loved you before. So why now? Why didn’t he say it when you needed it?

Did he love you? Or was he saying it just to prove a point?

What was wrong with him? How did things become this messy?

“Sure, if you loved her then why the fuck did you do it?” Renjun resisted the urge to punch Jaemin across the face, swallowing down his nervousness as he finally spoke out what needed to be said. He knew you’d probably won’t forgive him if you found out he was the one who spilled this to Jaemin but at this point, if it gets Jaemin to leave you alone so you can live your life in peace, then so be it.

“Do what?” Jaemin asked, his eyes glaring daggers at the boy. “Why the fuck did you have to break her grandmother’s music box, you inconsiderate bastard!?” Renjun yelled out, causing Jaemin to tense up. His eyes going wide at the older boy’s words as silence finally broke between them, the atmosphere becoming thick.

“What are you talking about?” Jaemin managed to blurt out, his blood running cold when he remembered the wooden pieces of your music box hidden in a box underneath his bed. “Remember the music box she gave you at that dinner party? Yeah, that music box was the last gift her grandmother gave her before she passed away,” he hissed, watching as the blood drained from Jaemin’s face.

Jaemin’s heart dropped, his mind went blank as his throat ran dry. “What?” he said, flabbergasted by this new fact. “Yeah, why did you think she made a big deal out of it in the first place, huh? You’re so fucking sick, I can’t believe you didn’t know that. Didn’t you just say she was your best friend?” Renjun raised his fist to hit Jaemin before pausing, watching as how the boy stood in shock, trying to process his own thoughts.

Renjun’s eyes soften at this. After all, Jaemin was one of his closest friends before this whole mess started. When you told Renjun about how Jaemin destroyed the last gift your grandmother gave you, he was beyond livid. He wanted to kick Jaemin to the curb and make him beg for forgiveness but you insisted that he was just probably stressed and he didn’t mean to break it.

But he remembered judging by how broken you looked back then, it was as if you were saying that to reassure yourself rather than him. He remembered how you made him promise not to talk about this to Jaemin. You didn’t know if Jaemin knew about the previous owner of the music box, you doubt that he did. But in case he didn’t, you didn’t want him to feel guilty for it. After all, it did made you come to your senses that you were making him hate you with every step you made.

Renjun sighed, lowering his fist before moving to bump his shoulder harshly against Jaemin’s with a scowl spread across his face. “If you really do love her, then stop hurting her,” he mumbled under his breath before leaving a distressed Jaemin behind in the backyard all by himself.

Jaemin stood there frozen for a couple of minutes, hearing his heart beat getting faster and faster, his ears ringing loudly as his thoughts became messier. Guilt filled his stomach even more with the new information, tears lining his vision as he stared into nothingness. He sat back down on the lounge chair, running a hand through his hair and gripping it tightly.

He tried to keep his breathing stable as he fought the urge to let out a sob, his other hand clutching his knees as tears finally dropped from his eyes. Small water droplets stained his jeans as the hand that was in his hair came down to cover his face, sighing deeply before he lets out a loud-

“FUCK!”

“Y/n?” Jaemin called out, poking his head around the corner to see you sitting on the floor all alone. 15 year old Jaemin just arrived at the hospital with his parents with a bouquet of flowers for your grandmother, who was on her deathbed. It was a long week, especially for you.

Your grandmother was in the terminal stages of cancer. The doctor said she didn’t have much time left so he told your family that it’s best to start saying your goodbyes considering she has less than two months left to live. Jaemin knew how much your grandmother meant to you. After all, she was one of the nicest people he’s ever known.

She loved him and treated him as if he was her own grandson, despite the fact that she firmly believed that you and him were destined to get married. She often told him funny stories, good advice on life and took pictures of the two of you whenever you were together.

The thought of never seeing your grandmother again made his own heart heavy, but he couldn’t imagine the pain you were going through, yourself. Ever since your grandmother was hospitalized, you haven’t been in the best of moods. You always checked your phone in case you got a call from the hospital or in hopes that you got news that your grandmother was getting better.

But of course, you never did. And it killed Jaemin to see that it was killing you from the inside.

When Jaemin arrived at the hospital with his parents to say their own goodbyes, he noticed that you weren’t in the room with the rest of your family. Being the good best friend that he was, he decided to leave the room when no one was looking to try to find you.

You hated the hospital. It’s where a lot of lives are brought in and out of this world. The smell of hand sanitizers and disinfectants were almost too overwhelming as he ventured down the empty white halls. Sooner or later, he found you all crawled up in the corner at the end of an empty hall.

You were sitting down, your legs pushed against your chest, your arms wrapped around your legs as you buried your face into your knees. Jaemin felt small needles piercing his heart when he heard your soft cries echoing the empty room as his eyes wandered to the brightly decorated box placed right beside you.

“Hey, y/n,” he spoke in a soft, almost hushed tone. You let out a small hum, sniffling afterwards as Jaemin took small steps towards you. “How are you holding up?” he asked once again, squatting down in front of your crying figure. “Bad,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you spoke.

Jaemin bit his lip nervously, unsure of what to do to make you feel better. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he whispered, bringing his hands up to his knees as he watched you attempt to keep your cries down so as to not disturb the other patients. He sighed when he saw you shake your head, your hair swishing to the side cutely at the gesture.

He chuckled sadly, nodding slightly before realising that you couldn’t see him. “Really? Not even a drink or a pastry? I promise I’ll pay if you want something from the cafeteria,” he offered once again before earning another shake of your head. “Okay,” he muttered, biting back a small sigh before scooting closer to you.

You heard him move to sit beside you on the floor, copying your position as his legs tucked against his chest, arms wrapping around them as he held the bouquet in his hands. You looked up at him, ignoring the fact that you probably looked like a huge mess with tears and snot dripping down your face. But fortunately for you, Jaemin didn’t seem to mind.

He shot you a sweet comforting smile. “Hey,” he said, watching as you wipe your face with the sleeves of the sweater you were wearing. “You want to talk about it?” he asked rather hesitantly, scooting closer towards you so your shoulders were touching. You sniffed, feeling your eyes get watery again before furiously wiping your tears away, your face scrunched up as you try to keep yourself from screaming out in pain.

You shook your head once again, sobs eliciting from your mouth as you continued to cry. Jaemin nodded, his heart aching even more as he watched you break down in front of him. He felt his hands twitched as he continued to listen to your soft sobs, desperately trying to think of something to make you feel better.

He turned his head to you, his eyes boring into your figure. He kissed his teeth, sucking his lips in for a brief moment before mumbling a small ‘screw it!’ under his breath. He lifted his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders before gently pushing you to lean against him. His hand came up to your head, gesturing you to lay on his shoulder.

You jumped at the sudden contact, turning your head up to look at him with confusion. Eyes widening slightly when you saw that Jaemin was already looking back at you with half lidded eyes, exhaustion glossing over his pupils as he shot you a small smile. You wanted to ask him why he was here? When did he get here? How did he find you? But your heart was aching too much for you to mind it.

You sniffed before leaning your head back down on his shoulder, basking in the comforting silence between you as you continued to cry by his side, letting him stay right beside you. His hand that was on your head was now caressing your hair gently, his head moving to lay on top of yours as he closed his eyes in content.

“She can’t leave yet, Jaemin,” you muttered against the fabric of his shirt. “She can’t leave yet. I want her to see me with my soulmate tattoo on my birthday next year. I want to see how happy she’d be when I tell her I found my soulmate. I want her to tell me stories of how she met grandpa again-” you started sobbing against his shirt, wiping the snot off of your nose.

Jaemin frowned, pulling you tighter against him when he felt your tears soak through the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t mind though, as long as you feel better at the end he was willing to sacrifice all his shirts for your tears.

You both sat there for what felt like hours, eventually falling asleep together side by side on the floor. But sooner or later, one of your aunts found and woke the two of you up, saying how your grandma wanted to talk to Jaemin.

“Jaemin?” you questioned, rubbing the sleep out of your puffy eyes as you stood up with him. “Yeah, she said she had something important to give him,” your aunt nodded, giving the two of you a heavy smile as the three of your walked back to your grandmother’s hospital room. “Something to give me? But why?” he asked, turning to you with a perplexed expression.

You shrugged weakly, patting his shoulder. “I bet it’s to give you a jar of her cookies or something. Maybe to tell you the details of our supposed marriage later on, who knows,” you chuckled, cringing when you heard your voice crack at the end as you tried to hold back a sob.

“I mean, she gave me a goodbye present as well,” you said, gesturing to the bright box in your hand. “What did she give you?” he asked, looking down at the box. You shrugged, “some old stuff Grandpa got her on their first date, I guess,” you bit your lip as you fought the urge to cry again. ‘This really is a goodbye,’ he thought to himself.

Jaemin gulped, feeling his heart ache at the thought of never eating your grandmother’s special cookies after this. A lump gathered in his throat when he realised he won’t get to visit your grandmother after this.

No more playing around and listening to her life stories. No more eating her famous peanut butter cookies whenever he visits her home. No more getting your picture taken during the most random of moments and angles.

Jaemin bit his lip before knocking on the door, opening it with the other to poke his head in the room to see your grandmother talking to his teary-eyed parents. He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when he saw your grandmother on her deathbed. Her skin almost pale as snow, body laying weakly on the white hospital bed as the heart monitor beeped so eerily every second.

“There he is!” your grandmother exclaimed, lifting her hands up with such enthusiasm that you could hardly believe that she was on the brink of life and death. “Jaeminie! How are you, my lovely boy! My my, you’ve grown so big! It’s been- what? Three months since I saw you?”

It was at that moment, Jaemin realised how much you resemble your grandmother. How you both managed to bring light and laughter even at the hardest times, even when you weren’t in the best condition. He shook his head out of his thoughts before his mind could wander to places he didn’t want to go.

“Hi, grandma,” he let out a forced smile, trying to ease the tension as he avoided his parent’s sadden expression. “So you said you wanted to talk to me?” he asked as he came up closer to her, sitting on the empty chair beside his parents, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as he gulped silently.

She hummed and nodded, reaching over to the box placed on the table beside her bed, letting out a soft grunt. “Indeed. But before that, let me give you some presents first! I am not going to throw away the tradition of me giving random gifts to my grandbabies whenever I see them whether I’m sick or not,” she said, placing the brightly decorated box on Jaemin’s lap.

Jaemin felt his chest ache at the thought of your grandmother thinking of him as her own grandchild despite only being your childhood best friend. “You really didn’t have to,” he sighed, shaking his head up at her with a sad smile. “Oh nonsense! You’re part of the family, you deserve a gift as well before I go!”

Jaemin couldn’t figure out for the life of him how she could act so casually when everyone around her is mourning and sorrowful. After all, she wasn’t going to stay in this world for much longer, how was she so cheerful in front of so many people?

“Now, don’t give me that look! Go on! Open it! I’d like to take one last picture of my future grandson-in-law when he opens my last gift to him!” she gingerly reached over to the camera beside her frame. He chuckled slightly, pulling on the ribbon wrapped around the box ever so gently, pulling the lid off of the box before his jaw dropped and his eyes went wide.

There was a camera flash, signalling that your grandmother had taken a picture of his reaction.

She laughed, “you’re always so dramatic, son.”

Inside the box was a thick photo book that appeared to be made by hand. The pages were sewn together with brown thread and the hardcover of the book had a picture of you and Jaemin on the day you first met when you two were merely toddlers. “I-Is this?” he stammered, he couldn’t find the words to express how he felt at that moment.

“Yep, a big photo book filled with all the pictures I took of the two of you ever since you two were still babies. I got your parents to send me a few pictures to complete the whole book, though,” she explained as she examined the result of the photo she took. Jaemin took the photo book out of the box, opening it gently with his hands in awe.

He felt a smile spread across his cheeks when he flipped through the pages as memories came flooding through his thoughts. “I see you like my gift,” your grandmother smirked, crossing her arms. He looked up from the book, nodding before closing the book and placing it gently back into the box. “Of course! I love all of your gifts, grandma!” he smiled.

“That’s good to hear,” she nodded with a heavy sigh before her expression grew dark slightly. “Jaemin. I don’t know if you know but my condition isn’t getting any better,” she started, her tone growing more serious and strict, her hands gripping on the white blanket draped over her lap. “This might be the last time I see you,” she sighed.

“And I just want you to know. Even if something happens to me. Even if you and y/n have some kind of an argument. Even if the two of you don’t end up being soulmates like I always hope you would. Please look after Y/n.”

Jaemin felt his heart stop at the mention of you, gulping nervously. “You know Y/n yourself. You know how clumsy she is and how she puts others before herself. Therefore I’m trusting you, young man, to look after my granddaughter no matter what happens. Okay?” she stared at Jaemin so intensely, a sad smile forming on her lips as her cheerful demeanor faltered.

Jaemin gulped, nodding in determination as he gripped the box tightly in his hands before taking a deep breath.

“Okay.”

“Y/n!” Jaemin called out.

You turned to see Jaemin running up to you with wide eyes. You felt your heart race at the sight of him, eyes widening as you quickly shove your book into your locker. You slammed your locker shut before sprinting away, slinging your bag over your shoulder with your Biology textbook in hand.

“Y/n, wait! We need to talk!” he exclaimed, chasing after you down the halls, avoiding the eyes and whispers around you. “Shit, where’s Renjun when I need him?” you muttered to yourself as you turned around the corner, almost slipping across the wet floor in the process.

Unfortunately for you, Renjun had a meeting with the principal regarding the art club, leaving you all alone for the next half an hour. You found yourself running towards the entrance of the library, earning a distant ‘no running in the library!’ from the old librarian as you sprinted to the novel section.

You panted when you looked back, watching the entrance of the library with the corner of your eyes. You saw Jaemin burst through the door, earning a soft scolding a second later. You watched him take heavy breaths as he came up to the librarian with a worried expression, you assumed he was probably asking if she saw you coming here.

You leaned against the bookshelf, letting out a small sigh, rubbing your temples in distress. It’s been two days since the whole incident at the party. Despite being intoxicated, you remembered the events that happened clear as day. You remembered taking a sip of what was supposed to be cola, you remembered how addicting it tasted at that moment that you couldn’t help but drink more.

You remembered playing beer pong with Jeno and his friends. You remembered seeing Jaemin in Hyunjin’s backyard with his usual charming smile stretched across his face. The beautiful night sky with stars scattered all over. The close proximity between you as well as Jaemin’s fresh cologne filling your senses.

The exhilarating feeling that is being touched by your soulmate. The feeling of your hearts combining. How your breath hitched when Jaemin’s lips grazed your own, how your heartbeat was so fast you thought it was about to explode. How you never wanted the feeling to end.

How the universe tore the two of you apart in a second.

You remembered the flashbacks that occurred to you that night, how you shoved Jaemin away. The feeling of your heart being crushed to pieces over and over again, the excruciating pain in your left wrist. You couldn’t remember how it stopped though. You did remember the feeling of Jaemin embracing you to help comfort you.

You remembered his hair tickling your neck, his padded thumb caressing your left wrist. How your heart soared at his soft touch, the way he held you against him as if you were as fragile as a rare jewel he found in a deep cave. Your head ached at the thought of it. It was too good to be true.

‘He was probably being nice,’ you thought to yourself bitterly, closing your eyes for a brief moment before shooting them open at the sudden tight grip on your shoulder. “Y/n, we really need to talk,” Jaemin spoke from behind you, causing you to push his hand away harshly. “What is there to talk about exactly, Jaemin?” you asked, feeling your figure tense up at the sight of him.

“You know very well what,” he furrowed his brows, grabbing your hand to keep you from going anywhere. You gulped, knowing Jaemin wasn’t going to leave you alone until you talked. “What?” you sighed, rubbing your face with your free hand, letting Jaemin hold the other in his as you ignored the heart lightening feeling that it brought.

Jaemin inhaled deeply. closing his eyes for a brief moment before opening them to look at his tight grip on your hand. “Why didn’t you tell me that the music box you gave me was the gift your grandmother gave you before-”

“How did you know about that, Jaemin?” you gasped, eyes blowing wide. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He ignored your question, looking up at you with such sadness in his eyes that you could feel your own heart ache at the sight. You frowned, attempting to tug your hand out of his hold.

“Jaemin let go,” you mumbled. “No, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you give me such an important thing anyway? Why would you give away something so special and valuable? I don’t understand, I’m just-” he rambled on, his grip getting tighter on your hand.

“Let go, Jaemin!”

“No, tell me why!”

“You really want to know?” you frowned, pulling your hand out of his so harshly it took Jaemin aback at the sudden force. You clenched your fists by your side, feeling your heart ache again. “You really want to know, Na Jaemin?” you spat watching as Jaemin gulped in front of you. “God,” you bit your lip, leaning your head up when you feel your eyes begin to water.

“I know this might be a shitty reason but before that dinner party, I was already on the brink of breaking and leaving you be. I was tired of feeling like shit all the time, I was tired of seeing the both of us unhappy all the time whenever I stood beside you,” you raised your forearm over your eyes, furiously wiping your tears away.

“I just figured,” you paused, swallowing down a sob when you realized the heartache you endured for the past two years was finally catching up to you. “If my soulmate can’t make me happy like the stories Grandma told me. Then maybe-at least I thought,” you sniffed your tears back, pulling your arm down to lay by your side almost lifelessly.

“I thought, if I made him happy, then we both can be happy together. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to feel upset anymore. But it didn’t work and I honestly don’t see a reason to keep doing it if it’s going to make you even more unhappy,” you whimpered, wiping your tears away before walking away from a hurt Jaemin behind at the novel section of the library.

Jaemin felt his own heart ache at your words, clenching his fists when he felt the familiar stinging sensation against the skin of his left wrist. Realising how fucked up the situation became with every step he takes, realising how he didn’t know what to do to heal the both of you. To make the two of you go back to when things were normal.

He realised he heard you call out his name desperately too many times, and yet, he didn’t care. Now that you stopped calling his name, he has no one else to turn to other than the hollow shell of your old self. But he knew he wouldn’t let you go when you were finally willing to walk away from him.

“I-Is it really too late for me?” he mumbled quietly to himself before a tear trickled down his cheek.

T A G L I S T : @candiednickles @itlittlefangirl @cherrym4rk @gotoartistprofile @d-nghyck @kingjvngins @aconeptun @chaeshii @lixseu @morks-watermelon @12am-musings @cherrystay @lowkeyviv @btm-taeyong @gothmingguk @luvlyjaemin @cowward @smileyyuta @cakelyn @uncovermenow666 @comically-sleep-deprived @wtfhaechan @xcherrybbyx @wishing–butterfly @wordsgodeep @seeing-dreams @sweetmoonlight9 @chwenchew @stuckwithhyuck

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btsslowburnfic · 4 years ago

Text

The Arrangement Ch 12

Series Summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi.

Chapter Summary: Work work and meeting the lead Fashion designer at BigHit Previous Chapter here You arrived back at 1802 and put away the groceries. True to his word, Yoongi had let you carry all the bags back while he stuffed his cold hands deep into his coat.

“What’s tomorrow’s schedule look like?” He asked, collapsing down onto the couch.

You took out your phone. “You have a meeting with Adora at 10 am. It looks like the conference room on the 24th floor has already been reserved by Jiwoo. Other than that, not much. You have your afternoon blocked out.”

“Cool.” He scrolled through his phone.

You walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out your leftovers. “Do you want anything while I’m in here?” You asked.

“No. I don’t eat a lot.” He responded.

You put your food on a plate and positioned yourself at the barstool. “Do you know the person who is retiring on Saturday?” You asked right before taking a bite of your food.

“Just casually. He’s been here forever. He was BPD’s assistant for a long time and then took a less intense position these past couple of years. I think he works in the gallery as a docent.”

“There’s a gallery? Jesus, this building has everything.” You said amazed.

“It has a lot. I haven’t been. They change the exhibits every few months.”

You took your phone out and researched the gallery a bit. How interesting. You added your meeting with Jimin to your calendar and added a few other personal items for next week.

You got up and rinsed your plate and then set the coffee maker for the morning. “Alright dude, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the groceries.”

He looked up from his phone. “You’re already going to bed? I thought you were a night owl?”

You shrugged. “ I think I’m making up for years of sleep deprivation honestly. I’m sure I’ll be back to it in no time. Plus you know, mild panic attack earlier.”

“Ah right. Sorry about that again. Good night,” He said.

You gave a small smile and realized about halfway down the hallway that your heart was racing. Hey. Calm down. You’re the one in charge here.

Yoongi got up from the couch. He wouldn’t be tired for hours. He would normally go back to the studio, but after your confession earlier he didn’t want to leave you alone in case Jin’s crazy girlfriend was still around and going to start screaming again. He sighed and went up to the loft area, pulling out his laptop. He could work some from here he supposed.

----------

You woke up and threw on your robe. Shuffling out to the kitchen you saw that coffee was missing from the pot, indicating that Yoongi had already started his day. You grabbed a mug and headed back to your room to get ready.

When you arrived at your desk you were pleasantly surprised to see some stationary had been left on your desk, as well as a small plant. Huh, cute. You sat down and answered the usual round of emails, confirmed events, and made a list of things you would need to check with Yoongi before answering.

Y/N: Hey! I have some questions I need to ask you before I answer some emails. Are you available? Also do you need me to attend the 10am with you?

Y: come in.

You smiled and walked around the corner to the studio. You tried to turn the handle and it was locked. You smirked and keyed in the code.

"Good morning," you said, closing the door behind you.

"Did you sleep OK?" he asked, not turning around from the computer monitors.

"I did. Thanks. I didn't bring coffee, would you like me to go grab some?"

"No, it’s fine." He responded.

You walked closer and perched yourself on the edge of the couch closest to him. You sat down your pen and paper. He was clearly in the middle of something.

He pushed a few more buttons on the console and hit play, a beat suddenly filled the studio. It sounded good to you, but all you knew about music was that you liked to dance to it. You watched as he listened to it with his entire body. He hit stop.

"Ugh… It's still not right. Fuck." he slid his hands down his jeans

"I can come back later if it's better for you. I didn't want to interrupt."

He spun around in the chair. "No. You're fine. What did you need to ask me?"

“Namjoon sent a list of artists who have expressed an interest in collaborating with you. He wants you to pick your top 3. Here," you handed him the list.

Yoongi took the paper and looked over it boredly. So many people were just interested in collaboration for their own sake; using him to get their music recognized. People always fucking using him. He could feel himself starting to get angry and took a deep breath.

"Hey. We can do this later, ok? What do you need from me for your meeting? Anything?" You could tell this was bothering him but had no idea why.

Yoongi looked up at you. Weren't you also using him? For the money? The idea flashed across his mind for a moment before he told himself to shut up.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Here. " He got a pen and circled 3.

You took the paper back. "Oooo Post Malone? That would be sick. I actually haven't really listened to your music yet," you mused as you looked at the other two artists he had circled.

Yoongi felt himself relaxing more as you began to talk. "No?" he made a tch sound, "You'll have to listen sometime."

"Oh yeah?” Your eyes flicked back up to him. “Make me a mixtape. Your ‘best of’."

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like he was in middle school. "You want me to make you a mixtape?"

"Yep." You smiled. "OK. Your meeting with Adora is in fifteen minutes. What do you need?"

He thought for a few seconds. "I just need my laptop and some headphones. You don't need to come, she and I will just be listening to music. If we end up back down here I'll let you know." Yoongi got up to start collecting his things.

"Alright. Sounds good. I'll see you later." You let yourself out and emailed Namjoon Yoongi's choices. You watched as he walked past you to the elevators.

Yoongi tried to make sure he didn't look at you as he walked past. He didn't want to seem like a creep. But last night, the more he thought about what you had told him, the more upset he got about it. While his family wasn't supportive of his goals, theirs was from a place of concern. And they were never violent or even the type to yell.

Yoongi knew there was nothing he could have done. He didn't even live in the same city as you growing up. He didn't know you when you guys were kids. But he found himself wishing he did. That there could have been a way for him to have protected you from that. He sighed, remembering that this morning the first thing he thought about was you, and if you were safe. What was happening to him? He got on the elevator and headed on up to his meeting.

You responded to Jiwoo's email regarding personalized stationery. You had selected your initials with the Genius Lab logo in the bottom. The sample version you designed made you feel proud. You had asked if Yoongi also had stationary and he did not. So you ordered some for him as well.

Before you knew it, your stomach was growling. As though your mind was being read your phone pinged.

J: There's Food trucks out front. Let's goooo!

YN: what kind?

JK: I'm stuck at a shoot, grab me something and bring it to the 11th floor and I'll love you forever

YN: Is this a group chat?

J: welcooooome. Meet me in the lobby!

YN: Ok.

You took the elevator down and saw Jimin’s beautiful blonde locks from across the lobby.

"Happy Friday, gorgeous!" he greeted you. "On Fridays food trucks sometimes park along this street." He explained, gesturing through the glass windows to several food trucks waiting.

"Oh my God. Is that a crepe truck?" you asked.

"Yep. Let's get a few different things and share. V just texted and he's saving us a seat in the cafeteria."

All of a sudden you wanted to cry. You had friends that texted you and wanted to eat with you? This was too good to be true. What was the catch? You found yourself wondering.

"Hey. YN. Are you ok? Here, we can use the company card if you're worried since you just started here." Jimin tried to guess what might be bothering you.

"What?" you asked, confused for a minute. "No. I'm sorry. I'm just so happy you guys included me, I was frozen with happiness."

Jimin laughed. "You are too cute. I don't know why Namjoon thinks you're secretly a dominatrix". He walked over towards the exit.

"Wait what? Your boss called me that?" you chased after him.

Jimin kept laughing "No no. Just how he's glad someone's finally whipping Yoongi into shape. I added the dominatrix part." The two of you lined up for crepes.

You felt a little annoyed. You weren’t making Yoongi do anything. "Pshhh, whatever. I'm just nice to him. I ask him nicely to do things and he does them if he wants to."

"Sure, sure." Jimin teased. "Hey let's split up so we can get food twice as fast."

"Sounds good," you agreed.

You felt your phone vibrate and you took it out.

Y: Hey. Still in the meeting. We won't be breaking for lunch and I don't want you to wait on me. Not that you would. But just in case.

Aww how nice of him.

YN:OK, thanks! Make sure to eat something this afternoon. You didn't eat dinner last night.

Y: k

You ordered several crepes and waited for Jimin to meet you back by the lobby entrance. He had gone to a kimchi truck , ordering many different food items as well. You made your way to the 3rd floor, home to the cafeteria and gym. It seemed so evil to have these two on the same floor you thought.

You guys walked in with Jimin looking around for V. Having found him, the two of you walked over. He already had a sizeable amount of food on the table.

“Hey guys.” He smiled, reaching out to take some of the food from your hands.

“This one is for Yoongi,” You said as you sat down and placed one of the containers next to you, away from the center.

“That’s so sweet of you.” V said.

“It’s nothing. Oh, aren’t you supposed to take food to your other friend?” You asked Jimin who had just returned from grabbing napkins and chopsticks.

“Yeah, he’s still in the shoot. We’ll just take him a few bites from each dish. You haven’t met Jungkook yet have you?”

The three of you started divvying up food onto bowls and plates. “No. I’ve seen pictures of him in magazines and stuff, but I haven’t had the honor yet.”

“He’s a good kid.” V said.

“He’s a grown ass man.” Jimin retorted.

V rolled his eyes. “The point remains. He’s coming to the party on Saturday so I’m sure you’ll meet him then.”

Silence filled the table as you all started to shovel food into your faces.

“So what dorm did they put you in?” Jimin asked through bites of food.

Shit. You did not want to tell them that you were living with Yoongi. For so many reasons. But you didn’t want to lie to your new friends.

“I’m in a private room. I think since Yoongi keeps unconventional hours they wanted me to not bother the other girls.” You said and then stuffed a crepe into your mouth.

“That makes sense. A lot of the models are also in private smaller apartments too since we have to fly in and out of the country at strange hours,” V said. “Jimin and I live across the hall from each other on the 20th floor.”

“That’s how we became such good friends. We kept running into each other on the way to the gym and cafe. It was…” Jimin took a deep breath and dramatically paused, “DESTINY.” He reached out his hand. V laughed and the linked pinkies for a split second.

“Alright, I have to get back to work. I’ll see you later Jimin. See you tomorrow Y/N.” Tae said as he gathered up some of this trash and stood up.

“Later.” You waved.

Jimin packed up the rest of the food and some utensils to deliver to JK. “Alright, let’s go deliver some lunches.”

The two of you exited the cafeteria. “Ugh. Why is the gym next to the cafeteria.” You lamented once more.

“I know. In the morning they make bread and it’s all I can smell when I work out. I hate it.” Jimin stepped onto the elevator with you following. “What did you get Yoongi?”

“Kimchi crepe. I had one as well. It was good. If he doesn’t want it, I’ll eat it.”

The elevator arrived at the 11th floor. “Alright babe, see you in a little while.”

“Thanks again for the lunch invite.” You smiled as the doors closed. You sighed and took out your phone.

YN: I grabbed you some food from the food trucks. I’m getting ready to put it in the break room unless you want it somewhere else. I have a 2pm meeting but will be available by text.

You dropped the food off and stopped by your desk. You answered more emails and soon it was almost time to go meet Jimin again. You went back to the apartment and changed into leggings and a tank top. You threw a sweater on over it and headed down to the 6th floor.

The first thing you noticed about the 6th floor looked like a rainbow vomited all over it. The colors were all over the place, you looked around for Jimin and not seeing him you sat down on a large orange sofa under a large graffiti-style painting that said JHOPE FASHION.

You heard the clack of heels a few seconds later.

"Yoongi's assistant! " A voice happily shouted, belonging to the man who had escorted you to your apartment a few nights ago. Today he was dressed in an immaculate pinstripe suit that looked normal, save for the psychedelic dress shirt poking out from under his jacket and the lime green socks you could barely see.

You stood up, "Hey. Nice to see you again."

"I'm so sorry. I forgot your name." He said.

"Ah. Same actually. I'm YN."

" Hoseok. Jimin is running a bit late but he told me you would be stopping by Come along." he quickly turned and headed down the bright hallway.

You followed him down the kaleidoscope-inspired hallway and entered a bright open room. There were several other people in there. The room was lined with mirrors and pedestals. People who you could only assume were models were having alterations done.

You followed Hoseok over to one of the empty pedestals where he stopped to turn and look at you.

"Alright, do you have other clothes? Because I can not see your figure with that sweater on." He got straight to the point.

"Oh. Yes of course." You awkwardly removed your garment. He took the sweater from you and sat it on a small purple chair.

"Stand." He gestured to a small pedestal and offered you his hand

You climbed up on the raised platform while Hoseok studied your body. It felt invasive and awkward, but at the same time, normal because everyone else in the room was having the same thing done. You felt almost like a model for a few seconds.

"Hey girl. You're getting the full JHope experience today I see." You heard a familiar voice. You turned your head and saw Jimin walking over holding some Boba tea.

He handed one to Hoseok. He looked up at you, "Sorry. No drinks near the merch."

"She's not getting the full JHope experience, I would never do that with Yoongi's assistant." Hoseok teased Jimin. You weren't quite sure what he was talking about, but you could take a guess.

He continued his lap around you, eyeing you predatorily. He paused for a moment, staring at your backside more intently.

" Hey, get away from my ass." You scolded. Jimin lost his shit and started cackling.

Suddenly very serious, Hoseok remarked, "I have to figure out which cut of jeans will look the best in that ass so I'm going to look at it. If you want me to style you, you have to be prepared, Y/N."

"Sorry, he's a little intense. But he also just said he's not going to try to sleep with you, so your ass is safe." Jimin said, having regained some of his composure.

You scowled. "Oh yea? Is that what the full experience is?"

"You two need to quiet yourselves." Hoseok was back to looking at you.

You blinked for a second, suddenly putting two and two together.

"You're THE JHope of JHOPE fashion house."

Hosoek’s eyes flicked up to you. "One and the same."

JHope fashion was known for its mixture of traditional clothing with bold and colorful patterns.

"Well then, please sir. Look at my ass." You teased.

To your surprise, he started to laugh and clapped his hands. "You are funny. OK. Step down. You and Soojin are about the same body type. Let me pull her wardrobe and see what we have." He walked back towards a bright green door and disappeared behind it.

Jimin smiled while looking around the room. “So. What do you think?”

“I feel like I’m in a Kdrama to be honest.” You responded. “Small town girl moves to big city. Boy feels bad for her and gives her clothes. Girl begins new life. You know the genre.”

“Haha yeah. Are you from a small town?”

“No. I’m from Busan and I’ve lived in Seoul for the past 7 years.”

Hoseok walked out the door carrying a few clothing items. “Here. I don’t have time to do alterations or anything but take these home and try them on. There are samples of different styles of clothes: jeans, different styles of skirts and dresses, shirts, jackets. For Saturday try on some of the printed dresses. It’s a barbecue restaurant so if you spill sauce you want it to be on a pattern so it blends in better and doesn’t stand out.”

“Ok, thanks.” you stepped down and took the hangers from him. “When should I return these by?”

“These are marked as trash. So if they don’t fit you, you can donate them. If they fit you, keep them.”

“Really?” You asked, still in disbelief. “Like. For free. Just take these?”

“Yep.” Hoeseok said. “Just don’t go around telling everyone in the building. We get a tax write off for defects so we can’t have all of the clothing walking off. This is because Jimin said you’re cool.”

You looked over at Jimin who was blushing slightly. “Thanks Jimin.”

“It’s nothing. Hey, do you have my clothes ready?” He asked, seeming to remember that he also came here for something.

“No. JK’s shoot went over. He’s been working out too much and he busted out of one of his shirts. We had to remake one on the fly and it took my free time. I’ll bring it by tonight.”

Your eyes bugged out slightly and you tried to not imagine the model who you had only seen photos of busting out of a shirt. It didn’t work though.

“You're so lucky.” Jimin pouted.

“I was too busy being annoyed to appreciate his physique.” Hoseok retorted. “Anyways, I need to get back to work. I’ll see you two tomorrow. Now shoo.” He gestured over to the door.

You grabbed your sweater off the chair and headed back towards the elevators with your new stash in tow. Next stop: your closet. NEXT CHAPTER @lidda @anpanman-sonyeondan @firefairy1 @cuteipat @sugaslittlekookies @janeelizabeth1216 @deeepvibes @gxldenhunny

#suga x you #yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader #bts suga x you #suga x reader #bts fic #bts writing #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #suga x y/n #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader

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good-things-do-happen-dean · 4 years ago

Note

I am actually terrible at prompts but for you I will try: Dean and Cas teach at the same school but no one knows they’re married because Cas was just hired a few months ago, and they don’t want people to think that’s the only reason he got the job; cue Benny incessantly flirting with Cas and trying to ask him out until Dean is forced to step in. The ending is up to you (;

[casually writes this one hundred years later] i love this prompt so much em, thank you for sending it 💖also, it’s me, so i think you can probably guess where the ending goes hahaha enjoy!!!

sweet like honey, sweet like molasses

“Mornin’, sunshine,” somebody drawls across the teachers’ lounge.

Dean doesn’t look up from the copier, until he hears Cas say “Good morning, Benny,” back to the somebody, and he nearly puts a crick in his neck from looking up so quickly because what the hell, that’s Dean’s line.

The somebody in question, Benny, apparently, is leaning back against the counter with the coffee maker, sipping from a steaming mug that says “Mornings suck” in red over a cartoon vampire. He’s a big guy, or, maybe he’s not actually. He’s shorter than Cas, but broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a neatly trimmed beard and bright blue eyes.

Dean turns his ring around his finger with his thumb, looking back at the growing stack of copies without really seeing them. They chat about Benny’s AP class maybe coming by the library next week to review research strategies for their upcoming project. Benny says something that makes Cas laugh, rich and low. And Dean finds he suddenly needs a fresh cup.

“Hey there,” he says, squeezing between Cas and Benny to get to the coffee pot. “Morning, Cas.” He doesn’t miss Cas rolling his eyes at him ever so briefly. “Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” he says to Benny, reaching out a hand. “I’m Dean Winchester, ninth and tenth grade English.”

Benny grins, and it spreads across his face all slow like honey, or molasses maybe, with that accent. Okay, Dean decides. Fine, he’s hot. Whatever.

“Benjamin Lafitte,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand. “But you can call me Benny. I’m the new Miss Kline while she’s on maternity leave.”

“I see you’ve met Mr. Novak, here,” Dean says, clapping Cas on the shoulder.

“Practically the first thing I did when I was hired.” Benny winks at Cas across Dean, who gives Cas’s shoulder a little squeeze. Only because he’s friendly, and definitely not because he’s possessive or jealous of this guy. Also definitely not to show off the simple silver band on his ring finger that wouldn’t mean anything to Benny anyway.

That’s the plan, after all, to keep their marriage private at school. They live out of the district, so it’s unlikely they’ll run into any students in line at the grocery store or the movie theater. Same for coworkers.

As far as almost everyone knows, the Winchester-Novaks are just Mr. Winchester and Mr. Novak, work friends who hit it off pretty much immediately after Mr. Novak was hired. They get to work at the same time, but they drive separately.They have lunch together, but they eat in the teacher’s lounge instead of in Cas’s tiny office at the back of the library. Dean normally stops by the library at the end of his planning during fourth period, but that’s because he teaches English and the library is, well, where the books are. It’s not because he’s a sap who misses his husband an hour and a half after they’ve just eaten lunch together. Or, okay, it is that, but nobody else knows it.

“Would you look at the time,” Dean says at the sound of the first bell. He rinses out his mug, setting it upside down in the drying rack, before heading to the door. “Gotta beat the thundering hordes to the stairs.”

“Actually,” Benny says, “I’ve got planning first period. Mind if I swing by to pick your brain about that project, Cas?”

Dean turns to stare daggers into Benny’s broad back with one hand on the doorknob. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Cas, of course he does, but there’s something about this Benny character that rubs him the wrong way.

“Dean?” Cas calls after him, just like he would at home from the garden or the kitchen to where Dean is working in the garage. Dean very nearly says, yeah, babe? but he catches himself just in time. “Your copies.”

Right.

***

Things continue on like that. Benny starts showing up at the same time as them, somehow casually overtaking them so he can hold the door open. He joins them in the teacher’s lounge before school for a cup of coffee and a chat. He sits with them at lunch. He pops his head into the library at the end of the day (when Dean is there during his planning) with a cheery “see ya tomorrow!” and a wink.

Benny asks them about places to go in town. Which coffee shop has the best cold brew, which one has the best atmosphere for getting work done, which one attracts the least students. Where’s the nearest place to fish, or would it be better to drive farther up the highway. What’s the deal with the weird owner of that bookstore on Main.

In the evenings, when Cas and Dean are stretched out on the couch, Cas with his legs draped over Dean’s lap while he reads, Dean using said legs as a slightly lopsided table to grade on., they talk about it, a little.

“He’s harmless,” Cas says. “And besides,” he folds himself up to sitting and presses a kiss to Dean’s temple. “I love you.”

Dean’s ninth graders may or may not get their essays back a day late after one such evening when the stack of papers he’s working on are unceremoniously dropped on the floor, and Dean hauls Cas up and fully into his lap for a while before they fall asleep curled together on the couch.

Soon enough, Dean even starts to maybe like the guy. A little. Not that they’re friends, or anything, but he doesn’t mind Benny so much, doesn’t mind the three of them being the three of them so much. Sure, he doesn’t love Benny staring at Cas over his mug like he hung the moon, or the gifts he starts bringing (“Made it outta that Metatron guy’s bookstore alive. Have you read this? I think you’d like it,” one day, a hearty loaf of homemade bread the next week), but it’s fine. They get along despite the shameless flirting.

Until all of a sudden, it’s been four and a half months and Miss Kline is due back next week. They’re sitting in the teacher’s lounge before school on a Friday at their usual table. Charlie, the computer skills teacher, Dean’s work wife, and the only person on staff besides Principal Singer who knows the truth, just popped in to show them pictures of the baby, little Jack, with his tuft of blond hair sticking straight up and his chubby cheeks.

“Well,” Benny says, leaning back in his chair. “End of the road.”

“We’ll miss you,” Cas says sincerely, reaching across the table to pat his arm.

“Don’t suppose,” Benny starts, looking right at Cas. “You’d wanna get a drink?”

“Okay,” Dean says because he’s finally had enough of this guy. “Look, dude, he’s taken.”

Benny looks at him and cocks his head like he doesn’t understand.

“A ring, I mean, come on, Cas is wearing a ring. A wedding ring.” Dean knows he’s almost definitely getting too loud because Cas’s other hand squeezes his thigh.

“Dean,” Cas says.

“And another thing -” Dean starts, but then he’s the one who doesn’t understand because Benny’s tipping his head back and laughing, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Cher,” Benny says, and Dean bristles at the pet name. A pet name, for his husband. The nerve of this guy. “You think I don’t know you two are together?”

Wait.

“You think,” Benny says, and leans forward in his chair, making direct eye contact with Dean. “I was only flirting with Mr. Novak here?”

“Uh,” Dean says, eloquently.

Benny raises an eyebrow, that same molasses grin spreading across his face. And then Cas is laughing, and Benny joins in, and, eventually, after he finishes thinking through the last four and a half months in a different light, so does Dean.

***

The other history teacher, Mildred, retires at the end of the school year. There’s a retirement party in the teacher’s lounge that’s also a welcome back Mr. Lafitte party.

When they come back in August, as far as almost everyone knows, the three of them are just Mr. Winchester, Mr. Novak, and Mr. Lafitte, work friends who really hit it off last spring when Ms. Kline was out. They used to drive separately, but now they carpool. They sometimes eat lunch in the teachers’ lounge with Charlie, but mostly they eat together crowded around the tiny desk in the tiny office at the back of the library. It works out that Benny and Dean have the same planning period, so they normally end up in the library at the end of the day, co-planning an interdisciplinary English and history unit with all sorts of supplementary materials that Cas helps them find.

And in the evenings, when they’re stretch out on the couch, Cas reading with his legs in Dean’s lap, his head against Benny’s shoulder, Dean and Benny grading on the matching lap desks Cas bought them at the beginning of the school year, they’ll catch each other’s eye over Cas’s head and grin, slow and sweet.

#contemplativepancakes #deancasbenny fanfic #destiny fanfic #and now back to our regularly scheduled fluff #i had so much fun writing this :)#also it is an apology for the one from earlier lmao #jealous!dean because he isn't paying enough attention #mine.fic #deancasbenny

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jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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hailing-stars · 4 years ago

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@febuwhump day 14

meddling kids

summary

“Ned, you’re a genius,” says Peter. “We’ll just play some cupid, get them together for real, and they’ll be so distracted we can go back to movie days at the Tower.”

“Because that plan doesn’t have the potential to turn into a big, fucking disaster,” says MJ.

“It’ll be fine,” says Peter. “It’ll be good. It’s almost Valentine’s Day. Even they deserve to be happy.”

Peter attempts to meddle in Sam and Bucky’s relationship, and Flash meddles in Peter’s and MJ’s.

Rain hits the windows of Avengers Tower, and Peter pulls MJ a little bit closer. His eyes are glued to the TV screen, where it’s also raining, and where the two leads in the cheesy, rom-com Ned had switched on argue in the midst of the downpour. It isn’t long before the argument turns to kissing.

“That’s so romantic,” says Peter. That’s really what he’d rather be doing. Kissing MJ in the rain.

“Dude,” says Flash, shoving a fist full of popcorn in his mouth, from where he sat on the floor. “You’re such a sap.”

Peter scrunches up his face. “I’m not a sap.”

“Kind of are,” says Ned.

Peter turns to MJ for help, and their faces are so close, their noses almost brush up against each other. Forget the rain. He’d rather be kissing her now, in the common room, on the Avengers favorite couch.

“You’re totally a sap,” she tells him. “But you’re my sap.”

“You two are disgusting,” says Flash. “Just get a room and let Ned and I finish watching this in peace.”

Peter doesn’t think that sounds like such a bad idea, and he’s about to say so when he’s startled into sitting up straight.

“Parker!”

He turns his head and sees Sam and Bucky entering the common area.

“Oh,” says Peter. He and MJ scoot to opposite ends of the couch, as if it mattered and they hadn’t already been seen. “Um, hey Sam. Bucky.”

“What is this?” asks Sam, gesturing to the common room. “What have we told you about using the Tower as your own personal clubhouse for you and your school friends?”

“That I’m definitely welcomed to do it?”

“Well that’s one interpretation of hell no,” says Bucky.

Peter could strange both of them right there on the spot. They’re the annoying big brothers he never wanted, and he hates how they only ever agree with each other when it disadvantages him in some way.

“Take your Scooby Squad and scram,” says Sam.

“We’re not the Scooby Squad,” says Flash. He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, and his hand stays in the bowl of popcorn. “We’re the FlashMob, don’t forget it.”

“We’re not the FlashMob,” says Ned. “We’re the FOS gang.”

“FOS?” questions Bucky.

“Friends of Spider-Man,” answers Ned.

“Meddling kids seems more appropriate,” says Sam. “Parker. Get them out.”

“If we’re the Scooby Squad you’re the grumpy old men,” says Peter, with a sigh. He stands, snatches the bowl of popcorn from Flash, and orders Friday to switch off the movie.

Peter, MJ, Ned and Flash file out the room, listening to Sam and Bucky as their bickering turns towards each other. Apparently Bucky’s chosen spot on the couch was where Sam sits, apparently the throw pillow Sam claims actually belongs to Bucky, and so on.

“I swear,” says Peter. “They bicker more than Mr. Stark and Gerald.”

“Gerald?” asks MJ.

“He’s going through a phase.”

“Well it’s obvious why they bicker,” MJ tells them.

All three stare at her.

“..It is?” asks Ned.

“Come on, guys,” says MJ. “It’s classic. They’re in love.”

All eyes turn back to the couch. They’re both sitting at opposite ends and they both take turns telling Friday to switch the channel on the TV. Doesn’t seem like a very productive war. Peter develops whiplash from just standing off in the background, watching the TV screen flip back and forth between Jaws and some old timey black and white film.

“I bet they just kicked us out so they could be alone together,” she continues.

“Enemies to lovers?” asks Ned, still staring at them, with a tilted head.

“I’d ship it,” says Flash.

“Wish they’d get a room, or an apartment,” says Ned. “So we could get back to our movie day.”

“Ned, you’re a genius,” says Peter. “We’ll just play some cupid, get them together for real, and they’ll be so distracted we can go back to movie days at the Tower.”

“Because that plan doesn’t have the potential to turn into a big, fucking disaster,” says MJ.

“It’ll be fine,” says Peter. “It’ll be good. It’s almost Valentine’s Day. Even they deserve to be happy.”

MJ kisses him on the cheek, and links his arm with hers as they march off towards the elevators.

“You really are such a sap,” she tells him, a fondness in her tone that causes Peter to realize he doesn’t actually mind being a romantic so much, not when MJ was the one saying it.

Peter leads Bucky down the season aisles at Target, and figures he’s really on his last shot of this cupid business.

He hasn’t exactly been subtle over the last couple of days. Bucky’s already wondering why Peter had insisted on him tagging along on his trip to Target with him.

They pass by heart shaped boxes of candy, and Peter digs through the bin of cute stuffed animals until he finds a unicorn. When he squeezes it, it’s teeth turn pointy and it’s eyes turn mean. It’s perfect.

“For MJ?” asks Bucky.

“No way, man,” says Peter. He turns his attention to the chocolate boxes with cartoon characters printed on the front, and grabs the one with “I got her presents months ago. This stuff is for Morgan.”

“How’s Stark handling Valentine's Day as a father, anyway?”

“He loves it,” says Peter. “He’s a little bit obsessed, actually. He wants Morgan to pass out the best Valentine's cards in her class, so he stayed up all night designing them online and he’s having candy delivered for some fancy chocolate shop in Germany.”

“I don’t think kids really care about fancy chocolate,” says Bucky, and Peter watches as he eyes the boxes of chocolate. His eyes go back and forth between two different brands.

“They don't,” says Peter. “But they do if you bribe the chocolate makers into molding the chocolate into the replicas of famous Avengers.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. All his focus is on the candies.

“What kind of chocolate do you think Sam likes?” asks Peter.

Bucky snaps his head around and narrows his eyes at him. “Why would you ask that?”

Peter shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe we should get him some. It’d be nice.”

Bucky stares at him, and Peter shuffles his feet around, dying to come out with his suggestion that he and Sam should just go out already. That they’ll be a lot happier together, way less grumpy.

“How do you know?” asks Bucky.

“How what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I don’t have to play dumb,” says Peter. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Come on,” says Bucky. “What’s the deal with you crawling around on the ceiling hanging mistletoe above wherever Sam and I are standing? Or that night you made us dinner and set the table with candles and rose petals?”

“I was just being nice. Who doesn’t like roses?”

“I know you know about me and Sam,” says Bucky. “So quit harassing us, and keep your mouth shut about it.”

“Wait…. You and Sam… are already together?” asks Peter, with a gasp of disbelief. “I was trying to set you up!”

“You didn’t know?” asks Bucky. “We thought you knew and were being an asshole about it.”

“Holy shit,” says Peter. He shifts Morgan’s presents to one hand, and pulls his phone out of his pocket with the other. “I gotta tell MJ.”

Bucky swipes his phone. “You can’t tell anybody. We’re keeping it a secret for now.”

“Fine, fine,” says Peter. “Secret safe with me.”

“No secret is safe with you, Parker,” Bucky tells him, before marching past him, and to the next aisle where he continues looking for Sam’s present.

Peter frowns. He’s got no clue why people think he’s incapable of keeping things secret.

Peter manages to keep Sam and Bucky’s relationship to himself, until the day of the Midtown High Valentine’s day dance. And it’s not exactly Peter’s fault. He isn’t exactly to see the two of them in his school’s gym, with linked arms, wearing identical grins.

“You two cannot be here,” whispers Peter. His eyes darted around the gym, at all his classmates, somehow forgetting no connection could realistically be made between Peter Parker and two Avengers.

“Sure we can,” says Bucky. “We’re chaperones.”

“And I’m Captain America. I can go anywhere.”

“I hate you both,” says Peter.

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “Consider this revenge.”

“For what?!?”

“For being annoying,” says Bucky.

“And young,” adds Sam. “And for torturing us with mistletoes.”

“Oh, look,” says MJ, emerging from the crowd of students on the dance floor. “I was right. Who’s surprised?”

“Yeah, congratulations,” says Sam. “Now take your irritatingly observant selves over to the refreshment table, get yourselves some Scooby snacks and leave us to our chaperoning.”

Peter doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s ready to put so much distance between himself and the old, grumpy chaperones. He and MJ are crossing the dance floor when they’re favorite song starts to play, but it’s something else that grabs Peter’s attention.

It’s Flash, standing on the bleachers, holding a lighter up to the smoke alarm.

“THIS IS FOR YOU PENIS PARRKKKERRRR,” he yells across the gym, just as the smoke alarm blares to life.

He’s confused, until sprinklers on the ceiling turn on, and water begins to rain down on the entire student body, soaking dresses and suits and splashing into the probably already spiked punch bowl.

“I guess you were right about something too,” says MJ, with a small smile. They’re standing in the middle of the dance floor, while most others run and duck for cover under chairs or in the hallway, while Bucky and Sam chase Flash around the gym. “This is kind of romantic.”

“I can start an argument with you,” says Peter. He hooks his arm around her waist and pulls her closer. “If you want it to be like the movies.”

“Nah,” she tells him. “We can skip that part.”

She brushes his soaked hair out of his face, and they kiss. It’s every bit as romantic as it is in the movies.

#febuwhumpday14 #my fic #spideychelle #flash Thompson is a good bro #kissing in the rain

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sunlightdances · 5 years ago

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Happy Mistake (College!Bucky x Reader Oneshot)

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Request from @jbbuckybarnes: Being assigned roommates with modern!Bucky. He's a giant and looks like he's a bully, but he's actually so shy and soft. Author’s Note: *It’s been 84 years.gif* So sorry this took so long! Note: There’s note writing in this fic - italics are the Reader, and bold are from Bucky. PS - I listened to the playlist “Relaxing Classical Strings” on Spotify whilst writing and I highly recommend it. Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes, Marvel, or any related characters from the MCU. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites (including collections or hosting sites) without my permission! Reblogs are gold. I’d love to hear from you if you like this!

You’re sweating a little as you unpack your last box, wondering why colleges always pick the absolute hottest day of the year to have everyone move in.

You step back and admire your work - your bookshelf is organized and you’ve got one of your favorite scented candles burning on your nightstand. You can already picture yourself studying here, and staying up too late drinking homemade cocktails with your roommate.

Loud voices from the living room draw your attention, and you feel those nervous butterflies - you hope you get along with your roommate for this year. Last year was definitely an adventure, and not in a good way. You’re just praying this person is nice and considerate.

Heading out to the common area you stop in your tracks, seeing three guys lugging in boxes. They smile at you a little curiously, but don’t say much. You look around them for your roommate, but you have no idea what they look like. You’re a little embarrassed to admit that you can’t remember what their name is either - you lost that handy piece of information almost immediately after it was mailed to your parents’ house over the summer.

“Hi,” One of the guys says, holding out his hand. He’s tall, well built, with dark hair that looks like he spent an hour coiffing it just right. His eyes are the most distracting thing about him. “I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

You smile and tell him your name. “I’m waiting for my roommate - are you helping her move in?”

His smile fades. “Are you kidding?”

You feel your face get hot. “... No?”

He stares at you so intensely you can practically feel it. “Where’s your friend? Are you helping him?”

“Holy shit, dude.” His friend - large, blonde, and a smile out of a magazine - says, laughing.

James sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We have to go to the RA. I think they made a mistake.”

You frown. “What are you talking about? How would you even know? You’re not--”

“Your roommate? It’s me.” He digs in his pocket for a letter from the University, handing it to you. Right there, in bold letters, it reads James Barnes, Easton Hall, 305.

Your stomach sinks when you realize what happened. “Oh. Right -- I don’t know how this could have happened.”

He groans, turning to his friend. “Remember when you said moving in for a second year would be easy? You’re a jinx.”

You fold your arms over your stomach, trying to stave off the urge to cry. It’s not your fault or his fault, but you just wished this wasn’t happening. You just wanted an easy year for once.

“Hey,” James’ friend says, looking at you with so much concern you almost believe you’ve known him longer than 5 minutes. “It’s going to be fine.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“God. Stop flirting.” James complains, elbowing Steve.

Steve looks annoyed, “Shut up. Let’s go fix this before one or both of you are homeless.”

The RA was almost zero help. They gave you plenty of sympathetic looks, but otherwise had no idea what to do to fix your situation.

Back in the dorm, you sit helplessly on the end of your bed, trying to ignore James on the phone in the common area.

You look up when he comes into the room, knocking lightly on the door frame. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You reply, wondering if you look as pathetic as you feel. Your insides are a twisted up ball of anxiety.

“The admissions office was no help. They said they’d have to sort it out and with everyone moving in, they might not have a free room for either of us for a few days.”

You nod, and he tilts his head slightly to one side. “Hey, this isn’t your fault.”

You huff. “I know, I just-- I wanted this year to be better than last year and it’s already off to a terrible start.”

His eyes are sparkling a little as he pretends to be offended. “Most girls would be excited at the prospect of sharing a dorm with me, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “I guess you better get unpacked. Who knows when or if they’ll ever get back to you.”

He winks so you know he was joking before. “You can call me Bucky,” he says offhandedly. “All my friends do.”

That was three months ago, and you’re still living with Bucky Barnes.

You’re making it work, but it’s still an awkward conversation every time you have friends over. You still haven’t told your parents.

You’re an adult, but you’re still sure your Dad would flip knowing you’re living with a very eligible bachelor. Very eligible, as you’ve learned.

You’ve never met someone who goes on as many dates as Bucky does. Some of them you’re positive are just friends, and he invites you out with them sometimes, but it still feels weird. Most of the time you stay in, opting to study instead of third wheeling it with Bucky.

You’ve taken to leaving each other notes around the dorm when the other one is out - the only way you can think to get a message across sometimes.

All out of milk, stop at the store on your way home?

You leave that message taped to the fridge in the morning when you leave before him, and when you get home in the afternoon, there’s a new note in its place.

Forgot the milk, but got chocolate chip cookies. Priorities? Then, scrawled smaller, (sorry. Will buy in the morning)

You roll your eyes, but eat two of the cookies while you’re doing your homework later that night after dinner.

The next morning, you hear the door a few times and are just about ready to open your bedroom door and throw a fit when you hear Bucky shush someone.

“Dude, can you please speak at a normal volume for someone at six in the morning? She’s asleep--”

“Sorry, I’m a morning person.” You recognize Steve’s voice and roll your eyes, rolling back over and hoping for a few more hours of sleep before your first class.

Meanwhile, Bucky follows Steve out of the dorm, trying to keep his steps light and quiet as he shuts the door behind them.

Steve chuckles, and Bucky glares. Pretty standard for this pair of friends.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just so worried about her. It’s cute.” He ducks away from Bucky’s punch.

“Shut up.”

“Really, dude. Don’t think I missed the way you looked at her on move-in day. When are you going to do something about it?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, “It’s a bad idea.” Steve scoffs, and Bucky continues, “Seriously. We’re roommates. If something happened and it didn’t work out--”

“How do you know it won’t work out?”

“Just drop it, okay?”

Steve shakes his head, but doesn’t push it any further. Bucky swallows his feelings down, down, down. He can at least admit to himself that Steve’s right about one thing: when he first met you and thought you were his roommate’s friend or sister or something, he was ready to lay on the charm.

You’re beautiful, and funny, and there’s something about you that sticks with him like glue. He can’t shake the feeling, and he really doesn’t want to.

But he’s afraid, too. Because what if it does ruin everything? If he’s honest, you’re the best roommate he’s ever had. And not just because the dynamic between you two is good, even though that’s definitely part of it. But you’re courteous, and you do small things like set the coffee maker up the night before so there’s hot coffee on mornings when he gets up earlier than you do.

You leave him a reminder on the kitchen counter not to forget his notebook, the one with the torn cover that he always loses. You check on him if he’s staying up too late and you make sure to buy the ice cream he likes when it’s your turn to do the shopping.

It’s like you actually care about him beyond just being his roommate, and he’s never felt that kind of connection with anyone before.

At that, he has to keep himself from stopping dead in his tracks as he walks with Steve.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Bucky comes home while you’re tugging on a sweater, getting ready to leave for your first class. You lean out of the door, smiling, but he heads straight for the shower and shuts the bathroom door.

You frown; it’s unlike him to ignore you completely.

You figure he’s tired after his run with Steve, but can’t get rid of the niggling worry in the back of your mind that something’s wrong.

The day drags on, and you find yourself nearly falling asleep during your last class - your mind elsewhere and attention lacking. Towards the end of class, you text Bucky, asking him if he’s going to be home for dinner.

No response.

Not unusual, but to your anxiety brain? You immediately start thinking the worst. You’re replaying every conversation from the last week, trying to remember if you’ve done anything that could have possibly made him upset.

When you get home, his bedroom door is shut, but the light is on. You try to go about business as usual, writing him a note that there’s dinner in the fridge and sliding it under the door when he still doesn’t come out, even after an hour of meal prepping.

Taking the hint, you take your own meal into your bedroom and shut the door.

After an hour or so, you try not to feel hurt when you hear his door opening, and then the sound of the front door. No matter how hard you try not to take it personally, you can’t help it when your stomach sinks.

He doesn’t come back that night.

Or the next two.

By day three, you’ve moved on from hurt and have settled on anger.

There are no more notes, no anything to indicate that he’s been in the dorm at all and has just missed you. There’s nothing.

This goes on for a few more days before you’re sitting on the couch, listening to a key being put in the lock. Your heart starts to race, and you sort of hate yourself for leaning forward, waiting for him to step into view.

It’s not Bucky.

Steve looks sheepish, even a little upset as he gives you a wave, shoving the keys in his pocket. “Hey,” he says quietly. “I’m uh-- Bucky asked me to get a few things.”

You don’t even know what to say. This feels like a break up, except you and Bucky have never been together, and you have no idea why he’s not sleeping here, or why he’s not talking to you.

Your throat starts to tighten as you fight off the threat of tears.

And it’s worse because Steve looks embarrassed, and he looks sorry for you and he’s so nice, and you hate it. You don’t want him to pity you.

You just watch helplessly as he goes into Bucky’s room, the sound of drawers opening and closing the only thing you hear for a few minutes before he comes back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Look, I-- I told him he should talk to you. I don’t really know what happened--”

“Nothing happened.” You say, frustrated. “I just came home one day and he ignored me and he’s been ignoring me ever since.”

Steve’s jaw ticks. “What day was that?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. A few days ago. When you and he went for a run early in the morning.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry. I think-- I need to go talk to him. Hang in there, okay?” He ruffles your hair as he leaves, and you realize he’s left Bucky’s bag behind.

Bucky is staring at his phone when Steve comes back, slamming the door behind him. “Christ,” Bucky mutters. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem.”

Bucky frowns, looking up to see his best friend looking pissed.

“I just went to your dorm. Your roommate was there.”

Bucky feels the familiar feeling of guilt and self loathing come over him, but doesn’t know what to say, so he lets Steve continue with his tirade.

“She had no idea you were here. She had no idea why you were gone, and she had no idea what she did wrong.” Steve puts his hands on his hips. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You made it seem like you guys had a fight or something! And then she said you’ve been ignoring her ever since our conversation the other day. If you’re really pushing her away because I was giving you a hard time--”

“That’s not what’s happening.”

“Then why the hell are you sleeping on my couch?” Steve asks exasperated. “It’s not like I don’t like having you here, but come on, dude.”

Bucky swallows heavily, trying to get his bearings. “You were right, okay?” He says it quietly. “I’m-- getting attached.”

Steve watches him carefully. “I think you need to be telling her this, not me.”

Bucky rubs his face. “I know.”

Steve smiles slyly. “I forgot your clothes. Looks like you need to go home.”

Bucky feels like an idiot.

He’s knocking on the door to his own dorm because he was in such a rush to leave Steve’s, he forgot his key.

And now he’s waiting for you to open the door, half sure that you’re going to slap him across the face when you see him.

The door opens, and he’s struck by the sight of you. You look sad. But you’re beautiful, and he has no idea how he thought he was ever going to be able to live with you, see you every day, and not fall head over heels for you.

“Bucky.” You sound surprised.

“Um-- I forgot my key.”

“Oh, sure. Uh-- come in.”

He follows you inside, and takes a deep breath. “I think we need to talk.”

You look apprehensive, and he hates himself for doing this to you. You sit down on the couch and he does the same thing, mirroring you.

“I owe you an apology. I didn’t -- I shouldn’t have just left. Or ignored your texts. I’m sorry.”

You shrug, “It’s not like-- you don’t owe me--”

“Yes, I do.” Bucky is adamant. “Look - when we first met, I was really unsure how we were going to get through this. Obviously we weren’t meant to be living together. But now I can’t imagine it any other way.”

You laugh, though it still sounds a little sad. “I thought you were this big, scary guy.” You look down at your lap, wringing your hands. “I was really wrong about you.”

Bucky wants nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and make up for every sad feeling you’ve had over the last few days.

“I’m sorry. I never should have ignored you. I was-- I was kind of panicking.”

You tilt your head. Bucky thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Why would you be panicking?”

He decides to just bite the bullet. “I think I have feelings for you.” At your quick inhale, he shakes his head, “No, I know I have feelings for you. You just-- crept up on me. And I freaked out, because Steve kept getting on my case about it, and--”

His rambling is stopped when you grab his arm, tugging him towards you before throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug. Bucky freezes at first, but soon melts into you, sighing at your touch and burying his face in your neck.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and Bucky feels his knees go weak. How he ever thought you weren’t going to have him wrapped around your finger, he has no idea.

“I missed you too. I’m sorry.”

6 months later

“Buck?”

“I’m coming--”

“We’re going to be late…”

“We’re not going to be late. We’re going to be early, because you think early is on time.” He comes out of the bedroom, pulling his leather jacket on. He grins at you, voice softening. “Look at you.”

You feel your face heat. “Stop it,”

“What? I can’t compliment my girl?”

“If we’re late again, Steve is going to roast you. And if he doesn’t, Peggy will.”

Bucky grabs your hand, rolling his eyes. “You worry too much. Come on.” As you’re walking, he’s muttering under his breath about double dates, but you can tell he’s happy to go out - the both of you have been so swamped with school, you’ve been shut up in your dorm for days.

The day after your talk with Bucky, you slowly but surely began working your way towards a relationship. It wasn’t hard - you were already close friends, and without the fear of thinking either of you were going to be rejected, it was easy to take the next step.

Now, as you walk through the building hand in hand, you’re so grateful that someone in the housing department screwed up.

From the spark in Bucky’s eye as he winks at you, you think he is too.

#bucky barnes x reader #prompt fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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