#also this time wasn’t nearly as bad as last time i had a midterm after my thursday schedule

[doyeons]

midterm in 20 min. i’ve been here on campus since 7:30am. insert all my usual complaints abt thursday etc.

[devilyn]

belated regrets | kuroo tetsurou

— alexa, play: remember me by umi

Cuz I'm getting older Know that I've changed But I can't go back now Nothing's the same And I won't forget how You called my name When I was afraid And now I'm afraid

— synopsis: after taking advantage of your friendship, what will kuroo do to win it back?  — genre: angst, friends to lovers if you squint — word count: 3.1k

This wasn't like you. You had stopped crying over Kuroo months ago. You stopped thinking about whether or not he had eaten yet, if he had gotten home safe, if he would text you goodnight, and yet here you were. You were crying again, after claiming you moved on and healed, and after telling all your friends that you would cut him out of your life.

You wish you blocked his number. It felt mean to do it back then, but you really wish you did, because now you definitely wouldn't be able to.

"I think we should take some time apart," were the words you whispered to him over the phone one night a few months back when he was telling you about some girl he had gotten close to in his chemistry lecture.

There was a painful silence that lasted over 15 long seconds. You'd never forget. You counted, after all.

"Why?" he asked quietly. "You're my best friend. What did I do wrong?"

Your 'friendship' had always been strange, after all. Everyone told you that, and even Kenma firmly believed that the two of you would end up dating eventually. But every time, Kuroo would laugh and ruffle your hair while proclaiming he would never date you.

And every time, you'd force a smile and agree with him.

"This friendship...just isn't what it used to be," you answered. It was true. Ever since the two of you got to college, things had changed. He met different people through his classes and bustling parties, and thus different girls that he'd ask you about. You manufactured his sweet texts to them, all while wishing he'd send them to you and feel just as nervous calling you late at night. You'd help guide him through the process of asking her out, then let him come over and be sad when he was rejected. 

Every aspect of your friendship became about him, him, and him. His academics were doing well--he was a surprisingly smart man after all--but they took a toll on him mentally, as they do to all college students. The same happened to you as well, but never once did Kuroo ask about how you were doing, how you were feeling, how you were coping with the sudden changes to your life.

You kept in contact with Kenma, who you'd text once in a while to tell him about how much you hated his previous captain. And Kenma would listen to you cry over the phone about his foolish childhood friend that knew nothing about your growing feelings for him. He was the only person who kept you grounded, and understood that your feelings for Kuroo couldn't be so easily tossed aside as the rest of your friends claimed. He also was the one who encouraged you to end your friendship with Kuroo gently, knowing that he would have to deal with the aftermath of Kuroo's confusion.

"Can I fix it somehow?" Kuroo asked in a panic, and you laughed bitterly. You had asked him many times to fix things--his treatment of you as if he were your therapist being the main one. He’d apologize, yet things would always end up returning to how they were before, with you being at the bottom on his list of priorities.

"Not anymore," your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat to pretend like you weren't crying. "I think you'll be fine without me."

“Y/N--”

“Don’t call me from now on, please. Don’t come over, because I won’t answer the door,” you paused. “...you’re still going to be my friend. I just need space.”

A lie. You knew it, and Kenma did too when you rehearsed your lines to him. He told you such, but you couldn’t bear to tell Kuroo the truth.

And even as you hung up, deep down, you wished he would disobey your wishes. You wanted him to text you and come to his senses, realizing he was wrong. You wanted to relive late night calls where you would laugh and talk about absolutely nothing just because you couldn’t fall asleep. You wanted to go back to him showing up at your front door with a bucket of fried chicken to reward you for studying hard for your midterm exams. You wanted to lay next to him on a grassy field again, where he was gazing up at the stars and you were mesmerized by how beautiful your best friend was, inside and out.

But Kuroo never called. You no longer sent him good morning texts, asking how his day was, and he stopped asking for your advice. It was like the two of you were less than friends. You’d only speak when you sent him an occasional meme that reminded you of him, or a song you knew he would enjoy. He’d respond earnestly, as if your friendship of over four years wasn’t shattered during that one call months ago.

Kenma called you an idiot for not cutting him off entirely, and you would have to agree with him. You were an idiot who was head over heels for a man who would never share your feelings.

It took months for you to get over it, but the distance you put between the two of you definitely helped. So why was it, all of a sudden, after you were finally healing and moving on, that Kuroo decided to call you out of nowhere?

You stared at your buzzing phone, the image of a stupid face Kuroo made flashing on your screen. 

Should you pick up? Should you pretend like you didn’t see his call? During your time contemplating, his photo faded away and your phone stopped vibrating angrily against your coffee table. 

Your heart felt like it was going to beat through your chest when you saw the ‘one missed call’ notification flicker mockingly at you. You stared at your phone, breath hitching in your throat when suddenly, you received a new text from none other than Kuroo Tetsurou himself.

“Fuck,” you cursed, leaning your head back against the couch and groaning loudly. Should you call Kenma? You could already feel a headache incoming. 

Why? Why did Kuroo always do this to you? He’s always had terrible timing, and apparently that never changed.

You plucked your phone from the table, braving it all and finally reading what he had to say to you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you fucking serious,” you grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut to chase away the anger building up inside of you. “Now? Now of all times? Does he even know what he’s sorry for?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Kuroo to apologize to you just because he knew you were upset. Still, you always forgave him solely because he was your best friend. But now, you knew better.

Fully ready to toss your phone aside, your eyes caught a new text from your ex-best friend.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

Liar.

“I’m sorry for that one time I told you I’d help you study for your chemistry exam but ended up forgetting and missing all your texts and calls.”

You remembered that day. You had confided in him about your bad grade, and when he told you he could help you study, you were over the moon at the thought of being able to raise your nearly failing chemistry grade (and at the thought of spending more time with him). You called him multiple times when he didn’t show up, but gave up when he didn’t pick up the fifth time. You stayed up all night studying on your own, but still ended up failing that exam. You dropped the class, and ended up taking it next semester to get a much better grade without Kuroo’s help.

“I’m sorry for when you couldn’t tell me why you cried the entire day but still let me over so I could complain about Kira turning me down.”

That day, you were extremely overwhelmed. Your roommate was out somewhere, so you were left on your own to cry over the endless amount of assignments you had to deal with, on top of everything else. Kuroo had called that day, clearly in distress, and though you were in tears, you wiped them away and put on a weak smile when he showed up at your front door with a pained expression.

You wanted to be there for him. He was your best friend, after all.

“I’m sorry for that time that I left in the middle of our movie night because Ayane called me and wanted to go out to eat together.”

Your heart stung at the memory. The sight of his back getting up from your couch while completely ignoring the hurt in your eyes was still engraved into your memory, even if you spent months trying to forget it. You had called his name, but he was too busy eagerly chattering on the phone to even hear you. When he turned around, it was to bid you goodbye before abruptly leaving you with a half-eaten bag of popcorn and an animated movie still running that you no longer felt like finishing.

“I’m sorry for making you think you didn’t mean anything to me.”

Did you make an impact on his life? Deep down, you had hoped you did, so he’d always remember you.

“I’m sorry for taking advantage of your friendship.”

That, he definitely did.

“I’m sorry for being the worst friend ever. I miss you so much, Y/N.”

Why were you crying again? Your hands came up to wipe at your cheeks before hurriedly video calling Kenma’s phone.

When he picked up, the first thing he did was sigh at the sight of your disheveled appearance. If you weren’t completely in tears, you may have laughed at his attitude towards the situation, but all you could do was let out a weak whimper.

“I think he’s drunk,” he spoke without you needing to say anything. The thought of Kuroo only texting you because he was inebriated hurt you even more.

“He’s such an asshole,” you managed to croak out between your cries. Kenma only nodded, eyes clearly focused on the screen of his PC. Briefly, they turned to look at you again and his expression softened.

“You should’ve blocked him,” he mumbled, and a weak laugh left your lips. “Are you going to reply?”

You were quiet for a bit, before shaking your head.

And with that, Kenma hummed softly. He stayed on the phone with you until you finished crying over his childhood friend, and only hung up when you finally promised him you’d call him again the next day.

Tomorrow came quicker than you thought it would, and you managed to ignore Kuroo’s messages without giving into the temptation to text him back. Your life went back to normal, relatively, aside from one thing.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you for not understanding me when you gave me advice. I was childish, and only wanted to hear what I wanted to hear.”

Now, Kuroo was texting you everyday with something he was supposedly sorry for. And now, you were calling Kenma everyday to beg him to tell Kuroo to stop, to just leave you alone so you could move on. And every day, Kenma would tell you that you both knew how stubborn Kuroo could be when he put his mind to something.

“I’m sorry for not being there for you whenever you needed me even though you were always the first one to worry about me and how I was doing.”

At this point, it had been a few days since the initial text, and you wanted nothing more than to find him and yell at him to leave you alone. You were fine with brief interactions, pretending like your feelings for him never existed and he never regarded you as someone he could trust with his deepest feelings. You were fine with that.

“I’m sorry for being stupid and being able to understand everyone else’s feelings except for my best friend’s.”

But now he was pushing your boundaries. He was asking for more than what you could give him without giving him your entire heart again. You knew, and Kenma probably knew too, that if Kuroo kept doing this, you’d end up forgiving him. You’d give up on all the work it took over the past few months to get over him and go back to being his best friend if he asked you to. All that courage you put in to cut him off in the first place would disappear, and you’d be back to square one.

“I’m sorry for not realizing you liked me, and that I like you too.”

That was the last straw.

“You’re a prick.”

His response was almost immediate.

“Can I call you?”

Before you even had the chance to reply, your phone was buzzing in your hand and you nearly dropped it in your surprise. Without thinking, you picked up. And you cursed yourself for doing that.

“Y/N,” his familiar voice calling your name in that teary tone nearly made you cry again. Instead, you bit down on your lower lip to prevent the sadness crawling up your throat. You could hear the noises of cars passing by on the other line. He must’ve been outside

“Y/N, I missed you so much,” Kuroo’s voice was weak, and cracked a bit as he spoke, as if he too was holding back tears. “Thank you for picking up the phone.”

There was silence between the two of you for a bit before you shakily breathed in.

“Please stop texting me,” you finally managed to mumble. “Please stop thinking that you actually have feelings for me just because I was a comfortable person to fall back to when you didn’t have anyone else to go on dates with at the time.”

“That’s not the case--”

“If that’s not the case, then what is, Kuroo?” you interrupted, voice trembling. “I’ve had these feelings for you for so long, and now all of a sudden I’m gone and you like me too? Fuck off, I can’t believe you of all people would think so lightly of my feelings.”

“Listen,” his voice was pleading. “It’s not like that. Can I talk to you in person?”

“If I see you, I’m just going to cry again,” you laughed bitterly. You could hear shuffling on the other line.

“Then I’ll hold you until you stop crying,” he retorted firmly, and your heart jumped in your chest. How long had you waited to hear him speak like that about you? Like he just might share the same adoration for you that you did for him?

“You won’t even be able to find me,” you mumbled more to yourself than to him. It wasn’t like you were at your apartment, after all. You needed to get away.

“If you really think that,” you jumped at the sound of his voice closer than you thought. Looking up from your feet, your traitorous heart rate raced at the sight of those familiar almond eyes and unfixable bedhead. “Then I must’ve been a really bad friend, huh?”

You spent an excessive amount of time just staring up at him from your spot on the swings, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He had bags under his eyes, and his bedhead was a little messier than it had previously been. Despite all that, the man in front of you was undoubtedly the best friend you’d caught feelings for.

“...how’d you find me?” you finally asked as he took a seat on the swing next to your own.

“I wanna say that I’m just a genius, but honestly, you never removed me from seeing your location.”

Your eyes adjusted to the brightness of his screen. When you spotted the familiar profile photo of your smiling face on the map, all you could do was sigh. Anxiously, you ran your sweaty palms along your pants to wipe them off.

“I’ve said it a dozen times at this point,” Kuroo tucked his phone back into his pants, “But I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I get it,” you mumbled, exhausted of his apologies at this point.

“I don’t know what more I can say besides I’m sorry,” he admitted weakly. You couldn’t find the courage to lift your head to look at his probably desperate expression. “I’ll be honest. I wanted to respect your wishes at first. If you wanted distance, I’d give it to you. But the more time passed, the more I missed you.”

You fiddled with your fingers and the edge of your shirt, trying to find any distraction so you didn’t have to listen to his explanation.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, “I thought I was an idiot, for treating you the way I did. I took advantage of how comfortable I was around you, and when you finally left me, I realized how lucky I was to have someone I could be so myself with.”

He turned to look at you, and you finally lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. Your heart ached. He looked so tired.

“Have you been eating?” You asked quietly.

“See?” He smiled bitterly. “You care so much about me, and all I do is take that kindness and give nothing back.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes again as he took your hand and placed it onto his cheek, the familiar warmth of his hand reminding you that you truly would never be able to get over him.

“I hate you,” you lied through the tears slipping down your cheeks, “so much for everything you’ve done. For making me fall for you.”

“I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you if you’ll let me,” his other hand reached up to brush your tears away. “As your friend, and as someone who finally realized his feelings for you too late. And if I’m lucky, I hope you’ll let me back into your life.”

“It won’t be the same,” you admitted honestly. Truthfully, your friendship would never be the same after all the hurt you endured because of him. Things that may have seemed so small to other people hurt you deeply, solely because you trusted him so much.

“I trusted you to be there and to understand me,” you told him, “and you ignored all that. You can’t expect that to be fixed so quickly.”

“I know,” he brushed your hair behind your ear. “So I’ll give my all to build a new relationship with you. One where I’ll be better, and won’t hurt you ever again.”

The two of you were silent as you cried. Through your tears, you could see his wet eyes. The sight brought a weak laugh to your lips.

“Kenma said you’re way too stubborn when you put your mind to something,” you smiled sadly. “This is your last chance, Kuroo. Don’t ruin it.”

[capricorn-stark]

Othello

pairing: jason todd x reader, reader is a psych major because i think the concept of psych majors in Gotham is funny lmao

warning: i wrote this at 1 am, kinda short, swearing

a/n: i got strong feelings towards Othello, The Catcher in the Rye, and Jason Todd, but this one’s for @tadpole-san smirk smirk smirk

part 2

You liked studying at Gotham University’s library for the ambience. 

Whether or not you got any actual “studying” done depended wholly on your mood and whatever being that may or may not have been watching you from above, but even if you somehow managed to procrastinate the entire time you were there, at least you could walk back to your dorm with the comforting fact that you had gotten in your cardio for the day. 

The place itself was gorgeous with its overarching ceilings, long hall lined with pillars supporting a seemingly endless array of books, the cozy golden glow of the lights, and the generally pleasant atmosphere provided by the myriads of students sitting around its tables and lounging on its couches. The entire campus was stunning - but it would only be surprising if it wasn’t thanks to the very generous grants from patrons of the Gotham elite, most notably people like Bruce Wayne.

You had a particular spot you liked near the edge of the library, in a little corner mostly surrounded by shelves with enough space for a few usually-unoccupied couches. Aside from you, the only regulars to sit there mainly just consisted of one other guy who recently had started to drop in every few days or so to listen to music and do his own work. You didn’t mind him - he never bothered you, and you both kept up your mutual solidarity towards maintaining a very comfortable silence.

That was, until one particular day.

“Is that Othello?” You glanced over the book in your hand and saw the guy’s startlingly green eyes gazing right at you over his dark-rimmed reading glasses. He wasn’t wearing his earbuds as per usual, so you figured your agonized sigh of boredom must’ve come out a little too loudly. 

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slowly lowering the book a little. “Unfortunately.” He cracked a slight grin at that.

“What, you’re not a fan of Shakespeare?” 

“I don’t hate him,” you started with a fairly nonchalant shrug, “I just think this book in particular is just kinda-”

“Boring as fuck?” he finished very eloquently, causing you to grin back despite yourself. 

“Yeah. Pretty much.” 

“I can agree with that,” he said with a nod towards the book. “Definitely not one of my favorites, that’s for sure. Good premise, dynamics were pretty interesting, but I couldn’t really get into it either.” The fact that he was discussing Shakespeare’s works in a way that suggested he had fully read the book (without wholly relying on CliffNotes) and that he did perhaps genuinely enjoy some of them suggested to you that he was probably an English major. “And Iago was a bitch-”

“I know!” you nearly exclaimed, throwing your hands up in very evident frustration. “Iago was shady as hell, and I don’t get how Othello never saw it coming from him. Like, no one can be that oblivious, come on. I wouldn’t have listened to him.” RIP to Othello, but you were different. 

He was actually laughing at that point, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“You and me both. You an English major?” You shook your head, holding up your Psychology Twelfth Edition textbook that had been resting on the table beside you.

“Psych.” He raised a brow and you inwardly sighed.

“Jeez - at GU? I’m impressed.” 

Being a psych student at your particular Gotham-based university was both a blessing and somewhat of a curse. The classes were phenomenal and your professors consisted of some of the best and most experienced in the nation - but that also came with the downside that the city you lived in had some of the biggest psychopaths and the largest insane asylum in the nation as well. 

Well, you win some, you lose some.

“It’s not that bad,” you tried to say, but the smirk playing at his lips proved that you weren’t convincing anyone. “Let me guess, you’re an English major.”

“What gave it away?” he deadpanned, chuckling regardless as he closed up his own book and extended a hand out. “Name’s Jason Todd. I’ve seen you around a lot, but we never really talked, huh?” You smiled as you reached out to shake his hand, introducing yourself as well.

“I guess not. You usually look like you’re pretty busy.”

“Something like that,” Jason grinned, leaning back against his chair and sliding off his glasses. Without them, the lights somehow gave them an almost glowing effect. “I figured you wouldn’t want me to bother you.”

Bantering over Shakespeare with a cute boy wasn’t exactly your definition of being bothered, so you shook your head.

“Believe me, that was a lot better than Othello was.”

You saw Jason at your spot again the next day, then the day after and the next, lounging across from your couch and always seeming rather out-of-place with his black leather jackets and ripped jeans, but a welcome sight to you nonetheless. And just like that, suddenly, your visits to the library weren’t just for the sake of cardio and the ambience anymore.

He was surprisingly amusing to talk to, whether it was complaining about more books for your respective English courses or just ranting to each other about the struggles of being a student at GU. It was easy to bond over things like getting your midterms interrupted by random threats from the likes of the Riddler, or arguing over whether or not the city’s latest vigilante, some guy named Red Hood, was actually cooler than Batman himself. 

He had been particularly passionate about that last debate.

Aside from being easy-going and annoyingly attractive, you also figured out that he was ridiculously smart, especially when it came to helping you with your English course. Whether it was explaining the deeper societal message behind a particular reading or helping you research topics for your thesis, Jason had a knack towards figuring out exactly the things you yourself seemed to struggle with. 

“How do you figure all of this out?” You asked one day out of sheer disbelief after he connected The Catcher in the Rye to themes of disillusionment about innocence and one’s childhood, and not just towards the protagonist, Holden, being an ass. “Seriously, I thought I was pretty decent with this stuff, but you blow me out of the water.”

He shrugged it off like it was no big deal, sliding off his reading glasses and setting it on top of the wooden table you were at. You had grown fond of the way they looked on him.

“It’s nothing special,” he dismissed in response, lifting his gaze from the book to fixate it back on you. “You do great by yourself, I just kinda give you a little push with my interpretations.” 

He did that a lot - downplaying the fact that he was actually smart as hell like it really was no big deal. The way your grades had started rising after he started helping you out proved otherwise, though.

“Still, thanks for helping me out,” you insisted, eliciting another slight smile from him. “It means a lot.” 

“Oh yeah?” His tone had gotten cheekier as he leaned closer to you. “How much is a lot?” 

“That’s up for you to decide,” you smirked, moving back and closing up your laptop. “Not me.” 

“You know, if you really wanted to thank me, you should get a coffee with me sometime.” 

“We get coffee together like every week,” you deadpanned and he sighed.

“Not like that. Like a date.” 

It hit you like a truck.

“A date,” you repeated, like you hadn’t heard him the first time. 

“Only if you were into that,” he added, trying to play it cool as he moved to pack his things into his bag. “I’m not working tonight, so I thought you might wanna give it a shot.” That was even more surprising, because he always happened to have a mysterious night shift going on. He never told you what exactly that was, aside from off-handedly mentioning something about motorcycles and Crime Alley every once in a while.

You were still letting it process. 

“...if you don’t want to-”

“No, no - that sounds great,” you interjected, already starting to smile. At the sight of it, he managed another grin himself, an evident hint of relief flashing across his face.

“Right. Yeah. Cool.” He cleared his throat and shot you another grin as he tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s head out. And I’m telling you right now, I’m not letting your broke ass pay for it.”

“Jason!” you protested as he laughed and nudged your shoulder with his, making you join in despite yourself.

At least Othello had managed to lead you to one good thing.

[hyuckssunchip]

Blooming Pt. 1

Pairings: Jisung x Reader, ft. nct dream, lucas (honorary member of dream)

Words: 7.5K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, fluff

Synopsis:

Love isn’t as easy as it seems, Park Jisung is an advocate of that. A blooming relationship that has prematurely ceased can be re-sparked years later, or can it? Will Jisung be able to overcome his fears in order to succeed in what he deems love?

Part 1 | Part 2 

Freshman Yr.

Hey Jisung,

I know that this is kinda random and I only have the guts to do this now because I probably won’t see you again but here goes. I think you are a really sweet and cool guy and I wish I had gotten to know you better, probably because I had a big crush on you... I just thought I would send this to you because I know it’s nice to know and it’s probably a little bit of a confidence booster. (I also kinda wanted to get this off my chest). Sorry for the essay and you don’t have to respond to this if it’s awkward … I hope you stay safe especially with what’s going on right now 

You held your breath, panicking at the loading sign on your phone. Welp, it was too late now.

You were pacing back and forth in your living room, nail very much in your mouth as you bit them anxiously.

“I just sent it.” You breathed out, “Oh my god, I just sent it.” At this point you were nearly in tears you were so nervous.

“That’s good. It’s like one a.m. though, so don’t be too worried if he doesn’t answer right away.” You nodded into the receiver, and although your best friend couldn’t see you, she still understood your silence.

You had called your best friend earlier to ask for her advice about the guy you had told her about months ago. It was the last quarter of school for this year and you finally had the courage to confess to him. 

Your best friend Megan was a little bit more experienced than you and she laughed when you had told her you wrote drafts, and you promptly sent it to her.

“He’s not writing back.” You told her, staring intently at the screen, refreshing it every few seconds as if that would make him answer. 

“Well of course not, you literally sent it ten seconds ago. Besides I told you, it’s late, he might just reply in the morning.” She sighed at your panicked state.

“Oh my god! He read it.” You bit your lip, staring at the numbers below your text.

“Oh.” She giggled, “Cute, he has read receipts on like you.” 

You barely had time to comprehend what she had said when you gasped out, “Oh my god. He’s typing, he’s typing! There’s bubbles.”

She laughed, “Wow, that was fast.”

You weren’t exactly paying attention to her, focused very much on the bubbles that were still there. Then suddenly they stopped.

“They stopped.” You felt the need to relay everything to her.

“That’s fine, he’s probably just reading over it.” You nodded, trying to convince yourself. But you couldn’t because nothing ever came. It was almost 25 minutes later that you heard the familiar ding of your phone.

Hey Y/N! thanks for letting me know, it really is not easy but rip coronavirus really is kinda messing with everything. i think you’re a really nice person and if circumstances would have allowed, i would have wanted to get to know you more too. everything is kinda hectic rn and i wish you the besttt and stay safe too!!

Immediately you called Megan again. “It doesn’t look good…Listen to what he said.” You read the text, heart dropping with every word you read.

“What are you talking about? That’s a good thing. Y/N he said he wants to get to know you better too. That’s sweet. I think he’s just keeping it open though, cause there’s not much you guys can do anyways.”

“Yeah.” You tried to not let out how dejected you were, but it was clear to her.

“Hey don’t worry about it. If he doesn’t like you then he’s not worth worrying over.”

“Right.” You pouted despite what she said making sense. “Look I’ll call you later, I’ve got to go now.”

“Okay, Y/N, don’t stress too much about it, okay?”

You hummed back, mumbling out your goodbyes.

The moment you hung up, you threw your phone on the bed, falling next to it. You sighed, trying not to overthink everything.

That’s why you confessed now, so that if you were so badly rejected, you wouldn’t have to see him again. Right?

You groaned, closing your eyes, hoping that sleep would make you feel better. Or perhaps you would wake up and find that this was all a dream. 

You woke up and of course with habit, the first thing you did was look over at your phone. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, grinning at the screen. 

You weren’t thrilled that it was in reality a dream, but on the other hand things had become very real very fast.

NOTIFICATION

Park Jisung            5:18 a.m.

oh, are you still going back to school next year?

You smiled at the text, heart immediately choosing to beat faster than you would’ve liked. With a glance at the clock you realized it was 8:07 a.m. and you couldn’t stop yourself from replying the moment you saw it.

yeah, i’m planning on living off campus tho… are you gonna live off campus too?

You panicked, staring at the screen, knowing damn well that he wasn’t about to reply at 8 in the morning. You had to restrain yourself from calling your best friend that very moment, you were in a happy mood and waking her up would not keep that.

The entire day you were buzzing, constantly checking your phone for new notifications. For the first time you understood what phantom texts felt like. Every couple of minutes you were sure that you felt a text, but alas it was your imagination. 

It wasn’t until 4 p.m. when a real text came through, ringing loud and clear. You had turned your ringer on and off, making sure that it was working just in case.

yup! I’ll be living by the shopping complex in downtown. how about you?

Restraint was not easy for you, and you replied after a few moments passed. Megan had constantly told you to let at least a few minutes pass, but you couldn’t help it. Besides, read receipts were not in your favor.

Conversation seemed to come really easy to you, and after an hour of texting non stop he said he had one more final to take.

You understood and immediately felt bad, realizing that you had taken up precious study time for him. You wished him good luck and spent the rest of the night relaying every detail to Megan over the phone.

Little did you know that that conversation would be the last for a long time.

3 months later

It was time for a break. And what better way was there than a small kickback with your best friends after midterms?

“I brought the good stuff.” You were startled, laying on the daybed of your other friend, Camille’s room. It was the perfect spot for a kickback. A couple hundred feet from the main house, and completely stocked with all that you needed. 

You sat up glancing at the armfuls of alcohol Megan had snagged, don’t ask how she got it.

You giggled at the thought, watching as Camille helped unload. “Let the games begin.”

“Truth or Dare Y/N?” You groaned, turning away from the both of them. 

“You know I hate this game.”

Megan didn’t let up. “Camille has a pond.” 

That was enough information for you. You took a glance out the window, noting that it was freezing outside. You were not taking a chance on her intentions. “Truth.”

“Boring.” She sang, but nevertheless had a question set. “Have you talked to that boy since the last time you called me about him?”

You grumbled to yourself, taking a shot and grimacing. “No.” 

“Why not?” Camille asked, reaching for the bottle still in your hand.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know, I’m too much of a coward to text him now. But he could text me first too you know. Especially cause I took the first jump. It’s probably because he doesn’t like me.”

You sighed, staring at the bottle again, tempted to take another shot.

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” You missed the look Megan shot Camille, already coming up with a new idea.

In the end you caved, choosing that perhaps another shot could bring you happiness. But it just burned your throat.

“Megan truth or dare?”

“Dare, duh.” You watched the proud look on her face.

“I dare you to… snapchat that dude that sent dick pics to fuck off.” Camille said, watching Megan’s face contort into delight.

“Hell yeah! It would be my pleasure.” She giggled, and you noticed that she was feeling the alcohol as well.

You felt the need to roll your eyes again.

“Done. And blocked.” She tossed her phone in the middle of the group with satisfaction.

“I don’t know why you just didn’t block him right after he sent them.” You commented, chewing on a gummy worm. 

She just shrugged, “I don’t know, it was kind of fun I guess. Anyways. Camille, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do you really only see Carson as a friend?” Camille sputtered at the question, spitting out a bit of juice.

“No, I see him as a brother. That’s disgusting, besides he’s dating Bailee.” She shook her head, working to clean up the mess.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t like him.” Megan muttered, before dropping it and turning back to you.

“Y/N truth or dare?”

“Truth.” You mumbled out, not really paying attention.

“Come on, do at least one dare. It’s not fun if you only answer truth.” She whined, pushing another cup of jungle juice towards you.

You hesitantly sniffed the cup before taking a sip. A moment of silence passed as they waited for you. You let out a deep sigh, “Fine, dare. What do you want?”

“I dare you to text him.”

You froze, you knew that’s what she was going to say, but you were so out of it that you let it slide.

“You know I can’t do that.” You answered, wide eyed.

“It’s a dare.” Megan nodded at the window, insinuating the punishment.

“No, I really can’t. I’ll give you my phone though, but I can’t do it.” You dug the phone out of your backpack and tossed it next to hers, which she grabbed immediately typing in your password that she had memorized.

“Deal. I’ll just start it, then you can keep the conversation going.” You waved her off, choosing to drown yourself in as much alcohol as you could in hopes of forgetting that this happened tomorrow morning.

“Done. I just sent hey, with like three y’s and a smiley face. Not the emoji though.” Your mouth dropped at her.

“That’s so not me though. You know I use emojis, and I don’t do the all, heyyyy thing. He’s gonna know.” She just shrugged, sliding the phone back to you.

You sighed, staring at the empty screen, the other two returning to the game.

But it was three minutes later when your phone dinged, a text from Jisung lighting up your screen.

“Is that him?” Camille asked, peeking over at the screen.

“Yeah. I don’t wanna read it though, you do it.” You pushed it away, pulling your knees into your chest.

“I got you.” Megan paused. “See. Guys like the hey thing. He did it back, I don’t know what you were talking about, he’s totally into you.”

You grinned, crawling forward to see for yourself. The phone dinged again seconds later.

“Ooh, that’s hot. I like it when a guy texts in multiple bubbles, it shows they just text you what they think. They’re not planning it out or anything.” Megan commented, already typing in a response for you.

You watched over her shoulder, glancing at Camille who was doing the same. 

“Is this good?” You just nodded back, sitting back on your heels to take a break.

“Oh, wow. That was fast. He texted back.” Although she sounded impressed, she frowned at the text.

“What? What is it?” You asked, panicking at her expression.

“Nothing. He’s just… dry. Was he always a dry texter?” She asked, handing the phone back to you.

“No? I don’t know, I didn’t think he was dry, we texted for like an hour straight that one time.” You mumbled, looking at the phone disappointed.

“Well he seems pretty dry to me. Maybe you should text him, maybe you were right, my texting was too different from yours.” You bit your lip and nodded, trying to come up with a response to him.

You didn’t know if it was because you were drunk, or that he could tell you were drunk, but while the conversation did get slightly better, he seemed dry to you as well. It was after twenty minutes of texting that you couldn’t keep the conversation any longer. You became frustrated at the dwindling conversation.

You had chosen to contact him again after three months of ghosting each other, and now he was making it difficult to carry a conversation. Maybe he really doesn’t like you. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment. Fine, you thought, you weren’t reaching out anymore. You didn’t want to be seen as pathetic, you could catch a hint. He just didn’t like you and was being nice. If he did actually like you, he could reach out to you.

This didn’t stop you from thinking about him for the month following the drunken incident. 

2 years later  Junior Yr.

“I swear if you’re late for this one too, I’m not setting you up on anymore blind dates!” You winced at the sound of your roommate cursing at you.

“I’m going!” You yelled back, slipping out the front door before she had a chance to attack you again. 

You managed to close door without hearing what ever else she had in store for you. 

Your keys jangled as you quickly tried to lock the bright red door, giving it one last tug of reassurance when you turned on your heel to find your car.

“Oof!” A body collided with yours, you were partially, well mostly at fault. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I should’ve paid more attention. It’s just, I was in a bit of a rush…” You trailed off, finally getting a good look at the other person’s face. “Jisung?”

He simply stared back with a blank look on his face, mouth hung slightly open. “Y/N?”

You hated how your heart quickened at the sound of your name from his lips. 

“I-I… wow…” You stuttered out, not quite able to act as natural as you had hoped. “Do you live here?”

“Uh… yeah, I live next door.” He pointed to your left, and when you followed his finger sure enough it was right next to your apartment. You missed the way that he looked you up and down, gulping at the sight of you in years. 

“Oh. Wow, what a coincidence, I guess.” You laughed out nervously, hands playing with your lanyard.

“Yeah.” He nodded back, not really making eye contact. Not that you were trying either.

“Well…”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward silence between you two, and you cleared your throat to break some tension.

“I was actually on my way out, so… I’ve got to get going. But I’ll see you around.” You put on a fake smile that didn’t really reach your eyes, and shot him a wave before rushing off to your car. Once under the safety of your car, you sighed and tried to discreetly glance at the boy you hadn’t seen or thought of in years.

You shook your head, starting the ignition. It’s time to forget him, you told yourself, besides I’ve got a date waiting for me right now.

It wasn’t until Jisung was positive you could no longer see him, having driven off minutes ago, that he threw his head back and let out the deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. The blush he had been so desperately holding out finally came over his face, as he felt the heat burn his ears.

He had just begun to forget about you, from time to time, pausing over your conversation stream. Although it was torture, every once in a while he would read back all the texts, hating the way that they abruptly stopped. On occasion, mostly when he was drunk, but there were times when he was sober, he would even type out a text but fail to send it.

Jisung was never the outgoing type, he envied those who were. Those that could just strike up a conversation and carry on like it was second nature. But it was hard for Jisung. It took work and energy, and sometimes he didn’t have that. It was stressful and scary to Jisung.

It was a godsend when you reached out to him years ago, claiming so boldly your feelings for him. He wasn’t going to admit it, but then he had asked for his friends help in responding. It was Mark’s wishy-washy personality that had unbeknowingly sent your mind in circles that night.

It was Haechan’s straight-forward nature that had forced him to text you at 5 a.m. the next morning. He was tired of hearing about Jisung’s concerns as to why you didn’t reply earlier, complaining that if he was that worried just text her.

So he did.

And it worked. 

It worked so well. That hour he had spent texting you had butterflies dancing in his belly. He had never felt happier or more connected than at that moment. It wasn’t until his alarm rang, notifying him that he had five minutes until his last final did he stop smiling.

He was more than disappointed when nothing came out of the conversation. Of course he knew that it wasn’t just your fault, after all he had a phone, he could text you too.

And he tried, he really did. Multiple times. But every text he drafted was soon deleted and so the conversation ran dry. That was until three months later, May 16th.

But you always seemed to catch him at a bad time. It was Saturday, but his professor had given him an extension on his paper and it was due at midnight.

Your first text came at 10:58 p.m. 

It took all he had not to answer the text, and eventually he did cave. But as much as he wanted to focus on you he couldn’t, after all he had begged his professor to extend his deadline, he had to finish this. 

Maybe that’s why this time you didn’t seem so responsive. Maybe that’s why this time it only took twenty minutes for the conversation to end.

Maybe that’s why, after it took him forty-five minutes to respond to your last text, you left him on read.

“What’s with the long face dude?” His best friend, and housemate asked, slapping his back passive-aggressively.

“Nothing. And I don’t have a long face.” He pushed back, shoving him softly out of the way.

“Who was that? At the front door?” Jaemin asked, shoving a cookie into his mouth. 

“No one, just someone I knew.” Jisung muttered back, reaching out to steal one from the jar.

“Just someone I knew.” Chenle mocked back, leaning against the wall of the kitchen. “Right. We all could see the look on your face, that’s not just someone you knew.”

Jisung shrugged. “She was a girl I was texting.” He tried to pull it off nonchalantly, but it was evident to his housemates that it wasn’t nothing.

“Shit. Was that that girl you were talking to freshman year? The one you were head over heels for?” Jeno asked, grabbing a seat on a barstool, his laptop tightly in his grip. It was obvious he was working on something.

“Y/N?”Jaemin asked around the crumbs that filled his mouth.

“Ew. Gross. Have some manners dude.” Renjun said shoving Jaemin off the counter where he was perched, “And how many times do I have to tell you not to sit on the counter, that’s not sanitary. We have chairs for a reason.”

Jaemin made a face, but still moved to take a seat next to Jeno.

“Yeah.” Jisung frowned at the rest of the guys. “Did I make it that obvious?”

Renjun laughed, pulling a plate out of the cabinet. “You just talked about her everyday for a month. But no, not that obvious.”

“You should talk to her again, does she live close by?” Jeno asked, typing away at his computer.

“Yeah, she’s… uh… she’s our neighbor.” He rushed the last bit out, knowing that they would take advantage of the situation.

“Ooh! Our Jisung’s little girlfriend lives next door guys!” Chenle cackled out, “Guys, this is fate. And it’s our job to help out.”

Jisung scowled at him, knowing that Chenle meant what he said, “No. Guys leave her alone. Don’t make things weird. We’re going to be neighbors for the rest of the year, I don’t want to have to avoid her.”

“Avoid who?” 

“Haechan, how many times did I tell you to give me that key back?” Renjun asked, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

“Too many.” Haechan shrugged, letting Mark close the door behind him. “You can have this one back though, I’ve got two more copies at my apartment.”

Renjun threw his hands in the air, “I give up.” He picked up his plate of leftovers, opting to sit at the bar next to Jaemin.

“Who are we avoiding though?” Mark asked, settling against the wall next to Chenle.

“Y/N.” Chenle said, giving Mark a knowing grin.

“Y/N? Wait isn’t that...?” Mark furrowed his eyebrows, sporting his signature confused face.

“Uh-huh.” 

“Why are we avoiding her?” He asked, turning to Jisung, who had been awfully quiet.

“We’re not.” Jeno spoke up, finally shutting his laptop. “We just found out she’s our neighbor and Jisung doesn’t want us to do anything about it, cause he doesn’t want to avoid her.”

Haechan grinned, pulling out a glass and filling it up with water from the fridge. “So you still like her?”

“No.” There was an empty silence. “Yes.” 

Jisung sighed at the commotion his confession caused. 

“Well, don’t you think it’s our duty, as your friend, to help you out? After all, I feel like I am very invested in this budding relationship. I did help send the text that set things in motion.” Haechan boasted animatedly, accidently spilling some of his water, which he wiped up with this sock.

“No. I don’t think that it’s your duty. And please stay out of it?” He all but begged the rest of the boys. Much to his dismay, none of them looked like they were swayed. 

Jaemin clapped his hands together standing up, “Okay, how about some neighborly cookies? Everyone likes cookies.” 

Jeno rolled his eyes with a smile, but stood up anyways. “Sure I’m down, but no more of those peanut butter ones, those are shitty. Can’t we just do chocolate chip?”

Jaemin frowned, digging through the pantry cabinet. “You’re lucky we’re out of those. Chocolate chip it is.”

Haechan strolled towards Jisung, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, “How about we get drafting then?” He snorted, “I think a nice love letter should do it.”

Jisung shoved him away with more force than necessary, “Get off me. And no. Stop it with the love letter thing, I was drunk and sad okay?”

Mark butted in before the two of them would really start fighting, “Actually I don’t think that’s a bad idea. I think she’d like that, like, slip it in with the cookies or something. Just say you’d like to see her again, and hang out.”

Renjun stood up, placing his dishes in the sink, “Dude this is why Jisung sent mixed signals in the first place, ‘i’d like to see you again’, ‘let’s hang out’. Can you get any more confusing than that?”

Mark frowned and cocked his head, opening his mouth to retort, but Haechan beat him to it.  “Then what would you say Renjun? ‘Oh how beautiful your eyes compare to a midsummer’s eve. May I court you this evening?’”

Renjun glared at him. “You’re not funny. And no. I was going to say, just tell her it was a missed opportunity. That you’d like to take her out on a date now that you can.”

Jisung shook his head violently at the sound of that. “How am I supposed to do that? That’s way too straight forward, what if she says no?”

“Dude, she likes you. Remember? She sent you that text. And if her feelings aren’t there anymore then… well… I don’t know. But the chances are low.” Jeno tried to reassure him, not doing a very good job of it.

Jisung sucked a breath in, ultimately letting out a hissing noise. 

“Trust me on this one Jisung. I make a mean cookie, we’ll just head over there later today and rekindle whatever you two have.” Jaemin cooed at the boy with a big smile.

“Right. Like I can trust all of you.” He muttered to himself, choosing to escape to the confines of his room.

“So… how was it?” Your roommate asked expectantly, a far change from the way she was speaking to you earlier.

You shrugged, “I dunno, he was nice I guess.” You shook your head. “I don’t know why you guys are all pushy on this stuff. Like I get it, but it’s weird trying to date someone that I’ve just met you know?”

Your roommate Alex just shook her head, waving you off. “Whatever, so did you like him or not? Is there gonna be a second date?”

You laughed at her, she was way too invested in your non-existent love life. “I don’t know, I think so. He was sweet and stuff, but like I said it’s weird.”

“Well, that’s the furthest you’ve gotten so far.” You sent her a glare. “I’m just saying. You always either end up leaving the date, or never seeing them again.”

“Shut up, I don’t-”

You were cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Alex and you exchanged glances, you weren’t expecting anybody.

She stood up, grabbing the bat next to the door, that your mother insisted you bring, ‘just in case’.

You huffed, moving past her, “You know, you could just look through the peephole.” You leaned forward squinting into the door, only to find a group of boys that seemed your age.

“Who is it?”

You pulled back, tilting your head, “I don’t know, just a group of guys.”

You unlocked the door, peeking out through the crack slightly, and you were greeted very enthusiastically by the boy in front.

“Hi!” He grinned, showing off a perfect set of pearly whites. He was waving very aggressively with his free hand, the other seemed to be holding a plate of cookies. “I’m Jaemin! We’re neighbors.”

After his quick introduction he shoved the plate towards you, never letting the smile leave his face.

“Uh… hi?” You weren’t quite sure what to say. 

Luckily Alex did, “Hi, I’m Alex and this is Y/N. That’s so sweet of you.” She smiled back, taking the plate from you. “Do you guys want to come in? We can crack them open right now.”

You stepped back, watching the trail of six- no seven guys just stroll into your apartment. 

“What the hell?” You muttered to yourself, closing the door softly behind the last boy.

“Hi Y/N.”

You looked up to see Jisung again, and you took a slight step back, startled at the sight.

“Jisung. Oh.” You barely let out.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to overstep or anything. The guys just wanted to meet you… all. They wanted to meet all of you… cause you’re our neighbors, and all…”

You blushed realizing that he had heard you comment, completely ignoring the way that Jisung was stumbling all over his words.

Haechan took no time in introducing himself, and taking the honor of introducing everyone else as well.

“I’m Haechan, this is Mark, Jeno, Chenle, and Renjun. You already know Jaemin, and I’m aware that you already know Jisung.” He grinned proudly after gesturing to each of the respective boys.

“Jisung?” Alex asked, eyebrows raised. You hadn’t told her about him. For one, it never came up, and secondly, it’s not like it was anything important now. That was years ago, you didn’t feel the need to inform her of every detail of your life, like him.

Haechan cocked his head, “Yeah. You didn’t know they knew each other?”

You furrowed your brows at him. “And how do you know that?”

Jisung shyly raised his hand next to you, embarrassed that he was outed for spilling the details to his friends. “Sorry, that would be my fault.”

You turned slightly, mouth dropping at his face, “Oh. I didn’t mean it like that. I..I- That came out wrong. I’m not mad or anything, I was just shocked.”

You bit your lip feeling guilty about the way he responded.

“Anyways.” Jaemin interrupted the awkward silence. “We just wanted to say hi and stop by. Maybe we can all hang out and stuff and be neighborly.”

He grinned, looking around at the group.

“Right.” You nodded slowly, “Thanks for the cookies, and it was nice meeting you all.” There was a forced smile on your face, but none of the boys seemed to notice or care.

Eventually the boys filtered out one by one, and you closed the door, sighing against it.

“They were nice.” Alex said, taking a bite in a cookie. “Oooh, and these are hella good.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, moving to sit on the couch.

“Why do you look like that? You don’t like them?” She asked, grabbing a glass for milk. “You and Jisung already know each other though. By the way, how do you know him?”

You rubbed your hand over his face. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, I have the rest of the day.” She sang back, taking a seat on the cushion next to you.

And so, now that Jisung was back in your life, you were left no choice to fill her in.

“Damn! That’s awkward as hell.” Her eyes were widened to the max.

“Yeah, I know. But I didn’t want them to feel super weird, cause you know, neighbors right? I just can’t believe my luck though.” You sighed leaning back, slouching down.

“Yeah, but do you like him though?” She asked, to which you whipped your head towards her.

“What?”

“Do you like him? I mean this could be really good for you. Actually it’s a win-win for everyone here. I can stop forcing you on blind dates and you can date the boy you’ve been pining after for years.” She shrugged like it was obvious.

“Okay, I have not been pining after him for years, and we’re not going to date just because I liked him two years ago. I mean, didn’t you get it from what I told you? He doesn’t like me.” You tried to shut her down.

“What are you talking about? Did you see him today? He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.” You frowned at her observation. You didn’t remember it the way she did, every time you looked at him, which wasn’t that often, he was desperately trying to avoid eye contact.

“No he wasn’t.” You nevertheless blushed at the idea. 

“Ooh, you’re blushing! Someone has a cru-ush!” She raised her voice, and you slapper her.

“Shut up, they’re right next door remember? They’re our neighbors.” She simply winked at you. 

“And no I don’t.” You added as an afterthought.

The small restaurant was bustling with energy, something the boys loved.

“Dude, why haven’t we been here before?” Mark asked, eyes wide with excitement, smacking Haechan’s shoulder unnecessarily hard.

Haechan tried to move away from him, but to no avail.

“I told you, Jeno always said this place was pricey.” He muttered back, giving in when he realised Mark’s habit wasn’t disappearing anytime soon.

“We shouldn’t have trusted Jeno’s cheap ass.” Renjun snorted, “The prices here look decent.”

“Hey!” Jeno tried to defend himself. “I’m a college student, everything is expensive.”

Jaemin threw an arm over Jeno’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. “Let’s just grab a booth.”

As they trudged down the busy pathway, Jeno spotted a familiar face.

“Hey isn’t that Y/N?” Jeno asked, elbowing Jisung in the side. But Jisung was already aware of your presence, he had been the moment they stepped into the restaurant.

“Don’t point.” Renjun slapped the boy’s hand down.

“I wasn’t-”

“Shut up.” 

“Wait… who’s that with her?” Jaemin asked the obvious, slurring his words at the end, as if just understanding the situation.

It seemed as if you were on a date, and Jisung’s heart dropped. It felt like his entire world came crashing down, like any and all hope he had in you went out the window.

Of course you would have a boyfriend, it’s been two years since you last talked, and it’s not like you were even an item. You texted for an hour. 

Jisung closed his eyes for a second, but the picture was still searing in his brain. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he told you that he liked you.

“I guess we didn’t think about that. That she could have a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah, I mean it has been two years.” Mark nodded, agreeing with Jaemin.

“Guys, not helping.” Renjun said between gritted teeth.

Jisung bit his lip, silently running over the image of you. 

Is that your boyfriend? How long had you been dating? Was it after he ran into you? If he asked you out then, would that be him? 

He had so many questions he wanted answered, but he would never get them.

Chenle pulled his arm roughly, trying to drag him into the booth. “Jisung you’re staring. Try not to make it so obvious.” He teased.

Jisung quickly averted his eyes, choosing to sit where he could watch you from his seat. His stomach felt queasy, maybe that was a bad idea. Suddenly he lost his appetite at the sight of you smiling so widely at something funny your date had said.

Mark glanced up from his menu, staring at Jisung who was now downing his water. He elbowed Haechan who was concentrating on the menu. 

“Dude, say something.” He hissed at him, trying to get Haechan to lift the mood. But for some reason, today of all days, he wasn’t having it.

Haechan just shrugged, shaking his head, “What do you want me to do?” Then he went back to his menu.

Mark bit his lip nervously, feeling uncomfortable at the sight of Jisung so anxious. He shot a look at Renjun who understood and at least tried to spark up conversation.

“So Jeno, who’d you come here with again?” He asked, an attempt at diverting attention from the elephant in the room.

“Uhh… some girl…” Jeno mumbled back, blushing furiously.

“Jeno’s blushing!” Chenle shouted out, his loud voice carrying across the restaurant. 

This had Jisung cracking a smile. 

“Dude, not so loud.” Jeno groaned out, sinking into his seat. He turned to glare at Renjun, “Did you have to bring that up?”

Renjun shrugged, but sent a small apologetic smile. ‘Sorry’ he mouthed at the embarrassed boy.

You had Chenle to thank for alerting you of the group’s presence. You pulled away from your conversation with Lucas and craned your head to get a glimpse of your neighbors.

“Do you know them?” Lucas asked, following your gaze.

“Oh, yeah, they’re my neighbors.” You said back, tearing your eyes from their booth.

“Yikes, they’re kind of loud.” He chuckled, “That must be rough on you.”

You gave him a smile, accompanied by your own giggle. “Lucas, in case you didn’t notice, you’re loud.”

He let out a fake gasp, holding his hand against his chest, “Me?”

You laughed, “Lucas, on our first date you thought we had so many complaints about the ‘loud dude in the booth’ that they asked us to leave.”

He frowned, “It’s not my fault my voice carries. And I have a very pleasant laugh, they should’ve been happy to hear it.” He pouted, “But we got ice cream to make up for it.”

You bit your lip, holding back your grin at the memory. “Yeah and it was freezing out.” You paused watching his expression, “But it’s never too cold for ice cream, besides, I wouldn’t have gotten your jacket out of it. And by the way, I’m keeping it. It’s soft.”

He smiled widely, immediately agreeing with you. “I’m just gonna use that excuse to see you again.”

You returned his sentiment, it wouldn’t be all that bad to meet Lucas again. You seemed to enjoy yourself every time you met.

“Oh. Jisung, hey.” You let out surprised.

“Hi.” He smiled at you shyly, staring back at you.

“Hi.” You blushed at the awkward tension between the two of you.

You turned and locked the door quietly before facing your neighbor again. “I was just heading out.”

“Right.” He mumbled, retreating back towards his apartment.

“I was going to the bookstore to pick up some things…” You trailed off, watching his expression, “If you’d like to come…?”

You immediately regretted your offer, ducking your head to hide your embarrassment. “You don’t have to, that was-”

“Sure.”

You froze, quickly snapping your head to meet his gaze.

“I uhh… have some things to take care of too.” He stumbled over his words to accept your offer.

“Oh, okay.” You smiled shyly at your feet, a strange feeling in your stomach turning.

You nodded in the direction of campus, trudging forward slowly at first to let him catch up. Soon enough the two of you were keeping pace.

A few minutes passed before Jisung cleared his throat, “So what are you getting from the bookstore?”

You nodded to yourself, “I have a textbook I ordered. It’s ridiculous isn’t it? How insanely overpriced it is, and it’s not like it’s even possible to pass the class without it. I mean I’m paying enough for college, now I have to pay on top of that.” You took a breath and chuckled nervously, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant on you.”

Jisung grinned at the way you were so worked up, “No not at all. I totally agree. It’s a rip off, I mean why not just make it part of tuition, we’re paying enough as it is.”

You nodded, “Right? It’s not right to make it required, like I could totally pirate it online, but if the professors make our homework using the online site to turn it in, that’s not even an option.”

You sighed exasperated, and missed the look on Jisung’s face. He seemed to enjoy the way you raved on about something as simple as a textbook.

You paused at the sound of his laughter from beside you, and you turned to look at him with a smile, enjoying the sound. 

It was a fifteen minute walk to campus, and another five to the bookstore. And before you knew it the building was looming over your heads.

Jisung jogged a few paces before you, reaching for the door. You paused, watching as he stood aside, holding the door for you.

You blushed, perhaps, as they say, chivalry isn’t dead. “Thank you.”

You reached your hand up, pressing your cold fingers against your burning cheeks, an attempt to chase away the color.

“So which class is it for?” He asked, looking around, and thankfully not noticing your heated face.

“Economics.” You replied, lifting your head in search of your department.

The two of you wandered around for a few more moments, not searching particularly hard for the book in question.

“Look, introduction to Korean Pop Music.” He laughed, pointing at the textbook. “Can you believe there’s a whole course on that?”

You smiled, looking. “I dunno, it seems interesting. Besides, there’s classes for classical music, and pop music, why not K-pop?” 

He nodded back, giving you a glance.

“Here, economics.” You mumbled out, walking down the long corridor. You ran your fingers along the spines of all the books, stopping at the familiar title. “Jesus, 98 dollars.”

He frowned, sidling up next to you. 

Sighing you reluctantly pulled the book off the shelf. “Ready?”

Jisung looked at you under heavy brows.

“You’re going to get it?”

“It comes with the online version. I mean I have to get the online portion, might as well get the hardcopy for free with it.” You nodded towards the check out, stepping towards the staircase.

He followed in suit, stuffing his hands in his pocket. He ran into your back after you stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering something.

“Oh, didn’t you have to get a book?”

Jisung’s eyes widened, “Oh yeah.” At that moment he reached out and grabbed what seemed to be a random book from the closest table, but you chose to ignore it.

He raised the book, and gave you a smile.

Your eyebrows shot up, “Introduction to the female reproductive system?”

Jisung suddenly turned very pale, as he tried to play it off. “Yeah, ummm… for my biology class.”

You grinned, nodding like you believed him. But you chose to continue up the stairs, unable to watch as his face contorted. While you weren’t looking he quickly flipped over the cover, gulping at the sight of the price.

“80 dollars?” But he shook it off, trudging after you.

“Anything else for you?” A boy around the same age as you was checking you out.

“Nope, that should be it.” You smiled, fumbling around with your purse to find your wallet.

“Economics huh? Are you a ManEcon major?” He asked, leaning towards you slightly, ignoring Jisung who had arrived nearby.

You looked up from your bag, “Huh? Oh, yeah ManEcon. You?”

Your hand was still deep in your back when he replied. “Same, I’m a Junior, I managed to switch in last year.”

“Really?” You raised your eyebrows, “Was it difficult?”

“No, I mean I knew I wanted to switch early on, so I already was taking the classes I needed.”

You nodded back, “That makes sense. Have you taken macro yet? I’m signed up this quarter but I’m a little nervous.”

“I had Zeggert last quarter, she was pretty good.” He smiled, nodding, “She likes it when people go into office hours, really tries to help.”

You cracked a smile of your own, “No way, I have Zeggert. Thank goodness, I’m definitely going to use her office hours a lot then.”

You took a moment to successfully dig out your wallet, sliding him your card.

“That’s good, well, I’m here basically all the time. So if you ever need help, you know where to find me.” He winked at you, returning the card.

You murmured out a quick thanks, and stepped aside to let Jisung pay for his books.

Jisung didn’t take long, and you noticed that he was particularly cold with the cashier, who in turn wasn’t nearly as friendly with him as he was with you.

“He was kind of flirting with you.” Jisung mumbled out, picking at the brand new spine of his unneeded textbook.

You glanced at him, stepping through the door that he once again held open, not knowing how to respond to him.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” He asked under his breath as you caught up beside him.

“What?” You shot him a puzzled look.

Jisung raised his eyebrows, “Your boy...friend?” He slowed his words, questioning them himself.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You let out, not pausing in your steps. The same couldn’t be said for Jisung.

He jogged slightly to catch up. “But your date…?”

“My date?” You asked, now choosing to stop and face him. You shook your head, confused, “What date?”

“The- the guy you were with at the restaurant Wednesday.” He studied the sidewalk intently, flustered at his confession.

“You saw me?” You leaned down slightly, trying to catch his gaze.

“I-uh… I mean I didn’t mean to watch you. But we just happened to go to that restaurant.” He mumbled, choosing to walk forward and escape the situation, but you quickly caught up.

“He’s not my boyfriend, I mean, we were on a date, but he’s not my boyfriend.” You felt the need to defend yourself, or at least clear things up. Although you didn’t know why you felt the need.

“Oh. A date.” He mumbled. He was overjoyed at the fact that you weren’t dating anyone, but couldn’t help but be disappointed at the mention of a date. From what he remembered, you seemed to be enjoying yourself then.

The silence grew until you reached your doorstep. It had taken Jisung fifteen minutes to decide, fifteen minutes to pluck up the courage he needed.

“How about a date with me?” Although he refused to meet your eyes, you felt the genuinity.

Part 2

© Copyright 2021. hyuckssunchip. All rights reserved.

[ipuckwithhockey]

History Repeats Itself- B. Boeser

a/n: This somehow ended up being around 11k words, so I hope y’all enjoy it! Also, I only did a quick scan for grammar and spelling so sorry if there are errors!

summary: You and Brock met once back in college when you were still committed to your high school boyfriend. Years later you’re single and older and just starting a new job in Vancouver. The only question now is whether or not you will take the opportunity to rewrite your own history.

warnings: None that I can think of

“So, are you in or no?” Y/N’s roommate asks her as they walk out of the library and toward their dorm. 

“I don’t think so Mags, I actually have some studying to catch up on.” You reply unconvincingly. Midterms of your first semester at the University of North Dakota just came to a close, and your excuse of having homework on a Friday night wasn’t convincing anyone. 

“Y/N, seriously? You aced all of your midterms and we just spent three hours in the fucking library! Live a little! The hockey team is having a huge party, and the guys are really fun AND super hot! You deserve this!” Maggie tries to convince you to come out to a party that the UND Hockey team is having tonight, and you tell yourself not to give in. 

“Maggie, I have a boyfriend. And you know they don’t let guys who aren’t on the team into their parties. God, it’s basically a frat.” You scoff at the idea of a frat party, but there’s still a small part of you that wants to experience the chaos of a real college party. That’s probably why it ends up being so easy for Maggie to convince you to slip into a pair of skinny jeans and a cute top before embarking on a night out.  

“Y/N, this is Nick and Brock. They’re both in my econ class. Nick is a sophomore, but Brock here is a freshman like us!” Maggie happily introduces you to the two tall boys as you enter an old musty house, full to the brim with college kids. The air smells like stale alcohol and you take note that your shoes are somehow already sticky. You’re not sure if it’s from something you stepped in or if it’s just the floor in general. 

“Hey, nice to meet you.” You shake Brock’s hand that he’s extended for you and you can’t help but stare a little too long, taking in his blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes. 

You had to admit though, Katie was right, these guys are super hot. You can already tell your roommate has her eye on this Nick guy, and it actually looks like he might be interested in her too. He’s just her type— He’s hot and he knows it, and his dark hair and striking features draw the eyes of nearly every girl in the room. The blonde boy who stands across from you is quite honestly the opposite of Nick. Brock is also undeniably good-looking, but he’s shy and his light hair and soft smile make him seem less intimidating than his friend. 

Nick finds you and Katie some drinks and some other girls you’ve become friends with show up to the party a little later. The boys come and go as they mingle with other people and their teammates, but Nick tends to stay close by to Maggie and you catch glimpses of Brock occasionally. Apparently his shyness doesn’t apply to his teammates. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch him and his friends dance together to some shitty remix of a song you used to blast on your way to school. You’re actually having a great time, but you can’t hear your phone ringing over the music that’s blaring through the house you’re in. Later, Nick offers to walk you and Maggie home after a few hours of living like a real college kid, and Brock ends up tagging along since he apparently lives in the same building. 

“So, how come we haven’t met you before tonight? This one talks about you all the time.” The four of you are walking across campus and Nick has Maggie under his arm as he asks why you never seem to be with your roommate. 

“She has a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to having fun.” Maggie quips as some of the alcohol she’s consumed tonight gives her the courage to openly criticize your relationship. 

“Maggie.” You say in a warning tone. “He’s just not a big partier, and usually I’m not either.” You shove at her shoulder lightly. Maggie was nice and you liked being her roommate, but when you first met and told her you had followed your high school boyfriend across the country to attend a university in “North fucking Dakota” she immediately expressed how crazy she thought you were. In her eyes there was no way that a couple who started dating when they were fifteen would last forever. You disagreed, which is why you turned down your scholarship to an ivy league and followed your boyfriend to North Fucking Dakota. His family was from North Dakota, and for some reason everyone in their family had to go to school there too. At the time, you didn’t see it as giving something up, you saw it as you and your boyfriend starting a life together outside the confines of your hometown. 

“So, what floor do you live on, Brock?” Maggie asks as the four of you make your way up to your building. 

“I’m on 4— Room 405. What about you guys?” Brock asks back. 

“We’re 219.” You say back before you’re startled as you hear another voice you’re not exactly expecting.  

“Y/N! Where the hell have you been?” The group you’re with is almost to the doors of your dorm building when a perturbed voice yells for you.  

“Uh- Owen. What are you doing here?” You’re surprised to see your boyfriend standing in front of you, looking like he’s seeing red. You weren’t even supposed to be seeing him at all tonight. He had told you he was going to be occupied for the evening while he was studying for his physics exam. You hadn’t told him you were going to the party, but at the time you didn’t think it was important. Owen preferred that you didn’t bother him while he was studying, so you decided against calling him before your night out. 

“I’ve been calling you for like two hours— God have you been drinking?” The rest of the group you were with tonight looks uncomfortable to say the least, and you can’t blame them. Owen wasn’t the best at saving face, especially when he felt like someone hadn’t upheld the standards that he had set out for them. Now he just looked like a dad reprimanding their child, and a wave of embarrassment quickly washed over you.

“I just- We went to a party. I didn’t think you’d mind. You were supposed to be studying all night,” You say sheepishly, as you begin to regret letting Maggie convince you to go out. Before Owen can clap back again, Maggie nudges you and tells you that the three of them are going to go, not wanting to invade on your private life any longer. 

When they’re gone, Owen starts again, “This just isn’t like you. I’m so disappointed.” You feel bad now, you know you haven’t done anything wrong, but Owen’s words make you feel like you have, so you tuck your tail between your legs as follow him back to his dorm and apologize for what you did. 

That was almost five years ago. You dated Owen for longer than you’d like to admit but eventually you removed your rose-colored glasses and broke up with him. You graduated from UND and got a second chance at your Ivy League dreams when went to graduate school. Now, you’ve completed your masters and have been offered a promotion at you job. The only catch was that the new position required you to move to the west coast… of Canada. 

You moved almost two months ago, and your raise was enough to allow you to move into a nice building downtown. Work takes up most of your time now, so you haven’t been able to explore the city as much as you would like, but you can already tell your decision to make Vancouver your new home was a good one. The laid back and easy feeling you get from this city is completely different from the big east coast metropolis you had been living in before, and even though you’re working more than ever, you feel like you can actually breathe here. 

Since your breakup with Owen your senior year at UND, you’ve taken time to take back your life. You try your best not to ponder on the past anymore, and you focus on your own future. It can’t be denied that at first it was hard not to remain bitter at the idea that you had so willingly given up many things in your life, for a boy who took them too eagerly. You worked through it though and took back your life by focusing on your own goals and working on furthering your own career. The past is the past now, and you were ready to start this new life in Vancouver. 

*

“I actually can’t believe you’re wearing that.” Elias mocks at Brock as they step out of the elevator and into the lobby of Brock’s apartment building. Brock is sporting a bucket hat, and even though he knows Elias is joking, he wonders if he shouldn’t have just left the hat sitting on his kitchen counter. The two of them are bickering back and forth about their fashion choices, and Brock almost misses you as you walk past him. Almost. He recognizes you immediately even though your hair is longer, and your face doesn’t look so much like a kid’s anymore. 

“Hey, nice to meet you.” Brock extends his hand, hoping he doesn’t seem too nervous to the pretty girl he has just been introduced to. He’s a freshman, and a star on the UND hockey team, which kind of makes him North Dakotan royalty. Since starting college, he’s learned what to say and how to say it, to get a girl’s attention, but he’s not the overly confident guy that his friend, Nick is. Nick lays it on thick and loves the attention he gets. Brock likes it, it’s fun, but he’s more laid back, and not as worried about getting the girl. He just likes to have a good time with his friends and doesn’t really need all of the extra attention. 

He would however like to have your attention. He makes some friendly conversation with you over the course of the night, but you stick close to your girlfriends, and he can’t tell if you’re not interested or if you just aren’t catching what he’s putting down. 

Later that night, when Nick tells Brock that he is going to walk you and your roommate home, he’s quick to tag along. Even though he lives in the same building, he probably would have stayed at the party a little longer if you hadn’t been going with them. On the walk across campus, the four of you make some small talk, and Brock knows that Nick definitely thinks he’s getting laid tonight. 

Brock can’t help but hope that Nick getting laid will mean you will need a hideout for a couple hours while your roommate occupies your shared room. Even though he’d happily accept it, he doesn’t think he’ll be getting laid. Brock just hopes that he’ll have some time to get to know you a little bit better, maybe get your number, and then eventually ask you out. It’s right then that Nick asks why they’ve never met you. 

“She has a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to having fun.”  Maggie replies, and Brock can’t help but be disappointed. You had a boyfriend. So it wasn’t that you weren’t interested, well it was, but it was only because you were already taken. Maybe you had even caught on to his light flirting, and he can’t help but think how embarrassing that is.  

This embarrassment honestly wasn’t as bad as what was to come next. Brock isn’t sure if his secondhand embarrassment is worse than the embarrassment that you’re probably feeling as the guy, who is presumably your boyfriend, yells at you for going to a party. He can tell that you’re trying to play it cool, you’re definitely uncomfortable with scene that is unfolding. Brock isn’t sure what to do, and him and Nick exchange a few quick glances as to say, “what the fuck?” And next, he’s incredibly thankful that Maggie steps in to tell you that they’re going to head into the building. 

“What the fuck was that?” Nick asks as the three of them get out of earshot from you and Owen.  

“Meet Owen, the illustrious high school boyfriend.” Maggie’s sarcasm is clear, and Brock is surprised that someone who seems so sweet could be dating a guy like that. 

That hockey party his first semester at UND was the last time Brock spoke to you. He left after his sophomore year when he signed with the Canucks and before he left, when he would see you on campus, you were usually with the jerk he only briefly encountered that first night. When you would pass him in the hallway of your dorm or even around campus you would usually avoid meeting his eye or offer one of those awkward tight-lipped smiles. Brock would always smile back, and he would wonder if you were actually happy with that guy, and occasionally he would tell himself that he could make you happier. 

You felt bad as you essentially avoided him for the first few weeks after that party, but it got easier as time went on. The two of you barely knew each other, but for some reason every time that you did pass him, you were still enamored by his kind eyes and generous smile that only made you feel worse for avoiding him. Over time your friends, like Maggie, would eventually fall to the waste side too as your boyfriend continued to control your life. Maggie stopped asking you to hang out and when you moved in with Owen after your freshman year, you basically lost all connection with her. Everyone probably thought that you were a massive bitch because they perceived your actions as you choosing your boyfriend over them. They weren’t wrong, but you didn’t know at the time, that your priorities were extremely misguided. 

Brock’s little crush was soon forgotten when he dove headfirst into the NHL. He was busy trying to establish himself in the league, and he found himself in a few lackluster relationships that usually ended in a mutual agreement that it just wasn’t working. He was a good guy, and even though he wasn’t a saint, he preferred to get to know a girl and take her to dinner before anything else. The girls he dated usually fell pretty hard for him. He’s unmistakably attractive and his endearing personality make him incredibly charming. They knew that they couldn’t hold on to him forever and that he didn’t want to hurt them, so they let him go and hoped that they would find another guy that was half as good.

Seeing you now is like a breath of fresh air for Brock; his little crush immediately rising to the surface after being buried away for so long. 

“Y/N?” Brock lightly touches you on your arm to get your attention. You’re lost in the email you’re replying to on your phone, and you’re more than surprised when you turn to see the same light blue eyes that you met your freshman year of college. 

“Brock?” It’s the only thing that your brain can formulate right now. Brock Boeser is probably the only person you know in Vancouver and yet he’s standing in front of you right now. You haven’t seen or spoken to him in years, and you can’t believe that he even remembers you. 

“Hey, I thought that was you.” Brock says, as Elias notices the big smile that’s plastered across his friend’s face. “What are you doing in Vancouver?” Brock asks, wondering how a girl from the east coast who went to school in North Dakota, somehow ended up in Vancouver. 

“I um- I live here. I just moved for my job a couple months ago,” You tell him.

“Oh, no way! Vancouver’s great, I’m sure you’ll love it here.” He replies, still taking in the fact that you’re standing in front of him. 

“Yeah, I like it so far,” you say. “Do you live here? – Or I guess, in the building?” You ask. You know that he lives in Vancouver, you’re aware of his hockey career, but you’ve lived here for a couple months and have never seen him around. 

“Yeah, I’ve been back in Minnesota for most of the summer, so I just got back a couple days ago.” He tells you. You never really put much thought into where athletes go after their season ends, but it makes sense that they would go back to wherever they call home. 

Elias nudges Brock to remind him that he’s still standing awkwardly beside him. “Oh, this is Petey,” Brock turns to introduce you to his friend that you already recognize, “It’s Elias, nice to meet you.” Elias says as he offers his hand to you. 

“Yeah, I know.” You let out a light laugh and think about all of the Vancouver Canucks posters you’ve seen him on throughout the city. You’ve seen posters of Brock too, but you barely even know the guy, so it’s never really struck you as anything out of the ordinary. 

“Are you a Canucks fan?” Elias asks.  

You laugh a little, “Oh, no. I don’t follow hockey or really any sports, but everyone at work does, so I’ve been trying to learn a bit about it to keep up with the water cooler conversations.” You laugh again because it’s true. You’ve never really been tuned into sports, but your new office is basically all men, and they’re all huge Canucks fans, so your google searches of the team’s stats and roster have helped you become familiar with the team before their season starts. 

“Well, you’ll have to come to a game some time.” Brock tells you. 

“Um yeah. Maybe.” You offer back, mentally debating on if that would ever actually happen, but knowing that he’s only being polite. “I um- I’ve actually got to go, but it was great running into you.” You smile, and say goodbye to the two blonde boys and make your way up to your apartment. 

Brock Boeser lives in your building. Again. You laugh, thinking about how funny it is that history is repeating itself. He’s just as cute as he was the first time you met, but the truth is you barely know each other, and you’re sure he remembers that you were probably a massive bitch in college who avoided him at all costs. You don’t let the thought of him linger too long and push it to the side to get on the realities of your life instead of continuing to mull over the past.  

*

Over the next month or so, you continue to run into Brock in the elevator or in the lobby of your building. He always says hi and greets you with the same sweet smile. You make polite conversation and he’s so charming sometimes that it makes you blush. It starts off with awkward hellos and goodbyes, then you start to make small talk, and soon enough conversation between the two of you becomes pretty effortless. His little jokes are usually so dumb, but they make you laugh and you truly appreciate that he’s always so nice. You start to open up a bit more and aren’t as hesitant when he asks you innocent questions about your life. 

You got to meet Coolie and Milo the other day, and Brock says that they are particularly fond of you. They both seem to be the sweetest dogs in the world, so you’re sure they’re just as good for everyone else. You see them ever so often when Brock takes them on walks around town, and he loves the way your eyes light up when you see his furry kids.

Brock usually asks you how work is going, even though your advanced corporate job goes way over his head, and you ask him about hockey, which you also have little to no knowledge of. You both usually give short and uninteresting answers like “great” or “it’s going.” Then, just as Brock is trying to find more ways to get to know you, you tell him that you’ve been trying to educate yourself more on hockey. You explain that you primarily work with men, and these men happen to be very keyed in on the sport and particularly on the Vancouver Canucks. Now, every time he sees you, he asks you what you’ve learned. 

Your conversations are still fairly short, but you tell him when you’ve finally learned all of the NHL team names, and understand each of the hockey positions. You explain some of the penalties and you’re pretty proud of yourself when your explanation of offsides gets an approval. When he asks you who you’ve decided your favorite player is, you tell him you like “that Boeser kid,” but not as much as you like Elias Pettersson. This gets a big laugh from him, and he tells you he doesn’t disagree with your analysis. This is a turning point for the two of you. Brock can tell that you’re becoming more comfortable with him, and he likes seeing this lighter side of you. 

One day when you pass him in the parking lot, he’s on his way to a game, dressed in suit, but with a beanie on his head. You’ve seen him like this a number of times before, and you really don’t understand why he insists on covering up his beautiful hair with various hats. You also don’t mind admiring how good he looks in his game day apparel. He’s good looking, and it’s not a crime to admire that. 

As you walk toward each other in the parking lot he calls out to you, “Hey, you learn anything new this week?” You laugh, because he usually starts the conversation like this, asking if you’ve studied up or done your homework. 

“Actually, I have a question for you.” You tell him as you come up, stopping before you would pass each other. 

“Okay, shoot.” He says. 

“Well, that’s actually your job, but my question has to do with goalie interference. I just don’t really understand it. I was trying to find videos of calls during games, but all of the calls seem kind of inconsistent.” You tell him, and he laughs at your shooting joke, leaving you feeling proud for a moment. He’s also laughing because you’re right. No one fucking knows what goalie interference is. 

“Yeah, I’m not even sure what goalie interference is half the time. But if you figure it out let me know!” He answers. You laugh, and the two of you begin to part ways. 

Before he makes it to his car you shout back, “Oh, Good luck tonight!” 

He smiles and thanks you before opening his car door and on his way to the rink he thinks about all of the little conversations the two of you have had over the course of last couple of months. His crush has only continued to grow, and Elias keeps nagging him to ask you out, but he’s not even sure if you’re single. With his luck, you’re probably married to that asshole from college, although he hasn’t noticed you with anyone and he hasn’t seen a ring on your finger. 

After that night Brock decided he needed to figure out if you were single or not, so that he could move on from his infatuation with you instead of wasting his time pining over a girl who was already taken. You’re always polite, and more recently you’ve become more and more comfortable joking and bantering with him, but sometimes you give him a look like you’re not sure what to say. 

That look is the look you get when you contemplate how you got here. Years ago, you couldn’t have fathomed having a simple conversation with Brock, but now you see him on a regular basis and make conversation like you’ve been friends for years. You appreciate his willingness to talk with you, and you enjoy your interactions more and more every day.

Brock knows that on Sunday morning you usually go for a walk down to the coffee shop on the corner, so today he grabs Coolie and Milo and heads for the door, hoping he’ll be lucky enough to run into you. He makes it all the way to the coffee shop without seeing you and he’s praying that when he opens the door to the store that you’ll be waiting inside. 

No such luck. 

When he doesn’t see you standing inside, he decides he should at least buy a coffee instead of awkwardly walking out. After he picks up his drink he walks across the street to the park so that Coolie and Milo can get some exercise. For some reason, the gods are on his side today, and a few minutes into his walk he sees you sitting on a bench under a tree, reading a book. 

He doesn’t get to secretly admire how pretty you look sitting there, with the sun streaming down through the limbs of the trees, because Milo and Coolie have spotted you and are actively dragging him in your direction. You’re stirred from your reading and when you look up you see two big fur balls running toward you, their owner not far behind them. 

“Hey! Sorry about them.” Brock apologizes as he tries to calm the dogs down. You’re laughing and smiling because Coolie has jumped up on the bench beside you. Brock tells them to get down as they continue to try and jump for your attention, and they eventually settle at his side. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind at all. I feel the same way when I see them,” you say, and it gets a light chuckle from Brock. He loves that you get so excited to see them and he cherishes the way your eyes light up when you reach down to pet them. He’s not sure what to say now, and before the silence gets too awkward you ask him if he wants to sit while motioning to the spot next to you. He gladly accepts your offer, and he sits down next to you.

“What are you reading?” He asks, attempting to facilitate some conversation. 

You turn over the book in your hand so that he can see the cover, “It’s called Normal People.” You say before giving him a brief description. You also tell him it’s a series on Hulu and he says he’ll opt to watch that instead of reading the book, earning another laugh from you. 

“So, did you leave the boyfriend behind or did you bring him with you?” He asks referring to some of the plot points of the book you had described to him. The question surprises you because one, there wasn’t a boyfriend, and two, why would Brock think there was a boyfriend? Your mind works fast enough to figure he might think that you’re still with Owen, but over the last couple months you don’t think you’ve given him any reason to think you would still be with him. 

“Neither I guess. I didn’t have a boyfriend to leave or bring.” You answer, looking over at Brock. You’re sure you almost hear what sounds like a sigh of relief from him, but it happened too quickly to tell. 

“I guess you and that guy from college didn’t work out?” Brock asks cautiously. He’s trying not to seem too eager, but he’s dying to know what ever happened between you and that jerk. 

You let out a light laugh as you think back to your previous relationship, “No, it definitely didn’t work out.” You say back. “We were obviously super young; we started dating when we were fifteen,” you sigh. “Anyway, I think it just took some time to realize I wasn’t going to marry a guy I thought was cute in my 9th grade biology class. We just didn’t have anything in common anymore. And he turned out to be a total jerk.” It feels surprisingly easy talking to Brock about this. You’ve felt so much shame and embarrassment for staying with this guy from high school for so long, but Brock’s eyes don’t convey any judgement or reason to feel ashamed. 

After that you gracefully shift the conversation to Brock’s love life. It was only fair, and when you asked him if he had a special lady- or man in his life, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. It isn’t because you asked him if he was perhaps seeing a man, but because he was just so flustered by you and your questioning of his love life at all. 

“Nope. No ladies... Or men for that matter.” He says with a little laugh. 

“Really? A star hockey player like you doesn’t have girls lined up waiting for their chance to be with you?” You tease, as you can see, he’s still blushing a bit. You don’t think much of it, other than that he’s probably just shy about those things, but you don’t really feel too bad about teasing him.  He continues to convince you that there aren’t any other ladies in his life, and eventually the topic of conversation is forgotten. 

Brock walks back to the apartment building with you, and when you get in the elevator you remember that you’re going to be attending a Canucks game next week, “I almost forgot! I’m going to the Preds game next week!” You tell him, and his expression lights up hearing you say that you’ll be attending one of his games. “Some of the guys from work invited me to go with them. I think I’ve really won them over with my new hockey knowledge,” You tell him proudly. 

Some of the guys from work who are particularly invested in the hockey team invited you to come with them to a game, and you happily accepted the invitation. You had proven yourself to them as a colleague and now as a hockey fan too. 

“I guess we’ll have to get a win for you guys.” Brock replies confidently. The Canucks have had a great record lately and it looks like their winning streak is just getting started. “You better!” You say before the elevator stops on your floor and you tell him you’ll see him later, leaving Brock to think about everything he’s learned about you that morning. 

*

It’s Thursday, and this week has been hell. 

Sadly, you’re used to dedicating most of your time to work, but this week has been a total shit show, for lack of better words. A big account you’ve been working on decided at the last minute that they wanted something completely different, causing you and your team to have to work some crazy hours this week. By Thursday you’re practically a zombie due to your lack of sleep. The hours you have spent at home have been minimal, as you’ve gotten home past ten almost every night this week, and you leave in the morning again before 7. 

The guys on your team have all been working crazy hours too, but you’ve been taking the lead on this campaign, so you’ve made sure to be there early and late every single day. They can tell you’re just about out of gas, and they send you home early, telling you to rest up for the big presentation tomorrow. You try to argue, but they’re right, you need a break. You surrender and head home after stopping to get some takeout, knowing that your fridge at home is starkly empty. 

“Ms.Y/L/N, I’ve got a package for you.” Paul, the concierge of your building tells you as you pass him on your way to the elevators. You haven’t made any online purchases as of late, and you don’t remember anyone telling you they were sending you anything. Still, you wait patiently as he goes to the back room to grab it. When Paul returns he’s holding a decent sized shopping bag. You’re not sure what it could be, but you take the bag and thank him, too focused on getting up to your apartment and out of your work pants. 

As soon as the door to your apartment is closed behind you, you drop your bags onto the kitchen counter and slip out of your dress pants. Your bra follows shortly, and you settle into your couch with your take out. The rest of your evening is spent lounging on the couch, catching up on your shitty reality tv shows and taking a break from work. When you look down at your phone and see that it’s only 8:30 you tell yourself it’s too early to go to bed, but you’re exhausted and you bed is calling to you. As you gather your dishes and clean up your kitchen you’re reminded of the package you picked up on your way in. 

The bag is still sitting on the counter where you left it a few hours ago. You take a minute to think about what it could be or who it could be from, but nothing comes to mind. When you open the bag all you see is some blue fabric. It feels like clothes, so you dump it over on to your counter and come to find that the bag is full of what looks like Vancouver Canucks gear. You’re in surprised to say the least. There are multiple pieces of clothing laying in front of you, and you’re sure it’s at least a few hundred dollars worth of apparel. There’s a note too, but you choose to look through the other contents first. 

First off, there’s a navy blue hoodie with the classic Cancuks logo. There are two t-shirts, one has the Canucks throwback logo on it and the other has the pride logo printed on the front. You smile at that, knowing that he obviously knew you would like that one. Next, is a Canucks beanie with a pompom on the top. Finally, you unfold a royal blue jersey. You’re expecting to see a number six on the back but instead your eyes land on the number 40. You can’t help but feel a little sad for a minute, knowing he didn’t get you a jersey with his number on it. 

Alas, you unfold the piece of paper that was sitting in the bottom of the bag and it reads:

I figured you might need some gear for the game Saturday. I hope everything fits okay. 

If you ever need anything I’m Apt. 859, *his phone number* 

-Brock

P.S. Petey insisted that I include his jersey since he’s “your favorite.”

You don’t feel as bad about it not being a Boeser jersey now, and you use a magnet to hang the note up on your fridge before folding your new gear and heading to bed, grinning ear to ear. 

Your presentation goes off without a hitch the next day and you and your coworkers are ready to let loose a bit for the Cancuks game the following evening. You meet up with them at a bar that’s not far from the arena, and you grab a round of drinks before you head into the game. The four co-workers you meet up with take note of your Pettersson jersey, and you smile, satisfied with their praises. A couple of them are sporting jerseys too, one with Horvat and the other with a Boeser. You don’t mention that you know the guy who actually wears number 6, and when he scores the game winning goal you cheer just as loud as everyone else, but secretly you’d like to think it was because he knew you were there in the stands. 

When you get home after the game you shoot Brock a quick text.

You: nice goal tonight! i think this pettersson jersey is lucky! (10:54pm)

You: this is y/n btw (10:54pm)

You’re not sure if he’ll reply so you set your phone down and start to go through your nightly routine. A few minutes later you hear your phone buzz from your night stand. 

Brock: petey didn’t even score tonight and you’re still talking about him? maybe i’ll just take that jersey back (11:01pm)

You: hey, no take backs. but it was a very nice goal!  (11:03pm)

Brock: how was your first game? (11:07pm)

You: my second favorite player scored, my team won, and my co-workers were impressed with my vast hockey knowledge so i’d say it went pretty well! (11:13pm)

You spend some time debating on how to word your message, not wanting to send a reply too fast, and not wanting to seem to flirty, but you still let yourself tease him a little bit more before hitting send. 

Brock: HAHA. very funny. (11:14pm)

Brock: i’m glad you had a good time. (11:14pm)

Brock: we’ll have to get you to more games. it looks like you might be good luck. (11:15pm)

*

Sunday morning is your time to relax. You try not to do any work and opt to take some time for yourself. This can take many forms, like lounging around the house or even reorganizing your bathroom. Today you opt for baking. You bake a couple dozen brownies and place them in a container before slipping on some shoes to head up a few floors. 

You hadn’t given it much thought until you were standing outside of his apartment door, but the two really only interact in the hallways or elevator and you’ve never been to each other’s apartments. The brownies in your hand are probably getting colder by the minute, and you know they taste the best when they’re still warm so you convince yourself to bring your knuckles to the door. 

The person who answers the door isn’t Brock. The boy who answers is shorter and has dark hair. You recognize him as Quinn Hughes. Brock told you once that they call him huggy bear, but you’re not totally sure you know why. 

“Uh-“ There aren’t words coming out of his mouth, it’s more like an awkward sound that you think it is meant to convey some sort of confusion. 

“Um, Is Brock here?” You ask, offering a smile to the boy in front of you. 

“Oh, yeah. Um, come on in.” Quinn doesn’t really know if he should be letting someone into his friends apartment, but Brock made him answer the door so he didn’t feel so bad about inviting a stranger in. 

You walk through the door and take in Brock’s home. It’s similar to yours, but slightly bigger. He lives on a different side of the building so the windows are slightly different too. You follow Quinn into the living room where you see Elias and Brock and Jake Virtanen sitting on the couch playing video games. The dogs notice you first as you walk in and Quinn nudges Brock telling him someone is here for him before he turns around to see you. 

“Y/N! To what do we owe the pleasure?” He asks as he stands from the couch. 

“I uh, I just wanted to bring you these. I figured it’s the least I could do since you got me that lucky Pettersson jersey.” He lets out a solid laugh at that. You liked it when he laughed like that. He lets his head hang back and his hand rests on his stomach. 

“Well thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.” He says as you hand him the box of brownies. He walks over to the kitchen counter and pulls the lid off.  The smell of freshly baked brownies starts to fill the room, and the other boys are at the counter before you know it. 

“Oh shit. Those look good.” Jake says as he eyes the baked goods.

The boys are quiet for the next couple minutes except for some humming and “yum” sounds that escape between bites.  A couple dozen brownies is apparently no match for four hockey players. You swear half the box vanishes in front of your eyes as they compliment you on your baking abilities. You mentally thank your mom for the perfected family recipe that you practically have memorized. They make friendly conversation, besides Quinn who has remained rather quiet, except for offering a few side comments or sounds of agreement. Eventually Elias asks you more about how your first game hockey game went. 

Elias is observant and incredibly well spoken, and he’s making what could have been an awkward situation a very pleasant one. He guides most of the conversation as Brock becomes more comfortable with the dynamic of you being there with his other friends. It’s cute how close Brock and Elias are. Even just standing in the kitchen you can tell the two of them have a bond that’s different than the ones between the other boys. Brock is sometimes shy and blushy when the two of you talk, but with his friends he’s more bold and sure of himself. 

The small talk is getting thin, and you’re about to politely end the conversation and tell them you should go when Jake asks how you and Brock know each other. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do, and you look at Brock who is standing next to you. Before you can decide how to answer Brock replies simply, “We went to UND together back in the day.”

“I guess we don’t really know each other very well, but we had some mutual friends.” You try to add and clarify.  

“Oh cool,” Jake replies, not really giving it much thought. “So are you liking the city so far?” he asks. 

“I like it a lot , I just haven’t had a lot of free time outside of work to explore. But, my co-workers finally like me since I know all about hockey now, and the one girl in our office is my best and only friend!” You laugh at yourself a bit, because you know it sounds a little sad that you’re a young twenty-something with zero signs of a social life. It earns some laughs from the guys too. 

“You should come out with us next weekend, you gotta experience Vancouver’s night life! Plus, we’re celebrating my dog’s birthday!” Jake exclaims, and you can see Elias rolling his eyes and Brock and Quinn are both laughing while shaking their heads. 

You look between the boys, a bit confused, “Your what? Your dog’s birthday?” 

Jake laughs too when you seem so confused about it, “It seemed like a good excuse to go out. Gotta keep it loose, ya know?” He seems serious about this and you can’t help but laugh. The guys explain that they don’t get out too often during the season, and some of them don’t even like going out, but sometimes it’s good to just let loose with the boys. Jake is one who particularly enjoys a good night out, and so occasionally when the boys haven’t frequented a bar in a while, he comes up with “reasons to celebrate.” Elias sounds like a dad when he says that they all just go along with it to make Jake happy, and Jake looks like a little kid when he rolls his eyes at them. He’s also quick to make the point that they always end up having a good time. 

“You obviously don’t have to come, but I think it’ll be fun, and you should bring your friend. Her name’s Jade, right?” You’ve talked to Brock about Jade a couple times in the past, but you didn’t really think he would have listened that intently or that he would remember your co-workers name. It’s nice knowing that he does. 

“Yeah, it’s Jade. I guess I could ask her if she’s free and let you know.” You tell him, still contemplating if you even want to go out to some busy club on a Saturday night. 

*

“So, uh— What are you doing this weekend?” You ask Jade, your co-worker as you walk into her office. She’s the only other girl in your office, and you’ve become good friends over the last few months. Her dark hair and dark features match her bold and strong personality. Jade constantly bugs you to get out more, especially on the weekends, but you usually curb her requests saying that you’re still getting settled into the new city. This excuse was wearing thin since you’ve been here almost four months now, and you knew you would have to give in to her requests soon. Instead, you’ve opted to invite her to go out with Brock and his friends this weekend. Or rather, pray she would go with you because there was no way you were going alone. 

“I don’t know, probably nothing because my friend is a loner who doesn’t ever leave her house.” Jade looks over at you with a knowing expression causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Your loner friend actually wanted to ask you if you wanted to go out this weekend.” You say mimicking her cadence.  “That guy from college who lives in my building is celebrating his friend’s dog’s birthday, so him and some of their friends are all going out.” When you explain why Brock’s friends are going out you realize again just how ridiculous it sounds, and you know it’s not really why they’re going to a bar to get hammered, but you relay the information anyway. 

You told Jade about “the guy from college” that you had run into in your apartment building, but you didn’t tell her that the guy was Brock Boeser. You were sure she knew who he was, even if she wasn’t shy with her discontent with sports. She’s just not a sports person, but anyone in Vancouver would immediately recognize the name of one of their biggest players. All you told her was that you had gone to UND together and that you had never really been friends, just that you had mutual friends. 

She never asked more about who he was, but she did ask if he was cute. You couldn’t lie, it would be sinful to do so about a man who was as good looking as Brock, so you told her the truth. You also told her how good of a guy he was and that he never hesitates to start a conversation with you. Since then, she has asked for regular updates on your interactions together. Even though you withheld some crucial information, you still told her about how he liked talking about hockey and that he had gotten you some Canucks gear to wear to the game. When you told her about that she insisted that he liked you, and part of you wanted to believe that, but another part of you knew that you and Brock still barely knew each other. 

He seems really sweet, but you can’t help but feel like he still has plenty of girls vying for his attention. Girls who are prettier and smarter and nicer than you. When you think back to those brief interactions with him it still gives you a feeling of anxiety. It’s the kind of anxiety that you get when you remember something embarrassing you did as a kid or when you’re trying to fall asleep and you remember that you said “you too” to the barista who said “come again!” Either way, you weren’t convinced that your limited interactions warranted any feelings on either of your parts, so you continued to try to suppress your growing feelings for him.

Luckily, Jade was happy to oblige your request of going out. She asked if your friend had any cute single friends, and while you weren’t quite sure if they were single, you said yes figuring that one of them had to be.

“Y/N, It’s me!” You hear Jade come in through your apartment door that you had left unlocked for her. It’s Saturday night and you’re getting ready to go out with Brock and his teammates. You still haven’t told Jade who he is, and you’re hoping she doesn’t freak out when she finds out. 

“I’m in my closet!” You shout back to Jade as she makes her way through your apartment. She finds you sitting inside your walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear, “I’m having a crisis. I have no idea what I should wear.” You look over at her precisely curated outfit that’s perfect for a night out. She looks hot and it’s just enough to not be overdone. He hair is flawlessly sleek and her make up looks like an artist painted it on. 

“Stop moping. You’re just nervous because he’s cute and you like him. Go make us some drinks and I’ll pick out your outfit.” You don’t put up a fight, knowing that she’ll probably be able to piece together a great ensemble that you never would have thought of. Your strengths were probably better suited for making cocktails anyway, so you go to the kitchen and whip up a couple of drinks. 

On your way back to your room you turn on your “going out” playlist that hasn’t been touched in ages, and when the first drop of alcohol touches your tongue you automatically feel less anxious. She’s right, you totally have a crush on this guy, and you’re super nervous about going out with him and his friends. What’s worse, is that this was pretty much a pity invite, and him and his friends feel bad that you don’t know anyone else in the city.  

Brock’s night was going somewhat similarly to yours. When Elias got to his apartment for the pregame he found Brock standing in only his boxers with a pile of clothes covering his closet floor. Elias couldn’t help but laugh at him. He hasn’t seen Brock act this way about a girl in a long time. Come to think of it, he’s not even sure if he’s ever seen Brock act like this. Brock was sensitive, but he wasn’t anxious like this. He wouldn’t get tied up in things like what to wear or what to say to a girl. He did however, have the issue of falling way too hard way too fast, ending up in situations where girls left him after they got what they wanted. Over the years he’s learned how to guard his heart a bit better, and his friends, Elias especially, were always there to protect him. 

Elias likes you. He liked you the minute he met you. He was intuitive and was a good judge of character, which made him and Brock a good pair. Brock has a tendency to trust a little too much, but now Elias is there to help guide him toward the right people. When Brock introduced you to Elias, he could immediately tell that you were a good person. He could see it in your eyes, and in your genuine appreciation that Brock would recognize and say hello to you. Elias liked that you were sprightly enough to make a joke about knowing who he was. Most of all, he liked how Brock talked about you. Elias immediately recognizes when Brock has had a conversation with you before practice or a game. He comes in with a little pep in his step, that causes some of the guys to question if he got laid the night before, but now Elias recognizes that he must have seen you on his way to work. Brock gushes about your interactions and about how cute you are when you explain the hockey things you learn.  The day that you told him Elias was your favorite player Brock was so excited to tell him. He wasn’t even mad, he just loved how light hearted willing to joke around you were. 

Brock occasionally thinks back on the times he saw you after that first night at UND. He thinks about what would have happened if your boyfriend hadn’t been waiting for you outside of your dorm. It’s not that he thinks he would have gotten lucky or that you would have cheated on your boyfriend with him, it’s just that maybe if you had had a bit more time to get to know each other you could have at least become friends.  And maybe that friendship could have grown into something more and you would have broken up with that asshole to be with him. Brock thinks about what could have been, but he also knows that hindsight is 20/20. He doesn’t consider himself a superstitious guy, but he can’t help but think that you came to Vancouver for a reason. 

When your wardrobe crisis has been averted, you’re fully dressed in skinny jeans and a cute top that’s revealing enough but doesn’t exactly come right out and say “I want to have your babies right now.” (That’s how Jade described it, anyway.) The two of you have had a round of drinks and you decide that it’s probably an appropriate time to head up to Brock’s. You didn’t want to get there too early and be the only ones there, so you made Jade wait it out in your apartment until it was at least thirty minutes after the time he had said to come. 

Brock texted you letting you know the door was unlocked, and when you get out of the elevator you can already hear music playing from behind his door. “I can already feel it. This is going to be fun!” Jade tells you excitedly as you reach out for the doorknob. You laugh thinking about how she has no idea she’s about to be drinking with a bunch of professional hockey players for the night. 

When you open the door you see some of the guys you’ve met mulling about, most of them with drinks in their hands. Brock comes up to you almost immediately. Without even thinking he wraps you in a hug, and it feels so natural even though you’ve never had any sort of physical interaction with him. Your suspicions were right, he gives the best hugs, and you wish that you could stand there in his warm arms forever, but it only lasts a second before he’s pulling away and turning his attention to your friend who looks likes she’s surprised to see Brock Boeser hugging her coworker and Elias Pettersson coming up behind him to say hello. 

“Okay, you didn’t tell me that “your friend” was Brock fucking Boeser.” She doesn’t even try to whisper it, and it’s kind of what you love about her. She just expresses herself freely, and it’s honestly so funny when she says it.  It has Brock’s head falling back as he lets out a laugh. 

Brock and Elias introduce you and Jade to the other guys who are in the apartment. There are a couple girlfriends among them and even though they all look like they just walked out of an instagram ad, they all seem genuinely nice and aren’t nearly as intimidating as you thought they would be. You don’t get too much time to mingle before Jake informs the group that the “birthday party” is ready to move to the bars, followed by packing into various Ubers. 

When you’re all at the bar, a few other guys show up, some single and definitely ready to mingle, but to your surprise some have even brought their wives. The drinks are flowing and you’re actually having fun. You notice that Jade and Jake have spent a lot of time talking, and he offers to get her a drink before they head off to the bar. You laugh, and shake your head as she turns back to give you wink before heading off with the hockey player. 

You turn your attention back to the guys standing around the table, when one of them asks you, “So, how do you two know each other? I feel like somebody said you went to UND?” It’s Brandon Sutter, you didn’t recognize him when Brock first introduced you, seeing as most of the photos you’ve seen of him include a hockey helmet covering most of his face. It’s probably the alcohol— no, it’s definitely the alcohol that has you responding to his question, “Yeah, we went to UND together, but we didn’t really hang out or anything, I think everyone just thought I was massive bitch.” You laugh, but you can see some confusion setting in on Brock’s expression. Brandon laughs too, not thinking much of what you said. 

“What do you mean?” Brock asks. He never thought of you that way back in college. He knew that guy you dated was jerk. He dimmed your light, and that wasn’t your fault. 

“I don’t know, I just figured you guys all thought I was kind of a bitch because I just hung out with my boyfriend all the time.” You don’t really know what else to say, thinking back to those days where you would follow Owen around like a lost puppy. 

“I don’t think anybody thought that, we just thought your boyfriend was dick.” He says, and before you can say anything else he adds, “No offense. He just didn’t seem like he treated you very well. That night he yelled at you in front of the dorm when he found out you went to our party left a pretty bitter taste in my mouth.” 

“Sounds like a dick, to me.” Quinn says matter-of-factly. You’re sure it’s the alcohol for him too, he’s been more talkative in the last hour than he has been in the two other times you’ve seen him. 

“Yeah, he was.” You answer back.

“So I guess you’re not still dating this guy, are you?” Brandon asks. You can feel sets of eyes all resting on you now, like you’re about to reveal a big secret. 

“No no, we broke up right before senior year of college. I dated a little in grad school, but when I found out I was moving to Canada I didn’t really bother with trying to find boyfriend.” You tell them, as they nod in response.

The rest of the night isn’t as serious. Jade and Jake tear up the dance floor, and when she nudges you to signal she’s leaving with him you tell her to wrap before she taps it, earning a laugh and wave goodbye. Brock stays by your side the entire night, neither of you wanting to join the others dancing. His arm stays perched on the back of the booth you’re in, while you listen to JT tell some elaborate story from their recent road trip. 

When Brock sees you yawn for the third time in a row he asks if you’re ready to head home. “Yeah, I’m tired. I’ll probably just head home soon.” You think he might offer to go back with you, but you don’t want to assume. Instead of yelling over the loud music he just nods and pulls out his phone. He tells the boys that you’re both heading out and they all say goodbye before Brock nudges you out of the booth. 

On the car ride home he asks you what you thought of the boys, laughing when your first response is that there are just so many of them. “It’s like trying to keep track of puppies. They’re there one second and then they’re off doing something else the next,” You laugh at yourself thinking about how many of them probably have undiagnosed ADHD, or maybe some of them are diagnosed. “But it’s cute, you guys are like a little family.” This earns one of those genuine Brock Boeser smiles. He’s proud of his little family. He loves them all, and he’s glad that you like them because he can tell they like you too. 

That night out leads to a few more texts back and forth, and eventually to full on conversations that go one for days at a time. One night he asked what you were doing and you told him you were going to watch the Battle of Alberta game. You had heard a lot about this rivalry since you embarked on your hockey education, and you figured you should see what all the hype was about. To your surprise, Brock asked if he could join you, and the two you spent the night watching hockey from your couch. 

You hadn’t watched a game this intense before, and when Matthew Tkachuk drops his gloves to fight Zack Kassian, Brock can tell you’re on edge. You knew there were fights in hockey, and you had watched a few clips on youtube, but it seemed more real watching it in realtime. You wondered what it would be like to see something like that in person. As the two players are ushered off the ice, you can’t help but wonder if Brock would ever find himself in a situation like that, and when you ask him if he ever fights during games he chuckles a bit before he answers, “No, I’m not really the fighting type. I think it’s better for everyone if I leave that up to guys like Zack and Jordie.” 

You’re not totally convinced by this, and you don’t like that the thought of Brock in a fight makes you feel so sick. He can sense your hesitation and he wants to try to ease your mind, “When fights like that break out, it’s usually because both players have agreed to it. You can see that they’re talking right before, they’re asking each other if they want to do it.” He narrates as the fight replays on your TV. “Occasionally someone will still throw a punch even if the other guy says no, but that’s not common. It’s kind of an unspoken rule that you have to stand up for your team, so most guys who are asked will fight, but I’m not usually the guy in that position. I haven’t fought once in the NHL, and I plan to keep it that way. I’d get rag-dolled by both of those guys.” He says pointing back to where the players now sit in their respective boxes.

It’s nice to know that Brock hasn’t fought anyone before, but you still worry about him getting hurt. What if he was the one who got caught by a bad hit? You can’t keep thinking about things you can’t control, so you try your best to shift your attention back to the game. 

You and Brock find yourselves in each others apartments more often after that. The two of you will make dinner and watch a game, or just watch TV for the night. Occasionally you walk down to the coffee shop on the corner together or walk over to the park with Coolie and Milo. You’ve started to become friends, and you feel like Brock is letting you get to know him more and more everyday. The conversation is easier, and the flirting is probably more noticeable than either of you thinks it is. Your positions on the couch have drifted from opposite sides of the couch to having your thighs touching while his arm sits, resting behind you across the back of the couch. He always greets you with a big hug, and lately you’ve noticed his arms lingering around your body a little bit longer than the time before

He hasn’t made a move yet, and you haven’t either. You think that maybe he just isn’t interested in getting closer, and you’re admittedly too self-conscious to try to make a move yourself. Tonight os just like any other night that the two of you spend together but you don’t notice that Brock is pretty far gone in his thoughts. That may be because you’re lost in your own as well. A few minutes later his voice brings you back to reality, “Are you okay?” You look up from where you’ve been staring down at the wine glass in your hand. You’re sitting at his kitchen counter, and he’s standing on the other side of the island looking back at you. You tell him you’re fine but you can see that he doesn’t buy it for a second. 

“You know you’re like a really good guy, right?” You ask him, after taking another sip of wine. 

He smiles back at you with a bit questioning in his eye, “I mean I’d like to think that I’m not too bad.” He says back. 

“No, Brock. You’re like really good. You help old ladies at the grocery store, and you talk about your nephew like he’s your own kid, and you’re nice to me when you really don’t have to be.”  You try to tell him just how genuinely good he is. You wish you could explain it more eloquently and you wish you could show him how good of heart he has. 

“That just sounds like normal people stuff,” he replies with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

He would say something like that, and think that normal people were just as nice as he is, and maybe they were, but the people that you’ve met throughout your life have somewhat tainted that idea for you.

“I think maybe you don’t realize how good you are.” He says back, looking you directly in the eyes. “You’re a good person, and just because I knew you back when you dated some jerk in college, doesn’t mean that it has any impact on how I feel about you now.” He’s so serious in this moment, and not at all like the usual lighthearted guy you’re used to. Somehow he knew just where your insecurities laid. He’s so genuine and honest sometimes that it hurts and the butterflies you feel in your stomach are getting harder and harder to ignore. 

The two of you don’t talk much for the rest of the night, and instead settle in a comfortable silence while Brock catches up on the episodes of Gossip Girl that Elias watched without him. Brock isn’t paying attention to what is happening on his TV. His mind is way too busy thinking of what he’s going to do next. The guys have all been pestering him to get a move on, saying that he’ll miss his window of opportunity with you, and he knows that they’re right. If he’s lucky he hasn’t missed his opportunity yet, but if not, he might just be screwed. 

He doesn’t even notice when his eyes shift away from the screen and move to rest on you. He’s taking his time, studying every feature, taking in every soft curve of your face. He loves the subtle crinkles on the sides of your eyes that deepen when you smile, and it’s even better when it happens because of something he said or did. If he could, he would make sure that smile stayed on your face for every second of the day. Your hair flows naturally without being fixed and he knows that you often let strands fall in front of your eyes when you’re too concentrated on your work or like now, when you’re invested in the show that you’re watching. 

Without a thought, and on instinct alone, Brock slowly moves his hand up toward your face and softly tucks the strand of hair behind your ear. You’re a bit caught off guard at first, but you remain still as you feel his fingers linger on the side of your neck. Eventually you let your eyes meet his and you realize just how close you are to him. The two of you stay like that for a minute, staring at each other, taking each other in. It’s too easy to get lost in Brock’s ocean-like eyes, and you swear you hear the enchanting sound of waves crashing on a beach.  

You’ve been staring at each other for what feels like too long, and you’re about to pull away when you feel Brock’s hand on the side of your face again. He’s slowly inching toward you and his eyes are still glued to yours. He’s searching for any source of panic or concern in your eyes, but he doesn’t find any. Your heart has taken over at this point and you can’t keep yourself away any longer, before you lean in and your lips finally meet his. 

Kissing Brock feels like everything good in the world. It’s feels like the first time you road a bike or the first time you tasted ice cream. It’s new and invigorating and yet you feel totally safe and secure. Before you know it, you’re deepening the kiss and Brock lets you lead him to where you’re comfortable. It just so happens that you find comfort when you reposition yourself so that your legs are straddling his and his hands are resting on your hips. It’s only when your hips shift on top of him and he can’t help but let out a deep moan that also he makes himself pull away from you. It’s then when you start to panic, and think that maybe this was a mistake, maybe he’s realizing that now. 

“I don’t want you to think that I just want this.” He says as he motions to the small space separating your bodies. “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing…” he mutters out, like he’s a bit embarrassed, and nervous that you won’t want the same thing. 

“Brock, the only reason I wouldn’t want this is if you didn’t want it. But if you do, then I do too.” You say steadily. Brock smiles and it’s one of those big toothy smiles he only shares when he’s truly happy. You can’t say anything because you’re just as elated, so instead you lean down to kiss him again. 

*

It’s only been a short six months since that night on Brock’s couch, but now you get to call his bed your own, and when you come home to your shared apartment you’re greeted by your beautiful blond boyfriend and your two dogs. Brock insists that you’re their adoptive mom now, and to make it official he bought the two of you matching hats that say “Dog Mom AF” and “Dog Dad AF.” You both wear them when you walk your fury kids together and even though you tell him you think they’re cheesy he knows that you love them.

Brock is somehow everything you need him to be. He’s strong when you’re not and he makes you laugh when you’re sad, but most of all he’s your steady companion. It’s crazy now, thinking back to when you met him. You were just a kid, barely out of high school, and you really hadn’t had the chance to think about what you actually wanted for your life. 

Then you graduated, went to graduate school, and started to find out who you were without a boy to dictate the ins and outs of your life. When you were given the opportunity to move to Vancouver you saw it as a new beginning, but you didn’t realize that it was going to be a gift to more than one part of your life. Your work life and your career goals were finally falling into place and that just left one more thing—your love life. You had stopped worrying so much about finding a boyfriend along the way as you focused on yourself, but when Brock Boeser reentered your life you couldn’t ignore it. 

Brock’s reemergence was a surprise to say the least, but now you both see that it was a gift of a second chance. When you first met, neither of you were ready for the kind of commitment you now share with each other, and you know now more than ever that those years with Owen and the years you spent alone were all worth it, because when history repeats itself you have the power to change the narrative. 

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / August Part I

Request: Hotch and reader become unlikely friends after a broken doorknob brings them together, and maybe start to feel something a little more? (College AU) 

Word Count: 8,224

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, mentions of Hotch’s dad and difficult home life, Haley being jealous, a kiss (*gasp*), 

He was never yours, you thought, your fingers grasping at the pen, the same hands that had held his once. You knew that, but you let him in anyway.

Into your apartment. Into your life. Into your heart. 

And then you let him go. 

Out of your apartment. Out of your life. Out of your heart. 

You signed your name, placing it on the arrangement of fresh cut white lilies, wrapped in plastic, before handing it to the florist.

But you wouldn’t now, not again. 

~~~

A knock on your door roused you from sleep. A groan on your lips, you rolled over on your bed, kicking off what remained of your thin blanket draped over you. A cool breeze rolled over you, cutting through the thick, sticky August humidity, but it wasn’t enough to lull you back to sleep. And the sharp rapping at your door certainly didn’t help. You grumbled, stuffing the pillow over your head, hoping whoever it was would take a hint. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Apparently not. 

You threw yourself up, face twisted in a scowl, as your eyes flickered to your clock: 12:17 AM. 

Yet another knock, and you pulled on a robe over your tank and shorts, draping it over your shoulders, “I’m coming,” you growled, and the fourth knock stopped short, and you tripped over nearly every piece of furniture in your sleep, throwing open the door, “what?” 

He blinks, his dark hair as black at the night behind him, several locks falling in front of his forehead, “Sorry, I, uh—” 

“Hotchner?” you tilt your head, crossing your arms, “what are you doing here?” 

And it’s his turn to be confused, “I’m sorry, do we—” 

He didn’t remember you — how lovely, an unwelcome interruption who doesn’t bother to learn your name. You tell him your name, and it still doesn’t register, “We’re in the same criminal justice class? The one we literally started last week?” One of two summer classes that you seriously believed that you conned into taking, all in the hopes that you would be able to finish up your degree a semester earlier. If you passed, you would be done next semester.

Red runs across his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I sit in the front, I—” 

You wave him off, while fanning yourself with your hand, “I don’t care honestly, just why? Why are you here?”

A flush climbs his neck, “I just moved in next door, and I got locked out of my apartment. The door handle is rusted over, and my roommate is out of town—” 

“And?” you rubbed at your brow, your manners didn’t exactly shine at 12 AM. 

“Could I stay with you? Just for tonight,” he held up his hands, “we have that midterm tomorrow in Crim, and I really—” 

“So you remember the midterm but not my name huh?” and the flush bridges over his nose and cheekbones, “I’m kidding Hotchner.” you scratch your head — on one hand, you didn’t want to let a stranger into your apartment, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to sleep outside his apartment, you sighed, “take the couch, but I’m locking my door, and I don’t want you disturbing me unless I’m somehow sleeping through the exam tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I—” you wave him off, “I really appreciate—” 

“Just come in,” you yawn, stretching your tired muscles, still heavy with the sleep you were deprived of, but just like that, you felt your mind rouse, sleep deflating from your head in a slow leak, “ugh fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m wide awake now,” if looks could kill, you were sure your criminal justice class would be investigating Hotchner’s murder, “I have a hard time falling back asleep once I’m awake.” 

He raises a brow, “I thought you were exhausted?” 

“Well tell that to my brain,” you groan, collapsing in an armchair, covering your face, “now I’m going to be up until 5 AM.” 

He glances at your kitchen, “How about I make us some tea?” you look up, lips twisted in a frown, “decaffeinated, if you have it?” 

“Third drawer from the left,” you snuggle into the chair, hoping to lull your brain into a false sense of sleep.

  His voice cuts through your haze, the familiar click of the gas burner, “Can I ask you something?” 

“At your own risk,” you mumble, utterly too comfortable. 

“How did you know who I was?” the sink knob squeaks as he turns it, the rush of water, the quiet hum of the water as it filled the cups he was undoubtedly rinsing now, “there must be at least fifty people in that class.” 

“You make a hell of an impression, Hotchner,” you sigh, shifting in your chair, wiping the sweat from the back of your neck, “the first day of class, you argued with the professor about his opinions about criminal justice reform and the necessity of it, or as he put it, the unessential nature of it. ” 

“Well, his opinion was wrong,” you laughed, eyes still very much shut, “his opinion wasn’t even based on facts, he was just dictating to us on his own notions—” 

“I know, and you made sure he knew that,” you finally opened your eyes when you heard the tea kettle whistle, “that’s why I remembered your name — the way he asked you for it, and the way you replied—” 

He poured the hot water into each freshly washed mug, “With hopefully with an equal amount of respect,” 

“A very minimal amount,” you propped your head up on your elbow, watching him bring over the mugs. 

“So an equal amount,” you take the mug from his hand, pressing it against your lips, warming your lips, chuckling, “I give respect to those who deserve it.” 

“And what does that mean for me?” and he smiles. 

He raises his mug, a wry smile on his lips, “Well considering you could kick me out at any point, I have the utmost respect.” 

You roll your eyes, hiding the smile on your lips by taking a sip, “Smart.” 

~~~

And you soon learned Hotchner was very smart — when he touted his 100% on the exam a week later, next to your measly 98%.

“You owe me two points, Hotchner,” you would say to him, walking back to your apartment building, the humidity as thick as a fog. You tugged at your oversized shirt, hanging loosely around your torso, but somehow still sticking to your sweaty body. You felt like a drowned rat who hadn’t even had the pleasure of being in the water, “I would have gotten your score if someone hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night.” 

“Well, how about instead of talking the professor into giving you two points, how about a coffee instead?” he offers, hands in his pockets, “on me.” 

You grin, “It better be.” 

~~~

“FBI track?” you whistle lowly, sitting across from Hotchner in a coffee shop around the corner from your building, “some ambitions you got there, Hotchner.” 

“I aim high,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What? Can’t see me as an agent?” You shrug, your eyes flickering over his form, biting your lip — well he would look good in a suit and tie, wouldn’t he? And the vest— “What are you smiling about?” 

“Just imagining you as a G-man,” you admit, a grin on your lips, “let’s just say I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“And what high aspirations do you have?” 

“Nothing too fancy,” you stir your drink, watching the liquid swirl, “law school is the plan, hopefully eventually landing at a corporate firm and then move into the nonprofit sector.” 

“You don’t seem so excited,” you shrug. 

“Not everyone has high hopes and dreams, G-man,” and he rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a purse, unconvinced, “well I would love to be a writer, but I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” he raises an eyebrow, “or you’re too scared to try?” 

“Cute mind games, nice try,” you sigh, eyes falling to stare at your drink again, “it’s hard to believe in yourself when you’re the only one who does, and I can barely manage it.” 

He leans back in his chair, black locks falling across his forehead, “Well, how about I pick up the slack?” 

“You don’t have to say that—” 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and you glance up, his gaze utterly paralyzing and earnest, that you almost want to believe and maybe you do just a little — otherwise that thump against your ribcage is something else — some other feeling you are not ready to contend with. But you don’t get the chance. He breaks your gaze to glance at the clock, and curses, “I have to get home. My girlfriend is going to be calling me soon.”

Your heart twists, but you ignore it, because this was enough — this moment was enough, “Yeah, get home quick. You gotta tell that girlfriend of yours about that grade of yours. Nothing is hotter than a nerd,” 

“Speaking from experience?” you scoff, and he pauses, “can we do this again sometime? This was fun.” 

It was enough, right? 

You smile, “Of course.” 

~~~

“Fucking fuck—” you hissed the shattered glass all over the floor, and the hot liquid splattered across the wood, “Shit.” you stare at the mess, cursing, stepping over the broken glass, as you pick up the shards with a cloth napkin, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the closet. 

You sweep up the mess best you can, but now before cutting your finger on a shard, “Shit, fuck,” you wrap the cloth around the wound, digging through the drawers for a bandage. Fuck your roommate for going away for the summer, and also moving everything around while digging through the apartment for their shit. You slam the last drawer shut, no bandages, but you found a dozen condoms of varying shapes and colors — not exactly useful for treating a wound. 

So either you walk down to the corner to the store with a cloth wrapped around your finger, or you could tie this cloth around your finger while you studied. 

Well, you glanced at the door, there was a third option. 

You and Hotchner had seen quite a bit of each other over the past few weeks— June bleeding into July — studying, watching TV, grabbing bad coffee after class. He was one of the only people in three years who had made you comfortable to be yourself — to admit to things you would have never dreamed of telling, without guarantee of a memory wipe (well maybe if he joined the FBI). 

What was it about him anyway? 

He opened the door, a smile pulling at his lips, before he glanced at your hand, “What happened?” 

“Cut myself on some glass, do you have a bandage neighbor?” you glanced at the door knob, “I see the landlord finally fixed your door knob, so I won’t have any more late night visits.” 

“Come in,” he herds you in, shutting the door behind him, “give me a second, I have to find the first aid kit.” 

You grip the cloth, watching him dart around the apartment, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration — you particularly enjoyed the way his lower lip— no. No you could not do this. 

“You’d think a first aid kit would be easier to find,” you call after his disappearing back, “since ‘first’ is in the title.” 

“And where’s yours?” he asks, as he walks back into the living room, kit in hand, “I don’t think you’d be over here if you found yours.” 

“Ah, I like the company,” he raises an eyebrow, placing the kit beside you, “plus I don’t have to use my own bandages,” you watch him grab a paper napkin, running it under water, before returning. You reach for the cloth, but he brushes you off, taking your wrist, “you don’t have to—” 

“It’s fine,” his eyes remained concentrated, as he pulled the rag away from your finger, “it’s mostly stopped bleeding now, it’s not so deep.” 

“Really, Dr. Hotchner?” and you hissed a little as he cleaned the wound, red staining the nearly translucent tissue, “did you ever consider a career in medicine?” 

He clicked his tongue, his hand was so much bigger than yours, his touch gentle, sending warmth blooming up your body, “Biology puts me to sleep,” he raises his eyes, “no jokes. Plus,” he scrunches his face and pulls the napkin away, grimacing at the blood, “I don’t like blood.” 

You chuckle,  “Come on, Mr. FBI agent, won’t you have to deal with a lot of blood?” 

His lips twist in a line, “Actually seems like I may see you in law school,” 

You furrow your brow, “What do you mean?” he sighs, grabbing a bandage from the kit, peeling the backing off of it, “Hotchner—” 

“Law school is a safer option. I can still put bad guys away, I can be a prosecutor, and I won’t be at risk of getting shot—” 

“Bullshit,” you cross your arms, “it’s not what you want.” 

“It’s not always about me—” 

“This is your life,” you get up, and his shoulder sag, “we get one life, Hotchner — are you going to waste it doing what other people want?” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps, “you should be a writer, but you’re going to law school, just like me.” 

You know he’s right — you know you’re a hypocrite, but you don’t care, “Why did you change your mind?” 

Your question is quiet, but heavy — it hangs in the air, in the silence, and you feel as if you know the answer already, “I was talking to Haley,” and you hold your tongue, “it’s safer if I go to law school. It’ll be better when we start our life together.” 

“Hotchner—” 

“That’s not the only reason,” he swallows thickly, he slumps in his chair, “my father — he—” his voice broke. 

You shake your head, throat dry, “You don’t have to—” 

“He abused us,” he says quietly, “He worked a lot, and if it wasn’t for that, I…” he trailed off, glancing down, “but when he was around…” he scoffed, “nothing was good enough. No one could please him, not my mom or my brother. I never tried. He didn’t like that,” he ran his fingers across his face, flinching as if he can still remember the blows, “It wasn’t long after he gave me a black eye and broke my rib that he had shipped me off to boarding school. And I never looked back.” 

Your chest aches,“Aaron—” 

“I want a good job, and I want a good life,” his eyes are hard when he looks up, “ I don’t want to be the kind of husband that my wife isn’t happy to see. I don’t want to be the father who isn’t there. I want to give them everything I have, and if this is what it takes…” he shrugs, biting his lip. 

“I understand, I get it,” and he nods, taking your hand again to place the bandage over your cut, “But Aaron, one thing?” he smooths over the bandage with his finger, glancing up, “just don’t lose yourself along the way, okay?” 

Your fingers entangle with his, he squeezes your hand, “It’s a promise.” 

~~~

There’s a knock on the door, but you don’t bother to get up from your bed. Only twisting in the sheets, burying your head in the soft comfort of the pillow. And you hear the faint and familiar call of your name through the plaster thick walls and paper thin doors.

And you knew how this went. 

So you rolled out of bed, stalking over to the door, but instead of opening it, you frowned at it, rubbing at your forehead, “What?”

“Some way to greet someone who brought you today’s notes and assignment,” and you sigh, opening the door, plucking the assignment from his hands, tilting your head. 

“Thank you. Anything else?” 

He frowns, “What’s wrong?” you sigh, shaking your head. 

“You sure that you’re here to study criminal justice? Maybe you would be better off as a Psychology major,” you mutter, allowing him in, as you collapse on the couch in a huff. And you see him sit, waiting and watching, and you slump against the cushion, “what?” 

“Words are dangerous around you,” he shrugs, “I’m waiting for them not to be.” 

“I’m just having a bad day,” you cross your arms, words sharp, “have you ever had one before?” and then you crumple at the hurt that flashes across his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry — this is why I wanted to be left alone.” 

And he moves, sliding in beside you, grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table, “You up for something light?” and you furrow your brow, “or we could watch what I want to watch?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not going to leave you alone,” he shifts next to you, gaze unverring from the now lit TV, casting the contours of his face in a low light, “so what are we watching?” 

He clicks on some medical drama, and you snatch the remote from him, hiding your smile from him, as your shoulder brushes his, “Not this.” 

~~~

Aaron doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, the sun has already peaked over the horizon, the low hum of the TV rousing him from his sleep. And he stirs, before feeling a distinct weight on his shoulder, the mumble of his name near his ear, and fingers brushing his thigh. 

His eyes flutter open, and he realizes where he is. 

Shit. You both had fallen asleep. His neck aches as he turns to look at you, making him pay for the position the muscles were forced to contort to the night before. He glances at you, biting his lip. You snore softly against his shoulder, lips parted. A few strands of hair fall across your forehead. He brushes them back, tucking them into place. He should move. He should wake you. But he doesn’t. He watches you sleep a moment — you were so peaceful, unlike yesterday. 

There was a part of him that wished you would have told him what was wrong. Told him what was bothering you. Told him what was on your mind. Told him everything about you. 

But that was normal right? Friends always want to know everything about each other? And he would consider you a close friend, right? A friend, a good friend. Just a friend. 

You murmur his name again, under your breath, and he feels a small shiver run down his spine, as he shuts his eyes again, finding your hand and resting his on top. 

Just a few more minutes. 

~~~

“Hey Hotchner,” you knock at his door, clutching your binder to your chest, hearing only silence in return. “I wanted to give your notes back, and see you were free, open up,” still nothing, you knock harder, “come on. I know you don’t have class today, I really don’t want to go to that movie alone—” Your fist nearly collides with a person’s face as the door whips open, and you rear back, finding not Hotchner, but a very upset girl, “hi, uh—” 

“Who are you?” she crossed her arms across her petite frame, her blond hair tied in a loose pony, bangs hanging loose and framing her face. 

“Hi,” you say your name, plastering a weak smile on your lips — you weren’t used to this much hostility this quickly (usually at least took five minutes before someone hated you this much), “I’m Hotchner’s neighbor, we’re in the same criminal justice class. I wanted to return his notes and see if he was free—” 

“He’s not,” a saccharine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, “He’s spending the weekend with me. I’m his girlfriend, Haley.” 

You nod, “He’s mentioned you before, it’s nice to meet you—” 

“And you,” her fake smile informs you that it very much has not been nice to meet you, as her eyes flicker to the bathroom, “Aaron’s busy, but I’ll let him know you dropped by—” and you open your mouth, holding the notes up, “I’ll take those. Thanks again. Bye!” 

The door shuts, as you stand mouth open, staring at the door. 

And that was Haley. 

~~~

You see Aaron the next Monday in class, as he slides in beside you, rubbing his eyes, hair askew, “What happened to you?” 

“Didn’t sleep very well last night,” he mumbles, pulling his book from his bag, and you frown, opening your mouth again, only to be interrupted by your professor. 

Class passes in a painfully slow haze as always, with one exception — Hotchner wasn’t taking notes. Usually each class he would be thoughtfully taking careful notes, while you scribbled every word the professor said, hoping your notes would be legible when needed later. But today, he wasn’t. Instead, he stared straight forward, his pen unmoving, lying flat against the page between his fingers, but he wasn’t looking at the professor. Not really anyway. His eyes were glazed over, his brow impossibly furrowed, expression twisted under a thick haze of anxiety and worry. Even when the professor adjourned the class for the day, he still sat, staring at the blank notebook page. 

“You planning to attend the next class? Heard that Immunology is a hot ticket,” and he jerks from his thoughts, blinking as he glances around the quickly emptying classroom. 

“Shit,” the expletive flies from his mouth, as he gathers his things, shoving them unceremoniously into his bag, following you out of the room as students for the next class begin to file into their unassigned assigned seats. 

He doesn’t say a word as you both schlep back to the apartment building, the only accompaniment the low buzz of flies, the too warm embrace of the sun, and the silence that hangs between the two of you, much like a funeral march. 

“Okay,” you said, standing in front of him, “what is going on?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine—” 

“So you don’t want the notes from today?” his mouth opens and closes, shaking his head, “Hotchner, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to — but I just want to know you’re okay.” 

“I’m having a bad day, you ever had one before?” he echoes your words, before a smile pulls at the corners of his lips, a heavy sigh following it, but your gaze is unwavering, “You really care, don’t you?” 

Your cheeks burn, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, helplessly exposed, scratching at your skin under his steady gaze. You hide it under rolled eyes and a coy smile, “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” 

Friends, just friends. Because that was all you were. That was why you cared. 

And you don’t notice the corners of his lips falling or the dimmed amusement in his eyes, “Of course,” he sighs, “I’m fine, just long distance with Haley has been hard on both of us.” 

You nod, not bothering to bring up your tension injected meeting in the hallway, “I understand, it’s tough doing long distance,” 

And you see an unreadable look cross his expression, before it’s gone in a moment, and he just sighs, “Yeah.” 

~~~

Things don’t get better. 

When Haley isn’t here, Hotchner is constantly on the phone. And when she is, you could hear the faint sound of yelling through your all too thin walls, until you chose to put on headphones to drown out the noise. 

You don’t want to hear his heart breaking anymore than he wants it broken. 

He’s quiet in class, and snapping when he’s not. He comes out less. He declines your invites. He spends most of his time on the goddamn phone. 

And it stings. 

You stare at the wall you share, the apartment feeling wholly emptier than it did at the start of summer. You glare at it, a cross between huff and a sigh filling the silence for a moment. How did Hotchner weasel himself into so deeply in his life that you felt his absence? 

Three years at this school, and you had barely made a friend. It was hard in large lecture halls and even small classrooms lined with people who were nothing like you. It was harder when you often left class right after. It was difficult to connect to people, it was difficult to get beyond small talk. But it was never difficult with Hotchner. 

Not once. 

You supposed that’s what made this so difficult. And there was nothing more to it than that — right? The question lingered in the back of your mind, an unspoken thought that did not wish to be punctuated with a question mark, but nevertheless was. 

It was stupid. It was so stupid. You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, pulling a cushion over your face — hoping it would be enough to drown out the “evidence” your mind presented as signs of his affection — it wasn’t. 

He stayed with you that night. Like a friend would. 

He always is looking at you, longer than necessary. You’re imagining it. 

He was so gentle when you got cut. You were hurt, he was trying to help. 

He told you about his dad and about his dreams. Again, a friend? He trusted you, but it doesn’t mean he has feelings. 

He fell asleep with you on the couch. And then went back to sleep. You paused. That was one thing you couldn’t explain. 

You were awake when he had woken up, you had felt him rouse because you had already awoken yourself, his name flying from your lips without a thought when you saw him, felt his solid presence, his head resting against yours. You panicked. So you pretended to be asleep, and you felt him awake, heard his pause, felt his touch, and then felt him settle back in beside you. 

But you didn’t know why. 

It was easy to explain things away, it was simple — but nothing was simple when it was him. Nothing was easy. 

~~~

"No I'm sure, I don't want to go to the party tonight." you waved off Alex, who still followed you instead, her arms crossed. 

“You shouldn’t be waiting for him to call,” you furrow your brow, as she jerks her head toward the wall you and Hotchner shared, “you need to move on.” 

“I’m not waiting, I’m just tired, and unlike you, I haven’t had the entire summer off, and just came back after a fabulous vacation,” you cross your arms, lips pursed, but you know that she sees right through you, “just go, Alex. I’ll come to the next one I promise.” 

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head, "I'll see you tomorrow." The door shuts behind you and you groan. 

What the fuck were you doing? 

Who were you kidding? You collapsed onto your couch, facefirst into the couch cushions. You knew what the fuck you were doing — the exact thing you promised to never do, you sighed loudly into the cushion, pulling a pillow over your head — canceling any plans in hopes a guy would call. A guy — a guy with a girlfriend who he was in love with, one who didn’t give you the time of day anymore, and one who was barely a friend now. 

But still, he wasn’t just any guy was he? He was Aaron Hotchner. 

And that was the fucking problem. 

But right now, you turned your head to glance at the clock, your main problem was that you were still conscious, and that meant it was time to go to sleep. You looked to the wall you and Hotchner shared — you weren’t going anywhere tonight, that was for sure. 

~~~

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

You groan, pulling the pillow over your ears, “This is a joke, right?” and again, you are stumbling out of bed, half asleep and half blind, eyes barely open, “who is it?” But a part of you knew the answer before you even asked. 

“It’s me,” Hotchner intoned, and you opened the door, frown on your lips dropping when you saw his face — even in the dark, you could see the tell tale sign of tear tracks on his cheeks, barely glistening in the dim light, “can I come in?” 

You step aside, shutting the door behind you, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, and he catches a glimpse of your hands crossed across your chest. He scrubs a hand down his face as he slumps down on your couch, “I just...broke up with Haley.” 

The words echo in your ears, as you gape at him, blinking, “You...what?” you shake the shock from your mind. He needs you right now. He needs your support. 

You slide next to him, “I’m so sorry, Hotchner, I—” the words die on your lips, as you see him stare at the floor, his gaze blank, “hey—” He finds your gaze, his eyes glassy but somehow still so steady, and your heart stutters in your chest, “It isn’t your fault.” 

He gives a bitter chuckle, “How do you know that?” 

“Because I know you,” you tuck one leg under the other, one hanging off the end of the couch, “and I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone, much less Haley, intentionally.” 

His expression is inscrutable as his eyes fall to his lap, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he looks back to you, “Are you sure?” 

And the question hangs in the air — words wrapped up in meaning, tucked away behind punctuation and subtext. And he’s looking at you — a look that you can’t pin down, but it makes your heart squeeze harder in your chest and your blood turns molten in your veins. Why is he looking at you like that? And why for so long? The way his eyes linger make you want to believe — makes your foolish heart want to believe — maybe, maybe there’s something more to his question, something he’s asking you without asking you. A question within a question, that only makes your head spin and butterflies bloom in your stomach. 

“Of course I am,” a statement within a statement, tentative and as unsaid as his, but the words were on your tongue like an ice cube, rapidly melting away like your hope was that maybe — maybe this was something more. But the moment is broken when he looks away, and silence encroaches once again, strangling and consuming — you have to say something, anything to break it. More than that, you needed to do something — so you said the only thing that occurred to you, “Do you want to go to a party?” 

~~~

You were surprised. 

And you weren’t sure by what more — the fact Hotchner agreed to go to a party on a weekday or the fact he was two shots ahead of you now. 

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. The blaring music shook the fraternity house to the screws and joists holding the building together. The kitchen had been set up as one giant alcohol station — bottles of every kind of cheap alcohol lining the counters and shelves, much of which Hotchner was helping himself to. 

He was pouring himself another shot, and another beer into a red cup, as you watched him, eyebrow raised. 

“Pace yourself,” you tell him over the music, as he downs another, no chaser, the chaser long forgotten, but Haley seemingly wasn’t by the melancholy scrawled across his face, “have you eaten a single thing tonight?” 

“Isn’t the point of college parties to drink?” his words are more than a little slurred, his usual crisp intonation down for the count, and his balance was barely existent at this point, swaying as he spoke. 

“To drink, not to leave in a body bag,” you say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, and to your surprise he doesn’t brush it off — no, his hand rests over it, holding it there. His eyes flutter shut, as he leans against your hand and his, “You alright there?” your cheeks burn as his eyes open again, his gaze intense and steady, and you see something you hadn’t seen before — a look that you can’t decipher. 

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, his hand around your wrist now, dragging you through the kitchen and the throng of people in the house. 

“Where are we going?” you call over the roar of the party, but you don’t know if he even hears you, his head still turned as he weaves through the crowd, and up the stairs, until he pulls you into an empty bedroom, the door shutting behind you. Moonlight streams in from the window beside the bed, what little light illuminating his figure in the inky black between the shutters, “Hotchner, what is—” 

“I just wanted to say sorry,” he shakes his head, sitting on the bed, gaze dropped to his feet, “sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to— I just—” 

“It’s okay,” you find your way to his side, the creak of the bed beside him making him look to you, “It happens. You were going through something. I’m not mad—” 

“You’re important to me,” he shakes his head again, insistently, “I shouldn’t have— I was a fucking ass, I just—” 

“Hey, I know you’re a fucking ass,” and he scoffs, “who’s the bigger fool? The person who’s an ass or the person that’s friends with him?” 

“I always knew you were a nerd, but Star Wars, really?” he grins, elbowing you, “you are full of surprises.” 

“Takes a nerd to know a nerd,” and he leans back, palms splayed against the bed, “I am a person of many facets.” 

“I know,” he whispers, finding your gaze in the dark, “And that’s what I love about you.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest, “Hotchner—” 

He leans forward, his fingers cupping your cheek, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again. He’s so close, you can see his eyelashes flutter as he stares at you half-lidded, the heat from his body radiating off of him, as his chest nearly brushes yours now, “I’ve wanted— I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his words sending warmth blooming across your cheeks — his scent consumes you — pine, musk, and mint, your breath stolen by his words — ferreted away in the night that covers you both. 

“Please,” you whisper into the night, and when his lips brush yours, you wonder if it is real. Or a dream of your own design in the dark. But no, it’s real as the forehead that brushes yours after he parts a moment, “Aaron,” you sigh against him. 

Your lips find his again, noses brushing, and he lingers this time — more sure, but still hesitant. Just as hesitant as you are. He’s sweet on your lips, sliding against yours softly, his thumb brushing at your cheek, before your fingers knot themselves in his hair, deepening the kiss. You want more, you need more. And you hear him moan against your lips, a deep rumble that sends a shiver up and down your body. 

Then his tongue runs across your lips and you taste it — the alcohol on his lips, and you remember — Haley, the drinking, everything — it had been just to get over her. 

And your palms press against his chest, stopping him, his quiet pants still warming your lips, “I can’t do this.” 

You couldn’t be his rebound. Not after all of this. Not after what you felt for him, what you still felt for him. You didn’t want to be something he’d used to forget, something he’d want to forget. You couldn’t be his second choice. You deserved more. You wanted more. 

But you also wanted him. 

A moment passes, another, and he pulls back, “I understand,” he nods, “I’m sorry if—” 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t—” you cut off, “I’m sorry if I—” 

“You didn’t,” he rises slowly to his feet, rubbing at his eyes, “let’s go home?” 

The walk home was in silence, which was somehow more eruciating than the two hour of constant, deafening music you had just endured. Your head throbbed, and whether it was from the alcohol, the music, or the night — you glanced at Hotchner — that was up for debate. Your nausea burned at your throat in time with your headache hitting a crescendo —- just not at this particular moment. 

“Good night,” were the only words he managed when he dropped you at the door, stumbling into his own apartment. And you only realize as you slide into bed that you realize you didn’t explain why you couldn’t — why you couldn’t kiss him. But with your face pressed against the cool pillow, the memory of his lips on yours lingering, and the siren song of sleep, you couldn’t dwell on it. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, the sandman’s embrace too tempting. There was always tomorrow.

~~~

Or maybe there wasn’t, you realized as you stepped out of your apartment, at least, not a tomorrow that included him. After pacing for an hour, convincing yourself to talk to him — to say something about last night — after you had re-lived that kiss a dozen times, after you practiced what you were going to say to him, and after you realized he was worth the risk. 

But you weren’t to him. 

But Haley was. 

Her lips pressed against his, right where yours were last night, her bags dropped beside their feet. His arms winded easily around her waist, comfortable and familiar, pulling her somehow impossibly closer than she already was. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, evidence of tears gliding down her cheeks. He inhales her breath, as they part, murmuring things only the other can hear, until your door bangs against its frame, still helplessly open behind you. 

Their eyes snap to you, and you have to tuck away the hurt and pain quickly — quickly, your lips somehow finding itself in a small smile, even as your heart splintered to pieces in your chest. 

His mouth opens silently, eyes painfully wide a moment, while Haley greets you with a smile, your name from her mouth painful to your ears, “It’s so nice to see you again. Aaron told me he wouldn’t have been surviving class without you.” 

Painful because you can’t hate her, painful because it isn’t her fault, painful because maybe in another life you could have been friends, painful because you had to fall for her boyfriend — “Of course,” you manage to find your voice, “someone has to keep their head on straight.”

And you had to. 

“I keep mine on,” he withers under both of your gazes, “sometimes.” His eyes linger on you a moment too long, but Haley doesn’t seem to notice, instead, stepping over her bags, and pulling you aside a moment. 

“I just wanted to apologize for how I acted before,” she shakes her head, “me and Aaron have been having a hard time lately, and I think I took it out on you — but we’re okay now. I just don’t want any bad feelings between each other because I know you’re a good friend to him.” 

Friend, the word rings in your ears, “Of course,” friend, and you wonder if your ears are bleeding by now, “we’re good. Don’t worry about it.” 

You find him unable to meet your eyes, his stare fixed on Haley instead. 

Of course. 

You were just friends after all. 

~~~

You don’t see him much after that. 

And you prefer it that way. 

There was only one more class before the final, and you arrived late, slipping into the back of the lecture hall, tucked away — out of sight. 

You left before it ended, sparing one last glance at Hotchner. 

Out of mind. 

The exam rolls around soon enough, the study period relatively short for summer courses, and you find yourself packing as you finish studying. But still, your mind drifts to him in between moments of taping up boxes and trying to remember the answers you scribbled on the back of flashcards. You would have been studying with him — he would have quizzed you while you boxed up your kitchen, he would have teased you for your barely legible chicken scratch, and he would have been here. 

But he wasn’t. You folded the flaps of yet another box down, tape gun in hand, pressing it to the lip of the box. 

Out of sight, the rip of tape across cardboard, But was he out of mind? 

~~~

“You’re moving?” he catches you moving boxes out of your place, the van you rented outside, sticking his head out of his apartment, his brow furrowed. 

“I am,” you continue down with your boxes, and he moves forward to help you, but you brush by him, heading down the stairs, “I got it, thanks.” 

But he doesn’t let you go, “I thought you still had another year left—” 

“I’m finishing a semester early,” you reply, opening up the trunk again to place the two boxes in the back, “and next semester I’m studying abroad. That’s why I did summer classes.” 

“Studying abroad?” he blinks, “when—” 

“I’m going home for two weeks, and then I’m flying to Switzerland,” the thump of the boxes is loud in his silence, as you slide them into place, “that day I wasn’t doing well— It was because I had gotten rejected from the program. My financial aid hadn’t pulled through,” you pull the trunk closed again, locking it, before brushing past him and  trudging up the stairs again, “But last week, my financial aid office helped me to find a private lender. So I’m going.” 

You hear the slow clunk of his shoes following you up, as you grab another two boxes, and you finally glance at him, finding his lips in a thin line twisted in something resembling a smile, “Congratulations, I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, bite your lip — biting back the words burning on your tongue — hauling the last two boxes into your arms. You try to slip past him again, but he grabs a box from your hands. 

“At least let me help you with this,” at least let me do this if not anything else — unspoken words lingered in the air, his fingers grazing yours as he took it, hefting it with relative ease. 

“You know, I’m happy for you too,” you say when you slide the box into place, after unlocking the trunk again. His brows knit together, and it’s not from the strain of carrying your things down the stairs, “I mean it,” and his eyes meet your gaze — you see too many emotions to pull them apart — sadness, regret, worry — and a few you don’t care to pick apart. It doesn’t matter now, “for you and Haley, it’s great you worked it out. You’re good together.” 

And you know it’s true. He’s happy, lighter than he had been for weeks, but now, his shoulders seem so heavy, weights pressed upon the corners of his lips and against his brow. 

“We are,” he shakes his head, sighing, “I just wanted to say s—” 

“We’re good,” you cut him off with a small smile, and you shut the van up, locking it. You turn back to him, only to find his lips pursed, glancing between you and the van, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning, so this isn’t goodbye. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He chuckles, “Intent on dragging this out?” 

“I’ll never make it easy for you, Hotchner,” your hands slip into your pockets, walking back up to your apartment, adding, “but you’ll always have my respect and my friendship.” 

“I know,” he says softly, over the low buzz of the hallway fluorescents, “you’ll always have mine too,” he frowns, looking at your door and his, a question on his lips. 

“I should get to bed early,” you turn to unlock your door, “I’m leaving at 7 tomorrow.” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, stepping back, before sparing one more smile, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I should too —  you don’t mind if I say goodbye tomorrow right?” 

You shake your head, “I expect it, bright and early,” and he rolls his eyes, “Good night Hotchner.” 

“Good night,” he says your name, and even as you shut the door behind you, you love the way his mouth curls around your name — achingly and annoyingly perfect. And you remember what else he could do with those lips, how your name felt whispered against your own lips — 

And you remember who those lips would be kissing for the foreseeable future — at home, at their engagement, at their wedding. You catch yourself, heart twisting unto itself, and you had almost forgotten that it was broken — for a moment. 

And you know — you know then that you can’t say goodbye to him. 

Not in person. 

Because you wanted him still, despite it all. And wanting was enough — for a time. But now wanting only hurt because you were wanting what you would never get. You wanted him — but he was never yours to begin with, was he? 

He wasn’t yours to lose — but you did. 

And he would lose you too. 

~~~

Aaron had woken up on time. 

He woke up before his alarm went off, eyes fluttering open to sunlight streaming in his bedroom window. And he tossed off his sheets, rubbing at his eyes. 

He couldn’t be sad — he was happy for you. 

You were graduating, you were moving on, you were doing something you always wanted to do. He sat up, throwing his legs over the bed, pressing his fist to his lips, elbow digging into his thigh. He only wished he was brave enough to go after what he wanted.

What he wanted, his eyes drifted to the picture of Haley on his bedside table, did he even know what he wanted?

He slips out of bed, brewing two cups of coffee — knowing you would be on the road for quite a while. He still had some time before you were leaving.

He opens his apartment door, finding your apartment door open. The landlord pokes his head out, “Hey Hotchner, that doorknob treating you well?” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow, “It’s fine, what are you doing?” 

“Just going over to see what the damage is and if I’m going to be returning that security deposit or not,” he fussed over the clipboard in his hand, pulling the pencil from behind his ear, “looks like the apartment was in relatively good shape so guess I’ll be mailing a check.” 

“Mailing?” Aaron blinks, and the landlord tilts his head. 

“How else do you suppose I give something to a tenant who has already moved out and split?” In that moment, he brushes past him, peering into your empty apartment — the only things left were those of your roommate’s, “Left about an hour ago in a rush, couldn’t even wait for me to do my walkthrough.” 

He was on time, he was early even, he stepped downstairs to only find the truck long gone. 

But he was still too late. 

Always too late. 

~~~

But always wasn’t always forever. 

“Hey, stranger,” you nestled the phone between your cheek and your shoulder, hands full with a bread dough you were currently trying to knead for its next proof, “it’s been a long time—” 

“Did you hear?” 

“Hear what, Alex?” her voice grows quiet on the phone, “what’s wrong?” 

“You know how I’ve been organizing in preparation for the reunion in a few months?” and you lick your lips, moving to wash your hands. 

“Yeah, you told me about that and said on uncertain terms could I refuse to attend, unless I’d like to risk certain bodily harm,” you shook your head, “I didn’t forget, so is that what—” 

“It’s Haley, Haley Hotchner?” 

You pause, “Yeah Hotchner’s gi— wife?” 

“She died, just a week or two ago,” her voice falters, “I just heard about it from Paul, do you remember him? He was in your poli-sci class. He’s in the FBI too. I wanted to get Aaron’s information, and he told me it probably wasn’t a good time. And I pressed him and then….” 

“Oh my god,” you rested your back to the counter, “How did she—” 

“He didn’t get into details, but it was pretty fresh it seemed like. He’s still on leave, and the funeral is soon.” 

Your hands shook, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind returned to that summer — his smile, his laugh, his touch, his care — “When is it?” 

She says your name slowly, “Why?” 

“I have to go,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I have to go see him.” 

[jimlingss]

The Art of Benefits

➜ Words: 9.8k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut, FWB!AU

➜ Summary: There's only one aspect of your life that's missing: sex. But you know yourself. You catch feelings as quickly as you catch colds. But when your friend arranges a meeting with a certain Park Jimin, you'll become inclined to learn the craft of detachment, aka. the art of benefits.

➜ Warning: sex, sexual discussions, toys, sucking dick, period sex, etc.

cr.

[2nd Year Fall Semester]   Life as a sophomore wasn’t shabby.   Assignments, papers and midterms came and went with decent grades that you eventually forgot about. Lectures, club meetings, and studying took most of your time too. But Christmas was arriving and that meant it was sweater weather. It also meant that snow was dusting from the sky and you were watching couples cozying up and keeping each other warm from across the dining center.   It was unfair really. You were cold too. In fact, most of the time you happen to be cold. And while relationships were too much of a time commitment for you to take on, you deserved a cuddle buddy just as much as the next person. Or a fuck buddy. Either works really.   You’ve never been opposed to a friends with benefits relationship.    The only problem is, it would never work for you.   But if you somehow learnt to detach your emotions, it could be the most efficient thing yet. After all, good sex with another warm body was the only aspect in your life that you were missing.   “I mean it’s possible. A lot of people start friends with benefits relationships on campus,” Wendy says as she stuffs her face with her sub sandwich and muses mid-chew, “There’s actually a lot of candidates to choose from.”   You’re exasperated at her nonchalance. As if it’s as easy as going to the supermarket and picking someone up. “Who?!”    You need someone who would be on the same page as you, with the same priorities, a good sex partner who wouldn’t catch feelings either. But frankly, you don’t know that many people.    “Well, what about that guy from your class that you were crushing on? Didn’t you say he was super smart? Might help you on your assignments too.”   “Namjoon?” You shake your head. “He’s got a girlfriend.”   “Okay. What about that older guy in your board games club?”   “No. Seokjin’s graduating next semester.”   Wendy hums, eyes flickering around the dining hall center as she contemplates. “How about Yoongi? From what you’ve told me, he seems pretty cool.”   You loll your head to one side and stab your sweet and sour chicken. “I’m not going to sleep with someone from work. That sounds like a disaster waiting.”   “Jungkook?”   “That’s weird. We went to the same elementary school together.” You can still remember his bowl cut hair as clear as day, and not to mention, the two of you share a group of friends. If things go downhill, it would be a complete mess. The epitome of inefficiency. Which is counterproductive to your goal.   “Taehyung?” At this point, Wendy’s just listing out random people that you know, but you play along just for amusement.   “Nah. Yena has a crush on him.”   She takes another clean bite of her sandwich. “What about that guy that works at that McDonalds that you find cute. What’s his name? Hugo? Howard?”   “Hoseok,” you correct with a feigned glare that makes her smile. “And that’s a big fat no. He doesn’t even know I exist. What am I supposed to do? Waltz up to him and ask to be fuck buddies?”   She grins. “Well, I mean—”   “It wouldn’t work,” you deadpan before she laughs and in turn, makes you giggle too.   The chatter of the room settles in your ears as background noise. You gaze out the window to the sparkling snow piles that reflect the lampposts soft, white light. The sun has long fallen even though it���s only six p.m. The low lights peeking through the somber clouds covering the horizon does little. You dread the thought of having to venture out into the cold and catch the bus home.   You don’t notice how Wendy’s looking at you while she sips on her water. Not until she hums. “You know what? I know someone I could hook you up with.”   Your brow cocks and the corner of your mouth twitches. “Is he a fuckboy?”   Your long time friend shrugs with a glint in her eyes that makes you unsure if she’s serious or not. Wendy once joked that she had a boyfriend from Northern Canada and convinced you hard enough that you legitimately believed her for a good month. So you can never be quite certain when it comes to her. For all you know, she could just be making it up to entertain you.   “Sort of, but he’s a nice one.” Wendy stays vague. “He was my lab partner.”   You stare at her and when her expression remains blank, you scoff. “Sure, sure,” you draw out the syllables with a small laugh and bat the air with your hand just to end the conversation.   And when it’s never discussed again, Wendy moving on to tell you a story about something she suddenly remembers, you’d one day come to realize that was a terrible, terrible mistake.   //   That one day is now.   3:50pm. Wendy: hey i set up a meeting what that guy 3:50pm. Wendy: third floor library  3:50pm. Wendy: he’s in a red hat btw   The text comes right when you’re leaving your last lecture of the day.   3:51pm. Y/N: what guy   3:53pm. Wendy: your future fwb   3:53pm. Y/N: ?????????????????????????????????/ 3:53pm. Y/N: ???????????????? 3:54pm. Y/N: wtf i wasn’t SERIOUS   3:54pm. Wendy: wat   3:54pm. Y/N: I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING   3:56pm. Wendy: lmao too late 3:56pm. Wendy: at least meet him he’s waiting sis   3:54pm. Y/N: can’t you cancel?????????   3:57pm. Wendy: n a h   You nearly burst an artery in your temple at the emojis and memes she spams to you.   3:59pm. Wendy: I already told him the gist btw 4:00pm. Wendy: don’t chicken out   With no other choice, you make a u-turn and head towards the library with too many thoughts swirling inside your brain. Chances are this stranger is going to see you, think you’re ugly as shit and try to back out of it. It’s going to be awkward as all hell and you’re not sure you’re ready to have this traumatizing memory for the rest of your life.   Then again, you wonder how Wendy even convinced this dude to meet up. If he’s really that easy going. If this is a typical thing people do now. Or maybe Wendy showed a picture of you on your insta and he agreed afterwards — it wouldn’t be the first time she did that, much to your embarrassment. But you hope it’s the latter case. At least that eliminates the possibility of him trying to backpedal his way out of it after seeing your face.   You also wonder how the hell you’re going to find him. The library is full of students, the rowdy ones and the studious ones being disturbed by them. You wonder what he looks like, what he’ll be like. Third floor. Male. Red hat.   You arrive at the appropriate floor and begin scanning the premise, walking around as your eyes sweep the area. Almost immediately you catch a brunette hunched over and on his phone by the table. He’s wearing a red cap on backwards, purple tee shirt. He has a frat boy aesthetic.   Not really the type you go for.   Looking over him, you round the computers, bookshelves and tables. But finding no one else with a red hat on the third floor, you sharply inhale and approach the boy with his fluffy cheek rested in his hand, arm propped up on the table lazily. Scrolling through his phone.   “Excuse me.”    Your voice is light and hesitant as if you were asking help from someone at the front desk and not seeing if this was a potential fuck buddy. It’s mortifying to say the least.   His head lifts, brown eyes catching the lights.   You clear your throat. “Wendy…”   “Oh. You’re her, right?” He smiles and thankfully, doesn’t seem to be disappointed. “Wendy’s friend?”   “Yeah. I’m Y/N.”   “Jimin.”   Now that you get a closer look, he’s kind of cute. But you don’t dwell. Or look him in the eye.   It feels like a job interview. But worse. “You were Wendy’s lab partner?”   “That’s me.” He pockets his phone. “I’m a kines major. You?”   “I’m in the arts faculty. Political science.”   “Cool, cool.” Jimin nods and then gets to business without any shame, “So Wendy already told me about it. You’re looking to have a friends with benefits relationship?”   “Yeah….about that….”   “I’m down if you are.” His hand opens up, gesturing to you. You’re not sure how you feel about how laid-back he is, but he remains upfront which you suppose is the right thing to do. “I have a dorm room in the Sierra building by the engineering faculty building if you know where that is.”   “I’ve walked past it before.”   “Cool. Anyway, my last f.w.b. ended two months ago and I kind of miss it,” he quickly clarifies, “The sex, I mean.”   You’re speechless and contemplating if you really want to do this. You know if it works out, it’ll be fairly efficient. You’ve always gotten off by yourself and while it works, it’s not something you’d call completely satisfying. Having someone’s help— good help — is a change you’ve been considering. But a friends with benefits situation has always been one of those ‘what if’ scenarios. You've just never had an opportunity like this to make it actually happen.   Jimin senses your hesitance and leans forward. He lowers his volume. “Are you a virgin? Cause I’m cool with—”   You scoff. “No. I’m not. I just...haven’t done something like this before.”   “Friends with benefits?” His question is answered by your body language. “It’s not bad. Safer than one night stands and more consistent too. You don’t have to go out and find someone every time you want to have sex. And it’s a low level commitment.”   The corner of your mouth pulls and you agree. “It’s efficient. But...I need time to think about it.”   “Sure. Tell me when you make up your mind. I’ll give you my number.” He opens his hand again and you pass him your phone. He quickly types it in. “Take your time.”   //   And you do.   You weigh the pros and cons against each other, considering every possibility and all the consequences. Part of you wants to just go for it. The same part that once decided in high school at midnight that bangs would be a hot look on you. (It wasn’t). The part of you that dyed your hair blue that one summer on a whim. The part that doesn’t want to think and wants to jump head first into things. Jimin made a lot of good pointers too and you’re certain this would be a good outlet. An experience. It helps that he’s quite attractive too and seems to be trustworthy and rational.   Yet, part of you wonders if it would be a bad decision.   There’s a chance that you might catch feelings. For you, it wouldn’t be unheard of either. You have a tendency to catch feelings as fast as you catch colds. And you already know that’s the demise of these kinds of relationships. Once a party gets involved too deep, it’s game over. There’s nothing but heartbreak.   The only way it would work is if you minimize your interactions with him.   The less attached you are, the less likely you are to develop feelings for him since the only way you would like anyone is if you knew them. So the less you know, the better the outcome.    It’s an equation.    It’s the art of the benefits.   And if that works, if you master the art, it would solve every potential issue.   The dorms for sophomores are bigger than the ones for first year freshmen. Instead of a single room with two beds on either side by the walls, there are private bedrooms with just a shared bathroom, a main living space and kitchen.    “Bathrooms are over here,” Jimin gestures. There’s one room at the end of the hall and another one beside his. “Both my roommates are out, so you don’t have to worry. They’re pretty nice.”   You feel awkward lingering at the entryway with your backpack on.   You clear your throat. “Can I get a drink?”   “Oh yeah. There’s new water bottles by the sink, I think, and there’s orange juice in the fridge if you’d like.”   “No, I mean, do you have anything alcoholic?” you correct and he blinks at you owlishly before smiling. You drop your bag and find it in the fridge, a whole vodka bottle. You fill a shot up with a glass on the drying rack. The clear liquid burns as it travels to the back of your throat. The bitter taste nearly makes you gag, but you feel your face warm and you ease even more, knowing it works.   In the meanwhile, Jimin studies you, standing from across the kitchen island. His hands are casually dug into the pockets of his gray sweats. “We won’t have to follow through with this, you know. I’m fine either way.”   “No,” you quickly refute, irrationally afraid he’s changed his mind. And the words spill out of you as you cringe, “I’m horny as shit, I’mjustnervous.”   The guy smiles, eyes slightly crinkled when he does so. “Of what?”   “A lot of things.” You don’t pour a second shot even though you kind of want to. But you have things to do tomorrow, so you can’t nurse a hangover and you most certainly don’t want to be drunk while doing this. “If you didn’t notice, I don’t do this often.”   While you’re at it, you tell him, “I don’t know how to suck dick.”   He leans against the counter, grinning. “Okay. I don’t mind.”   “Also, if you haven’t noticed either, my ass is kind of deflated.”   Jimin shrugs. “I’m more of a boob man anyway.”    You narrow your eyes, not sure if he’s lying or trying to make you feel better.   But there’s no time to dwell when he seriously asks— “Do you still want to do this?”   It takes a second for you to muster your courage. And once you do, you know you won’t back down. “All right. Let’s do this!” You walk into his room like you’re about to go fight off a monster.   Behind you, Jimin grins and it takes a good moment for him to calm you down.   “Are you okay with kissing?” he asks, door shut and distance closed. He’s intimately close and you nod.   Finally, your brain stops overthinking and you let yourself feel. Jimin’s lips are full and plush, and they’re good against yours. The soft smacking fills his room. The two of you kiss until your lips part and he begins to lick into your mouth, tongue entering without much hesitation.   You fall back onto the mattress, noticing that the bed’s been made sloppily, but better than your own. The pair of you keep kissing and he hovers over you, capturing you against the sheets. Pathetically enough, you already begin to feel your center throbbing and it’s a relief when you both get rid of your clothes.   He doesn’t talk much — doesn’t give much commentary or even dirty talk. But you don’t mind. All you’re offering after all is soft sighs and quiet moans.   Jimin squeezes your breasts and fingers you for a good minute. He’s surprised to see how wet you are, even letting out an ‘oh shit’, but you make no efforts to come up with an excuse. The stretch feels good from his thick fingers, but you bet it’ll feel good around his girthy cock too.   He goes to grab a condom from his drawer, but pauses.   “Do...you want me to eat you out?”   “I’m good,” you politely decline, afraid it might be too intimate. You’re not sure where the lines are drawn, but it’s something you’ll have to gauge while you go. “Do you want me to suck your dick? You might have to teach me though.”   The corner of his mouth tugs. “I’m good too.”   As Jimin rips open the condom package, you turn yourself around and get onto all fours. He doesn’t protest and when he enters you, it feels good enough for you to fall forward into the pillows. His cock is of average size, but he’s girthy and your cunt stretches to accommodate him.   He groans in his throat when you clench — and the sound gets you off, making you squeeze again. Jimin pounds into you, his pelvis hitting the meat of your ass, cock drawing in and out against your tight, warm walls. You do your best to meet his thrusts halfway, jerking your hips back and you stifle your moans with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. The sloppy sounds of slapping and the creaking of his bed makes you glad his roommates are gone. And while the sex is not mind-blowing per se, it’s still good. Enough that you climax once he rubs your clit several times and he unloads into the condom too.   It’s easier than you thought it would be. Not a big deal whatsoever. It took ten minutes in total and it felt good.   It’s just sex — and that’s exactly it. Just sex. The very lesson of the art of benefits.   You pick up your clothes off the floor, slipping them back on. “I gotta get going.”   There’s no snuggling, no cuddling, no pillow talks. And it doesn’t seem like he minds whatsoever.   “‘Kay.” Jimin picks up his phone off his bedside table to check his texts and waves goodbye without even looking at you.   You leave, walking yourself out and humming as you stride down the hall.    You’re glad you went through with it.

[2nd Year Winter Semester]   You run there with your sandwich stuffed in your cheek.   By the time Jimin opens the door, you’re still chewing while panting. It’s a comical sight by the way he smiles at you. You’re already winded before anything’s started. “I hadn’t eaten yet and I needed to get my blood sugar up.”   Jimin’s lips are quirked. “We can always eat beforehand, you know. There’s food in the fridge.”   “Nah, I’m good.” Having meals with your friends with benefits is the last thing on your mind.   He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”   You use his bathroom, releasing your bladder and rinsing your mouth thoroughly. You know yourself and you’re not a novice on how these relationships work. The less interaction and knowledge you have about him, the more you can keep your distance.   “G-God,” he exhales shakingly, hand fisted in your hair. “You’re getting b-better at this….”   Jimin watches through heavy lids as you’re slobbering over his cock. He tries his best to watch, but when you run your tongue over the weeping slit at the bulborous head, his eyes shut and his head naturally knocks back. You’ve gotten better at a lot of things in the few months that have passed, namely sucking dick, but your jaw aches and you wonder when he’s going to cum.   It’s worth it though. You might be the one kneeling in front of him, but you feel powerful. It’s too easy to make him crumble. To make him moan like that. It makes you wet to hear him and knowing you could bite off his dick or make him lose a load, the sheer power eggs you on.   Like you were taught, you inhale, ease your muscles and take Jimin as far as you can.   He chokes as his cock hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflexes threaten your endeavour but you keep them at bay and Jimin’s hand in your hair tightens. Especially when you swallow.   “Fuck. I-I’m going to cum.”   Thank god. Finally!   Usually, you let off so he can cum elsewhere (god forbid in your hair) or if he accidentally does it in your mouth, you spit it out on tissue. But this time, you made a commitment to yourself. You came here with a goal. So you inhale again and deep throat him, sucking as much as you can.   With his curly pubic hair grazing your nose, Jimin cums. His groans staccato. His cock twitches.   And you swallow the bitter, white fluid that comes out in ribbons.   After a few seconds, you finally withdraw. Jimin opens his eyes, staring at you in wonderment. There are strands of saliva from between his softened cock to your lips and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.   “Not gonna lie.” You clear your throat and swallow down the remaining taste. “That’s really nasty.”   Jimin bursts out laughing.   “Thanks.”    “It’s the least I can do.” You stand up, shaking your left leg awake. It feels like pins and needles when you step around. “I’ve sat on your face like twice already.”   You toss Jimin his pants off the ground and you get your cardigan back on.   “You wanna come over on Friday?”   “Uh…” You grab your phone from your jacket that’s also been discarded and check your calendar. “Sorry. Can’t. I’m busy on that day.”   His brows raise, but he doesn’t question it.   “How about Saturday?” you offer.   “No. I have a kines exam scheduled.”   Your face twists in disgust. “On a Saturday?”   “Yep. I know. It sucks.”   You sympathize, but you’re also surprised. “I didn’t know you were a kines major.”   “What? I thought I told you.”   “Guess I forgot.” You put yourself back together and a thought strikes you. Your eyes light up and you turn to your friend with glittering eyes. “Does that mean you can crack bones? I’ve always wanted to go to a chiropractor since my lower back always hurts. You should crack it for me.”   Jimin grins. “Sorry, I don’t know how to do that. They don’t really teach you that kind of stuff.”   “Oh.” Your eyes dim and you don’t try to hide your disappointment. You almost thought you could get a little more out of him, but you suppose decent sex is enough.    As you grab your bag, you notice that his phone lights up. “You got a text from Victoria.”   “Thanks.” He reaches over, but the curious expression on your face must be visible, since he says, “Don’t worry. She’s not my girlfriend or anything. She’s just someone I’m kind of into.”   “Nice!”   The corner of Jimin’s mouth quirks at your genuinely excited response even though he never looks away from the screen. You’re psyched though. If he has an interest in someone else, there’s less chance for anyone to catch feelings. Fewer connections. More distance.   “If you ever want to end this, just let me know.” You throw your backpack on that’s heavy with your laptop and textbooks inside.   “Yeah.”   “I’m going now.”   “Bye.” Jimin’s fingers fly across the screen to text the other girl back and neither of you spare each other a glance. The door shuts moments later and the noise echoes through the walls.

[3rd Year Fall Semester]   In spite of being a junior now, things have relatively remained the same.   According to course outlines, lectures are more in-depth in their content, but there’s still assignments, papers, and midterms. The grading schemes haven’t changed and you know there’s a shit ton of work waiting for you in the coming months. But you find pleasure wherever you can.   The door opens, but it’s not Jimin on the other side.   “Hey, Y/N.” Taemin, his roommate, is eating chips. “He’s in his room.”   “Thanks.”   You shuffle inside and after briefly greeting Jongin, the other roommate, who’s busy playing Animal Crossing on the living room couch, you beeline to his room. You find Jimin hunched over his messy desk, rounded spectacles on the bridge of his nose as he’s tapping furiously across his laptop keyboard.   He glances at you. “Sorry. I need a second.”   “Take your time.”    You set down your bag and shed your coat, tossing it aside. You’re not sure what he’s doing, but you don’t ask. Instead, you pull out your phone and run through your usual apps. With no messages to answer or anything to scroll through, you check your email and find the words ‘emergency’ in one of the subject lines.   After a minute, Jimin saves his document and closes the lid of his laptop. He stretches above his head with a groan and turns around, only to find you now hunched over your own device.   “Sorry,” you mutter once you feel his gaze on you. “My manager needs me to fill out my timesheet and send it to her.”   “I didn’t know you worked.”   “Just part-time at the admissions office here on campus.” You go quiet as you skim over your email again to ensure it makes sense. “It’s a pretty easy gig.”   He hums and you finish, shutting your laptop and sticking it back into your bag. That’s when you finally get a good look at the boy across the room — dark hair, blue shirt and gray sweats — and you notice how tan he’s gotten. It’s a good look.    Your mouth tugs. “Did you travel over the summer?”   “I went to the Caribbean with my family for like two weeks.”   “Fancy.”   “It was alright.” He gets up and re-stacks the textbooks on his desk into a single pile. Jimin notices the stack of flyers he was supposed to distribute. “Oh yeah. Do you want to join the crayon club?”   Your brow lifts. “The crayon club?”   “Yeah, you can come colour every Wednesday night and just hang out with people.” Jimin grins boyishly. “My friend wanted to make a club and he made me the communications executive. I’m supposed to get people to join. You don’t have to, but the first meet and greet is this Friday, and the more people the better. There’s gonna be free food by the way, if that helps.”   You’re not sure that's a good idea.   The two of you have never really met up outside of his dormitory, aside from the first time you met at the library.   “Let me check my calendar.” You grab your phone again and thoughtlessly mumble, “Sometimes I’m busy on Friday. I’m part of the board games club and we meet up every other week…..don’t judge.”   “I’m not.”    Still, Jimin's smile widens and you feign a pout.    You’re free this week.   “I’ll come if you make me an executive too,” you quip carelessly while tossing your phone aside. “It’ll look good on my law application.”   Jimin quirks his head. He didn’t know you were aiming for law school. “Okay.”   “Wait.” You’re taken off guard, eyes as wide as saucers. “Seriously?!”   He with a small laugh. Jimin gets up and closes the distance, making you lean against the headboard until he’s completely hovering over you, mere inches away. “We actually need a position filled anyway, so you just saved me some trouble.”   “You better keep your promise, Park.”   You end up showing with Wendy and Tiffany in tow — the former who wants to raid whatever food there is and the latter genuinely interested in colouring as a means of relaxation. It’s a bit awkward to meet so many new people at once and Jimin’s friends at that, but you can tell they’re nice at heart. Albeit, a bit rambunctious and too friendly. And you’re a bit horrified when one of them tries to eat a crayon to further advertise the club.   “So, what’s up with you and Jimin?” Tiffany asks, peering up at you as she colours in the lines carefully. She’s unaware of your arrangement with the boy. It’s not something you’ve told many.   You feign ignorance, not wanting to get into the details with strangers around. “What do you mean?”   “Are you dating him?”   You scoff. “I wish.”   Immediately, Wendy’s brows raise to her hairline and the words that fumbled out of you thoughtlessly finally sink in. “I mean, no, we’re not. Not I wish.”   Luckily, Tiffany spares you and doesn’t pry. But you’re mortified and you glance at Jimin from across the room laughing noisily with his friend. You turn away from him, trying to create more distance.

[3rd Year Winter Semester]   With exam season here, you and Jimin hadn’t seen each other in a while.   Luckily, Spring break was approaching, so you at least had something to look forward to. The idea of being able to lay in bed and sleep in automatically puts you in a good mood. Jimin, however, seems less than stoked.   You watch from the bed as he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up before you’ve gotten a chance to. He was frowning when he opened the door, greeted you with one word and in general, has been quieter than usual.   “Is….everything alright?” You wonder if you did something to piss him off, but then he says—   “I flunked my final.”   Oh. That explains his bad mood.   “The one you took this morning?” you ask.   “Yeah.” Jimin deflates with an extended sigh. “I didn’t get the first twenty questions and then I fucking ran out of time….”   There’s a pause that lingers.   “Well, you’re not sure if you actually failed, right?” You lean closer to him, quirking your head to the side. “The marks haven’t been released and who knows, the prof might curve it.”   “Maybe. I don’t know.” Jimin scrubs a hand over his face, uncertain and stressed. “This ruins everything. I’m trying to get an internship at a clinical rehabilitation facility and I want to apply for a masters and now...fuck.” You’re surprised. You didn’t know he had so many goals. “I’m screwed.”   Jimin flops back onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling. You loom over him, blocking his view.   “Does the internship look at your GPA?”   “They want a three point o average or more.”   “What do you have now?”   “Three point five.”   The corner of your mouth pulls and a rush of air leaves your nose in a snort. “Then you’ll make it! Even if you failed one exam, it wouldn’t tank past a three. It can’t be too bad, right?”   “Yeah, I guess.” Jimin sighs and absentmindedly tugs on your strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and is grazing against his cheek. “I just don’t know anymore.”   “It’s going to be fine,” you reassure, slapping your hand on his shoulder. “You’re just overthinking it.”   “Maybe,” he hums.   A sudden thought comes across your mind and your small smile turns devious. “Let me make you feel better.”   You shift to straddle his hips and instantly, his hands lift to your waist. Jimin starts to grin as you pull at his shirt, trying to get him to strip. And you do your best to pleasure him.   It doesn’t take much effort considering Jimin’s hand is already tightening in your hair the minute you run your tongue along his shaft. But he doesn’t let you suck him for too long, eager to feel you inside instead and pleasure you just the same.   It’s eager and messy sex. You’re on top until your thighs begin to burn and you lose your pace. Then he re-repositions the both of you, so you’re flat on your back and he’s doing most of the work. You end up cumming twice. Once around his covered cock and the other time after he coaxes you around his stiff tongue and eggs you on, even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation.   It feels good. Better than good.   Over time, the pair of you have gotten to know each other’s bodies better, what works and what doesn’t.    Your relationship with Jimin is an investment that feels worth it.   “Hey…” You’re both facing away from each other as you put your clothes back on. Jimin turns his head and you cast him a glance. “I was thinking of maybe starting birth control…”   He blinks.   “If you go get yourself checked out and make sure you’re clean, we can do it without condoms.”   You pull down your sweater over your head and you both stare at each other. He looks surprised and responds in a delayed manner, “Okay. Cool. I’m down. I’ll get myself checked out this weekend. I haven’t really slept with anyone else since this started though.”   It’s your turn to be caught off guard. “Really? What...about that girl you were into? Vicky?”   “You mean Victoria?” He jumps as he puts on his sweatpants, getting both legs through at once. “Nah. It didn’t end up working out.”   “Oh.” He’s entirely nonchalant about it, so you merely nod.   Jimin walks you to the door and you notice that he’s in a better mood than earlier. You hide your smile to yourself, glad that it was mutually beneficial.   Two weeks later, he gets an email before the two of you get down and dirty, and you’re the first one in his life to know that he got the summer internship. His excitement is infectious and you genuinely feel happy for him.

[4th Year Fall Semester]   It’s so close, you can taste it.   A whole new semester and cart of overpriced textbooks later meant you were a senior now. It also meant that there was just this year left and you were out of here. Finished at least one degree. A step closer to making the big bucks and being a whole ass adult.   The idea is both exhilarating and frightening.   2:20pm. Jimin: Wanna come over?   The text mocks you, but the temptation is tangible. Like a carrot tied at the end of a stick that’s attached to a hungry rabbit. You’ve been sexually frustrated since last night, feeling it in your loins since morning, and fidgeting and rubbing your thighs underneath tables and desks. The thought of getting that sweet relief properly is enough for you to want to ditch class altogether, but you can’t. Not for the next few days.   2:22pm. Y/N: can’t. 2:22pm. Y/N: I’m on my period :((   2:23pm. Jimin: I don’t mind   2:23pm. Y/N: really???? 2:24pm. Y/N: are you sure   2:25pm. Jimin: lmao 2:25pm. Jimin: yes   You brace through the rest of the lecture, paying more attention as the anticipation swells. And when it’s all over, you race across campus to the dormitory building you’ve become familiar with.   Jimin opens the door before you need to knock and he plants a chaste kiss against your lips in greeting. You’re taken off guard, but don’t pay too much attention to it. “How was class?”   “Good. You?”   “Same,” he hums.   You drop your bag in his room and gesture below your waist. “I’m going to need to wash up. The nether regions are a bit…”   He smiles. “Sure. I got spare towels I can set down too.”   You self-consciously linger for a moment as he goes to his closet to the upper shelf. The towels are luckily green and not white. “I’m surprised you’re okay with it. Having period sex, I mean.”   “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jimin pushes his blanket aside and puts a towel down. “As long as you’re fine with it, then I am too.”   “I don’t know. Doesn’t blood gross you out?”   “Not really? Most of the time I’m the one making the mess, so it’s actually nice to have someone else make the mess for once. Plus sex is sex. What’s there to complain about?” His brow lifts and he looks at you. You scoff and it makes Jimin grin.   You wash yourself up and he fucks you in missionary position on top of the towels. The pair of you have only done so a few times before. Typically, you’re face down, bent over, on all fours or looking away from each other. But the change is welcome. Jimin hovers over you and you can kiss him when you want to.   “F-Fuck.” A pitched moan unintentionally spills from you when he hits a spot at your walls that has your toes curling. “Ji...min.”   It’s more lubricated than usual, making the strokes easier. He goes softer too. Deeper. Jimin presses your thighs to your chest and makes you feel him all the way to your throat.   The boy smiles tenderly at your reaction in spite of panting himself. “Feel good, baby?”   “Y-Yeah.” You nod, eyes shut tight. You grip his forearms when he bottoms out again. “Always does.”   Your warm walls pulse around his thick cock and you end up cumming soon after. He groans into your neck at how you tighten around him like a vice grip and he thrusts into you one more time before his cum fills you.   The pair of you jump in the shower together to get cleaned up and then you’re picking up your clothes while he tosses the towels in the laundry.   “What were you working on, on Thursday?”   You blink, realizing that you texted him vaguely about being swamped and unable to come over, and that’s enough for you to unload and go on a tangent. “God, don’t remind me. It was my fucking thesis. I barely managed to finish it but I don’t even know if it makes sense and now I have to edit like fifty pages by myself before giving it to my supervisor, so that’s fun.”   It feels good to let it off your chest.   Jimin smiles subtly at your venting. “I could always edit it for you.”   “What? Seriously?”   “Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not in poly sci, but that might make me a bit more unbiased. I’m not doing much these days either.”   “Oh my god.” There’s an overpowering urge to bow at his feet or suck his dick until you’re gagging or do both. “You’re a life-saver!”   Jimin laughs and it’s the sound of angels singing. “Just send it over. I can get it done by tomorrow. You have my email, right?”   “Of course I do. Duh!” Your grin is big enough that your cheeks hurt and he has one that matches it as well.   //   A few weeks fly by and things calm down enough that you can finally breathe. But that’s when you receive a little text from a certain someone that has you skeptical if you can rest easy.   6:48pm. Jimin: I have a surprise for you 6:48pm. Jimin: I forgot about it   You’re not sure what it is, but asking would be like pulling teeth with him. Jimin hates spoilers and he likes surprises all too much.   Lately, you’ve both been getting into some freaky shit. Buying toys, blindfolds, handcuffs. As adventurous as college kids with a limited budget can get. It was rather fun for the pair of you, and expectedly, some experiments work out better than others. It sends goosebumps all over your skin every time he talks dirty. You like it when Jimin spanks you too. Although, you’re still unsure about the whole candle wax on your body idea.   But there’s one thing for sure — Jimin can most definitely not role play for his life.    The whole school girl fantasy lasted a good five minutes before he started bursting into giggles and breaking character every other second. Playing doctor only made you realize how ticklish he was too. And the tickle fight that followed was definitely not something one would call ‘sexy’. Even if it did lead to the deed being done.   “Hey.” Jimin greets you with a grin and a chaste peck against your lips. “How was studying?”   “Fine.” You brush off the question quickly, too curious of what he has in store. “Jimin, I’m not going to use that twelve inch dildo unless you want to drive me to the ER.”   He bursts out laughing. “That’s not it. Good try though.”   Instead of going to his room like you usually do, Jimin leads you past the kitchen area to the table. It’s been cleared off and you give an inquisitive expression. He grins and then gestures to it.    “Lay down.”   “What?”   “Just lay down.” He takes your hand, guiding you on it and you obey wordlessly. It doesn’t seem like any of his roommates are home and you hope they don’t come back any time soon lest they find you lying face down on their dinner table.   You feel Jimin round the table and pull your ankles together. You tilt yourself up to peek at him, but then he barks— “Down.”   With a pout, you return to your position, arms folded underneath your head. You hope he isn’t about to rub spices on you and roast you in his oven like it feels like he’s doing.   You feel the gentle pressure of Jimin’s hands against your spine, his thumbs pressing into your skin and he hums, “Relax. Okay. Breathe in for me.”   An inhale is taken and his hands suddenly press into the middle of your back. You hear your bones crack loudly. It catches you off guard and you turn yourself with wide eyes. “You know how to do it?!”   He boyishly grins. “I might’ve learnt a thing or two during my internship.”   “Keep going, keep going.” You flip yourself over again, gesturing to your back and he laughs, going down your body and cracking your bones. You become butter in his fingertips, lower back feeling better already.   “Lift your leg for me.”   You follow his instructions to a t. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask sleepily, lulled by his care. If he massaged you too, you might just cream your pants.   “I got this, I got this,” he reassures with a bit of arrogance. “I’m not a professional, but I know what I’m doing. You trust me, right?”   A noise is made at the back of your throat.   “If you break a bone on accident, I’ll sue you,” you mumble as he turns you over. “God, feels good.”   After a while, Jimin gets you to sit up and continues. He looks nice when he’s concentrating. Expression blank. Lips plump and in a line. Brows only slightly furrowed. “Considering you don’t have any ailments, you don’t need to get your bones cracked often. You should stretch and do some exercise instead.”   You scoff. “Having sex with you is enough exercise.”   To prove your point, you latch onto his arm and tug him towards you. Jimin smiles and the two of you break a sweat against each other on the table before either of his roommates come home.

[4th Year Winter Semester]   It was an invitation that you would’ve called yourself crazy for offering a year ago. But if it wasn’t for him editing your thesis and taking a load off your mind, you would’ve had a harder time.    You had him to thank for that.   “So?” Jimin’s seated across from you at the restaurant booth. It wasn’t surprisingly difficult to ask him to grab a bite with you. For some reason, you thought he would reject. “What’s the big news?”   Instead of answering, you reach into your bag and slide the envelope across the table.   He’s curious and takes it, pulling out the letter to read. You sip on your water, watching his expression intently. He mutters the words and it takes him through the first paragraph before he realizes. Then, at once, Jimin’s eyes widen. His mouth drops and he looks at you proudly.   “You got into law school?”   “Three of them,” you tell with a cheesy grin.    “T-That’s….fucking amazing. Holy fuck.” He reaches over and hugs you. It’s awkward considering there’s a whole table in the way, but you appreciate the sentiment. You’re giddy and giggling at how excited he is. It makes you feel like the first time you opened the letter yourself.   Jimin presses a kiss against your hair before withdrawing. “When did you find out?”   “Two days ago. I really thought I wasn’t going to get in since I got rejection letters last week from the other schools, but then three of them came in rapid succession.”   He shakes his head, still in awe. “Congratulations. Seriously. You deserve it, Y/N. God knows how hard you worked.”   “Thanks.” You smile to yourself, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. “I was thinking of maybe leaving the city to a different uni, but….I’m going to stay with my parents for as long as I can to save up on loans.”   “Yeah, sounds good.” He nods. “Moving out can be expensive.”   “What about you? Have you applied to your masters program yet?”   Jimin laughs. “Actually, I was planning on telling you that today too. I didn’t bring any fancy letter with me though.”   You lean closer, sitting on the edge of your seat. “You got in?”   “I did. Yesterday.” His enormous smile causes your own to expand. “I’m gonna do it part-time while working at the same facility I did my internship at.”   You’re happy for him and you can tell by his expression that he’s genuinely excited for you too. The pair of you were taking steps forward for your future and while it was a little scary, for now, you enjoy the victory and pig out at the restaurant with little restraints.   At the end of the night, you’re both wine drunk when you stumble back to his dorm room and soon, you’re trying to muffle your whimpers with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. It doesn’t help when he presses the humming vibrator to your clit harder.   “J-Jimin,” you sob, fingers twisting into his sheets. You’re slumped against the headboard as he surrounds you.   “Louder,” he commands, watching you through heavy lidded eyes. The cold air of his bedroom made your nipples hardened, yet you feel hot all over, under his gaze and ruthlessness.    Your hand curls around his wrist. “Your roommates are sleep—” You cry and keen against his chest when he plunges the toy into your swollen cunt that’s leaking down your ass and thighs.   “It’s okay,” he murmurs in a low voice against your ear, “Let it go.”   You feel the toy nudge against your cervix, the vibrations trembling through your body and you orgasm hard with your forehead pressed against Jimin’s shoulder. Even then, he continues to draw it in and out of you, studying how you’ve creamed around the vibrator, how your slick is dripping to his sheets that are already stained with the scent of your shampoo.   “J-Jimin,” you whine loudly, not knowing if you’re trying to lean away from his touch or closer. “T-...too m-much!”   “You can take it,” Jimin softly coaxes and you nod.    You cum again after a minute and he immediately kisses you with a big smile before peppering pecks down to your neck. It makes you feel ticklish and winded.   “Hey...Jimin…”   “Hmm?”   “Are we still gonna do this after we graduate?” you ask in a quiet voice, laying back in the ruined sheets. “I’m gonna be busy and you are too.”   “We’ll figure it out.” He flops beside you and you both face each other. Jimin’s arm is draped over your waist and you stare at one another for a moment before he closes the distance.   Jimin nudges you for a languid kiss, your noses brushing as his soft, plush lips press against yours. It’s unhurried. Slow. He urges your mouth to part for him and his tongue slips in as you whimper, giving you a chance to properly taste him.   Sloppy, wet noises fill the room while heat rises to your cheeks. But you’re unbothered while swapping spit with Park Jimin. It’s lazy, yet it feels good. So much so that you’ve relaxed entirely.   In the back of your mind, you know you should get up and put some clothes on. Any cuddling or post-sex touching has largely been unprecedented before this and it’s not good to make habits you’ll have to eventually break. You should get your sweater off the floor, or at least slip on his purple t-shirt….   But you give into the temptation and shut your eyes for one second. One mere second.    That’s enough for you to doze off.   When Jimin realizes you’ve accidentally fallen asleep, he smiles to himself and tugs the blankets up to your shoulders, securing you in warmly.   //   You stifle another yawn with your hand.    It’s 9:30 in the goddamn morning and way too early for you. There’s a reason you pick afternoon classes, go to work afterwards and then go see Jimin to end your day off. There’s no situation good enough that warrants your alarm blaring before eight — but you suppose a graduation ceremony could be an exception.   “There’s so many people,” your dad gasps in wonderment, looking around the vast hall. “Do you know them all?”   “No.” You hold in your sigh. “I don’t.”   For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been running around looking for your parents after they’ve wandered off and gotten lost. If they weren’t spamming their cameras on their phone and telling you to smile in front of the odd statue or the meaningless bulletin board that wasn’t even part of your faculty, it was calling your name as loud as they could to find you in the crowds.   You’re happy over their enthusiasm but also burdened. It’s a lot of mixed feelings.   “Y/N?”   Dark hair and brown eyes — a certain someone who you weren’t expecting to run into is staring right at you with a boyish smile. “Jimin?” He looks good, a suit underneath and a black graduation gown over it that falls to his calf. His gown has a golden hood and tassel while yours is white — the colours symbolizing your different faculties and areas of study.    “Hey.” His gaze is warm. “You look nice.”   “Thanks. You too.”   You don’t linger on him for long, not when his parents are right by his side. You divert your vision and greet them politely. Jimin surprisingly looks a lot like his dad and his mom has a kind face. They seem like sweet people and you’re suddenly breaking into a sweat. “Nice to meet you.”   Your own parents make themselves known and you feel like your worlds are colliding as they shake hands and exchange names, congratulating each other on their child’s graduation.   You’re about to get them moving along when your mom nudges you. “Is this your boyfriend?”   Her voice is way too loud and you feel yourself burn in embarrassment.    “No. He’s just a friend,” you whisper it sharply but much your dismay, they look unconvinced.   You miss the way Jimin smiles to himself.   “We should get a picture!” his dad declares and your own dad looks even more elated at the idea of spamming more pictures. You already had to delete a hundred blurry ones, but your mom ignores your groan and pushes you both towards some weird artwork on the wall.   “Stand over here! Over here! Smile!”   Your parents end up sitting next to each other on the rows and you have no words, forced to sit at the bottom with the rest of your graduating class. It’s a wonder that the Arts Faculty was scheduled right before the Faculty of Kines. Fate or coincidence, you’re not sure yet.   But it’s still nice to see Jimin walk the stage and be able to cheer for him.   “Congratulations, Mr. Park.”   He grins. “Congratulations to you too, Miss L/N.”   It’s certain that the numerous celebrations with family, friends and relatives will be chaotic, so you take advantage of the opportunity while you still can. You steal just a little moment for your selfish desires by standing outside before you’re both bombarded by your circle of people.   “You know, I couldn’t have done it without you.”   “Oh, stop it with the sappiness.” You can’t feign a roll of your eyes when your smile is so big.   He swings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close and laughing. “Why? Don’t like it?” And the little shit slyly leans in to whisper, “You like it when I call you my baby though.”   “Jimin!”   He laughs and you sigh with a smile.   You’re glad you ran into him.

[Post-Graduation]   You open the door, welcoming yourself in.   “Hey.”   Jimin’s on the couch and glances at you, unfazed at how you’ve waltzed right into his apartment with little warning. You’ve always knocked out of courtesy for his roommates, but ever since he moved out of the dormitories, you find little need to make him walk all the way to the door.   He’s watching a thriller and you flop down on his couch, leaning over to plant a quick peck against his mouth as a greeting. “How was work?”   “It was okay. A bit busy. I met this nice old lady and we chatted for a bit. She called me handsome, so there’s that.” He grins and you scoff lightly, leaning your cheek on his shoulder as you watch the main character venture into an abandoned house on screen. Jimin loves his praises, so you’re not wholly surprised he’s kept a mental note of it.    You’re not sure why it’s important though. Anyone with eyes would agree he’s good-looking.   “How was class?”   “Awful,” you mumble, feeling tired against him. You came over to get rid of some sexual frustration, but you’re not even sure you have the energy to do anything anymore. “Commuting was brutal this morning. Traffic was backed up on the highway and I was late, and yesterday I had to drive back at night. My parents are driving me nuts too. I can’t study properly.”   Jimin hums a soothing note and slings an arm at the back of the couch where you’re sitting, letting you lean into him. It goes quiet as the two of you watch the suspenseful scene and then he absentmindedly pipes up after a minute, “You could always move in with me.”   He continues, “It’s closer to the university and it’s quiet during the day, so you can study. We could always study together too.”   It’s a good idea, but— “I can’t afford that.”   “I don’t mind paying rent for a while. It’s the same either way.”   It takes a second for the words sink in and then you’re peeling yourself off of him.   Your gaze is met with Jimin’s, eyes locking into one another and the movie is left in the background. “As roommates?”   He shrugs. “There’s only one bedroom, but sure.”   A studio apartment. One bed shared. Two people.   Watching movies. Having sex. Eating together.   It doesn’t sound bad to you whatsoever, but you contemplate it. It swirls around inside your head and you murmur, “Isn’t that breaking the rules of being friends with benefits?”   And you don't know why but Wendy’s words from the other day are echoing inside the caverns of your brain at the worst moment. “You know, your relationship with Jimin isn’t exactly normal.” You weren’t sure what she meant and you still don’t know. Not when she had advertised and encouraged this kind of arrangement all those years ago. When she had told you many people got involved in each other like this.   But you’re starting to wonder if something is off.   Did you do something wrong? Did your relationship with Jimin spiral out of control? But everything feels normal.   After three years, you’d think you would’ve mastered the art of benefits by now.   You sigh, getting a headache. Yet, Jimin merely shrugs.    As if the definitions and boundaries don’t bother him whatsoever.    “Is it?”   “Kind of. I mean, living together, being mutually exclusive. It almost sounds like….”   “Like what?” His brows lift. “Like we’re dating?”   You feel hot in your face, skin toasted like a furnace. Maybe you’re being delusional or silly. Maybe he’s going to laugh at you. “This is what couples who are going to get engaged do.”   “Maybe we should date then…?” The pitch of Jimin’s voice raises at the end, not necessarily a question but neither a statement. It’s questionable like he’s unsure how you feel. Like he’s playing a guessing game. And then he smiles at your shocked expression.   Jimin turns to face you fully. His gaze is heavy, earnest. “Maybe we should date.”   This time, it’s repeated as an assertion.   Confident. Unwavering. Sincere.   Jimin leans in to kiss you as if he can’t resist anymore. It’s tender, taking you off guard and you lean into him, finally allowing yourself to become surrounded by him. Mind. Body. And soul.   When the two of you pull away, he smiles while catching his breath. “I-I’m down if you are. This apartment can be yours and you can study here and sleep here and whatever. We can eat together and I’ll buy you take out or cook. It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’m cool with anything. We can keep being friends with benefits, if that’s what you want….so…......what do you want?”   You exhale lightly, feeling warm. “This...is a lot.”   “Is it?” Instantly, Jimin appears panicked and you hold back a laugh. “We’ve technically been together for three years and...what we’ve been doing recently is basically dating. In my opinion.”   “Did Wendy put you up to this?”   “No.” He shakes his head. “Frankly, the person I talk to most these days is you. And I like it that way.”   God, you hate him.    You pull Jimin in for another kiss, an aggressive and eager one. Enough that you can feel the heat off of his own face. You move to straddle his thighs and when you break apart, you muster a glare at him. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard not to catch feelings. You’re ruining all my efforts, you know that, Park?”   He grins. “Is this a yes?”   “It is.” This time, he’s the one to kiss you, sealing your lips together as he smiles against your mouth and squeezes giggles out of you. Even if he doesn’t say it, even if he’s saving it for another day, you know from his tender touches that he loves you. And it’s mutual.   No longer do you need to worry — leave right after the deed is done or be panicked when you’ve accidentally fallen asleep in his bed. You’re unashamed when he kisses you harder as a greeting, when he holds your hand, when you go out together. You can have pillow talks without needing to guard yourself, cuddle him, call him yours.   And when Christmas arrives, meaning sweater weather and snow dusting from the sky, you have someone to keep you warm. Someone who you can come back to and call your home.

[ateezmakemeweep]

richboy!yeosang (part 1)

word count: 5k

fluff, smut

(miniseries masterlist)

“if you don’t know the cranial nerves by now pretty boy, you might as well drop out.”

“fuck you! maybe my tutor just sucks and is the world’s biggest asshole!”

“maybe you’re the world’s biggest idiot and just wasting his time.”

“maybe he’s not teaching me properly because he’s an arrogant son of a bitch.”

“maybe you’re too distracted by your fiancé that you can’t even-”

a tray being slammed down on the table halts the boy’s incessant bickering, your harsh look staring between their two bodies making them point at each other immediately. 

“don’t look at me like that, y/n. he started it this time! dickhead told me i should just drop out!” 

“pretty boy said i’m the biggest asshole ever, baby. i think i should be the one who’s more-”

“just shut up! both of you!” you beg, plopping down in your seat next to your boyfriend and rubbing at your temples. “we’ve only been back for three weeks and you two are already like this. how could you possibly be this stressed and annoyed at each other already?”

yeosang looks at you with a smirk on his face but softness in his eyes, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he pulls you close to him. 

his lips brush against your skin as they leave a chaste kiss on your temple; he’s seen you rub at your head like this far too many times during him and mingi’s tutoring sessions throughout the years.

“sorry, but i’m just trying to help him, love,” yeosang mumbles in your ear, suppressing a sigh when you feel his signature smirk against your skin. “poor guy’s in his third year of college and doesn’t know the cranial nerves.”

“i don’t know the cranial nerves. should i drop out too?” you quip, ripping yourself away from him and raising an eyebrow. 

but the boy doesn’t miss a beat, sending you a smile that still sends your stomach fluttering despite his unpleasant behavior.

“please. i’ve wanted nothing more than to support you this whole time.”

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth at the disgusted sneer that crosses your face, the familiar dinging of the coffee shop door welcoming none other than yunho as his eyes roam the store.

mingi’s eyes light up immediately upon seeing the boy, a bright smile on his face that makes you bite back one of your own. yunho finally spots you three and looks at mingi with the same amount of happiness in his eyes, ruffling his now black hair and placing a peck on his cheek when he arrives at the table. 

there’d been a lot of changes within the past three years, all of you moving to a different city and getting used to the changed pace of life. it was more chaotic and busy, for sure, with a lot more responsibilities than your teenage selves had had. 

but almost every moment of it has been fun. 

even through the cram sessions and disastrous drunken nights and fighting between mingi and yeosang, it’s been fun. exploring the city and meeting new people and doing everything you’re supposed to do when you’re young and carefree and finding yourself. 

you remember college had seemed terrifying for all of you back on the beach during senior year, when you hadn’t even told your parents about yeosang or going away to school and things were still up in there for mingi and yunho.

but it ended up being the best decision of your life. living and going to school with yeosang who, at one point, you convinced yourself you hated more than anyone on this earth. 

you were surprised, really, by how stable your relationship was despite the obvious rocky start. your mean, high school bully turned college boyfriend who you had a seemingly perfect relationship with. 

and freshmen year had been hard, you admit. getting used to sharing a space and living together and putting up with each other’s annoying habits. but really, after those first few weeks, the years following had been nothing but bliss. 

days full of studying and tests and internships that left you both beyond exhausted and ready to go home. 

it was the best feeling in the world to be able to go home to someone you loved and wanted to see, yeosang more often than not surprising you with dinner set on the coffee table and a movie paused on the tv. 

he had somewhat tricked you into getting your current apartment, a view far too nice and rooms far too big for just the two of you - but you couldn’t even pretend to be mad on nights when you’d lean on his shoulder and just look out the window at the city lights.

you were both now in your third year of college, only a few weeks into the first semester, which is what’s really making mingi and yeosang’s bickering already that much more concerning. 

usually it’d take until studying for midterms or finals for the boys to get like this. 

“what happened?” yunho’s sweet, calming voice asks, his eyes shifting from mingi to you with an obvious sense of compassion. you can only stare at the boy with a pained expression, mingi and yeosang talking and cursing over each other in the (luckily) empty coffee shop. 

you have to bite back a smile at the obvious change in mingi’s demeanor now, his eyes wide and deep voice softening that makes yeosang scoff in disgust. 

“oh get the fuck out of here. what happened to the mingi in high school who tried to crack my head open?” yeosang asks, taking his coffee off the tray and bringing it closer to himself. “now you’ve turned into a domesticated little bitch.”

“that’s what happens when you ask someone to marry them,” mingi bites back, yunho’s arm tightening on his shoulder so he doesn’t jump over the table. “but you wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you pussy boy? y/n’s gonna have to wait till she’s 50 and you finally grow a pair.”

“that’s funny, since you only asked yunho because you were shitfaced and he’s too damn nice to-”

“shut up!” 

your squeal cuts your boyfriend off immediately, a smirk on the other boy’s faces as they watch him get reprimanded. holding back their laughter and giggles as you threaten to never ever attend another study session with both of them again.

even though what yeosang was saying did hold some truth to it. 

mingi and yunho knew pretty much from the moment they met that they were gonna be together forever, something innate and deep within their souls just connected and meant to be. 

but it was after one too many shots for a lightweight mingi that he popped the question to the boy, all of you out one night and thinking it was just mingi being mingi who always went on about his feelings for yunho.

but you and yeosang nearly fell on your asses when you saw him reaching in his pocket for the ring, the boy saying that he saw it a few weeks ago and just felt the overwhelmingly need to buy it. 

it was cute and spontaneous and authentic in the sense that, even after all the alcohol mingi had ingested that night, it’s like yunho saying yes completely sobered him. 

though you all joke today that the now dark-haired boy only said yes because he felt bad for his drunken boyfriend’s proposal. 

“you know he felt bad for him,” yeosang says, his hand in yours as you guys walk back to your apartment. 

it’s only a four block walk, and a much needed one, after you and yunho couldn’t take the bickering any longer. 

you simply grabbed yeosang by the hand after they started up again ten minutes later and led him out of the coffee shop, your neck snapping back at mingi with squinted eyes when you heard him try to egg the boy on one last time. 

“i also know that they were gonna get married anyway,” you say, craning your neck to look over at your boyfriend challengingly. “so what does it really matter?”

he stops in the middle of the sidewalk to smile down at you, his hand coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. there’s mirth in his eyes at your prickliness, biting down on his lip so he doesn’t ask if you need to be relieved some way in public. 

“what about us?” he mumbles, snaking his hands down your body to grasp your hand. “we’re gonna get married too, right?” 

you narrow your eyes at his teasing, tightening your hold on his hand just a little too tightly in a way that makes him wince. 

“baby, why are you so mad today?” yeosang whines as you walk into the building, greeting the doorman with a smile as you charge toward the elevator. 

the apartment building is just as ritzy as your home, tall glass windows and marble floors and the magnificent chandeliers you’ve come to learn are something the rich just love; you knew the moment you saw three hanging above the front desk that this was way out of your price range. 

but you’d grown used to the lifestyle and you’ve grown close with the doorman, a sweet older gentlemen who worked there since the early 90s. he’s kept an eye on you and yeosang throughout the years and can tell, right about now, you’ve had enough of him. 

he sends a smirk your way and you give him a knowing look, hearing his chuckle ring throughout the lobby.

“why am i mad? why am i mad?” you repeat, the splitting headache and irritation radiating off of you from hours of grown men bickering back and forth. you click on the elevator button repeatedly, yeosang holding back a smirk at your aggressiveness. 

“maybe i’m mad because, gee, i don’t know, you and mingi are like children and never stop fighting. or maybe because even though i’m supposed to finish work for my class tomorrow, i have a splitting headache and wasn’t able to get anything done.”

the elevator doors open and you step in as the words keep pouring from you, yeosang just watching as your mouth continues to move. he’s grateful you two are the only ones in here right now, solely for the purpose of saving other people from hearing this rant.

not because right now would be the perfect moment to relax you. catch up on old times and and techniques to shut you up the way he did the last time you two were fighting in an elevator. 

“and now you’re not even listening to me! i just don’t know why you have to constantly fight with him. it’s only the third week back, yeosang, and you’re already-”

your back hits the wall before you can even get the next words out, eyes flaring as you watch yeosang’s hand grip your chin. his hold is firm but gentle, the teasing that was once behind his eyes slowly transforming to something darker. 

more lustful and dominating and intense. 

“can you just shut up already,” he mumbles lowly, connecting your lips before you can even get a response out.

and similar to all the times you kiss, you can’t find it in yourself to push him away or not kiss back. instead, you find that the kiss ignites something in you, a passion and intensity as your hands move to curl through his hair. 

he grunts against your mouth when you pull at the strands of dark hair just a little too roughly, not being able to help the smirk on your face. he grips your hips harshly in return, pushing you back harder into the wall before he pulls back and stares down at you. 

his gaze is unwavering and harsh and you’re feeling something twinge in your lower stomach. 

“is this what all your frustrations have been about today?” he mumbles in your ear, his hand ghosting the top of your jeans but refusing to dip in the waistband. “is it because i left you hanging this morning?” 

the smirk against your skin makes you wanna scream almost more than he did this morning, edging you nonstop with his tongue and fingers for the sole purpose that he just wanted to keep you in bed all day and hear your moans of his name.

but then mingi’s fist pounding on the door 15 minutes early broke you two apart, his mouth wet and eyes hazy as he told you you guys would have to finish later. 

“need i remind you those sessions were your idea,” he says, his hand ghosting between your legs and over your jeans. he smirks again when he feels heat radiating from you, chuckling in a way that makes you bite back a growled comment of your own. 

“i was more than happy to eat your pussy all morning before fucking you like a good girl,” he says lowly in your ear, leaning his body into yours. 

you whimper when you feel his hard cock press against you, his words and his voice and everything about him right now quickly making your mind cloud with lust. 

“but you insisted i help him because he’s your best friend and i’ve helped him before. but now you’re the one mad at me?” he hums, a harsh sting on your scalp as he suddenly grips your hair and pulls your head back. “how’s that fair, baby?”

your chest is heaving and breaths are shaky, resisting the urge so badly to either curse him out or fall to your knees; luckily, you compose yourself and don’t do either. 

“it’s not,” you whine, the submissive part he always brings out in you breaking through. 

“i know it’s not,” he says, his eyes moving to the wall to see you’re only a few stops away from your floor. “that’s why when we get home, i’m gonna fuck your pretty mouth. do you understand me?” 

you only stare at him with wide, glossy eyes before you see his jaw tick. his fingers suddenly push into your mouth, the warm wetness making his cock twitch in his pants as you have to suppress your own moan.

“i said do you understand me?” 

“y-yes,” you mutter around his fingers, faintly hearing the ding of the elevator before he’s off your body and walking through the doors. 

the second you’re both inside the apartment, he’s against the door and your on your knees shoving down his pants and taking him in your mouth. you look up at him as you swirl your tongue around the tip playfully, slapping his cock against your mouth before he growls at you to stop playing. 

and when you don’t, just give gentle little sucks that you know are gonna bring him over the edge, he slams into your mouth causing you to gag around him. 

“i told you to stop fucking playing.” 

you wanna smirk at the deep growl in his voice but you can’t as his hips pick up speed and he starts fucking your mouth. 

he’s always the one that seems more composed, a wise ass, teasing boyfriend in public who just lives to get under his girlfriend’s skin - but the second you’re alone, that composure is gone. within a split second, his eyes change and you’re more often than not at his mercy all night. 

he’s so lost in the way your mouth feels around him, warm and wet and your tiny moans vibrating against him, that he doesn’t realize you’re mumbling words until you squeeze his thigh.

his eyes immediately flash with concern, pulling himself from your mouth when he spots your glassy ones. he bends down to meet your gaze, framing your face in his hands as he wipes at your wet, spit-covered mouth.

“you good?” 

your heart softens at how fast he’s able to come out of it, switch from hard to gentle in a matter of seconds when he thinks you’re in pain or not enjoying it. but you’re enjoying it a lot, if the growing ache between your legs isn’t evident of that. 

“yes,” you whine, pulling him up before you lead him over to the couch and push him down. his shirt’s the only thing on as he leans back against the couch, his eyes hazy and lustful as they wrack over your body. 

“i...wanted to ride you,” you tell him quietly, stripping off your pants and soaked thong as he watches you carefully. “didn’t want you to come in my mouth.”

your stomach flutters at the smirk that crosses his mouth, his cock hard and waiting to be relieved as he leans back and you stand before him. his tongue daps at his mouth as you stand there on shaky legs, his hand reaching out to pull you into him. 

you fall on his lap with a squeal before he cups your face, squeezing your cheeks together so your lips jut out. 

“well are you just gonna stand there like an idiot?” he mumbles lowly in your ear, his finger sliding in you. he wants to groan at how wet and ready you are, sticking another one as he teasingly moves his fingers inside of you. 

“or am i’m gonna get to fill this pretty pussy?” 

he feels you clench around his fingers and it’s all he needs to remove them, throwing his head back to rest on the couch when you finally sink down on him. you immediately moan at the feeling of him in you, moving your hips against him desperately. 

you think of how bothered he left you this morning, ripping orgasm after orgasm away from you for the sole purpose of him loving how pathetic you sounded. how teasing he was all the day, aggravating the shit out of you with his arguing and lingering hands. 

how he’d put his hand on your thigh or knee with little regard for how frustrated you were growing throughout the day.

“should’ve known this is what you wanted,” yeosang growls lowly, his hands on your hips as a way to guide your bouncing. “you finally feel good now baby? getting off on my cock?” 

words can’t even leave your mouth because of how overwhelmed you are, face falling in the crook of his neck as you whine into his skin. he feels himself close to coming so he snakes his hand between your bodies, circling your clit a few times before a loud moan leaves your mouth. 

he comes just a few seconds after you, his hot release shooting inside of you and making you whine a little bit more. you can feel his cock pulsing around you as you both try to catch your breath, pulling yourself off of him before collapsing onto the couch. 

you hear his soft chuckle as he takes off his shirt, wiping between your legs gently before gripping your hips. you groan tiredly as he lays back and brings you with him, your body moving against his until you’re comfortably sprawled out on top of him.

he closes his eyes as he feels your faint breathing against him, his hands gently working their way into your sweaty hair. there’s a comfortable silence in the room, the faint smell a pumpkin candle and sex in the air as you bury yourself further into him. 

“how do you feel now?” he mumbles knowingly in your ear, a smirk on his lips as you pinch him in the arm. 

“shut up,” you mumble into his neck, pulling back to look at him. his cheeks are flushed and eyes are soft as they look down at you, pulling at something in your chest that makes you pinch him again.

“why are you pinching me?” he chuckles, tightening his hold on you. 

“because you’re mean,” you whine to him, sitting up to straddle his naked waist. “you had me frustrated all morning and just made it worse throughout the day with your shit.”

“i’m sorry, baby, i really am,” he says, though there’s nothing apologetic about his tone or face. you narrow your eyes at him before slapping his chest lightly, about to get up before he grabs you around the waist.

“wait, wait, where are you going?” 

“i told you i had work to do,” you tell him, knowing your resolve to ditch the work and spend the rest of the night on the couch with him is already creeping up. 

“do it later,” he asks softly, spinning you around and pulling you into him again. “i wanna lay with you and watch tv.” 

you let out a huff as you look down at him, the uncharacteristic softness you were once shocked by something you always see now. 

you could feel insecure or unsure about everything else in the world, your own looks or your abilities at school or if you did the right thing at work, but you’re never not confident about yeosang’s love for you.

it’s obvious in his eyes and the way he touches you, soft and sweet and full of care even though in your steamier moments, he’s rough and very reminiscent of his old, harsher self. 

it’s what makes the aftercare that much more sweet, knowing this is how he is and that your wellbeing is always number one. it takes all of two-seconds for you to cave, cuddling against him as you ask what you guys are gonna eat for dinner. 

it’s over a buffet of chinese food later that night, you in yeosang’s lap and him pecking your neck playfully, that you hear him mumble words into your skin.

“i wanna ask you something, baby.”

he says the words so sweetly and innocently that you can’t help but smile, scooting yourself off his lap so you can sit criss-crossed in front of him. 

“what?” you chirp, white rice in hand as you shovel pieces in your mouth.

he smiles at the way you so messily eat, wiping at the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

“when we were talking about mingi proposing to yunho before,” he begins, his voice uncharacteristically shy and almost hesitant. “and what mingi said about you needing to wait till you’re 50 for me to propose. is that...something you guys talked about?” 

you purse your lips together so you don’t burst out laughing at his cute blabbering, cocking your head to the side as you look at him. 

“are you asking if i wanna get married?” 

“i’m saying we can get married right now, if you want.”

you’d laugh if his face wasn’t so deadly serious, looking at you with soft awaiting eyes like he’s waiting for to say yes so he can run out and buy a ring. 

“yeosang...”

“i’m just saying, baby,” he says, cheeks the slightest pink that makes your heart soar in your chest. “i obviously wanna marry you but i was gonna wait till after we graduated. but if you wanna get the ball rolling, we can totally-”

the giggle you’ve been holding back finally bubbles out of your chest, your head thrown back and hands reaching down to hold his tightly. 

“stop laughing! what the fuck!” yeosang’s deep voice whines, the giggles leaving your mouth only becoming more prominent. 

“i’m sorry, you’re just so cute,” you tell him with a smile, your hand reaching out to smooth through his hair. 

your squealing and your touch only makes his cheeks turn pinker, a groan leaving his mouth as he pushes you to the side playfully. you crawl back to him undeterred before placing yourself in his lap, his face covered with mock annoyance as he wraps his arms around your waist. 

“you’re a little shit,” he mumbles shyly, another giggle leaving your mouth before you peck a kiss on his lips. 

“i have talked to mingi about that before,” you tell him honestly, not wanting him to think you were saying anything bad or hurtful. “just how...if we were to get married, i think it’d be nice. because sometimes i feel like we already are since we like... live together and stuff.”

“and stuff?” he smirks, his heart secretly fluttering at the cute way you stutter. 

he feels the same way too. coming home to you and being with you every night makes everything feel very real and serious. long gone was the couple that would fight and bicker in his pool house over issues that simple communication could’ve fix. 

now you were a couple who talked things out and made sure the other always knew what they were thinking or feeling. 

“yeah and stuff,” you say, poking him in the chest lightly. his deep chuckle sends butterflies through your stomach as you cuddle yourself further into him, resting your head on his shoulder. 

you sigh contently when he starts tracing shapes on your back, his warmth and the gentle lull of his fingers making your eyes close. he hums against your head when he feels you relax in his hold, his lips brushing against your hair in a way that makes you smile against him. 

“do you want kids?” he suddenly asks, lost in the contentment and warmth of the moment. 

it’s not something you’ve ever discussed with one another simply because the topic never came up. but he remembers the day of your first kiss, before the turmoil and the fighting and the kiss itself, the way he watched you with the little girl and felt his cold heart tug in his chest.

the way you bent down to her height and smiled softly at her, picked little rocks and twigs to make the snow girl’s face that he eventually deemed ugly even though you’d given her a talk about ‘beauty being in the eye of the beholder.’

he remembers laughing and smiling and feeling warm at the interaction, even though then he claimed to not like you; he knows now the same way he knew then that that was never the case, especially not when he was watching you with that child. 

“after we get married obviously,” he adds. not even needing to see him to know   there’s still a pink flush on his cheeks. 

“i do,” you mumble against him, your eyes closed with a smile still on your face. the question makes you happy, talk of a life with him always makes you happy. “i think you’d be a good dad. probably the mean parent but that’s okay.”

he pulls you out of his chest with a scoff, looking over your face with such a baffled expression, you can’t help but giggle.

“i’m kidding,” you tease, poking at his cheek lightly. “you’ll be like mingi by then, domesticated and sweet.”

your squeal fills the apartment when he gathers you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he picks you up like it’s nothing and throws you back on the couch. 

“am i not already domesticated?” he asks, his hands next to your head as he leans over you. you smile up at him and shrug your shoulders, his eyebrows raising playfully. 

“maybe a little bit,” you giggle, watching his eyes roll that only makes you smile more. you bring your hands up to brush through his hair gently, watching his eyes close as your nails scrape his scalp. “do you want a boy or a girl?”

his eyes open upon hearing your question, roaming over your face in a way that makes your stomach flutter; you’ll never get used to the way he looks at you or the way your body responds to him.

“hmm, a girl,” he confesses lowly, a smile on his face as he thinks of you with your small child. her hair in a clip and rosy cheeks, your hair color but his eye color with a perfect mix of both your facial features. 

“how many?” 

he smiles as you guys start to picture your imaginary little family, picking out fake names and personalities as well as what they would be like in school. if they’re gonna be well-behaved and smart like you or a conniving, trouble-maker like him. 

“all i know is mingi and yunho are probably gonna beat us, somehow,” yeosang growls lowly, his (mock) disdain for the taller pretty boy something that’s never worn out over the years. 

“that’ll be good then,” you giggle, taking his hand when he stands up and extends his own. “we’ll need all the practice we can get.”

“absolutely. we’ll probably need to wait even a few years after we got married.”

because, for right now, you guys have school to focus on. 

classes and internships and future careers that are waiting for both of you eagerly. 

this dream is something you definitely want but, perhaps, not yet. you guys have all the time in the world, enjoying the freedom and space that comes with just living together and getting through college and the early adulthood years. 

“probably,” you nod, stretching your arms above your head and squealing his name when he tickles your sides.

classes start to pick up over the next month, the weather turning colder, work becoming harder and the amount of sleep you were getting shorter. you’d only gotten a few hours each night this week, working late and hard on a group project for, both, school and work.

so you’re not surprised in the slightest when you wake up one morning feeling like death, nauseous and sweaty before your groan wakes up yeosang. the queasy feeling that rushed up your throat moments later is one you haven’t felt in a long time, not even remembering the last time you had a gross stomach virus. 

yeosang held your hair back as you threw up, rubbing your back gently as you gripped the toilet seat.

“this is reminding me of when you threw up on the ski trip,” he says quietly, humor laced in his tone. 

you can only find it in yourself to throw up your middle finger, collapsing against his chest and whining that you don’t feel good. 

“i know, baby, i’m sorry,” he says, brushing your knotty, sleep-crazed hair back down. “you want me to stay home today?” 

and that’s how you both spend the whole day in bed, you alternating between sleeping on his chest, waking up to puke and then attempting to get down water and soup with crackers.

the nausea goes away when you wake up from your third nap, still feeling tired and achey but nowhere near as bad as when you woke up.

but you’re both still grateful for the day off with one another, cuddled up under the couch with a blanket and his arms wound tightly around you. your eyes start closing again when he starts rubbing your back absentmindedly, eventually falling asleep to the sound of his soft, even breathing. 

he looks down when you don’t respond to his question about the movie, smiling softly at your sleeping face before he moves back a few strands of sweaty hair. 

and it’s at the moment he knows he has to be in love with you, so content and happy with the time he spent with you today, that he’s not even concerned in the slightest about getting your stomach virus. 

part 2

tag list: @mirror-juliet​ 

[harryissuchalittleshit]

Connecting Flights

For @trainingprompttuesday and @petalstosarah happy Tuesday, I loved this prompt (obviously I wrote so much), I feel like this just made the best meet cute for Hermione and Ron!

Can also read on Ao3

Hermione cursed as she tried to fit her suitcase into the overhead bin of the airplane. She had just ran all the way across the airport in twenty minutes to get to her next flight, it would the last time she ever got on back to back flights like this.

Part of her was excited, she had been ready to come home a few weeks after leaving cold and dreary London for her abroad course in Australia. A whole year away from everything she had known, studying law and researching their political landscape. It had been interesting to say the least, but she missed her family and her friends, she missed her favorite coffee shop and flirting with the cute barista. Hell, she even missed her roommates coming home drunk in the middle of the night and playing their music as loud as they thought they could get away with.

She missed her own little part of London that was her home.

Hermione walked down the length of the plane, looking for her seat while also trying not to hit anyone with her laptop bag and purse. She wished that she had gone home for Christmas, she’d had the two weeks off while the government was closed, but had decided to stay away because part of her knew that she wouldn’t go back if she came home early.

She fell down into her seat with a small sigh, she had known that wearing flip-flops was a bad idea, but it had helped her get through TSA so quickly and all her other shoes were heels. Her flip-flops had seen better days, she had only packed them on a whim as she never had much used for them in England, but she had worn them every day in Australia, even if it was just so she didn’t have to wear her heels around the office.

Her officemates had joked about knowing wherever she was by the slip-slap of her shoes, much better than the click-clack of everyone else. It was a story that Hermione knew for a fact that her friend Harry would think was hilarious. He and his fiancée, Ginny, were picking Hermione up from the airport when she finally landed, apparently Ginny’s brother was flying in from a connection in Athens’s too.

Hermione listened carefully to the safety briefing by the flight attendants before they took off. She was exhausted, she had barely slept on her first plane ride that morning, and being up in the air again just made her feel even more exhausted.

She had just taken out her laptop and put in her earphones when the man in the seat next to her stood up.

“’cuse me.”

Hermione sighed and let him pass through, briefly taking note of him. He was incredibly tall, with short red hair, pale and freckly skin, and Hermione couldn’t help but peak over her shoulder to stare at his arse as he walked down the plane to the bathrooms.

In the dark reflection of her laptop screen, Hermione quickly took in the bags under her eyes and the lack of makeup on her dark skin. Her skin was clear for once, and she found some lipstick in her purse along with an old eyeliner pencil. Her hair was nearly unmanageable on a good day, but Hermione found a hairband and quickly put it on as the seatbelt sign came on again.

“Everyone please return to your seat, we are experiencing some turbulence as we move through a storm system.”

“Oof, I’m so sorry.”

Hermione stared at the man, all six foot something of him that fell into her lap as the plane suddenly shook. Hermione felt her face grow warm, as he quickly scrambled to his feet and got into his own seat.

“I’m Hermione, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Ron Weasley, I’m sorry I fell on top of you.”

~Two Hours Later~

Hermione smiled to herself as she picked up her second suitcase from baggage claim, she had three missed calls from Harry, but it was worth it as she got to flirt a little bit more with Ron. He was coming home as his little sister and childhood best friend were getting married and he was to be part of the wedding party. He had also been abroad for university, but the details had been hard to get out of him. Ron had been so much more interested in Hermione’s work, only giving a few small details to his own life and family.

On several different parts of their journey they had accidentally held hands, and on the last bit of turbulence Hermione hadn’t let go until they had finally landed. Ron, being the gentleman that he was, had even helped her get her suitcase down from the overhead bin and walked her to baggage claim.

“I just got my bags Harry,” Hermione hissed into her phone as she walked out to the pickup area. “Oh I see you!”

Hermione felt herself smile as she ran over to the small dark car and her best friend from uni. She had met Harry at Freshman orientation, they had several classes together and just clicked. They had survived parties, midterms, football tryouts (for Harry), trivia team tryouts (for Hermione), horrible first dates, and even embarrassing family visits (the most memorable one being Harry’s uncles caught together in one of the bathrooms). They had been there for each other through all of the good and the bad, and Hermione had been proud of Harry when they graduated, even as he went on to work in sports marketing and Hermione went on to law school.

Six years later, they were still best friends, they still talked everyday even if it was just through text messages and emails, and Hermione was to be in the wedding party when he got married to Ginny. Hermione was excited to say the least, and coming back to London now couldn’t have been better timing.

“Hey there Granger,” said Harry as he held his arms out to her, Hermione rolled her eyes and hugged him tightly. She couldn’t believe that she was home, that she was finally home with the people that she loved. “Missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” whispered Hermione, wiping at her eyes as Harry let go of her and picked up her suitcases.

“You’re going to love Ginny, and her brother Ron, they’re great,” said Harry as Hermione watched him carefully put her things in the boot of his car. “They’re already in the car.”

Hermione nodded, faintly aware that she was going to need to perform for the next few hours until she could finally go to sleep. She had to stay awake until at least eight, so she could adjust back into the time zone. But part of her had hoped that she could fall asleep in the back of the car, like the time Harry had taken her home to Godric’s Hallow for Easter holidays their second year of uni.

“Oh,” said Ron from the plane, as Hermione climbed into the back seat beside him. He looked a bit cramped in the tiny car, his long legs almost pressed to his chest. “It’s you again.”

Hermione felt herself blush, taking in the whole situation. Harry’s childhood best friend was Ron, and his little sister Ginny was Harry’s fiancée, and Hermione was Harry’s best friend from uni.

It felt almost like a set up.

“You two have met?” asked Ginny as she pulled out into traffic, Hermione just barely clipping herself into her seat belt.

“He fell on my lap on the plane ride here,” said Hermione, taking in the little she could see of Ginny, despite knowing what she looked like from the photos Harry had sent her. Hermione knew that they met because Ginny was one the players on one of the teams Harry worked for. They’re courtship had been renewed, they had dated for a very brief period in secondary, before breaking up when Harry moved to London for uni.

“Well it seemed to work as you asked me for my number,” said Ron, and Hermione felt herself smile as Harry turned around in his seat to stare at Hermione. She wasn’t known for being bold when it came to asking others out, the few relationships and dates that she had in uni had all been initiated by the person asking her out. She just never thought that far in the future, she wasn’t much of a romantic, at least not like Harry was.

“Wait,” said Ginny, looking at them in the rearview mirror, “you sat next to each other on the plane and you didn’t tell me Ron? We sat here and you didn’t even mention it?”

“I didn’t know that she was Granger,” said Ron, and Hermione felt him grab her hand as Ginny slammed on the breaks the light in front of them turned yellow. “Maybe if someone told me that her name was Hermione it would be different.”

Ginny let out a loud sigh and Hermione smiled to herself. Strangely enough, this felt like the time Harry had tried to set Hermione up with his roommate Neville. It hadn’t worked out, though Hermione and Neville were still great friends even now, he was even going to be part of the wedding party.

“Alright sure, my bad,” said Harry, but Hermione could hear the familiar cocky tone in his voice he got when he was too happy about something working out the way wanted it to. “Sorry Ron.”

“Thanks,” said Ron, squeezing Hermione’s hand softly and meeting her eyes in the backseat.

For some reason, Hermione couldn’t make herself feel upset at all. In fact, her return to London seemed like the absolute best thing in the world.

She didn’t even feel tired anymore.

~Two Years Later~

Hermione smiled in the mirror over her bathroom sink.

She looked the same as she had two years ago, at least for the most part. Her long curly dark hair was still as unmanageable as always, her dark brown eyes still had bags under them, her skin was surprisingly clear for once, and she wasn’t wearing much makeup. She was wearing her trusted flip-flops and a sundress, her engagement ring and wedding band glittered on her left hand, she was going to a baby shower today.

She was seven months along, her daughter was due in a little less than eight weeks, and she was excited to take this next step. Everything had been easy in the last two years, she and Ron had just clicked.

There was no awkward phase after he had fallen into her lap on the plane ride that took them home. Dating had come easy, especially as they both were staying with Harry and Ginny until they got on their feet again. Moving in together had just happened, both of them deciding that they mind as well because they were dating and getting two flats just seemed stupid when they only wanted to spend time together.

Ron had proposed six months after they had met, and even though Hermione knew it was insane, she said yes.

It was so strange and out of character for her, she wasn’t one who didn’t think things through. But Ron made it easy, he was funny and smart and charming, he looked at her as if she was both the sun and the moon, he never tried to sell himself to Hermione, he was just himself and that was enough. He was caring and kind and made her smile on bad days and made her giggle until she was peeing herself on good days, he brought her lunch almost every day and made them dinner most nights. And he never got upset when she had to stay late in the office for work.

He loved her and that was enough, it would always be enough.

He got along with her parents, and Hermione felt like a Weasley after meeting the whole family at Harry and Ginny’s rehearsal dinner. She didn’t have any siblings, Harry being the closest thing to a sibling to her, but now she had five older brothers and one little sister in Ron’s siblings, not including their spouses.

Getting married to Ron had been easy, they got married in her family’s church and had the reception at Ron’s parent’s house. It had been everything she could’ve ever wanted, and in just eight weeks she would have her and Ron’s first baby.

“’Mione,” said Ron, appearing in the bathroom doorway, his red hair longer than she had ever seen it, but his warm smile the same as the day they had met. “We have to go before we miss the whole thing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and rubbed her stomach as their daughter kicked her. They had decided on the name Roslyn Eleanora, or Rose for short after Hermione’s grandmother on her mother’s side. They were going to name their baby Hugo Charles after Ron’s favorite brother if they were having a boy, but Hermione reminded Ron that this wouldn’t be their last baby.

“We’ve been late to more important things than a baby shower Ron.”

“And Harry and Ginny still hold their wedding and James’ christening over our heads, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled and reached for Ron’s hand, placing it on her stomach before leaning forward and kissing him softly. She had never been happier to have a stranger fall into lap.

Though, of course, she never imagined that she would’ve married him fifteen months later.

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | three

view pinned post for masterlist / links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: smut

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: graphic violence, blood drinking, overstimulation, orgasm denial, crying kink, corruption kink, praise kink? idk, alcohol drinking, virgin mc

Synopsis: When you accidentally summon a bloodthirsty demon boy to your bedroom, you form an unexpected contract with him.

A/N: I’m a little too whipped for this san tbh,,, Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always!

“Go talk to him!” 

“Yuri, he’s way out of my—”

“C’mon, you look hot! You haven’t been out with us in like, over a month. Have some fun for once.”

“The worst he could do is reject you,” Chaeyeon piped in at your side. 

Easy for them to say. Your friends were practically models, of course they would think getting a guy's number was easy. 

But either way, you couldn’t take your eyes off him all night. Tall, perfectly proportioned, entirely graceful. His jet-black undercut hair was styled up neatly in such a way that one side fell gracefully over his eyes. Admittedly, he was no San, but he was gorgeous.  There was no way you’d be able to get his number, but your friends were right about one thing. You could really use some fun. 

You knocked back the rest of your drink, and it stung the back of your throat just enough to give you the confidence you needed to approach him. 

Your friends watched, mouths agape as you somehow managed to score his number—he typed it into your phone with graceful fingers, caching in into your contacts under the name Seonghwa. A fittingly pretty name for such a gorgeous man. When you walked back to the table, your friends' eyes were wide in both jealousy and shock, and you felt incredibly powerful for just a moment.

“The way you’re looking at me, it seems like you didn’t think I’d actually get it,” you joked, leaning against the table to stir the ice in your empty glass mindlessly. 

“Well, uh... we kind of didn’t. Not that you’re not pretty or anything, but that guy is out of all our leagues. Like pretty much everyone in this bar’s league, actually.”

“No guarantee he’ll actually call me. It could be a fake number,” you shrugged. 

You kind of couldn’t believe you were able to get his number either, but it did give you a much needed confidence boost. You didn’t need your demon boy anymore, you could actually get a human. A gorgeous one at that. Of course, this human boy probably wouldn’t clean your bathroom for you. Or look so goddamn hot doing it. 

You glanced around the bar confidently, making eye contact with Seonghwa and giving him a flirtatious wink. 

You weren’t usually big into going to bars, even with your friends. Rather, you preferred a chill night in watching movies or playing Cards Against Humanity. But your friends had been nagging you for nearly a month to go out with them, their constant invites finally coming to a head when you accepted out of the blue. You’d been so focused on your secret nightly rendezvous with the hot demon boy in your bedroom that you’d rejected them over and over, blaming a “mountain of school work” and “midterm stress”. While both of those things were true, you had basically discarded your social life to lust over a pretty demon boy. You knew now that he was a bad idea, and you needed to move on.

For the last week, you’d been agonizing over him. You hadn’t re-summoned him since you saw him last—the night he choked you until you passed out with his dick inside you. There were two big reasons for this. 

First, you were a bit embarrassed for passing out on him, although you knew that was nowhere near your fault. Your first time with a guy, and you pass out? Of course, his demonic hands were around your throat literally asphyxiating you, but you still felt slightly ashamed at the idea of him seeing you like that, and even taking the time to re-clothe you afterwards. You didn’t know if you could even look him in the eyes after that.

Secondly, and this was admittedly the biggest reason: you knew that you were no longer desirable to him. Your appeal to him was undoubtedly your virgin tears, blood, aura, whatever. You were a virgin, your very presence was like crack to him. But you’d fucked him. Well, started anyway, but it definitely counted. You weren’t a virgin anymore, not by his instinctual demon standards at least—not in the way he needed you to be. And what were you without your virginity other than some insignificant human soul in an endless sea of human souls? He didn’t need you anymore. 

But there was also the issue of the fact that he wasn’t human, and never would be. If all you did was contract him into sex, wouldn’t that just make him your demon prostitute who cleans your house sometimes? You didn’t have a contract last time, but it wouldn’t matter now anyway. There was no way he’d risk going contract-less again, especially if you weren’t a virgin anymore. 

So you decided to move on. He was bad for you in every way, a bad habit you needed to break. An addiction you needed to give up on. 

But it was certainly easier said than done. 

He haunted you, in your dreams, and even while you were awake. His post-it on your wall, taunting you, although you didn’t have the heart to rip it off. It wouldn’t matter if you did, anyway, you’d memorized his summoning phrase by heart. It was practically burned into you like a brand—a constant reminder of his hold on you. Even the inhuman taste of his lips lingered on yours for far longer than they should have.

You shook your thoughts of San from your head the best you could, refocusing on just having a good time tonight. You almost forgot the outside world existed with how much you’d been isolated with San in your apartment. It felt nice. 

You finished your night with a few more drinks, waving bye to your friends as they hopped in their ride-share. The bar wasn’t far from your apartment, and you lived in a relatively safe neighborhood, so you weren’t exactly worried about walking home by yourself at night. 

You had been drinking, but you didn’t necessarily feel drunk, perhaps just a little wobbly as you made your way through the neighborhood. A sign reading “road construction” blocked your path, and you noticed the sidewalk was completely cut off for the next few blocks. Walking all the way around would have taken forever, so you chose to cut through an alleyway to access the back entrance of your building. It was one you were familiar with—you’d taken it several times when you wanted to cut down your trip, but never at night. You walked through, keeping close to the wall lining the side because it offered the most visibility. It was quite dim, only the dull flickering of a rusty street light overhead giving any sense of light. 

Then you saw it. 

To your left, you caught a glimpse of crimson red shining almost like neon in the dim, flickering light of the alley, and then a glimpse of a fang sparkling bright white. You stumbled back, hitting the brick wall behind you. 

“Where ya goin’?” he taunted, taking another step forward. You couldn’t make out the features, but they were distinctly demonic. Your fight or flight instinct kicked in, except you somehow skipped right past those and straight to “freeze”. You were entirely frozen in place, your limbs scrambling to decide the best path of action. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out here all alone.”

You darted to the right just as he closed in, immediately tripping over your own feet into the closest object, a dumpster. You turned on your heels to see his fangs bared fully, pearly and bright in the dark alley. 

You opened your mouth to scream, but the sound was suddenly dampened. A hand clamped over your mouth with a suffocating force. Before you could realize what was happening, you were shoved to your knees, skin scraping against the cold pavement. 

“Don’t move,” a voice hissed in your ear. San. You’d know that deep voice anywhere. You tried to choke out a few useless words, but your voice was helplessly muffled beneath the hand viced against your mouth. “Be quiet. I’m saving your life.”  

He shoved you by the shoulders behind a stack of large wooden crates next to the dumpster. You kept your head down, but you could make out their silhouettes in the dim light, although San’s figure blocked your eye line from getting a good view of the aggressor. 

"Low life," San growled, his words spitting out venomously. "What, you have nothing better to do than hunt humans? Pathetic." 

You heard the harsh, gritty tone of the figure speak, still veiled in the shadows. "San?" The figure laughed jovially. Something about it was incredibly unsettling. "What are you, some sort of human patrol? Or do you just want her for yourself?"  

"She's mine," he hissed. You couldn't see his face, but you could picture it twisting in anger from how maliciously he spat out his words. 

"Yours, huh? I know you like ‘em pure, but not enough to take another demon's prey."  

Was he implying you were still a virgin? But that wasn't—

"Leave," San snarled. "Before you make me do something we'll both regret." 

The figure took a step forward, unveiling himself in the light, though you could still barely make it out from behind the crates and with San’s figure blocking your view. 

“Fuck off. I was here first,” the demon spat.  

“I said… she’s mine.”

San lunged forward, but the demon dodged easily, throwing his fist forward to land a blow on San’s cheek. San shook his head furiously before moving to throw his own punch. 

The demon ducked to evade, but San anticipated it. His figure whipped around to the back of the demon, his body moving like a flash, almost as if he had phased out of reality. He swung his leg up with a fierce kick, sending the aggressor flying back into the alley wall, cracking the bricks in a cartoonish circle around him. You had no idea he could fight like that.

The demon faltered to his feet, shaking his limbs out casually like it was nothing. These demons were no joke—you wouldn’t have stood a chance running from him if San hadn’t been there. You’d be dead. 

The demon's mouth curled up into a snarl, baring his fangs ferociously as he lunged in San’s direction. San evaded easily, flashing around to his opponent’s side. 

“You’re clearly not very bright,” San taunted, delivering another kick to his core. The demon fell back again, lurching forward over his stomach with a pained gasp. He staggered against the wall, lifting his gaze to San closing in. 

San had him entirely cornered. His hand viced around the other demon’s throat, holding him in the air with a surprising display of strength. The demon’s feet scrambled hopelessly to find the concrete, dangling inches above the ground. Is that the kind of strength he was capable of? Holding up an entire body in the air as effortlessly as he would toasting a champagne glass? 

San shot a glance over his shoulder, black eyes glistening villainously under the dim lights. "Close your eyes, lamb. You're not gonna want to see this one. Trust me."

Your eyes squeezed together just in time for you to hear a sickening crack of bones snapping. Then complete, deafening silence for a moment.

You cracked one eye open as you heard his footsteps approaching you slowly. Your vision adjusted to see him knelt in front of you, seemingly surveying you for injury. 

"What the fuck was that?" you choked out. “Why was he—”

"He’s a rogue demon," he explained, shooting a deathly glare at the decapitated corpse. The sight was grisly, but somehow, the fact that the body wasn’t entirely human gave you some degree of solace. "Patrolling for souls. You’re an easy target. They can smell your pretty scent from a mile away."

You took another glance at the fresh corpse, stomach churning at the gruesome sight. His head was ripped cleanly off. Did San just do that with his bare hands? 

San gripped on to your forearm, squeezing hard. You noticed his hand shaking, just slightly. "C'mon. We need to go. Where there's one rogue, there's bound to be more. You smell like a walking piece of meat right now to them. If there's more, they know you're here." He tugged you to your feet. “Lead me to your apartment, okay darling? It’s close, hmm? Until then, you need to stay quiet. You talking—well, let’s just say it makes you easier to detect.”

You walked hesitantly but briskly the rest of the way to your apartment, legs shaking beneath you with every step. San kept a protective arm wrapped tightly around the small of your waist the whole way, but you couldn’t help but feel shaky. 

The minute you got home, all the questions you wanted to ask him flooded your brain. He guided you by the shoulders to the bedroom first, shutting the door behind you as if you had something to hide, despite being alone in the apartment. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you wouldn’t give him the chance.

“How did you find me?” you barked. “I haven’t summoned you in over a week. How did you know where I was?”

“I know,” he grumbled under his breath. Was he keeping track of the days like you were? You didn’t think he cared. “I’ve been, uh... I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” he responded, shifting his eyes to the side for a minute. Breaking eye contact wasn’t like him.

“You’ve been doing what? Like spying on me? I didn’t know demons could watch over humans like that. I thought you just came when you were called.”

“We can’t. We’re not like angels.”

“Angels? Ugh, never mind, not the point. So how did you—”

“I have some connections. It doesn’t really matter. The point is, I saved you back there. And you need to be more careful.”

You sighed. “What, so you care now?”

San nodded hesitantly. “I—I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I care a bit more than I should. About you.” His eyes drew up to yours, reeling you in like a magnetic pull. Except his gaze was less fierce than usual, just intense. Serious. 

“What are you trying to say?”

“I try to stay objective. About humans. It’s my job. Write contacts, steal souls. I’m not supposed to feel anything. And I’m certainly not supposed to alter fate to save one.”

Alter fate? Were you supposed to die tonight?

You paused. You were suddenly incredibly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, despite the implications of what he was saying. You were falling head first for him, but you couldn’t afford to have your heart broken. You were trying to move on. 

“Can you get me some water? My head is killing me,” you asked quickly, hoping you could change the subject when he came back.

He nodded, hoisting himself up from the edge of the bed, and came back with the glass, setting it on the night table gingerly. He was being uncomfortably gentle, and you weren’t exactly sure what to do with him. 

“I have a question,” you started hesitantly, using the lull in the conversation to move it elsewhere. “The demon. In the alley. He said I was pure. What did he mean? Because we—”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m not sure either. We certainly did do that, but I can smell it too, unmistakably. I’d know that scent anywhere. It’s driving me insane.”

“So I’m...”

“Still a virgin,” he finished. His tongue drew over his lip between the slight part of his teeth in thought. “I can only guess it’s because I’m not human. My body is, but only technically.” His eyes trained on you again, this time glimmering with a hint of desire. “Speaking of. Your smell is entirely distracting to me right now.”

He wasn’t the only one distracted. You hadn’t entirely forgotten what he looked like, of course, but you were still surprised every time you saw him. He looked hellishly attractive, glistening lightly with sweat, shirt clinging to his muscles tightly. You weren’t being subtle as you glanced at him up and down, practically drooling. You saw a familiar smirk twitch up on his lips, flashing and a brief display of fangs. “What’s that look for, lamb? Hmm? You look cute when you’re drooling over me.”

You shook your head, embarrassed. “Don’t you need to be going anyway?”

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to be able to reach you with his hand, brushing it along the cut of your jaw. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here tonight. Alone. If the rogues caught on to your scent, they’d be able to track you here.”

“But won’t you get in trouble without a contract?” 

“Who says we can’t make one now?” he asked, fixing his gaze directly with yours. He was right. You hadn’t really thought of that.  

“Alright, let’s say I asked you to guard me tonight. What do I give you in return?”

“Your body.” You paused, breath hitching in your throat as he dragged his fingernail along the skin of your neck again. “You’re free to decline but… I’m hoping you’d want to finish what we started as much as I do.” You glanced at your phone on the nightstand for a moment in thought, breaking eye contact, but he tipped your chin up to meet yours immediately. “What are you thinking about, darling, hm? That boy who gave you his number?”

“How did you—”

“I told you. I’ve been watching,” he explained with a charming smile. 

“Asshole. That’s creepy,” you grumbled through your teeth. It was creepy,  but another part of you couldn’t help but be flattered. 

“So, what do you say?” he asked eagerly, leaning in until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. 

You couldn’t deny, his body had been on your mind pretty much constantly since you’d seen him last. You craved the feeling of him inside of you again, the warm closeness of his skin pressed against yours, his hands exploring every inch of you. Most of all, you craved the hungry, insatiable way he looked at you, that made you feel desired in a way you’d never felt before.

“You’re not gonna choke me out again?” you teased, but you already knew your answer, pretty much either way. 

“No promises.” He winked charmingly, brushing his lips against yours. A tingle rocketed through your spine, the single fleeting taste of his lips the only incentive you needed for your next words.

“It’s a deal,” you confirmed, leaning into the feeling of his lips against yours. He pulled away with a teasing smirk. 

“Such a needy little human. Don’t get too eager, now. I like to have a little fun with my prey first.” He winked, flashing his fangs. You imagined them sinking into your skin, the sensation of his tongue dragging along your wound. You couldn’t believe how addicted you were to being a glorified blood donor for a sadistic house-demon. 

You whined a bit as he pulled away, breaking all contact with you. 

“San—” 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth mockingly. “Needy little thing. Don’t worry, we’ll have our fun tonight. On my terms, of course.”

He teased you mercilessly as you went about your night, brushing himself up against you in the kitchen, lingering his lips just over your skin as he spoke to you and pulling away right when you tried to make a move. The restraint he was exercising just to get a rise out of you was impressive, and you pretty much fell right in his trap. You were squirming at the mere idea of his touch, knees nearly buckling under you every time he brushed against you. You were going mad.

You were washing dishes in the kitchen after eating a quick midnight snack with him. Your drinking in the bar earlier had you hungry for whatever was around, and due to the quickly growing pain of arousal, you wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon. 

You felt his hands around your waist first, pulling your back into him from behind, his lips littering feather-light kisses on the back of your neck. Your hair stood on end, goosebumps pilling up on your arms as he kissed so very lightly. He nipped lightly a few times at the surface of your skin, fangs grazing sharply against the nape of your neck, then moving down to your shoulders, pulling down the collar of your shirt to get better access. 

You felt him growing hard against you from behind, his rock hard bulge pressing into your ass. You wiggled against it, and he delivered a harsh bite to the skin of your shoulder blades, not daring to break skin yet.

“Don’t tease me, lamb,” he purred against your skin, administering a harsh slap to the side of your ass. You hissed at the sting, but you couldn’t help but tease him again to see his next move. You pushed your hips back with a stronger force now, rocking your ass up against the form of his dick through his pants. A low growl rolled through his throat. “Testing me, hmm? Someone’s getting brave.”

You felt his teeth sink into the flesh of the back of your neck, and you whimpered at the sudden pain. He lapped at it slowly, softly, seemingly savoring every taste. You whined as he drew his tongue across your skin. “So… how do I punish you? I told you we were on my terms,” he sang sweetly in your skin, almost menacingly.

His hand traveled from your waist to the waistband of your small pajama shorts, pushing his fingers down to tease you through the fabric of your panties. You couldn’t help but let out small pants and moans as he finally gave attention to the dripping wet neediness between your legs, but you still needed more. He circled his index finger around your clit excruciatingly slowly. The sensation of his tongue on your skin and his touch through your underwear was almost more painful than none at all. You squirmed and writhed under the touch you’d been craving all night, letting out breathy moans as all your arousal from the night compounded.

He flipped you around suddenly, your back making contact with the cold counter. He lifted your shirt off, and you fumbled with the hem of his shirt, grasping desperately as you tried to remove it from his head. He smirked against your lips as he picked you up by the hips, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing. You clawed at him desperately to keep your balance as he led you to the bedroom, tossing you back on your bed like a toy. He stripped himself fully, his dick springing out from his pants excitedly. 

His eyes trained on your body hungrily as he crawled over you. “We’re playing by my rules today. Be a good girl, okay?”

You nodded, eagerly accepting whatever terms he had in order to feel him against you. You weren’t quite expecting his next words, though.

“You don’t cum unless I tell you to. And trust me, darling. You don’t want to know what happens if you disobey.” His lips twitched into a sadistic smile, marveling at your body as he kissed down torturously slow. He ripped your shorts, then your underwear, teasing his tongue and lips over your thighs for a while as you squirmed. Then, finally, giving you what you desired most. His tongue against your clit, warm and wet, washing you over with immediate pleasure like you’d never felt before.  

The sensation of his tongue against you was almost more than you could handle, and you were practically writhing and thrashing at the sensitivity. Heat rose in your core, flooding through your whole body. Your every nerve felt like it was on fire. He worked his tongue devilishly, leaving no part of your pussy untouched, dancing it along your clit like it was his only reason for existing. His tongue practically worshipped you, and you ate up the soft moans and growls that escaped him. His eyes were darker, but not fully consumed with black yet, as he glanced up from between your legs for only a moment, before going back in hungrily.

It was getting harder, nearly impossible actually, to keep your body from rocking itself into orgasm. It built inside you, a knot twisting at the base of your stomach, ready to burst at any moment. “San, please can I—”

“Cute. Begging. It won’t get you anywhere, darling,” he sang mockingly, his hot breaths washing over you. 

“Please—” Tears spilled over in your eyes, pouring down your cheeks as the sensations intensified seemingly exponentially. “Please please please,” you pleaded, not caring how desperate you sounded. You couldn’t take it. 

“There are those pretty, pretty tears,” he cooed. “Keep crying for me baby, then maybe I’ll consider letting you cum.”

Not that you had a choice, but you obeyed. The tears came and came as you thrashed under him, holding yourself back so much that you ached. You’d never been so restrained, for a moment you even wondered if this is what San felt like every day when holding back his urges.

He came up from between your legs for a moment to lick the salty tears from your face, dragging a fingernail under your chin. You squirmed needily under him, and although you knew begging wouldn’t get you anywhere, you felt you had no choice. 

“San—”

“Yes, lamb?” He met your eyes, and you could barely keep them open with the overwhelming sensations. 

“Please, I need you to… please. I can’t take it anymore.”

His wet tongue slid over your cheek, lingering his fangs over for a moment, then came up to meet your gaze. “Fine. I’ve had my fun for now, I suppose. But keep crying for me, mmkay? You’re cute when you’re helpless.”

He made his way back down, torturing his lips over every inch of your shoulders, breasts, stomach, hips, until finally settling between your legs again. The first brush of his tongue was nearly enough to send you over the edge, but you held out for a few moments, letting him get your completely riled up again. 

His fingers found their way inside you, only pumping a few times before you were completely putty in his hands. You shook as the orgasm rocked through you violently. San gripped your hips tightly as you thrashed, keeping you steady. You’d never cum so hard in your life, even when picturing San while you worked your vibrator. Somehow, he was ten times better. A million times, even. 

“Good girl,” he praised, stroking your stomach for a few moments before going back in with his tongue. You couldn’t control your hips from bucking violently as he lapped at your folds, completely drenched from your orgasm. You cried out—the sensitivity was almost too much to bear. “Now be a good girl for me and cum again.” 

“Ah—sensitive—” you whined, thrashing against his hands holding you down. You felt him smirk against you, indicating he knew exactly what he was doing. It took him barely even a few minutes to work you into your second orgasm, whimpering and shaking as you came down. Tears leaked from your eyes, some left over from your original bout, some fresh from the overstimulation. He came back up to lick them off your cheeks with a satisfied grin. 

“Good little lamb,” he purred. You loved his praise, even if it had a condescending sting to it, it felt so amazing dripping like honey in your ears. 

You were surprised how well he was keeping himself together, unlike your previous sexual encounter with him, where he’d completely lost control to his demon instincts. His eyes were darker than usual, a deep, sinister blood red, but not black. Nowhere near. That was a part of him you wished you didn’t have to see again.

You writhed under his touch as he swiped a finger between your folds, testing your wetness. “I’ll try to be gentle for this one,” he growled. “No promises.” 

“Fuck me, please,” you breathed against his lips, bringing your hand down to guide the tip of his dick right between your legs. 

He thrust in slowly at first, taking his time adjusting to every small movement. He shook as you watched his eyes flicker to black for a moment, then back to red, again to black, then red, as if he was fighting with himself. He pushed all the way in this time, bottoming out inside of you. You cried out, experiencing such complete fullness for the first time. He wasn’t enormous, in fact you’d say his cock was just the perfect size, but he was much bigger than any toy you’d ever used. 

“Fuck, those pretty little noises are gonna drive me crazy,” he growled lustfully, thrusting out and then in again fully. You threw your head back in pleasure, taking in every sensation of him stretching you out, his dick hitting exactly the right curves inside you, places you didn’t even realize he could reach. 

He fisted his hands in the sheets beside your head as he thrust in and out, alternating slow and fast in a way that made your head spin completely. He kept eye contact with you the entire time, the same hungry and magnetic gaze he always had, except there was something beneath the surface this time. Something softer, almost loving. You didn’t have a mind for romance now, though. 

Your mind could only process the feeling of him inside you. His fingernails dug into the sheets with so much force you swore they were going to rip to shreds in his grip. He latched his teeth onto your neck forcefully, drawing blood. At the same time, you felt him lurch inside of you, shaking and growling as he spilled out inside you. Warm cum dripped around his dick as he slid out slowly, and there was another warm sensation you could make out—blood spilling from your neck. 

“San—San—towel, now,” you demanded anxiously, the two dripping fluids making you feel a bit uneasy. He took care of the cum first, wiping it off the blanket, then lapped his tongue on your wound a few times before sticking a bandage on it. Where did he get that, anyway?

“You’re a mess,” he commented teasingly, a cheeky flash of fangs dancing up on his lips. 

“Yeah, thanks to you,” you grumbled, running your palm over the bandages securing your bite marks. “I can’t believe you didn’t… y’know.”

“Lose it?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Trust me darling, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Your taste is especially intoxicating. Your pussy tastes even better than your blood, somehow.”

You laughed at the unexpected compliment. It felt weird for such a hot guy to be talking to you about the taste of your pussy at 2am. A demon, no less. You almost felt embarrassed in his gaze, despite just fucking so intensely. You were suddenly incredibly self-conscious about your naked body as he watched you. You wrapped yourself in your hands, shrinking down slightly as you concealed your body from his gaze. 

“Hey, stop that,” he said firmly. “Why are you hiding? Your body is incredible. I’d say you look like an angel, but we kinda hate those where I’m from.” He smiled gently. “But you do look divine.”

Heat rose through your cheeks, staining them red. He’d always complimented your smell, your taste—he’d never praised your body before. You motioned towards the closet, and he tossed you a shirt reluctantly. You threw it quickly over your head, still feeling bashful despite his nice comment. 

You fell asleep shortly after getting cleaned up, tucked neatly into your bed by your sweet house-demon.

Demons, you learned, didn’t need sleep, despite their human need for practically everything else—food, massages, sex. You had forgotten for a moment why he was even there in the first place, the sex having completely over-ridden the events of the day beforehand. You forgot all about being potentially in danger, your mind only filled with thoughts of San.

He sat by your side all night, or so you knew from what he told you the next morning. He said you were cute when you sleep. His lamb. The idea of him watching over you protectively all night made your heart ache, in a way both good and bad. You weren’t sure if you could say it for sure yet, but you were falling in love with him. 

But it could never work between you. It was too good to be true. It had to be.

[harringrovetrashrat]

Tagged by @disdaidal !!!  Thank you!  Omg I’m like 🥺💖🥺💖

So, I figure since I have so many things I’m working on, and no idea when I’ll actually finish them (outside of my Big Bang Project), I should share the bits of them that I do actually have dhfoiahfiosh

What we have are these:

A fic where Billy meets some older queer people while kicked out, and learns from them how to love himself

“So I’m guessing you’ve never met a queen before,” they said. Billy shook his head.

“I’ve never met any royalty.” Juicy laughed and it made Billy feel like he’d said the wrong thing until she looked at him again, practically beaming.

“Well honey, there’s queens abound in here. Drag Queens, specifically.” Billy’s mouth formed a small ‘o’.

“So, you’re a… man?” Juicy shook her head.

“Personally, I find man and woman too limiting. All gender is a costume, darling. I just think dresses are prettier than suits.”

“You haven’t been in the right suits,” Cindy said with a smirk. Juicy gave her the finger without looking.

“It’s called taste, sweetie.” Cindy just laughed. Billy stared at Juicy, feeling awed by them. They were so tall, toned and beautiful. Their skin was dark and glistened with the glitter they’d spread over it. “I’m sure you have taste, don’t you munchkin?” Billy couldn’t help it and he pouted.

“I’m not short, I’m average for my age,” he snapped. Juicy just smiled.

“I like you,” they said, pointing a long nailed finger at him.

A Cheesy Summer Camp Horror fic, with romance and comedy because Like.  Y’all know me.

“Let’s stop talking about her,” Heather cut in. “Let’s talk about this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Billy asked, perking up. “What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking we could celebrate the end of the first week with a skinny dip,” she said, eyes sparkling. Billy didn’t miss the flush that crossed over Robin’s face, though he wasn’t entirely sure who it was directed at. He definitely had a guess.

“I’m game!” Tommy piped up, grin wide, anger disappearing from his face. Billy rolled his eyes and snorted, but raised his hand, tongue running over his top teeth.

“Why not,” he said, giving his eyebrows a quirk. “I ain’t no pussy.”

“Of course,” Adam muttered, rolling his eyes. Billy’s eyes snapped over and narrowed. “Isn’t it a little, I dunno, juvenile?”

“Oh come on,” Steve chimed in, munching on the cookie now, relaxing with the change of topic. “Maybe so, but it’s summer, it’s camp, why not, right? Start it off with a bang?” His smile was teasing, bright, and Billy found it hard to look away, hard to deny that smile what it wanted.

The Reverse AU where Steve moves to Hawkins with his father and step family, Claudia and Dustin, and Billy was adopted into the Mayfields

“I’m not--! It’s just midterms! That’s what has me all out of sorts.” He opened his notebook and tried to will his blush away. There was a soft thud and Nancy joined them.

“What has you out of sorts?” She asked.

“Mid--”

“Billy so has a crush on that new guy from New York,” Heather said. Billy made a noise of protest when Nancy smiled, leaning over.

“Oh he’s so cute! Truly impeccable taste you have,” she teased. Billy rested his head on the table.

“I hate both of you so fucking much,” he hissed.

“No you don’t,” they chorused.

“I do, I really do,” Billy replied.

Mermaid AU where Steve and Billy were young friends before being separated.  Steve tries to reunite them obviously

“I can show you a bunch of cool stuff,” Billy said, feeling oddly proud of himself. And well, the ocean was his home. And he never got the chance to really show it off to someone who didn’t already know it. “If I show you the ocean, will you tell me more about humans?” Steve nodded. “Like, why are all the ships girls?”

“Huh,” Steve said, tapping his chin with his finger. “I don’t actually know… Usually I think ‘cause a guy names them. I’ll ask my tutor. He knows everything.” Steve wasn’t a huge fan of Professor Owens, but he was nice enough. He let Steve find things to bring in and ask questions about, he didn’t get mad like Steve’s other tutors had when he had trouble reading. So even though Owens still pushed for Steve to focus more on his future, he was better than the other adults in Steve’s life.

“Tutor?” Billy asked. “What’s that?”

“Like a teacher,” Steve replied. “But like… Different.” In fact, Steve wasn’t totally sure what the difference was. Billy just squinted, looking confused.

“Different… how?”

“Uh, tutors are… are taller,” Steve replied matter of factly. Professor Owens was taller than Ms. Joyce had been, so there wasn’t anything to argue against that. Billy nodded seriously, making a note.

There was a ringing bell and a distant voice calling Steve’s name, making him sigh dramatically. It was already time? Billy’s ears twitched a little and he looked at Steve.

“What’s that?”

“That’s my nanny,” Steve said, mopey and pouting.

More of You’ll Find Me Looking Over the Edge of the World

“Oh, King Steve thinking about skipping?” Billy tugged him down, making Steve stumble as a fist started rubbing against his scalp and messing up his hair.

“Fuck, dude!” Steve cried, nearly dropping his tray. Billy just cackled, letting him go and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No,” Nancy said through grit teeth. “He’s thinking about staying and taking--”

“He can’t go around looking like that,” Billy said with faux concern, eyes all worried as he leaned on the table with one hand and used the other to point at Steve’s, now fully messed up, hair. “I think Steve’ll have to take the afternoon, don’t you?” Billy turned to look over his shoulder, not seeing the way Nancy rubbed at her temples as Jonathan very obviously tried not to snicker. Steve almost felt bad. Billy knocked on the table with his knuckles, pushing up with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him home safely.”

“Get me home--” Steve began, but before he could finish his sentence, Billy was shoving him around and out of the cafeteria. Nancy sighed, shaking her head, giving Steve a look he knew would turn into a talk later. “Sorry guys!” Steve tossed over his shoulder.

Billy with a rat he named Max to piss off Max (he calls her human Max and she hates it)

“And what the fuck are you doing here?!” He asked her. Max, the little trouble maker, just squeaked at him, wriggling in his grip. “No fucking wonder I didn’t see you in Barbie’s house this morning, you decided to be a fucking Houndini, didn’t you.” She squeaked again, tail swirling and dragging along his wrist. He heard footsteps behind him and moved to shove her back into his jacket sleeve when Steve approached.

“You okay-- Oh!” Steve blinked, brows raised as he saw Max reach with her small, cute little pink hands to grab for Billy’s hard nipple again. “So…”

“Cut that out!” Billy hissed, moving her down to cradle her against his stomach. She settled in, but she was definitely hungry and would get restless again quickly. “I didn’t see her this morning but just assumed she was hiding in her little pile.”

“Me too,” Steve said, checking around the hallway for anyone who was late. Luckily, there was no one around to see them trying to hide a rat in Billy’s jacket. “How’d she even get out?”

“I mean, we are keeping her in a Barbie dream house instead of a cage--”

“Really? You’re gonna sass me now? After you insisted that she ‘live like the princess she is’--”

Stranger Than Fiction AU

“Billy, I swear to fucking god if you don’t get out there right now--” Billy stumbled out from the back, head turned to glare at Max, who was pushing him from behind. She pushed until he was at the counter, face to face with Steve. He glared, though his face was flush. Max crossed her arms. “Like we fuckin’ practiced.” Billy shot her another angry glance, but then looked back to Steve. Who was so confused.

“Max may have, uhm, brought it to my attention that I may have overreacted just the tiniest little bit.”

“That’s not at all right,” Max said under her breath. Billy swatted behind him without looking, missing her completely.

“Anyway,” he pressed on, “I just,” he sighed, pushing an errant curl behind his ear. Steve watched the movement before snapping his eyes back to Billy’s. “I don’t often take the chance to be nice, so I got maybe a little offended.” Max scoffed. “Okay a lot offended,” he said with an eye roll. Steve couldn’t help it; he snorted. Billy’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes lit up, like a kid who just learned Santa was real. Steve blushed, looking away, but he couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

“It’s okay,” he replied, turning back to look at Billy. The sun lit up the stray blonde hairs poking out of his messy bun, making a light halo around him. Steve had to catch his breath.

It was like looking at an angel, vengeful and dangerous, but exciting all at once. His eyes seemed to shine, bright and gleeful, but also full of mischief.

“It’s okay,” Steve repeated, feeling his face heat up more. “I would have taken them if I could. They were amazing.” He smiled, nodding towards the stairs. “I should get to it though. Last day and all.” Something sad briefly flickered over Billy’s face, but it was gone as soon as it was there, and Steve thought he must have imagined it.

“Yeah, good luck,” Billy said. Max was smiling, smug, and she punched Billy’s shoulder.

Leverage AU

“Well,” he said slowly, letting the trio shake off their shadows. “The lab closed.” This isn’t about the kid was the underlying message. “But, what’s happening now is that Mayor Kline accepted a lot of weird bribes. They’re from a company called Starcourt Industries. Now, that’s the name of the mall that opened, Starcourt, but what’s weird--”

“--Is that they didn’t exist for very long before suddenly popping up in Indiana,” Alec cut in. “It reads like one of our companies. General background, seems legit, but I did a lot of poking around most of this stuff leads to loose ends. It took a while to get there, so at first glance…” The group nodded. At first glance everything checked out, and even a little digging would provide a general cover that most people wouldn’t think to look past.

Of course, none of them were most people.

“So who are they?” Eliot asked.

“All of the loose ends lead back to Russia,” Alec said. “But nothing concrete or connected, just more companies that do really general stuff. It goes real deep.” The implications there were discomforting. Alec was a genius, and excelled in his line of work, but this kind of grand scale cover up meant one thing: this was bigger than just a few bad apples in a company. This was a plan.

“So who’s the client?” Sophie asked. Nate pulled up a picture of a grumpy looking man, mustache groomed and eyes hard, but kind.

“Chief Jim Hopper.” That got Parker’s attention, bringing her out of the funk she’d been in since the mention of San Diego and Billy.

“Like, Police Chief?”

“Yep,” Nate said, popping the P. “He’s the one who found the kid, found out there was something going on at the lab. Now, he’s positive something weird is going on. Knows he’s done everything he can to legally take the Mayor down, but the man has a lot of friends in high places, and Jim can’t do anything. And that’s,” he smiled, “Where we come in.”

That’s still merely some of what I have going on, but that’s what I’ll share rn. Anyway, tag me in ur WIPs! I’d love to read them :) tag ur it

[skylarmoon71]

Tadashi Oneshot (Big Hiro 6)

"(Y/N) do you wanna come with us to the cafe, Hiro is celebrating our newest rescue." Honey Lemon's offer was tempting, but you denied.

"It's okay, you guys have fun. I got midterms next week. Gonna try and shove as much information into my brain."

"Hah, if you were a genius you wouldn't have to." Hiro taunts. You just grab him into a headlock, and now he's struggling. He's at an obvious disadvantage with the height difference. "I don't need to be a genius to beat you up short stuff."

When he finally gets free he's fixing his hair with a little growl. 

"Just wait until I get taller!" He hollers. You laugh, and he's running off with Fred and Baymax. Wasabi and Gogo are close behind lecturing them about crossing the street recklessly. Honey Lemon is just beaming as she follows. Tadashi is the one who stops to look your way. The moment his brown eyes meet yours you look away, turning your back and heading in the opposite direction.

"Is that really the reason, or are you just trying to avoid me." You tense, stopping in your tracks. You just clench the bag by its straps.

"I don't know what you mean." It's said so coldly, and you just continue walking, not looking back or even hearing him out. When you're at a reasonable distance you can finally breathe better. It's then that you chance a look back, and Tadashi is still standing there with a solemn look on his face. There's obvious guilt, and you don't pay it much mind turning the corner.

You were a part of their friend group. No, you weren't a genius or even a hero like the rest of them. You were just a friend. You thought it was awesome, not many people could say they were friends with Sanfransokyo's superhero squad. You were just an average teen, enjoying college life. Trying to at least.

After the fire at the University, everything changed. The man behind the crime was caught and locked up, and no one was hurt. Tadashi wasn't hurt. Even though that was the case, you were angry at him. When he stormed into the building it exploded, everyone assumed he was gone, but luckily he'd gotten trapped in a backroom that was built to handle high temperatures. You'd never forget that day.

The fire department stormed the building and recovered his body that was thankfully unharmed. All he'd received was a small burn on his right arm. But for you, it left a lot more than a battle scar. Tadashi had been your friend for years, even when you were kids he was always considered the level headed one. He had to be with his parents gone, and you knew he needed to be the example for his younger brother. You were two years younger than Tadashi. It could have been the fact that he was older that you always admired him. But as you started to grow, that admiration turned into a crush, and that crush formed love. You were in love with him, probably long before you even fully understood what the word meant.

So that day when he rushed into a flaming building, you were just a couple feet outside, and the moment the explosion went off, you felt like your heart had been ripped right out of your chest. You couldn't speak, move, breathe..

Discovering that he was not only alive but fairly unharmed, it was easily the best news you got that day. But since that day, you've never been able to look him in the eyes. Whenever you saw him that dreadful feeling returned, it was like you were being suffocated. Rather than confront those negative feelings, you were trying to avoid it, except Tadashi wasn't an idiot.

Three months passed, of course he would notice. You made sure to never be alone with him. As a group, you could manage, and luckily no one else picked up on your distance. For now, you needed time to sort through your feelings. If you could get over how much you felt for him, maybe you could return to being friends.

"I promise I'll always be there (Y/N). We're best friends after all." A childish promise when you were young. It was ridiculous to cling onto something like that.

~~~~

"Food." Your stomach had been grumbling for the last half hour, and you were so in tune to the tv show that you were ignoring it. The buzzing of your phone made your eyes shift. It was a text from Hiro.

"Can you stop by, I wanna show you my newest upgrade to Baymax. " 

You were about to respond but another message popped up.

"Don't forget the gummies." you giggled responding and tucking the device into your pocket. Now you really needed to get food.

It took about fifteen minutes to get there. You stepped out of our car, tucking the pack of gummies under your arm as you tried to balance your own meal. Locking your car, you headed into the building, stopping when you got to Tadashi's door. You opened it. 

"Hey Hiro you better pay me back for the gummies cause I nearly dropped my chicken for your stupid-" your words stop mid way. Tadashi is standing in the room, having turned when he heard your voice. You placed your food and Hiro's on the table, swallowing. 

"S-Sorry I..Hiro said he wanted to show me something so I just dropped by, but I can come back later." you don't want to be in here alone with him, you can't.

"(Y/N)." you're still facing him, and it's hard to not look at him.

"I guess it's harder for you to look at me now. Some of the girls have said this scar is cool, but most people aren't as impressed." Your brows knit at his words. He's trying to play it off as a joke, but there's a sadness that reaches his usually bright chocolate orbs.

"You..you really think it's because of a stupid scar." You're angry now, furious. Was his opinion that low of you that you'd shun him for a wound he got trying to help someone.

"BASTARD!!" Tadashi's is completely thrown by your words, and he can see it now, the sheer anger. "Stupid stupid stupid!!" your screaming, and Tadashi takes a step forward, not prepared at all for your outburst. When he gets closer he can see the tears, and it hurts him to see you so torn.

"Why are you-"

"YOU'RE SO SELFISH WHY WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT!!!" He reaches out to touch you, maybe try and calm you down but you shove him back. "You could have died and you just left me. Y-You didn't even care about Hiro..What would he have done, you're his only brother. Y-You just ran into the fire like you were some type of bullet proof vest! You didn't care!!! You don't care one bit about anything!! I hate you! I HATE YOU!!!"

Now it was starting to make sense. How could he not realize before. You were scared.

Terrified was more like it.

"(Y/N)..." He should have been more understanding of your feelings. Even Hiro was pissed with him when it all happened. It wasn't like he planned for that. It was somewhat of a reflex, he couldn't help it. "I hate you.." you mumble, dropping to your knees, Tadashi went down with you, pulling you into his arms. This entire misunderstanding was solely your fear of losing him. He should have put it together sooner. 

You'd known each other forever. Making such a decision without considering the residual effect it would have not just on his family but also his friends. At the end everyone was far more happy that he survived, but it could have just as easily turned bad.

"I'm so sorry (Y/N). I should have done things differently." helping people had always been something he wanted to do. It's a bit impossible to help if you're not there though. Risking his life like that, it was reckless. In a way he acted the same he'd constantly told his brother not to. Impulsive. The sincerity in his eyes, you could see it. This was the first time in a while that you'd been able to really look at him. He gave a small smile, and you returned it. 

"S-Sorry I called you a bastard." Tadashi laughed, wiping at your cheeks.

"I think I deserved it. So no harm done."

Now that you were no longer high on the adrenaline of the situation, you felt a bit vulnerable. Tadashi was so close. "You know..I've been thinking about a lot of things since then. These past few months I've come to realize that you aren't just a friend (Y/N). At least..not to me." you held his gaze, unsure of what response was right. His knuckles brushed the last of your tears away, and you pulled in a breath at the way his eyelids lowered. He bit his lower lip, and you could see he was evaluating something.

"Tadash-"

"Shhh..just let me..I just need to.." he didn't finish his statement, just leaned in. His kiss was so sweet, tender. Just like him. He didn't put too much pressure, or hold you down. They way he held you left so much room for you to move away if you really needed to. That's the last thing you were thinking though. You leaned in, hands gripping the front of his cardigan, tugging him forward. He took the initiative, slipping a hand into your hair as he continued to kiss you. The sound of a camera clicking is what made you pull apart. You both separated, and Hiro was standing behind the wall with his phone. He smirked. "Took you guys long enough. I hope you brought a lot of gummies, I should be given a medal honestly. " Tadashi glared, and it dawned on you that he must have set this whole thing up.

"When I get my hands on you!!" Hiro was running out the door laughing, and you could tell Tadashi wanted to go after him, but you took his arm, and he halted.

"I..I love you Tadashi. I always have." It took so many years to finally admit it, but when he smiled, and raised you off the floor, wrapping his hand around your waist, you could have melted on the spot.

"I love you too (Y/N). So much.'' you grinned, pulling him in for another kiss which he returned happily.

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

It’s me again lol thank you for the first one. I was wondering if you could do another fic w Fred with a admirer makes him a kandi bracelet, if you don’t know what that is then you can skip but thank you for considering- ❤️

I dead ass forgot the name of Kandi bracelets! But I totally know what these are I've got like six of these bad boys in a box somewhere

Fred was curious about this whole situation. He was finding bracelets... Everywhere. The weirdest part was he knew they were meant for him. Little phrases only he could understand would be left on these things, along with the fact they'd be left in places only he would go to. He wouldn't wear all of them. No. He'd simply keep them in a box but he would wear the newest one he could find the next one in hopes of it's maker seeing it and commenting on it. He was curious to know who knew him this well. And why he didn't seem to know them. He sighed, finding the latest one resting on a table in the library. He knew there was no point in asking if anyone had seen it's maker. Whoever you were you were otherwise well known and had everyone in on this, or you were practically invisible to people. He asked many times in open areas if anyone had seen you all with the same answer: Nope. You sat down next to him and rose a brow. "Still getting these from them?" You asked. "Yep." Fred said taking off the last one and sticking in his pocket. "still no luck in finding them hmm?" You asked. "I don't get it. How are they able to leave them in places beforehand without being seen." Fred asked. "I'm not sure." You shrugged. "What's the newest one even say?" You asked. "I solemnly swear that I am... Up to no good-- this person knows about the marauders map." He said. "That's limiting it to a very slim amount of people then." You pointed out. "I feel like Sherlock every time I look at these." Fred said curiously. You choked on air hearing that reference. "How in the world do you know Sherlock Holmes?" You asked. "I read it after you asked me to 'read at least one muggle book so I don't sound crazy' Y/n." Fred chuckled. "You read?" You gaped. "I know. Shocking. Don't tell anyone or else my reputation might be ruined." He said sarcastically making you smile. You turned back to your book and Fred smiled. He loved seeing that beautiful smile on your face, it was like he was seeing it for the first time everytime he saw it. You could feel him staring and hid behind your strands of hair but he tucked them behind your ear and you blushed crimson. Fred smiled even more and you sighed. "I can't study if you keep distracting me Fred." You whined. "Yes I am a fun distraction though." He said. "Midterms Fred. Midterms." You said making him sigh and rest his head on his arms. He soon fell asleep and you looked at the bracelet on his arm.

He wore them. All the time. It pleased you to see he did want to meet the maker. But would he still want them if it was you? You were the listener of the group, usually listening to everyone's problems but never saying your own. Fred was the only one though who actually listened to you. He would notice your tired stares and ask what was wrong. You'd give him a half ass answer but then he'd ask you to "elaborate on that please" and you'd wind up telling him. You and him would have little moments yes. But you've seen him do this with plenty of other girls. You didn't want a "fling" you wanted something more, something impactful. Fred liked you of course though unbeknownst to you. A part of him was hoping you'd drop a hint that it was you behind these bracelets. But so far... Nothing. The next day came and another clue was left by a spot in the staircase he and George would hang out at. "Oh, your secret admirer left a present again." George yawned as he sat. Fred lifted it and rose a brow. "Sherlocking time. Find me." Fred read looking up. George leaned up. "Think we'll meet the maker?" He asked. "Sounds like that's what they're trying to get me to do." Fred agreed. You stopped and noticed the boys. "Left you another bracelet?" You asked, motioning to the new one. "Yeah, they said 'find me'." Fred said. You rose a brow. "So are you going to go off looking?" You asked. "In a moment. I'm going to nap first. Long day. Long. Long. Day." He yawned. You chuckled and walked past. You knew he'd do that.

You knew this boy all to well. You started leaving them along his route, but only in places you'd knew he'd have to sit or stand in a specific spot to see. You were a clever little thing you. It was a wonder you weren't in Ravenclaw. Fred soon woke up from his name and leaned up, seeing the glint of a metallic bead. "...The chase has begun." Fred noted as he got up. George yawned and blinked a few times to see his brother finding another one. "Where you go to be alone." So... The lake? Fred started walking and George trailed after him. "Where are you going?" George asked. "They left another clue." Fred said. It took him a bit but he finally made it to the lake, looking around the area just to come up empty handed. Where was this damn thing? He sighed and sat on a rock before seeing a blue bead. You sneaky little shit. He walked over to the small plant it was on and found it. "Clever. Find the plant name." Was inscribed on the beads. "Now how the hell am I going to do that?" Fred grumbled. Luna rose a brow. "What do you have there?" She asked, her voice light and soft as she spoke. "Oh. A bracelet. Someone's been leaving these for me." He admitted. "Like a scavenger hunt?" Luna asked. "Yes, exactly. But now I'm reaching a dead end." Fred grumbled. "What's it say?" Luna asked. "Find the plant name." He muttered. "Oh... Have you checked in a book?" Luna asked. Fred facepalmed. "That's so obvious. Thank you Lovegood." Fred said making her chuckle as he ran past. He found you in the library reading and he tapped you. "Hmm?" You asked turning to him. "Do you know where I might be able to find a book on plants?" Fred asked. "Well that's a lot of books Fred. Can you narrow this down?" You asked. "Plants that grow near lakes?" He guessed. "...Hmm..." You got up and walked into a aisle before picking up six different books. "What's this for anyways? Finally doing homework?" You asked. "Aha. Funny." Fred said making you laugh and shake your head.

He smiled as he sat down flipping through pages. It wasn't until he read the fifth book he finally found the next bracelet, squished between it's pages. You rose a brow. "Whoever this is, they are thorough as fuck." Fred muttered. "Where you met me." Was inscribed. "Well that's where this dies out." Fred groaned. "Fred, we already know this person knows about the Marauder's map. So that's like four people." You said. "Shit. You're right." He nodded making you roll your eyes. Then Fred paused. "Wait... Three people know about the map." He said. "Hmm?" You asked. "Only three. Not four." Fred said. "Harry, Fred. And Angelina knows too. George had a slip up in front of her." You said. "...Shit." Fred groaned. "Process of elimination. We know it's not George." Fred muttered to himself. You snorted. "You're beginning to actually sound like Sherlock now." You laughed. "Shh. I'm thinking." Fred said with a tone that was joking. You bit back a snort and you shook your head. "Where did me and you meet?" Fred asked. "Uhm... Courtyard. I think?" You recalled. "Right! It was in the winter!" He nodded. "Where did I meet Angelina?" He asked. "Uhm... Also... The courtyard." You said. "Shit. You're right. Gotta be thorough." Fred said before leaving. Luna sat down in front of you. "Stuck around and told him didn't you?" You asked her. "I'm surprised his first conclusion wasn't a book." Luna giggled silently. You smiled and Angelina sat down next to you. "Alright, so who's directing him to the next one?" Angelina asked. "Uhm... I thought you were." Luna said softly. "We gotta keep this inconclusive, he'll catch on that's Luna's in on this if we give her the next spot again." You said. "Hmm. Alright I'll do it." Angelina said with a smirk. "Confuse him just a little bit. I swear making that boy read was both a blessing and a curse, he's gained deductive reasoning." You snorted making her laugh. Sure enough there was a confused Fred, trying to recall exactly where he met you. "Is it Angelina?" He asked before Angelina walked over to a confused Fred. "What are you doing?" Angelina asked. "I'm looking for a clue. And coming up with nothing-- where did I meet you two?" Fred asked Angelina. "we were sitting." She muttered before sitting on the bench pretending to ponder. Fred rose a brow and then sat next to her before noticing the next clue. It was under another bench across. Jesus this person knew how to hide things at an angle. He gripped the bracelet and read it "Where you go to think" so... The astronomy tower. He groaned and began walking and Angelina nearly snorted watching him gripe the entire way there. Six other bracelets were found, all of them being in obscure places before he finally found one. "Look for the listener." He rose a brow. What the fuck did that mean? He walked back to the great hall and everyone was sitting around. "Where have you been?" George asked. "Looking for these things." He sighed. "Hit another dead end?" You asked. "Yeah. 'look for the listener.' what does that even..." Then it hit him. You. The answer was you. "Fred? You look like the Bloody Baron just passed through you, are you alright?" Angelina asked. "The listener in our group is Y/n." Fred said looking at you. George and Angelina looked at you and you smirked. "Surprise." You said, taking off the last bracelet. "Found me." Was inscribed on the beads. He chuckled and shook his head. "You're thorough." He said. "I didn't think you actually read Sherlock Holmes... That caught me off guard." You chuckled. Fred got up and extended his hand. "Come on." He said.

"Where are we--" "we need to talk." He said and you took his hand with a confused look. "Fred if you're upset then I'm really sorry I just thought that it was fun and--" "I'm not upset, that was fucking brilliant." He chuckled. "...It was?" You asked. "You need to organize a group event or something because honest to God that was AMAZING." Fred said making you chuckle. "I had help." You said softly. "From who-- Angelina and Luna!" He gasped making you giggle. Fred smiled and shook his head. "Christ woman, you're going to make me fall harder for you if you keep this up." Fred said making your eyes widened. "You... You actually--" "Yes! Y/n I was hoping this was you! God I knew you were smart but you're giving the actual Sherlock Holmes a run for his money Princess!" He said making you smiled. "A...are you sure that you... I mean... I..." You shuffled. "I like you Y/n... And if you'll let me I'd like to be your boyfriend." He said. You smiled and took out the actual last bracelet. "Mischief Managed." He smiled at it and put it on your wrist. "I'll wear the other one. That way we're a set." He said with a smile. Your face must've been as red as the Gryffindor house colors as Fred kissed you. You smiled and chuckled. He took your hand and went back into the great hall, arm wrapped around you. "It worked!" Luna smiled, now sitting with Angelina. "We've got ourselves a trickster amongst the group." George teased. You smiled and Fred kissed the side of your head. "How'd you even know where to put half of these though?" Fred asked about the bracelets.

"elementary my dear Watson"

[skylights2000]

Operation: Loved (Kazuichi x Reader)

This is essentially gonna be a Kazuichi appreciation thread because he is a truly underrated character in my book. I’ll add updates to this every now and then. You can read it as seperate stories or as a whole. Anyway, here we go! Enjoy!

You loved messing with Kazuichi.

Not in a mean way, of course. More of a you-look-absolutely-fucking-adorable-when-you-blush kind of way.

Normally, you tried not to embarrass him too much, but lately Kazuichi had been really down on himself. He’d just gotten back from doing a job with his dad last week, and things seemed to just go downhill from there. He’d had several bruises and a busted lip.

On top of that, he had told you that you’d be better off without him. You tried to argue, but he left, and since then, he’s been avoiding you like the plague.

You were normally very patient, but the anger towards Kazuichi father, the sadness that Kazuichi was hurting, and the pain of having him avoid you had all built up until you’d finally had enough.

Now, you had one mission and one mission only:

Show Kazuichi how loved he was.

~

You’d always had this feeling that Kazuichi had been starved of affection, but you never knew the full extent of it until you started dating. Kazuichi seemed to deem himself unworthy of any form of love.

At first, it didn’t bother you too much. You would kindly correct him and remind him that everyone deserved to be loved, but when you two got together, his insecurities seemed to grow.

He would go out of his way not to touch you, always claiming he just didn’t see the point of it, but you knew better. He became more irritable, sometimes starting fights over how much better you would be without him.

You’d tried to help, tried to soothe him with kind words, always afraid of pushing too hard, but this was going nowhere. It was time for you to man up. You needed to face this head on, and if that meant drowning Kazuichi in your love, so be it.

~

This new line of action started on a Tuesday, the week after midterms.

You stepped into the garage on campus, taking a minute to examine the various projects in each room as you made your way to the one belonging to Kazuichi and Miu. You’d run out of screws, so you came to see if they’d let you borrow some.

When you stepped inside, Miu was nowhere to be seen, but after a bit of searching around, you saw a head of pink hair, half hidden under a black beanie, and you smiled as you walked over to Kazuichi.

You were just about to tap him on the shoulder when he yelped, jumping backwards when he shocked himself. You flinched, instinctively trying to catch him, but your plan quickly backfired when you stumbled backwards at the sudden weight, taking him with you as you fell.

Your back hit the ground with a thump, knocking the air from your lungs, and you were incredibly thankful that Kazuichi wasn’t very heavy, or he probably would’ve crushed you.

He was sprawled across you, his back pressed against your chest. Once he realized what had happened, he immediately rolled off of you, apologizing profusely.

You sat up, rubbing your shoulder to soothe the pain there. You supposed you should’ve expected it to hurt. The floor was concrete, after all.

When he saw that it was you, his cheeks took on a pink hue, and he ducked his head as he apologized once again. “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were there, and I didn’t mean t-“

You touched his shoulder, squeezing gently. “It’s okay, Kazuichi.” You told him with a reassuring smile.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Some Ultimate Mechanic, right?” He laughed self deprecatingly. “Can’t even fix a fuckin’ wire.”

You looked personally offended by the remark, as if he’d insulted you instead. “Don’t say that! You’re doing a great job, Kazu.”

If you thought he was blushing before, it was nothing compared to now. His face had turned the same color as his hair, and it was then that you remembered how embarrassed he got when you called him that.

You smiled slyly, your eyes gleaming mischievously. You got to your feet and held out your hands to him, pulling him up with relative ease.

Kazuichi was thin and fairly light, but you were also stronger from lifting stacks of wood, large wooden parts, and furniture. You had gained a lot of muscle since you became a woodworker, and it was that blood, sweat, and tears that earned you the title of the Ultimate Woodworker. It was that title that got you a part time job teaching classes on woodcarving and carpentry. You enjoyed it a lot, and being able to share your passion with others never failed to make your heart feel light.

“What were you tryin’ to do anyway?” You asked, glancing over his shoulder curiously.

He hesitantly shifted so you could see his workbench. “Nothin’ special, just tryin’ to fix Miu’s alarm clock.”

You stared at the broken and dismantled object in front of you in pure disbelief. “That’s an alarm clock?”

“Well, It was..before Miu threw it at a wall.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I knew she wasn’t a morning person, but I didn’t think she was THAT bad.”

“Don’t go talkin’ about me behind my back!” Miu yelled as she barged into the room. She stopped beside them, folding her arms over her chest in an attempt to look angry.

You poked her in the side, earning a squeal from the younger girl. “Quit acting like you’re mad. Anger doesn’t suit you well.” You teased playfully, watching Miu turn red.

Sometimes you swore Miu had a thing for being made fun of because the girl instantly swooned.

“Sometimes I really think you might be a masochist.”

“Ah, Ibuki says the same thing!” Miu giggled dreamily. She always got like this when she talked about Ibuki.

Miu quickly shook her head and turned to Kazuichi. “So, can ya fix it?” She asked, motioning to the would be alarm clock.

“Yeah, it’ll take some time, but I can probably get it done by they end of the day.”

Miu grinned, whacking him on the back so hard that he almost stumbled. “Awesome! Thanks Pinky!”

Kazuichi sighed at the nickname but turned back to the clock, nonetheless. He began to tinker with the different pieces and wires while you watched curiously. You’d always found it strangely calming to watch Kazuichi work. Watching the way his fingers moved nimbly made you want to take his hand.

So you did.

You caught him so off guard that he nearly dropped the screwdriver he’d been reaching for. “Wh-What’re y-you-?”

You’d been about to let go when you noticed something.

You turned his hand, running your thumb over a small burn mark on the back of his hand. “Did you drop one of your cigarettes or something?”

When he didn’t respond, you looked up at him. He was looking away, a bitter frown on his face. He didn’t have to answer for you to realize that his dad had done it.

On instinct, you brought his hand up to your face, lowering your head enough to brush your lips over the scar.

You felt more than saw him stiffen, and you stayed there for a second longer before straightening up and letting go.

For some reason, as you looked at him, your mind drifted to Sonia. You still found it surprising that Kazuichi had ended up with you, considering you were practically Sonia’s exact opposite.

Sonia was polite, formal, and very elegant. She was the Ultimate Princess for a reason. She was gentle in personality with a graceful, refined appearance. She lived lavishly, though she never once bragged about it. The only thing about Sonia that didn’t scream ‘Princess’ was her avid love of the occult.

You looked up to Sonia quite a lot and had been very happy when you were able to become friends. However, now that you had grown to be such close friends, it only made the differences between you stand out even more to you.

You were gentle in nature, but that was where it stopped. When it came to your actions and way of living, the only word that came to your mind was clumsy.

You were clumsy in every aspect of the word. Sonia was graceful and focused, while you were scatterbrained and often daydreaming. You often tripped, overworked, or just accidentally hurt yourself. You sometimes caused problems that could’ve been avoided if you’d just paid a little more attention.

Sonia was soft spoken and gentle, while you were sometimes too loud, amazed by simple things, and sometimes a bit too enthusiastic.

You had a calm side, of course, but with the calm came one of two things: Peacefulness and warmth or somber thoughts and dark memories.

Sonia was beautiful: small, soft, and petite.

You actually two inches taller than Kazuichi. You were lanky with broad shoulders and a lean frame. You had scars that dotted your skin, though most were hidden beneath her clothes.

Some were from accidents while you were working. Most were from the abuse you had suffered in the foster care system.

You worked hard, often showing up for your dates with messy hair that was sprinkled with sawdust. Kazuichi always laughed as you dusted it out, and you would smile and laugh along with him, but sometimes, you really did wonder why he liked you.

You didn’t get why he liked your sweat-streaked face and calloused hands. Everything about you was the opposite of what he’d once told you that he liked in a girl. It often left you wondering what on earth he saw in you.

Despite your less than stellar thoughts, you smiled happily, your fingers lightly brushing his arm as you slid past him. “See ya later.”

You waved and headed for the door, only realizing once you were outside that you had completely forgotten to ask for some screws.

[imagine-docx]

the cute barista and his crisis.

Summary: You spent the night at home, while your roommates were out partying. Suddenly, a random number called you ranting to you about how much he hates life. [college!barista!]

Warnings: hella sexual jokes and references, swearing, and hating post-secondary, as per usual.

A/N:  hope you guys are still doing well and i hope you guys are staying safe! 💛 - Amanda

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday consisted of either early morning classes, midday classes, and the occasional class that ran past 8 pm. Fridays were the only day you can claim as yours, but of course, you had to work.

It was Thursday and the cool New York air was engulfing you and your roommates as the three of you made your way to the usual coffee shop that was a little bit off campus. “Gonna ogle the cute barista again?” Wanda nudged.

“Ah yes, young love,” Nat snickered. 

“Shut up,” you felt the heat rise up to your cheeks, “I think he’s cute, but he probably has so many girls fawning over him.”

“Remember, we are the one cute girls in the coffee shop,” Nat said, opening the door, “After you, m’lady.”

That resulted in you and Wanda letting out a laugh, “Okay incel,” Wanda responded. The three of you glanced up at the menu, “I’m feeling tea today, but what kind?” Wanda said.

“After that comment, poison flavoured,” Nat muttered.

You let out a laugh, “You’re quite spicy today, go for a spiced tea.”

Wanda stuck her tongue out at Nat, “That’s why she’s my favourite roommate,” Glancing back at the menu, “Is Russian spiced tea good?” 

“I don’t know, ask your favourite roommate,” Nat said.

“Bitch.” 

The cute blond barista came up to the register, “You ready? Or do you need another minute?”

You felt Nat pinch your left ass cheek, and you nudge your elbow into her ribcage, “Yeah. Can I get a caramel iced coffee?” 

“Of course, what else?” He asked.

“Can I get a cinnamon dolce latte?” Nat spoke keeping her hand near your ass cheeks.

“Of course, and for you?” He indirectly asked Wanda.

“Russian spiced tea please.” She spoke.

“That’s $17.60, here or to go?” He asked.

“Here,” Wanda said, while digging in her backpack for her wallet, “Credit please?”

“Aww, we love it when our sugar daddy treats us,” You snickered, resulting in a laugh from Nat and the barista.

“It’s only because she bought dinner and you bought dessert last night,” she grumbled.

“Go take a seat, and I’ll bring the drinks over when they’re done.” He spoke, which resulted in a hums of thank you from the three of you and you guys walked over to the usual booth you guys inhabited when you were here.

“Is there a reason that my poor ass cheek got abused?” You asked.

“He was checking you out,” Nat bluntly stated.

“No he wasn’t, he was doing his job.” You stated. 

“And I am a natural redhead,” she sarcastically said.

“Wait, it's dye?” Wanda practically cried out.

The three of you laughed, and went over your plans for the next weekend. Nat had work and was doing rehearsal for the Russian dance competition that was happening in a few weeks. Wanda had to work and was also seeing her brother Pietro on Sunday. You on the other hand had to work, and had to have a comparative essay done by Monday. 

“You’re so lucky you’re done your midterms,” Wanda said, “I’m still struggling trying to wrap my head around platyhelminths.”

“But see, you watched me and laughed at me for only surviving off of coffee and fruit snacks for three weeks straight. Now I am prospering and living my life and you have a midterm on Monday,” you said.

“You looked like death around the apartment,” Nat laughed, and the cute barista brought over your drinks.

“Russian spiced tea, cinnamon dolce latte, and caramel iced coffee,” he said, passing around the drinks, “And a tiramisu square.”

“Uh, we didn’t order this?” Nat asked. 

“The table over there sent it,” he responded, pointing his head over to where a group of boys were sitting.

“Thank you,” the three of you hummed and there went the barista.

“You know,” Nat leaned into you, “He has a nice ass.”

“Nat,” You hissed.

“America is proud of that ass,” Wanda snickered.

Suddenly the group of boys that sent the dessert got louder, trying to get your attention. You rolled your eyes, “God, I hate men.”

“Except for the pretty blond one with a nice ass,” Nat said, digging into the tiramisu. 

“I second that,” Wanda said, taking a bite of the piece on her spoon.

Suddenly the frat boy cult got even louder, Nat rolled her eyes, and moved your hair from the base of your neck, “What are you-” Then came a long lick from the base of your neck to your jawline. Suddenly the frat boy cult shut up, “Jesus Christ, warn a girl.”

“Why are you acting all shy now? You weren’t this shy last weekend when I was doing body shots off of you at the back of the apartment,” Nat said, nonchalantly.

“You may have shut up the frat boy cult, but the cute barista is so red you can confuse him for a bottle of ketchup.” Wanda stated.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

Two weeks have passed, and you would go into the coffee shop whenever you had over an hour worth of a gap, or before work. Today is one of those days. It was Friday, and you were due to start your shift in forty-five minutes. 

Walking into the shop, there was the cute barista working the front. You didn’t catch the way his eyes practically lit up upon seeing you. “Just you today?” He asked.

“Yes sir,” you said, giving him a smile.

“Caramel iced coffee?” He asked.

“Of course,” you said, digging in your bag for your wallet. 

“Don’t worry, it's on the house.” He said, “Here or to go?”

“To go, please.”

“You got it doll,” and with that you stood off to the side and waited for him to make your drink. 

“Caramel iced coffee,” he called out.

“Thank you, have a good day,” you called out before making your way to your shift.

“You know you look like a lovesick puppy,” Bucky said to Steve.

“That obvious?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah. Also, remember, Happy is gonna take that coffee out of your paycheque,” Bucky said patting Steve’s back.

“If it’s for her, Happy can have my entire paycheque.” Steve responded, going to clean up.

“Ugh, teenagers and their hormones,” Bucky spoke.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

You, Wanda, and Nat sat on your shared living room floor eating the steamed dumplings and sushi that you ordered for dinner. “So you saw the cute barista boy today,” Wanda said, “Soy sauce please.”

Nat handed her the sauce before taking a california roll for herself, “His ass still thick?”

You nearly choked on the dumpling you were eating, “Fucking Christ, Nat.”

“You can’t miss that ass!” Nat tried justifying, “He walks in, and his ass walks in five minutes later.”

Wanda choked on her iced tea, “He wore this white shirt that was way too tight for him, God that left nothing to the imagination,” you said recalling the way his muscles moved when making your coffee.

“Someone’s having a wet dream tonight,” Wanda said.

You threw a soy sauce packet at her head, “No! I don’t even know his name.”

“See that’s a problem, she can’t moan his name if she doesn’t know his name.” Nat laughed.

You threw a soy sauce packet at her head, “The both of you need to get laid.”

“So do you sweetheart, and by the big muscular blond with the thick ass who works at The Petite Bean.” Wanda said, nearly dodging another soy sauce packet.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

The next Friday night you were at home by yourself eating a sandwich from the bodega that was next to your building. Wanda and Nat went to this party, you wanted to go, but after your shift, you were exhausted and just decided to call it a night. 

Taking the last bite of your turkey sandwich, you got up and threw everything out, and decided to go and take a long hot shower. You stood at the tv debating whether or not you should turn off the documentary on whales, but you decided not to as it helps serve as background noise.

You showered and threw on a massive NYU hoodie and some pyjama shorts. Getting out of the shower, you headed back to the kitchen, dug around in the cabinets for a snack of a sort, and headed back to your position on the couch. 

You were scrolling through your Instagram, when a random number called you. You answered because you never know it could be Nat or Wanda in trouble. “Hello?”

You heard a shaky breath from the other side, “Oh sorry, I have the wrong number.”

“Hey, before you hang up, are you okay?” You asked.

“Not really-”

You cut him off, “Did you want to talk about it? I have the time.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna bother you,” the man from the other side of the line said.

“Of course, shoot,” you said.

“Midterms got the worst of me. I’m practically failing chemistry, why did I take chem? Like I’m an art major, the fuck am I doing in science? Then the girl I dated for a little keeps coming by the place I work at with the man she cheated on me with, and that shit still stings. Then, there’s this cute girl who keeps coming by the place I work, and I can’t seem to talk to her. She’s like this ball of sunshine, and I don’t think I can talk to her. Do you have anything fucked up happening in your life? Or is the lord hating on me?” 

You laughed, “Unfortunately, no. With the chem thing, don’t be so hard on yourself. Courses get to the best of us, we are so reliant on a GPA, when it doesn’t even guarantee a job after practically killing ourselves for this degree. Failing one course isn’t so bad, just don’t fail more than three, that might result in academic probation. Honestly, if she cheated on you, fuck her. She doesn’t deserve any of your attention, if she was the one who gave you up. And with the other girl, just slowly ease her into it, ask her how her day has been, ask her about the weather, if she’s holding a book or something, try to bond with her about that.”

“You sound like a psych major,” he joked.

“Psych minor,” you corrected, “Socio major. From what I know you can’t be a science major. So what do you major in?” 

“Art history, and minor in regular history.”

“Oh, we got a huge history fan don’t we?” You joked.

“Biggest nerd in Brooklyn.”

That same night the two of you stayed talking until 4:30 am, before he heard you yawning and telling you to get some sleep. You both bidded your goodnights and the moment your head hit the pillow, you knocked out.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

The following morning, or afternoon at that point. You stumbled into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, and heard Wanda and Nat groaning about how they need Advil. You opened the door to Nat’s room and saw the two of them practically cuddling. You threw two bottles of water, and the bottle of Advil at them before heading to the washroom to brush your teeth. 

Once you were done, you sat on the counter of the kitchen drinking your coffee, you heard stumbling from the hallway. Suddenly, a disheveled Nat appeared, she was sporting bedhead, smeared makeup, a black lace bra and some random sleeping shorts that looked like they belonged to Wanda. “Good morning sweetheart,” you cooed.

She flipped you off before making herself a cup of coffee, “Never drinking again.”

“Nat,” Wanda whined, “Please I need a cuddle buddy.”

“You have another roommate,” Nat reminded her.

Wanda nudged your legs open and curled up into your frame, “My favourite.”

You laughed while patting her head, “What happened?”

“So much booze, free booze.” Nat stated.

Free booze to university kids was like feeding candy to a toddler. “Alright cuddlebug. I have errands to do, I gotta go shower.” You said trying to push away Wanda.

“No, please don’t.” Wanda latching onto you harder.

“She’s gonna make her way down to Manhattan to see the cute barista,” Nat joked.

“Harhar, I’m going to the bank and I need to mail out this return. The green dress was too big, had to order a size down.” You said, finishing off your coffee, finally pushing off Wanda, “Also why the fuck would I go to Manhattan to see the barista.”

“Dick makes you do crazy things baby girl.” Nat said.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

While you were getting dressed your mind ran onto the man who called you last night and ranted to you about his life. You decided to call him back and check up on him. After three rings he picked up, “Hello?”

“Hey, you called me last night and we talked for an hour and a half about some super deep stuff, you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks for checking up on me.” He spoke.

“Not a problem, if you ever need to rant, you can always text me.” You said shoving your wallet into your bag.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna burden.” He asked.

“If you need a friend, I am here for you.” You said.

You two exchanged names, before both of you had to go. And that started your texting relationship with a man named Steve Rogers.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

You came back home from your errands trip and brought bagels for the two hungover disasters you call your roommates. You walked back in and saw Wanda and Nat under the pink fur blanket watching the whale documentary you were watching last night. “My baby is back,” Wanda said excitedly.

“I bring bagels, because bagels make us happy when we are hungover.” You said placing the bag on the table, “Two rainbow bagels with strawberry cream cheese. Two poppy seed bagels with tuna salad on both.” You said handing each of them their own bagels. 

You grabbed your own two before plopping next to them, “If barista boy doesn’t domesticate you, I will.” Nat said.

You laughed before you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you got a message from Steve asking about the bagel place you usually get your stuff from. “Who’s Steve?” Wanda asked.

“New mans?” Nat exclaimed.

“You’re replacing barista boy before you could even dick him down?” Wanda cried out.

“No, Jesus. I haven’t even met Steve-” Wrong phrasing you used there.

“You’re back on tinder?” Wanda asked, “I thought we were doing it together.”

“No, he accidentally called me last night and we talked for an hour.” You said nonchalantly taking a bite out of your bagel.

“A threesome with barista boy and Steve? Wow someone’s getting some,” Nat said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Jesus Christ Nat.”

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

As per usual, you made your way into the cafe getting coffee before your shift. Noticing the barista, you again missed the gleam in his eyes when he saw you. He mustered up the courage, “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m doing good,” You smiled.

Steve felt his knees weaken at your smile, “The usual?”

“The usual,” you said, paying and going to message the roommate group chat about the tight light blue shirt barista boy was wearing today.

“Alright, here you go.” He said sliding you the coffee and a straw.

“Thank you, have a good day,” you said before slipping out of the shop and heading to work.

“So you took the girls advice and asked her about her day, look at you making big moves.” Bucky nudged Steve.

“One step at a time Buck,” he said, going to clean up his station.

“Hey, you better have not given her another free coffee,” Bucky called out.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

After several weeks of messaging Steve, you learned he also attended NYU and both of you worked around your schedules, trying to meet up. The two of you finally decided to meet on campus. You picked a morning where you, Nat and Wanda had a two hour gap just in case something happened and he was in fact a 50 year old pervert with a thing for third year students.

You: hey i’m in the student centre

Steve: Hey, I’m sitting, I’m wearing a black jacket and a white t-shirt

You looked up and almost screamed, as if the gods were playing a joke on you. It was your cute barista boy. Okay, being rational, he could happen to be here at the same time, wearing the same out- nope, no way. “Steve?” You asked, approaching the table.

Looking up from his phone, he was shocked as well, “H-hi,” he stuttered out.

“Can I sit?” You asked.

“Of course.”

“So I guess you were helping me, try and talk to you,” he finally spoke out.

“Wait, what?” You asked, confused.

“The girl I was messaging you about, was you,” he sheepishly said.

You didn’t know how to respond, “Really?”

“Yeah, if you don’t feel the same that’s okay.” Steve said looking down at his fingers.

You took his hand in yours, “No, I like you too.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, Nat keeps trying to get me to ask you out. But I kept talking myself out of it.” You said.

“How about I treat you to the finest thing this campus has to offer and we can talk about how we both are idiots,” he offered.

“It better be the Wendy’s,” you joked.

“Only the finest for the finest,” he winked at you, resulting in the blush staining your cheeks. He stood up and put his hand out, upon standing up you took his hand and was about to exit the student centre. 

You heard Nat speak loudly to Wanda, “She’s getting dick, I’m so proud of her.” You wanted the ground to create a blackhole and swallow you whole. 

Until you heard another voice, “BuckBuck! Our baby Steve is all grown up and getting pussy.”

You looked to see Steve blushing, turning back and flipping him off, “Fuck off Sam.”

Of course, both of your roommates were the worst.

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, part v

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: one restaurant date, two confessions, and three grades that will make or break natasha’s degree

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,881

trigger warnings: overstimulation, use of a safe word, teeth rotting fluff, strap on sex, ball gags, explicit conversations about whorephobia, orgasm control, angst if you squint

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two, part three, part four

The warmth of the sun filtered through blinds is what woke you, wrapped tight in Natasha’s arms. The sex-stained blankets were as messy as can be, some of them hugged your intertwined bodies like a tightly wrapped burrito while others were nearly falling off the bed.

It was messy, beautifully and wonderfully so. If you felt the need to move (which, of course you didn’t because who in their right mind would try to disentangle themselves from such a lovely human person) you doubt you could’ve; Natasha held you with arms too strong and heart beat too soft. You wouldn’t dare disturb her if the house was on fire; then again, if the world was burning down around you – you’d rather die in her arms than reach for uncertain safety. It’s there that you fell back into sleep, tucked under her chin and running your fingers through her hair.

Eventually the growling of your stomachs woke the both of you up, each respective organ desperate for nourishment – and the two hard-boiled eggs, sour gummy worms, gluten-free bread, and half a container of mustard wasn’t gonna cut it. The waning sun was an ominous sign of how long you’d truly gone without food, and you soon didn’t feel all that bad about poking your poor g-

Poking poor Natasha awake.

You didn’t feel all that bad poking Natasha awake as your insides beg for sustenance and your head feels light and holy shit, if you didn’t eat right then you were going to start taking bites out of her – and, for the first time, not in a fun and/or sexy way.

“Hey,” you pressed your forefinger to her nose. “Nat.” You poked the end of each eyebrow, then at various locations of her forehead. “Natasha!” Still, she remained asleep, and buried herself further into the blankets as some unconscious act of survival. “Nat.” You poked her right cheek. “Naat.” You poked her left cheek. “Naaat.” You poked each cheek with each hand at its softest part, pushing until you felt her teeth.  “Nat wake uuup.”

She just grunted and pushed you away before she nuzzled back into the covers. “Go away. I want to die here. Let me become a body without organs.”

She paused.

“Or is it organs without bodies?”

You sighed but make no move to displace her. “One, Natasha, we have the midterm coming out soon. If you do not know the original work done by two far left authors from the sarcastic critique by another far left author, I’m breaking up with you. Two, that’s not what that means and you making a vague reference to some postmodern concept does not mean I am going to stop being annoying. Three, would you like to come get dinner with me?”

Natasha shot up, flame-red hair messy and shirt disheveled – it made her look like the top of of a thicket of trees during a forest fire. Along the side of her face, you could see indentations from where her skin was pressed to the pillowcase. “Food?”

You nodded, pushing the strands from her eyes. “Yes, darling, food.”

She wiped at her face and pushed the covers from her legs, eyes half-closed. “Food.”

You picked some of the crust from the corner of her eyes. She blinked indignantly at you but made no move to stop you. “Do you care where we go?”

Natasha shook her head left-to-right silently, then moved to wipe her face once more.

“Okay. There is a very good Chinese place that I want to show you. Is that okay with you?”

Natasha nodded and made a mmhmm noise.

“Cool.”

You kissed the tip of her nose before you got up and scrounged together a passable outfit that would cover the bruises that still littered your body and shield you from the cold. After a few moments, Natasha opened her eyes wide enough to see a few feet in front of her and did the same.

There was s a wonderful silence that filled the air, the comfortable kind. Like the day of that quiz, it’s a wonderful kind of cozy – soothing and sweet.

You could get used to this…

It was a short walk to the restaurant, one you were all-too familiar with due to your many, many nights there. It was the first place you ate at on campus (that wasn’t one of the mind-numbingly mediocre cafeterias) the day you moved in and it had become some pseudo-home, the place always warm and waitstaff always nice (and always willing to let you eat as much as you pay for and abuse their free WiFi).

The menu hadn’t changed much (by “much,” you mean they’ve fixed two of the five typos) since you first started going there, so you should have already known what you want. Still, you opened the folded, laminated paper and read each item with genuine interest, just as Natasha did.

You looked up at her once and awhile just to see her again. Every time you tried to keep her out of your line or sight for more than a few seconds you’d almost burst at the seams, like a sunburst than could only be quelled by looking at her.

“What year are you?” Natasha asked, which broke your unbelievably tender train of thought.

Your brain, which was still very fried, did not compute. “What?”

She reached over to point to the Chinese zodiac calendar on your menu with one of many of her fingers that was inside you last night. “What year are you?”

You mumbled something and shrugged, fake-intense-reading as your neurons attempted to rebuild your capacity for speech. Luckily, Natasha seemed determined to continue the conversation.

“I’m the year of the dog,” she said, nonchalant, as if you were not losing your goddamn mind on the other side of the table. Your brain was fried, your mouth was gaping like a fish out of water, and were your hands shaking? What the fuck were you supposed to say? How should you respond?

Think, you fool! Think!

“There’s a feminist critical theorist who fucks her dog,” you blurted.

Natasha just smiled – god her smile was so big and wide and beautiful - and laughed. “Part of me thinks you’re lying, but part of me worries you’re telling the truth.”

You laughed then, too, smiling big as she did. It set the tone for the rest of the night, mood light and happy as the tired, probably-high waitress took your order and then brought you the food a suspiciously-short amount of time later. It was good, very good.

“And my mom turns to me and she goes,” you wrinkled your noise in an effort to properly invoke your mother’s nasally tone. “This family does not get Fs or Ds or Cs. You better fix this or else.”

Natasha almost choked on her soft drink at your impression. “You were supposed to make an omelet for a foods and nutrition class, what did she want you to do!?”

You took another bite of orange chicken before you rolled your eyes and shrugged. “I have no idea what that woman wants from me now, let alone when I was fuckin’ fourteen.”

You were both laughing as you took food from each other’s plates and swapped small stories. Natasha told you about her own coding mishaps (apparently it was easy to hack into news websites and create fake stories involving certain celebrities and a certain large bird and many, if not too many, phallic objects), you told her about the time you stress-cried in the bathroom so much the janitor kept tissues in a secret compartment for you.

One hand from each of you remained occupied as you held hands on the side of the table farthest from the prying eyes of fellow college students (as if any of them were sober enough to notice, though. Along with being great to you, the restaurant’s very greasy menu meant it was a good spot to quench munchies or quell the pain of an especially bad hangover).

A phone – your phone, you realized – vibrated obnoxiously on the other side of the table. Previously forgotten, you broke from the moment to reengage with the (seemingly) hundreds of people who were attempting reach you via text. At first you thought it’s an email from a client – but then you realized it was a text from a classmate. Specifically, the girl who sat front and center in the lecture hall you and Natasha shared.

“Who’s that?” Natasha asked.

You furrowed your brows as you texted, swallowing the last bit of food. “Oh, Lindsay from our class. She wants to know what I got on the quiz.”

Natasha then realized she never bothered to figure out her grade, and it brought all her anxiety about graduating on time and also making sure you’d never leave her and oh my god what if she failed this fucking quiz?

A few moments of soul-crushing silence passed before you put your phone back down. Natasha watched you like a cat stalking a fake mouse on a string, or a drunk mom at a Christmas party eyeing a dessert table; the drive was genuine, but the goal? Ridiculous. Absolutely, totally ridiculous.

You didn’t press her like she expected, though, didn’t even stare at her with that evil eye Natasha’s sure you got from your mother on more than one occasion. You just went back to eating your food, and put your phone back out of reach.

You noticed her staring at you when you went to borrow (steal) another piece of food from her plate.

“What?”

Natasha furrowed her brow. “Don’t you…Don’t you want to know what I got on the quiz?”

You shook your head as you stole another few bites worth of food. “Not unless you want to tell me.” You shrugged as you swallowed. “I’m not gonna, like, push you if you don’t want to tell me. I’m not my mother.”

Natasha smiled at that and left the conversation there. She was unnaturally quiet for the new few minutes as she listened intently while you told more stories and commented on the food and thought out loud about school and the rest of your life and should you go shopping soon?

Throughout all of it, Natasha remained incommunicative – to the point you started to worry.

“Are you okay?” you asked and reached across the table to put your hand over hers. She smiled, softly, before she replied.

“I really care about you, you know,” she said, low and almost inaudible. You said nothing in return. “And I’m very bad at this. I’m so bad at this. I spent a lot of my childhood in rooms with therapists who said less than I did. I’m not good at,” she waved her hands as she tried to find the right words. “I’m not great at emotions. And expressing them and telling people about them and all that shit. Okay?”

You swallowed the last tastes of duck sauce that coated your back teeth. Despite the sweet substance being a liquid, it felt like a waterfall of boulders cascading inside your throat. “Nat, I-“

“This isn’t me saying I love you, but I want…” Natasha was on the verge of crying, just as you were. She averted your gaze as she continues, staring at the booth cushion directly behind you. “I want to commit to you in some way. I like you, I like the person I am when I’m around you. And I don’t want to lose you because I was too much of a pussy to make a move.”

You said nothing, did nothing. Despite her not looking at you, you stared at her very serious facial expression and watched every muscle twitch for some signs of lying. You saw none.

“I…,” Natasha met your eyes as you spoke. Your mouth was so dry you nearly coughed – but the idea of making any sound terrified you. “I…I need some air.”

You didn’t wait for a reply as you pushed yourself out of the booth and ran out the front entrance.

Natasha didn’t wait for the door to close behind you before she chased after you. She left both of your phones and wallet at the booth, not wanting you to get out of eyeshot but also terrified of the waitstaff thinking the both of you were dine-and-dashers (and terrible ones, at that).

She followed you outside, ache in her heart an excellent distraction from the nighttime chill that dug tiny knives into her pale skin. Still, as her breath was visible in a faint fog in front her, no pain was as unimaginable as the one as losing you.

“Babe, plea-“  began, voice small and nonthreatening as possible.

You interrupted her and avoided looking into her eyes and picked at a loose thread in the sweater you were wearing – Natasha’s sweater you were wearing.

You worried it was the last time you’d ever see her again, and yet you refused to look at her. You refuse dto look at her large eyes and the bags under them, at her nimble hands – thin and agile from years of typing; at her plush lips or beautiful hair or-

Wasn’t that the cruelest irony of all? Of the cognitive dissonant fear of missing something while desperately avoiding looking at it. Still, you chose to jump off the proverbial cliff with your eyes clenched shut and nails digging into the pads of your soft palms and blood rushing in your ears louder than anything you’d ever heard in your life.

“I’m a sex worker.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed and she breathed heavily, like when your mom got mad at you for bringing home that C your freshman year. “There’s-“

“I’m a sex worker. I make my own porn. I sell my nudes. It’s my main,” you sighed. “It’s my only source of income. It’s how I make money. It is how I will continue to make money. It’s how I stay mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother. It’s how I plan on staying mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother and my very judgmental family and the very judgmental world. And if you think that’s morally wrong of whatever, or that I’m some sort of sub-human, or that I’m evil, or that I should stop…”

For the first time that night, you looked her straight in the eyes. No smiling, no laughing, no wishing to see her beautiful face. Power. Authority. Truth. You tried to channel the red you saw on all those feminist theory books you’d had to read for the class that brought you and Natasha together.

“If you don’t believe in the validity of my labor I cannot and will not date you,” you were snarling as you stomped toward her until your toes nearly touched. “I’m not going to let someone who can’t love what I do love me.”

As you stood there, teeth bared and hands balled into fists, stories of rage flashed like lightning in your brain. Narratives of horror from your media studies class, of actresses whose only chance to scream was in front of a camera. If you had sharper nails, sharper teeth, glowing eyes that would be some award-winning monologue where people clap and call it “mind-blowing” and give it “five out of five stars.” You’d be a prime example of how satisfying rage can be as a subversive practice.

But no. You were no antihero(ine), no supernatural being caught on tape. You were not on the silver screen, you were not being streamed on some overpriced platform, you were not the subject of dissertations on media studies or really good articles on feminism or whatever else academics were doing with their time in tenure. You had filed-down nails and wide eyes and soft skin and an uneasy stomach and shaking hands and breath that faintly showed in the air when you exhaled. You had tears that threatened to fall. You had fear.

Natasha’s eyes flitted nervously, her lip between her teeth. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Natasha was the one to speak first. Her voice sounded as terrified as you felt – with words that were spat through a set jaw and teeth bared.

“Who hurt you?”

You took a half-step back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Natasha, what the fuck are y-“

“Who hurt you?” she whispered, words like knives and eyes just as dangerous. You stepped back, almost scared of her and what she could do to you.

You were pressed against the side of the building then – you could feel the brick and mortar itching at the skin of your back through your top. “Natasha what the hell are you talking about? I don’t kn-“

“Yes,” she stepped back, but grasped at your left hand as she did so. She was a ship tethering to a dock, floating out on the water but always willing to come back to port. “Yes, you do. You know exactly who, what, I’m talking about. What they did. Just tell me who they are, and I’ll ruin their lives.”

You looked for the joke, the punchline. You looked for a glint in her eye that said she was fucking with you and was waiting for you to laugh it off. When you were in seventh grade you got asked out as a joke and the football player made the exact same facial expression you now hunt for.

But you found nothing, no teasing or set up in a larger scheme to mock you. She was serious as you’d ever seen anyone be. “What in the fuck-“

“Tell me who they are. Tell me the name of every person who ever made you feel like shit and I’ll ruin their lives. I’ll steal their identity. I’ll make it so they can never get a job, or a car, or a house again. I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Natasha let go of your hand and held your face in her food-warm palms. “I will destroy the very existence of every person who ever made you feel like this, because you deserve someone who will protect you from all that bullshit. And I want to be that person.”

The silence was painful, almost. But also comforting. Still, you broke it so speak. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Natasha smiled, and pecked your lips. “Good. Now come finish my food with me, it’s getting cold and our waitress is definitely judging us.”

You broke into a fit of laughter, nearly wheezing as she guided you back inside. The food was good, even though it had cooled considerably while you were both outside – greasy and thick with flavor and hot in your mouth along with your soul and Natasha held your hand on the table and fed you with her fork and you stole bits of her food while she was distracted. At one point, Lizzo played on the restaurant soundtrack and Natasha sung low with you, and you ordered more food to take home and it was hot, too hot in your hands as you carried the large brown paper bag soaked with grease to her apartment. Maybe you were going eat the food in the morning, maybe you were going eat it later tonight. It, truly, did not really matter.

There wasn’t much time between when you put the leftovers in the fridge and when Natasha pushed you onto your knees in her (and your) (it was now shared) bedroom. There also wasn’t much time between when your knees hit the ground and when Natasha grabbed the ball gag from its place in her toy drawer.

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” Natasha cooed as she adjusted the matte black straps. She kissed at your temples when it was secured, murmuring sweet words into the top of your hairline. If there was anyone else watching you, if there were some voyeur witnessing this profession of ownership, you doubt they could hear her. The entire world could be gazing at the two of you under a microscope and they would know nothing. Wasn’t it something wonderful, to share such, dare you say it, love that cannot, will not be observed by a single being outside your pairing? “Such a pretty little thing, a beautiful little toy for me.”

You didn’t dare move, worried even a flinch would disappoint her. Even as spit began to fall down your chin and between your breasts, as it pools in the gap between your legs, you successfully resist the urge to wipe it away. Natasha walks to the end of the bed, perching herself on the covers. The silence isn’t thick or uncomfortable, rather something closer to electric, something you can feel on the insides of your nose as you sniffled.  

Slowly, she raised her right hand and crooked her first finger. You understood immediately and you got on your hands and knees to crawl across the room to her. When you reached the end of the bed you waited, obediently, for her.

Like at the restaurant – you were nearly bursting out of your skin with excitement as you awaited instruction.  

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she cooed. “Now come up on the bed and let me wreck that pussy.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation, scrambling to get on the bed and onto your back. Natasha grabbed a bottle of lube out of seemingly nowhere and poured it over the same strap from the first time she fucked you.

You moaned deeply and reached for something, anything; you whined high in your throat as she pounded into you, the bed smacking against the stained wall with each thrust.

“You’re too pretty for your own good, you know,” her voice was breathless as she spoke. “Normally I would try to keep my toys intact, try to keep them in good condition, but I just can’t seem to help myself around you.”

With each word your back arched farther, your fingers tightened around the sheets.

“F-fuck,” you moaned around the thick plastic sphere in your mouth as you tried to push your back closer to Natasha’s chest.

She grabbed your hair and bit at the curve of your ear before she spoke in a low voice that sent another wave a slick down your inner thighs. “What do you belong to?” she hisses. “Who does this pussy,” she slapped your cunt and you cried out at the stinging pain. “belong to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “You Mommy, I belong to you!”

In that moment, you wondered whether Natasha’s neighbors could hear your screams. But in the one right after, you realized you really, truly, di not give a single flying fuck what they could hear.

“Fuck yes, you’re mine,” she growled as she pressed your face into the sheets, as she loomed over you like a god would punish some human exercising an unholy level of hubris. “Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You couldn’t speak because of the ball gag – didn’t even try to – yet Natasha seemed to know exactly what you wanted to say.

“You wanna cum, love?” she cooed, still fucking into you. “You wanna cum over Mommy’s cock?”

You nodded, the whines high in your throat resembed something close to a please yes please Mommy please I wanna cum I wanna cum I wanna cum.

Just like the lube, Natasha grabbed the hitachi out of thin air before she turned it on low and pressed it to your neglected clit. It was something, it was enough, but only just so. Your muscle tensed and you wailed out as you bucked your hips, as you tried to fuck yourself harder onto the toy. Natasha notices and slows her thrusts, laughing as you become more and more desperate.

“You’re so pathetic,” she hissed. “Such a pathetic little toy. You’ll do anything to cum, won’t you?”

You nodded; words garbled.

Natasha laughed again. “Of course you would, slut. You’d do anything for me, right? You’d do anything I told you to? You’re just a mindless little toy for me, just a dumb little thing with no thoughts besides how you can please me…”

You were drooling around your gag so much it covered your cheeks and pooled on each side.

You’re blissed out, eyes glazed over and body wonderfully lax. Natasha’s isn’t done with you yet, though, because of course she isn’t. You’re now officially her girlfriend, officially hers, and maybe it’s that satisfaction or excitement or whatever in her blood but it it’s letting her stop, not now, not when you look so ethereal with a halo of sweaty hair and the sheets looking like wings and your skin practically glowing.

Not just any angel, her angel – her perfect little blessed creature, sanctified even as she degrades you in such a sacrilegious way.

“I want you to cum when I count to ten,” Natasha murmured as she pushed the sweaty hairs that had escaped their confines from your eyes. “Alright, baby?”

You nodded and tried to chase the fleeting feeling of her fingers as they dusted over your feverish skin.

She turned the Hitachi up a setting, smiling as it met your clit and you cried out.

“One,” she mumbled, rubbing the head against you in small circles. It was something, but certainly not enough.

“Two.”

Natasha knew this. She knew you didn’t orgasm all that easily.

“Three.”

Regardless, she agonizingly slowly turned the toy up a setting. Just as you feared, it remained insufficient.

“Four.”

God, nearly halfway there and you were terrified what would happen if you couldn’t cum. Part of it was exhilarating, but part of it gnawed a small hole in your stomach that left you…empty, somehow.

“Five.”

She ticked it up one, two more settings. You sighed in relief and moved your hips with what little mobility she’d allowed you.

“Six.”

She increased the vibrations again and reveled in your squeals.

“Seven.”

You cried out and wanted to beg for mercy.

“Eight.”

You didn’t.

“Nine.”

You felt like you’d forgotten how to breathe, lungs shriveled up into nothingness. It was as if you could feel each of your cells as they begged for oxygen, as your blood desperately tried to each your heart and brain.

“Ten.”

You came with a deafening scream, your whole body shaking for what feels like forever.

When you came down, your girlfriend was next to the bed, holding what you could only is another section of rope. What she planned to do with it, you had zero idea.

“How ya doin’, baby?” She asks. Natasha could sense something was off, but worried about misreading the signs.

It’s obvious she was not incorrect, though, when you tapped at your thigh three times.

Immediately, Natasha drops the toys in her hands and rushes over – untying the gag and freeing your limbs.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She scanned your body – terrified of finding blood or something worse. “What do you need?”

You swallowed what little spit you could find, your voice hoarse as you spoke. “Red,” a pause as you attempted to swallow once more. “Water.”

It was  all Natasha needed before she was rushing off to the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of the stuff and one of those reusable straws she stole from your apartment.

When she returned to the room she pulled you into her lap, keeping you upright as she leaned against the wall.

Natasha watched every muscle, every twitch as you drank from the straw. Your body seemed unwilling to move itself, relying on Natasha to hold you upright enough so that you didn’t choke. The room was silent except for the sound of your noisy swallowing (and, soon, the slurping of last droplets of water). You were about to ask for more, but Natasha found an unopened plastic water bottle within reach and held that for you, too. It reminded you of the first time the two of you fucked, and suddenly the world didn’t feel so cold anymore.

“I’m done, Mommy,” you told her when half the water was gone. “I’m good.”

“You sure, babygirl?” her voice laced with deep, genuine concern. Her eyes reflected the same emotion.

You nodded, leaning into her and rubbing your knuckles where they laid against her thigh. “I’m sure, Mommy. Thank you.”

Natasha closed the bottle and tossed it into the half-open bedside table drawer before she wrapped you in her arms. “Of course, honeybee. I’m proud of you for using your safe word, thank you for trusting me.”

You mmmed and laid there for a moment, your breathing in rhythm with Natasha. You two sat there, comfortable in the silence. If there was anything else to say, you’d say it – but for the while you enjoyed the wordless space you and her existed in.

It took a long while, after your heart had slowed and your breathing had evened out, but you eventually fell asleep in Natasha’s arms. It was peaceful, deep – somehow impossibly more satisfying than any of the other times you’d fallen asleep, even the times you’d fallen asleep with her. There, secured from harm in her arms and wrapped in blankets, you felt secure. It was indescribable, it was wonderful, it was safe. And to you, in that moment, it was heaven.