#anyway the embarrassment of making yourself so emotional over your own stupid fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s-brant · 3 years ago

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Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #obx s2 #okay but ive been doing some thinking and i can formally declare that i think their song is call it what you want (by taylor swift)#it fits tbh

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13uswntimagines · 4 years ago

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She Might be a Forward, but You’re a Keeper (Emily Sonnett x Reader)

Request: Emily x reader where r doesn’t have the best reputation and is sorta known for being a troublemaker but once Emily comes into the picture everything changes. Livin’ The Dream by Morgan Wallen is what made this pop into head.

Author’s Note: Firstly, Firerfly and i thank the one voter so much for voting for this fic. Secondly this almost didn’t happen because my dumbass deleted from the doc just seconds after we had finished it. Thank you to @literaryhedgehog for saving it.

“You have to do it Sonnett,” Lindsey said sternly, taking a sip of her drink and ignoring Emily’s puppy eyes. She wasn’t going to feel bad about this. It was only fair, since she was the one who got them caught.

“Yeah,” Rose added, crossing her arms. “consider it your punishment for not following through on our prank on Pino.” Meghan had been pissed, and the lecture they had gotten did not seem to fit the crime, especially since they had been stopped. All they wanted to do was start an itsy bitsy prank war. Where was the harm in that?

“Oh come on.” Emily whined, glancing back and forth between the two girls and the woman standing on the other side of the room. “She would have murdered me if I let you put blue dye in her shampoo,” Emily said, her bottom lip trembling.

“And now Y/n might kill you so we’re even,” Lindsey shrugged, fighting a smile. Whatever way this ended, it would be entertaining for her.

Some might think that that it was a gross overstatement, but it wasn’t. You had a reputation. A terrifying history of explosions on the pitch, and a complete lack of approachability off of it. You didn’t give a shit what anyone thought, Alex and Kelley being the only exception, but you had known them forever so it didn’t count.

You didn’t have many friends (contrary to what the public though), but you were viciously loyal to the people you actually let get close to you.

The youngins had been warned that you did whatever (and whoever) you wanted and they should steer clear. You wouldn’t mess with them as long as they didn’t mess with you.

The problem was that the blond defender was smitten from the first moment she saw you this season. When she had first joined the team you had just been another veteran and the excitement of joining the national team had overshadowed everything else. But then you transferred to Washington during Club season and she started noticing you everywhere. Partially because you were everywhere- weaving around the field and her vision, at team events and now here at camp, and… she might have been caughts staring once or twice. Maybe Emily had tripped over her own feet a few times because she accidentally got distracted by the sight of you pouring water over your head after a hot practice, who's to say. Either way, her two meddling best friends knew about her little crush and had decided to use it as blackmail.

“I hate you guys,” Emily said, downing half her drink for liquid courage.

Lindsey rolled her eyes and shoved the defenders shoulder. “No you don’t,”

“You better get your ass over there before she starts flirting with another girl,” Rose said with a disinterested wave of her hand, motioning towards the dejected Brunette walking away from you. There was a parade of women all night, and it seemed none of them were having any luck.

Your eyes followed the woman as she left, but your face didn’t betray any emotions, appearing completely uncaring to anyone who happened to glance in your direction.

Emily nodded. It was now or never she supposed.

*****

You took an uninterested sip of you beer, swirling your finger around the glass when you set it back down on the bar. You had never exactly found team bar nights fun. It felt like thousands of people would come up and talk to you (and call you by name) and expect you to instantly be their friend.

You didn’t need anymore friends.

You took another sip of your flat beer, making a mental note to chastise Alex later for her terrible bar choice, and stared listlessly at the football (American style) game on the tv.

“Hey, wanna hear a joke about paper?” You turned slowly to look at the speaker. You squinted at the blond defender, tilting your head to the side, not letting your surprise that a youngin actually had the balls to talk to you off the pitch show on your face.

She scratched the back of her head grinning impishly at you. “Never mind, it’s tearable.”

You raised your eyebrow at the woman, you lips ticking up slightly at her adorable fidgeting.

That seemed to give her confidence, as she set her drink down and slid into the unaccompanied stool next to you.

“Why didn’t the vampire attack Taylor Swift? She had bad blood.”

You suppressed your snort at the terrible joke, hiding it behind a sip of your bad beer.

“It’s more fun if you actually let me respond before you hit me with the punchline,” You smirked, thoroughly entertained by the pink starting to bloom on the defenders cheeks.

“Oh, my bad.” Emily said, making an embarrassed face. “Sorry, I often tell dad jokes- most of the time he laughs!’

This time you did snort, the smile you were holding back finally cracking across your lips.

“Just most of the time? Sounds to me like you need to get a better one,”

“Is that a challenge I hear?” Emily said, a wicked gleam in her eye. A terrible joke competition was right up her alley.

“Not at all. I could never compete with someone with your… particular skill set. You should be a magician because you just make girls disappear,” You wiggled your fingers, mimicking a magical motion.

“Ouch,” Emily said, holding back giggles.

“You could let me ice that burn as consolation,” You shrugged, also holding in a giggle.

“Nah, I just need to wait a little for it to warm back up. You know what the hottest time of day is?”

“No, what?”

“Two- flirty!”

You cackled loudly, nearly throwing your head back.

****

“Is the Ice Queen actually smiling?” Kelley asked, sliding into the booth beside Alex, passing a disgustingly fruity drink to her girlfriend.

“It appears so,” Alex nodded, pushing the stupid mini unbrella out of her way to take a sip.

Her eyes followed your laughing form, taking in how your eyes lit up, and the way you leaned closer to the blond defender. It wasn’t your typically cocky posture when you talked to girls, you seemed much more unguarded.

“Who knew Junior had it in her. I never thought she’d work up the courage,” Kelley smirked over the edge of her drink. Emily’s crush on you wasn’t a secret (to the two of them at least), but they never dreamed Emily would actually make a move.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Y/n look at anyone like that.” Alex started thoughtfully. “Well maybe-”

“We don’t speak her name Alex,” Kelley interrupted with a glare. They didn’t talk about your previous relationship. It had nearly ruined you completely.

Rose and Lindsey joined Alex and Kelley where they were standing, all four trying to hide the fact that they were staring at you and Emily together.

“You enjoying the show too?” Rose said, shaking her head slightly as she watched. What the heck could you two be talking about? For a few seconds she saw you talk animatedly then - in unison with Emily - double over in laughter.

“You know something about this that we don’t?” Alex asked, glancing at the two younger players.

Rose and Lindsey exchanged a look. “Sonnett’s only over there because we made her,” Lindey said.

“How?”

“Told her we’d rat her out to Vlatko for the snack incident last camp,” Rose shrugged. Revenge was best served with blackmail.

“I didn’t know she had a soft side,” Lindsey said after a few minutes.

“Only a few people actually get to see it,” Kelley shrugged. You were guarded but not heartless. It just took a special touch to break that cast iron shell.

****

“Okay, okay. So I know a guy who's great at soccer but is super untidy.”

“You do?” You asked, biting your lip. You weren’t sure why you were suddenly nervous.

“Yeah, he’s just a Messi guy!” Emily said, already laughing on the last word.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I think these are just getting worse,”

“Oh come on, you were the one who told the one about a frog liking hoppy beer,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “I think that one was objectively worse.”

“Whatever you say cutie pie,” you said, leaning forward on your hand. You weren’t usually this interested in conversation. You were more of an… in and out kinda girl. But there was something about Emily that intrigued you. That pulled you in and made you want to know more about her than just her bedroom preferences.

“Pie sounds so good right now,” Emily said sighing deeply. “I don’t even have a joke to go with that, I just like pie. Although I think I read one at some point for Pi day, I could google it…”

“I don’t know any jokes either, but I do know a place pretty close to here if you wanted to ditch these losers,” You offered, picking idly at your napkin.

“Losers? I didn’t know the men’s team was here!” Emily smirked. You didn’t know if she was blowing you off, or just completely missed what you were implying.

“See that one was actually a good one. Those idiots wouldn’t know how to score if they were shooting at the broadside of a barn,” You shook your head. Half of the women’s team midfield had better finishing stats than all the men’s forwards. They were terrible.

“Oh come on. They’re not that bad. At least 9% of them are keepers,” Emily laughed. “Well that’s their position anyway. But yes, I would love to go get some pie with you. Just don’t tell Dawn I broke my diet.”

“No promises Princess,” You said standing, and holding out your hand to the woman. You kissed the back of her hand when she laced her fingers with yours, earning yourself another giggle.

It made your heart flutter, and you just wanted more.

“You sure you’re okay missing the end of the party?” Emily said hopefully, scanning as if to make sure no one would waylay you on your way out the door. The last thing she wanted was to get stopped by one of your parade of brunettes.

“Better than okay. The word happiness might start with an H, but mine starts with U.”

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #emily sonnett imagine #emily sonnett x reader #literalhedgehog

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let-me-luve-you · 4 years ago

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Crushed

Tom Holland x Twin!Sister

Summary: Reader has a crush on Harrison, but he brings home his new girlfriend

Warnings: Heartbreak, angst, feelings not reciprocated

A/N: This might be my last fic for a little bit. I’m working on me, but I do get random motivation to write and I like to take advantage of it and write when I’m in the mood. Please don’t ask me when I’ll have another fic out.

MASTERLIST BUY ME A COFFEE REDBUBBLE

When Tom brought Harrison home to hangout for the first time, you immediately had a crush. Over the years, you kept your feelings to yourself, but the intensity grew. You loved Harrison. You never told your twin brother and best friend, Tom. Harrison was your friend. He would hate you if he knew your true feelings.

Lately, Harrison has been acting more shy and sweet around you. He would text you everyday to check up on you while he was in France for a fashion show. With Harrison acting like that, you thought maybe he finally had feelings for you. So today, when Tom came into your room to tell you Harrison was back in town, you decided then that you would tell him how you feel.

Tom told you tonight you would be going for dinner and drinks with Harrison as well as Sam and Harryl. So you spent the day getting ready. You didn’t want it to look like you were trying too hard, but you wanted to look your best. Look good, feel good type of thing.

As you were getting ready to leave your bedroom, you heard Harrison greet Tom. You smiled as you listened to their banter. You walked down the hall to the living room to see Harrison’s back. You smiled as he turned to you.

“Y/N!” Harrison yelled as he came over to give you a hug. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good. Just ready for a good night with good people.” You said with a wink. He laughed. You noticed a woman come stand next to Harrison. Harrison wrapped his arm around her shoulder. You felt your heart fall.

“Y/N, this is Grace. My girlfriend. Grace, this is Y/N, Tom’s little sister.” Harrison said. You faked a smile and said hello to her.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You said trying to hold in all emotions. Your heart was broken. Tom looked over at you concerned when he heard your tone change. You ignored him and continued to smile at the couple.

“Y/N I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. Harrison just adores you like you are his own sister.” Grace said. You felt like you had been stabbed in the heart.

“Should we head out? I'm getting hungry?” You said with a fake laugh.

“Let’s go.” Harrison said, guiding Grace to his car. “Y/N come ride with us.” Harrison yelled as he opened the back door for you. You nodded and moved to the car. After you got in and shut the door, you looked over to see Tom climbing in as well.

“Hope you don’t mind. Harry said he’s swinging by to grab Sam and Pads.” Tom said.

“Not at all.” Harrison smiled before driving off. You sat there quiet. You knew Tom knew something was up but you chose to ignore him. Grace and Harrison talked most of the ride anyways, so the need to input anything never occurred.

After getting to the restaurant and ordering drinks, you finally broke your silence, “so how long have you two been together?” You asked. You looked over at Harrison and noticed him shift uncomfortably.

“Unofficially, it’s been five months, officially it’s been four.” Grace answered and smiled at Haz. You froze. That’s when you noticed him acting different around you. You shook yourself out of thought and smiled at them. “I’m so happy for you.” You said.

Dinner was fine. You felt awkward the whole time since they were still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship and were constantly doing cutesy stuff and touching each other's arms or holding hands. When you finally arrived home, your chest felt so tight that you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You thanked Harrison and Grace for dinner before you ran off to your room. You locked it before burying yourself in your bed. You were trying to get your breathing under control and to hold back the tears. No boy was worth your tears. Not even stupid, adorable blonde ones.

You heard a knock on your door but chose to ignore it. You heard the knob jiggle and a soft grunt. Next thing you know, Tom is right there beside you pulling you into a hug. Before you broke down, you saw Harry and Sam standing at the edge of the bed.

“It’s not fair.” You sobbed as you turned into Tom’s chest. Tom squeezed you tighter and closed his eyes. It hurt him so much to see his twin in so much pain. He shushed you as he ran his hand up and down your back. Once you finally calmed down enough, Tom pulled you away from his chest, “what isn’t fair?”

“Life. Love. Everything.” You said as you pulled away to lay down with your back to your brothers. Tom wasn’t having it and turned you back around to look at him. You scoffed, but sat up and leaned against the headboard, holding the Spider-Man bear Tom gave you when he left to film Civil War.

“Tell us what happened? Because you were so excited to see Harrison and then all of a sudden you were acting like you didn’t want to be anywhere near him.” Sam said.

“I.. I was going to tell him how I felt about him today.” You felt tears at the back of your eyes again. Tom pulled you back into a hug.

“How do you feel about him?” Harry asked softly.

“I love him.” You said before crying even harder. Tom looked back to Sam and Harry with shocked eyes. Tom had told you about the times he was in love, but you’ve never spoken once about love.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. “Did something happen between you? Did he try to date you and then get with Grace?”

You continued to cry. You couldn’t catch your breath long enough to try to stop crying. Tom kissed the top of your head as he rubbed up and down your back. “It’s okay y/n. Try to breathe for me. Try to calm down for me. I don’t want you to make yourself sick.” Tom said gently.

You took a few minutes focusing on Tom’s breathing and heartbeat. Trying to match yours to his. After finally calming down enough to talk, you were so exhausted. You kept your head on Tom’s chest and stayed hugging him as you finally started to tell your brothers everything.

“I’ve always had a crush on him. Then recently he started acting nicer to me. Not that he wasn’t before, but it felt different. He was also acting shy. I just got it in my head that he liked me too. So while he was gone, I worked on my confidence. When Tom said he was coming home, I figured why not tell him and get it over with. Then he introduced me to Grace.” You sighed. “Did you guys know?”

You felt Tom tense before whispering, “yes.” You nodded your head as you heard Harry agree with Tom and Sam say “no.”

“If I knew how you felt, I would have told you. Harrison didn’t really want to tell anyone yet. He wanted to see if it was going to work out. And he wanted to keep it from fans for a little while.” Tom said.

“I get it.” You said pulling away from Tom to lay down on your bed. You grabbed the Spider-Man bear again. “Love sucks. But I’ll get over it. If he’s happy with her, then I’m happy for him. I’m not going to sabotage it or anything.”

“That’s good to know.” Tom laughed. Sam and Harry each gave you a kiss on the head before leaving the room. “Really, are you okay?”

“No, but I will be.” You said honestly. Tom laid down beside you and grabbed the bear from you.

“I can’t believe you still have this.” Tom said with almost disbelief.

“Why would I get rid of it?” You asked him.

“I don’t know. Figured you would have put it in a box or gave it away. I got this as a joke since you said I probably didn’t actually get the part since Sony had been hacked.” Tom laughed at the memory.

“I love my bear. He’s the one I run to for comfort. Especially when I miss you when you're gone.” You said.

“I’m glad you have it.” He turned and smiled at you. He looked at your tear struck face and red, puffy eyes. He felt bad. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you about Grace.”

“It’s okay.” You whispered and looked down.

“If you ever feel like you need to talk, I’m here to listen. Always. I’ll never judge you.” He said.

“I was just afraid you would get mad at me since he was your best friend.” You said.

“Never.” He said, making you look at him. “I might have been upset, but I would never get mad at you or hate you for your feelings. Heck I dated someone you would occasionally hang out with.”

“I forgot about that.” You laughed.

“So never be afraid of me or my reaction. I’ll always try not to overreact.” He said. “If you want, I can tell Haz not to bring Grace over for a bit. That way you don’t have to see them together.”

“No, it’s okay. It’ll hurt for a bit, but maybe it’ll help me get over my crush.” You said.

“If you change your mind, let me know. I won’t tell him why she can’t come, but I’ll tell him.” Tom said. You smiled at him. “Now, do you want to watch a movie?”

“Gifted?” You asked sheepishly.

“Next time I see Chris, I’m telling him you are obsessed with him.” Tom taunted.

“NO!” You yelled. “I haven’t even met him yet. At least let me meet him before you embarrass me.”

“Okay, okay. Next time I know I’m going to see him, I’ll bring you with me. Then while you're standing right there, I’ll tell him.” You rolled your eyes as Tom laughed.

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #brother!tom holland #brother!tom holland x sister!reader #tom holland one shot #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland x holland!reader #tom holland x sister #tom holland x sister!reader #holland!reader #holland!sister #tom holland rpf #y/n holland #tom holland twin #tom holland x twin!sister #tom holland angst

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tinyboxxtink · 4 years ago

Text

"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 2*

Part 1

Part 3

Y'all IDK what it is about this story but I can just write and write and write. This one ended up being 11 pages [on a google doc] And I only stopped because it's 2:15 am.

I hope you guys like this, but I just want to clarify: This isn't a Barisi fic. I'm sorry, if you're looking for that, just...this isn't it. I mean they do interact and it'll be fun, but they will not be ending up together.

That being said, enjoy this new chapter! I'm debating on how pathetic enamored Sonny is, I don't think I'm gonna go that deep. No worries, people.

As always let me know if you want to be added/deleted off the tag list!! <3

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

-------

"Y/N, I'm so happy for you and Barba. You make the cutest couple," Sonny beamed at you while you were wrapped in Rafael's arms, huge smiles on all of your faces.

"Thank you Sonny, that means so much." You gave him a warm hug.

"Yeah….and you'll make the cutest couple in HELL!" All of a sudden Sonny pushed both you and Rafael off a cliff.

You were falling to your death when you woke up to your professor glaring at you.

"Have a nice nap, Miss Y/N?" He scowled at you.

"Um," You cleared your throat and straightened up at your desk. "Yes sir,"

"Good," he huffed as he headed to the front of the classroom once more. "Maybe now we can continue without your snoring,"

You heard the students around you snicker at his comments as You sunk lower into your desk and waited for class to end. It had been a long train ride home and then a drive to your apartment last night, you hadn't gotten home until around 2 am and had this 8 am class. As soon as the professor dismissed your class you booked it out of the class and out into the parking lot of your community college.

"Ugh, could this day get any--" before you could even finish your thought you got your answer. Your phone beeped with a text from Rafael:

RAFA: Hey killer, how's the bullshit county? 😉

That was the nice thing, then just as you were about to text him back your phone lit up.

SONNY BOI CALLING

"Shit!" You hissed to no one. "How does he know?!"

"Ahem….Heyyy, cuz," You answered it with your best nonchalant voice. That of course sounded totally chalant.

"Hey sunshine," His voice sounded relaxed, thank God.

"What's up?" You tried keeping your tone light as you neared your car.

"Well y'know I was just thinkin, I feel real bad about standing you up last night,"

"Oh, Son it's no big deal really," the fact that he felt guilty about anything made you feel even more guilty.

"No, I know you have a busy schedule and it takes a lot to get into the City and I just blew you off," He kept on with the guilt train.

"You didn't blow me off Son you had work. I get that--" You unlocked your car and got in, starting it so your windows would thaw. And your whole body.

"Well I wanna make it up to you," He cut you off.

"Oh?" your voice fell short. This couldn't be good.

"Yeah, my boss-- well he's not really My boss but Mr. Barba--"

Oh shit. Barba? Was Barba having a party? Why wouldn't He tell you that? Wait why WOULD he tell you that? Stupid. Wait, what was Sonny saying?

".... birthday, so you could be like my date," you caught the tail end of his invite.

"Birthday?" You repeated like a parrot. It was Barba's birthday? Oh god. You were really trying not to focus on how old he was. Don't ask. For the love of god don't say it Sonny.

"Yeah don't worry you don't need to get him anything, I got it covered," Sonny assured you.

Well, that was one way you could figure out just how much your cousin cared about his "idol". The more expensive the gift, the stronger the feelings were. You wondered whether you should ask him now or wait for the surprise. Maybe you should ask now, then his answer should tell you what you'd be getting into.

*So what did you get this 'non boss' of yours?" You asked slyly.

"Oh," now Sonny's voice dropped. "Well I, I don't wanna say,"

Fuck.

Don't panic. Do not panic.

"Oh come on Sonny," you did your best to keep a joking tone. "What am I gonna do, tell him?"

Should you joke about it? Hidden in plain sight, right?

"No I guess not, it's not like you know him,"

Whew.

"It's just kinda embarrassing…."

Oh god.

"O-Oh?" You tried to stay calm. "Why's that? Is it a gag gift?"

Please be a gag gift.

"Actually it's a new briefcase," He replied.

"Oh why is that embarrassing you goof?” You gave him a hard time. What was that in the emotional baggage department? Pun intended.

"I mean, it's more expensive than the one I own," You could hear the shrug in his voice.

Fuck. Don't ask why. Don't ask. But if you don't ask, that will be even more suspicious wouldn't it?

"Oh Son," You asked softly. "Why would you do that?"

"Well the one he has is as old as dirt, I think it's probably the first one he ever bought. I wanted him to look snazzy in court." He replied with a super eager tone.

"That's sweet," you were pounding your steering wheel in frustration. Say it.

"Seems like a lot of work for a mentor though," You closed your eyes mentally killing yourself.

"Yeah well," he laughed uncomfortably.

Say it.

"Sonny…” You didn’t want to do this.

“Yeah?” He was oblivious.

“You know you can always talk to me,”

“Yeah of course,” He assured you.

“About anything,” You scrunched your nose.

“Yeah I know, sunshine,” He half laughed.

“ANYTHING,” You reiterated

There was a long awkward pause.

“...Sonny?” You made sure he hadn’t hung up on you.

“Yeah, I'm here,” He replied softly.

“So?” You waited for the bomb to drop.

So…. He sighed. "I just want him to like me,"

Dammit.

"....Yeah," You nodded, cursing yourself.

"Yeah, its stupid. I'm stupid." He laughed again.

“You're not stupid,” you laid your head on the steering wheel in shame.” I mean the heart wants what it wants right?”

“What?! Oh my god, Y/N,” He scoffed. “I'm not gay,”

“….Sonny it's 2021,” you shook your head. “Sexuality is a spectrum,”

Right well. He laughed defensively. "I'm on the p in the v scale,"

“Ugh, Sonny,” you made a face.

“Sorry sunshine,” He apologized. “I just...why would you even think that?!”

“Uh…” You paused.

Maybe he wasn't fully aware that he had romantic feelings for Rafael. If you started pointing out the signs, he might realize it. But then you'd have a cousin going through gay panic AND then finding out it doesn't matter anyway.

"No reason," You lied.

"I just want him to like him so he'll give me a good recommendation once I graduate Fordham Law,"

"Oh" you smacked your head. "Duh. Right. Of course,"

That was completely legitimate. Maybe you had been misreading this whole thing. Now you just had the whole overprotective Gotti side of Sonny to worry about.

"Well I guess I could spend the weekend in the city," You shrugged as you pulled out of the parking lot.

“Absolutely!” He exclaimed. “My couch is always open,”

Not exactly where you were thinking of sleeping, but you weren't blowing your cover over the phone. Wait, maybe you should. Then he couldn't kill you over the phone. Wait, he's presumably at work right now. You didn't know how closely he worked with Barba, but you figured it would be a hell of a lot easier for Sonny to get to him before you could stop him from killing Rafael.

"Sure sounds good. I'll see you then cuz,” You smiled and hung up the phone.

------

Friday arrived, and you once again found yourself standing outside Forlini's. You debated heavily whether to go in or not, but you told yourself you were going to wait for Sonny outside this time, no more risking a sexy bar rendezvous.

You hadn’t really responded to Rafael’s texts the last few days, and you certainly didn’t tell him you were coming. Maybe you should have told him. You grabbed your phone to text him when you heard a familiar voice behind you:

“Y/N?”

You spun around to see Rafael dressed to the 9’s, smiling at you. He smelled delicious, mixed with the food aroma wafting out of the restaurant and the smell of freshly fallen snow in New York City.

“...Happy Birthday, Counselor,” You bit your lip nervously.

“W-What are you doing here?” He stared at you as if he thought he was dreaming.

“Sonny invited me,” You nervously smiled.

“Seriously?” He laughed.

“Seriously,” You nodded with a laugh as well.

“Did-- did you say anything to him?” He asked you worriedly.

“Are you insane?!” You hit him. “No!”

“So why did he invite you here?” He asked.

“He said it was to make up for ditching me the other night,” You shrugged.

“...The irony,” He smirked.

“Mmm,” You nodded with an amused smile.

“Well this is a very happy birthday indeed,” He smiled, pulling you closer into his coat similar to the night you had met.

“....Just don’t ask which one it is,” He warned you while staring at your lips deviously.

“Deal,” You nodded in agreement before he pulled you into a hungry kiss.

“DUDE!!” You snapped back before his lips were on yours for more than a millisecond. “Are you nuts?! Sonny’s gonna be here any second!”

“It’s my birthday, carino,” He made a pouty face. “Don’t yell at me,”

“Oh lord,” You rolled your eyes. “Alright, man child,”

He was about to go for another sneaky kiss when you both heard a voice from behind you.

“....Sunshine?”

“Oh!” You jumped ten feet away from Rafael when you turned to see Sonny standing there with a huge gift bag, staring slack jawed at the two of you. “Sonny! I um, we--”

“I was teaching your cousin a lesson in New York safety,” Rafael talked over you, his face completely stone. God he was a good liar.

“Excuse me, counselor?” Sonny raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. You just stared in speechlessness.

“She was standing on this curb holding her bag out for any miscreant on these streets to just wrestle away from her, I was just demonstrating how,” He gestured to your open purse.

“Barba I really think this ain’t that kinda neighborhood,” Sonny half laughed.

“...You never know,” Rafael shrugged. “Now let’s all get inside, I’m sure everyone is anxious to start celebrating me,”

You and Sonny both rolled your eyes with smiles; too similar of smiles, you noticed. Thankfully, he did not. You both followed Rafael back to a private room where a bunch of fancy dressed people were mingling with drinks in their hands while two long empty tables stood in the middle of the room. They all stopped and clapped when Rafael walked in.

“Oh, for me?” He feigned surprise and humility.

“Yeah right Barba,” A woman laughed sarcastically. “You’re the one who invited us here,”

“Touche, Rita,” Rafael smirked as he began making the rounds around the table greeting everyone.

“So are we allowed to eat now, I’m starving,” An older man asked.

“And I’ve got a son waiting,” A red headed woman chimed in.

“Right, right,” Rafael nodded as people began to take seats. “Sorry everyone, you know I love to make a dramatic entrance,”

“Oh trust me we know, Barba,” Another man called. “Your catwalks into the courtroom prove that. I think we have a montage of them,”

“Ha Ha,” Rafael rolled his eyes, then turned to you and Sonny.

“Sonny,” He put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit next to me?”

“R-Really, counselor?” You saw Sonny’s eyes light up like Christmas tree lights.

Fuck. You knew he was only asking him so that you would sit next to him as well. And while you loved the idea, you knew how much this was toying with Sonny’s feelings.

“A-Are you sure, about that Mr. Barba?” You gave him a look.

“Absolutely, Miss-- I didn’t catch your name?” He played it so cool.

“Y/N,” You held out your hand as you re-introduced yourself.

“Right, well--” He shook your hand then turned his attention to Sonny who was still beaming like a kid on Christmas. “I don’t know how much Carisi has told you, but he is quite the promising mentee of mine,”

“....R-Really, Rafael?” Sonny blinked in disbelief, causing Rafael’s smile to falter for a moment. Sonny had never called him “Rafael” before, it was always “Barba”. Shit, maybe he had given him too much praise.

“I mean, you know, for a lap dog,” He quickly added with a snarky tone and a smirk.

“Mr. Barba!” You tried not to raise your voice at the birthday boy. “That is my cousin you’re talking ab---”

“No, no it’s fine Y/N-- th-that’s how we work isn’t it, counselor? He just gives me jabs, I know he doesn’t mean it,” Sonny laughed nervously, staring at the floor. He knew not to get too comfortable with Barba, why did he even try it?

“Indeed,” Rafael nodded in agreement. “But, I still request you sit by me-- at least I know you don't poison my food. Which is more than I can say for many of my esteemed ‘guests’,” He eyed the tables of people before him.

“Then why invite them to your party?” You quirked an eyebrow.

“I get that Jersey doesn’t have the social classes of Manhattan, Miss Y/N,” He smirked. “But here, you’ve got to do things to keep up appearances,”

“Oh do you?” You practically growled.

“Yes,” He nodded while a waiter brought him a glass of scotch. “Even if you don’t like someone, if they serve a purpose for you than you do what you must to keep in their good graces,”

“Oh is that so? So you’re only kind to people who can ‘serve’ you?” You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him.

What kind of Danny Zuko bullshit was this?! This was an entirely different Rafael Barba you had met the other night. He was kind, flirty, endearing. This new Barba was snarky and condescending, and you were not amused at all.

“Y/N, chill,” Sonny hissed at you. “This is just how Barba is, he’s harmless,”

“Yeah well you might not mind being his doormat Sonny, but I sure as hell won’t be,” You angrily stomped off.

“Oh my god,” Sonny muttered, wondering if he should run after you or not. “Barba, I am so so sorry about her,”

“It’s fine, Carisi,” He watched you stomping away, trying to hide the guilt in his voice. He was just trying his best to throw Sonny off the trail. He may have overcompensated just a tad.

“I-I should go check on her, She’s just a kid--”

“No, allow me,” Rafael put a hand to Sonny’s chest. “It was my faux paux, I should apologize to her myself. I was being a bit of an ass,”

“Yeah but that’s just you, Barba,” Sonny chuckled, trying not to blush at Rafael’s hand on his chest.

“True, but I forget not everyone knows me as well as you do, Carisi,” And now he was trying to be extra nice to Sonny to get on his good side, while cluelessly egging on his feelings.

“That is very true,” Sonny laughed even more nervously. “I’ll uh, I’ll take a seat and get our drinks ordered,”

“Excellent,” Rafael smiled at him, probably one of five times in the entire time they’d known each other. He gave Sonny one more pat on the back before walking after where you had stomped off to.

He found you right before you hit the front door, his hand catching yours before it could grab the handle. You turned and scoffed at him, your scowl still present after stomping off.

“Oh, come to appease me, counselor? How can I be of service to you?” You snapped.

“Please, Y/N,” He gave you apologetic eyes as he pulled you closer to him. “I’m sorry, I just-- I didn’t want Carisi to think anything was off. He already caught us being handsy, I had to make it look like we disliked each other,” He explained.

“Oh I think you’ve done that above and beyond, jackass,” You huffed. “First I’m too stupid to not get robbed in the city, and then I’m too uncultured to understand ‘high society’ manipulative bullshit?”

“I’m sorry, I may have gone a little over--” He started.

“But that wasn’t even an act, was it?” You interjected angrily.

“What do you mean?” He asked you curiously.

“Your line of you having ‘use’ of a person? I assume that is why you have a room full of powerful people you dislike as opposed to a room full of sycophants?” Yeah, you might just go to community college but you knew big words too.

“I mean, that is how it works--”

“Jesus Christ,” You shook your head with a laugh. “You know I understood for about half a second why my cousin is so infatuated by you, but I am losing that belief real quick,” You turned and started to walk away again.

“Y/N come on,” He grabbed both of your arms this time and pulled you close into him, your noses almost touching.

“Look I’m-- I’m sorry, that I’m---this,” He gestured to himself.

“But that’s just how I have to be in their world,” He gestured back towards the room. “I’m telling you, it’s a room full of sharks. If I show weakness or misstep in decorum, I’m nothing but chum to those people,”

“The guy you met the other night, that’s the real me,” He put a hand to your cheek. “I never get to be that guy, not in public. That’s why I was so attracted to you,” He put his other hand on your waist.

“I don’t have to be ‘Rafael Barba, the snarky ADA with a silver tongue,’ I can just be…’Rafa’,” He gave you an earnestly sad smile.

“I’m sorry,” You blinked in confusion. “I know I’m not helping myself but what exactly is the ‘ADA’?”

Your question brought that familiar amused grin and a laugh. “See, this is what I’m talking about,”

“Oh yeah I know, the ignorant girl you can placate--”

“No,” He put a finger on your lips. “The earnest, normal, gorgeous girl,” He kissed your forehead. “I’m sure if we took a poll in here right now the majority of the room would be with you, not knowing what an ADA is,”

“Which still doesn’t answer the question,” You pointed out.

“I…” He tried to think of a way to explain his role in the Manhattan judicial system. “Well, the DA of the county is like-- the King of Lawyers in that section. Or queen, as my boss is Rita,” He shook his head with a laugh. Oh Rita Calhoun, the stories he could tell about her.

“So, you’re her king?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Eh, I’d say Prince but she’d probably say Jester if she heard this metaphor to be honest with you,”

“Mmm I like that,” You finally let yourself smile at him.

“A Prince?” He grinned.

“The Jester,” You gave him a tongued smile, settling against his chest.

“Well, I’ll gladly take that title if it makes you happy,” He kissed your forehead. “I’d do anything to make you happy right now,”

You looked into his green eyes, they were now their usual sparkling green hue, and you remembered very quickly how you had gotten yourself in this mess in the first place. He really was a sweet, charming, gorgeous guy. And then you remembered those were probably all the reasons Sonny fell for him too.

“Ahem.” You straightened up and stepped out of his grasp. “Well, what would make me happy right now is getting back to my cousin,”

“Oh,” Rafael’s eyes softened into a sad gaze.

“Rafael, I think he really likes you,” You bit your lip with guilt. “And you toying with him just now isn’t helping!”

“Toying with him?” Rafael’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion? “I wasn’t toying with--”

“Sit by me, Carisi? You’re important to me, Carisi?” You imitated his questions in a mocking tone.

“I had to ask him that so you would--” He started to explain, but you already knew.

“I know!” You stopped him. “I know, that’s why it’s so fucked!” You put your hands over your face.

“Carino…” Rafael walked over and pulled your hands from your face and held them.

“I’m hurting him every second that I stand here with you, and I--” You bit your lip trying not to cry. “I’m still doing it! I can’t walk away!”

“So don’t,” He squeezed your hands with an even sadder look.

“This is just--” You broke free from his grasp once again and wiped your eyelids. “We need to get back before Sonny comes after you,”

“....So where does this conversation leave us, then?” He asked you cautiously.

“I don’t…” You gazed into his puppy dog emerald eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t want to think about it right now, okay?”

“Fair enough,” He put his hands down in concession. “...But we really need to--”

“Yeah, I know,” You nodded softly as you walked back to the private room, Rafael trailing behind you.

All you could think on the way back was how in God’s name were you going to make it through the rest of the night.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba imagine'#sonny carisi #law and order svu #weird secret friends

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i-cant-sing · 4 years ago

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Hey, hypothetically asking: Is there a way for me to stop feeling emotions? I mean... having them is kinda hurting me at times. I usually have trouble expressing myself but then I stumbled across your blog and I decided to give it a shot. I'm really sorry if I'm bothering you with this, I just need to vent feelings to someone. My school's adding so much of stress in my life for me, I keep having test after test and I guess I'm scared that I'll be a failure if I fail. And on top of that, I barely get 4 hours of sleep everyday because of all the extensive notes I always keep writing and we keep getting various projects. Oh, and I guess you could say that I'm also kind of a loner? I also don't know why it's so hard for me to love someone either platonically or romantically. I guess it's because I'll never be good enough and I might be scared of attachment. I might have philophobia the fear of love but at the same time, I'm also scared of being alone. Wow, isn't that ironic? Sometimes I feel like the pain in my chest is getting too heavy, I feel like giving up... but then the only things that's keeping me sane are the fics that I write everyday. And another ironic thing: I keep giving people advice on things like not giving up on life and having faith that things will get better but I'm not so great at following my own advice. Then again, no one ever is

Sorry I dumped my feelings on you, I know some people might think I'm being over dramatic and making a big mountain out of a mole hill or I could be an attention seeker. But after writing this, I kinda feel half better and once again, damn... this thing was really long

This feels like my past self sent this to me lol. Anyways, anon I'm not really great at giving advice, and I'm not really good at expressing emotions either, and I'm 20 and in college, so I haven't got my shit figured out yet.

Look I know how stressful school and exams can become, and believe me, the older you grow, you're gonna have other kinds of stressful problems. But... I suppose the way I've dealt with pretty much any difficult situation, especially during exam season, is to talk to myself. And it honestly helps me figure out a lot of things in life, and also helps give myself reality checks and realise when I'm in the wrong. It's also very entertaining too. So, be your own therapist, your own motivator.

You know, I once failed a really big, important test- actually 3 exams. But even at that time, while I was sitting in the dark, listening to Renegade by Styx, I told myself: "This too shall pass." That no matter how bad things seem, bad situations don't last forever.

Now, worrying and stressing over your studies/school won't do anything. Whenever I feel like I'm about to breakdown, I clap my hands and then focus on palms, take deep breaths and tell myself "I got this." But as students we are bound to be burnout, so I recommend listening to music in the dark, taking a walk, or even reading some short story or something. We all need a little escape from reality, that's why fiction is my favourite genre.

I highly recommend that you take some days off from school or at least a break from studying, because in the longterm you'll study more this way. You may think that you would fall behind like this, say maybe by 20%? But you'd still be 80% prepared, and that's way better than not taking a break and falling behind by 30%.

You sound like a teen and let me tell you girl, you can literally do nothing to stop yourself from embarrassing yourself. Nothing. I cringe everytime I go to my Facebook and see the kind of teen I used to be🤮🤮🤮 I'm not like that anymore 😭 But important thing to remember is that everyone else is also constantly worried about embarrassing themselves, so they probably don't even remember what stupid thing you did.

Man just chill out a bit, like physically tell yourself to chill out when things start piling up. Like take a nap, listen to music, read some fics then get back to studying. Worry about relationships later, you got your whole life for that. Don't worry about what others are thinking, just focus on yourself.

U said u write fics? Anon, send the link🔪

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ushidoux · 4 years ago

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Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader (Pt. 5)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~1.6 words)

Warnings: angst, mention of kid and implied marriage.

A/N: We’re at the end here! I hope you’re okay with the way this ended, and if not... *shrug* LOLLLL, we can talk about it. Thanks for reading up to now!! <333 See you in my next fic!!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Iwaizumi returned late that evening to realize that you were nowhere to be found.

It shouldn’t have been this alarming for him to not see you hanging upside down off the edge of the couch watching tv, futzing around in the kitchen, maybe staring out off the small balcony or snuggled up under the covers.

But you were absent, and on top of everything, the sight of a dark home proved to be too much for him to handle. Moreover, the home hadn’t always really been his, had it? It was yours and Ushijima’s far before he’d even come into the picture.

He had just been filling a space, just as he’d promised you.

He checked his phone only to be further defeated by the lack of a text message to let him know you were going out. You always let him know.

Iwaizumi turned on his heels and went back to his car. The roads were clearer now and he needed to drive. He needed to go, somewhere. It didn’t matter where to.

Years pass.

“Hot cocoa, please!”

Your daughter collapsed in your arms as she made this request, having run in your direction from the opposite side of the sitting room. She grinned widely, her brownish-green eyes seeming to sparkle despite the low light of the room. She is truly the happiest child, you thought for a moment, smiling as you mussed her hair affectionately.

“Okay, baby, we can get some,” you agreed, pulling her close for a kiss on the forehead, because how could you say no to that pure joy on her face?

“Did you have fun with your new friends?” You asked, rising.

You’d been watching her for a while now, seated in an overstuffed armchair by a roaring fire, thankful to be insulated from the frigid winter weather (turned out the cold of Eastern Europe was an entirely different type of cold than you were used to). It was a pleasure to see her discharge energy, bouncing around the other little kids at the ski lodge resort you’d been residing at since this past weekend.

She nodded. “That’s why I’m gonna drink it really fast so we can play some more!”

You chuckled, and held her little hand tightly. At least someone was having fun.

You on the other hand had decided you hated skiing with a passion six hours into the vacation after spilling spectacularly more than enough times on one of the beginner slopes. Not wanting to ruin your husband’s fun, you’d convinced him to let you stay behind with your four-year-old so that she could socialize, you could have a break, and he could try one of the more exciting slopes.

Everyone won.

Well, sorta. He’d pouted as he set out on his own, and now you felt a little bad. Maybe you’d try again the next morning for him after you left your little one at a kids’ event.

“Is Daddy coming back soon?”

Your little princess’ legs swung excitedly as she sipped her hot cocoa with far too many marshmallows, just after you’d blown at it a little to make sure she didn’t burn herself.

“Daddy will join us soon,” you assured her, your own hands warm with a cup of tea.

---

“I’m sorry.”

Before you is a glass of water with too much lemon. You’re seated at a diner, the very diner where you’d first confessed your feelings for him, and he’s speaking to you but you barely hear him - all you hear is the rushing of blood in your temples.

Why now? What do you do with sorry after all this time?

Wakatoshi sees your expression and cracks a weary smile.

“I shouldn’t say that, should I? It’s too little, too late.”

He’s right but you don’t answer.

It’s weird to see him after all these years, seated just across from you as though you were on a date as usual. You can imagine a heaping stack of pancakes between you, covered in too much fruit and too much syrup and him chastising you before you force a berry into his mouth. You can imagine laughter. You can imagine gentle touches, kisses, hugs. You can imagine the words ‘I love you.’

Is that what he’s sorry for?

“To-... Wakatoshi, why did you message me?” You don’t mean to sound curt, but if you speak longer you feel as though your voice will give out.

He winces almost imperceptibly at the use of his full name. But he’s always been steadier than you, emotion-wise. At least you think so.

“I wish it had been different.”

“So do I,” you say, quickly before thinking. But you don’t really, do you?

There’s a man who loves you, possibly more than he loves himself, than he loves anything in the world. And if it weren’t for this, for Ushijima ‘releasing’ you, no matter how harshly, you wouldn’t have had the experience to be loved by him.

“I was wrong.”

He was. He was absolutely wrong. But what’s wrong and what’s right no longer matters. What matters is what is.

He pauses and sighs. You can see his hands now grip the end of the table as though to keep steady.

“Thank you for coming.”

There is another pause, one that is suddenly too great for you to handle, where you want to sigh but instead you draw in a double breath.

You’re embarrassed because you do not intend to cry. Not after all this. Not in front of him.

“You didn’t love me enough to compromise,” you end up sputtering out.

Your tears aren’t falling yet but your eyes swim and you blink them back furiously. “Why all this? Why now?”

He blinks once and you can see his fingers tighten around the edge of the booth, knuckles white.

“I was stupid then. I’m different now.”

The fact that his eyes are so sincere makes your heart wrench. You know that he doesn’t lie, he’s never felt a need to.

It’s a response that infuriates you but your anger is cool rather than hot and it’s diffuse, deafening and directionless. There’s no one to be mad at except the very fabric of time.

What do I do with this? What can I do?

Your heart settles, and you measure your next words carefully.

---

“Daddy!”

Your daughter’s eyes widened immediately as she saw him approach behind you, and in mere seconds, she jumped out of her chair to embrace her father, nearly knocking over her hot cocoa in the process. You managed to salvage it to your credit, and you turned in your chair to flash a teasing grin.

“How were the slopes?”

---

“There was once a time where I would have followed you anywhere if you asked me to. Maybe it was unhealthy, maybe it was naïve, but I truly loved you to that extent. I would have left everything behind if you asked.”

The solemn look he sports on his face, so stoic as a defense mechanism that it seems almost caricature-like, only confirms that he knew. He knew that every word you said was true, and yet...

“I thought it was the best decision at the time. I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Maybe he was right. That sort of reckless love, especially when not reciprocated in earnest could only result in pain.

His intentions were good. They were good. That’s what matters.

He had a reason.

----

Hajime frowned at you, which in turn made his little princess, now perched on his hip frown as well.

“Your mother’s not being very nice, now is she?” He murmured, as he approached, now settling her back in the chair across from you. “She didn’t even want to ski with me!”

His arms crossed over his chest as he stood beside you now, a pretend-grumpy look on his face.

Your four year-old gasped. “What?! Mommy’s mean? Are you a bully?”

“Hey!” You nudged Iwa in the ribs. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy! I’m coming with you tomorrow!”

To this, your husband’s eyes lit up, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, resting his chin on your head.

“You’d do that for me, my clumsy little penguin?” He whispered, just low enough that your little girl, who had now contented herself back to drinking her hot cocoa couldn’t hear.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“If you keep making fun of me, you’ll be on your own again, and possibly so for the rest of this vacation,” you grumbled back, but he laughed in earnest to your threat, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek before dragging the nearest chair towards your table to complete your circle.

“So what do my favorite girls want for dinner?”

---

When Ushijima’s hands finally relax, and he places them clasped together on the table, you find yourself reaching for them. It’s no longer a natural, intrinsic movement of the arm and hand, the way it was years ago when you always yearned for physical contact. It’s now measured and intentional.

You squeeze his hands and they feel different. They’re larger, colder, rougher than Iwa’s are. It’s not a bad thing; just not the same. You can imagine that intertwining your fingers with his would feel imperfect, maybe even wrong.

You’ve changed. And he’s changed.

“Wakatoshi…”

You pause, and your hands linger.

It’s hard to look in his eyes when you say this, but you do anyway. Their eyes are almost the same color, but Iwa’s are greener. An old idiom comes to mind and you banish it from your mind.

“You will always be my first love, but Hajime will be my last one.”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwa x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #tw angst #tw breakup #series: be my last #mae.writing

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mitts2002 · 4 years ago

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Hate that I love you

Hii this fic is inspired by neyo and rihannas song "hate that I love you" if you haven't heard it I reccomend it's one of my favourites. In this oneshot reader is a normal human who was born with the gift to see curses and can't accept the fact that maybe she's fallen for one~

(Y/N) paced around her room silently spitting all sorts of cusses towards herself. 'How stupid can I be!?' She thought as she looked down at the contact in her phone Choso displayed in bold writing.

'You can't do this (Y/N) he's half curse you fool how is this ever gonna work!' You screamed in your own head tears pricking at your eyes.

Earlier today choso had finally confessed his undying love for you and asked if you were willing to spend your time with him. His gentle smile and large hands held your own hope being the only thing displayed in his eyes.

'I can't believe you told him you needed time to think what if he doesn't want you now! No wait he shouldn't want me anyways were not meant to be AH I DONT FUCKING KNOW ANYMORE' You gripped your hair rolling all over your bed in frustration before hearing a knock at the door.

'Oh lord it's too late to be anyone else it must be him! But I can't figure this out when he's here one look and I know I'll agree to anything the man wants' You groaned slamming your head on your pillow before walking up to the door to answer.

Choso stood before you raindrops dripping off his beautiful spikey buns and a little bag in his hands. "I know you probably wanted space but when you stress you forget about everything else so I had a feeling you hadn't ate" he mumbled handing you the bag cheeks flushed with embarrassment...or maybe it was the cold you couldn't really tell.

"Thanks" you responded plainly grabbing the bag and pulling him inside.

'I HATE THIS MAN LOOK HOW DAMN THOUGHTFUL HE IS' your inner voice screamed like a madman as you set the food onto the table suddenly realising you hadn't ate.

"You don't have to give me your answer now I just wanted to check up on you and don't feel pressured to say yes I get that I'm half curse and you'd probably want a human" his deep voice rumbled through your spine yet the words he spoke causing you to feel unexpected rage.

"NO choso anyone would be blessed to have you I mean you're so much better than most humans anyways" you defended yet mentally slapped yourself.

'If he's so much better than humans you idiot then why is this decision even that difficult for you to make?' The inner voice once again spoke constantly contradicting itself and confusing poor (Y/N).

"Thank you I'm sure whoever you end up with up with is also blessed to have such an compassionate partner" Choso gave a small smile as if to say he knew he lost this battle yet his words always heartfelt and honest.

The entire night you spent filled with constant inner turmoil and yelling had finally caused you to snap once you looked at chosos sad smile. Water escaped your tired eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you ran into Chosos loving arms.

"I'm sorry I'm so stupid" you cried as Choso held you in his embrace and rubbed your back soothingly. After all he wasn't a man of many words.

"I know I shouldn't love you but I do! I hate that I love you Choso and I know I'll never stop" you let out all your emotions in this little outburst never wanting to leave from chosos hug.

"I'll come with you Choso, I know I'll never be able to be happy if I leave you now. I'd probably end up hating myself more than my hatred for how much I fucking love you" (Y/N) whispered after her cries finally calmed down, all that could be heard was the rain hitting the window as the new couple sighed in relief.

"Come on Choso let's eat now I'm starving" you spoke softly wanting nothing more than to eat your favourite food with your favourite person. Whether he was half curse or half human didn't matter anymore. He was Choso and that's all you could care about in this moment.

#choso #choso x reader #jjk fluff #jjk choso #jujustu kaisen #kamo choso #choso jujutsu kaisen

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suntrastar · 4 years ago

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sink or swim

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

summary: you first meet ransom when meg drags you along to a party. everything somehow spirals from there.

warnings: swearing, smut (but like very vague smut, nothing super explicit), ransom’s general assholery

word count: 9.3k

author’s note: i hate ransom drysdale! he is a shit character! if he existed irl i would whoop his ass with NO hesitation. but i still wrote this fic because ... a bitch gets thirsty okay?? okay. and ik this is very long BUT a lot of it is dialogue so it should flow pretty fast!!! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!! ily now enjoy!!! you can also read this on ao3 :)

There’s something fun about being somewhere where no one wants you, and then something shameful.

Meg isn’t touching you, but as she drags you around her famous grandfather’s mansion in search of people to bother, it feels like she has you on an invisible leash, fastened tight over your neck. To keep you tethered to her- like a fucking dog.

The leash hurts like it is not made of plastic or metal but instead two hands squeezing tight, wringing you dry, choking you harder and harder and bruising you purple with no remorse.

Now, she’s debating political theory with her douchebag fuck of an uncle, who almost hits you once- almost hits you twice with his cane while waving it around as he quotes Fox News-

Their voices rise. You’re the only one that flinches.

Standing awkwardly on the edge, you wonder why you are the only guest at this terrible party that looks so lost. Meg gives you a covert this-is-total-bullshit glance, and a small, pained, rehearsed smile, both of which you have to return- that’s the real reason you’re here, after all- and her uncle rants on, wholly oblivious.

You look past them both, to where one man stands by himself.

He’s leaning against the far wall, and while Meg retaliates with some of her favorite words, including audacity and bigoted and problematic, you take a sudden, intense interest in the wallpaper pattern, sweeping your eyes over the span of it, looking over the man just once.

He is staring right back at you.

All it takes is his eyes- he’s just staring, but you’re absolutely embarrassed.

He looks rich, with too much product in his hair and a coat that looks like it cost more than your rent, with loafers that expose an uncomfortable amount of ankle and an expression that morphs into something wolfish as he starts towards you-

Before you can think, he’s joined your little circle- Meg prefers standing, so of course, everyone stands- and smiles when she glares at him.

He isn’t looking at you anymore.

“So,” he interrupts, and his voice is so dark, “what riveting political topic are we debating tonight?”

You should call an Uber. Why did you accept Meg’s offer of a ride?

“Ransom,” Meg says sweetly, “could you just, like, fucking not?”

This is supposed to be a Christmas party, but none of these people seem to be in the Christmas spirit. Including her uncle, with his stuffy sweater set and clunky-as-hell shoes. He sputters something about young people and their profanity, and then hastily leaves.

Without thinking, you breathe out a heavy sigh of relief.

The man smiles wider. Unfortunately, it makes him look very handsome.

”Ouch,” he says lightly, to Meg, and turns to you.

A shiver runs down your spine.

You hate him immediately.

“Who are you?” he asks.

For whatever reason, the question makes Meg scoff. She shakes her head at you- a warning. Her hair flounces with the movement.

Because she doesn’t want you to, you give him your name. And then add, because your name alone seems like a title too stripped down, “I’m Meg’s friend.”

It’s hard to convince yourself to be polite, when you don’t like how he’s been looking at you- with his eyes narrowed and brown furrowed and lips parted. He gives an insufferable nod.

“Right,” he says. “The one she’s been showing off all evening.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Ransom-” Meg starts, and suddenly you are so angry, at this man for confirming what you thought was all in your head, at Meg for suddenly swooping in to save you, like she’s been waiting for it-

“I guess,” you say, and smile a little, and regret everything.

“That’s pathetic,” he says, and looks at you kindly.

Apparently, Meg is the only one allowed to be self-righteous in her annoyance, or anger, or any other mildly passionate emotion. She doesn’t return your covert this-is-total-bullshit glance.

So you fend for yourself.

“Well, so is this fucking party, so-”

He interrupts you with a laugh.

It’s loud and arrogant and mirthless, and you’ll climb out of a window, find a way to walk through the walls, if it means that you’ll escape it.

“I’m just joking,” he says, pursing his lips, and the hands on your neck, ever-present, nearly crush the breath out of you. “Don’t get your panties all in a twist.”

“So funny I forgot to laugh,” you say, and instead of replying, he just looks at you.

He looks at you slowly, like he has nothing better to do, like he has time to waste. You can smell him- some cologne that’s spicy, and expensive, and Meg is staring at you in shock, like you’ve committed a crime.

But she’s quiet.

“I’m Ransom,” he says, and raises his hands to make little air quotes, which is weirdly adorable in a way that you hate, “Meg’s ‘asshole cousin’”

“Weird name,” you say.

You’ve changed your mind- you’re not even going to attempt to be nice.

For a second, he looks furious.

It’s attractive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Anyways, I’m about to ditch. Do you want a ride?”

How does he know you came here with Meg?

He was staring at you from the wall-

From his butterscotch-colored coat with its awful, ostensible lapels, he pulls out his car keys. The BMW logo flashes silver and blue, clashing against the gold of his pinky ring, clinking against the metal as he twirls the key ring around his finger-

For a second, you think that he’s about to toss the keys across the room and command you to fetch.

“Um,” you say, uncertainly, irritated with your own restraint, “Thanks, but Meg will-”

“Meg will what?”

He’s mocking you, and there is no one to come to your rescue.

Hesitantly, like she has to think twice about it, Meg opens her mouth to say something. What is her problem? What is your problem? Why are you treating her like she is your saving grace?

You talk before she gets the chance. “Okay, yeah. A ride would be great.”

***

Ransom offers because he likes your face.

You’re better-looking than the girls that Meg usually brings along to these parties, or maybe his standards have fallen- he isn't sure. Does it really matter? Even though he’s been looking at you all night, even though he’s positively thrilled to have you in his car, he’s not going to try anything.

There’s something desperate in your eyes that compels him against it.

You inhale sharply when he turns left.

“You forgot your turn signal,” you say, and he kind of likes how you chastise him, not angrily or even upset, but just exasperated-

How is someone like you friends with someone like Meg?

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly, and the tired glare you give him is enough to make his entire week.

Now that he thinks about it, his mother is always on his case about things like this- compassion and civility and basic human decency, and how he lacks it all, but what about now? He’s taking a miserable girl to her home, simply from the goodness of his own heart, with no strings attached.

This is such a good deed- this is like charity.

His mother is also always telling him that he’s severely, almost clinically narcissistic.

He definitely is, but again, does it matter?

“So, what do you think about my family?” he asks, making a big, dramatic show of using his turn signal before swerving right, feeling too pleased when you smile.

He steals a glance at your knees and somehow feels guilty.

He’ll have to do something about that.

“They’re pretty... lively,” you say hesitantly, and he’s suddenly hating the dark, this stupid fucking night- he’d like to see you better.

“Lively,” he repeats, and barks out a laugh. “They’re fucking crazy.”

You laugh, too, a real one- off-kilter, and too loud- none of that artificial shit he heard at the party. Nothing meant to please.

“I was definitely thinking that,” you say. He catches you looking at his hands, but boldly, you don’t look away. “I just didn’t want to be rude.”

“Now you’re worried about being rude?”

“I’m in a car with a strange guy I’ve never met before, so yeah.”

You’re smiling but look uncomfortable, and then afraid.

All bark and no bite- you’ve been talking all this talk, when really, he realizes, you’re so washed-out, so faint, like the bare sliver of moon out in the sky, the same weak moon he’s been cursing out. The same stars, too- you are just as scattered.

You look pretty.

“Are you scared?”

He keeps his eyes on the road because he thinks you’ll snap at him if he doesn’t. Not like anyone drives out here anyway- not like he can’t pay off a ticket or two or five-

“Should I be?”

There is something so delicious about this moment, with you starting to worry- he can’t look at the road anymore, not when he can watch your throat bob as you swallow instead, and it still feels so violating, but so good.

“Nope,” he says, and you startle when you hear him say it, and he has to bite his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “No need.”

“Great,” you say, and go quiet.

When he pulls up to your apartment complex, not too far from where he lives, he holds his mouth in check. He could say so many things right now, but for you, he restrains himself.

You have your bag in hand, seatbelt off. From the streetlight, the planes of your face look waxy yellow.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say.

Your hand is on the door handle, nails glittering. He can’t make out the color of the polish.

While looking at it, a sudden urge overcomes him.

And he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he wants to, so bad. It’s borderline frantic, the desire- it’s necessary and all-important and crucial, for him and his basic peace of mind, and maybe for you, too-

Who is he to deny himself?

“Wait,” he says, even though the door is open and you have half of yourself out the door.

The cold is slowly seeping in, bone-chilling.

You wait.

“Let me just,” he says, and can’t bring himself to say anything else.

He reaches out for your waxen face with one hand and presses it firmly against your cheek.

Under his touch, you shiver. He fans out his fingers to hold you better.

Your eyes are wide. He thinks you look a bit horrified- horrified with yourself for not resisting, maybe.

But he closes his eyes as he leans in, so it doesn’t matter.

He turns your head for you, a bit forcefully. You don’t protest.

He kisses your cheek.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, you’re staring at him with your mouth in a perfect circle.

“Uh,” you say, and suddenly look away and out into the night, and it makes him angry, even though it should be flattering, “Merry Christmas.”

***

You don’t think about Ransom as much as he probably would have wanted- life picks up too fast.

In the last days of the year, Meg calls you and texts you and even goes so far as to send a few emails, but finally, you seem to have found the self-respect to not respond- consider that ridiculously wealthy bridge burned.

In January, your brother leaves to study for a semester abroad. All the walls in your small apartment are suddenly looming, standing high over you, standing empty. You try to shove off the loneliness by studying harder, by staying distracted.

In February, you have the same dream nearly every night- you’re sitting outside on a porch in the sun and for some reason there’s a bird on your head, and in your lap there’s a clock whose hands don’t work, and you’re wearing a heavy necklace made of gold links that jingle, and you’re so happy.

Does the bird count as company?

In early March, while you’re watering your plants, your phone rings with an unknown number.

You shouldn’t pick up unknown numbers.

You pick up.

“Hello?”

“Remember me?”

His voice nearly gives you whiplash.

It’s dark and harsh, faceless and yet as arrogant as ever.

“Hi, Ransom,” you say, and think of the night in the car for the first time since, think of how he gripped your face so hard that his ring left an imprint. “How the hell do you have my number?”

“Meg gave it to me,” he says smugly. “She says hi.”

You wonder what Meg thinks you did to her. It’s obviously something bad, something terrible, if she so willingly gave your number to this pretty-faced, pretty-voiced, ugly-coat-wearing asshole-

“Awesome,” you say plainly. You don’t want to talk about her. “Do you, like, need something, or-”

“I want to take you out,” he says.

You laugh and your grip on your pitcher slips, sloshing water over the edge.

“You’re joking.”

He is, right?

He takes an impatient breath that, for some reason, sounds inappropriate. “I’m serious.”

“Ransom,” you say, slowly, “I don’t even know you.”

“Then get to know me,” he says testily, and you can perfectly picture him, sitting in some colossal brownstone his parents bought him, while a butler daintily dabs the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. “Tonight.”

You’ve overwatered your marigolds.

Has his voice really swept you this far away?

“No,” you say, and shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “No fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “You have anything better to do?”

You don’t, but you take a deep breath and prepare yourself to lie-

“I’ll treat you good,” he suddenly says, and his voice is low and sticky-sweet, dripping with honey. “I promise.”

He says it in a way that makes your knees weak.

You physically have to sit down- he knows how to get what he wants.

Could you actually do this?

Could you go out on a date with a crude, pretentious, trust-fund piece of trash, who probably thinks you’re easy, who’s only calling you because he’s bored, who has already subtly insulted you twice in this conversation alone-

-who got your number from his cousin that you both decidedly dislike, who kissed your cheek like you were pretty in the dark of the night, in his cold car?

“Fine,” you say. “Take me out.”

***

He doesn’t tell you that you look nice- he just stares.

There is something predatory in his eyes.

You’re out on a Wednesday night with a bad man, wasting your time, trying to get something out of nothing, smiling a fake smile when he orders you a drink you don’t like, already irritated with him, and trying too hard to stop looking at his face.

How are you actually interested?

You tell him that you’re in medical school.

“Really,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you. “You don’t strike me as that kind of girl.”

Underneath the table, you clench your hands for some sense of control, but still feel like you’re spinning. “What kind of girl?”

“Smart,” he says, and picks up his drink. The glass sweats beads of condensation, wetting the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t know you were smart.”

You shouldn’t dignify his flimsy insult with a response- he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, trying to make you roll your eyes or scowl or shiver. He wants you unsettled.

But the moral high ground is, unfortunately, too high.

“And I didn’t know that you’re such a terrible date.”

His teeth gleam white when he smiles. He knows.

He knows that he can say whatever the hell he wants, because he has money, and those eyes, and that insufferably nice rich-boy hair, and that sweater with its charmingly frayed hems, and that voice- he has everything, and then some, and he’s about to have you, too, if he keeps on looking at you like he already does.

“You’re so sweet,” he says.

“Fuck off.”

He winks and you could cry, you’re so fucking bothered-

You’re not usually this uptight, but he has you so drastically wound up that every little thing he does, even how he’s sitting- body sprawled, manspreading- is fire licking up on your skin, scorching-hot and ruining you with no remorse, like you have done something to deserve it.

When his eyes trail down, from your eyes to your mouth to your neck to below, you are so acutely aware of wanting him that you feel guilty. Like it’s a crime.

***

You don’t seem like the type of girl to fuck on the first date.

So, of course, Ransom tries to fuck on the first date.

As you stand outside the restaurant, in your dress and strappy sandals, you look so tense that he wants to laugh.

He can’t help it, because this whole thing you have going on- this weariness you approach everything with, this attitude- is so funny. Maybe, in any other situation, it would be irritating, but he’s been so bored lately that it’s stirring.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” he asks, quietly, taking a step closer to you so that at this very moment, under the waning sun, you should be able to just lean up and kiss him-

You blink slowly and keep your silence.

This is fucking tedious.

This should be so easy- all he has to do is settle his hands somewhere soft and let time pass, and then before he knows it you’re there and under and begging. But he can’t bring himself to touch you just yet, not when his head is calling you pathetic, and his heart calls you-

His heart just calls you.

You start to answer, and then hesitate. All five stages of grief flicker over your face at once- denial to acceptance in the same breath.

“Sure,” you say, unevenly, desperately-

When you step inside his house, your eyes go wide. As you take it in- the decor, the windows, the excess, he locks the door behind him and takes you in.

You step further inside, and he thinks of where it would be best, but then your eyes crease as you smile- it’s impossible to wait when your smile looks like that- and so he backs you right into the closest wall, cups your face with both of his hands and kisses you.

He kisses you and you curl your hands over his shoulders and immediately kiss back, and he is taken aback and delighted.

And he knew- the entire time at dinner when you were making eyes at him like you couldn’t believe that you were actually sitting there, present in that moment- he knew that secretly, you’re a freak. He knew it- he knows it.

He hopes it.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispers, right into your mouth, when your heart has been beating right into his for a while, “Let me fuck you right here.”

You bite his lip.

He takes a hand away from your face and reaches under your dress fast, rucking it all the way up your thighs, trailing up to touch you-

“Fuck,” you gasp, and arch your back up against the wall, and he grips you a little tighter-

He presses a finger into you- pushing aside your underwear and, good grief, you’re already wet- harshly, and pulls away from your mouth, so he can watch your face.

The lines creasing your forehead look like poetry.

He thinks he likes you. It’s a shame he had to meet you through Meg- it would be nice if he had met you somewhere else, on his own.

That way, he’d be able to waltz in one day, to another insipid family gathering, with you tucked under his arm. You, with your promise of a medical degree and your strappy sandals, and your iron grip on his shoulders and your drawn out breath of a moan-

The looks on their faces would be priceless.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and he’s a little irritated at how cracked his voice sounds, but it’s the right thing to say- you swear again and he picks up his pace, pressing hard on your clit. “If you’ll be good to me.”

“I’ll-” you say, and you’re actually stuttering, and breaking out into a lovely sweat, still forced back into the wall with his hand and body. He leans closer, so he can’t tell where you and him and the wall start and end. “I’ll be- fuck, Ransom-”

You still have your arms wrapped around him, like an embrace. He keeps one hand between your thighs, your dress pooling over his arm like water, and uses his other to work at his belt buckle.

This is also funny- you stay exactly how you are, even though at that moment, there is nothing holding you back.

***

The world is begging for you to consider your actions.

But you don’t. You know that when he offers, you’ll meet him again.

It should be too late. You’re exhausted, from a day full of lectures and an evening spent in a lab, working as a professor’s research assistant, and then studying for a few hours in the library- all you really want to do is sleep.

But then he calls.

The night is suddenly brimming with possibility, and you’ve never been more awake.

On a whim, Ransom suggests ice cream, and because you can’t bring yourself to deny him, you end up at a place that you would never go for- where everything is handmade and served in thick paper cups with multicolored plastic spoons, but he pays, because of his stupid ego or fragile masculinity or whatever the hell, so you don’t care.

He stands next to you as you order, and his shoulder keeps on brushing into yours. You can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. In the glass shield that the tubs of ice cream sit behind, you’re both reflected, your body warped and tall, his body warped and taller. In the glass, his eyes meet yours.

The tension is strong- it’s only a matter of time.

Your heart flutters.

When you sit, he bumps his knees against yours- you’re sure it’s on purpose, now, but you don’t say anything. What even is there to say?

That you like it?

When he digs into his ice cream, the plastic spoon- a green one- snaps in his hand.

And because you’re so caught up in your own ridiculous thoughts, before he can go back up to get another, you pull your own from your mouth- a pink one- and offer it to him.

The proposition makes him smile.

Why does he smile like that? Each movement, each twitch of muscle is so perfectly detached and coordinated- it’s violent.

But he still takes the spoon from you gently, with a soft hand.

He’s too pretty to be mean, you think, but against any type of judgement- not just the better kind- you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You let yourself laugh and he scowls.

“This place sucks,” he says, like he isn’t the one who chose it.

He adjusts the womens’ scarf he’s always wearing, carefully arranging it over himself so it looks like it was carelessly thrown on. The blue in the paisley print brings out his eyes- it makes him look so stupidly hot that you start to get angry.

You just shrug. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

He puts your spoon in his mouth and looks at you.

Again, the night ends at his place- this time on an actual bed, because you ask for it, and you think he likes how you look when you ask for things in the current state state you’re in-

He fucks you in the dark, and swears into your ear, and is not kind or soft in any way, but after he finishes, he takes the time to kiss the spot in between your breasts, and you think that maybe he isn’t entirely horrible. The bedsheets are cool against your skin, and his mouth is always hot.

You leave without a word.

***

He takes you out this time, in a real, urgent show of wealth- he picks you up in his fancy car, takes you to a fancy restaurant where the numbers next to the fancy menu items are all appalling, where he spends the whole time making these awful, unfunny innuendos that still manage to rile you up, because they’re coming from his mouth-

On the way back, while waiting at a stoplight, you take a deep breath and brace yourself before looking at him.

He really is gorgeous- all lazy grace and harsh angles. The light colors his face red, red in his eyes and in the plane of his cheekbone and in the slope of his mouth- like a beautiful warning sign. His hands are carelessly draped over the steering wheel and, despite the warning, you reach out and trace a finger over his knuckles.

His whole body jerks.

You quickly draw your hand back.

“What?” he asks sharply. He’s staring at you like you’re crazy.

You don’t know why this is suddenly so fucking embarrassing, all you did was touch him- but you suddenly feel terrible, and-

“Nothing,” you say, with the same tone, and whip your head away from him to the window, where you smolder in the dark and furiously stare at nothing.

The light turns green. He takes his foot off the break and all but slams it on the gas pedal, driving as atrociously as ever, looking over at you for a split second when you don’t protest. The blood rushing in your ears is too loud for you to think- you can’t form any words.

Once it subsides, marginally, you add, “Sorry.”

His jaw tenses.

You look back over at him, at his ring, and imagine it pressing into your neck.

��What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” he suddenly asks- suddenly demands, with a blazing authority that makes your stomach do flips.

You don’t know what answer he wants. “Um, one time I snuck out of-“

“Let’s do something crazier.”

On an abandoned road, he pulls over, and then you’re under him in the backseat- doing something crazier.

You might have some type of psychic tendencies, because his ring presses heavy into your neck as he pushes himself inside you, starting at a bruising pace, and then he says your name in the dark, and he looks so beautifully flushed, startling when you grab his hair, laughing when your hand accidentally skims his thigh, smiling when you come-

You wish you had the resolve to put an end to this.

You wish you could stay when it’s over.

***

You don’t like his house.

It’s not the brownstone you imagined, but rather a huge, minimalistic box, with too many windows and spotless paint and modern wood fixtures. Ransom has all of these customary rich-person things, including stately furniture and eclectic art pieces and tall shelves stuffed with books, but owning any actual personality has escaped him.

Standing in his house feels like standing in an empty room- it’s all so apathetic.

Still, you show up when he calls.

You haven’t done anything this bad before.

But there’s a first time for everything, right? First time for enjoying bruises and biting and an unwavering grip on your neck or hips or waist or thighs, first time leaving something so intense so awkwardly.

Each time is worse than the last, with the awkwardness spiraling, accruing beyond reason, and each time you struggle with what to say- even now, you just do your best to stay quiet as you start to get up, reaching for your clothes-

Ransom drapes a heavy arm over you before you have the chance.

“You can stay,” he says flippantly, and then shifts to pull you close to him, so that you are suddenly lying bare-backed against his chest, so that his sweat-slick body and heartbeat imprints itself on your skin.

Is he asking?

You crane your head over your shoulder to get a look at him.

He returns your stare like he’s been waiting for it.

His face is still flushed pink and a lock of hair hangs low over his forehead, and if you were any braver, you would comb a hand through it, gently, with no real intentions. He’s breathtaking. Even the new, foreign purple under his eyes is a sight- pretty like something you would want to kiss.

“You want me to stay?”

He rolls his eyes and tilts his head back. You would lick the sweat from the divots of his neck, if he asked you to.

“Or leave, if you want. I could care less.”

He cares

You know it because his grip is unwavering, because the terseness in his eyes is enough to make you look away.

Eventually, you settle a hand over his arm and try your best not to tremble. Ransom mumbles something under your breath- you can’t make any of it out, but you don’t ask him to repeat it, for the fear that it’ll upset this fragile bedroom balance you’ve so painstakingly built yourself into-

He wants you to stay.

“Are you okay?” you ask, because you don’t think he is.

He inhales. You feel his chest against you; it’s shaky. You wonder, for a second, about who he might actually be, underneath the arrogance and egotism and constant need to be an asshole- is he someone you could like without feeling bad about it?

“Yeah,” he says, and throws his other arm over you, so that he is holding you. “Why?”

There isn’t a genuine bone in this man’s body, but he genuinely sounds confused.

It’s possible that you’re the one who isn’t okay.

“Because,” you say, and take a great leap of faith- holding your bare heart in your hands, you turn to face him.

You’re fully exposed and subjected to his gaze- it’s nearly eviscerating. His eyes dip down to your chest and something like insecurity flares in your chest. It’s awful and terrible and you urgently want to kiss him on the lips.

He always kisses you first. You don’t know if you have it in you to kiss him yet.

You wouldn’t ever try, in case you don’t.

“You look kind of tired,” you say, and his eyes bore into you with a sinking weight, threatening to drown. One of his hands finds a blooming bruise on your skin and lightly presses. He doesn’t react when you wince. The action is still kind- almost tender.

He sighs, and it is such a delicate breath, fanning hot over your skin.

“I’m not tired,” he says, almost childishly.

You might be overstepping. But you don’t even know where the lines have been drawn.

“Okay,” you say, and because you would not dare kiss his lips, you lean close and kiss his jaw instead.

He startles and then gives you a crooked, lazy smile. He is everything good, you think- for this one moment. Pretty and soft-handed and made of glass and honey and all other lovely things.

You tuck your head in the crook of his neck and wrap an arm over his, tight, so he knows you are there, and hope for the best.

***

In your spare moments, you’re always thinking.

Ransom knows this because of how you look when you do it- your brow furrows and your eyes go glassy, and you frown with an intensity that he has never seen on anyone else.

It happens when you finish a sentence, when you have no response for him, when he is still talking but you’ve stopped listening. When you think it’s quiet.

It never happens during sex- is it pathetic to take pride in that?

As he stands in your apartment for the first time ever, you look like you’re in near-despair, like your thoughts are wreaking havoc on your mind, destructive and distressing. You wear basketball shorts and a college sweatshirt and glasses.

He didn’t know you wore glasses, and that you looked like this in them- he’s been missing out.

“Hi,” you say, and stare at him with troubled eyes.

Your apartment is so small. He almost feels claustrophobic, standing in here. When was the last time he willingly stood somewhere so small?

The lengths he’ll go to, for…

For you, he supposes.

“Hi,” he says, and wonders, also for the first time ever, what it is that you’re always thinking. “Why do you have so many plants?”

On the windowsill, with even spacing in between, sits an entire row of glass jars housing plants- all singular flower stems, some budding, some in bloom. The petals of a marigold brush against the window, orange against the grey outside. It’s cute, he absently thinks, in a struggling, shabby type of way.

“It’s just something I do for fun,” you say, sounding irritated. “Like, a hobby.”

Infringing on the living room space is a small table, cluttered with textbooks and pens and an open laptop with its screen dark.

It still baffles him that you’re smart.

“So,” you start, and cross your arms over your chest. He feels kind of offended, because he’s just realized that he really only knows a handful of things about you, and even that handful is sparse, slipping through his fingers. “Why’d you want to see me?”

He called on impulse.

He’s just- he’s in what someone could call a mood, where he hates everything and has the intense desire to ruin something, and while he was thinking of how to fix it- beyond just getting wasted- he thought of you.

And when he called, you were sounding so tired and so he even said he could just meet you here, so you wouldn’t have to drive, so you could squeeze in a few more minutes of studying before he inevitably invades your mind-

Easily, he deflects. Nearby, there’s a hallway with two doors, one of which is tightly closed shut.

“What’s in there?” he asks, and points towards it.

You relax, slightly.

He wants to gather you up in his arms, but he doesn’t know for whose sake- his or yours?

“That’s my brother’s room,” you say, and your shoulders slump, and he resists the urge to pull you upright, and the urge to gawk. Brother? “He lives with me. But he’s studying abroad this semester.”

“Where?”

“Prague.”

He nods. This is a stiff, perfect, shocking distraction. “Nice city.”

You nod distantly and head back to the table to put your things away.

“Yeah,” you say, after too long of a pause, as you start to cap pens and set them aside. You look at him as you do it, and so you miss a few times, accidentally drawing dark lines of ink all over your fingers. “I’m glad he got to go. When we were kids, he was obsessed with wanting to travel- he had this entire map in our room, and he would draw stars over every country he wanted to visit, and there were, like, a hundred of them, and he could list every single one, in the exact order he wanted to visit, and he could even list the capitals- I’m sorry. You probably don’t care about any of this.”

He doesn’t.

Or, he shouldn’t, but your eyes are clearer, and as you neatly stack your textbooks in an order only known to you, he is almost intrigued.

He’s longing for you- when you are right there.

He feels like a person outside of himself, when you look at him and smile tiredly.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

There’s a cheesy ‘90s horror movie you find after a few minutes of channel surfing, complete with terrible special effects and edited-out profanity. The days are longer, now, and to stop the sun from casting a glare over the screen, you close all the blinds. It adds to the atmosphere, you say lightly, fully phased out of whatever just possessed you, and his hands are so itchy- itching to do something.

He sits. Patience is a virtue, but he is not virtuous, and so when you sit next to him and bring your knees to your chest, making yourself small, he goes to-

Something in his stomach stops him.

It’s butterflies- is he actually nervous?

This is so fucking infuriating.

You’ve got him trapped in some type of pain-and-power-play, some type of unassuming purgatory, and all he can bring himself to do is lightly brush a hand against your shoulder. You smile at his touch and his heart fucking breaks.

As the second boy in the friend group gets murdered onscreen, you close your eyes and duck your head into your knees.

“Tell me when it’s over,” you say, voice muffled.

“Scaredy-cat,” he says, even though this is no time for jokes.

You crack one eye open, looking only at him, and give him the finger.

Come here, he almost demands. The butterflies protest- he holds his tongue.

The dance continues. When the sun sets, everything darkens, settling into a dim blue. You look like something out of a painting. Faintly sad, unusually serene. The skin around your eyes has smoothened- you’ve stopped thinking so hard and he can suddenly breathe easier because of it-

And then there’s a jumpscare, and he shouts, “Jesus!”

The murderer has broken down a door, and all of the remaining characters are screaming, and you burst out laughing.

He’s in the middle of a crisis, and you’re laughing.

You lean into him as you laugh, with your head turned away from the screen and your eyes open, looking at him so fondly that he suddenly feels violated, and you let your shoulder brush against his.

“Scaredy-cat” you tease, and it’s absolutely now or never-

You’re making him weak- it takes too much time and effort for him to draw an arm over you.

You don’t flinch, but he is sure that you can hear his heart beating dangerously fast, without abandon, like it's trying to break free of his ribcage. He almost gasps when you come even closer and lightly kiss his cheek, wrapping your arms around him, and his head is just saying yes yes yes-

Your mouth goes over his ear, lips ghosting over skin. He waits, more scared than he’s ever been in his entire life, for what you have to say.

***

So this is Ransom’s deep, dark, ugly secret.

He likes to be cuddled.

If it were anyone else, you would laugh.

But it’s Ransom, and so you just take it in stride, as part of his extremely fucked-up psyche that is probably a result of a hundred things he’ll never tell you- childhood trauma and neglect and the consequences that come with having more money than you need or deserve.

He’s always talking, always talking shit, always talking over you and over everyone else, and you realize, one day, that he really only is treading water- he’s only focused on staying afloat, speaking whatever he wants, but never actually saying anything.

He’s responsible for his faults, of course. But still, when he smiles in low light or curls his hands over yours so viciously, you don’t know if you should leave, or if you should just stay and pity him quietly.

You’re starting to like him too much to even care.

He starts coming around more. And he actually stays, and starts leaving pieces of himself behind. He has a toothbrush next to yours and a phone charger on his side of the bed and imported, undoubtedly expensive snacks in the kitchen.

He leaves clothes, too- you wash them with yours and keep them, neatly folded, in your closet.

On a warm day in May, he meets you at a cafe.

He does most of the talking, like always. It’s been months, already, but you still find it difficult to start conversations.

You still have trouble telling him certain things without feeling like you have to defend yourself, and he still rarely deviates from being a total dick, even when you hold him or have his head in your lap, when you make him laugh or when you kiss him.

Or when you put your hands in the sleeves of his sweaters and rub your palms against his forearms, because he’s always running warm and your hands are always cold.

He always acts like it annoys him, jumps when your hands meet his skin- but you know he secretly likes it, because whenever you’re done he pulls the hems all the way over his hands and looks at you with something amazed in his eyes.

With the weather warming up, he’s ditched the sweaters and taken to wearing these awful fucking short-sleeved button-downs, all unnecessarily tight and showing way too much collarbone. He’s making you sweat.

“You’re staring,” he says, and smiles, self-satisfied.

You bring your straw to your lips and shake your head. “I’m not.”

He knows that you can’t help it- he is always so gorgeous. He’s infuriatingly pretty.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, and nudges your foot under the table, voice suddenly low, and it’s like, holy shit-

You bring your drink down and lean over the table, careful to avoid knocking anything over, and kiss him quickly.

He tastes like bitter coffee.

You’re sad, all of a sudden.

When you settle back in your seat, you clear your throat like nothing happened. You want to lean in again and button up the rest of his shirt, and kiss him again. You want to come so close that your noses touch, and then yell at him, just for being him.

He looks appalled

“What was that for?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever done this.

“No reason,” you say. “I just felt like it.”

“You just felt like it,” he repeats, and it’s like the same reaction from the night at the stoplight, and you realize-

He’s dumbstruck.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it disappears. He sets his jaw like he’s about to get up and leave. You try not to scowl, even though you feel like you’re drifting, tide carrying you away, sand clean and smooth on where your body once was-

It gets to you.

“Can I not just kiss you?” you snap harshly, glaring at him with a ferocity you don’t think he’s ever seen.

It’s inevitable- the result of months of frustration. You can only suppress yourself for so long. Why, you want to ask, why are you not entitled to him the way he is to you and everything else? Can you not ask for him so wholly?

He flinches.

Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire, flinches.

It brings a small sliver of satisfaction with it. There’s some nerve you’ve struck, and the discontent on his face is steadily growing-

You pay it no mind, drinking the rest of your iced coffee in calm silence.

Outside, the day is vaguely summery, where the sun is out and strong, but still too cold in the shade. You stare past his head, towards the door. How quickly can you leave?

“You can,” he says quietly, when you’re rising to throw your cup in the trash. “Whenever you want.”

His eyelashes are so long- they command a moment of attention all on their own when he blinks- soft and slow and gazing at you from underneath them. You wonder if he is doing this for the same reason you are. If he’s lonely, too.

When was the last time you had the dream with the bird?

You smirk. “Whenever?”

He is forlorn.

You like him better in the spring.

“Whenever.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you say, and make your voice low, since two can play at that game.

He considerably perks up.

***

When you wake up, he’s still in your bed.

Lately, he’s been spending more time at your place than his. You think that all those windows are finally starting to get to him.

Ransom always holds you fiercely in his sleep. You break free as gently as you can and take him in for a brief moment- you like how he looks when he’s asleep. Unconcerned, chest rising slow with each breath, hair splayed over the pillow in nearly every direction. He almost looks innocent.

You get up quietly, even though there’s no chance he’ll stir- he sleeps like the dead.

Daylight filters through the blinds in white-yellow streams, dappling him golden.

You almost take a picture, but regretfully leave the room for other tasks- you stretch and water your plants and check your email, and then sit down at the table to Skype your brother.

He picks up fast.

“Hey!” you say, and at once feel so much relief, to see his grainy, smiling face on your laptop screen.

Europe has done him good- he’s grown out his hair, and his skin is glowing, and he looks so happy.

He tells you about what he’s been doing lately, studying architecture. It makes you so proud, this fact alone- that unlike you, he can do whatever he wants and doesn’t have the looming promises of debt and academic burnout and crushing, ever-present stress hovering over his shoulders. It is so good to see him, and you are so grateful that he can be who he wants to be, do what he wants to do-

“Holy shit, who is that?”

He’s looking past you. You turn around and almost jump-

Ransom stands in the kitchen, shirtless and rummaging through the cupboards. He waves at you.

You would think that someone like Ransom would exclusively sleep in, like, silk pajama sets, or something, but at least he’s in sweatpants- however low-rise they might be, however loosely knotted the drawstring is. It’s better than nothing, at least- what if he had walked out in nothing?

When you turn back to the screen, you catch a glimpse of yourself in your camera feed- you look absolutely mortified.

You are absolutely mortified. This is the start of what can only be a nightmare.

“Are you dating that guy?” your brother asks incredulously. He’s still staring at Ransom with his jaw hanging loose. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” you say forcefully, without thinking. “That’s, um... “

Hopelessly, you gesture back towards him, trying to come up with the words. Nothing feels right in your mouth- every title you can come up with is too consequential, too heavy.

“...That’s Ransom.”

“Weird name,” your brother says, and grins.

You take a breath that feels more like a gasp. “I know.”

“Hey,” Ransom says, from the back, and continues to loudly open and close the cupboards- what the fuck is he even looking for? You don’t keep enough shit in there to warrant this much noise- he’s doing this for theatrics.

“I think I’m going to go,” you say loudly. “Love you.”

“Bye,” your brother says, and he’s grinning stupidly, like a madman.

You disconnect and feel like you might faint.

Not your boyfriend, right?

“Was that your brother?” Ransom asks, casually, finally finding what he was looking for- two mugs. There is no way that he didn’t come across them earlier.

“Yeah- yes,” you say shakily. It feels like someone has filled your brain with fizzy water.

There’s a few boys your brother has met over the years, but you’ve always been careful. Because an introduction is like making a statement- it’s like saying that this person you’re with is important enough to you that they’re going to overlap, exist in more than just one part of your life.

But Ransom is a catastrophe of a person- you can barely handle him as he is. How could you ever have him as anything more?

He goes through the cupboards, again, and finds a box of teabags. “The one studying abroad?”

“I only have one brother,” you snap.

“Okay,” he says, totally unbothered, surprising you. He’s not a morning person in the slightest- why is he being so cordial? “Where do you keep your kettle?”

“Second cupboard on the right,” you say, and bury your head in your hands.

He looks at you. He is so many things, but never kind, until now. His hair, in its adorable bedhead, flops over his eyes. Before, it was only almost, but now, you think, he looks completely innocent, like the type of guy you could give kisses without feeling nervous, the type of guy you wouldn’t deny as your boyfriend.

What is wrong with him?

What is wrong with you?

At the end of the day, he’s always there- you’re exclusive, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough to deserve a title?

He finds the kettle, and then sifts through the box. He sorts through different flavors with a gentle precision you’ve never seen before- is this really him? Is he the type of person that is gentle and precise?

The uneven smattering of blue-black bruises on your thighs say no.

You’re so confused that your head hurts.

“None of these flavors are any good,” Ransom says, and shakes his head. His hair shines in the morning light. “Earl Grey- who the hell drinks Earl Grey?”

“Don’t insult my tea like that,” you say, and he looks back at you and gives you a brilliant flash of a smile.

If he’s bothered at all by your denial, he never brings it up.

*** He’s too far gone.

He’s in freefall, feeling weak- he’s fucking succumbed.

To you. To your comebacks and the world-weary gaze you have of everything, to your nonsensical collection of plants and your painfully unattractive basketball shorts, to the way you laugh too loud and too little, to the way you say his name, where he can never tell if you’re happy with him or exasperated-

It’s wrong.

But, he thinks, so are all of these other things, like drugs and alcohol and blowing money on shit he doesn’t need- and you make him feel better than any of those things ever have, so why should anybody have a problem with it? A week goes by after you tell your brother that he isn’t your boyfriend- and it doesn’t bother him, because he’s never wanted that title in the first place, never has- but it obviously bothers you.

You’re disappointed in yourself, because you think you’re supposed to be better than him, because you’re so smart and he is so terrible.

He hopes that that’s not how you actually think. It hurts him to0 much to even consider it, and so he doesn’t, and so he thinks of how to keep his hold on you, and then he thinks of why he even wants to-

The truth is too apparent to deny.

After a week, he calls.

***

He’s very slow.

Not tired- just consumed with the sudden need to savor things. When you let yourself into his arms, Ransom treats you like you’re fragile.

“What’s up with you?” you ask, and as he stares, your voice reduces to something small. You go timid when his eyes are on yours, he realizes, and the thought sends a thrill through his body- he slowly rocks you, to calm himself.

Your shirt is off and you wear a bra with a small lace trim- not racy, but very cute- and he just keeps on staring.

Wow, he thinks. He fucked up good.

“Nothing,” he says, and moves one hand from your waist- he has you in his lap, straddling him- up to the top of your neck. He trails down and over to your collarbone, hooking a finger into your bra strap.

You laugh, breathy and indecent.

He lifts it, subtly, and you whine, and he bites back his own.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, and kisses your neck. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Ransom,” you gasp, with your hands splayed over his back. He slowly skims his hand over, to your back, feeling every little thing, dip and contour and curve, everything- and then unhooks it, and you are bared to him and he is breathless.

He takes you by the shoulders and twists, to bring you down, to pin you against the bed. Your comforter is dark blue, like ocean water.

Your eyes are endless, like ocean water.

“Are you upset about something?”

Your chest rises and falls and he almost reaches for the waistband of your underwear, but stops himself. He presses a wet kiss to one of your breasts, and you arch into his mouth. He feels like you know every single secret of his, when he has told you none.

You know by accident that he’s ticklish. That’s it.

“I’m not,” he says. “I promise.”

He bends low to kiss down the length of your body, repositions his hands to hold your waist. He thinks that this is more intense- it is just his mouth and your skin and the sound of your breath hitching.

He still has it put together, remarkably well- unfathomably well.

“I feel like there’s something you’re- ah- not telling me, honey.”

That does it.

He grips your waist harder, in the way he knows you always like, so that tomorrow he will be able to retrace his steps, follow the blue-

“Say that again,” he says, and presses a soft kiss over you- even through your underwear, with its delicate lace trim, he can feel how wet and wanting and ready you are for him.

“Say- fuck- say what?”

Your hand flails, for a second, before you thread it through his hair, and yank. It hurts, pleasantly.

He hooks his fingers into your waistband and shimmies it down your thighs, and you instinctively spread your legs. He puts his mouth to your slit, slicker than he imagined, and the heady arousal rushing through his mind- and everywhere else- is nearly enough to make him forget what you even said-

He is quite possibly drunk off of you alone, and he wants to slap himself, and, like, press you so close into him that you forget your way out.

With the spare glow of one lamp, you look like you’re made of gold.

He breaks away from you for a terrible moment to strip, and with one hand he teases your clit, and with the other he pumps himself, hard, once, twice, three times in anticipation-

“Don’t make me ask again,” he says, and comes back up to cup your face once more, and slips his hand back down into you at the same time, with his cock hard against your thigh- this is all quite slippery- the game you’re playing at and the risk he’s trying to take-

“Honey,” you say, and you’re smiling deliriously, but shakily. “Honey honey honey.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, and his voice, in a moment of terrible, vulnerable, unspeakable betrayal, cracks.

“Good,” you say, but your voice is all wobbly as he lines himself up and roughly pushes into you, holding you a little tighter to keep you steady. “You deserve it.”

He kisses you openmouthed, with his teeth scraping- it’s rough and jarring, the way you always take it. Against his mouth, you swear incoherently, stringing together a litany of curses with his name thrown in between, and goddamn him- it makes him smile.

He wastes no time- he can’t be patient any longer, not when he has you under him like this, and so he goes fast, snapping into you at a bruising pace and keeping his mouth close, and rubbing at your clit, to overstimulate you and make everything faster, harsher, more immediate-

When you come you always say his name, thickly with gravel in your voice, and gasp like the breath has been stolen from your lungs. This time, when you are so far gone that he thinks you’re beyond the realms of sound, and sight, too, with your eyes tightly screwed shut, he says it, for the sake of himself.

“I think I love you-”

310 notes · View notes

burnedbyshoto · 5 years ago

Text

(i won’t say) i’m in love - pt 2

Bakugou deals with the consequences of his actions, but will he ever be forgiven?

pt 1

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: platonic!bakugou katsuki x reader

warning: hurt/comfort, cursing, bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings

word count: 3,032

a/n: I wasn’t really planning on writing a part 2, but I was like semi upset when I got an ask for it and practically brainstormed an entire fic in an ask, then lost it all because tumblr mobile crashed, cried, forgot about it, then saw an entire conversation happening in the comments of the first one and it convinced me to write the part 2. anyways, I hope you enjoy. can you believe I used hurt/comfort??? neither can I!!!!

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Bakugou stared at the ceiling of his room.

The past five days, he had mostly shut himself off from all of society. He showed up to patrols, ignored everyone who wasn’t essential to his line of work, destroyed his phone in his embarrassment, and had begun an emotional declination he was not proud of.

He had destroyed his relationship with you, and most likely, Kirishima too. His confession went unsaid that night, but his words of hatred and twisted jealousy remained alive. Hell, even fucking Deku had tried to talk to him about it. Still, it had resulted in both of them having their heads buried into the concrete because they were more interested in yelling at each other than actually focusing on the villain they were fighting.

It was not a proud moment.

There was a lot of guilt welling up in him though; every time he thought so much of how you looked that night, acid hot tears tore at the back of his eyes - threatening to fall in a stupid uncomposed way.

He was better than this, he didn’t need to cry.

Still, when he heard a knock at his front door, he was beyond shocked to see none other than Kirishima standing there. His hair was down, not in his usual hairstyle but natural. He was looking up at Bakugou with a strange look on his face. One that Bakugou only knew to be a gaze Kirishima held when he squared off with the most ‘unmanliest’ of villains who held no redemption.

A stone sank in his stomach, and his tongue ran dry when the two different red eyes came to lock in the middle.

“We need to talk, Bakugou.”

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Five Nights Earlier

You stormed into your apartment, angry, upset tears streaming down your cheeks while your fingers shook like leaves, and your cheeks were puffed with your restrained tears.

You hated Bakugou. You hated him.

Who did he think he was?

Talking to you like you were some undeserving child? An idiot who had been used by him of all people? His taunting words rang and danced in your head, twisting and evolving into nastier names, more sinister meanings.

He wasn’t your friend, just using you for his own wellbeing. He was a user and a taker, never a giver. He was a tramp and… and… you felt weak in the knees as your nasty thoughts fell short and thin. A sob emitted from your lips, and your head slowly shook, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t that. You knew that.

Bakugou wasn’t much of a giver, there was never any denying that, but he wasn’t a taker nor a user. This wasn’t him. It could never be him.

You sank to the floor, feeling your drumming heart exploding in your chest as your wet cheeks pressed against the floor. Was he really not a user, though?

He had used you before, the final exam was a prime example of that, but that was who he was on the battlefield. A strong yet stubborn leader, his voice loud and willing those around him. You had followed him on your own merit, knowing that he was someone to be trusted, so why was it now you were having issues with it. Was this all an illusion? Which part of him was correct?

“Y/n?” a voice called out, and your blood froze over at the thought of it being Bakugou, but at the second calling of your name, you warmed up. It was Kirishima.

Pushing off the floor, you sniffled loudly, the tears still continuing to pour down your face while you struggled over to the front door. You opened the front door to find Kirishima standing there, his hands awkwardly placed on his hips, and his head tilted to the side, concern, and sympathy clouding his face. Still, it was nice to see your boyfriend’s gentle and loving face as you let him in, immediately allowing yourself to sink into his open arms and sob in them.

It was no secret that you had desperately wanted to be friends with Bakugou. It was something you had horribly failed at high school, and now you had managed… you had done it… but was it for naught? Kirishima held you gently, though, his surprisingly gentle and soft hands coming to stroke your tear-soaked face over and over. Sweet words passing his lips as he held you, unwilling to let your thoughts consume you while you stayed at the entrance of your home.

It took much longer than you’d like to admit, a few hours at that, for you to finally be able to face your boyfriend with only tears brimming your eyes and your lips swollen and puffy from your frequent biting.

“You okay, y/n?” Kirishima asked softly, his hands moving to brush the strands of hair out of your face before pressing a sweet smile to your cheeks. “What are you feeling?”

“I don’t… I don’t understand why he said that!” you choke out, your voice embarrassingly weak and cracked with your overwhelming emotions and obvious distress. “We were friends! I know we were friends! You can’t be fake friends with Bakugou Katsuki of all people! It’s… it’s not possible! But that’s… how could he say that to my face? He said some of the worst shit he could have said to me, and that doesn’t sound anything like the man I know him to be! The best friend you know him to be! I get we weren’t always… we weren’t always close, and that’s fine because not all friendships are there in the beginning, but I don’t know why it’s not here! We had something, right? I wasn’t… I wasn’t making it up?”

Kirishima stared at you with the most heartbroken yet heartfelt expression on his face, his hands readjusting their hold on your face to bring a tantalizingly sweet kiss to your mouth. It was an action that burned into your skin - a somewhat polar feeling to the dread that sat on your skin and bones.

“You weren’t, no way in hell was that a made-up friendship.”

“Then, why?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know.”

Kirishima stared down at your shining bright eyes, his lips twisting into a sad but sure smile while he pressed kisses against your tears, his warm body pressing softly into yours.

“I knew he was lying,” you mumbled, your eyes closing ever so gently when he kisses you wholly.

“Yeah?”

“He couldn’t look me in the eye when he started… that’s how you know he’s lying.”

Kirishima sighed softly against your lips, “I think I was still too drunk to have noticed that.”

“You definitely tasted disgusting earlier, Ei,” you teased, the pain in your heart tremendous but ignorable when he pulled away, the faux offended look on his face almost too funny.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, grabbing your cheeks in a threatening manner.

“Y-Yeah!” your voice cracked.

In a surging kiss that was practically all tongue, just for a moment that night, your worries and distress were forgotten while Kirishima tried to show just how not disgusting his mouth tasted.

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Bakugou stared at his friend, his hands in fists against the legs of his jeans, and Kirishima was leaning on his forearms against his thighs. They had made it to Bakugou’s living room, taking their usual seats in this room that was usually bright in atmosphere when they came together.

Despite Kirishima saying that they needed to talk, he had remained quiet for this entire time, unwilling to speak while his face clouded with murkiness and calamity. Bakugou hated this so much. He hated that he couldn’t speak up because he was in the wrong, and he hated that the reason he was so disconnected from everything was because of him.

But the worst part was that the entire world seemed to know that this was going on right now; there had to be no other explanation. It was quiet right now, his usually nosy neighbors were silent as a mouse, the outside world frozen over, and the only thing Bakugou could hear was his rising heartbeat in his throat.

What was he going to say?

When was he going to say it?

“You should tell y/n how you feel.”

Bakugou froze, well he definitely was not expecting that to come out of Kirishima’s lips.

“Excuse me?”

Kirishima finally looked up from his folded fingers and met Bakugou’s gaze. It nearly froze Bakugou to the core when his bright red eyes seemed so lost and far away. Kirishima always looked at things in a kind manner, villain or ally, he never lost that kind glint to his eyes… but right now, his eyes were deadly serious, sharp, hard.

“I know you’re in love with y/n,” Kirishima admitted, his jaw tensing slightly, his head shaking slightly. “I know, Bakugou.”

“Eh? I don’t fucking-” Bakugou couldn’t help but lie, not wanting to cause his friend unneeded stress, unneeded insecurity because he was an idiot.

“You do, I know you do,” Kirishima sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor for a millisecond before returning to Bakugou’s widened eyes. “I’ve known since the beach trip… and I didn’t have a problem with it because I trust both you and y/n.”

“Kirishima…”

“Even with what you said that night… I still trust you, and after talking with y/n, I realized that while I thought for some time that it was you just liking them, I didn’t realize it was you being in love.” Kirishima smiled sadly, his hand running through his red locks that were showing black at the roots. He was in the process of deciding if he was going to allow the black to come back. “But even though I don’t… I don’t want you to tell y/n that you love them, I think you need to. For your sake and theirs.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows shot together, his feet shifting so that he could stand up, but when he tried, he realized that all the strength in his body had left him, rendering him unable to stand up.

“I’m not going to do it if you don’t want me to do that,” Bakugou hoarse out, his mouth feeling unusually dry, disgustingly hot. “I almost did on the night of your birthday party, and… I just fucking can’t anymore. I feel disgusting.”

Kirishima let a small, sad smile appear on his face, his mouth twitching with unspoken words, and his eyes finally letting on emotion. “I sort of figured that out too. Probably would’ve been a better option than lying to y/n, huh?”

Bakugou stared at his friend, emotions he was not at all used to bubbling in his chest, threatening to spill over and just shatter the world in two. What was he going to do with himself?

“I’m sorry, Kirishima.”

“I’m not the one who needs the apology.”

“You do,” Bakugou disagreed, his head shaking in his disagreement. “I hurt you, too, man.”

“Yeah, well,” Kirishima seemed to look for the next thing to say, his sharp teeth digging into his lower lip while he collapsed back onto the seat, exhaustion filling him. “That’s why I’m called the unbreakable red riot, I get hurt, but I won’t ever break or fall.”

Bakugou fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Now go see y/n, and don’t come back until things are confessed.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

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You were watching a cartoon on the screen in your living room. Well, at the very least, you were trying to, but you found yourself ignoring the brightly flashing screen and pitched voices to think back on the past two days.

Bakugou consumed your thoughts, the way that you and Kirishima knew he was lying that night, but you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Kirishima had been over tonight to eat dinner, and after helping you clean up and put everything away, he had left with a sweet kiss goodbye and a promise that things would be better.

There was a knock on the door, and the trance you were in was broken. Pushing off the couch, you walked to the front door of your apartment and opened the door. It was Bakugou.

“Can we talk?” Bakugou said after seconds of silence, the both of you frozen at the first sight of each other in days, the bitter resentment still heavy in the air while the world continued to spin. He looked worse than you expected him to, his eyes tired, and his hair flat in some areas - as if he hadn’t been able to do anything but lay on his side for days.

“Depends,” was your response, your body feeling completely numb and terribly cold.

“On?”

“Am I going to annoy you?”

Bakugou licked his lips, his eyes dropping from yours momentarily while a soft expel of air passed his lips, “Did I really say that?”

“That and more,” you smiled, but the smile was twisted and wrenching, there was nothing but hurt and anger behind it while you stared at the man who held a place in your heart.

“Can I… let me in?” Bakugou just about pleaded you - well, the closest thing to a plead that Bakugou Katsuki could make.

You clenched your jaw, thinking if it was genuinely beneficial to you if you allowed him to enter and talk, but you were never to deny your friends anything. Nodding your head once, you opened the door wider, letting him in.

“I just hope I won’t annoy you with my cowardice,” you couldn’t help but murmur while he passed you, the space he filled in your apartment was awkward, and he tensed when the door clicked behind him.

Bakugou sighed, his hands shoving into his pockets while he remained before you, refusing to look at you.

“I’m in love with you.”

Now, you were expecting a few things to come out of Bakugou’s mouth the second you allowed him to come in. An apology maybe, a declaration that you should just ignore everything that he said maybe or even a begrudging admittance that it was Kirishima who was forcing him to come in tonight. But that?

“Excuse me?!”

“I know you don’t like not speaking whenever I’m talking, but I’m asking you that this once… for this one time, you’ll let me speak without interruption.” You watched in overwhelming emotion as Bakugou turned his head, staring at you with those vermillion eyes and a spine of steel, and with a small nod, you agreed.

“I didn’t want to tell you, well, I did want to tell you. That night at Kirishima’s party, that’s what I was going to confess to you. But when Kirishima came out, I… I realized how shitty of me it was to even have entertained that thought, and I lost it. I wasn’t going to try to fix anything because I thought it wasn’t right of me after what I said, but Kirishima came over right now and told me that I should.” Your fingers fisted into your shirt, your eyes wide as the full moon while Bakugou’s head shook, a heavy sigh on his lips that reminded you to breathe. “I was a shit friend to you, and I’m not looking for you to forgive me or anything, I know I fucked up… but I’m here because… you are easily one of the best friends I have, and I don’t want that to disappear because I didn’t do anything.”

“I… I don’t want our friendship to end either,” you whisper, the truth unable to stay hidden even if you wanted to keep it from him. The fact was that you couldn’t see a life without him. Even if you could never return those feelings anymore, even if you couldn’t love him the way he loved you, you didn’t ever want to see him go. “I am upset, unworldly upset that you said that, even if it was a lie.”

“I’m sorry...”

“I love you too, Bakugou, but just… not that way… not anymore.”

“I know,” Bakugou’s lips press into a flat line, his hands shoving into his messy hair while he shook his head. “I know you won’t love me like that, and it’s fine… but I’m… I’m sorry…”

“I know you are.”

“Will… are you ever forgive me?”

You stared into his eyes, the ones that refused to look at you five nights ago, shining with his apologetic emotions and sincere thoughts. Wordlessly, you approached him, your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him into a hug, and your face buried into his neck while he remained stiff in your arms.

“Always.”

His arms rose, the tremor in his body shaking even you before they settled to wrap around your waist. You didn’t dare to speak as he silently cried in your arms, years of repressed emotions, and five hellish days of guilt cracking him entirely until the two of you sank to the ground, your soothing words a saving grace to him while he apologized over and over again.

“I’m so sorry.”

It would take some time, but eventually, Bakugou’s sobs became muffled hiccups. The place the two of you held on the floor, ultimately shifting over to sit on the much more comfortable couch. His eyes were puffy and red from his tears, and yours were swelling up as well, awkward tension still hung heavily within the two of you as your hand gently brushed away his tears with a gentle, familiar smile.

“Do you want some spicy curry? I have some leftovers.”

Bakugou let in a stuttering breath of air, his lungs still weak from his crying, but the offer of food eased the remaining knots in his stomach.

“As long as you weren’t the one who made it.”

“My curry skills are amazing, and you should shut up!”

And Bakugou watched as you left the couch, your voice pitched and a bit breathless as you went about making him his food, but he knew that even if he wanted to be more than friends, this was okay. You smiling, rambling, happy, and in love. That’s all that mattered.

Forever and always.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader

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arminocean · 4 years ago

Note

Could you do a fic where Todoroki, Deku and Bakugou's S/O has a lot of scars and is really insecure about them?

Hello, so I'm not sure if you wanted a s/o with self harm scars, or just scars from accidentally scratching themselves or something like that so I did both. Hope you enjoyed and thank you for requesting (๑-﹏-๑)

Warning-self harm

Todoroki

If it's just scars from others events-

Now Todoroki isn't the best when it come to emotional stuff

He does care a lot about you though

So when he find out that your insecure about your scars he tries his best to comfort you

If you are the person who feel comfort from physical attention, he'll try his best to give it to you

He also kind of touch starved, so a person who likes physical attention is fine

If your the type of person who more comforted by acts of service, and not really affection that is good too

Todoroki will probaly try to do small things for you to show that your scars Isn't anything to be ashamed of

He really dosent understand why you are so insecure, because he thinks that all parts of you is perfect

If you want to get rid of them, he will try to find many doctors who can help you

Also will get Fuyumi to help him organize all your stuff, well only if you're comfortable with it

If someone says something bad about them he will try to stay calm and tell them to stop

But definitely won't hesitate to freeze them

He really just loves you, and want you to know you don't have to be insecure about your scars

If there self harm scars-

Now if It's dealing with self harm Todoroki will be kind of stuck

He will be pretty worry if you might start cutting again

Even thouh he isn't good at emotions he will try his absolute best to comfort you

Now if you feel comfort by quality time, he will take you to cool places with Endeavor credit card

If you like staying inside he will study, train, or just do something like watching a movie with you

He will help you in the process of healing them if them just being so visible makes you insecure

He will again freeze somebody if they purposely try to make you insecure

He cares about you a lot, and will help you if you ever feel insecure

Bakugou

If it's just a scar from other events-

If you got scars from just being clumsy, or accidentally hurting yourself he's going to call you an idiot

Even if It's not because you were clumsy he is probably going to call you a dumbass either way

He does care about you, so when he realize your insecure he stoo with the names when it comes to your scars

He isn't good at affection, so will try o comfort you by act of service

He will cuddle you if you really wanted it, he will be pouty and complaining a lot though

If you want to get rid of them he going to do it on his own

He may ask recovery girl, or his mom for advice to help you

If someone makes you insecure he will yell death threts to them, and chase them around trying to blow them up

Aizawa honestly was too tired to do anything, but got Bakugou anyway

If there self harm scars-

Now if he finds out there self harm scars, he going to be kind of pissed

Not at you but, mad because he wasn't necessarily there to stop you

He will call you a dumbass

He will actually be really caring about your insecurities even if they weren't self harm scars

He will try his best to comfort you whenever you felt insecure

If you still had some that were new, he will help heal them

He really does love you, and dosent want you feeling insecure about something so stupid (in his eyes)

Deku

If there just scars from other events-

He'll be pretty worry about you

He dosent like you being upset

As someone who has broken many bones and got many scars he kind of understands what you are going through

Now he dosent completely understand how to comfort you

He will try his best though

Also if your insecurity is a hard thing to get over, he'll be with you through thick and thin

If you wamt to get rid of them he'll try to do research and take notes on different medicine and skin product

He also has a notebook with things that make you happy

If it's self harm scars-

Extremely worried

He feels horrible you self harmed at some point

He will try his absolute best to comfort you

If there any trauma that cause some of the insecurity he'll be very patient

This dude has a lot of things going on in his life but your one of his top priority

He will try to help you understand that there is nothing to be ashamed nor embarrassed of

If someone makes you insecure he won't straight up threaten them and use his quirk but he will stand up for you

He really just loves you wayyy too much

#bnha #mha #hope you enjoyed #Mha x reader #Bakugou x reader #Deku x reader #Todoroki x reader #Bnha x reader

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f1-my-beloved · 4 years ago

Note

First of all: I MISS UUUU!! Hope your day is going great!!!

Here I am for one official request 😂

Could you do "friends to enemy to lovers" with Lance?

That plot when they were friends so they know everything about each other, but something happens and they hate each other for a while, and use that friendship knowledge to hurt or make fun or piss off the other, but then again something happens and it makes them get close again but as lovers

I MISS YOU TOOOOO!! I haven't been as active cause uni started again, and you know how it is, just draining me from inspiration! ALSO ALSO, have you also been in your Lance feels lately, omg Sara thx for blessing us omg shbsjsnsjsn!!

You always found it weird and funny how people lose contact and drift away when they've been friends for so long. You thought you'd never be one of those people, but you were so wrong.

From childhood, he's always been by your side, you grew up together, changed together, accomplished dreams and built new ones. You and Lance have always been inseparable, so how did it end up like that? Well, you'd actually love to know, but when it's him that gave up on you, without saying anything, turned his back on you, you're the one wishing to know how it came to this. How did it come to heating each other, always finding ways to insult and embarrass one another. Always finding ways to declare your hatred, whether it is by small glares and eye rolls, or full on fights in public. You didn't care. Not only did you hate how he left you for no reason, but how he'd change. No longer the sweet boy that always called you when you know you've been crying. No longer the kind boy who gave you half of his candy when you've been eyeing it. No longer your friend. No longer your Lance.

And what's even worse in this whole situation is how you still have to work with him, be around him. You really didn't want to, and he didn't want it either, but there's some things in life that you can't change, no matter how badly you want them to. You wanted Lance to change, to come back, but that didn't happen. He wanted to go back in time, and change history, but that's impossible. Mistakes happen, and sometimes you're in wrong, but the young man never liked that feeling that guilt that followed him everywhere. If he could change everything, he would. How stupid was he? Young and naive, careless enough to think that you're a distraction to his ultimate goal, to his lifelong dream. And honestly, no matter how proud he is of himself for accomplishing his objectives, he could never fully relish in the feeling, not when you're not celebrating by his side.

And you always found it weird how people went back to the source of their pain, to what broke their heart and dragged them to the bottom. You thought you'd never be one of these people, but you were so dead wrong.

Your heart aches, your eyes water and it becomes hard to breathe, even though you're supposed to not care, you're supposed to be happy that he's feeling that way, seeing him sad, truly hit you just the same as you were young. Seeing him cry and blame himself, thinking it's all his fault, because no matter how mean he's become, Lance would never put the blame on anyone else. Lance was still as good as ever. And you didn't want to react and you didn't want to talk to him, but something was begging you to go, to be by his side, just like the old days.

And you hope he still like that candy, because you had no idea what he likes or hate now. But you bought it anyway, and you sat next to him anyway. "Stop blaming yourself Lance, it's not your fault." He couldn't believe it, not your words nor the fact that you were talking to him in such a gentle voice. "I know you think it is, but no it's not. It's ok for you to be mad and sad, but please don't blamr yourself, who would've known your engine would die on you? It's not your fault Lance, it's ok! You'll get them next time, I know you will! I believe in you!" Honestly, who was more surprised by the words that you just confessed? Him or you? You were just as shocked as him when you heard your own voice, so sincere since forever, so genuine and kind. He didn't think he'll ever hear you talk like that, well not to him at least. And red covered your cheeks, cold sweat running down your spine... Heart beating fast and weird emotion flowing through your veins. It's like your teenage crush all over again, and how funny that it has always been him. You wanted to forget that, bury those feelings right back six feet underground and you never wanted to see Lance again. Or that's what you thought.

Giving him the candy bar, you were about to get up, but he held you back, the look in his eyes telling you to stay and casting a spell on you, for you listened to him and didn't leave. You watched him as he opened the packaging, noticing how his hands were slightly trembling, though you blamed on anger. But what shocked you most was when he tore the bar in half and gave you a piece, and if your heart wasn't about to explose before, now it is. And if you didn't have butterflies in your stomach now you do. And if you didn't have a little hope left, now you're drowning in it. "Y/n, here. Thank you... Thank you for being here. Thank you for..... Being you. I'm sorry I left, it was a mistake. And I'm sorry I wasn't here to cheer you up and make you smile, I'm sorry I wasn't the shoulder you cried on.... I'm sorry that I hurt you. And I don't expect you to come back, but if by some miracle you do.... Let's put all out fights in the past, let's start over, we'll see where it takes us now... "

Thanks for requesting!! 💚💙💚 I'm pretty sure that's my longest fic, but YOU DESERVE IT!

#lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #lance x reader #f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1

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crazymangaluv · 5 years ago

Text

Bakagou!

@hellomgann1296 my beautiful muse along with the talented fanfic authors I read helped to inspire me to write my 1st Bakugou fic. I’m not much of a writer so I’m sorry for any mistakes and any ooc-ness of the character.

Warning: (slightly lemony: cursing, slight nudity, some steaminess). This is a Bakugou x female reader: I sincerely apologize to those who are left out when using female pronouns.

Description: You and Katsuki are childhood friends and you have fallen for this hothead. Unfortunately, you overhear him say something hurtful and you did the first thing that came into mind: run. Not a smart idea in hindsight but run you did. Buuuut of course you run blindly during a thunderstorm (accident waiting to happen) and have a loose canon chasing after you aka Bakagou. Will your relationship mend?

You attempt to focus on the sound of water falling heavily onto the ground as you took deep breaths in and out. You shiver and clutch yourself tighter. Your ankle is throbbing but you try to ignore it. The sound of the rain and the burning fire provides some comfort to your misery--

“Tch!”

Your eyebrow twitches at the sound. You turn your attention back to the source. He’s sitting there in his boxers, arms crossed and a scowl adorning his handsome face. You disregard his naked state, your face contorting into a similar scowl as well. You try to find your inner zen -cute puppy…..no wait...a handful of cute puppies-. It was beginning to work but--

“Achoo!” you sniffle.

“Tch…”

There goes your patience. “Would you knock it off Bakagou??”

His scowl deepens to a snarl at your remark and the emphasis on the former portion of his name. “Eh?? Knock it off? It’s your fault we’re in this mess in the first place!”

You scoff in disbelief. “My fault?? I didn't ask you to come after me, Mr. I’m-so-cool- with-my-bad-attitude!”

He glances at your swollen, bruised ankle and your drenched clothes before reverting his glaring eyes to yours. You meet his eyes with a glare of your own, however, your vision begins to blur from the tears forming. He opens his mouth to retort but you continue: “I was trying to get away from you! You’re just a big fucking jerk! You don’t care about anyone other than yourself and you treat everyone like shit!”

Your tears flow freely down your cheeks. You don’t bother hiding them from him, even if it makes you look weak. His scowl reduces to a frown, eyebrows furrowing. He feels a pang in his chest; he hates it when you cry. His face bears an expression of shame but something else you couldn’t pinpoint.

You’ve been his friend since childhood, you would even say you’re one of his best friends. He does treat you differently than the rest: more mellow and less explosive, no verbal berating, etc. You couldn’t help but develop deeper feelings for him over the years. The two of you are older now and you have noticed an increase of intimate moments between you both when alone. The subtle soft touches, the caresses, the long hugs, the way his hardened eyes would soften with you, the movie night cuddles, falling asleep in each other’s arms...gestures where you felt that there was a possibility of reciprocated feelings. Guess it was all in your head, nothing but misinterpretation from a desperate fool. You feel like such an idiot.

[Flashback]

You’re on your way to see him, smiling to yourself as you carry his share of the spicy dish you cooked. He seemed stressed the previous day so you wanted to cheer him up. He always looked forward to your dishes. You could hear their voices around the corner, and you smile to yourself, it seems that they were up to the usual shenanigans based on the volume of their voices. It appears they were teasing him about something, you shake your head at their antics.

“Yeah Ochako is super cute! Haha why are you blushing Midoriya??”

“N-n-n-nothing!!”

“What about y/n??”

“Yeah! Y/n is pretty cute, you think she’s got a boyfriend?”

“Oh yeah y/n sure is a looker. She’s pretty badass too.”

“Wait she’s got Bakugou here.” *laughs*

“Yeaah you two are awfully close...are you guys….ya know….,” *whispers* “doing it??”

Katsuki growls, “Shut up!”

“NO! THEY’RE NOOOOT! WHY WOULD Y/N WANT STUPID BAKUGOU ANYWAYS??!” Mineta cries out pathetically.

You roll your eyes at the sound of his stupid whining voice. You shake your head and sighed. You’re ready with your retort and to kick Mineta’s ass just as you turned the corner.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! STOP BEING ALL GAH GAH OVER HER! Y/N AIN’T SHIT!” Katstuki shouts as he shoves Mineta aside.

His gift slips from your hands onto the ground. It feels as though you’re punched in the gut. You stand frozen like a deer in headlights. He’s never said anything like that to you or about you before in all the years you’ve known him. The boys flinch at his booming voice before flinching again at your presence. They look at you in awkward silence equally as surprised. He turns at the sound, his eyes meeting yours and widening in shock. Thunder rolls in the background...tears form in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, your lips quiver. You turn and just run. You ran as fast as you could with no set destination in mind. You hear him shout your name but you didn’t care. You needed to get away from everyone, you’re so embarrassed and ashamed.

It begins to pour, the water drenches you as you keep moving. Lightning flashes above you with the loud boom of thunder. The rain makes the floor increasingly slippery causing you to lose your footing. You careen down, curling into a ball as you tumble down a steep slope. You land with a *crash* and a *thump*. You turn over onto your back and let out a sob. You’re such an idiot...you angrily wipe your cheek. You have no idea where you are and it’s getting dark. You move to stand but fall over from the sharp pain at your ankle. Oh just great, a sprained ankle to make things even better.

He immediately had run after you following his brief state of shock. He loses you momentarily but he hears the crash in the distance. He quickened his pace in desperation and anger. “Y/n!”

You hear your name and you look up to see him gracefully sliding down the slope towards you. No no no no, not you. You stand and limp away ignoring the pain but he easily catches up to you. His hand gently and firmly wraps around your arm but you rip it out of his grip. The movement aggravates your ankle further causing you to yelp out in pain as you lose your balance. He reaches for you, swiftly catching and pulling you close. You squirm in his arms.

“Quit squirming y/n!”

You refuse to look at him,“No. Let go of me.”

He scowls and instead picks you up. “Your fucking ankle is shit and you know for damn sure you can’t walk right now.”

You cross your arms and huff in annoyance. No word is said between the two of you as he treks the terrain. The rain only falls harder with frequent flashes of lightning and rumbling of thunder. You’re both drenched and you tremble from the cold. His grip tightens, he needs to get you out of the rain fast. Your teeth are chattering; he tch’s to himself and quickens his pace. The sky grows darker, making it more difficult to see where he’s going. The flash of lightning provides him the light he needed, illuminating a cave ahead. He sets you down gently before stalking off to get supplies for a fire. He’s gone for no more than 2 minutes. He drops the branches and wood and starts a fire. You welcome the heat but refuse to move.

“Your clothes need to dry. Take them off y/n, you’re going to get sick.”

You ignore him and opt to hug yourself in all your wetness. You hear the squelching of tossed wet clothes and your face flushes.

[Present]

Your trembling worsens, not just from the coldness of your still wet attire, but from your outburst as well. You look away and bury your face into your arms. You let out a quiet sob you couldn’t hold in. You’re cold, wet, in pain, angry, tired, embarrassed, ashamed, etc. All these feelings and emotions storming inside you. You didn’t hear him approach you but instead feel his warm arms pulling you close. Before you could pull away, his solemn voice stops you.

“I’m sorry.”

You sit there in shock, he’s never said sorry before...in all the years you’ve known him not one sorry.

He hugs you tighter, his head rests on your shoulder. “I’m a fucking idiot. I didn’t mean what I said. Please y/n...forgive me.”

You sniffle. “You’re a jerk,” you voice out weakly. It didn’t hold the angry bite you wanted, but you couldn’t stay angry, you were just hurt.

“I am a jerk…I’m sorry.”

You sneeze again causing him to slightly flinch. He tchs once more and immediately picks you up and plops down by the fire. “You’re going to get sick y/n…”

You don’t respond.

*Sigh* “...y/n please…”

You sigh in response. You move to shuffle away and his arms release you. The places where he was touching you are now cold. You miss his touch but you shake your head and take in a deep breath before removing your clothing. Katsuki turns away, refraining from turning around. You neatly place your drenched clothes on the rocks beside you. You shiver, it's still a tad chilly but the fire is helping. You glance over to him, the flickering glow of the fire dancing on his muscular back. He’s close enough to touch but you stop yourself by gripping your hands together. Your eyes travel up to the back of his head, his dripping blond hair glistening softly. You follow a droplet that falls from a strand of hair and slowly rolls down his spine. As if he felt your gaze, he turns his head slightly to peer at you from the corner of his eye.

You twiddle your thumbs nervously at the silence. You furrow your brow and clear your throat. “Why did you say it if you didn’t mean it?”

He looks away from you. “Because...because I’m an idiot.” His eyes return to yours.

You frown. “Yeah you are an idiot.”

He doesn’t flinch. “I am an idiot...I just...I didn’t want them to know…” he trails off, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort.

You look at him expectantly, eyes narrowing.

He puts his arm down and turns fully to face you, sighing. His eyes return to yours. “I didn’t want them to know how crazy I am for you. And--” he pauses. “I got...jealous. I didn’t want them looking at you the way I do.”

You look at him quizzically, heart pounding in your chest. His eyes are burning with an intensity you haven't quite seen before.

You blush but hold firm. “That still doesn’t make it okay to react like that. To be so quick to bring me down. It was still hurtful to hear...even if you weren’t talking directly to me.”

His eyebrows furrow and he reaches a hand out to you. His rough hand lightly covers yours. “I know. I’m sorry y/n. I am, truly. I’m a stupid immature jerk. It won’t happen again....You’re not...you’re not something to possess, but someone to cherish...to love.”

You hear and feel the sincerity in his words. You look down at his hand, registering the words he just said...You can’t get your hopes up, interpreting a moment for more than what it was. You gather your courage to ask the one question you’ve wanted the answer to for years:

“Do you...love me?”

His breath hitches and he freezes. He’s not used to expressing his feelings, the ones that leave him vulnerable. He uses a wall of anger to prevent anyone from seeing him weak. Opening his heart to someone, he hasn’t, not even to his own parents. But you...you make him want to. You’ve gradually chiseled down those walls of his. He yearns to just hold you in his arms and never let you go. Loving you isn’t a weakness. He has realized over the years, his love for you has made him stronger. It was what fanned the flames within him, motivating him to be the best. Seeing these other men around you, ones who weren’t so rough around the edges, it made him feel jealous. You deserved better than him, one who’s not as explosively hot headed. It wasn’t right for him to try to possess you, to keep you to himself and chase others away from you.

He removes his hand from yours. You swallow painfully, the lump of your throat aching more so than your ankle. You close your eyes and steel yourself, preparing for the incoming rejection. But instead he inches closer to you, you can feel the heat radiating from his body yet you remain still. He tentatively raises his hand to your face to gently wipe a stray tear that fell from your cheek unbeknownst to you and rests his hand on the side of your face, thumb caressing your cheek in a comforting manner.

“I love you y/n. With every fiber of my being, even if you don’t feel the same way.”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, letting out the breath you’ve been holding. The tears flow down your cheeks and his warm thumbs wipe them away tenderly. He gently pulls you closer and kisses your forehead. You suck in a breath at the intimate action. You feel his lips on your right cheek, then your left...by the corner of your lips, on the right side, then the left side. It lingers there a bit, your lips tremble. Then, you can feel his lips, ever so softly, brush against yours.

Your rapid thumping of your heart is ringing in your ears. You move your lips against his, unsure at first but soon with more confidence. His lips move against yours in a sense of desperation. His hands drop to your waist to pull you down with him. You’re pulled flush against him as he holds you on top of him. You gasp and blush further at how his half naked body feels against yours. He places his hand behind your head and tenderly brings you down to which you allow with no resistance. His lips envelop yours with gentle aggression you didn’t think was possible. The kiss is quickly deepened. His rough hands roam over your body, without venturing too far, and you let out a moan.

He rolls you over beneath him without breaking the kiss and with a hand supporting your head. He’s nestled between your legs as the two of you kiss fervently. It's your turn to let your hands wander. Your hands gliding over his smooth skin, your fingers studying his hard muscles in detail. He detaches his lips from yours to suck and nip at your neck down to just above your breasts. You moan and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him further against you, paying no heed to the twinge of pain from your ankle. He moans into your neck from the contact and slightly grinds against you. You pull him back up to your lips and his tongue slides into your mouth, teasing yours. You grip his back tightly, moaning as you feel yourself growing hotter. His hand slips up your torso, fingertips brushing over your breast. You lean into his touch which causes his hand to grasp your breast. You gasp into his mouth and moan out his name. He withdraws his hand from your breast and pulls away from you. Leaning on his forearms, he hovers over you whilst panting and eyes burning with desire.

“Katsuki?”

He leans down to kiss you, lips lingering before pulling away. His hand brushes the strands of hair from your face and he caresses your cheek lightly with the back of his fingers.

“As much as I want you y/n...and believe me, y/n, I want to ravish you, to kiss, suck, touch every inch of your body...I can’t...not here, not like this.”

You blink up at him in realization. Cheeks reddening at his words, suddenly feeling shy.

“I want you, sprawled on my bed.” He growls out.

Your face flushes at the thought.

“I want to wake up to you in my arms...I want you there beside me, as my partner. I want to take you out on a real date, hand in hand, treat you the way you deserve.”

Your lips quiver.

“You’re the only woman I want, if you’ll have me.”

You nod, speechless. You relish in the tender kiss he gives you before he sits up and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around you. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, enjoying the intimacy as you both sit there basking in the warmth of crackling fire and listen to the soothing sound of the pitter pattering of the rain.

[Later]

Friends remain dumbfounded as they stumble upon the both of you emerging from the forest. He struts through, carrying you in his arms as he makes his way to the infirmary. Your friends follow, teeming with questions.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay y/n?”

“Y/n! Kaachan! Are you guys are okay?”

“Y/n, what happened? Did you guys make up?”

“What did you do to her Bakugou?”

“Y/n! Thank goodness you’re okay! Bakugou! You apologized huh? You’re truly embracing the manly spirit!”

“We were worried sick! We were about to go looking for you guys!”

“You can’t just run off like that during a storm!! That was irresponsible of you both!”

You smile awkwardly and apologetically. You’re attempting to answer the swarm of questions and apologize, but find no room to interject. Katsuki’s scowls, eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

“Piss off! Get the fuck outta our way extras!”

They scramble out of the way, momentarily ceasing their questioning. He holds you tightly as he kicks the door shut on their curious faces. They deemed it wiser to leave the two of you alone, opting to pester the two of you later. He places a chaste kiss your cheek before placing you down on one of the beds. He walks away tch-ing at the lack of staff. “Oy! My girlfriend is injured here! Move your asses!”

You smile and shake your head. You love this hothead.

#bnha #boku no hero fanfic #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #fanfic #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x y/n #bakugou x female reader #katsuki x female reader #bakugo x female reader #bakugo x y/n

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oikawaplssteponme · 4 years ago

Text

The Apartment: part 7

▪️for parts 1-6, click here

pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x fem! reader

ratings/warnings: swearing, manhandling (?), drinking (reminder that all characters are aged up and are of legal drinking age), ✨SPICY✨ at the end (implied stuff, 16+ probably is best), you might get some second-hand embarrassment...🤭

synopsis: You knew that living with your three best friends, Kuroo, Oikawa, and Bokuto, would be a wild ride. It’s never a dull moment with those three. Let’s just hope you can keep your huge crush on Kuroo a secret when he is only a room away.

a/n: hi friends!! ahh im really excited to post this part (i think it’s my favorite so far) and i hope you all like it too! this fic is going to be coming to an end soon (just a couple more parts 😔) BUT I’ll let you know when the last part will be. as always, my inbox is open for everything and anything you might need and you can still be added to the taglist for this fic💛 okay enough from me, enjoy xx

p.s. [PLEASE LISTEN TO THE SONG ATTACHED EITHER BEFORE READING OR RIGHT BEFORE THE 4th SECTION BREAK, trust me...]

•

Seven: Careless Whisper

You and Kuroo took the train downtown. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, except that you would like it. You were still unsure whether or not this was a date, or just his attempt to be nice to you. Regardless, you liked having Kuroo all to yourself.

You walked down the lightly lit streets. Surprisingly it was busy, people bustling around from restaurants to clubs. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the nightlife.

Kuroo led you to a dark alley, where there was a line of people trying to get inside of a building. Kuroo skipped the line and stood in front of the bouncer.

“Hey back of the line kid,” the guy said. You looked at Kuroo with a concerned expression. Kuroo smiled.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” he said. The bouncers eyes widened.

“Oh I’m terribly sorry sir. You two enjoy your night.” The bouncer moved from in front of the door to let you two in. You looked at Kuroo, confused.

“Um how did you do that?” You asked. Kuroo laughed.

“Kenma has a lot of connections,” he smirked. You nodded.

Once inside, Kuroo led you downstairs to the scene of blaring music, people dancing, and flashing lights.

“Is this some kind of rave?” You asked.

“You could say that. One of Kenma’s gamer friends owns this club so he lets us come free of charge,” he explained.

“How come you’ve never brought me here before?”

“Well I went with Bokuto, Kenma, and Akaashi once and Bokuto was just a mess so I haven’t been back since. But it’s a good time, trust me.” Kuroo took your hand and led you to the pit.

The flashing lights and crowd of people was enough to give you that extra boost of confidence. You looked good and you felt good, so you knew that this was your chance to get Kuroo to see you as more than a friend. You and Kuroo danced carelessly, as if it was only you two in there. He would take your hand and spin you around, admiring this bolder side of you. You felt every beat of the music bounce off your skin. You felt alive in this moment. Kuroo noticed it too.

After maybe an hour of reckless dancing, you got a little thirsty.

“Let’s grab a drink,” suggested Kuroo. You followed him over to the bartender.

“Two gin and tonics, please,” said Kuroo. The bartender nodded and began to prepare your drinks. Kuroo looked devilishly handsome. The thin layer of sweat on his forehead from all the dancing you two had done and his perfectly messy hair was something you never got tired of looking at.

“Here you go.” The bartender placed the drinks in front of you two.

“You can put that on Kenma Kozume’s tab,” said Kuroo. You giggled.

“Cheers?” You held your drink to Kuroo. He smiled and tapped your glasses together.

“Y/N?” Kuroo looked at you tenderly.

“Yeah?” Is he gonna say it?

“I-uh-”

“HI THERE GORGEOUS!” You felt an arm wrap around you, and it certainly wasn’t Kuroo’s. You looked to see a scruffy guy, obviously drunk.

“Excuse me?” You said, pushing the guy away.

“Woah she’s got an attitude! I like it!” The guy said. Kuroo grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him.

“Hey man, leave her alone,” he ordered. The guy laughed.

“Look kid, I’m sure she’d rather be with a man than a boy right now. So why don’t you hit the road?”

Kuroo became instantly aggravated.

“Kuroo, let’s just go,” you whispered. Kuroo moved to stand in front of you.

“I said leave her alone.” He repeated. You started getting nervous.

“Kuroo please-”

“Come on pretty lady, why don’t you spend some time with me-” The guy grabbed your arm and yanked you towards him.

“Get off of me!” You yelled. Before you knew it, you heard a large CRACK and a CRASH.

Kuroo had punched the guy.

In the face.

And now he was unconscious, on the floor.

You gasped, before being led away by Kuroo.

“Sorry dude but I don’t have time for jackasses,” he said. You and Kuroo ran to the emergency exit, forcing the fire alarm on.

“Shit!”

You and Kuroo ran outside but you didn’t make it too far. You were tripping on your own feet from your heels. Kuroo noticed your hurting feet, and picked you up bridal style, running away from the club.

Everything happened so fast. You were still trying to process what even happened. Kuroo continued to carry you until you got to the train station. You boarded the train and Kuroo set you down in your seat.

“A-are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m okay, are you okay?” You said softly. Kuroo sighed.

“I can’t believe I brought you there, that was so stupid.”

“Hey it wasn’t your fault. That guy was just a drunk mess. And anyway, I still had fun,” you smiled. You took Kuroo’s hand with yours.

“Wait your hand!” You looked to see that his knuckles were bleeding.

“Oh yeah. I must’ve hit that guy harder than I thought,” he laughed.

“When we get home we should put some ice on it, okay?” You said. Kuroo nodded. Kuroo looked a little distraught. You rested your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Kuroo blushed.

You took your keys and unlocked the door to your apartment. You headed straight for the freezer, taking a plastic bag and filling it with ice. You went over to Kuroo, who was sitting on the couch.

“Here, give me your hand,” you ordered. Kuroo gave you his beaten up hand and you gently put the ice bag on it. He winced a little at the cold sensation.

“We should probably wrap it with a bandage later too,” you suggested. He nodded. You kept your eyes on Kuroo’s large hand, as it rested on your leg with the ice pack on top. You held the bag in place for him. Kuroo kept his eyes on you, without you even realizing it.

“I didn’t think you had that kind of power in you,” you joked. Kuroo didn’t say anything. He took his free hand and placed it on your cheek. You flinched at his touch and looked at him.

“Kuroo…”

“Y/N…”

You took a deep breath.

“Kuroo I-I’m in love with you. Like deeply in love with you. I’ve never loved anyone but you and I don’t think I ever will. I know this is a long shot and you’ve shut me down before but if I don’t tell you now I don’t think I ever will. You’re my best friend but you’re also so much more to me than that. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same but I can’t hold it in anymore. And that night at the party when Oikawa told everyone that I like you, he was being serious because god damnit Kuroo Tetsurou I like you. Well really, I love you.”

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Your face felt like a million degrees. Kuroo didn’t react. He simply leaned in, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I know,” he said. Your eyes grew.

“What?”

“I know,” he repeated.

“You know?!”

“Of course I know. I’ve known forever. You’re really bad at hiding your emotions,” he laughed. You were in shock.

“Wait but at the party-”

“I wanted to hear it from you, not Oikawa. I knew you’d tell me when you were ready,” he smiled. Your brain couldn’t process the words coming from his mouth.

“So all this time you’ve just been mentally torturing me?” You huffed. Kuroo laughed.

“Come on Y/N, I know you better than you know yourself. I probably knew you liked me before you did.”

“Oh my god…”

“Well better late than never right?” You looked down and sighed.

“Wait but do you...you know...do you…?” You stuttered out. Kuroo took his index finger and placed it under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Of course I do. I’d be stupid not to. I love you.”

As soon as the words left Kuroo’s mouth, his lips were pressed against yours. Kuroo shook the ice pack off of his hand and pulled you on top of him. He gripped onto your thighs as you ran your fingers through his messy hair. He tilted his head slightly to kiss you better. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Without realizing it, you started slowly rocking your hips back and forth against him. He let out a faint groan. Kuroo then quickly tucked his arms under your legs and picked you up, leading you to his room.

Kuroo laid you down on his bed, hovering over you as he continued to kiss you. You began to unbutton his shirt and tossed it aside. Kuroo lifted your dress over your head and threw it onto the floor. He moved to start kissing and sucking on your neck, doing his best to leave marks on your sensitive skin. You let out faint moans every time he would release his lips from you.

“Kuroo...please…” you sighed. He moved to look at you, kissing your lips.

“What is it baby?”

“I want you,” you said. Kuroo’s eyes grew. He bent back down to kiss you before reaching in his back pocket for his phone.

“What are you doing?” You asked, beginning to unbuckle his belt. Kuroo set his phone down on his nightstand.

“A little music never hurt.”

Kuroo helped you pull his pants down. He hovered above you now just in his boxers. He continued to kiss you passionately, your hands gripped firmly onto his biceps.

Suddenly, the song that began to play seemed vaguely familiar. The saxophone played a tune that you’ve heard before.

Is he playing…

“Kuroo?” You broke away from his kiss. He raised a brow.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what song this is?” Kuroo tilted his head in confusion.

“Uhh…”

“TONIGHT THE MUSIC SEEMS SO LOUD! I WISH THAT WE COULD LOSE THIS CROWD! BABY!”

You put your hand over your mouth to cover your laughs.

“What? What’s so funny?” asked Kuroo, moving from on top of you.

You bursted out laughing. Kuroo’s face flushed red.

“Kuroo, did you make this playlist?”

“No, Oikawa made it for me.”

You began to laugh even harder.

Oikawa you cruel cruel boy.

“Oh Kuroo, this song is a joke…” you cupped your hands on his cheeks, trying to stop laughing. Kuroo pouted.

“That’s the last time I ever let Oikawa give me music suggestions,” he groaned. You giggled, giving him a kiss.

“You’re so cute and clueless sometimes,” you joked. Kuroo smiled, pulling you back onto his lap.

“Can we still…?” he begged. You laughed and kissed his head.

“Yeah...just please, turn this song off.”

•

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#willow.🌸#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsurou #hq kuroo #kuroo x y/n #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsurō #bokuto #oikawa tōru #the apartment.🌸

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littleoddwriter · 4 years ago

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Hurt | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

This is a purely self-indulgent (and kinda vent-y) Hurt/Comfort fic with my fave comic book Roman version (Red Hood and the Outlaws Rebirth). If anyone should end up reading this, I do hope you enjoy this! Also, uh, reader has BPD in this and the TW’s should say it all, so be cautious when reading, please!

summary; Red Hood makes a snide remark that leaves you overwhelmed with negative emotions. Roman ends up comforting you, after Red Hood inquires about your relationship with him.

notes; TW // BPD episodes; Intrusive Thoughts; Self-Harm (implicit; punching oneself; also attempted self-harm); Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Blackmailing, and a non-con relationship (FALSE accusations); Red Hood handles reader a little roughly at one point; Daddy!Kink. Male!Reader; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Hugs; Sitting on one’s lap.

"Look, Roman, I don't mind your whole BDSM theme you've got going on. It fits you. But this seems to go a little far, even for you. I mean, this is breakfast, right?" Red Hood said, ever sounding so dry and sarcastic, sitting at the other end of the table opposite from you and Roman. You lowered your head in shame, as your face burned with it, your heart clenched painfully and your hands balled into fists, bunching the fabric of your pants, as you started trembling. Roman's arm tightened around your middle. You sat on his lap, as he fed you forks full of food alternating between you and himself. Having woken up feeling bad, this was routine for such mornings. It grounded you, made you feel a little calmer and had you feeling less like you wanted to rip your own skin off. "I'm sorry. I'm embarrassing you," you whispered quietly, so only Roman could hear it. He squeezed you where he held you around your waist and spoke just as quietly, "Not at all, sweetheart." Black Mask encouraged you to lean back into him with a nudge. Your back rested against his chest and stomach, as your head was supported by his shoulder. Turning your head to the side, your nose pressed against his neck. The smell of his leather mask and perfume all too familiar and soothing to you. You inhaled, a quiet and content sigh left your lips, as you relaxed a little. "Now, now, Red. I don't see why this should be any of your business, hm? This is my home after all. I own everything and everyone in here. Therefore I can do as I please, wouldn't you agree?" Roman said finally, tilting his head a little, looking as inquiring as he sounded. "Sure, sure. Still, it's just... weird. No offense." A dry chuckle left Black Mask's mouth as he shook his head slightly and tightened his grip around you, sure to leave a bruise by now. That was that then. You knew Roman had plans for Red Hood, so he probably held himself back here because of it. Usually he would have shot the person uttering such things as soon as those words had left their mouth. You were glad he hasn't done it this time, as you didn't fancy having someone's blood on your hands. After a couple of minutes of charged silence, in which the three of you finished eating your breakfast, Roman squeezed your waist once more. You lifted your head and sat up properly. "I need to talk some business with Red, here. You can go and do whatever you like, as always, alright, baby?" You nodded and gave a quick, uncertain glance over to Red Hood before turning your head and leaning into Roman. Then you pressed your lips against the cold metal zipper of his mask, which he's closed back up seconds before. Black Mask hummed approvingly in the back of his throat and nudged his masked face against yours in mock of a kiss back. Then you leaned back again and slid off his lap. You waved good-bye and then left the room. As soon as you were alone, the crushing feelings from before came back in a rush. The shame, the guilt, the anxiety, the anger. It was so much. Too much. Promptly, you started trembling again. Your skin felt tight, you wanted to rip it off, scream, cry and disappear. You had embarrassed Roman. Red Hood probably couldn't take him seriously because of you. Just because you're so fucking pathetic that you needed to be sat on his lap and be fed. Fuck! Intrusive thoughts of hurting yourself came over you, such as the urge; and fuck, it was so strong. It hasn't been this strong in at least two weeks. A long time for you. You didn't want to do it, though. You didn't want to give in. Walking around the penthouse and trying to find something to do that would take your mind off things, the urge only became stronger. It loomed over you, suffocated you. It was so tempting. You just wanted to get rid of those feelings. You just wanted them gone so badly. Various images of how you could do it popped up, your mind's eye forced to take them in. It was an itch you desperately tried not to scratch. After an hour of having done skills and tried to get rid of the feelings through some exercise and such, you were still trembling with the urge and overwhelming tightness of the suffocating emotions. You figured that perhaps Roman was done with talking by then, so you went back to the dining room where you have left him. "Hey, Luke, is Roman still busy talking in there?" You asked one of the masked goons standing outside the door. Your voice sounded tight, restrained, and yet so very dull. All those emotions that still tried to claw their way out of you were held back by you by sheer force. "Yeah, he is. What d'ya need him for? I'm sure the boss doesn't mind if ya interrupt him if it's important." "Fuck," you muttered. "No, no thank you. I really don't wanna interrupt him," you then said louder, so Luke could hear you. He nodded and you turned to go back to your room. A while later, you were sitting in the hallway that housed Roman's family portrait. You sat on the floor in front of it, a sketch book in your lap and a pencil and eraser in your hands. Your ears twitched when an unfamiliar footfall came closer to you. When you looked up, you saw it was Red Hood. Immediately panic gripped on to your heart, squeezing it tightly, and surrounded your lungs, making it hard to breathe. Red Hood was looking from side to side before crouching down in front of you. "What are you doing here?" He asked, confusing you. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" "No, I meant here, as in, with Black Mask. Is he forcing you? Blackmailing you? Look, if he's got something on you, I can help you." Your face twisted with both confusion and anger. The panic hasn't subsided, but it made a little way for anger and hurt. "Excuse me? Do you- Who do you think you are? Why do you think you have any place to make such horrendous assumptions?" "He's a bad man and you know it. I'm sure you're not unaware to his 'business', right? It's not too far-fetched that he might have gotten a little too lonely and... y'know?" "What the fuck? Listen, Red, I don't give a fuck who you are or who you aren't. I don't give a fuck that you clearly don't know shit about what you're saying, so just leave me alone, will you?" Instead of leaving you alone, he gripped your arm and pulled it towards himself. "I'm not stupid, I've seen the bruises on you-" You snapped. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don't know anything! Shut the fuck up!" You shouted, pulling your arm free from him, as he loosened his grip in surprise. Your vision was blurry and red, tears burned your eyes, you were in so much pain all over again. You had just managed to get rid of it. Not without visible bruises on your arms. The bruises Red Hood mistook for abuse marks from Black Mask. It made you feel sick. You took the pencil from the ground where it had fallen onto, after you had jumped up when you had pulled your arm free. Close to stabbing it in your arm, someone embraced you from behind, one arm went around your waist and held you tightly against their chest, pressing their body against your back; and gripped tightly on to your wrist of which hand you held the pencil with. The soothing and familiar smell of leather and his perfume hit you. Roman. You trembled with the panic, the overwhelming emotions and the urge to follow through with what you've almost had just a moment ago. "Ssshhhh, sweetheart, ssshhh," Roman cooed, shushing you quietly. A whimper left your lips as you let go of the pencil. The noise it made when it hit the floor was crushingly loud in your ears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeated over and over again, whimpering and sniveling. Roman continued to shush you quietly, lowered your arm to your side and turned you around, so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and stroked over your back soothingly. "Leave now," he commanded Red Hood, whose quick footsteps you could hear fading away. "Oh, sweetheart, my darling boy. What did he say? What happened, huh?" Your sobs had died down by that point and while it took you a great amount of effort to be able to reply, you did. "He thought you were forcing me to be with you. That you were abusing me b-because of my-my bruises. I'm sorry. I've already embarrassed you at breakfast and now I did it again, I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm so sorry!" "Not at all, sweet boy. You haven't embarrassed me at all. Calm down, eh? It's alright. If anything, he was trying to get a rise out of me at breakfast. That's just how he is. I'll talk to him about this, later, hm? If I didn't have plans for him, he'd already be dead anyway." You nodded against his neck and the grip your hands had on his back tightened. As so very often, you couldn't possibly fathom why he put up with you at all, why he took his time to calm you down and reassure you. He could very well be the worst of the worst, like he was to so many other people; yet he seemed to have the patience and understanding of a Saint with you. It had your mind reeling. "Now, my sweet boy, I know you hate when I ask, but have you hurt yourself before this, today?" Roman asked eventually, his voice a gentle rumble. Once more, you nodded against his neck, inhaling sharply. "I'm sorry," you added quietly. "Why didn't you come to me, hm? I assume it was because of what happened at breakfast. Am I wrong?" "You're not, I'm sorry. I didn't want to interfere. And I didn't want to do it either, I tried not to, I promise. I did everything I could, but I just- broke." "Alright, sweetheart. It's okay. Though, am I remembering this incorrectly or have I really not told you that you could interrupt me and ask for help whenever?" "You've told me, I'm sorry, I know. I didn't want to... embarrass you any further, is all. I'm sorry, Daddy." He loosened his hold around your waist and leaned back, so he could look at you. Reluctantly, you faced him. He let go of you with one arm completely and took ahold of your arm where you've injured yourself a few hours before. A big, blue and purplish bruise had formed already, taking up most of the space of your inner forearm. Ashamed, you averted your eyes. You should have just gotten him to help you. Then Black Mask lifted your arm to his face, as you felt the cold metal of his zipper press against the bruise. The pressure on it hurt, but it wasn't unbearable or truly painful in a way where you'd want it to stop. In actuality, the mock kiss made you feel warm inside. A small smile stole itself on your face. You sighed as the warm leather of his mask gently pressed against your arm, as he turned his head to face you. "Will you promise me to get me the next time?" You could feel his jaw move against your arm as he talked, it tickled. "I promise," you whispered, in awe. He lowered your arm again and nudged his masked face against yours, the zipper pressing against your lips. You kissed it. Then again. And again. "I love you, Daddy. I'm really sorry about this whole mess, I didn't mean for any of this to happen." He sighed, "It's alright, sweetheart. I know you haven't done any of this on purpose." Then he let go of you entirely and bent down, picking up your sketchbook from the floor and looked it over. "You drew me," he stated, surprise clear in his voice. "Yeah, I needed to calm down after- well, you know. And I couldn't think of anything else to do, but sitting down and drawing." "And the best thing to draw was me as a child? Taking this horrendous portrait as reference no less. Although, you actually managed to make me look like a child." "Well, uh, I just thought I'd try myself on it, you know? Make it look less gloomy. Well. You. Not that I'd draw your fucking parents. They don't deserve it," you chuckled wryly by the end of it. "They really don't. It looks good, sweetheart. Will you finish it?" You looked at him in surprise, mouth a little slack. "I can try." "Good. I would like to hang it up, when you have." That surprised you even more. "Are you sure?" He just looked at you, and though his face - or rather, what was left of it - wasn't visible, you knew he was shooting you an incredulous look. "Right, okay. Sure, I will try my best, Roman!" "You always do, my boy." He gently placed the sketchbook back on the floor and put his arms around you once more. "Let's go for a walk then, eh? I feel like it might be good for you, after everything." Nodding, you smiled at him softly, leaning up to press another few kisses to the zipped up mouth of his mask.

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ddaenggtan · 5 years ago

Text

midnight wishes | knj [M]

Granny Park's Gossip:

That boy. Never met anyone as prone to disaster as he is while being so damned smart, except maybe that roommate of his. The two of them could probably cure cancer if they wanted to, but you leave them alone for more than a few seconds and you’re liable to come back to disaster. Jiminie did say they’ve been acting a little different, though, maybe they finally wised up and made things official instead of just humping like bunnies around that apartment of theirs. Oh, am I not supposed to say that?

pairing } namjoon x reader

word count } 10.3k { also on ao3

genre } Fluff, Smut, the smallest possible dash of angst; FWB au, Roommates au, coworkers au, slight idiots to lovers but like. lowkey.

warnings } smut, the most smut, all the smut. Namjoon In Glasses bc that deserves its own tag. there’s multiple smutty parts, several less explicit and then one very very super explicit so for those: oral female, oral male, fingering, deepthroating, protected sex, unprotected sex, mention of semi-public sex, mentions of a sir kink, some very accidental cum eating that is hilarious and disgusting all at once. Namjoon and Slick are both complete and utter idiots, like it’s genuinely a miracle that they’ve lived this long, especially when paired together.

{ The Snowball Effect Collab Masterlist }

a/n } hello it is i with yet another fic. it’s done. i. have a lot of emotions bUT that’s neither here nor there. This is part of The Snowball Effect collab, and while it can be read as a standalone, all the fics end in the same spot and there are so many crossovers that it legitimately hurts to think about for too long, so for the best and funniest and fluffiest experience, we recommend that you read all of them in order!! Special shoutout to ashley, kristi, and ryn (@taehyungforreal, @stutterfly, and @fortunexkookie, respectively) for letting me part of this wonderful adventure. i’m more honored than i could ever say with words, and i’m grateful every day that i got the chance to work with all of you on this absolutely phenomenal collab. for those of you who are just now seeing this, i implore you to read the others, as they are literal light years better than this, and i could not possibly live up to the absolute beauty of the other authors in this collab, but i still hope you enjoy my shiny garbage child aka this fic.

The first time you ever saw Kim Namjoon was on your very first day at the lab where you both work. You won't ever forget it, not because he's the walking embodiment of beauty nor because he's the most intelligent person you've ever met besides yourself. No, that day stays firmly implanted in your memory because that was the day the two of you nearly got fired for setting the building on fire.

In a genetics lab.

You don't even work with chemicals. Maybe if you did, they would have been more understanding, but you don't and instead, everyone was completely flabbergasted that the two of you very nearly destroyed the building because you tried to reheat your leftover Chinese food - and really, how perfect is it that he also prefers the place across town instead of on the corner, and that he eats all the vegetables you pick out of your rice while you eat the eggrolls he isn't a fan of - in the microwave at the same time. Sure, your IQ is close to 300 when combined, but also, how are you supposed to remember that the bottom part of the takeout is made of foil? You were trying to single out a gene sequence that might help cancer research. Microwaves were not important.

Until it exploded a little and set the fire suppression systems off in all the labs and affected several billion dollars worth of research.

Honestly, the two of you are lucky you still have your jobs.

Less lucky that the insurance company wouldn't pay for the entire cost so both you and Namjoon had to take pretty severe pay cuts to help cover the costs.

Even less lucky that it means you could no longer afford your apartment by yourself and subsequently had to try to find a roommate in less than a week, which the internet is not helpful for, it doesn't matter what your coworkers say.

Which really just highlights that it's your own fault that you're in this situation in the first place, you think as you slam back another shot. It's been months, and yes, you found a roommate, and yes , things between the two of you are working better than you could have imagined, but god , at what cost?

You catch a glimpse of dimples heading your way and down the rest of the Kamikaze that you've been nursing all night. You might regret that later, the alcohol might make you do something you'd never do otherwise, but you can always pretend you don't remember. Besides, it's so much harder to handle Namjoon while you're completely sober; you never quite know what to say or what to do.

He doesn't bother to sit in the empty stool beside you, just slides into the space between you and it and lets one arm rest casually on the back of your barstool as he leans in to be heard over the live band that's playing. You don't look at him, you don't trust yourself to look at him, not with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons undone. You know he looks deliciously rumpled. You're entirely too familiar with the sight.

"Are you ready to go?" He asks. You shrug even as you start pulling your coat on, doing your best to ignore the way the heat of his breath brushed over your neck in the way that always gets you hot and bothered. "We don't have to if you don't want to," He says quickly, but you wave him off.

"No, it's fine, I promise. I'm not enjoying the band as much as I thought I would anyway."

When the ride you summoned stops at your apartment building, Namjoon pays and follows you up. The alcohol has started seeping into your bloodstream, and for a moment you regret that last drink. You're not drunk, not really, but you're on the farther side of tipsy and thoughts are swirling in your head that you wish would go somewhere else. Plus you're really fucking hungry now, and also kinda tired, and you're really glad tomorrow's Saturday so you can sleep in.

"What's got you in your head?" Namjoon asks as you fumble to unlock the door. You just shrug noncommittally, unwilling to tell him about it. He doesn't pry either, just sets to work pulling leftover tacos out of the fridge and sticking them in the microwave, remembering at the last second to take the plastic off the top so your food doesn't get coated in melted saran wrap. The two of you eat in relative silence before you manage to make yourself go into your room and strip out of your work clothes and then slide under the covers.

You don't listen as he goes into the room across the hall, you don't listen as the shower starts up, you don't listen at the off-key singing that he does. You don't. You can't let yourself, because then your drunk ass won't be able to keep your mouth shut the next time you see him - as you're both eating breakfast tomorrow, probably - and you'll say some super embarrassing shit like "hey I know it's partially my fault you couldn't afford your rent and you know I'm really grateful that you moved in with me, but you're also like hot as the surface of the sun and your dimples are really cute too, please fuck me stupid, I'm literally begging you."

Because that's the issue with living and working with Namjoon. There is no escape. Before you could come home and masturbate in peace while thinking about how his chest looks so utterly perfect in those button-ups, and how the muscles in his forearm flex when he's got his sleeves rolled up, and how his jaw does that muscle clench thing whenever he's focused on something.

But no. Now he lives with you , and not only are you both on the same schedules and therefore he’s never not home when you are, therefore depriving you of your precious Alone Time, but! You get a front-row view to how he looks in the mornings, with his hair all messy, and how he always forgets that the flavor packet goes in the ramen after you cook it, and how he bundles up every time he goes on walks with Moni, and-

The door to the bathroom creaks open and you force your eyes not to close. You inspect the stuccoed ceiling the entire time it takes his footsteps to make it into his room because otherwise, you're just going to remember that first week after he moved in, when he would have to go to his room with just a towel around his waist because his clothes were in boxes and he hadn't unpacked and he'd forgotten to take anything in the bathroom with him.

The memory of his absolutely fucking ridiculous pectorals dripping with water and his god damn superb biceps flexed and delicious-looking, none of it hidden under the slightly-too-big shirts he wears to work...it haunts you. To this day.

The sound of his door closing echoes through the hall and into your room. It’s through an incredibly impressive force of will that you don’t imagine what he’s doing right now, just across the hall. You resolutely do not imagine him sliding that towel from around his waist and revealing the gorgeous glistening golden thighs that strain against his work khakis so wonderfully. Nor do you think of the way he twists his neck to pop it while he does his after-shower stretches - because that’s a normal thing that normal people totally do - and you absolutely are not thinking of the way the scent of sandalwood and steam trails after him when he’s freshly showered and you are definitively not thinking about-

A loud, high-pitched moan followed by the slapping of skin on skin echoes through the apartment, jolting you upright and out of your thoughts as you stare in shock at the back of your bedroom door.

Something thuds against the carpeted floor of Namjoon’s room and the sound abruptly cuts off. The silence that follows is deafening, and your ears ring with it.

Surely….surely he wasn’t….

A thought, unbidden and cursed, flits through your mind before you can stop it. You can’t even blame the residual alcohol in your body for the way you stand and open your bedroom door, or how you slip your super soft silk robe over your shoulders and tie it loosely around your waist, nor for the way you take the two steps to stand in front of Namjoon’s, but you absolutely blame your quickly-returning sobriety for the way you hesitate in front of it.

He’s going to say no, anyway, so what’s the harm? Things are awkward for a day or two and then we move on, right?

You knock before you can talk yourself out of it. It takes a few minutes, but Namjoon does eventually open the door. His chest is still bare but he’s got on the soft-looking plaid pajama pants that you adore, albeit they are on backwards , and his face is flushed with color.

You're 98% sure that it's because he just had his hand around his cock. You're significantly less sure if you hate or love the fact that you know that.

“Hey,” You say awkwardly.

“Hey,” He responds, just as awkward.

You both stand there for a second while you work up the courage to ask what’s been going around and around in your mind.

“I just heard that thud and got worried,” is what eventually makes it out. Namjoon’s face flushes further, and his nose scrunches in the cutest way. “Just...wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know. Dead. Haha.”

He smiles at your laugh, even though it’s dead and humorless, and warmth blooms in your chest.

“I’m alright. Sorry for any, uh…” He squints, clearly searching for the word he wants to use that won’t immediately give him away - like the entire apartment building hadn’t heard that noise. “Disturbances.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine!” You tell him, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was just. Uh. Y’know how bonobos will often have recreational sex with non-monogamous partners just because they’re bored or as a way to work out the tension between members of the unit-groups and they enjoy said recreational sex, even though there’s no real emotional attachment to the other parties involved?”

Namjoon stares at you for a long, silent moment.

“Yeah, I know about bonobos,” He eventually says. “I didn’t know that about bonobos, but I guess that’s the fun fact quota for the day.”

Your face heats and you’ve never quite wished the ground would swallow you up until this very moment.

“Oh,” You say, dumbly. “Well. That’s a thing. That bonobos do.”

“I got that,” Namjoon says. He bites down on his lower lip in what’s probably an innocuous way to not smile at how ridiculous you’re being, but when paired with the golden expanse of chest, it’s utterly obscene.

“Would you like to have recreational sex with me?”

“ What? ”

“No strings attached, no feelings, nothing but some nice fun recreational intercourse between two consenting adults of sound mind. Would you be interested?”

“I...why are you asking me? ” He asks incredulously, and you resist the urge to kiss the surprise off his face. How is it surprising at all when he walks around looking like that ?

“Because in the time we’ve known each other as coworkers, roommates, and friends, I think we could be very sexually compatible and even if we aren’t, I’m confident enough in our friendship to believe we could still be friends afterward.” You tell him firmly. “Besides, you’re literally the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, why wouldn’t I want to have sex with you?”

“You’re...serious about this? You’re not playing some kind of joke on me?”

“Why would I play a joke on you, Namjoon? I haven’t been able to get off for literal weeks - ever since you moved in, actually - and I’m at a bit of a breaking point.”

“And you’re not drunk?”

“Completely sober,” You assure him. He curses under his breath and runs a hand over his jaw, not making eye contact as he considers. It’s the same thoughtful expression that he gets when he’s trying to figure out some complex equation at work. With how long it’s been since you last came, however, it’s only making you wetter.

"Fuck it," He mutters, seconds before his hands cup your jaw to pull you into a kiss.

It's awkward at first, the two of you trying to find a rhythm that you both enjoy while still being able to breathe. His lips are slightly chapped and you both stumble as he starts walking backwards towards the bed, but it's so wonderful. His hand against your jaw is warm and comforting, even as his other hand is slipping teasingly under your robe and his teeth suckle a mark into your collarbone.

Movement on the bed catches your attention and you flush when you realize it's Moni, Namjoon's very sweet dog that came with him when he moved in.

"Uh, Namjoon?" You breathe. It's hard to focus on anything that isn't the way he's teasing at the band of your panties, but the way Moni is staring at you is captivating. "Dog."

Namjoon freezes, hands disappearing from your skin, and he either doesn't hear or doesn't acknowledge your needy whine at the loss of contact.

"What, what's wrong? Is that your safeword? What did I do?"

"No, Joon," You can barely hear yourself think over the stream of apologies pouring from his lips, and it isn't until you grip his shoulders and forcibly turn him to look at his dog that he shuts up.

" Oh ," He whispers. "The dog." He clicks his tongue a couple of times and Moni hops down from the bed, though not without giving Namjoon the saddest eyes possible. Moni disappears down the hallway, probably to go lay on the couch, and Namjoon shuts the door behind him. "Sorry," he says bashfully.

"Don't be sorry," You respond with a smile. " Do , however, fuck me until I can't move."

A growl vibrates in his chest, surprising you, and you're bouncing atop his mattress before you can think.

He doesn't say anything else, too focused on the way your folds feel against his tongue as he slides your robe up your thighs. Words are hardly possible for you when he makes you come the first time. Even less so when he turns you onto your hands and knees, presses your face into the mattress, and proceeds to pound into you so hard that the nightstand shakes. Still, your knees are made weak by something else entirely.

It's the tender awareness in his touch; he's firm and unyielding but so, so cautious, consistently testing your reactions before he continues. The way his voice - deepened and husky with desire - sounds in your ear when he asks if what he's doing is okay, if you like it, if you want to keep going. It's how he teases you gently about how wet you are - "God damn, is this all for me? You're so fucking wet, so slick and ready for me, sweetheart," - the way he's so absolutely tuned in to your own needs and desires, the way he coaxes orgasm after orgasm out of you like it's second nature, his own high an afterthought when you've clenched too tight around him.

It's the way he brings you water and some fruit afterward and gently cleans you up while you eat before sliding your robe carefully over the blossoming purple marks he sucked into your shoulders. It's the way he didn't close his bedroom door until yours clicked behind you.

"This was the best idea I've ever had," you sigh happily to yourself as you drift off to sleep.

“So you’ve got a sir kink?” Namjoon asks several days later, face pressed into a microscope more expensive than your entire apartment building. He doesn’t look at you, even as you tear your eyes away from the computer screen in front of you to glance at him curiously.

“I do,” You tell him. He shifts in his chair and you bite back a grin. “Is that a problem? We don’t have to use it.”

“No, it’s fine,” He says quickly. “Just thought it was interesting. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Namjoon, we’ve only known each other for a couple of months, and in that time, we’ve hardly had a conversation about what kinks we enjoy and what we don’t. How would you expect anything?”

“Just...didn’t expect it, that’s all.” He’s quiet for a minute and a sliver of guilt lodges in your throat. You’re right, the two of you haven’t known each other for very long, especially not in a sexual manner, but you could’ve maybe phrased it better.

“I’m sorry-”

“We should-”

Both of you stop midsentence, turning away from your work to laugh with each other.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Namjoon says with a dimpled smile. “I know what you meant, and you’re right. We don’t know what the other enjoys, so we shouldn’t go into this with any expectations.”

“Maybe we should, though,” You say, marking a sequence that catches your eye so you’ll remember to come back and fully examine it later. “I mean, we can’t exactly fulfill our sexual needs without knowing what said needs are. For instance, how often do you orgasm every week?”

Something tumbles on Namjoon’s desk, and when you look over he’s got the microscope cradled carefully in his hands a few feet above the floor.

“Uh...maybe twice,” He eventually says.

“Hm. Duly noted.” You turn back to the monitor in front of you, marking another sequence for inspection.

“Well...how often do you orgasm each week?” He asks. His voice is hesitant, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask.

“Depends,” You tell him. “When I’m close to my period or ovulating, it’s usually once a day, if not twice, because my sex drive is higher, but otherwise it’s usually every other day or so.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry, I’m more than willing to take care of myself on the nights where you need a break. I don’t expect you to keep up with my sex drive.”

“I mean...I could .”

You turn away from the monitor to look at him, quirking a brow. He quirks his own in return and you can’t help the way your eyes travel down his form. He’s wearing contacts instead of his glasses - always does during the workweek, since it’s easier to use a microscope that way - but the light purple shirt sets off the platinum blonde of his hair and his thighs strain against the material of his khakis. It all adds up to make him look absolutely delectable, especially since you know full well what’s hiding underneath those pants.

“I could,” He repeats. “If you want me to.”

Your eyes meet his and you have no doubt he’s been eyeing you the same way you’ve been eyeing him.

“I think it might be time for our lunch break, Mr. Kim,” You tell him, eyes darting to the clock on your desk. “I was thinking of going out to get something, would you like to join me?”

Namjoon is already standing and grabbing his jacket, and you would laugh at how eager he is if you weren’t the same way. You can already feel heat beginning to pool between your legs and the two of you rush out of the office in such a hurry that you hardly notice when you run straight into the mail cart.

“Nice going, Slick!” Kihyun yells after you, and you wish you were ashamed of the way that your knees tremble at the reminder of how it felt to have Namjoon call you that while buried inside of your warmth.

“They have no idea,” Namjoon mutters, fingers twisting with yours so he can pull you down a hallway and towards an unused office. “If they only knew just how slick you really are.”

You shiver and slam the door closed as Namjoon sinks to his knees.

The amount of times the two of you fuck at work is utterly ridiculous after that. You have an actual conversation with him about kinks and hard limits and soft limits and all that fun grown-up stuff that’s necessary of an adult relationship, of course, and that only adds to the fire between the two of you.

He’s more than willing to let you call him Sir while you’re on your hands and knees in front of him, and you’re absolutely willing to ride him into oblivion in those moments when he doesn’t want to be in charge or when he’s had a hard day at work and just wants to relax. Those are your favorite times, actually; when he just sits on the couch and drives himself up into you while you’re fucking yourself back down onto him, eyes clenched shut as his hands glide up your spine and knead your ass.

The slow, lazy way his hips meet yours is absolutely addictive, you can’t even lie, but you can’t deny that it’s the moment after you’ve both cum that are the real danger. When you’re both panting and spent, laying against the soft sheets on his bed or the cool leather of your couch, and his arm drapes around your torso for those few moments it takes him to regain his breath.

It’s dangerous, so dangerous, because you’ve already agreed not to have feelings involved in this. You’re friends with benefits, nothing more and nothing less, and you cannot let yourself forget that. Not in the mornings when you wander out in his shirt to find that he’s made breakfast - ordered it, actually, but it’s the thought that counts - or when you walk into work together and he doesn’t hesitate to open the doors for you without even breaking stride, as if it’s second nature to do so. As if he’s used to it.

It’s when the two of you are at the mall together that reality hits you in the face.

You’re both on the hunt for different things; he’s got a birthday present he still has to buy and wants to pick up some new treats and sweaters for Moni, while you’re on the hunt for a new toaster to rival that of your old one - which you destroyed on accident by using a metal fork to dig a piece of bread out of. While it was plugged in. And hot.

Your hands still sting a little, but the ER nurse was adamant that you would be alright. So long as you didn’t try to electrocute yourself again.

“Wait, so you’re not going to be here for New Year’s Eve?” You clarify, popping a piece of chocolate into your mouth.

“No, I’m heading up to Taehyung’s cabin with the rest of the guys. It’s an annual thing, I don’t even remember how it got started,” Namjoon tells you as he peers into the window of some box store that you already know isn’t going to have anything Taehyung will like.

“Hm, I guess it’s good I work then, so I can walk Moni.”

Namjoon shoots you an odd look. “You don’t work, and Jackson’s watching Moni.”

“Uh...I’m pretty sure I work on New Year’s Eve, Namjoon. I would’ve made plans otherwise.”

“Slick, I’m exactly one hundred percent sure the office is closed for New Year’s because it is every year.” He sneaks a piece of chocolate and wrinkles his nose when he realizes it’s mint chocolate.

“No, because my schedule says-” You start, pulling your phone out to open said schedule so you can show him just how wrong he is. “That I work the next morning. That’s why I didn’t make plans.”

Namjoon just smiles and taps at the screen. “That’s December, Slick. You’re looking at December first.”

You pull the phone back and stare at it, horror washing over you when you see that he’s right.

You’re going to be spending New Year’s alone, for the first time in years, and loneliness fills you at that thought. Your parents are an entire plane ride away, on vacation for their retirement in some tropical paradise that you can’t remember the name of; your old friends are in an entirely different city, likely already with plans of their own, and you don’t know nearly enough people at work or outside of it to have any idea what people are doing.

“Oh man,” Namjoon breathes, clearly oblivious to the sudden onset of loneliness that’s hit you. “I knew it was going to be hilarious, but I had no idea it was going to be this good .”

You look up to find him focused on his phone, camera pointing at something you can’t quite make out through the small screen. You follow the view, a reluctant smile breaking out when you spot Hope on the Street dancing along to some holiday song while dressed as an elf.

“Isn’t that the news anchor that got in trouble for doing anal?” You ask. Namjoon cackles - there’s no other word for it, it’s a cackle - and nods.

“Yeah, Hoseok’s been forced into doing this as a publicity stunt. We’ve all been looking forward to seeing him do it, too, but god , I had no idea it would be this funny to see. Hobi as a Christmas elf, can you imagine?”

“Hobi?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s a close friend of mine,” Namjoon says, eyes never straying from the video as he plays it back. “He’s gonna be at the cabin too, with his girlfriend Cat. There’s like seven of us who all grew up in the same little neighborhood, and we all kept pretty close as we got older. It’s like a little mini-family.”

“Oh,” You say softly. Namjoon tucks his phone back into his pocket and looks around, lighting up as he spots something else. “I didn’t know you knew Hope on the Street.”

“Yeah, he’s a dork,” Namjoon says as he pulls you towards some children’s store. “Come on, I think Yoongi’s working and I like to watch his little dance when he makes the hearts.”

You barely pay attention as Namjoon hurries into the toy store. You don’t join him inside, too busy lost in your own thoughts.

You should’ve realized, you scold yourself. You should’ve known better. You got comfortable, you got complacent and happy, too enamored with the way Namjoon feels inside of you and the warmth of his hand in yours to realize that you’re still on the outside.

He and his friends are all going up to some cabin, with their girlfriends apparently, to hang out and have fun together for New Year’s. He didn’t invite you. You’ve lost yourself in the fantasy and complacency of how warm he feels, how it feels like coming home whenever you see him, even when you knew better.

You knew better than to get attached. You told yourself, every step of the way, not to get attached, don’t develop feelings, it’s just sex, and yet…

And yet your heart is breaking in your chest that he didn’t invite you along, that he didn’t even think to do so. It’s not even fair to him, it’s not his fault that you got too caught up in the domesticity and familiarity of him to remember that this isn’t serious. Why would he invite you? You’re his roommate, a coworker, the girl he fucks every so often. You aren’t his girlfriend, you aren’t anyone important to his friends.

You’re just the roommate.

“Hey, look at this bear I made, it’s got a little microscope and everything! It’s perfect for-”

“Sorry,” You interrupt, ignoring the way Namjoon’s smile dims ever so slightly. “I just realized that I’ve got to finish up some analyses before the office closes for the holiday, I’ve gotta go do that. But it’s cute, Moni’ll love it.”

“Okay.” Namjoon’s voice is hushed, and his brows are drawn together. He can obviously tell something’s off, but if you’re lucky, maybe he won’t be able to pinpoint exactly what. “I’ll see you at home then.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you back at the apartment,” You say quickly, not even looking at him as you hurry off the other way.

You just need space, you tell yourself. You just need some distance so you can get your emotions under control. You can’t be around him when all you want to do is kiss him senseless and tell him how much you want to wake up in his bed forever, how you never want to miss another walk with Moni. He can’t know.

He won’t know.

"I fucked up."

"You're going to have to be more specific," Jimin’s voice says from the other end of the phone.

Namjoon groans, resisting the urge to slam his head back against the cabinets. He's standing in the kitchen now, staring longingly at the fridge and whatever food it may contain, because you’re out grocery shopping now, and he would love for you to come back to a hot meal, but there’s a reason you’re grocery shopping this late at night.

"You remember how in college everyone teased me because I'm terrible at one-night stands and I bet Hobi a week's groceries that I totally could?"

"Yes," Jimin says slowly. Something clinks on the other end of the line, and Namjoon wonders what Jimin’s having for dinner. His stomach rumbles in response and he heaves himself across the kitchen to dig through the fridge while Jimin continues. "I also remember how you spent weeks pining over said one-night stand while Hoseok filled the cupboards with every single thing he thought he could get away with buying. Why are you bringing that up now?"

Namjoom stays quiet but hums in victory as he unearths a pizza that isn’t too terribly old. “How long can pizza live in the fridge before it would kill me if I ate it?”

“If you have to ask that question, it’s been too long,” Jimin tells him. Namjoon debates, eyeing the pizza before deciding it looks fine and turning the oven on before sliding the pizza in. “Now, why are you bringing up one night stands and then pizza?”

"You remember how that new girl started at work a few months ago and we ate lunch together and then nearly got fired?"

"Yes, I distinctly remember writing you notes on takeout containers for weeks reminding you not to put foil in the microwave. What does-" Jimin stops, and Namjoon gets the distinct impression that if they were having this conversation in person, he’d be getting the Look. "Joon, tell me you didn't."

"I didn't have a one night stand with her," Namjoon assures him.

"Good," Jimin says, heaving a sigh of relief. "God only knows what would happen with a one night stand with your roommate-"

"We're friends with benefits."

Jimin chokes on whatever he’s eating and Namjoon winces sympathetically.

"It's not that bad," The elder says before Jimin can scold him. "We're very sexually compatible. And she's amazing, Jimin, you don't even know-"

"Joon, isn't this the same girl you spent an entire four hours talking about the day she started working with you?"

"Yeah, so?"

The blonde gives a heavy sigh. Namjoon knows the younger well enough to know he’s shaking his head right now.

"Please be careful, Namjoon," Jimin eventually says.

"Oh, don't worry, we've both been tested, and we use condoms every time, there's nothing to worry about."

"That's not the kind of careful I mean," Jimin sighs. He's quiet for a minute as he eats and Namjoon waits for his pizza to be heated enough to eat. "Why do you say you fucked up if you’ve been careful?”

“I…” He hesitates. “I don’t know. I think she’s upset with me. We were at the mall the other day and it was fine, we were laughing at how Hobi looks dressed as an elf-”

“God that video was hilarious -”

“Right?!” They both laugh a little, fondly remembering the sight, before Namjoon sobers. “And then she just...changed. She got all quiet and skittish and ran off before I could give her the bear I made. She didn’t even look at it.”

“And it just happened out of nowhere? What were you talking about?”

“How she’s off work for New Year’s and I’m heading up to the cabin so she doesn’t have to watch Moni or anything, and then I saw Yoongi doing that dance at the store so I wanted to go watch him, and-” He stops, eyes focused on the air in front of him.

“Joon? You good?”

“Hypothetically speaking,” He begins, a realization hitting him all at once, “What would happen if I put a pizza in the oven to reheat without taking it out of the box?”

“Oh my fucking god, Namjoon, get it out!”

There’s a flurry of smoke while Namjoon does just that and rushes to open the window so he can let some of the smoke out before you get back home. Jimin’s still berating him - albeit fondly - when he picks the phone back up.

“It’s fine,” Namjoon says quickly, “It’s cool, nothing’s actually on fire anymore. And the pizza’s warm!”

“Oh my god, how have you survived this long.” Namjoon smiles at Jimin’s words; he gets a lot of shit for being wildly unobservant, but he knows that the others love him dearly. Why else would they still talk to him? Really, after the incident with the tub at Jungkook’s apartment, it’s truly a miracle he still has friends, and love is the only explanation.

“But seriously, I don’t know what I did with Slick. Do you think I was too...obvious?”

“Namjoon,” Jimin says seriously. “If this girl is anything like you, and based on that time she tried to screenshot a crack in phone screen I’m inclined to believe she is, then I think the issue is that you aren’t being obvious enough . You said she got all weird after you mentioned the cabin, right?”

“Yeah. I thought she’d be happy that she wouldn’t be stuck with Moni, but-”

“Did you consider that since she thought she was working, she doesn’t have any other plans and is now stuck in the apartment by herself since she just moved here recently?”

“Oh.” Guilt surges through him as the door opens and your voice echoes that you picked up some takeout while you were gone. “I gotta go.”

“Ah-ah,” Jimin says quickly. “My payment?”

“Yes, Jimin, I love you dearly, you are the light of my life, I would never have survived this long were it not for your sage wisdom, I owe you my firstborn.”

“Much better! Some of the others could learn from you.” Jimin’s laugh continues long after he’s hung up, Namjoon is sure of it.

You aren’t sure why the apartment smells like smoke when you get back, but you decide not to question it and just be grateful you had the foresight to pick up some takeout on your way back from the store.

When you get into the kitchen, Namjoon is there, with a smoking pizza box on the stove beside him. He’s not in his work clothes; instead, he looks comfortable and cozy in some sweats and a faded tee with his glasses halfway down his nose. Your heart lurches painfully in your chest at the sight and you force yourself to remember that he isn’t yours .

“Hey! Did you hear me? I got takeout, since I figured neither of us wanted to cook. And I’m glad I did, what’s with the smoke?” A thought strikes you as you set the bags on the table. “Oh no, did you try to use the toaster? I told you not to, it got weird after that night with the fork, we need to replace it.”

“Do you wanna go to the cabin?”

You freeze, halfway to the fridge to put away the ice cream that he likes. “What?” You ask.

“The cabin. Do you want to go with me for New Year’s Eve, with everyone?” Namjoon takes the ice cream and finishes your journey for you, sticking it in the freezer without a second thought. “If you don’t want to take advantage of a quiet apartment, that is. You’re welcome to join, and I figured that was obvious, but then I realized that it may not be, so I wanted to offer.”

“With you and all of your friends? I don’t really... know any of them.”

“That’s fine, they’re not that bad. They’re all pretty friendly, once you get to know them at least.” Namjoon says as he takes some vegetables out of your hands to put them in the fridge as well. “And I have no doubt that the others are going to bring some of their friends. Yoongi’s girlfriend will be there, she seems sweet. And Cat and Star are always nice, you’d love them.”

You hesitate, though you aren’t sure why. This is what you wanted, so why doesn’t it make you happy?

“Besides, they’ll all be happy to have another friend around to bother. Jin loves to feed people.” Namjoon flashes his dimples at you and your heart does something complex that you can’t explain. There’s the rush of excitement and the skipped beat that always comes with his dimples, but it twists and clenches as well. Because of course, he’s just taking you as a friend.

You’re friends. And that’s fine. If you repeat yourself enough times then you’ll believe it. You have to.

“Yeah, sure!” You say with a grin. “I’d like that. They always sound so fun, it’ll be nice to meet them for real.”

Namjoon beams and helps you put the rest of the groceries away before you both settle in to eat. It’s not anything fancy, simple and quick and just enough to get the two of you through the night so that you didn’t have to cook. You chat about work as you do, a few sequences that might prove promising if you can work them the right way.

It’s afterward, as you’re both curled up on opposite sides of the couch while some nature documentary plays in the background, that you notice it.

He’s been fidgety all night, even before you left to get the food, and you didn’t think anything of it before. But now he’s even worse, hands rubbing along his thighs nervously while he shoots you look after look, which you have no doubt he thinks you don’t notice.

“What is up with you?” You ask him eventually, ignoring the way some bug is eating another bug’s head onscreen.

“Nothing,” he says in a rush. “Just...ready for bed.”

“Then go to bed.” You say it like it’s obvious, because it is. If he’s so ready to sleep, then he should go; neither of you has ever expected the other to stay up and watch TV together. You’re individuals.

“Okay,” he says softly, adjusting his glasses as he stands. He gets all the way to his bedroom door before he comes back, hovering awkwardly in the hall entrance for several seconds before he finally sits back down on the couch. Now, however, he’s sitting with his thigh pressed against yours, the heat radiating through the shorts you’re wearing and searing into your skin.

He’s still fidgety, still uneasy for some reason, and it’s as you turn to ask him what the hell’s going on that he pulls you into a kiss. It’s soft and lingering and it makes your stomach flip in all the ways it isn’t supposed to.

“If you wanted to have sex, you should have just said so,” You whisper against his lips. You can feel it more than hear it as he starts to say something and then cuts himself off with a sigh.

“I wanna be inside you,” he says instead. “Please.”

Heat pools between your legs, even at such simple words, and you find yourself nodding. He kisses you again, frantic and much more heated than before, and you can already tell what it’ll be like tonight.

You’re right, too; it’s quick and dirty. You don’t even make it to the bed, not at first. He cages you against the wall in the hallway and slides a hand between your bodies to start to draw your first orgasm out. It’s the whine from the dog that makes you realize where you are, pulling apart long enough to stare at where Moni sits at the hallway entrance, head cocked to the side and watching you with a confused stare.

That gets you into the bedroom, the door shut behind you as you fall together onto the bed. The two of you barely get your clothes off before Namjoon’s sliding inside of you and groaning at the feeling.

“Fuck, Slick, you’re so wet,” he whispers against your skin as he thrusts. You can hardly make words, too focused on the way he fits inside of you and the absolute certainty that you cannot say a single word running through your head.

Not that you’re in love with the way he holds your hips so gently as he thrusts, not how he whispers praise and adoration against you with every press of his lips to your skin, and certainly not how you want to stay like this forever. That you’re absolutely positive you’ve broken the cardinal rules of being fuckbuddies.

Don’t get feelings.

But you were a fool, anyway. Because it’s easy to break rules, especially when you go into it with feelings.

The first orgasm hits you with a shockwave, and with the way Namjoon hits your g-spot, it’s followed by a second shortly after. Your hands claw into the sheets as he fills the condom, and it only takes a minute for him to clean himself up enough to relax in the bed beside you, but you hardly notice; you’re too busy adjusting to the emptiness that you’re left with now that he isn’t inside you, the yearning that fills you down to your bones with the need to be wrapped up in his arms and cradled to his chest as you both drift to sleep.

You force yourself up before you can get comfortable, fatigue sweeping through your bones.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go shower,” You tell him. It’s a feat to keep your voice neutral, but you think you manage. “And then head to bed, I think. Uh, thanks. For the orgasms.”

The door to the bathroom closes behind you before he can even get a word out, and you force the image of his confused face out of your mind as you turn the water on. It takes every part of you to resist the urge to linger in the hot spray for longer than you need to be there, but you manage.

By the time you’re slipping into bed, the light in Namjoon’s room is off and you can hear Moni settling into bed beside Namjoon. You can practically see them, curled up together all warm and settled in together. Content.

You slip between your own sheets and wrap the fluffy blanket around you. Emotions are swirling in your gut and you do your best to ignore them all. You don’t need to focus on the way you want to be there with them, the way you want to curl your body into his with Moni between you, just the way he likes on the couch.

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever had,” You tell yourself with a sigh as you try to fall asleep in your lonely bed.

You don’t know that across the hall, Namjoon lays awake with Moni beside him, wondering how he fucked up so badly that you’re not in his arms anymore. He’d have every intention to tell you about his feelings. He wanted to end this friends-with-benefits thing, put it to rest so that he could take you out for real. So you could be together , for real.

But you’d just bolted the second he was collapsing onto the bed, like you were running from something, and he wasn’t about to keep you here when you don’t want to be here.

Still, he thinks as Moni burrows under the blankets to get closer to him, he can’t help but wish you were up against him as well, with your breathing steady and quiet as you sleep and he can feel your chest move with it.

He just really wishes that you wanted that too.

The drive to the cabin is uneventful. You and Namjoon talk about work most of the way, chatting amicably about a few things that got corrupted in the data that have been frustrating to rebuild and how excited Moni was to see Jackson when he picked the pup up that day.

You’re only a little nervous when you spot the wooden sign specifying that it belongs to the Kims. You’ve heard a lot of stories about Namjoon’s friends, seen one or two in passing when they come by the apartment to see Namjoon, though you tend to give them space when that happens.

Still, nothing could ever compare to the welcome that greets you. There’s some kind of karaoke going on, with Taehyung and Star watching from the couch. There are crutches propped up nearby and you wonder what the story is there for the few seconds before your attention is drawn to the kitchen, where who you assume is Seokjin is scolding someone for shoving entirely too many cookies into their mouth. You catch sight of someone - blonde, giggling, followed by a sweet-looking girl - run out of the kitchen with his cheeks puffed out and crumbs on his lips, and you shoot Namjoon a look.

“Jimin,” He explains with a grin. “C’mon, let’s go claim the den before someone else can get to it.”

That night is hectic, to say the least. Namjoon was right when he said his friends are welcoming, though; everyone is friendly and talkative - except for Pumpkin, Seokjin’s best friend who genuinely looks like she’s about to murder someone for the few moments that you see her during dinner but Namjoon assures you “That’s just her face, I promise.” Even when the boys get to reminiscing about the days they spent in that cul-de-sac, they include everyone else in their stories.

Especially fun is when they all come up with theories about why Cat and Hobi are late, and while from what you’ve heard so far tonight, you agree with the proposal that they’re probably fucking, you still feel a sliver of worry for them.

It’s the mention of sex that gets your stomach churning, though. Because Namjoon shoots you a knowing look, the same one he gets when you wear those ultra-short shorts around the house that he adores, and you already know what he wants. You can’t even say you don’t want it, too, because you don’t think you could ever turn down the opportunity to have him like that. It’s just so bittersweet when it ends-

“I’m going to start on dessert,” Seokjin states as he gathers plates. Yoongi and Peaches are gone in record time, and Taehyung and Star follow not long after, though it takes considerably longer with the way Taehyung helps her. Seokjin calls after them all that he’ll have dessert ready in a little while, and Namjoon shoots you another look when Jimin and Pumpkin don’t move from the table.

“C’mon,” Namjoon whispers, grabbing your hand and urging you down the hallway. “Get our bags, we’re gonna steal Jin’s room.”

“That doesn’t seem like the best idea,” You whisper in return, though you do in fact grab the bags as he directs. “Isn’t that also Pumpkin’s room? Are we sure she won’t murder us?”

“No, it’ll be fine, Jin would never let her.” The thought isn’t as comforting as Namjoon means it to be, but you manage to get your bags in the room and their bags out without anyone the wiser.

You realize your mistake too late. This room only has one bed. A singular sleeping area. The den has couches, you would have been fine, but you can’t sleep here. You can’t share the bed with Namjoon; it’s entirely too dangerous. Getting to see him still completely sleep soft, warm against you as the two of you doze in the early morning light?

There would be no coming back from that.

The thought leaves nearly as quick as it enters, driven away by the slide of Namjoon’s arms as he wraps them around you.

"Do you want it, Slick?" His voice is deep and rumbling, almost a purr in your ear, and it makes your knees weak. It's truly ridiculous how easy it is for him to rile you up, but fuck , can you really complain?

Except you can, because it's not what you want. It's not everything you want. You can't ask for more, though, not when he doesn't want to give it.

His hands snake towards the waistband of your pants - fancy grey pinstriped pants that you bought specifically because Namjoon told you that Seokjin has a fancy dress code for New Year's Eve - and your heart jumps up into your throat. You spin in his arms, doing your best to look enthusiastic.

"I want to blow you," You tell him as you sink to your knees. He leans back against the wall and quirks a brow, but he nods his agreement.

You set to work almost immediately; you're determined to make this the best blowjob of his life. It's the least you can do. You don't tell him that, though; you can't tell him. Not this. Not that you're so deeply entrenched in your feelings for him that you're afraid if you don't get out now you won't be able to. Not that you can't bear to have him touch you because you're afraid of what will come out of your mouth, what you might say or reveal that he doesn't want to know.

Not when you're going to have to end this, as you decided while laying in bed two nights ago, cold and exhausted and utterly alone.

You focus again on Namjoon, reminding yourself to pay attention. His dick is big - big enough that your fingers can only barely meet when you wrap them around it, but it means your jaw aches deliciously when you go down on him, and you adore the feeling of it in your throat.

So you swallow him down completely, burying him to the hilt with one swift movement. You've been practicing, and it has clearly paid off if the choked moan that escapes him is any indication. His hands tangle in your hair, not pulling or pushing but instead just sitting there and moving with you as you pull off just to bury him again.

You look up and are pleased to find that his eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched tight against the moans building inside of his chest. But that won't do at all. The best blowjob of his life can't possibly be one where he doesn't even look at you.

To rectify the situation, you bring one hand up to tease at his balls, squeezing ever so slightly in the way you know he likes as you swallow around his cock. He does moan then, fingers clenching in your hair as he opens his eyes to look down at you.

"Fuck, just like that, Slick," He pleads. "Again, please again, it's perfect." You comply, humming an affirmative around his dick that makes him shudder before you swallow around him again. "God, fuck , you're so fucking perfect. Fucking amazing, the best, I can't believe I get to have this-"

Namjoon continues, mumbling in and out of coherency as you bop your head up and down on his cock. He's thick and heavy in your mouth and it feels like heaven on your tongue - it always does - and just when you think you can never get enough-

"Fuck, I love you so much, Slick, you're a god damn angel."

You pull off his dick, staring wide-eyed at him. Namjoon whines and looks down at you, clearly not comprehending what's just come out of his mouth.

"Fuck," He mutters. "Fuck, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I don't...I'm so sorry I didn't want you to know, especially not like this. Shit. "

"Are you serious?" You ask as you stand back up. Namjoon makes a belated movement to help steady you, blood flowing back into your calves from where you were kneeled down for a while, but he stops himself. He doesn't even look at you, really, instead staring out the window nearby. "Namjoon, seriously. Did you mean that?"

"I mean…" He hesitates, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Yeah. I did. I do. It's still new so I can't be entirely sure, but I think that's what this is."

He heaves a sigh and tucks himself back into his slacks before moving to sit on the bed, one hand running through his platinum hair.

"You weren't supposed to know," He mutters. "I thought I could keep it a secret. I didn't want to make it weird between us since you don't…"

"Since I don't...feel the same?" You ask as you sit beside him. "You really...care about me like that?"

"Yeah," Namjoon whispers with a grin. It's fond and sweet and everything you've ever wanted and it's so unbearably familiar because it's how he's always looked at you. "Ever since we almost burned the lab down, I think."

"Same," You breathe, and you can't deny the way that you love the light that sparks in his eyes at that. "Ever since you ate the vegetables out of my rice and gave me your eggrolls."

"Are you-"

"Yeah," You say with a laugh. "I guess we're kind of both at fault for this, then."

"Can I…" Namjoon trails off, searching for the words he wants. His hands move to wrap around yours, lacing your fingers together as he gives you a smitten smile. "We've been fucking for a while. As you know. But would you do me the honor of letting me make love to you?"

You gulp, an audible and atrocious thing, because his words send a surge of desire straight to your core. He's right, you have been fucking, because that's the only thing the two of you can call it. You don't make eye contact, you don't sleep over, there are rules , but god, the two of you break everything else, so why not this?

"Please," You whisper.

His lips are on yours in an instant, his hands following quickly after to strip your clothes off. You can't be sure when his clothes join the pile on the floor, just that one moment your fists are clenched in his shirt and the next, you're raking your nails down his bare back as he sucks purple marks into your neck.

"God, you're beautiful," He mutters. "Fucking divine."

"Then I match you, don't I?" You whisper. Two of his fingers slide into you, and both of you moan at the feeling. He glides them against your walls, teasing that one spot inside of you that he knows you adore, and you whine a little.

"Patience, my dear," He chuckles. When you whine again he grins, dimples making your stomach flip. "Alright then, Slick. Let me get a condom."

"No," You say quickly. "We've been exclusive, right? No risk or anything like that. I've got the implant. 98% effective. I want…"

"Say it, love," Namjoon breathes, eyes never leaving yours.

"I want to feel you. Please." He nods at your words and settles between your thighs once more. Your breath hitches in your throat at the thought of what's to come.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he says as he presses kisses to your neck, up your throat, and across your cheeks. He does it all to distract you as he slides inside, but he doesn't need to. You've been fucking him for months now, you know exactly how big he is, and you're more than ready for it.

What you aren't ready for is the way his skin feels against your walls, how you can feel every pulse and throb of his cock inside you. It's better than anything you've ever felt, beyond any descriptors you could find, and it only gets better as he slides out and then back in.

His pace is slow but steady, a rhythmic glide to it that's making you obscenely wet. It's a stark contrast to the gentle way he kisses you, the softness of his lips against yours. The sound of his skin hitting yours fills the room as he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me," You tell him, sliding your hands along every inch of skin you can get.

Nothing is loud enough to mask the sound of the door opening, however, and when you glance over you can see that Hoseok and Cat have apparently finished whatever the fuck it was they were doing.

You shy back, doing your best to cover yourself from their eyes, but Namjoon's pace doesn't falter.

" Taken ," He growls. He doesn't even break eye contact as he does so, and the way his hand tightens on your hip makes you think he isn't just talking about the bedroom.

Thankfully the couple disappears after that, closing the door behind them as they go, and it flips a switch inside Namjoon somehow.

His pace speeds up, pistoning in and out of you mercilessly. He starts to angle his hips, searching until you finally cry out with your back arching up off the bed itself. He just smiles and continues to hit that spot, one hand moving to support your back while the other rubs teasing circles into your clit.

"That's it, love," he purrs. "Wanna watch you come for me like this. Let yourself fall apart on my cock, Slick, I'll be right here. I've got you."

You really wish you could figure out what exactly it is he does then; some kind of swivel of his hips while his fingers do some complicated twist or something, you have no doubt, but nevertheless, it's got you unraveling underneath him. You clench around him, harder than you ever have, and you can feel the sheets soaking underneath you from the strength of your orgasm.

It takes barely two more thrusts for Namjoon to come as well, stilling slightly as his cum hits your walls for the first time. It's warm and you can feel it settling inside of you, but you can't say you don't enjoy it.

You're both panting, out of breath and exhausted and having worked all the food Seokjin made out of your system. Namjoon disappears for a few seconds before returning with a warm cloth to clean you up; his hands are tender as he does so, and you find yourself falling even deeper.

After a quick power nap and an even quicker quickie - because Namjoon insisted that it wasn't fair that you got to go down on him but he didn't get to go down on you - the two of you mingle with the others. Hoseok and Cat fit seamlessly into the group, filling a space you hadn't realized was missing during dinner. It's obvious to you, as you lean against the kitchen island and watch them all, just how much this group loves each other. Even the newcomers, like the new girlfriends, are absorbed so perfectly into the existing group that it's as if they never left.

Hell, even Pumpkin is smiling a little, although you can't be sure it's not just because Seokjin looks Like That.

"Ooh, icing," Namjoon says as he comes to join you in the kitchen. Seokjin barely gets a chance to say anything as Namjoon drags his thumb across the white droplet and sucks it into his mouth.

The baker looks horrified, and you wish you knew why. Namjoon agrees, based on the look on his face.

"What?" Namjoon asks. "It was good." Seokjin's face is as pale as it can possibly get when he waves Namjoon away, and you have a sneaking suspicion of just what your boyfriend put in his mouth.

You don't bother to hide your smile as said boyfriend comes over to you and hands you a glass of champagne.

"What are you so happy about?" He asks teasingly.

"You," You tell him honestly. It's worth it when he ducks his head, shy smile making his dimples stand out even as he tries to hide it. "I adore you."

Namjoon doesn't respond, just kisses you. He breaks away for a few minutes, saying something to someone else, and when the clock strikes midnight, he presses another gentle kiss to your lips.

"What are you wishing for?" He asks.

"Midnight wishes? Really?" You tease. He cocks a brow and you smile. "I don't need to wish for anything. I got everything I wanted this year."

"Really? Everything?"

You nod, straightening his tie ever so slightly. "And what about you? What are you wishing for?"

"Oh, that's easy." He wraps an arm around you and grins. "For you to finally accept the bear I made you that day in the mall."

"Moni loves that thing, I couldn't possibly take it from him."

"But it's got a microscope! And a lab coat!"

Well then," You tell him, dropping your voice so the others won't hear. "I suppose you'll have to make me another."

He glances over to where Yoongi and Peaches stand and then back to you.

"Covert mission to also get another for Jisoo?"

"Glad we're on the same page here," You tell him with a smile.

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