#but yesterday during my lunch break i was like I wish I had a book to read...

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Shout-out to everything that went wrong with ofmd s2 from production issues to bad pacing to killing Izzy because that effectively drained almost all of the creative energy out of my side of the fandom because now Im reading books again!

[agroteraa]

Watermelon Sugar

Oliver Quick x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: Just a slice of hot summer in Saltburn.

Actaeon series spin-off, taking place between Artemis and The Wrath of the Stag.

Warnings: smut, fingering, handjob, finger sucking.

Word Count: 3,2K

Almost two weeks had passed after the karaoke night events. It was a sultry August noon, and you were reading "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" by the pool. You were lying on your stomach on a lounger, dangling your feet in the air and eating triangularly sliced pieces of watermelon. Time seemed to freeze and melt in this heat, and at that moment it felt like that summer would never end. That would be perfect.

Oliver sauntered over to the pool, topless, his T-shirt on his shoulders. There you were.

You were so engrossed in reading that you didn't hear him approach. Besides, he came unnoticed. As always.

Your legs swung back and forth in the air alternately exposing your buttocks, slightly peeking out of your colorful swimsuit.

Oliver swallowed involuntarily. He leaned against the nearest wall, clutching the ends of his blue T-shirt tightly in his hands. He loved every inch of your body, but he was already beginning to realize that your ass was especially driving him crazy. He was a booty man and never missed a chance to put his hand on top, squeeze or kiss it. Or better to do everything at once. And sometimes even give it a little slap. He was thinking more and more often that maybe he should try to go a little bit further with that and see your reaction. At that thought, he shifted against the warm rough bricks of the wall, tugging the ends of his cloth tighter.

God, if only he could have his way with you just right there, by the pool. Sit down next to you, give you a little massage, and then... take you as he wished it and as you wished it too. On a lounger, by the pool, in the water, or better yet, all in turn. And so that all the inhabitants of Saltburn, its guests and servants could hear how much pleasure Oliver was bringing you. But alas, this was not his home. At least for now, he had not yet fully decided on this issue for himself.

His body began aching numbly, and, unable to just stand and think all these thoughts anymore, Oliver finally decided to declare his presence.

"Hey, Y/N, do you mind if I lie down next to you?"

"Oliver... Didn't hear you coming!" you abruptly turned over on the sunbed, with a piece of watermelon in one hand and a book in the other. Watermelon juice began to flow slightly down your hand, you put a piece of watermelon on a plate, quickly licking the remaining juice from your hand and wiping against your leg. Oliver carefully followed all these movements with the silent gaze. You lifted your sunglasses, greeting him with warmth in your eyes. Oliver couldn't help but smile back.

"I think I left my book here yesterday," Quick went to the far little table to get his belonging, and then laid down on the next lounger from you.

"Oh, you’ve started a new one?"

"Yeah," he confirmed absent-mindedly, opening it and searching for the place where he had left off the previous time. It seemed that Oliver was not just reading books, but devouring them for lunch.

"Huh, I'm still reading Harry Potter..." your voice became a little sad and thoughtful. Of course, you also read a lot of things during your studies, but still not all of them from the list, and during the summer break you preferred to distract yourself with something lighter, almost childish even. While Oliver read one big serious book after another, also he had recently read Harry Potter in less than a week to be aware of what you were all constantly talking about, discussing the plot, "How you’re doing that?"

"Well, you take the book, open it... and then you start to look at the lines of letters that add up to meaningful words and sentences," Oliver explained in a serious tone, barely hiding his smile.

You snickered back, "Should’ve known that sooner!"

He chuckled, and you both went deep into reading your stuff. After a couple of minutes, your smile faded again.

"What is it, Y/N?" it seemed that nothing could be hidden from Oliver. You decided to tell him as it was, choosing the words and overcoming some embarrassment, "I just... I don't know. You read so much, and in general, you’ve achieved everything yourself at Oxford, including entering it. Well, of course, me too... Kinda... But still, it seems that you do more and work harder than I do. Even the way you read in your free time. I've been reading Harry Potter for the second month now. Of course, I'm just enjoying it, stretching the pleasure, it's also important, you know... But anyway, I'm not like you, I wish I could be you in certain way..."

Oliver listened to your mumbling until his eyebrows began to rise and warm smile appeared on his face.

"Y/N. You're not like me, and that's why I like you," Oliver said tenderly.

"And you don't even know how much," he added mentally. You could think that he would judge by your close communication over the past couple of weeks, or at least since the beginning of the summer, but he has already studied you very well since your meeting at Oxford. You were kind, you were kind to him, especially when you comforted him the day he told Felix and you about his family and the whole "father situation". Yes, not at all as interested as you were now, but it was only a matter of time, Oliver had been hoping for this from the very beginning. Yes, you were much kinder than him. Basically, this reason alone possibly could have been enough, but he did not deny himself the pleasure of mentally going over the rest of your qualities, which were different from his own.

You were open and generous, you were similar to Felix here, but unlike him, you were more modest and even a bit shy. And, of course, you were smart, although sometimes very naive. But for Oliver, it wasn't a flaw, he adored your naivety and innocence.

That trick with Felix's towels and your little lie about the malfunction of the second bathroom, he totally forgave and recorded it as a childish prank. He decided that it even amused and touched him, the way you childishly decided to take the initiative and allegedly outwit Quick.

He felt like a tiger that a little kitten had tried to hunt. The tiger that laid calmly next to the kitten and smiled lazily, waving his tail, which the little hunter was trying to catch. Oliver smiled lazily at the thought himself and decided that someday he even wouldn't mind if you tried to repeat such an innocent prank. And he would think about what he would do to you after that.

You were never capable of even a small part of what he was willing to do and had done in life to achieve his goals, to the extent that you would never have thought of such a thing. That was also why he had chosen you. You didn't have to be power hungry like him. On the contrary, it would be more than enough for him if you were hungry only for your rather harmless aspirations and, of course, for Oliver himself.

You were quite a complete and content person on your own, and this was very attractive to the many-faced Oliver, who was still struggling to find a place for himself in this life. But he had found his place beside you and planned to stay there for a long time, ideally, forever.

And of course, he adored the power he had over you, the way you looked at him trustingly and fascinated whenever he told you something. The way you looked away shyly when he gazed at you too intensely at breakfasts or dinners. The way you looked at him with your doe eyes, lying under him in bed, as if bewitched. The way he made you feel. Moan. Dig your fingers and nails deeper into his skin. Throw your head back with pleasure. Say his name. And generally, the fact that his name was coming out from your lips. Wheresoever. All the time.

And if only you knew what kind of power you have over him yourself. It seemed that even Oliver himself sometimes did not fully comprehend this, but he definitely felt it on a subconscious, instinctive level. He felt boundless joy, excitement and pride that the object of his adoration finally adored him. If there was a happiness, which Oliver sometimes looked for confirmation of in the philosophical books that he read, then it definitely laid in this for him.

He wanted a lot from you, it was true, but in return he was ready to throw the whole world at your feet and even more.

You were smiling sheepishly, still processing his words. The sunglasses on your face had slipped down slightly, revealing your equally embarrassed, but gentle and expressive gaze to him. He reached out to you, leaning on your lounger with one hand, and gently kissed you on the lips. The book in your hands trembled a little.

"It seems it’s getting too hot in here. I'm going to take a dip," Quick winked at you, got up from his sunbed and walked to the edge of the pool. Spreading his shoulder blades on his broad, muscular back, he stood on tiptoe a little and made a rather graceful leap into the water. To be honest, for a while you forgot about the adventures of young wizards, all your thoughts were now occupied by Oliver and how he swam in the water, making wide strokes with his fit arms. You even thought about joining in, but he came out of the water pretty quickly and flopped down on his lounger with his stomach down, exhaling contentedly.

You looked at him through your glasses. Drops of water trickled down his body that was heating up, repeating the contour of his every lean muscle, his dark slightly curly hair turned into wet, completely black strands. Then he turned over, exposing his face, glistening from the water, to the hot sun. He had just cooled off in the pool, but he looked damn hot. He was like an animated marble statue basking in the August sun on a lounger next to you. You inhaled the warm sticky air sharply but quietly, deciding to focus on reading. Oliver chuckled faintly, without opening his eyes. Surely, he couldn't know how you stared at him through your black sunglasses. Or could he? You weren't sure anymore.

Finally, really deep into reading, you took another piece of watermelon and began to eat it with appetite. The watermelon was juicy, so it started running down your chin and then down the hand that was holding it. You put down the book and reached for a napkin, when suddenly you heard a slightly hoarse "Let me." Looking in surprise to the side, you found that Oliver was shamelessly examining you, lying on his side, and, apparently, for some time. His unblinking gaze and slightly parted lips turned something in your stomach. His chest rose and fell noticeably from his rather heavy breathing.

He gently took your hand by the wrist and then slowly ran his tongue over it, climbing up the palm and licking the watermelon juice from it. A familiar knot started to form in your stomach. Oliver took turns taking your fingers into his mouth. Thumb. His lips were very tender. He pulled your completely clean finger out of his mouth with a smacking sound. Index finger. His lips were soft but at the same time firm. He started looking you straight in the eye.

Middle finger. You felt his soft, hot tongue against your skin. Ring finger. God, he started to lick and suck your fingers lightly at the same time. Pinkie. You were already burning down there, as you shifted your gaze from to the place where your fingers met Oliver's caressing mouth, to his piercing blue eyes, which looked at you from under their black eyelashes, almost without blinking.

He had never done this before, but now you didn't understand how you had lived without that feeling all this time. You wanted to eat a watermelon sloppily every day so that he would do this. Seeing how much you liked it, how you started fidgeting your legs on the sunbed, he once again ran his lips over your middle and index fingers, sucking them both at the same time. You let out a soft moan. Oliver smiled contentedly, closing his eyes and enjoying the process. You opened your lips in a silent exhale, looking at the guy, unable to tear yourself away from this sight. There was already a fire raging in the pit of your stomach and below.

Taking your fingers out of his mouth, he briefly kissed your palm, and then threw one of his hands over your body, leaning on your lounger. It made an surprised squeak at the presence of a guest. His heated by the sun metal chain hung, almost touching your lips. You even had the thought of taking it in your mouth. You gulped.

"Do you know, Y/N, how sweet you are? And right now, literally," Oliver put his face close to your chin and licked off the remnants of watermelon juice. Moving his tongue higher, he licked the contour of your lips. You could barely lie still, but at the same time you seemed frozen by everything that was happening now. He slipped his tongue inside your mouth, letting out a soft groan. The sweetness of the watermelon and your tongues mixed in your mouth, making your head spin. His wet and sticky lips caressed your lips, making some breaths and moans. He almost completely rolled over with his body on your lounger. The hotness of the sun and Oliver's hotness almost drove you to sunstroke. You could feel the firmness of his body and the way his swim trunks were getting tighter by the second. It was almost unbearable.

You broke off the kiss while recovering your breath. Oliver was looking at you, unsure of what to do next. More precisely, he knew exactly what he wanted, but he couldn't afford it right now, so his brain was quickly calculating all possible options.

"Shall we go for a dip together?" you nodded affirmatively at his suggestion. Getting up from the sunbed, he took you by both hands and led you to the edge of the pool.

"Together" means "to the very end," he smirked, and without letting go of your hands, he took a step back, plunging into the pool. You squeaked as you flew after him. In the water, Oliver's strong arms caught you and spun you around a little right under the water. You let out a laugh, releasing a few bubbles instead of "ha-ha."

Then you surfaced, and Quick pinned you between his muscular arms at the edge of the pool. There you both reached the bottom with your feet there, and you were pressed closer to the cool wall of the pool. It was a pleasant contrast between this and Oliver's body, which was even somehow hotter in the water.

"And what I am to do with you? With you, lying in your swimsuit in the sun, enjoying yourself so much and eating watermelon so seductively all the damn day. It's impossible to look at it and just put up with it," Oliver said, kissing you again passionately. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs began to wrap around his pelvis. You felt his boner with your crotch even in the water. He hissed faintly. You involuntarily began to rub and cling to him even more, feeling the literal fire under the water down there.

"Don't tempt me any more," he whispered against your lips, "Or else..."

One of his hands went deeper under the water, his fingers parted the fabric of your bikini to the side. Soon you felt his fingers inside you. The feeling in the water was slightly unusual, but you liked it. Oliver was slowly caressing you, and you tilted your head back a bit, unable to figure out where the wetness of the pool ended and your own begun. Oliver was moaning softly near your ear, and you could barely contain your loud moans. His fingers worked so well inside you that it felt like the entire pool was filled exclusively with your moisture.

You snuggled closer to the guy, and he started kissing your neck, which made your body cover in goosebumps. Then he slipped his other hand into your swimsuit and squeezed one breast. You let out a groan. Oliver added another finger, your legs curled around him, you wanted to moan at the top of your voice, but you were afraid that someone might come up at any moment and see what you two were doing here. The mixture of fear of being caught and wild excitement made brought you to the peak much faster than you expected.

"Is my girl done much faster today?" Oliver asked innocently, stroking your waist, "Admit it, it’s rather turning on. The probability of being caught. You feel it too, don't you? Oh, yes, you do understand me..."

Oliver slightly narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. He really liked the fact that you were different, but he was even more pleased with the moments where your morality and your desires sometimes converged at the same one ambiguous point.

He grinned contentedly when you, nodding slightly and biting your lip, a little timidly reached for his swim trunks with your hands. He exhaled sharply when you felt his bump and ran your soft hand up and down his hard cock several times. The movements of your hand in the water felt like in a slow motion. Oliver half-closed his eyes, holding onto the sides of the pool, and hissed, "Yes, my sweet Y/N, that's it, don't stop… Wait."

He recoiled a little from you, you involuntarily turned around, following his frowning gaze. Felix. He was walking to the pool in sunglasses, wearing a yellow shirt and swimming trunks, carrying a towel and some drink in a can. You laughed awkwardly and embarrassedly while Oliver was rather tense and very displeased. But he forced himself to distract himself, for your sake and for Felix too.

"Hi guys! How long have you been... Hey-y, did I interrupt something?" Catton Jr. asked rather jokingly, seeing you laughing in the pool, but he still tensed a little from the proximity of your distance.

"No, we just came in, join us!" Oliver shouted cheerfully, dispelling the guy's suspicions. At least, most of them.

While Felix was undressing and putting his things on his lounger, you looked pointedly at Oliver and sighed quietly, pursing your lips. Quick blinked slowly in response and nodded slightly, assuring you that way that your fun would definitely continue soon, and no one would dare to interrupt you next time.

But still, Oliver thought to himself, he would have to ponder again all the options for how to make sure that you wouldn't be disturbed inside and outside this house, not only for the next time, but preferably never again.

[revasserium]

neverending daydreams with kenma? 🫶

reqs are open :)

neverending daydreams

kenma; 3,709 words; almost freakishly fluffy, but also kinda trippy. basically my specialty and i love this fic a holy freaking hell of a lot. if u read pls PLS tell me what u think u__u and lemme know if u 'get' the ending!!!

he has never been, in all seriousness, what people would have called a dreamer. but having spent most of his waking hours either gaming or wishing he were gaming, kenma quietly considers the implications of being called as such. a dreamer. what a title — what a name.

what a burden.

“was it bad last night?”

“no, not as bad… but at least it was interesting.”

“oh yeah? tell me.”

“so there was a maze, right — and then you know the super hot manga character from the new series — yeah, he was there too, and we had to like figure out this maze but we couldn’t wear shoes —”

kenma lets his head lilt to one side, his eyes falling shut in the early afternoon sun filtering through the wide classroom windows. they’d been cracked open half an hour ago to let in some air, the spring blossoming into what kenma is already sure would be an absolutely sweltering tokyo summer. he’s already dreading it.

“— and then i woke up!”

“aww… lame! you didn’t even make out!”

your laughter spills across the room, warm as the sun now soaking into kenma’s skin and he shakes himself awake, blinking unfocused towards the gaggle of girls sitting three rows ahead of him, heads bent together, a multi-limbed conglomeration of painted nails and hair pins, phone baubles and perfume. he shudders slightly — making out — what a thought. how gross. he’d never understood the appeal, even as more and more of his classmates began to whisper about it, to joke and cackle about it next to the shoe-lockers, in the stalls of the boys bathrooms during lunch, on the benches near the playparks on the way home, loitering around convenience store corners, eyes lingering on bare skin and bracelets, on rolled up sleeves and blushing cheeks.

kenma crinkles his nose, thinking now, of noses. and where on earth they’d even go if you were to —

“oi kenma-kun, do you have notes from yesterday’s class? i lent mine to kiyo in 2-b and she says her dog ate it.”

kenma blinks, nonplussed as your face swims into view, his vision catching on the tiny gems glinting from your earlobes.

“huh? you… don’t really believe that, do you?” he asks before he can quite stop himself. the resulting silence makes an uncomfortable heat climb up the length of his neck till his cheeks are burning with it, and still, you stare at him.

“why shouldn’t i? her dog eats weird stuff all the time.”

kenma blinks again, owlish, and he’s unsure if your confusion is feigned and this entire thing is just some elaborate prank, one that’ll break you into laughter any second. he resists the urge to look around, to make sure that the rest of his classmates aren’t all watching him like they’re in on the joke, waiting for the cue to start laughing as well. he feels his shoulders shrugging up as he fights down a frown.

“yeah but… that’s like the oldest excuse in the book, isn’t it? my dog ate my homework?”

this time, its your turn to blink, cocking your head to one side as you regard him, not a hint of malice or trickery in sight. he feels almost ashamed of himself for thinking it of you. of course you wouldn’t.

and then, you laugh. and he starts again, not because this was what he’d been afraid of but because this is the exact kind of laughter he was not expecting, pure and unhurried and unabashedly happy.

“ah — i guess you’re right, but… well, if she wants to keep my notes, then that’s fine. i’ll just make another set. so…” you smile at him, bright as dawn and summer starlight, “can i borrow your notes from yesterday?”

kenma resists the urge to groan, because his mind is already racing into overdrive — why not just ask kiyo from 2-b to give you back your notes again? nay, to demand that she give it back? to threaten her dog with… with what yet, kenma isn’t sure, but he is sure that that would be simpler, would it not, than to ask him for his notes. even though, sure, yes — he has almost all the same classes as you and sure, yes — he does also take pretty good notes. and sure, yes — fine.

this might be the path of least resistance but… doesn’t it feel a bit like punching in the cheatcode? isn’t it stunting… character growth and exp gain for both you and kiyo in 2-b? what if this causes a glitch in the matrix and you’re stuck in the eternal loop of borrowing people’s notes only to have your own notes be taken and eaten by kiyo’s homework-devouring dog until no one in school has notes anymore and everyone fails? would everyone have to hard-reset and start the year over?

“uh… sure… i guess. if you promise to give it back.” he reaches into his bag to pull out his notebook, pressing his lips for a second before handing it over.

you make a noise that’s caught between a squeal and a squeak. it’s a happy sound, he’s sure.

“thank you, thank you, thank you! and yes, i promise i’ll give it back! and my dog doesn’t eat homework — only table scraps and puppy treats — and maybe the occasional piece of trash on the sidewalk, but definitely no homework!”

you press the notes to your chest and beam at him and kenma finally lets out a soul-shaking sigh. he wishes he were home; he wishes he were playing video games; he wishes that the day came with a fast-forward button so he didn’t have to deal with all these scenarios that don’t make a lick of human sense.

the next day, when you return his notes, it’s with a shy smile and that he isn’t entirely sure what to make of. you’d licked your lips and looked anywhere but at him before pressing the notebook back into his chest and scurrying off with a thankssomuchforyournotes! tossed over your shoulder before you’re disappearing into your multi-limbed girl-gaggle and they were all laughing and giggling as they absorb you back into their amorphous blob, casting furtive glances his way that make his shoulders want to shrink up to his ears, if only to hide his face behind.

he hunkers down over his notebook, adjusts his sports bag and hurries into homeroom.

it isn’t until japanese literature, when he’s flipping open said borrowed-and-now-returned notebook that he notices — there’s a drawing on next blank page. or, well, what used to be the next blank page but is now definitely no longer blank. and it’s a drawing of you.

kenma stares down at it, at the cartoonishly large head, the huge, anime-lashed eyes, at your chibi-rendered hands clasped together in an unmistakable gesture of thanks. and something inside him jumps. something warm and thumping and uncoordinated. it coughs, skips, skids inside his chest and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s his heart.

thanks again! let me treat you to lunch sometime?

he reads the line four times before he finally manages to process the words. lunch. sometime.

treat?

he frowns. but school lunches are always free.

his eyes slingshot towards you, drawn as if by a magnetic force, and he finds you immediately. your eyes meet and a zing sings through him, shaking him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away. instead, you cock your head as if asking a question.

his heart thumps, and then thumps again. heat slowly unfurls in the base of his stomach, something like hunger, except it isn’t actually hunger. it’s a wanting, a thrumming wish — pressing and feverish and — he swallows hard, tearing his eyes away from you to look back down at the drawing, at the words.

treat. lunch. sometime.

sometime. but it can’t be during school. then when?

kenma freezes as realization washes through him, cold as a too-large bite of icecream.

oh. oh.

and then, he blushes hard enough for him to bury his face in his arms, refusing to pick his head up even when the literature teacher asks him expressly if he were feeling ill.

it’s saturday at noon, to be precise. and as kenma waits outside the neighborhood soba house, he wonders briefly if he’d accidentally stumbled upon a hidden side-quest that’s actually more difficult than the main storyline, because he’s almost certain that he’d never signed up for this.

cold-soba with you. alone. together.

no. he scuffs his feet against the floor, his fingers furling and unfurling in his pockets, so unaccustomed to not having a game console to fiddle with, no controllers to twiddle. he feels it like a phantom itch, like ghost-controllers as he opts for chewing on his lower lip instead.

stupid kuroo, taking away his switch. stupid, stupid, genius kuroo, letting it “slip” that kenma had a date on saturday, so that his mother had fussed all morning and had subjected him to a full-body pat down to confiscated the rest of his ill-hidden hand-held gaming consoles one by one with a scowl and a reprimand of no gaming when you’re on your first real date, kozume!

at least, he thinks, tugging his phone out of his pocket to flip through the preinstalled games there, there’s alway snake —

“kenma-kun! hi! sorry i’m late!”

your voice catches him like a punch in the stomach and he almost drops his phone, fumbling it for a second before catching it and shoving it into his pocket.

he looks up, a frown already forming on his forehead when he stops — he catches sight of you and that strange, twisting not-hunger-hunger gnaws at a growing space inside him. because oh — there you are. you’re standing in front of him, a little breathless, but dressed like… like a display from a pastry store window, or one of those ball-jointed dolls that have entire fan-followings online. you’re lashes and lace, earrings and nail-art, and all the normal things he’d come to associate with the strange, foreign concept of girl-geometry but you’re also nervous, and sweet, and looking up at him with those huge eyes, not unlike those in the chibi-doodle version of yourself that you’d left in his notebook.

and nervousness he understands. sweetness… he understands too. to a certain degree.

“no, you’re fine… i just got here too,” he says, and it’s a not-really-lie, because he did just get here… like fifteen minutes ago. but time’s just a human construct anyway, and there’s no point in getting caught up in the semantics.

he takes a breath at the same time you do, and you break into a fit of nervous laughter that makes him want to reach out and bottle the sound. or maybe just to record it on his phone for a rainy day. he tamps down the strange and doubtlessly creepy urge with a cough and motions vaguely towards the door.

“uh — you wanna…”

you nod, a bit too hard, before brushing by him into the soba shop and bowing to the middle-aged woman behind the counter.

she seats the pair of you in a booth, tucked into the corner, and for this kenma is thankful. he feels himself relaxing into the secludedness of the position.

“hot?” he asks, watching as you fan yourself with your hand from across the table.

you freeze and blush again, and he looks down immediately, feeling rather guilty for putting you on the spot. but when he glances back at you, you’re smiling.

“yeah, a little. it’s gonna be so gross this summer.”

“yeah, i know. i hate it already.”

he would’ve winced if it hadn’t been cut off by the sound of your laughter. with this, at least, he is familiar. how many times had he let himself melt into that sound during all those classes you had together? how many times had he centered himself around it, made it the still point of his turning universe, grounded himself to it so he could count from one moment to the next. he hadn’t thought it anything strange before now — after all, isn’t that what the internet says you’re supposed to do when you’re feeling unmoored? to find a commonality and stake yourself to it. only…

is it strange that he’d chosen your laughter?

it’d been such a simple choice, so easy to make — it was everywhere, and when it wasn’t there, he could conjure up the sound perfectly.

sitting across from you now, he pauses, wondering what kuroo would say if he were ever to bring this up. probably call him a pervert and never let him live it down.

“me too. i think i hate a lot of things but…” you break off, your eyes meeting his for a split second before looking away.

kenma breathes, watches the way you worry your bottom lip.

the conversation is stilted, but after a while, the awkwardness wears off. like silver soaking off years of accumulated tarnish, the shine breaking through as the soba is served and the pair of you are left slurping at the chilled noodles.

by the time he offers to walk you home, kenma finds that he’s no longer searching for things to do with his fingers, the phantom itch of a ghost-console no longer needed to occupy the space between his hands. and when you say goodbye to him this time, it’s no longer a string of words strung together too fast, tossed like an endless hope over your shoulder, but held between the pair of your bodies like a promise.

“see you on monday!”

kenma smiles, “yeah… sure. see you then.”

he watches as you turn to walk away, and his feet warm with the premonition of motion, but something holds him still, holds him there as he watches you take two steps, three steps — and then, you turn back around. and you’re closing the space between you and him, quick as a flash, your lips grazing the skin of his cheek, and then just as quickly, you’re falling back onto your just-taken steps, your cheeks ablaze as you wave a hand at him and race off before he can do more than open his mouth, his jaw loosened by the action, the thought — the motion and e-motion of it all.

kenma stares at the place where your body had just been, taking up space, and then oh-so-abruptly… not.

you’d turned the corner, and now not even your shadow lingers, but he fancies that there’s still a break in the light, a tear in the air just in front of him where you had been, warmed by your just-there-ness. slowly, he raises a hand to swipe it through that space, before bringing it up to his cheek to brush it against the place where your lips had been.

and are now no longer.

and there too, he feels his own skin, warmed by the just-there-ness of your no-longer-there lips.

three days, it takes him. three days to build up the courage to ask you out again. on another date. and this time, he doesn’t tell kuroo, or his mother, but he doesn’t bring games with him either.

the frozen yogurt place isn’t too crowded on a wednesday night, early enough to still be dinner-time, too late for the afternoon-stragglers to be out and about. he arrives, as he had done, fifteen minutes before you, and he wastes no time in starting a game of snake on his phone.

by the time you get there, it’s getting hard to maneuver the pixel-snake’s body without it’s tail trailing across the entire screen.

“i thought you’d only be into the kind of games with like… a million levels or something.”

your voice jolts him out of his intense concentration, and this time, he does drop his phone. your reach out to catch it with a knowing grin, handing it back to him, but by then, the large GAME OVER is already flashing over the screen.

“oops… sorry,” you say, looking genuinely apologetic.

“don’t be. and you’re right, i do like games with a ton of levels but… things like this are fun once in a while too.”

he blushes as he motions at the space between the pair of you, his phone still clutched in his hand, so that it’s unclear if he’s talking about the game or… something else entirely.

“only once in a while?” you venture, the slightest hint of a tease in your voice. and it’s incredible, he thinks, the change a single week’s worth of familiarity can do for the both of you. because while your first “date” had been all awkward silences and rough, stumbling changes of topic, this one — already — has taken on a sheen of smoothness and liquidity that makes kenma’s skin prickle up with what he can only assume is excitement.

“well… maybe — i dunno…” he gulps as he holds open the door for you to walk into the yogurt store, “it’s only a pattern if something happens more than three times, right?”

and god, where had this come from? this daring, this strange, almost alternate-universe confidence — and is he really flirting?

you let out a pleased sort of hum that warms his entire body and he thinks that he’d rather like to hear that sound again too. to add to his collection of bottle-able sounds that come from your body — he bites off the thought there, because kuroo will really start to call him a pervert then.

“i’m free on saturday,” you say, turning towards him to offer him a yogurt cup.

he stares at it for a second before taking it, letting his fingertips linger where they brush against yours.

“okay then,” he says, allowing himself the shadow of a smile as you ask him what his favorite yogurt flavor is, and he asks you your favorite toppings. and it’s easy like this, isn’t it? how had he ever thought this difficult? had it ever been? the bell-like sonance of your voice, the tinkling texture of your laughter, the great, blossoming fire licking up, up from the base of his stomach all the way to the top of his chest.

why had he ever scorned this as strange? as unnatural?

how could he have ever thought this to be a mere sidequest when this — he’s sure of it now — is the entire point of the game to begin with? because don’t all roads lead to this? to this giddiness and certainty? to this… unshakable knowing that he, even in his youth, is held still by in it’s immensity that this could be something more?

something like… love?

but it’s too early for that yet, and he’s getting ahead of himself. skipping the levels and peering at the walkthroughs.

he forces himself to focus on the tang of the yogurt, the crunch of the oreo chunks. he anchors himself to the grace of your smile and the weight of your laughter.

and after, when the yogurt is done and the night is still young, he offers to walk you home again. and this time, he doesn’t wait for you to close the gap between your bodies — he leans down to do it himself. because somewhere between the space of then and now, he’s made the decision that he doesn’t want the shadow or the just-there-ness anymore. he wants the just and the there. separate and whole and oh.

so that’s where your noses go.

the kiss breaks between you and kenma leans in to unbreak it.

you make a small noise at the back of your throat and he has to keep himself from grinning.

there, again, another bottle-able sound.

he inches his hand up to cup your cheek and you lean into him, pressing both your palms to his chest. and for moments and moments and moments, the pair of you stay locked there, breaking and unbreaking the kiss again and again and again until finally, you press him away to take a breath.

you are breathless, and so is he.

and briefly, oh so briefly, kenma wonders as he looks at you, stares into your eyes as you look back at him, if this could be called dreaming.

“oi… oi kenma-kun?”

kenma blinks, frowning slightly as your face swims into view, his vision catching on the tiny gems glinting from your earlobes.

“h-huh?”

your face is inches from his, and the afternoon sun is warm against his skin. the classroom behind you is filled with the scent of a blossoming spring, trailing into what kenma already knows will be an absolutely sweltering tokyo summer.

your voice rings through him like knowing, and your smile, when he finally focuses on it with bleary eyes and a buzzing mind, looks something like the remnants a dream.

“do you have notes from yesterday’s class? i lent mine to kiyo in 2-b and she says her dog ate it.”

kenma chews on his lips as he weighs the answer on his tongue, and finally, he allows himself a tiny, secret smile as he digs around in his bag for the notebook, handing it to you as he says —

“you don’t actually believe that, do you?”

[missduplicities]

OTASD | Chapter 4: I was just tongue-tied

“What did you do yesterday?” Yuna asked Nabi as they walked to their classroom.

“Not much. Went for a walk and stayed home watching movies,” she didn’t know why she felt the need to lie about it, she had stayed home studying (or at least trying to). “You?”

“I was forced to be social,” Eun-Chae sighed. “I went to church with my parents, then they had this amazing idea to invite people over for dinner,”

“Sounds awful,” Nabi said, not joking at all.

“Speaking of church,”

“No thanks!”

“I wasn’t going to invite you,” Eun-Chae rolled her eyes. “I was going to say that the hot guy showed up with his family,”

“Hot guy who?”

“Yuna’s photography class hot guy,”

“Kim Seokjin was at church?”

“So, that’s his name! I spent the whole service trying to remember what he was named. I didn’t know he was Sister Kim’s son,”

“You know her mother?”

“From the church,” Eun-Chae said. “She is worship leader. She has a beautiful voice,”

That makes sense, Nabi thought. All she knew about the guy was that he was on his way to becoming a singer just a while ago.

Something Nabi would never admit was the fact that she found it annoying that this guy who came out of nowhere was becoming relevant in her people’s lives. He wasn’t even hot, he just was a new face, that was it.

During the lunch break, Nabi ditched her friends to continue (and hopefully finish) the book she was reading. She walked to her usual spot, only to light up the resentment she had been feeling earlier, as she saw the guy everyone seemed to be talking about, reading in her spot.

“Oh, hi,” he said as he looked up, fixing his glasses.

“What are you doing here?” this had to be a joke.

“In the library?” he asked, a bit confused. “Reading?”

“And you couldn’t find another spot to read?” she wasn’t usually this pressed about stuff like that, but it was her spot. She didn’t complain when Eun-Chae sat next to the window, even though she liked that seat, too. She never said anything when her parents picked the place when they were out to eat, even on her birthday. She didn’t mind that Yuna took the last spot in the Photography class, even though she had said before that it was something she wanted to try. And she didn’t complain when her father brought up the Kim’s model son in every conversation, even though she wished it was her she was proud about. This was the only thing that was hers. This stupid, little spot in the school library, where she could escape from the world for a while.

“It’s a good spot,” he said quietly. “Away from everyone else,”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, unaware that she was frowning.

“Oh, that’s why you came here, right?” he felt a bit bad for intruding in her alone time, standing up quickly, ready to leave. “There you go, all yours,”

He didn’t have to go. She hated him for doing so. He didn’t have to be nice when she was a dick to him. He was so annoying. She refused to say anything else, so she just sat in the corner, got her iPod and headphones out, and started reading her book. Not long after, she was interrupted by her own thoughts and feelings of remorse. She felt guilty for talking to the guy like that, only then realizing that he was also looking for a place to hide from the world. Unable to keep reading, Nabi left the library earlier than she expected.

The last few hours in school felt like an eternity to Nabi, who desperately needed to get home and disappear for a while. She barely talked to her friends and was even ignoring Dani’s texts. When Eun-Chae offered to take her home, Nabi politely declined, saying she’d like to learn to get there on the bus. She had never done it, so she was a bit nervous. To make things worse, she bumped into Kim Seokjin once more. It was awkward for both of them. He took his distance, quietly standing while waiting for the bus to arrive. She pretended to know what she was doing, getting to the bus with her headphones on, completely unaware that the driver was asking her to pay, which (she didn’t know) Seokjin did for her. Nabi sat next to an elderly woman at the back, while Seokjin chose one seat at the front, which was helpful since she didn’t even know which exactly was her bus stop.

Kim Seokjin: Sorry to bother

Kim Seokjin: Is it okay if I come by later to park your dad’s car in your garage?

Kim Seokjin: My dad took it to the mechanic to get it checked

She had totally forgotten that she had his number. There was that feeling again. She didn’t understand why the familiarity between their families was so infuriating to her.

Ahn Nabi:  sure

Ahn Nabi: please tell me you’re awake

Dani: barely

Dani: what is it?

Ahn Nabi: I hate my dad

Dani: what did he do now?

Ahn Nabi: Well, no, I don’t hate dad

Ahn Nabi: I hate the Kims

Ahn Nabi: They are so nosy

Dani: I love the Kims, they are very nice

Ahn Nabi: didn’t seokjun break your heart?

Dani: yeah, a bit

Dani: But his family is very nice

Dani: I’m sure they’re just trying to be nice

Kim Seokjin: just fyi

Kim Seokjin: we’re five stops away

I didn’t ask, Nabi thought.

Dani: did you finish the book?

Ahn Nabi: Dude, I finally did!

Dani: thoughts?

Ahn Nabi: I was shook with the last scene

Dani: What did you think about the affair?

Kim Seokjin: four stops away

Ahn Nabi: this asshole

Dani: Who? Seb?

Ahn Nabi: Don’t talk to me about Seb!!

Kim Seokjin: 3 stops away 😁

Dani: You’ve got to admit he is hot

Ahn Nabi: He is hot, we all know that, that’s the problem

Dani: You can’t blame her, can you?

Kim Seokjin: next stop is where we get off

Ahn Nabi: 👍

Ahn Nabi: I can’t blame her for wanting one last rough sex night with her high school sweetheart before she was exiled

Ahn Nabi: I mean he is fine as hell

Ahn Nabi: I do blame her for getting married with the man she didn’t love, though

Kim Seokjin: this is where we get off

Dani: Did you see who is playing him in the movie?

Dani: that white dude from that movie where he loses his memory

She waited until Seokjin got off to stand from her seat, avoiding him as much as possible. He seemed to be in a hurry all of a sudden, walking straight to his place without looking back. She thought it was rude of him, even though she had been planning on doing the same.

Nabi thought she had never been so excited to get home. She was determined to enjoy the last couple of days before her parents arrived, which meant she would get to blast the music as loud as she wanted, mostly.

As she went to the kitchen to pick up some leftovers, she heard an engine she recognized approaching. The garage gate opened, and her dad’s car came in. She was trying to come up with an excuse to avoid seeing the guy but was too ashamed to use the ‘sorry I was in the bathroom’ one.

Kim Seokjin: I left the keys in the trunk

Ahn Nabi: Thanks

Nabi froze. She felt something heavy and cold drop to her stomach, immediately followed by a rush of heat that made her face burn. Right above his message, she read what was supposed to be sent to Dani.

Ahn Nabi: I can’t blame her for wanting one last rough sex night with her high school sweetheart before she was exiled

Ahn Nabi: I mean he is fine as hell

Ahn Nabi: I do blame her for getting married with the man she didn’t love, though

Kim Seokjin: next stop is where we get off

Ahn Nabi: *thumbs up*

Kim Seokjin: I left the keys in the trunk

Ahn Nabi: Thanks

(Previous) (Next)

[sqeca]

Red, blue, and white. Now what color is this? #イロハのキモチ

The translation's not spot-on 'cause there are some lines that got run through google translate

4 February 2023

Hello. This is Iroha Okuda 🦙. 　 Yesterday was Setsubun, right? Did you eat Ehōmaki? I ate it up all without saying a word! I heard that wishes come true...! Good! 　 Nagi and I were talking yesterday. I asked her, "What's the direction for this year? "Ummm, south, north, south, north, south..." Where is it? She said, "Where is that? LOL. 　 We were talking about eating it facing straight up, but when we ate it, we did eat it facing south-southeast! ✌🏻 　 　 By the way, I went to Shibuya TSUTAYA a few days ago.

On the 1st floor, there was a big panel of Nogizaka VOL.03, and on the 2nd floor, there was an exhibition of Shin Nogizaka Star Tanjō! I was so impressed!

I tried to take a picture with the panel, but this was the best I could do...

Shin Nogizaka Star Tanjō! Thank you for watching so much.

The next episode will be the last one...

40 episodes went by so fast! 　 Those of you who have been watching the show may already know that this is the first time for me to write a song for the show.

I tried my hand at "songwriting" for the first time! 　 It's something I've always dreamed of doing.

I was finally able to give it shape.

I may not be the best at it, but I put a lot of what I love and what I am passionate about into it! 　 (I'll write another blog post after the broadcast.) 　 I'm so glad I was able to make so many of my dreams come true at this event. 　 Shin Nogizaka Star Tanjō! will be aired on NTV on Mondays from 1:29 am to 1:59 am.

I hope you will watch us till the end!

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❔ Questions Corner ❔

Q: what do you want to do in the spring? → Make my own lunch and have a picnic🍙.

Q: I sometimes think negatively, but how can I think positively? → I also think negative at times, but the opposite of negative is positive! Think the opposite! I also hear that looking down makes me think dark thoughts, so I look up 🙃

Q: What kind of manjuu do you like best? → Anman (red bean paste) by far! I liked to stop by the konbini after school and eat it on the way home…

Q: Which 5th generation members have you had fun with recently? → Aya and I went to see "Suzume no Domekimari"!

Q: What is the first thing you do when you get home? → Wash my hands, gargle, and listen to the radio!

Q: Do you have a memory of the best time in your high school life? → Going out with my friends after school to sing karaoke, club activities, and memorizing English words together during lunch break! I also like listening to music while eating my mom's lunch, and I love my teachers! I'm sure everything will be a great memory, so let's have fun 🎶!

Q: I'd like to see your standby screen! → A picture of Naomi Watanabe and Mickey holding hands. 🤳🏻

Q: Iro-chan, are you the type of person who remembers the dreams you have while sleeping? → I'll look it up on my dream book as soon as I remember it, so I'll remember it when I see it in my history! Haha!

Q: What emoticons and pictograms do you use most often? →😭✨🎶🙇🏻♀️🧡😌🦙(~_~;)

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📢News

We're pleased to have you in the March 2023 edition of B.L.T! The theme of this edition is "Imagination".

On the cover is Kubo Shiori.

It's on sale now, check it out! 🌈

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Iroha's view

Today's picture is here.

These raccoons I met in Arashiyama, Kyoto.

They are so cute looking up at each other 😏

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Finally, thank you for the online meet and greet today. It was a pleasure to talk to you so much~!

I was in a paired lane with Nagi, so we matched for the last part, ponytail!

Ah, the answer to the quiz in the title!

It was the color of my outfit today. I don't know!" I'm not going to say "I don't know! 　 I'd like to end by saying that I hope you'll come back to talk to me again! See you soon! 　 Iroha

[upismediacenter]

LITERARY: Not a Fairytale

I loved fairytales when I was little. I always dreamed of being swept away by a charming prince and living happily ever after. It’s funny how it was all I longed for, and yet our story seems like the exact opposite of one.

Our story was not a fairytale because there was no “love at first sight” moment when the world slowed down and all I could see was you. In fact, our meeting was so unremarkable that I don’t remember much of it. For the longest time, you were just one of those people at school; someone I knew from afar. My first significant memory of you was on some random lunch break in 9th grade. You were sitting behind me while I crammed a Math assignment. You must have seen me struggling for some time already. “You’re using the wrong formula, try it the other way,” you said, looking at my solution over my shoulder. I stared at it, confused about where I went wrong and why you, a person I’d barely spoken to, felt the need to point it out. You walked me through it, unprompted, and eventually, I understood. “Oh thanks. Wow, you’re actually good,” I said, maybe a little too surprised. Honestly, until then I assumed you were kind of–

“You thought I was stupid?” You asked flatly. “No! I didn’t say that!!” Even though I might have thought it. My whole face went hot as I tried to explain myself until I turned to look at you and saw you laughing. Gosh. What a stupid smile. It made your stupid face look stupidly boyish and cute.

Our story was not a fairytale because there was no damsel in distress. I wasn’t in the habit of owing other people so I looked for a way to pay you back. You said I could proofread your essay. That’s how I learned that you were better with numbers than with words. No biggie, that’s where I could help. You also didn’t accept favors; if I do something for you, you’d have to do something for me. You bought me a snack as a thank you. In return, I kept you company during free period. It was one favor after another and another.

Our story was not a fairytale because you certainly weren’t Prince Charming. You were actually quite the opposite. I was getting to know you more during this time. You were stubborn and always had to be right. You loved to tease and I was sensitive. We were entirely different, but it was good in some ways. I was a worrier, always thinking about things out of my control. You were laid-back, often bringing me back to reality. You grounded me. I was starting to realize that there was so much I didn’t know about you. You were smart but not loud about it. I thought we’d never be close, and truthfully it still doesn’t make sense that somehow we are.

Our story was not a fairytale because, unlike Cinderella who fell for her prince on that very first night, it took months for us to cross the line of friendship. Gradually, our friendly favors turned into something more. Before I knew it, you read my favorite books and I played your favorite games. You walked me home and I made you stay for dinner. You’d lend me your jacket and I’d let you sleep on my shoulder.

Our story was not a fairytale even during our happiest times. There were never any perfect moments, there was always some kind of a mess. Like when you told me you liked me and I almost choked on what I was eating. The magical moment was kind of ruined by my constant coughing and frantically looking for water. We did laugh about it after, and oh how, I love your laugh. Or on our first date, when the movie we wanted to watch was sold out so we went for a dragging foreign film instead. We got so bored that we ended up just making fun of it. Your smile that day is still etched into my memory. I liked these imperfect moments because, unlike the fairytales, they weren’t anything grand or unattainable. They were real. It’s these small moments I cherish the most.

Sometimes I do wish we were in a fairytale, though. I wish our story was a fairytale so it could end in happily ever after. Yesterday, you were in my room, sitting beside me while we did different things. I was working on my calculus assignment which you’d have to check, knowing me. You were writing your college application essay which I’d have to proofread, knowing you. I couldn’t bring myself to start my own essay because that would mean accepting that things are changing and they wouldn’t be the same next year.

It’s been two years since I’ve gotten used to seeing your smile and hearing about your day. What happens when we don’t see each other as often anymore? What happens when we make new friends and build new lives? What if your new life won’t have room for me anymore? What if the four walls of our high school building were the only thing keeping us together? I ruminated over these as the deadlines to applications draw closer and closer.

“Do you wanna take a break?” You said, making my heart drop. What? So soon? “From your homework. You look tired,” Oh. Thank God. “Yes please,” I said, exhaling deeply as I scooted closer to you. You stopped writing and we talked about everything and nothing at all. How your day went, the new album you were listening to. You talked about how you wanted to go to a music festival, but the tickets were already sold out. You said we should go next year instead.

Next year. You said it as casually as breathing. Not even a doubt in your mind about next year. You didn’t know I was worrying about an unpredictable future and yet you somehow managed to pull me back. Here, to the present. Right now, I am with someone who is making plans with me a year from now. The future is something I still can’t bring myself to imagine, but it’s enough to know that you could see me in it. Even if it’s a future as small as 365 days.

“Why are you smiling?” You ask, bringing me back to our conversation. Because of you, my comfort and safety. The one who holds my hand in the dark. The one person who’s sure of me. “Nothing. You’re right, we should go next year.”

Our story is not a fairytale, because our happy ending isn’t guaranteed. But being with you in that moment made me realize that maybe for now, I don’t need to be certain about everything. Our happily ever after is today, here, right now, and that’s all that matters.

[alreadyblondenow]

Box of crayons

“We were just two kids back then, but now we have two kids.”

Pairing: Jaehyun x female!reader Genre: SMUT, FLUFF, angst if you squint, childhood friends to lovers, growing up au, college au, to being married. WC: 3,522k Warnings: mentions of getting bullied during kindergarten, alcohol consumption on a college party, getting drunk, swearing, spitting, oral sex: male and female receiving, slight cum play, overstimulation, fingering, cream pie, unprotected sex, switching positions, smut scene is kind of long. A/N: I just want to post something.

Meant to be. You and Jaehyun are meant to be. But not as lovers, at least not yet. For now, you believe that you and Jaehyun are meant to be best friends.

It all started when you saw him starring at his blank paper, close to tears while other kids are teasing him for not having a box of crayons. You came in bolting and scaring those kids with your wrath and told Jaehyun, “stop being such a loser,” and shared with him your box of crayons.

On the next day, you forgot your colors at home and you felt like such a loser because everyone was busy drawing and coloring their works while you’re stuck with this great idea in your mind for your artwork.

“Stop being such a loser,” Jaehyun said and sat beside you to share his box of colors with you this time.

That was the day you learned, at a very young age, that boxes of crayons that has a hundred colors are meant to be shared. You and Jaehyun became friends starting that day and your friendship became like a box of crayons that you’re willing to share with each other.

As long as you both have some colors left on your box, you’re willing to share and got each other’s back.

Your friendship grew and grew during kindergarten, grade school, and high school. Until your families acknowledged your friendship and thought that maybe someday you’ll end up together. On top of that, you and Jaehyun grew up together and watch each other achieve different kinds of great things. May it be through sports, academics, or your hobbies.

“Hey loser,” you sat beside him during lunch break and distract him from doing his assignment.

“Hey yourself” he smirked and continued writing.

It was a busy day in school, the student body organization was busy the whole week because of prom. And to be honest, you are too, you were busy with your dress and you were busy looking for the perfect tie for Jaehyun. And now, you’re just waiting for him to pop the question and finally ask you to prom, which he will because you’re best friend right? So that made you very excited and giddy.

“What do you think of Yeri?” He asked out of nowhere. Smiling and playing with his pen while waiting for your answer but you already felt nervous.

“Popular- She bullied you when we were kids? Why?” you answered short and cold. And you wonder why the man beside you is smiling like a fool.

“I’m taking her to prom, she said yes. It was yesterday in the library, I talked to her, and went straight to the point. I made her blush like crazy...” he proudly told you the story of how he asked someone else to prom but your ears started ringing and you can't hear anything he says already. Turns out when you were busy looking for the perfect tie for him yesterday, he was busy asking the girl he likes to prom.

Everything shifted after prom, you and Jaehyun stopped talking to each other but he was too busy with his new girlfriend to notice that.

Graduation came and summer took place, you and Jaehyun are going to the same college but now you’re not sure if he still wanted the same thing because rumors are he and Yeri are so in love that they will go to the same college. It's useless to reach out if life will eventually separate you and Jaehyun might as well accept it.

As you enter college and made great new friends, you forgot about Jaehyun and focus on your studies during freshman year. But during the start of your sophomore year and while you were at the library to borrow a few books you bumped into him and were forced to catch up and had coffee for old times sake. He paid for the drinks and snacks, obviously, he was happy to see you but you looked uninterested.

And when he noticed that he’s probably taking too much of your time, he finally started a conversation. “I transferred just this semester and I was actually looking forward to seeing you. How are you?”

“Great- look I have to study and I can’t be out this long, uhm...” you started to gather your stuff and ramble. “Maybe some other time Jae,” you said and left with a fake smile. You almost feel bad about what you did but he can’t just waltz back into your life like he didn’t forget about you the moment he had a girlfriend. Now ex-girlfriend.

And as your college years continue, a catch-up never happened again. Although he tried so many times to take you out, but you always refuse and avoid him with all your might whenever you see him around the campus. He was so consistent with bringing you back to his life but you just don’t care anymore because truth be told you were hurt when he left you. Maybe this is revenge? Maybe not? But one thing is for sure, you got hurt and you hated him for it.

Now that you’re in your senior and everything is very stressful, you decided to go to this party with your friends and you were so unlucky that Jaehyun was there with his set of friends, busy playing beer pong and being loud as fuck. Of course he saw you and it halted his moves, he wanted to come say hi to you or hand you a drink but you will for sure pretend that he is invisible so he didn’t.

The party was fun. Thankfully, there were a lot of snacks and overflowing alcoholic beverages as well as non-alcoholic beverages. And because you suck at drinking games, you were downing tequilas and vodkas the whole night and that’s how you got batshit drunk that Jaehyun found you on the bathroom inside the empty tub, sleeping like a baby with a red cup in your hand.

He knew right then and there that he is responsible for you.

“Y/n, it’s Jae. Can you walk?” he asked while patting your head softly. But you can’t talk right now, so you just shook your head ‘no’ and reached for him. You knew that it’s him and you can hear him perfectly but your brain is not working right and the room can’t stop spinning. And you can’t believe you’re saying this but you’re happy that he’s here to take care of you.

You had this same feeling when you forgot your crayons back then and he came to rescue you from your little situation. He’s the same Jaehyun after all.

He offered to drive you back to your dorm which you accepted without any argument, you could’ve thanked him if only you can talk properly. He was so concerned to you that he cleared the backseat of his car and let you lie there comfortably with his jacket covering your legs. And when he brought you to your dorm safely and in one piece, he can't just leave you sleeping with your dirty clothes and helped you clean yourself with closed eyes. Everything was a challenge for him, especially when he had to close his eyes before he removes your blouse, pants, unclasp your bra and make you wear something comfortable to sleep.

Jaehyun then pats your head softly and told you “I’ll get going then, good night” before he leaves and thankfully, you were quick to stop him and you had enough energy to tell him to stay. He smiled so big and felt so happy that he wanted to scream and jump around your room. But he controlled himself and removed his shoes before he lies beside you in your comfortable bed.

To his shock, you swing your arms around him and pulled him closer to you for a tight embrace that he eventually returned. Caressing your back as he melts to your embrace and enjoys the happiness that he’s feeling right now.

“I’m sorry,” he started and planted a kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you. Never hurt me again like that, Jaehyun I swear-“

“Shhh. I will never do that to you again,” he said and hummed a song oh so softly until you fall asleep together and meet in each other’s dreams.

Just as you thought that your friendship will never come back, it did and this time it came back with love. But even though that this time love is around to make you two stick together, you never admitted your feelings to each other. You just let your actions do the talking. From him holding your hand during a scary Netflix movie, to you holding his hand while he drives. It was a simple and comfortable ‘relationship’ and you wish he would make it official.

But during a beautiful rainy day when you and Jaehyun decided to stay at your place and enjoy the cold bed weather together instead of going to the movies... everything suddenly fell into place.  

“Mmm. Feels good” Jaehyun moaned as you concentrate on lining the face mask on his face properly. You’re sitting comfortably on top of him, your legs placed on both of his sides, while he’s leaning on your headboard with closed eyes, feeling so relaxed as you pamper him with skincare.

“Stop moaning, my dorm mates might think we're having sex,” you giggle and rake his hair away from his covered face. Holding it nicely as you lean closer to his chest to enjoy the comfort of being on top of him.

“Comfortable?” he asked and placed his hands on your back and made you lean on him completely. He started caressing your back and his soft touches are making you sleepy. You may not know, but he’s very much in love with you and that he will do everything just to keep you this time. He’s just waiting for the perfect time to admit his feelings to you and make everything official.

“Okay times up,” you excitedly said and started removing the face mask. While wiping his clear and handsome face, you see redness on his cheeks and his ears are turning red. You smiled and let out a giggle because that only means Jaehyun is flustered right now.

“Can you blame me? You’re so close to me and you’re literally on top of my dick. Don’t make fun of me if I get hard,” he said with a shy smile. Eyes turning into crescents and his cute dimples are deeper than ever. So instead of making him shy, you decided to make him nervous by grinding on him slowly but with enough pressure to make him in the mood and hard in no time.

His eyes went big when you rolled your hips once. Then it became even bigger when you rolled your hips a few times again which made him tensed up and hold his breath. “Stop it,” he said, but with a smile, that’s so big. He’s completely aware that you’re teasing him.

“But do you really want me to stop?” you said and put more effort into what you’re doing to him. Grinding slowly and deliciously, rolling your head and parting your lips. But the thing is, you’re not acting anymore. Jaehyun does feel so good right now and you’re liking what you started. And now that you’re letting out small moans, Jaehyun came close to you and caught your lips. Holding your head steady and kissing you like how he always wanted to.

“If you don’t stop now, I’ll really, really, really take advantage of this moment,” he said and went back to kissing you. A mixture of happiness and lust and you both feel like your hearts are about to burst because of what's happening right now. Kissing each other while smiling in between, kissing each other even more deeper by every second. It’s like your kisses were saying, ‘i love you’ ‘no, i love you more’. And as you two are busy with your lips, you felt Jaehyun’s hands slip inside your shirt and draw small circles on your skin while kissing as if he wanted you to lift your shirt but he’s just too shy to tell you. So without any warning, you stopped kissing him only to remove your shirt and remove your bra in front of him.

This may not be Jaehyun’s first time seeing a naked girl in front of him, but you sure did make him shy that he avoided looking at you. Flashing those dimples again, and witnessing his ears turn bright red. Brighter than ever. “Stop being shy and touch me,” you command and put your hand on his nape and reached for his other hand to place it on your shoulder. Giving him the freedom to touch you and roam his hand around your body as you continue to grind your clothed pussy on his hard dick.

Soon his hand finally started to move, touching your boobs first and kneading them slowly and carefully until Jaehyun became comfortable and confident to request that you remove your shorts too. Which you did gladly, so now you’re left with only your panties, kissing Jaehyun on the neck and making the man moan and feel good. Lifting his shirt without any hesitation and exposing his very hot body before your eyes and left kisses on it immediately.

Kisses after kisses you made him weak until you reach his sweat pants and pull it down together with his boxers brief so you can plant kisses on his happy trail, lower abdomen, and finally his hard cock. And there it is again, his handsome dimpled smile that shows his shyness. His cock twitched when your cold hands made contact with his cock, pumping it slowly while you watch him close his eyes and roll his head back. He watched you spit on his cock, and slowly put his whole size in your mouth. Gripping the sheets as he loses his mind, gripping the sheets as he breathes in and out heavily, letting out deep groans and making sweet moans.

“Y/n, s-stop. I’m about to cum,” he pleaded but you didn’t stop. Instead, you moved your head even faster, worked with your tongue, and made sure to never let him forget this moment that his whole cock is in your mouth for the first time.

After a few minutes of pleasure, Jaehyun came into your mouth and you witnessed him shaking and moaning on your bed with a satisfied smile. Still, with a sensitive body, you lay on top of him and teased him from cumming so soon. “You’re dead,” he said and smiled so sweetly at you. Encircling his arms around your body and kissing you a couple of times before he changed places with you. Finally, removing your panties and making you spread your legs for him, holding you with utmost care and kissing you with a mixture of love and lust.

If you tortured him earlier with your trail of kisses on his body, now it’s Jaehyun’s turn to torture you with him kissing your inner thighs oh so softly that it sends tingles straight to your spine and making your legs close automatically. “Uh-uh, I endured everything you did to me earlier,” he said, teasing you before he slides his fingers up and down your slit and finally licking it slowly. Spitting on your cunt just how you spit on his dick earlier and started pleasuring you with his hot tongue. Your hand automatically landed on his head, gripping his soft locks as he licks you slowly and torturing you with that damn wet muscle.

And when he finally made you cum and had his sweet revenge, he kissed you all over your body and put his entire weight on top of you. Letting your nipples brush on his chest and his hand soothe your sensitive body.

It was quiet for a moment, and only your heavy breaths can be heard in your room besides the air conditioning. He nibbles your earlobes and spreads kisses on your neck while slightly grinding his hard cock on your very wet pussy, waiting for you to calm down so he can finally fuck you.

“I was planning to take you out on a proper date first before we go to this stage. You just have to be so impatient, huh?” he shook his head in disbelief and kissed your lips again before he pulls away, putting both his hands on the sides of your head. His cock was very hard that you almost thought it wouldn’t fit, “Don’t worry you’re so wet. It will slide in easily” he said before he told you to line his cock so he can finally push in.

Slowly he stretches you out, rolling his head back and so are his eyes, while you on the other hand grip your boobs knead them as you feel Jaehyun’s cock slide in and out. “Jaehyun, deeper-“ you requested and let out a moan that made him gave in to your request. He adjusts your position, folded your knee before he spreads you open, thrusting deeper than before that his lower abdomen touches yours. Losing your mind whenever you take a peek at the motion of his hips while fucks you, Jaehyun was so hot as he moves his waist and kept his eyes only to you, this time he’s the one making you feel so shy.

“You like it this way? Deep and slow?" you only nod, “Wanna go another round after this?” you smiled and nod again, “Do you love me?”

And then he started thrusting faster and harder that your body was dragged on the mattress, and your boobs are bouncing up and down because of his hard thrust. Jaehyun came close to you for a kiss, still waiting for your answer. Although he knew already that you do love him by the way you kiss him, still he needed to hear it from you. “I want to hear it Y/n,” Jaehyun pleaded again and hold on to your waist tightly as he fucks you harder than before.

“I do Jae- fuck, slow down. Almost there” you croaked but its too late, Jaehyun’s thumb is on your clit, ready to torture you again and make you cum for the second time tonight.

Locking your legs around his waist as you enjoy your high and oversensitivity, you didn’t expect that you’d ask for more and beg for more the moment you hit your high that Jaehyun got more excited that he almost forgot to pull out. And when he did, he came on your pussy lips, watching his cum paint your wet folds and throbbing cunt. Of course the man above you isn’t satisfied with all the torture he did tonight, so he slides his fingers on your cunt, playing with his own cum and finger fucked you to give you another mind blowing orgasm.

The eventful bed weather ended with you and Jaehyun cuddling in your bed with his hands on your thigh and you’re wearing nothing but his black shirt and a pair of panties while he stays handsome and so irresistible in his boxers briefs.

“I promise to love you,” he whispered to you while drawing small and soft circles on your thighs, his eyes never left yours. “I promise to stay even though you’re so stubborn,” he added which made you giggle and happy.

FIVE YEARS LATER

During a very quiet night where Jaehyun’s hands are intertwined with yours and his embrace was tighter than ever because he was really tired from work, Jaehyun was having a cute dream. He dreamt about how you saved him from the bullies back when you were only innocent kids. He was smiling through his dream until he hears a cry. A cry of an infant and opened his eyes immediately. You stopped him from getting up and told him, “I got it Jae, go sleep. You’ve been up the whole day,”

Jaehyun has become a great provider for your small family now. And he was working hard to the bone that he barely gets enough sleep during weekdays. “Thank you,” murmured and closed his hands again. And after you put your babies to sleep again and went back to Jaehyun’s embrace, Jaehyun was deep in his sleep that he’s sleep talking and murmuring sweet nothings, the kind where you only hear whenever you have slow sex.  

“We were just two kids back then, but now we have two kids. I will buy them boxes of boxes of crayons so bullies will never touch them,”

You giggle and pulled him closer. Hoping that he will ramble more because he’s so cute right now. “I love you,” you said, you weren’t expecting something in return but he responded.

“I just realized I never thanked you for sharing your crayons with me back then, thank you” he said and opened his eyes and went on top of you to kiss you sincerely. His wife. “I love you”  

[wheeloffortune-design]

so I went to the tax shop today. you know the people that do your taxes for you. i went during my lunch break, walking quick, as if i had no time to lose. you see, i was late for filling my taxes.

six months late.

almost to the day, isn't it poetic.

followers of this blog know that i've been struggling with what i'm pretty sure is adhd. the pandemic made whatever i have in my brain worse, like it did with all of us.

so here i was, six months late, entering the tax shop that's litterally down the street.

'I came to do my taxes? The 2020 ones.' Because last year the same had happened and they had, for a moment, thought I was doing them early. If only. 'The ones we were supposed to send, in, huh, April? I think.'

If the clerk was not impressed, he was even less with the stack of paper I handed him. One file was labeled "income", the other "deductions".

The clerk was puzzled by so much paper. 'I'm freelance,' I mumbled. 'Artist. Writer. I work from home.'

He started looking at all the prints. See, I was smart, in 2020. When I lost my job and had to resort to whatever I could do to stay afloat, I knew I had to be prepared. So I filed religiously all the invoices i sent, and printed the receipts of the things I had to buy.

He looked at them, puzzled. He didn't know what Redbubble and Etsy were. He didn't understand what I had to buy copies from my own book from Amazon, or my publishers. I had to mumble an explanation for everything: the shipping materials, the printer, the computer programs, while he kept frowning.

I had done part of the job already. I had highlighted all the totals and wrote what every print meant in the margin. They were organized by type of income, type of deductions.

People at work will tell you I'm incredibly organized. That's actually my whole job: being organized enough for a whole team.

But at some point, in April, I didn't finish my taxes. I left them there. I still had time before the deadline.

And then things started happening. Good things, bad things, urgent things, better things. And I didn't finish my taxes. The file stayed on my desk, in plain sight, for half a year while it tortured me inside. Every week in my planner, I wrote "Do your taxes, bitch" in big capital letters, underlined three times.

Yesterday, I was fighting my brain and doing a dozen small things that needed doing online. And I thought "Oh, I think I can do it.'

And I did.

The clerk was still frowning. 'Why isn't all of this already added?'

I wanted to say 'I can't. I have tried. For half a year. But I can't.'

Instead I mumbled: 'Huh, can, can someone here do it? I'm not able to. I can't.'

'This is going to cost you extra. Maybe 200$'

I don't care I don't care I don't care i don't care i don't care i don't care i dontcarwidobtxare i don't csre

'It's ok.'

'You're missing file 31.'

i was about to cry.

'I'll check at home.'

He took the file, entered my name in the computer, and wished me a good day.

walking home, i felt nothing.

[ahtsumu]

目送 ; oikawa tooru

「alt. title: five times oikawa didn’t look back and the one time he did」

↳ pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

↳ synopsis: you spend a lifetime watching him go, sometimes with your stomach tied in knots, sometimes with tears in your eyes, but always with love.

↳ genre(s): angst, fluff, basically an emotional rollercoaster, non-linear storyline

↳ warning(s): profanity, depiction of a panic attack, suggestive themes

↳ length: 5.4k words

↳ a/n: hq fam how we doing after 402 ?? LOL anyway this is my birthday gift to oikawa tooru: my sun, moon, and stars, second to none, yadda yadda. the title is taken from a book with the same name, in case you were wondering. please pay attention to the roman numerals ahead of each section!! enjoy!

v.

“This is the last call for Japan Airlines flight 717 to Buenos Aires, now boarding at gate number twelve. This is the last call…”

Goodbyes are hard when you know they’re forever. Or at least a while.

The clamour of Haneda airport dims to a faint buzz as the two of you continue standing with touching shoulders–– facing the jetliner instead of each other–– in futile hopes of delaying the inevitable.

Oikawa knows that you’re holding in your tears by the light tremors running through your body. Permitting himself to steal a look at your side profile, he notices the familiar tensing of your jaw and hard-set look in your red-rimmed eyes.

Tch. You said you wouldn’t cry.

Impulsively, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a familiar turquoise banner. It feels like just yesterday the team handed him the silk fabric with everyone’s farewell gifts wrapped inside.

Out-of-sequence memories of the Spring High qualifiers flash through your mind. The orange-haired Karasuno player’s spike ricochets off Oikawa’s forearms. The numbers on both sides of the scoreboard slowly inch up like they’re taking turns. Oikawa’s white knuckles against the metal basin. Red eyes. Heaving chest. Something soft against your skin. Rule the Court.

And just like the last time, he gently drapes it over your shoulders, brushing his fingers against your neck as he does so. God, how he wants to kiss you.

“But it’s yours,” you protest weakly, making no move to give it back.

“It won’t be for a while.” His voice cracks when he speaks. But it will be mine again when I come back for it.

He wants to kiss you. One last time.

He wants your mouth against his like absolution to a sinner because he knows that what he’s done to you, what he’s doing to you right now, is comparable to desecration. But he remembers the look on your face that night he broke the news to you. How your megawatt grin caved into a wince when the length of his contract with Club Athletico San Juan finally registered in your mind.

You swallow your feelings of betrayal. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Five years is an awfully long time to be apart,” you say after a while.

Oikawa bites his lip. He doesn’t have the heart to say that five was just the starting number. If he does well there, he’ll probably stay longer. He’ll probably do well there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Seconds drag into minutes. The cavity in his stomach festers as he waits for your response, but he has a feeling that he already knows your answer.

So instead, all he can do when your floodgates finally burst open is cup your face in his calloused palms and wipe away some of your tears before offering you his own watery smile.

Through your blurred vision, you watch as the boy in front of you steels his resolve and disappears from your life through the jet bridge, ignoring his heart as it begs for one last look over his shoulder.

Oikawa nods numbly when the old man sitting beside him asks if he’s leaving home for the first time. Home, he realises, isn’t anywhere with walls, isn’t an address, isn’t even a person. When someone says they want to go home, it’s not a space that they yearn for, but rather, a time.

He watches Japan grow smaller through the window and feels himself yearn for the time he still had your heart in his hands. It felt like he was holding the sun.

i.

You wouldn’t consider July 21st to be a special day. Nothing special happened earlier that morning when you woke up without your usual alarm. Nothing special happened when your friends texted you four simple words–– come to Azukihana beach!–– during breakfast. But (and this will come to you much, much later) something special happened when said friends left you to guard their things as they dashed to the supermarket for more snacks.

For now, it’s just July 21st, and you’re lying with your back against a towel on the first day of summer break, soaking in the sun, peacefully flipping through a book.

“DON’T FUCKING DO IT, YOU COLOSSAL PIECE OF SHIT!” The familiar voice tears through the beach. Was that Iwaizumi? You set the book down and sit up to check.

And suddenly, the yellow and blue volleyball that had been leisurely rolling your way halts perfectly before your toes. Behind it jogs a shirtless brunet you’ve definitely seen around school.

Oikawa Tooru stops right behind the runaway volleyball and peers at you through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, flashing you a charming smile.

After casually picking up the ball with one hand, he flexes his abdominal muscles as he straightens back up. Chestnut irises attempt to discreetly sweep over your features but you catch his gaze in the act, quirking an unamused brow. You also catch the intrigued twitch of his lips that follow.

You’re not stupid. Despite having never met him, you know a lot about the Grand King (as many call him). He’s the constant subject of Iwaizumi’s ire and you’ve heard a lifetime’s complaints about him at joint-family luncheons.

But here’s what’s important: you know that he tears himself apart to be the player his team needs him to be, that he sometimes makes Iwaizumi wish he’d passed the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and that he fiddles with hearts like origami and sets fire to those beautiful fragile trinkets right after.

And in the interest of self-defence (but against what the devil on your shoulder begs), you choose to not place your most prized possession on the table.

A simple “no worries” passes through your lips. You return to your book. A page turns.

Oikawa Tooru is dismissed.

Though your gaze is trained on the page, you can feel his presence at your feet for a few seconds longer. You wonder what his next move is. Much to your surprise, instead of trying to strike up another conversation, he simply lets out an airy hum and strolls back to the sand court where he came from without a second glance.

Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa is smiling so victoriously after watching the whole ordeal, but your tan family friend has, unlike the calculating Grand King, failed to notice one important detail:

your book is upside down.

And, as if in a trance, your eyes have followed Oikawa all the way back to his sandy kingdom.

Once the sun has set, Iwaizumi checks his phone and notices a text he’d missed in the afternoon. It’s from Y/N. Unease digs itself in his chest when he realises it can’t possibly be for anything except…

hey what was that about?

This can’t be good. Thumbs rapidly typing a response, he races to quash any interest you may have budding in Oikawa. You… you’re good. Nice. Smart enough for UTokyo. A bit naive, but he’s been around your overbearing parents long enough to see it’s not entirely your fault. And even though you run in different circles at school, he feels obligated to protect you from monsters that hide beneath pretty surfaces. He’s known you since the two of you were in diapers.

just trash being what it is

Iwaizumi watches the three grey dots on your side appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again. And that’s when he realises that he cannot help you. The villain in this arc of your story has already sunken his teeth in your tender, unsullied flesh.

trash?

He sighs.

oikawa

It isn’t a surprise to Iwaizumi when summer break ends and Oikawa’s chestnut eyes start hunting for someone in the cafeteria during lunch. He doesn’t raise a brow when he hears that the second-year captain has been sneaking into Class 7, sometimes with flowers in his hands, and strolling out with a dazed look on his face. He slaps his teammates out of shock when Oikawa mentions his troubles with pursuing some girl–– but not before slapping himself first. Because the Oikawa he knows is not a chaser.

“Her name’s Y/N,” the brunet says, suddenly realising that he has never introduced any of his temporary interests to the team. But it’s been well over two months and he’s starting to think he’s been friend-zoned. Or worse. “I think she hates me.” He laughs melodically, then cocks his head in contemplation. “Is it weird that I kinda like that?”

Iwaizumi hides a satisfied smile behind a sip of water. Oikawa’s revelation has cleared the unease your name brought to his chest. Just a little. Perhaps he’d misread you. You have a bite of your own.

iii.

It’s routine for Oikawa to slink into Class 7 with a dazzling grin during morning break, but he’ll sometimes show up with flowers instead just to remind you that his affections, along with his modus operandi–– haven’t changed since he first started visiting you in September.

The girls in your homeroom have grown used to seeing the six-foot-tall volleyball captain hovering around your desk like a butterfly. Most treat him as part of the scenery nowadays. To them, Oikawa Tooru is no longer the mysterious, out-of-reach deity the rest of the school still paints him to be.

So when he strolls into class on a chilly January afternoon with your name a tune on his lips, they leave him be. Recently, the ladies of Seijoh have focused their attentions on some fellow on the swim team, anyway. Oikawa doesn’t feel as upset as he thinks he should about his shrinking fan club, but when his gaze finds yours already steady, expectant, utterly adoring on him, he understands why.

“For the lady,” he says like he does every time. A cluster of yellow flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper plop onto your desk. He pulls a chair up to your side, purposely ignoring, again, how two certain grooves in the wooden floor keep growing deeper with his visits.

You remember the first time he started bringing you flowers.

A posy of pink flowers sits awkwardly on your desk, untouched.

“I tell you I’d rather take your serve to my face than attend the bunkasai with you and your response is to give me weeds?” you reply with your chin in the palm of your hands, amusement blossoming over your features.

“Stop being a tease, Y/N-chan, they’re flowers,” he huffs, crossing his arms on your desk. “And I know you want to take them. The florist even said I have immaculate taste.”

“Really? Then what do these mean?”

Oikawa falters.

“Hmm?”

“Pink camellias,” he finally says, carefully enunciating the flower's name, “means that you’re a fucking tease. And that you should come to the bunkasai with me.” You snort and tell him to quit volleyball and join comedy club, feeling a strange warmth in your chest when he laughs.

The two of you fall into the same rhythm as always, talking a little bit about this and that, throwing in witty remarks where they belong, never passing up the chance to make fun of each other’s little idiosyncrasies. He’s enraptured by the way you string words together to describe the story behind your class’s bunkasai performance and all the gears in your brain whirr when he explains the strategy he’s using against the team Seijoh’s playing later that day.

When the bell rings, he reluctantly drags his chair back to the desk he stole it from. Just before he slinks back out the door, though, you tell him with a stern gaze that the Ushiwaka from Shiratorizawa he just spent the break shit-talking doesn’t hold a candle to Seijoh’s Grand King.

It’s like you had just stepped under a new light. Oikawa pauses in front of the doorway, trying to decipher what it is that’s different about you. And suddenly, the roses in his cheeks are in full bloom. Delighted and puzzled at his own realisation, he turns around without a second glance your way and strides back to Class 5. Oh, man, he muses as he passes through the emptying corridor. Oh, man. Iwa-chan is going to love this.

Your phone buzzes later that evening.

seijoh v. shiratorizawa 1-2, the text reads, quickly followed by, GAH.

Your lips twitch, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tapping your fingers against your phone screen for a response that’ll cheer him up, you suddenly remember a phrase Oikawa said earlier that day. It drew a laugh from you when it came out his contorted face.  He was obviously still hung up over with the words of the opposing team’s ace. Hopefully, it makes him feel something else coming from you.

you should’ve come to shiratorizawa, you send, grinning.

His response is immediate.

l m f A O

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

And then you’re reminded of his petalled gift on your desk, now comfortably sitting in a glass vase at your bedside. Pink camellias, he said? Curious, you open your laptop and type in the name for its meaning.

Longing, you remember, watching your boyfriend chatter about something–– probably aliens–– animatedly. The yellow flowers on your desk, you realise, are ones you’ve never seen before.

“Oikawa, what’s the name of these?” you suddenly ask. He stops in the middle of his sentence (he was definitely talking about aliens, by the way), and grins smugly.

“Jonquils,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “spelt J-O-N-Q-U-I-L-S, means that your boyfriend’s going to colonise Mars one day. And if you’re lucky, you can be the first queen of Mars. How ‘bout that?”

It doesn’t mean what he says it does, by the way.

ii.

Splashes of pink and orange have already settled into the blue sky above when you step onto the rooftop of Seijoh’s humanities building. Despite the breeze that has swept through the air, the flame of curiosity in your stomach burns just enough for you to turn a cheek to the cold.

Come to the rooftop at 6 PM.

It’s 5:59. Impatient, you study the note in your hand again. Maybe you’ll be able to glean something from the laconic letter this time.

Much to your irritation, no one had seen the author of this note. They had expertly placed the unsigned card on your desk with a single rose and Hershey’s chocolate kiss on top during lunch. Elegantly scrawled, their seven words have had your brain running circles all day around their identity. Could it be…? No–– he seemed completely normal earlier today. Still, you can’t shake your suspicions. They borderline hope.

Who else…

You inhale the cool air deeply and lean back against the rooftop railing, eyes burning a hole into the metal entrance. The door swings open with a high-pitched groan. Your breath catches in your throat.

… if not him?

Time briefly stops when Oikawa Tooru steps through the entrance, still in his volleyball uniform, sweaty from practice, cheeks the same colour as the setting sun. There’s an unusually tentative look on his face, though it’s immediately wiped off and replaced with the realisation that this is real when he sees you slightly slack-jawed, blinking once, twice, three times before letting out a breath.

“You look surprised. Expecting someone else to confess today?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his uniformed chest. Despite how his features are contorted by his poorly hidden jealousy, you can’t help but feel a flood of blood rush through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire.

Because whether he knows it or not, Oikawa, the Grand King of the Court, prettiest boy in all of Miyagi, has skipped the table and placed his heart straight into your hands.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I just didn’t think you’d… well, do something like this.” And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Iwaizumi’s words still find their way into your mind sometimes. I didn’t want origami made from my heartstrings.

Oikawa’s demeanour changes and his eyes dart away from your face. Shoving his hands into his windbreaker’s pockets, he admits, “I’ve honestly never done something like this before.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Really? You’ve never stepped foot in the fourteenth shrine of Sendai?” you tease, referring to how Seijoh students have claimed this very rooftop as one of the God of Love’s many temples. You both know he holds the school record for the number of visits to this rooftop. At this rate, he could be one of its caretakers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a scowl, though the awkward tension between you two dissipates. And it feels like the two of you are back at your desk in Class 7, snickering uncontrollably while throwing playful jabs at each other. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Oikawa finally steps forward to join you by the railing.

Humming softly, he rests his elbows on the metal bar, props his head up with his hands, and sets his gaze on the lowering sun.

It’d be unfair to say that you didn’t at least try to enjoy the moment of peace with the boy beside you. But there’s a burning question on your mind that you can’t put off asking any longer.

“Why me?” you finally blurt out. “You could have any girl in this school. What made you choose me?”

The brunet whips his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “You think I chose to chase after the most annoying girl in all of Miyagi?” He laughs. “Ridiculous. I’d never willingly put myself through that unnecessary angst.”

You scoff and cross your arms.

“I think that when you like someone, it’s harder to explain why,” he quickly adds. “‘Cause it’s not supposed to make sense. I bet that the inability to explain your feelings is a prerequisite for true feelings, actually. It’s logical to say that you’d date Person A because they’re smart, or Person B because they’re hot, or Person C because they’re rich. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not… that’s not falling for someone. When you fall for someone… you just do. No logic required. You weren’t an option I ultimately settled on, Y/N. One day I just woke up and thought, if not you, then no one else.”

A beat passes. A flurry of words floods through your brain, only to evaporate when the devil on your shoulder decides that words aren’t quite adequate for what you want Oikawa to hear.

So instead, your feet take you one step closer into his space. Impulsively, your fingers find their way to his nape and your eyes flutter shut and suddenly–– suddenly, your parted lips brush against Oikawa’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss, soft lips surging against yours like a pulse under pressure. You barely register his arms snaking around your waist, tighter and tighter until the space between your bodies is completely closed off.

Breathless, you finally detach your lips from his. Oikawa, who still has you encircled in his arms, pouts at the loss of contact, though he sulky façade only lasts a second before it gives way to a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He looks magnificent. Cheeks red, lips flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement. You want to kiss him again.

“One more.” It’s as if he read your mind. “To celebrate that last one.”

When Oikawa finally detaches himself from your lips, it’s to respond to the buzzing in his pocket. Noticing your raised brows, he explains that it’s an alarm for practice. The Spring High Prelims are just around the corner and he doesn’t plan on graduating without never having taken his team to Nationals.

“That’s my cue,” he states with a warm–– read: not apologetic–– smile. He doesn’t grab your hand or look imploringly into your eyes in hopes that you understand, never mind that you just shared your first kiss, never mind that you just became his girlfriend.

If Oikawa’s looking for any sign of your objection, he won’t find any. Instead, you step out of his space with an acquiescent nod. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Play well,” you say softly.

But before he heads for the creaky rooftop door, he presses one last kiss to your lips. And then he turns around, whistling as he goes, leaving you beaming behind his back with the light of a thousand suns.

iv.

When Matsukawa hands you the turquoise “Rule the Court” banner after the team lunch with a shit-eating grin on his face, the only resistance you offer is a resigned sigh.

“I’ve been dating Oikawa since we were second years,” you say flatly.

“Sorry, Y/N-san, but it’s the team’s hazing ritual,” he replies, not appearing sorry at all. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t done it.” He jerks his head at the blonde girl standing a little farther from the group with Hanamaki. “Emiko-san did it at the last game.”

“Plus, it’s the Spring High qualifier semifinals!” Kindaichi adds. “It’s an even bigger deal for you to do it now, especially since you had to miss our games on the first two days for school.” The team murmurs in agreement.

You shudder at the thought of your impending distress. Sit in the front row of the cheer squad and raise the banner with a scream every time your boyfriend serves? Fleeing from the Sendai City Gymnasium back home in an expensive taxi suddenly becomes very appealing.

Seeing the expectant and hopeful looks on the rest of the team’s faces, however, you begrudgingly place the banner in your backpack, signalling your acceptance of the horrible, cringe-worthy tradition.

“Where is Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks, rotating his turnip-shaped head around rapidly. “He was just at the team lunch. Iwaizumi-san’s missing too…”

Kunimi shrugs, pulling out his copy of the team schedule. He starts herding the team towards one of the courts. “Our game against Karasuno starts about an hour, so we should start warm-ups in around fifteen minutes.”

Worry creeps up your spine. For the past few days, all Oikawa has talked about is this match against his bratty kouhai’s team. And in the past two weeks leading up to today, you haven’t been able to even catch a glimpse of his face outside of break or lunch. To suddenly go missing before warm-ups doesn’t seem like Oikawa. You’re about to ask the team if he’s ever done this before, but your phone starts ringing a familiar tune and the question is set aside.

“Iwai––”

“Third-floor bathroom by the orange pillar. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone. Emergency.” Through his harsh and abrupt tone, you pick up traces of fear.

“What––”

“It’s Oikawa.” The call is cut before you can ask any more questions. Heart suddenly racing, you tell the team that your mother just called with questions about your new smart blender and excuse yourself to “explain what the manufacturers mean by salsify”. No one sees you bolt towards the nearest set of staircases with Oikawa the only thought on your mind.

There are very few things in this world that scare you. Stray hairs in the bathroom, the dark, essays longer than three pages… but the terror that short-circuits your brain when you find your boyfriend in the bathroom–– knuckles white around the sink, chest heaving violently, frenzied pupils surrounded by broken blood vessels–– trumps any fear you’ve faced before.

Iwaizumi stands helplessly beside him.

“Is he having a panic attack?” you question, still unable to move your feet. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this before. He’s the Grand King who hums while he walks, who spams your phone’s camera roll with peace-signs and funny faces, who winks and flirts and teases without regard. But watching the long-deified setter crumble like a measly human before you, you realise that Oikawa is also the guy who tore his meniscus from overexertion, who trades sleep to study his opponents play, who works his body to the bone just to stay a hairline above a certain Karasuno setter.

“A scout for the Schweiden Adlers said that Kageyama will soon surpass Oikawa in skill.” Iwaizumi explains how they had overheard the conversation lowly in your ear. “I got us into this bathroom just before he completely lost it. 5-4-3-2-1 isn’t working. And he won’t listen to a word I say.” What’s 5-4-3-2-1? Well, if it isn’t working then don’t focus on that right now.

Your eyes dart to Oikawa’s quivering body again. “I don’t know how to pull someone out of a panic attack.”

“The goal is to ground him. So use physical touch, make him feel something with texture, and get him to talk,” he responds instantly. Mechanically. Like he’s all-too-familiar with this set of instructions. A heaviness grows in the pit of your stomach when you realise what that means for Oikawa. And yet, from that very dread sprouts strength.

Slowly, you tread over to Oikawa and place a hand on his arm. His muscles tense under your touch but when you murmur over and over that it’s “Y/N, your girlfriend, the most annoying girl in Miyagi”, his fingers loosen ever-so-slightly from the metal basin. He lets you lead him to the bench by the door. He lets you drape the Seijoh banner over his shoulders like it’s armour and wrap your arms around his waist. He lets you press your cheek to his sweat-drenched back.

Get him to talk.

“Remember that quote you showed me from that interview of yours? What was it again?” you question softly.

No response.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” you say into his ear.

Through the mirror, you see his eyes widen with recognition. In the brief moment of lucidity that washes over Oikawa’s glistening face, you repeat the original question again, followed by his own quote.

Again and again.

And Oikawa finally says back.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” Focus re-enters his gaze. He blinks as if just waking from a spell.

“That’s right,” you say as firmly as possible. “So don’t you dare break first, Tooru.”

An unreadable blend of emotions scrawls itself over his features. While Oikawa washes his face with cold water, you remember rumination and resolve but can’t decipher the rest, giving up anyway when Iwaizumi pushes open the bathroom door. When the light washes over Oikawa, his face shows no signs of the episode he just had. It’s just like how the sky moves on after a storm, how the sun beams to say, “I’m here now. The rain has gone.”

But sometimes it still rains in spite of the sun.

A sunshower. It sounds so beautiful. But it’s wonderfully sad.

The three of you wordlessly make your way to the court where the rest of Seijoh is likely getting ready to warm up. What are you supposed to say after that? What can you say?

Once the smell of air salonpas and sweat finally greets your nose, Oikawa slips the Seijoh banner off his back and hands it over to you. Guessing that’s your cue to leave, you tell him to play well like you always do before starting to head for the upper deck. Softly, Oikawa asks you to wait.

“Stay for warm-ups,” he adds. “Please.”

From your spot behind the Seijoh divider, you carefully watch for any signs of another breakdown. To your relief, he goes the entire half-hour without a single crack in his disposition, exchanging laidback grins with the team, bantering with Iwaizumi. At one point he even has the audacity to taunt the Karasuno setter Tobio-chan, as Oikawa often says with a sneer.

Sunshowers, Y/N. Sunshowers.

Just before the referees call for the teams to line up at their ends of the court, Oikawa jogs over to you, eyes folding into thin crescents when he smiles.

He pulls the Seijoh banner out from your hands and gingerly cloaks it around your shoulders. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Thank you.” Something in face tells you that it’s supposed to mean more than gratitude. Before you can read more into it, he turns back around and jogs to the line where his team awaits. Oikawa grins ferally.

Knowing that your luminous eyes are fixed to his back like his own set of wings, the monster crows on the other side suddenly look more like humans.

vi.

Oikawa isn’t surprised that his text is still unopened. At twenty-seven years old, he’s had his fair share of dead-ends when it comes to love. But he hadn’t expected radio silence from you of all people.

After closing all the tabs of Team Japan’s latest matches, he powers off his laptop and checks his phone again to reread what he wrote to your old number one last time. Still nothing. It’s highly probable you’ve changed phone numbers at least once in the last nine years, but the disappointment’s still there after he powers his phone off for the night. Tomorrow’s a big day and he’s not the same victim of self-destruction he had been in high school.

Or so he thinks, realising that texting the last person he loved the night before the 2021 Olympics volleyball finals might have been slightly irresponsible on his part. A thought arises in his head, though he quickly quashes it. Asking Iwaizumi to pass the message along would be a little overboard, wouldn’t it? Oikawa chuckles, imagining he response he’d get from his best friend (and Team Japan’s team trainer, that traitor).

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll put you to sleep, you dumbass simp,” he hears in Iwaizumi’s gruff voice.

He convinces himself that you’ll be there like you’ve always been. After all, he’s spent a lifetime with your pair of watchful eyes on his back. Satisfied, he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The volume in the Ariake Arena is astronomical. Blood pounds against his ears as he sets the ball in the air, a monstrous grin carving into his face when his teammate José spikes the set straight down the net, drawing a wave of oohs and aahs from spectators on both sides.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the flashy Team Argentina setter and finishes taping up Ushijima’s arm.

Oikawa turns haughtily towards the opposite team, gaze zeroing in on Team Japan’s raven-haired setter and the shrimpy ginger beside him. It’s been a while since he last saw them this close in person–– the chance encounter with Hinata in Brazil happened well over three years ago and he hadn’t had the time earlier in the tournament to say hello. Of course they’re the final boss in this arc, he muses, though the thought is void of vexation. Instead, begrudging pride blossoms in his chest. Truthfully, he had expected nothing less from his kouhai.

And he expects nothing less than finally tasting the ambrosia of victory against that monster–– no, an entire generation of monsters–– today. Monsters who happen to be the kids he grew up beside.

He wonders what you’d say at the sight of Japan’s greatest players all gathered on one court. On instinct, his eyes dive into the bleachers, searching for your face. Knowing he’s not likely to find you like this, he tsks, deciding to look for Iwaizumi instead. Maybe he knows where you are.

The referees signal for both teams to line up at their ends of the court. As he steps onto the white boundary line, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze transfixed on someone in the upper deck on Team Argentina’s side. The neutral expression on his face morphs into shock, then recognition. And then he glances at Oikawa.

The latter’s brows furrow before everything clicks in place.

Who else…

All your memories together hit him at full force–– your face shimmering with tears in front of gate twelve in Haneda Airport, the feeling of your shallow breaths against his neck, the savvy lilt to your voice as you speak.

… if not her?

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru looks behind his shoulder.

And there you are, leaning against the railing with the old Seijoh flag draped over your shoulders, a tender, splendid smile on your lips.

“Play well,” you mouth.

And Oikawa feels the sun rise back into his hands.

[snelbz]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 9}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

A @snelbz X @theladyofdeath collaboration.

Word Count: 3378

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

***Announcement! *** After the completion of I’ll be Seeing You and Tempting the Fates, all of Tara and I’s joint fanfiction will be posted on a separate blog that we run together > @snacmc. Be sure to follow the new blog as we will start posting on there soon!

Hestia

– Goddess of the hearth, home and family

Mondays and Wednesdays always seemed to drag.

Thanks to her lack of Rowan in class, Aelin’s classes were boring and she found herself thinking of other things, rather than the notes she was supposed to be taking. Like the way Rowan’s eyes had been on her as she went down on him in the shower earlier than morning.

At his insistence, she’d begun using his shower for more than just sex purposes, as she’d so eloquently explained to him the week before. She was regularly staying over, getting ready for her own classes in the morning, just as he was. But whenever one of them followed the other into the tiled shower, it was used for practical reasons.

As well as sexual ones.

Suppressing a whine as she thought of the way Rowan had pinned her up against the cool tiles that morning, Aelin crossed her legs and checked her watch. Only another twenty minutes and then she had her break between classes. She wasn’t hungry, thanks to the protein bar she’d eaten just before this class started, and she was close to the gen ed building, so she decided she would drop by her mythology professor’s office. She had a few questions about the homework he’d assigned yesterday and face-to-face was always better to her than an email.

Once her anatomy professor was wrapping up, Aelin was tossing her books into a bag and hauling ass across campus. Rowan’s last class was wrapping up, too, and she didn’t want to miss him before he hurried off to do whatever else.

She could’ve texted him to stay put, but she didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

She made it to his building and dodged by those who were hurrying off to their other classes or their beds, and stopped at Rowan’s office door before giving it a halting knock.

It took him a second to answer, but when he did, he was handsome as ever.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up, the button down tucked into his trousers. When he saw it was Aelin at his office door, a silver brow lifted.

“Aelin,” he began, clearing his throat. “How may I help you?”

“I have some questions about the homework,” she began, voice low, even though no one else was around. “Can I come in for a second?”

Rowan moved aside before she had finished her question. With one last glance down the hall he shared with a few other first-year professors, he shut the door, sealing them into his office. The blinds were open, but on the third floor, it wasn’t like anyone could see the private meeting he and his student were about to have.

Even if he didn’t know what kind of meeting it was about to be.

“Are you on your lunch break?” She asked, leaning back against his desk.

He nodded. “Didn’t plan on taking lunch, but I’ve got a couple hours before my next class. Was going to work on some grading. Why?”

He had stepped closer, pausing beside one of the chairs he kept in front of the desk for students to sit in.

Aelin clearly had other ideas of where to sit though. With a smirk, she reached out and lightly gripped his shirt, pulling him towards her.

“You had questions about the homework,” he breathed, leaning away as she tried to kiss him.

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t kiss her. He just wanted to see her squirm.

And squirm, she did. “You know very well that I turned in the homework yesterday afternoon.”

She tried to kiss him again, but he fell away, even though his arms were around her waist.

“I don’t recall that,” he taunted. “Maybe you could remind me.”

“I turned it in just before I did this,” she crooned, and her lips found his.

Aelin kissed him, slowly, her arms snaking around his neck. She swore she would never tire of the feeling of his mouth on hers.

“Oh yeah,” Rowan muttered, against her lips. “Now I remember.”

It only took him a second to grab her hips and set her on top of his desk.

There was a clattering of something tipping over, probably a cup of pens or paper clips from the sound of it, but neither of them cared. Not as he gripped the outside of her thigh where her legs were wrapped around him, or her hand found its way into his hair. He was both frustrated and very glad she’d worn leggings today. While he wished she was wearing something with a bit easier access, it was probably a blessing in disguise that he couldn’t get his hand between her legs.

Or his mouth.

Or any other body parts.

That wasn’t stopping Aelin from rubbing against him, looking for friction, as their tongues battled and teeth occasionally clashed. She let out a quiet moan and he tugged on her hair, pulling her lips from his.

“We’re not fucking in my office,” he breathed, looking her in the eyes. “It is way too dangerous.”

She nodded, knowing and accepting the fact, but it didn’t mean she was done kissing him.

“Was this morning not enough?” He smirked, trailing his lips down her throat instead of returning to hers.

“It’s never enough,” she gasped. “Every time I’m away from you…”

Her words trailed off as their lips met. It was true. It was never enough. She was so fulfilled with Rowan, and the second he was gone, she longed for him.

“Come over tonight,” Aelin begged. “Stay with me tonight.”

Rowan groaned as his tongue slipped between her lips.

They stayed at Rowan’s nearly every night. The only times Aelin stayed at her own apartment was when she had an exam or homework she had to work on, without Rowan distracting her. Lysandra and Aedion had met Rowan over dinner a few nights before, though Aelin had insisted take out was much more her friends’ speed than a fully home cooked meal. However, Aelin had a lab due the following morning, so after dinner, Rowan had gone back home.

Alone.

“We have class tomorrow,” he replied, lips still on hers.

“So we’ll make sure we get up early.” Dragging her teeth across his jaw, she gripped his shoulders. “Bring over everything you’ll need to come straight to class.”

Rowan hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“We don’t live on campus,” Aelin said, quietly. “It’s not like I live somewhere surrounded by students.”

Rowan pulled back and met her gaze. “It’s important to you?”

Aelin nodded, arms still wrapped around the back of his neck. “I love being cooped up in your apartment. I really do. But, sometimes I wanna be cooped up somewhere else, too.”

Rowan huffed a laugh. “Alright.”

“Yeah?” Aelin asked, a soft smile painted across her light pink lips.

Rowan couldn’t help his own smile forming as he leaned forward and pulled Aelin closer to him as he kissed her, softly. They went on like that, dwelling in those slow, prolonged kisses. There was something personal, something exceptional about a long, slow kiss. Something sensual that made Aelin’s stomach feel like it was going to explode, even though it lacked that animalistic passion they had come to find within one another.

A quick knock at the door had them jumping apart, Rowan dragging a quick hand through his hair, not having a chance to reply before the door opened.

“Hey, Rowan, I was hoping you could— Oh.”

The pretty woman froze in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of her.

It was innocent enough, though Aelin’s lips were swollen from their kisses. That could easily be explained away, especially as her teeth found the bottom lip and gnawed on it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had an appointment,” she said, eyeing Aelin, who had thankfully gotten off the desk before she’d entered.

“It wasn’t officially booked,” he explained, slightly stepping in front of Aelin to keep her shielded. “Miss Galathynius had a few questions about the homework I assigned in class and about an upcoming project. She stopped by during her lunch break, since her schedule is so busy.”

Silence built in the office, and after a second, Rowan cleared his throat. “Did you need something, Remelle?”

“Maeve sent out an email about a mandatory department meeting for Thursday night,” she said, slowly, still looking at them both suspiciously. “A couple of us in the building were going to get drinks after, wanted to know if you wanted to come.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll plan on it.”

“Good,” Remelle said, a little too quickly. “And check your mailbox in the office. It’s full.”

With another look at Aelin, then at Rowan, Remelle left and the door fell shut behind her.

Silence enveloped the room.

Rowan slowly turned around to look at Aelin, whose face was pale.

“You couldn’t have locked the door?” she whispered.

Rowan scoffed. “Yeah, because that wouldn’t have been suspicious, being locked in here with a student.”

For some reason, the word student felt like a jab coming from him in that moment. Aelin’s back straightened. “I wasn’t aware that the receptionist randomly barges into your office. If a student found it locked, they probably wouldn’t think it was weird, at all. Offices around here are locked all the damn time.”

Rowan sighed and nodded. He stepped towards her and ran his hands up and down her arms, pressing a soft kiss to Aelin’s forehead. “You should go. There’s only so much we can talk about homework.”

Nodding, Aelin wrapped her arms around his waist, and he wrapped her up in his own. “I’ll see you after class?”

“I’ll run by my place to grab some things and pick up dinner on the way,” he promised, tilting her chin up to look at him. “I’ll see you later.”

She nodded and rose up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. Grabbing her bag from the chair, she adjusted her messy bun, which was only a little messier than it had been before and slipped out the office door.

Leaning back on the spot Aelin had just been sitting in, Rowan took a quick moment to breathe before setting his desk to rights and heading down to check his community mailbox. It wasn’t full as Remelle had implied, but there were a few things in it, mostly department memos and notes from other professors. He ignored her suspicious look as he made his way back up the stairs to his office and settled behind his desk to work on the grading he’d planned to do during his lunch.

He was halfway through an essay from one of his upperclassmen when his email dinged on his laptop. It had gone off a few times since Aelin had left, but he’d ignored them, assuming they were automatic replies to Maeve’s email about the meeting.

Tapping on the track pad of his laptop to wake it up, he kept reading over the essay as his email came to life, but he waited until he was done to look over at the most recent notifications.

Freezing, Rowan’s eyes flashed over the subject of the email from Maeve three times before he actually had the nerve to open it.

Meeting in my office after your final class of the evening.

We need to have a talk.

*

Aelin felt as if she had been holding her breath for hours.

Which was exactly how long it had been since she had received her text from Rowan.

As someone who was not nervous or paranoid by nature, she hated the feeling of being so freaked out that she was nearly about to vomit. She had already cleaned her apartment once, and was pouring herself a glass of wine as she was deciding what she could clean next. Maybe she would clean out the fridge.

After downing her glass of wine, she did just that, throwing open the refrigerator door and emptying out what had been in there for over a week.

She didn’t even hear the front door open, nor did she hear her roommate and cousin walk into the kitchen.

“Ace?”

Aelin yelped, jumped, and spun around, nearly knocking over her glass of wine on the counter nearby. “What the hell?” she yelled. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that! Doesn’t anyone realize how fucking rude it is to just barge in?!”

Aedion’s brows shot up as Lysandra stepped forward. “Uh, everything okay?”

Aelin’s face fell into her hands as she leaned against the countertop. “Does it look like everything is okay?” she asked, words muffled.

“What happened?” Lysandra asked, gently prying Aelin’s hands from her face.

Her eyes were still shut, as if she could shut out the world. Taking a deep breath, she released it, answering in one, quick burst. “I think Rowan and I got caught.”

She heard something hit the floor, clearly dropped by Aedion, but Lysandra’s hands went slack on her wrist. “What do you mean?”

Letting her head fall to the countertop, she groaned once before standing up straight and looking at them. Aedion had indeed dropped the bag of pretzels he’d pulled from the cabinet.

“We both had long breaks today, so I stopped by his office to see him for a minute. I didn’t mean for anything to happen. I mean… Yeah, I kinda did. I kissed him first.”

“I don’t need to hear about this. Lys can fill me in,” Aedion muttered, scooping the bag of pretzels off the floor and heading for Lysandra’s bedroom.

“We didn’t fuck or anything,” Aelin sighed after he left. “But we did make out on his desk a bit. It was barely even PG-13.”

“So what happened?” Lysandra asked, getting another glass down and refilling Aelin’s glassed wine and filling one for herself. “How did you get caught?”

“The secretary walked in,” Aelin said, staring at a spot on the hardwood. “She didn’t see anything, we broke apart before the door opened, but… I don’t know. She sounded suspicious, looked suspicious.” Aelin took a sip from her glass. “I mean, seriously, who knocks but doesn’t wait for a come in before they open the damn door? It’s rude as hell.”

“I don’t wait before coming into your room,” Lysandra said.

“That’s different, we live together,” Aelin said, unable to control her chuckle.

Lysandra smiled, but it faded as she shook her head. “That man needs to learn how to lock his office.”

“That’s what I said!” Aelin agreed, and topped off her glass before it was even halfway empty.

“So, what?” Lysandra went on. “She came in but didn’t see anything. Maybe she just always looks suspicious. I’m sure nothing will come out of it.”

Without another word, Aelin took her phone out of her pocket and slid it across the counter. Lysandra slowly picked it up and read Rowan’s text.

Got an email from Maeve. I have to go to her office tonight. Says she needs to talk to me. Sounded urgent.

Aelin had texted back. Did she say what it was about?

No, Rowan had replied. But it doesn’t sound good.

“Have you heard from him since he sent these?” Lysandra asked, setting the phone down.

“No, but we’ve both been in class.” Aelin let her head fall to the countertop again. “He’s supposed to come over after he gets out. But now I’m wondering if that’s such a good idea. What if someone sees him getting here?”

“It’s not all students, and we’re not exactly social butterflies. We don’t know any of our neighbors,” Lysandra said, clearly trying to soothe her.

Aelin just shook her head. “I like him, Lys. A lot. I can see a future with this guy, but… What if this is all too much? It’s too dangerous. We’re jeopardizing our futures.”

Lysandra’s eyes softened. “The secretive part of your relationship is only temporary. Besides, he’s head over heels for you, too. Would it really be worth it to give that up?”

“What if Rowan is about to lose his job?” Aelin shot back. “Lys, I would never be able to forgive myself. I have to do something.”

“Always the hero,” Lysandra muttered. “Look, the best thing you can do right now is stay here, drink wine, and let it all play out. Rowan is a big boy. He can handle himself.” Aelin said nothing, so Lysandra went on. “I just want to see you happy. Does he make you happy?”

“Beyond. Happier than I’ve been in a long time,” she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but… I care about him.”

“And it’s pretty damn clear that he cares about you, so sitting and waiting sucks, but that’s what you’ll have to do.” Lysandra crossed the kitchen and wrapped her best friend up in a hug. Aelin’s forehead fell to her shoulder. “I can send Aedion to get more wine if you want.”

Aelin nodded.

Lysandra chuckled and said, “Then that’s what we’ll do. Why don’t you—?”

A knock on the front door had Aelin’s head snapping up and she hurried from the kitchen. Throwing open the door, she found Rowan standing on the other side. Before he could say anything, she pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. “Gods, I’ve been so fucking worried.”

To her surprise, he laughed quietly, and it only caused Aelin to lean back, eyes wide. “What could possibly be funny right now?”

“I’m not I’m trouble,” he whispered, arms going around her waist. “We’re safe, we’re fine.”

Aelin blinked, all anxiety fading from her body only to be replaced with confusion. “Why did Maeve call you into her office, then?”

“She just wanted to check how things were going.” He shrugged. “Being new, and her nephew, she just wanted to check in.”

“Gods, Rowan!” She shoved his chest, lightly. “You couldn’t have texted me that? I’ve been a nervous mess!”

“She’s not exaggerating,” Lysandra mumbled from behind them. “Hi, Professor.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Hi, Lysandra.”

As Lysandra headed towards her room, he looked down to where Aelin was staring at his chest. He tilted her chin up until she was forced to look at him. His brow furrowed and he was surprised to see silver lining her eyes. “Everything is okay, baby. Why are you crying?”

She shook her head and blinked, but wasn’t able to stop the single tear that spilled over. He wiped it away with his thumb. “I thought we got caught, that I had ruined your life.”

His heart nearly broke. “Aelin…” He wrapped her up in his arms again, holding her as tightly as he dared, as if he could keep her from falling apart. After a second, he leaned back so he could look at her, but didn’t let her go. “Being together isn’t a decision that just one of us has made. We both went into this relationship knowing the consequences. If something were to happen, if someone finds out, you aren’t ruining my life.”

Aelin snorted, and framed his face in her hands. “So we’d both be ruining your life?”

“No one’s life will be ruined,” Rowan promised. “I’m going to be with you, Aelin. Now, and when you graduate, we can have a normal relationship, whatever the hell that means. If you’ll have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s a big promise to make so early in our relationship,” Aelin breathed, running her thumbs across his cheeks.

“I have a good feeling about us,” Rowan followed, melting into her touch.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips to hers, but pulled back and smirked. “But maybe I’ll start locking my office, just in case you decide to make another unexpected visit.”

Aelin threw her head back and laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as she rose up on her toes to kiss him again.

The day had stressed them both out, but throughout it all, there was only one thing Rowan could think about: he didn’t know what his future held, but there was one thing for sure.

He wanted Aelin in it.

[gucciwins]

it’s your birthday?

As luck would have it you once again find yourself in a breakout room with Harry

Word count: 3296

A/N: Hello friends, it’s a new semester and it felt only right to continue breakout room, a story that was well loved by you. The inspiration once again came to me during class and also because it’s Harry’s birthday. Thank you to the lovely @soullikestyles for reading this over. Here it is, enjoy!!!

I hope you love this, it is a continuation from Breakout Room 

Please shoot me a message of what you thought!!!!

i love you, take care xx 

_____

It's the start of a new semester. It's safe to say you did not make any friends last semester due to this ongoing pandemic, but what you did manage to get was a 3.9 G.P.A for the Fall semester. It was probably because you did not leave your apartment, and when you did, it was to go grocery shopping with your roommate, who would be dead without you because, as she liked to put it, you're the chef, and she's the taster. 

Well, you maybe did make one friend. 

Harry Styles.

He was the person to talk to you during a zoom breakout room in your women's gender studies course.

Sure, you were never in the same room again, but you might or might not have pinned his face during one of the professor's long ramblings that is no longer related to the course. 

He was pretty to look at; you would never deny that. 

No, with the floppy curls that he almost always seemed to run his hand through, then stopping when one of his rings got caught in a knotted ringlet. His camera would instantly turn off, and in thirty seconds, he was back as if nothing had happened. The glasses framed his face just right, making his eyes look soft and inviting. Also made his dimples stand out. He almost always wore a different colored cardigan. Your favorite from the semester was when he wore a multicolored cardigan. That looks like it was knitted; there was a hole by his heart. Honestly, you were hoping he had, would have made him even more endearing. 

Also, might one day ask him to make you one, or he could even teach you. You're a fast learner and have patience. 

He's got a great choice in clothing from what you was able to observe in such a short time—also a lovely personality. 

After his initial email, you decided to answer, thus creating a chain of messages back and forth. He was honestly funny, and that was just on paper. He had asked for her number and said no, and he respected that. It doesn't mean they never helped each other in the class; Harry asking for more help than Y/N. She sent him over her notes and explained the readings he found harder to grasp. 

As soon as finals week hit, she received her last email from him with the subject as Goodbye. It took you by surprise, and you erased the draft you had waiting for him that had your phone number wanting to keep talking to him. Still, clearly, he thought of them as just classmates for the semester, so without even opening his last email, you trashed it. 

You felt guilty about it, so you then transferred it to your archives, where it sits with other unwanted emails. 

_____

The holidays are over, and since you could not make the trip home, you celebrated with Amy, your roommate. You both help each other buy your family's presents, looking for the best discounts and adding extra items to get the free shipping. Together, well, mostly you as she handed you pieces of tape you wrapped present after present in brown wrapping paper. It was harder to tear and more comfortable to decorate in any way you wanted. On each box, it had everyone's name written in beautiful handwriting, courtesy of you. Then you would add snowflakes or stripes to make it stand out. 

It was a success from their looks when each gift was open through the zoom call. 

The month break flew by, and the next thing you knew, it was time to be back at your desk for hours of learning. It was fun until it wasn't sure there was a lot to look forward to, but you would miss sleeping all day and eating snacks in bed with no fear of forgetting to submit an assignment. 

This semester you had four major courses. Psychology of Personality and Psychology of Aging were the two courses you were most looking forward to. You decided on taking the women's gender studies class called Politics of Sexuality. You had gotten the recommendation from the department's head to take it and did so without a second thought. Yes, fifteen units was a lot, but you were close to graduating, and you knew you could handle it. 

The first week flew by because it was merely going over the syllabus. You had your camera on, but you did not bother to look at your other classmates. Sasha, a fellow person in your major, would be your study partner as she had been all semester. Sasha might not always be in the class section, but she did take the same professors and courses. It makes studying and taking notes easier. You know you won't always have Sasha, but having a study partner has ever made you do better. 

February 1st. The start of the second week of the semester. 

You woke up at seven, got the tea that Amy had ready for you, and were sitting at your desk by eight. Your professor droned on about the first chapter of the book. You felt confident knowing you understood the significant points. 

It's 11:30, and your second course of the day is going to start. You were not looking forward to the class simply because Dr. Rossi had warned you he would be putting you into breakout rooms of two. That person would be your partner for the semester. You had a project due at the end of the semester, and he wanted you to be acquainted with someone rather than having a person working alone. 

You sat there, Baby Yoda ceramic mug in hand, as you waited for your breakout room to load and to see who you were destined to work with for the next fourteen weeks. 

There was a knock on your door that distracted you from seeing the video of someone else load. 

"Sorry, I know you're in class, but I was wondering when lunch was to see how big of a snack I should have." Amy shoots you a small smile. 

"No worries, Ames, I'm out at 12:45 and will need half an hour to cook, so roughly 1:30. Is that okay?" You tell her feeling a little awful, making her wait. 

"It's perfect. Have a good class." Amy shuts the door.

As you hear the click, you turn back to your computer, and they're staring at you in a lavender cardigan with a white shirt underneath is the one and only Harry Styles.  

His curls are shorter, meaning he recently got a haircut, and they are just growing back. You wished he had let it grow out, wanting to see how much more ruly they would have gotten.

You feel your face heat up, remembering you did not do your hair, instead of letting it sit messily in a low ponytail, small hair framing your hair. You were sure the black sweatshirt you had one had a hummus stain but too afraid to look down to check. You weren't even aware he was in this class; it shows you should be paying attention more to your classmates. 

He shoots you a small smile, and you grimace, trying to force one out, but you're still a bit shocked. 

You see his microphone go white, meaning he was about to speak. You leaned forward in anticipation, a bit desperate to hear his smooth accent through your computer speakers. 

"Hello, it's been a while." Harry raises his glasses to hold back his hair. 

You reach forward and unmute yourself. "Hello, Harry. It has been a while. It's a new year and everything." You joke. 

He chuckles, scratching his chin. You aren't sure what to do; it was never this awkward the first time you chatted. 

"Guess we're partners, huh." 

"Apparently." You sigh, a bit loud, forgetting he can hear you. 

"Ouch, don't need to sound too excited." He tells you not at all hiding his frown. 

"No, I didn't." You stop not knowing how to go back from that. "Sorry, that was rude of me." 

He nods, not saying anything more, and you take it as a sign to continue. 

"I-i, well, after our last class ended, I figured that was that. You said goodbye in the last email, so I figured that was the end of our friendship, if you can even call it that." 

"I thought my email would give the opposite impression, but not everything can translate as smoothly when talking." He tells you, which causes you to pause. 

"Your email literally said goodbye," You blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He hides his smile, "My subject said goodbye, the content said quite the opposite. You did read it, right?" 

You duck your head, not allowing yourself to meet his eye even through a computer screen, too embarrassed to be caught. "Well, no, I didn't. Hurt my feelings, just seeing the goodbye." You look up and see his eyes soften, giving you just a bit more courage to continue. "I've always struggled to make friends, I have like three good friends, and it's hard putting myself out there, and I didn't actually if you considered me a friend or not." 

"Y/N" He breathes out your name.

You stop him before he can continue. "Do you mind if I read it now?" 

Harry shakes his head. 

You restore down the zoom and open up your Gmail on the split-screen. You find it reasonably quickly; you look up at him to see him patiently sitting back chipping at his nails. They are a pastel yellow; it makes you smile, knowing just yesterday you went from that color to a deep red. 

hstyles@gmail.com 

Subject: Goodbye 

Y/N, 

It's been enjoyable emailing back and forth. I honestly would not have passed this class without you. I think you are brilliant and if I had you in every course, I would finish with A's in them all. So, thank you for having the patience to teach me. 

Also, thank you for being my friend. I know we mostly talked about school work. Still, you did help me decide on what coat to buy for my sister, so I know that makes us friends, and I did help you get that switch for your little brother. (That was like trying to buy floor tickets for Lady Gaga.)

On another note, after emailing for twelve weeks, I was wondering if I could have your number. I would like the chance to give you a call and formally ask you on a date. I know we're in the middle of a pandemic, and dating is hard, but we can do zoom dates before we try in person. 

I understand if it's a no, but I am really grateful to have met you.

Your friend (although I do want to try to be more)

Harry Styles 

City Pointe Apt 32 (in case you want to send a care package, I would gladly return the favor)

"Oh, Harry," You inhale, "I'm so sorry." 

"No worries." He shrugs. 

You pause, thinking your next words. "I live in Rose Villa." Those were not the words you wanted to say, but you don't take it back. 

"That's across the street from my building." He gasps. "We could have run into each other." 

You nod. "Small world." 

Harry brings his focus back to something you skipped over. "I realize you didn't mention the part of asking you on a date." 

"Oh, I figured you over that now. It's been well over a month since I ignored your email." You grimace, starting to feel awful about it all over again. 

"I guess it was email abandonment this time." He jokes.

You laugh, and it gets Harry laughing as well. He was always good at that, making you laugh and not be so serious even if he didn't know it. 

"Y/N," Harry's voice was strong, no signs of laughter in his trace. You lock eyes as best you can through a computer screen. "I would still very much like to take you on a date."

A date with Harry. 

You want to say yes, but it's like you're frozen. 

"Can I say something else before you give me an answer?" You nod, waiting for him to go on. "Sarah Jones, do you know her?" 

Sarah Jones, you rack your brain trying to place her. 

The theater composer. She's written original tracks for the theatre department for the original plays they've done and remakes. She's won countless awards.

Sarah even won the talent show. Played a killer drum solo that no one else could ever think of topping. 

If you're honest, she's the definition of your girl crush. 

"We follow each other on social media. We met at a paint night; she was really easy to talk to." You tell him, remembering how sweet she was to you when she saw you walk in, and just as you were about to walk out, she introduced herself to you, asking to sit with you. 

He nods. "Sarah is my roommate's girlfriend. Mitch and Sarah practically live together; he's so in love with her it truly is the sweetest thing. Back to the point, she overheard me talking about you to Mitch and spoke how she knew you. Then I proceeded to stalk your Instagram on her account. I hope that's not weird." 

You laugh, and it causes Harry to calm down, "Not weird at all. I would have done the same thing, but as you can see, I rarely upload anything." 

"Well, the things you do have, I think, are wonderful." He rambles on explaining how your beach photo on a bike with a pretty pink basket was one of his favorites and how cute you look wearing sweaters. 

As endearing as Harry was being, you decided to put him out of his misery. "Harry," you interrupt. 

"Yes." 

"I'd love to go on a date with you." 

"You would?" He gasps in surprise. 

"Yes." 

"That's fantastic. I think this is the best birthday gift I could have received." He tells you, but you're stuck on the last thing he said. 

"It's your birthday?" 

Harry smiles sheepishly. "Yes." 

"Happy Birthday, Harry." You tell him softly, a big smile on your face.

A blush overtakes his face; you can tell he wishes to cover up his face with hands but holds back from doing so. "Thank you." 

"Do you have any plans?" 

"No, well. Mitch and Sarah are coming over for lunch in a bit. Then they are off to study at Sarah's for the week. Her roommates are gone for the week." 

You frown, not liking that he'll spend the rest of his birthday alone. 

"Would you-never mind" You stop yourself from being able to invite yourself over to celebrate with him?

"Hey, it's okay. Whatever you wanted to say, I wouldn't judge you, love." His voice was soft and reassuring. 

"Well, I'd love to come over and hang out with you if that's okay. I can make us dinner, I make delicious enchiladas. Also, my carrot cake is to die for." 

Harry is surprised at her offer but nods his head quickly. "That sounds wonderful, but you don't have to cook for me. We can order takeout."

She shakes her head. "Consider it my gift to you." 

"Well, okay. Is six okay for you?" He bites his lip, not believing this is happening.

"Perfect." 

You sit there smiling at each other. 

When a message pops up overhead, "You have five minutes left before we join back as a group."

Your eyes go wide, having forgotten you were in class. "We didn't even discuss the assignment." 

Harry shakes his head in laughter, a smile spreads over your face. He has an adorable laugh that just rings through your ears, and you can't wait to hear it in person. 

"We've got time, now that it seems we'll be getting to know each other better." 

You relax, settling a bit, you have weeks before the assignment is due.

"I'll email you my number, love. Easier to communicate for later."

"Sounds great." You respond. 

_____

It's five-fifty, and you're standing outside his door. You're more than a little nervous. You're wearing high waisted jeans paired with a black off the shoulder top with floral embroidered sleeves. You decided against a sweater knowing the short walk would keep you warm enough. Your mask is red, with three small hearts stitched on the lower right side. Perfect for February. 

You shift the items in your hand to the right and lift your hand up to knock. After three gentle knocks, you hear footsteps and take a step back. 

"Hi," Harry breathes out, a big smile on his face.

"Hello, Harry, happy birthday." 

"Thank you." He smiles wide, blessing you with his dimples. Definitely look better in person. "Please come in." He grabs some of the items from your hand and allows you to step in before locking the door behind you. 

"Your mask is lovely. Did you make it?" 

"I did!" You share excitedly. "My roommate, Amy, and I spent lots of our free time making a different kind. We took old shirts we no longer wanted and used for the material. It was a lot of trial and error, but we're pretty solid at it now. My embroidery could use some work, but I think it's lovely. 

"It really is. Would you make me one?" He asks, staring at you as you pocket your mask. No longer needing it in his home. 

"Yes, I'll send you pictures of the fabric I have, or you could come over, and I can teach you as well." You tell him, excited at the prospect. 

"Sounds like a wonderful date." You nod, feeling your body get warm at the word date because today could also classify as a date. 

Harry knocks you out of your head when calling your name. "Turned the oven on like you requested." He informs you. 

"Thank you, my mom showed me how to make them, but I learned about the melted cheese on my own. She wasn't a big fan of it, but everyone else I know loves it, so I hope you will as well." 

Harry grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. "I'm sure it's wonderful." He bumps your shoulder gently. "Go finish up; I'll set the table." 

He pushes you into the kitchen, and you go in and place your stuff. Harry is whistling, settling down on the table two glasses and two forks when you turn back around towards him. 

Harry turns around just in time for you to wrap your hands around his waist. You fit perfectly in his arms, taking in his musky scent. "Happy birthday, Harry." You whisper against his chest.

He squeezes you tighter, leaning his head on top of yours. "Thank you, love." 

He pulls back, holding you by your shoulders. A big smile on his face, you reciprocate it feeling his happiness warm your heart. 

"Run along now; I'm starving." He jokes.

You walk backward, creating distance; as his left-hand trails down your right hand slowly until he's touching your fingertips, do you pull away. Although you, more than anything, wanted to hold his hand. You want to feel the weight of it in yours; you want to know if his hands are soft or calloused. How cool his rings will feel against your palm. All in due time. 

"I'm happy to be here." 

"Me too, love. Me too." 

It's safe to say you were more than luckily going to have yourself a valentine for the first time in a long time. 

[sodadrabbles]

hear me out- one more littleboo but like if they were crying or like going through smt and ranboo just helps//comforts them if that makes sense? GEHDDH okay have a good day :]

THE PEOPLE DEMAND HURT/COMFORT. I SHALL FEED YOU, MY PEOPLE

Also, I wanted to address why I use ‘Ranboo’ in these fics, when referring to the actual CC- We don’t know Ranboo’s real name. I want to respect his wishes and not speculate, because that’s creepy. So, I just use Ranboo. A couple people were asking in my inbox. I know Tubbo said his name was Mark, but that was never confirmed, and, again, I don’t want to speculate on his personal information, that’s WEIRD.

LIttleboo IV: Hurt/comfort or bust.

Pairing: Ranboo x sibling!Reader (gender-neutral)!

Rating: Soft. Bad ending, I’m so sorry (NOT ANGST, IM JUST BAD AT WRITING)

Summary: Being a freshman sucks ass, but Ranboo bought taco bell, it’s all good.

To say today was a bad day would be an understatement. It was probably the most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day of your 14-year-old life. The whole day the universe would launch bad thing after bad thing at you, as if it was somehow testing you in your will to deal with bullshit. Like it was asking you ‘What are you willing to put up with today?’

Your answer was ‘Not fucking this.’

You woke up to your brother shaking you softly, telling you the power had gone out and you were both late. For an upperclassman this wasn’t a big deal- But you were a freshman. Your teachers were going to give you absolute hell for being late, and knowing Ranboo was going to get off scot-free made you a little salty. You had to skip breakfast and had to leave with your hair still a bit messy, barely able to comb through it with your fingers while Ranboo drove you both to school.

Then there was a pop quiz first period- English. You were never terrible at english, but being on the topic of the last three chapters of the book you were reading for class- Chapters which you had not read yet- The test had been a little difficult. Not to mention the hunger clawing at your stomach, and the strange fog that was settled about your thoughts.

You thought you could catch a break through second period and lunch, knowing Chemistry would be an easy day and you could grab something good with your brother, but fate had other plans in mind.

During Chemistry, you were tasked with picking a partner and completing an experiment afterthought worksheet, going over the experiment you had done in class the day before. You were paired with the nice girl sat next to you- At least you thought she was nice. As the teacher dismissed the class to begin talking amongst themselves, you turned to start asking her how her experiment went yesterday. You didn’t have a chance to ask, however, as the girl snapped at you harshly. “Don’t even bother! I’m not doing this assignment. Do it on your own.”

Her voice was pitched and loud, and it caused you to wince back. You tilt your head and try to ask her, but she cuts you off by flicking the paper in your direction. It sends both your papers flying, and you try to catch them, but fail miserably and fall out of your chair unceremoniously. As you fall, your foot comes up to counter balance and you nearly kick the girl in the head- Keyword being nearly. You were sure you were able to stop yourself, and hadn’t touched it, but still the girl screeches and begins screaming bloody murder. The teacher comes over to check what’s going on, the girl sobbing and holding her head.

And then she lies through her teeth.

“Sir, she just kicked me! I was just asking about her experiment and she kicks me!”

She’s sobbing dramatically, and though you’re clearly not at fault, considering it was clear you had fallen out of your chair. Even still the teacher sides with her, giving you a short and disappointing talk about violent behaviour in the classroom, ending with “I have no choice but to give you lunch detention and a zero on the assignment.”

You don’t try to argue- Exhaustion was already settling on your body and you didn’t want to just make the situation worse than it already was. The rest of second period dragged on like a snail. You sat awkwardly at your table, twiddling your thumbs and staring at the walls. You could feel eyes boring into the back of your skull with each passing glance at the students. A few whispers that seemed much too loud yet indecipherable hitting your ears, somehow knowing deep in your soul that the other students were whispering about you. By the time the lunch bell rang you were starting to feel tears prick at your eyes as your own thoughts betrayed you.

During lunch detention, you were at the very least allowed your phone. You texted your brother, alerting him that you had lunch detention. He promised to bring you food before your third period began- The gesture brought a smile to your face. Your third period was your favorite, because Ranboo was also taking that class. US History. You were able to push through detention with Philza’s stream, starting a TTS war with Wilbur in the time you were able to watch. Of course, mentioning you were in detention earned you a little rant from Phil, not doing much to better your mood.

When third period came down to bless you, you could feel the tears welling in your eyes at the happy sight of your tall older brother holding a taco bell bag in his hand. You basically tackled him, nearly knocking him to the ground. His arms flew around you for stability, and you gripped the back of his shirt as an involuntary sob came out of your mouth. 

Ranboo stared down at you with his brows furrowed with concern, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. He pushed you to the side to allow other students to get into the classroom, and released you from the hug to look you in the face. Your eyes were puffy and your cheeks and nose were red, stray tears still rolling down your cheeks. He wiped one away.

“(Y/N), what happened? Why are you crying?” He asked, your eyes avoiding him. You hated to cry in front of people- But the stress of the day weighed heavy on your shoulders. You had just gotten too excited. When you explained this, Ranboo shook his head. “(Y/N) it’s perfectly okay, you don’t have to apologize.”

He hugged you again, and you hugged him back. After standing there for a moment, the annoying ring of the school bell sounded overheard, alerting you that class was starting.

“Tell you what,” Ranboo beamed at you, picking up the bag of food. “We’re gonna go in there, annoy Mr. Anderson, and eat chalupas until we explode. Sound good?”

You smile and nod your head. God, your older brother is so cool.

---

The rest of the day was smooth as it could be. You spent all of third period messing around with Ranboo- The assignment given for the day forgotten as homework that you would sit down and do together before Ranboo had to stream. You feared that your fourth period, Algebra, would once again break you down into a ball of anxiety and terror. But to your pleasant surprise, you would be watching a movie with a substitute for that class.

Your mood had been significantly raised by the time the bell had rung, releasing you from the confines of the building. You packed your things quietly, the hustle and bustle of an emptying school occupying your senses. You had rushed down through the hallways towards to doors leading to student parking. Ranboo was supposed to be waiting for you at the car.

But before you could reach the door, you felt a hand grip your bag, pulling you backwards. Your feet flew out from under you as you fell to the ground, your bag being ripped from your shoulders. You felt you back collide with the cold, tiled ground, pain shooting through spine. 

Shrill giggling sounds from above you. You groan and roll onto your front, staring up at a group of three girls laughing at you. You recognized the one holding your bag from your chemistry class. By the looks of the other two, they were also freshmen. You try to get on your feet, but the girl swings her leg, knocking your hands out from under you. You feel something press against your back. 

The girl from your class laughs as she bends down to look at you. “You thought you could get away with that little stunt?” She sneers, her hand grabbing your face. Not able to think of anything else to do, you snap your jaws, nearly biting her. She screeches and backs away.

“DID YOU JUST TRY TO BITE ME?” She screams, her face twisted in disgust. You feel the presume on your back worsen, and you strain your neck to see who was standing on your back. You recognized the guy as a junior on the soccer team. You vaguely recalled the girl mentioned she was dating a guy on the soccer team. 

You squirm, freeing your hands from underneath you. Just as you were about to grab the guy’s leg, you hear a familiar voice shout. The three girls in front of you scatter like rats- But the soccer player stays. He turns to look at whoever shouted, his chest puffing out as if he’s prepared for a fight. However the color seems to drain from his face when he sees the mystery person- And he runs away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

As you start to stand, someone grabs you by the shoulders and helps you up. You’re met with the mop of brown hair and concerned gray eyes of your older brother. He helps you to your feet, handing you your bag. You thank him as you throw the bag over your shoulders, giving your older brother a tight hug.

You don’t even realize there were tears in your eyes again, until Ranboo tells you to dry your eyes. “Sorry…” You whisper, hand wiping away the water. “I don’t know why I’m crying.

Ranboo smiles at you again, his hand patting the top of your head. You smile at him too, and he leads you out of the school, asking if you’re alright or if anything hurts. You spend the walk to the car feeling grateful you have someone to help you out like that. It has you smiling to entire ride home.

[svtskneecaps]

you mean the world to me

(gender neutral) reader x wonwoo

genre: fluff + angst; words: 7k

(i’ve found i write for wonwoo in times of academic panic and if ever there was a time of academic panic, this is it)

You didn’t see Wonwoo at all on the morning everything changed. His side of the bed was empty when you got out of the shower, and your keys were missing from the hook. Maybe that was your first clue that something was up. His set still hung there innocently, the tiny bear charm you’d gotten him on your two year anniversary swinging lightly on the breeze from the AC unit.

You shrugged and picked up the keys. This wasn’t the first time he’d grabbed the wrong set, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

(your second clue was that the door was unlocked)

You called him on your lunch break to tease him about the keys, but it went to voicemail. That in itself wasn’t odd; usually if he was in a frenzy working on some idea he’d forget to check his phone, but it was sort of odd that it didn’t even ring.

You shrugged that off too. Maybe he forgot it at the apartment, and it died. He’d never forgotten it before, but there was a first time for everything.

You finally accepted something was wrong when you stopped by the bookstore with coffee and it was closed. And dark.

He always had the front light on when he was inside.

Hours later, as you paced around the apartment trying to work out whether or not to call the police, you heard the jangle of your keys in the lock. You swung the door open before he’d even unlocked it, heart in your throat.

“There you are! I was worried, where have you been, why weren’t you answering your phone?”

Your questions died in your throat as you looked him over. He looked exhausted.

“Wonwoo,” you said, softly, “are you okay?”

He visibly forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said.

You opened the door wider, and he hesitated before he came in. He hovered in the entryway, like a stranger in his own apartment (the one you picked out together).

You sat down on the couch, and he followed you to the living room, but he sat in the guest chair instead of his usual place beside you. He didn’t speak, just looked around the room as if he’d never been in it before. Finally, you were the one to break the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He looked at you, appearing to consider his words carefully (as he does, of course, he’s a songwriter).

“If you woke up in a stranger’s bed, in a life you don’t recognize, what would you do?”

You blinked. “Like those Hallmark movies?”

“Hallmark movies?”

“Yeah, it’s a huge trope in like the Christmas movies? Somebody runs into a Santa character and one way or another they make a wish and then Santa slaps them into an alternate universe where usually they’re married with several children or something, and they learn the true meaning of Christmas.” You made jazz hands.

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think Christmas is involved.”

“Are you saying you weren’t some rich businessman in your past life?” you teased. “I could see it, you know.”

“But if you were in that situation,” he pressed. “What would you do?”

You thought about that. “I guess I’d go with it,” you said. “Try to figure out who I am in the new life and make the most of it.”

“You wouldn’t try to go back?”

“I don’t see how I could figure it out, unless I recognized the Santa character on my initial run to all the places I used to know and talked to them about it.”

He groaned. “Please let’s not call them the Santa.”

You weren’t sure if he was joking until he smiled, and you relaxed.

“Well that’s what they are,” you defended, maybe a little too quickly, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Can they not be wish granters? Or guardian angels or something? Not all of the stories are to do with the true meaning of Christmas.”

You shrugged. “I know you’re the writer here but your storytelling experience pales in comparison to my extensive knowledge of Hallmark movie tropes.”

He leaned forward. “I’m a writer?”

You forced yourself to laugh like he was making a joke even though something in your chest went tight.

(he chose to sleep on the couch that night and even though you were upset that he wasn’t next to you in the bed, some strange part of you was glad for the distance)

You called out of work the next day to walk Wonwoo to the bookstore, citing stress at your significant other going missing for most of a day. Seungcheol was understanding, telling you not to worry, that he’d see you Monday.

Vernon was leaning against the wall by the door when you came up, messing with something on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at your partner. “I was worried; it’s not like you to be late.”

Wonwoo was quiet for an odd amount of time, long enough that you glanced over at him. He was staring at Vernon with some odd look in his eyes.

“We got a late start,” you finally answered for him. “After yesterday. . .” You coughed. “Anyway, you guys need any help setting up?”

“Probably, yeah, we just got a shipment of that new YA series the other day,” Vernon said. You step to one side, motioning Wonwoo up the steps to unlock the door. “Maybe you shelve those while I blow the dust off the front desk. She’s not used to being unused this long.”

You laughed, too loud. “It was a day.”

“I know, it was ages.”

(you didn’t comment on how Wonwoo had to try three keys from the ring before getting the door open, or how he looked at the inside of his own bookstore like it was a wondrous new place. Vernon didn’t seem to notice)

You dragged the box out to the shelves and started placing the books. Apparently Vernon had forgotten how well voices carried in the quiet space, because you could hear him speaking as if he were next to you when he said, “Hey, man, did you two fight?”

“What?”

You could imagine Vernon’s shrug, heard him fiddling with the crack in his phone case. “I don’t know, it’s just, usually you two are pretty much inseparable, but like, yesterday you totally go off the grid and now today there’s a whole sidewalk between you.” A floorboard creaked. “I know it’s probably not really my business, y’know since I just work the front desk and all, but, I thought I’d ask.”

The pause stretched out so long you found yourself frozen, breath caught in your lungs, hand hovering above the next book, waiting.

“I’m adjusting,” Wonwoo said finally. “I’m a different person than I was two days ago.”

It was an answer and a non-answer all at once and it implied more than it clarified. You picked up the book and slotted it onto its place in the shelf, above the carefully written label. You didn’t mention the conversation when you brought the box back. You made an excuse about going for coffee and bolted out the door.

(usually the bookstore felt welcoming, an extension of your significant other, but the atmosphere was stifling and foreign and you couldn’t stay)

Thankfully, Seokmin had the morning shift, and you arrived during a dead period. He was able to sit with you as you nursed your drink and fretted aloud over everything that happened.

“It’s like I blinked and he was a total stranger,” you said. “I don’t know what I did.”

“Maybe it wasn’t anything you did?” he offered. “Maybe he just changed.”

“It’s just so weird.” You cupped your hands around your drink. “I mean, I know people say that by the end of a long lasting relationship your significant other changes enough to be a bunch of different people, but it happened overnight. Like he went to sleep as a writer, and my--” you choke on boyfriend-- “significant other, and then he woke up and-- I mean aside from him still being named Wonwoo it’s like-- I don’t know who this man is anymore.”

“Maybe not,” Seokmin said agreeably.

“Wow,” you said, sipping your drink. “Stop hanging out with Jeonghan so much, you’re starting to sound like him.”

He laughed and nudged your shoulder. “What I’m saying is, maybe he feels strange and different, but that doesn’t have to matter. What matters is if you’re willing to find the pieces of him that you loved again. He can’t have changed that much underneath.”

He was right, no doubt. The awkward way Wonwoo had held himself the night before reminded you of the first time you’d ever really talked. He wasn’t so different, just undeveloped, like he’d jumped back in time. Like he’d crossed the multiverse from an existence where he’d never met you.

You could handle it. The situation was manageable. You could treat each interaction like you’d just met him for the first time. It could be easy, or it could be the hardest thing you’d ever faced, but you could handle it. Really.

(you texted Wonwoo asking if you should bring anything back for him and Vernon. his coffee order was different than the one you remembered)

You unlocked the door to the apartment that night. Wonwoo lingered in the hallway until you glanced back at him.

“You do anything at work today?” you asked.

He shook his head. “That office is a disaster. How did I ever find anything?”

You laughed, hanging up your keys. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying basically since we bought the place.” You almost nudged his shoulder as you passed him on your way to the kitchen, but stopped the thought before it became a motion. “Keys on the hook,” you directed, “before you forget where you set ‘em.”

It took him two tries to find the right hook, but he got it. “I had to spend most of the morning organizing everything,” he said. “There’s so much stuff in there.”

“Let the record show that I’ve been telling you this was how it was gonna end up for years.”

“That’s the most long-winded way to say ‘I told you so’ I’ve ever heard.”

“What can I say? I like the sound of my own voice.” You pulled ingredients from the cupboards. “You remember where the pans are?”

“No,” he said.

“Neat.”

Making the food was the only easy part. Sitting at the table, you were acutely aware of him, like every one of your senses was waiting for something major to happen. Nothing did, though; you ate dinner in near complete silence. It wasn’t the comfortable silence you were used to. The air between you felt charged like the static balls at a science fair. You wanted to bridge the gap.

Wonwoo wanted to take the couch again, but you refused.

“Your turn in the bed,” you said, shooing him away. “You and I both know that couch doesn’t do the back any favors, and it’s your apartment too.”

“You don’t have to, I can--”

“Mom said it’s my turn on the couch,” you said in a high pitched, nasal tone, and then snickered, halfheartedly throwing a pillow at him. It flopped on the floor halfway between you. “I’ll be fine.”

He hovered in the doorway a few moments more, but relented in the end. “Goodnight,” he said, and made to close the door.

“Goodnight,” you said, and then, “you mean the world to me.”

The door clicked shut. You scooped up the pillow again and dropped it and yourself on the couch.

(it really is back pain in all forms and you woke up with cramps in muscles you didn’t even know you had, but it was worth it. it was always worth it)

You spent the weekend dancing around him, like planets. Like stars. Like if you got too close it would end in catastrophe.

Sometimes you’d slip into a back and forth with him that felt so familiar you could almost forget that you hardly knew him anymore, until you’d reference an old memory and he’d give you a quizzical look. It would sting, except the old memories felt strange to you now too. You didn’t mind not thinking about them, if it meant he didn’t look at you like that. Like a stranger.

The stranger you were.

You returned to work Monday and Seungcheol swung by your desk.

“How’s your boyfriend?” he asked. “He feeling better?”

You ignored the part of your stomach that twisted hearing boyfriend (that was what he was, after all, or what he had been, before Thursday; it shouldn’t feel so strange).

“I think so,” you said, because he’d put his keys on the right hook without you needing to remind him and he knew where all the cooking utensils were without needing to ask you.

Seungcheol rested his arms on the top of your cubicle. “And you? How are you holding up?”

You felt like you were hanging on by a thread. “Fine, I think. Pretty well, all things considered.”

He looked at you with concealed concern, but seemed to understand. You didn’t want to talk about it at work, even if Seungcheol had been one of your closest friends in university.

“Well, give me a call if you ever want to talk about it,” he said, and then left, probably for his own desk.

You bolted the moment time ticked over for your lunch break.

You didn’t know if Wonwoo would want you swinging by. You didn’t know if he’d answer your call. You called anyway, even if your hands shook.

He picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” You wiped your palm on your shirt. “I’m out on lunch break; if you aren’t too busy maybe we could run get Chinese or something?”

There was a pause, and then, “Okay. Just let me make sure Vernon and Chan can handle the store.”

He met you out front, and you walked to the restaurant together.

It wasn’t too cold out, so you got the food to go and found a bench to sit at, watching people as they pass.

“You remember that game, where you pick somebody going by and try to guess what they’re doing?” you asked into the silence.

He hummed. “Maybe. Why, you want to do it now?”

You shrugged. “Might as well.”

Even though he’d seemed apprehensive, he took to the game quickly. He was the one to decide that the woman wearing heels with her paint splattered jeans was a street performer, on her way to meet up with the other members of her busking group. You countered that obviously, the man in the mask waiting impatiently to cross the street was on his way to manage a rambunctious group of idols.

“Can you imagine?” you asked, shaking your head. “Must be rough, having to keep some of those groups under control.”

Something odd tinged the edges of Wonwoo’s expression when you looked back over at him. You couldn’t tell what it was. You hadn’t been able to read his expressions for days. It should have scared you.

It didn’t.

“Must be rough,” he echoed, his voice hollow. You were caught between asking about it and pretending you hadn’t noticed when he pointed across the plaza at the fountain. “Bet that guy’s an idol.”

“Yeah?” You followed his hand to see a man standing by the fountain, staring up at the jets of water, his hands buried in the pockets of the long coat he wore.

“Yeah. He’s taking a break from the practice room to appreciate everything around him,” Wonwoo said. “He’s gonna go home to the other members of his group and they’re going to ask where he’s been and be worried.”

“What’s he going to tell them?”

Wonwoo leans back into the bench, and maybe a little bit into you.

“He’s going to tell them he was getting a new perspective,” he said. “That he’s seen life from a new angle. And. . .”

The silence stretched, but it was comfortable. His arm touched yours, resting there.

“And,” Wonwoo said, and his voice cracked, “that he missed them.”

You tore your gaze from the man at the fountain. Wonwoo stared into nothing, eyes wet.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

He didn’t look at you as he nodded. Maybe that was for the best. You could feel tears building in your own eyes. You didn’t even know why.

You missed them too.

The alarm on your phone went off.

“Ah,” you said. “I should get back to work.”

You stood, ignoring the chill on your arm where his had been.

“I’ll see you back at the apartment, yeah?” you said.

He looked at you, that time, standing. “Yeah,” he said.

You threw out your trash and offered him your arm gallantly. “Would you allow me to walk you back, sir?”

He laughed and tossed his own trash, taking your arm. “Sure.”

You walked him all the way back to the store, where you swept off an imaginary hat and dipped into a grossly exaggerated bow. You heard him laugh, and when you came back up he was smiling (you would do anything to see him happy).

“Alright, you’ve done your job,” he said.

You place a dramatic hand on your chest. “Are you implying that I did all that out of a sense of moral obligation?”

He snickered. “Well, when you put it that way.”

Whatever expression had made its way onto your face made him laugh, his face lighting up as he reached out for the doorway to steady himself. You broke into a smile, heart beating a little faster.

“Okay, I gotta go before I’m late.” You almost wanted to hug him goodbye, but something stopped you. You settled for a quick wave. “You mean the world to me, okay? I’ll see you after work!”

Friday, Wonwoo came in and barely hung up his keys (on the right hook) before tipping himself over the arm of the couch to flop face first into the cushions with a deep groan. You stared at his limp form from the kitchen, a tiny smile forming on your face.

“So, how was work?” you asked.

He mumbled something into the couch that might’ve been, “Peachy.” He flipped over. “Some woman decided we should be a bookstore and a coffee shop and made sure we knew it.”

You wince. “Yikes.”

“Yeah.” He ground his hands into his eyes. “I spent half my morning making sure she wasn’t taking it out on Vernon or Chan.”

“Well, if she didn’t get the kids then it’s all good.” You set down the spoon and moved into the other room, leaning on the back of the couch. “Shame Seungkwan wasn’t there, he’d have given her a real piece of his mind.”

“I would have let him. Not like I even wanted her to buy anything after she said that.” Wonwoo dropped his hands, one arm falling off the side of the couch. He gazed up at you.

“She can keep her condescending cash to herself,” you agreed, and reached out to mess with his hair.

And drew back just as quickly, your hand hardly brushing his hair before hastily retreating to grip your leg. Why did you do that? It was wrong, it was all wrong. Your face burned. You didn’t know him well enough you’d known him for years he was a stranger you’d played with his hair all the time in university, even before you’d made it official it felt wrong to do it it felt wrong to pull away--

Wonwoo sat up. “Hey, everything okay?”

“--Yeah.” You shook your head. “Just-- head rush.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You tore yourself away from the couch, making for the counter again and ignoring the sting on your leg where you dug in your nails. You could hear him trailing you.

Wonwoo leaned on the counter as you picked up the spoon. For a moment, you thought he’d press you again.

“So,” he said, “how was work?”

Of course he wouldn’t push. He was Wonwoo.

“Fine,” you said, stirring the ramen in the bowl. “Same old story, really, except everyone was talking about the company dinner party Sunday.”

Wonwoo blinked. “You didn’t tell me there was a dinner Sunday.”

You dashed the spoon through the noodles with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary. “I didn’t want to bother you. You know, since you haven’t been feeling well this week. It didn’t seem worth adding to your plate and it doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“It doesn’t seem like yours either.”

He was right; it wasn’t your scene. You always found yourself walking on eggshells every time, a glass of wine gripped in your hand that you never dared drink from out of fear of making a fool of yourself.

“It’s my job,” you said. Your next stir sent tiny dots of water into the air and you flinched back.

Wonwoo nudged you out of the way, taking up the spoon even as you pouted at him. “Well,” he said, “need a date?”

You blinked. “Are you volunteering?”

“Maybe,” he said. “You work for one of those fancy companies, right? They probably have all kinds of high society foods.”

“They do cover meal costs,” you admitted.

He scoffed. “And you were going to leave me eating ramen alone on my Sunday night?” He reached up and tousled your hair. “If you need moral support I’ll be there.”

Your heart swelled. “Jeon Wonwoo, you mean the world to me you godsend.”

He ducked his head, turning to the ramen again. “Hey, any guy would count himself lucky to be your plus one.” He nudged your elbow. “How about you grab a couple bowls out and we eat this on the couch? We can watch a movie or something.”

(you found your seat on the couch, your bowl nestled in your lap, and when he came to meet you he sat beside you)

Saturday you spent at the bookstore, shelving books, distracting Vernon, and waiting for Wonwoo to get off. Seungkwan stopped by with a deck of cards and in the spare moments between customers you played poker under the desk. Chan threatened to quit after you inexplicably bluffed him out of three rounds in a row. Vernon swore he wasn’t stacking the deck, you were just that good all of a sudden.

“It’s not possible for you to have gotten good at bluffing in under a week, it’s like you’re a totally different person,” Chan said, and he was joking but the sting and the familiarity of the words drained the blood from your face and you barely managed to play it off. The game continued, but without you.

Seokmin was sitting at a table in the coffeeshop flicking idly through a textbook. You ordered a drink and joined him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said.

“Really? Because you only come in here alone when it isn’t.”

You huffed. “It’s nothing. I just needed an escape.” The bookstore felt more welcoming again, more like Wonwoo (Wonwoo with his arm touching yours on the bench, Wonwoo pressed against your side as you play fight over who gets to cook dinner, Wonwoo with his head on your shoulder as he sleeps through the emotional climax of Finding Dory, his breathing a steady breeze against your neck) but something in Chan’s words. . .

You’d recoiled.

“I’m not--” you gripped your cup, thinking carefully about your words. “I’m not a different person, am I?”

“As far as I know you’re the same person you’ve always been.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I mean-- have I changed, like-- my personality, my little ticks. Any of that?”

Seokmin looked at you (he always looked like he knew more than he said; probably it came from being top of his class all through school but still. . .). “Maybe,” he said. “I’d say you’re the same you, but maybe they knew a different you.”

Your head slipped to meet the table before you could catch it. “Seokmin you know I’m not smart enough for riddles.”

“It doesn’t have to be a riddle.” He laughed. “Everybody has a picture in their mind of everybody else, and it’s never the same as what actually exists.”

“Philosophy is ruining you,” you said. “Stop hanging out with Jeonghan, he’s turning you into a paradox.”

“What I’m saying is, just because someone thinks you’re different than you were, that doesn’t mean you actually are. Maybe you’ve just been different this whole time, and now they finally noticed.”

“Maybe.”

He had a point, once you stripped away the philosophic layers. It was just the phrasing.

It’s like you’re a totally different person. In under a week.

Last week, everything had changed.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, but you sipped your coffee anyway. Seokmin asked about the company dinner, and you tried to forget about it.

You went shopping with Wonwoo after he closed up the store, trying to find something business casual for the dinner.

“And nothing in the closet would work for this because?” you asked, flicking through the rack of button ups.

“Because it’s a special occasion,” he said, holding a suit jacket against his chest and then hanging it up again. “We can’t wear anything we’ve already worn.”

You snorted. “What are we, movie stars on the red carpet?”

“No,” he said. “I mean, if you wanted, maybe, but no.” He glanced up. “Anytime is an excuse to treat ourselves.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You trailed your arm across a line of ties, letting the material fall over your finger. Your motion halted over a tie. “Oh, this’ll be impressive.” You held it up for him to see.

“Nice,” he said. “The bundles of bills will surely let your boss know you’re in this for what really matters.”

You pointed at him. “Exactly what I was thinking.” You looped it around your head, fingers pinching it together. “Maybe I could wear it like one of those guys in the post apocalyptic movies, that way they know I’m willing to go all the way.”

“Now you’re talking.” He hung up the jackets and came over, taking another tie off the rack, this one a soft coral pink. “Or maybe, you put this one on. . .”

He looped it around your neck and tied it properly.

“Where’d you learn how to tie a tie?” you asked, a laugh bubbling out of you.

“I felt bad making the stylists do it for me all the time,” he said, offhandedly.

The wrongness niggled at you.

You turned to the mirror nearby, playing with the ends of the tie. “I don’t know,” you said.

“What, you don’t like the color?”

“No, pink is a great color.” You surveyed yourself. “I just think I’d want a little more color to my outfit than a tie.”

“Of course,” Wonwoo said, moving to stand behind you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder as he studied your reflection. “You’re the business one, we want to make sure you pop.” His eyes lit up. “I know.”

He didn’t quite have it the first few times, but finally, after taking over a changing room and trying on enough outfits that the both of you had nearly filled the reject cart, you walked out of the store with your purchases on your arms.

You stopped for takeout on the way back, too tired to cook, and ate dinner in a comfortable silence, leaning against each other and the couch as the TV played the weather forecast. When he dozed off against your neck, you forced yourself up.

“Come on sleepyhead,” you said, pulling him up with you. He made a few affronted noises but didn’t argue as you stole his trash and stowed the leftovers in the fridge and all but carried him into the bedroom.

“Dramatic.” You clicked your tongue, dropping him in the bed and moving to grab your sleepwear and get changed. His hand caught your wrist.

“You don’t have to take the couch tonight,” he said, and his voice was much clearer now.

“Well I’m not about to let you take it,” you said. “It’s my turn.”

“No, I meant--” he cut himself off.

“Oh,” you said.

“If you want,” he said hurriedly. “If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Um-- if you’re okay with it,” you said, and your face burns and he looks kind of like he’s in the same boat and he drops your wrist.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, and made for the bathroom.

He was changed when you finished in the bathroom and you climbed into bed beside him. It was strange, sharing, even though you knew you’d done it before maybe. There was an ocean of bed between you that you didn’t dare cross.

You closed your eyes. “Goodnight, Wonwoo,” you said, the words echoing off the wall you faced instead of him. Then, quieter, “You mean the world to me.”

(it’s the best rest you’ve gotten in what feels like forever; you wake up in a tangle of limbs but neither of you are in a hurry to pull away)

You idled outside the building, picking at the sleeves of the shirt you’d picked out the day before.

“Ready?” Wonwoo asked, making eye contact. You nodded, eyes slipping down to rest on the pink tie, the same pink as you’d chosen your shirt to be. He held out his arm, like a gentleman, and you took it.

The room rented for the dinner is as stuffy as you expected. You made small talk with coworkers you’d only ever seen for five minutes at the printer, and played the people watching game with Wonwoo in hushed tones whenever you got a spare moment. Seungcheol swung by a few times to check in and spill a bit of corporate gossip in a hushed voice, both with and without Joshua by his side.

“It’s a game we play,” Seungcheol explained when Wonwoo asked about it. “We make small talk together, he sends me to ‘get drinks’ and then talks me up behind my back.” Seungcheol glanced over at Joshua, where he was chatting calmly with two members of the board of directors. “He’s really good at it.”

Your social battery died about halfway through, but you forced yourself to soldier on. It probably wouldn’t look good if you left early. Hopefully no one would notice as your responses grew shorter and your smiles more strained.

Wonwoo took your hand after you laughed a little too loud at a coworker’s joke, and then turned to you when they had said their goodbyes to do another sweep around the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “Is it time to go?”

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t leave early.”

“We’ve been here more than half the time, I think we’re allowed.” He folded your hand between his, rubbing it soothingly. “We can use me as an excuse, say I got tired. Please don’t force yourself to stay; I can tell something’s wrong.”

You kind of wanted to cry, and you didn’t know if it was the stress of the evening or what. “I don’t deserve you,” you said.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tugged you in. “You deserve the world,” he said softly into your ear.

And then you left the party.

You stopped at the park, instead of going directly home, sitting at the fountain’s edge.

“You remember when we got takeout?” he asked.

You did. “When we first played the people watching game, right?” you asked, and stopped. That hadn’t been the first time; you’d played it all the time before hadn’t you?

“Yeah,” he said. “You dropped me off.”

“You got really into the game,” you said. “That idol guy’s backstory was impressively complex.”

He laughed, soft and fond, and yet also flat. Like there was a layer of irony you hadn’t caught.

“When you dropped me off at the bookstore, you said that-- you said ‘you mean the world to me’. And-- we’re dating, at least according to Vernon, and, this whole time you never said ‘I love you’.” He looked at you. “Why is that?”

You open your mouth, the answer of a shared back and forth you two had used since university sitting on your tongue, but it didn’t come out. You just closed your mouth.

Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t something you’d said since university. You-- hadn’t known him in university.

“I’m not sure,” you said, bewildered because it was true. Why did you say that?

“It’s just stuck with me,” he said. “Ever since that first day, when I didn’t--” he cut himself off. “It was like I’d been dropped into this world from another one,” he said. “I didn’t know anything, and-- you were a total stranger.”

Another world. Total stranger. The words vibrated against the walls of your skull. You’d thought of him like a stranger too, even though you knew him. At least you thought you did. But you didn’t know him in university, you didn’t know him at all.

“But, as time went by, and I got time to know you, I realized something,” he said, and he took your hand in both of his. “And I don’t think we’re strangers anymore.”

Strangers, you were strangers. What had you thought, that first day? How did you even know it as the first day, beyond Wonwoo’s strange actions? You weren’t thinking of it like the first day of Wonwoo. It was the first day at all. You didn’t know him.

“I guess. . .” he trailed off. “I guess what I want to say, is just that I. . .”

He wasn’t your housemate or your boyfriend or the guy you knew from the frat. He wasn’t-- he was--

Oh god.

You tore your hand from his.

Everything went deathly silent.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Seokmin’s voice rang out.

Your head jerked up.

Time had frozen around you. Wonwoo still sat by the fountain, looking in your direction with an expression of distress, his hand reaching after you. You scrambled back. He didn’t move.

“I guess this means you figured it out?” Seokmin asked.

You looked at him. “What have I done?”

“A wish was made,” he said. “I granted it.”

You blinked. A flash, staring up into the sky from the window; “I wish I could tell him what he means,” you said to the stars, “every night. I wish I could tell him, he means the world to me.”

“You’re Santa.”

Seokmin made a face. “I’m with Wonwoo, let’s not call it that.”

“And Wonwoo knew the whole time that this was wrong?” you asked. He nodded. “Why? Why not me? It was my wish.”

He smiled. “Wishes don’t always work the way you expect them to.”

You shook your head. “Send him back now.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why Seokmin, just do it!”

He blinked at you. “For the record, I’m not actually Seokmin. I’m just borrowing his appearance, to keep an eye on you.”

You dug your fingers into the dirt, like a reminder it was still there. “And Seungcheol? Vernon? Chan?”

“Projections. Every person you’ve met here is a projection.”

“At least you didn’t abduct them.” You stopped. “At least I didn’t.” You shook your head. “But it’s done now. You have to send him back. He didn’t ask to be here, he didn’t want to be here!”

“And if he doesn’t want to go back?”

“Of course he wants to go back!” you shout. “Have you not seen the way he cares for the members? You said you were keeping an eye on us, did you miss that day at the park? He misses them! And I dragged him away!” You shoot to your feet, throat beginning to close up. “You have to fix this-- I have to fix this!”

The thing which was not Seokmin looked at you. “Don’t you wonder what he was going to say to you, before everything clicked?”

You swallowed. “Whatever it was, it was built on a lie. And it’s a lie I refuse to keep living.”

Not-Seokmin shrugged. “Then turn and look him in the eyes and wish everything back,” he said.

You did.

(if you cried when you woke up in a single bed you recognized as truly your own, you were the only one to know)

Wonwoo was oddly quiet in broadcasts from that point on. You couldn’t bring yourself to talk about him anymore. Someone asked you on Twitter if you had something against him.

No, you’d responded, he just reminds me of a recent ex. Every time I see him I think about them and it’s just too painful right now. I don’t hate Wonwoo.

Two days later, the Seventeen Twitter account dmed you.

I need to talk to you.

You sent, I’m sorry.

You deactivated.

You almost gave away your concert tickets, but you’d been planning on going with a friend before everything and you wouldn’t let them down. You went despite all your misgivings. With the stage lights on full blast, there was no way he’d be able to see you in the audience. You were safe, with your seats halfway up the concert hall, half a mile from the stage.

And then Seventeen, in the middle of their set, hopped off the stage, into the audience.

You’d wondered why certain aisles had a security detail around them.

If it wasn’t the middle of a song, you’d ask the people farther down the row to switch with you but you didn’t dare move around; it had been drilled into you that doing so during a performance was disrespectful. You were the seat on the aisle, and Wonwoo was on his way up, his eyes scanning the crowd with a sharp determination even as he continued his verse flawlessly.

Would looking away be more conspicuous than staring?

Should you jump to blend with the energy of the crowd, or freeze so he didn’t look?

It didn’t matter.

He’d seen you.

He took the stairs two, three at a time, stopping on the landing beside you, turning to face the rest of the hall again as his verse finished, and then he glanced at you.

The spotlight shone on his face.

“Please don’t leave,” he mouthed, or maybe said, but the combined roar of the crowd and the blood rushing in your ears drowned it out completely.

And then he turned to complete the performance, leaving a few fans looking at you wistfully.

(several of them came up after the concert to congratulate you, to gush about how lucky you were, to speculate about what happened and laugh about it; blessedly no one was openly rude about it)

You sat on the edge of a fountain, in the plaza a block from the back door of the concert hall, fidgeting with your sleeves. You didn’t know if you were crazy. You probably were crazy, waiting for him. He’d be livid. He had to be livid. He’d never forgive you.

But whatever closure would mean for him, you’d give it to him.

Anything.

The back door of the concert hall slammed open and a figure came bolting out towards you. They skidded to a halt at the edge of the fountain, and you could see Wonwoo’s eyes over the mask.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to stay,” he said.

“I wasn’t either.”

“I’m glad you did.” He sat down on the edge of the fountain. “I really need to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, before he could get upset.

He blinked. “For what?”

“For making the stupid wish and dragging you into an alternate universe, and then not even remembering doing it.” You rubbed your arm, staring at the brickwork. “I mean I was basically gaslighting you the entire time.”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” he said.

You toed the crack between two stones. “What all do you know?”

“How that world worked. How I got there. How I got back.” You saw him move, reaching out like he was going to take your hand, and then stopping himself in the middle. “I’m not upset with you.”

“You should be.” The words dropped out of your mouth. “You should hate me. You-- I basically ruined your life.”

“You didn’t ruin my life, you showed me what I was missing,” he said. “You remember when we played that people watching game? What I said about that man?”

You picked at a loose thread in your sleeve. “He. . . he was taking a break from the practice room.”

You saw him nod from the corner of your eye. “And I said he was getting a new perspective.”

“He’s seeing life from a new angle,” you said.

“It was as much my wish as it was yours,” Wonwoo said. “I felt lost. I didn’t know where to go next or what to focus on, and it wasn’t something the members could help with, but it was something you could help with. And you did.”

You felt numb. A wish was made. Not-Seokmin had given one last riddle, one you were finally understanding.

“You add a dimension to my life that I was missing,” he said. “Just, please-- please don’t leave me again.”

You looked at him, finally, sitting there on the edge of the fountain, his hair a mess from the performance.

“I didn’t want to leave,” you said. “I just-- I had to let you go.”

“You don’t have to here,” he said. “I know I don’t run a bookstore, and we didn’t meet in college, but--”

“I didn’t fall for you because you ran a bookstore,” you said. “The bookstore was window dressing. You’re you no matter what career you have.”

On impulse, you reached out. He met you in the middle and you laced your fingers through his.

“I love you,” you said.

He clasped his other hand around yours and lifted it to his lips, his eyes squeezed up in such overwhelming happiness you thought you’d cry.

“I love you too.”

[carnationcreation]

Dream buddy (Adam Park x reader)

✌🏻Masterlist Taglist, Requests, and Works in progress!

Please check bio to see if requests are open before sending any in! 

Request: (wattpad @pezzbosch) Can you please write an imagine of Adam being worried about his crush because she’s going through something personal that she won’t talk about? And the crush is just super scattered all the time and losing focus in almost everything she does until someone finally gets her to talk about what’s going on?

Prompt/summary: Adam goes a little overboard worrying about his crush

Word Count: 1,502

Authors note: (Ready Now by dodie is the vibe for this) Thanks so much for your request bb! If y’all haven’t read @pezzbosch ‘s fanfic Twenty Four Seven then I totally recommend to go check that out of you’re a power rangers fan :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adam wished he’d noticed it sooner.

He should’ve known the first day she turned down going to Earnies. She would never turn down a chance to get her favorite mini tacos on a normal day, especially after a day she had gym class. 

He just wished he would’ve noticed her pushing them away sooner. 

The first time he got the hint something was wrong was the Monday morning back from spring break. She showed up to school tired and almost fell asleep during first block pre-calculus. (Y/n) might not enjoy that class that much but she never got caught sleeping in class, ever. 

He watched her pull an energy drink out of her bag and drink almost half of it in a few gulps.

“Woah,” Adam said, pulling the drink away, “Slow down there. You don’t want to drink it all in one go.”

“Adam, I am so tired I will fight you for that drink.”

He rolled his eyes, “If you’re that tired you wouldn’t last more than a few seconds. Why are you drinking this? You hate energy drinks.”

“I just… didn’t get that much sleep last night,” (Y/n) sighed.

Adam placed the can back on the desk, “I’m sorry, why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Just couldn’t,” she said, the end of class bell rang and (Y/n) quickly gathered her things, “See ya in gym!”

He really started to worry when she didn’t show up for their first class the next day. He was so used to seeing her bright smile when he would sit down next to her that today felt like the world was a little duller. Class seemed to roll by slowly as he stared at the clock and the door waiting for her to come in, but she never did.

Lunch time came and there was still no sign of her. As he sat down next to Rocky and Tommy they noticed his mood had shifted a lot since they saw him yesterday.

“You okay Adam?” Tommy said.

“Have either of you seen (Y/n)?”

“No, we haven’t seen your girlfriend,” Rocky said, causing Adam’s eyes to go wide.

“She- she’s not my girlfriend guys,” he said shyly.

“You guys sure act like it.”

Adam slapped Rocky’s fork out of his hand with his own, “We’re not dating. I just haven’t seen her all morning and I’m starting to worry.”

“Yeah cause you have a big fat crush on her,” Rocky grinned.

“Stop it Rocky,” Tommy sighed.

“Fine,” Rocky huffed and picked his fork back up from the tray.

“Anyways, we haven’t seen (Y/n) since gym class yesterday,” Tommy said.

“I might stop by her house after school to check on her, it’s not like her to miss class and not tell me.”

“Yeah cause she has a big fat crush on you,” Rocky muttered.

“Rocky!”

“What?! It’s true!”

Adam sighed, “She doesn’t have a crush on me.”

Rocky rolled his eyes, “Well then why is she walking over here first instead of to Kat and Tanya?”

Adam turned around quickly and spotted the girl walking towards the group of boys, he smiled widely as she sat down beside him.

“What’s with the energy drink (Y/n)?” Rocky asked.

“What? Oh- I… stayed up late to finish a project.”

Adam looked at her confused, “We don’t have any projects in our classes, is it for your English class?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said with a fake smile.

“Oh, okay,” Adam said. He knew she was lying, but he was hurt that she felt like she had to. 

By the weekend (Y/n) seemed to be back to normal. She was on time for classes again and went to hang out at Earnies. Yet there was still something… weird going on. 

Even though she was her usual cheery sunshine self, Adam noticed when the others were talking amongst themselves she would look off with an almost blank look on her face. When she would talk her sentences would trail off or not make sense completely. The others pretended they didn’t notice but it was starting to become clear that something was wrong with their friend.

Adam decided he needed to know what was going on.

He got to school early enough so that he could catch (Y/n) at her locker. As he walked through the halls he thought of a million different answers he might get from his friend, or crush really. He’d always been infatuated with her since she sat next to him in Chemistry last year, the ball of sunshine in the class. 

As he rounded the corner he saw (Y/n) quickly shove a white bottle into her locker before shutting it and shouldering her bag.

“What was that?” he said, she jumped slightly and spun around.

“Adam!” she said, “Geeze you scared me. What’s up?”

“What’d you put in your locker?” he said.

“Oh just my binder.”

“It looked like a bottle-”

“Adam we really need to get to class,” (Y/n) said.

“Why are you lying to me?”

She sighed, “I’m not.”

“What was in the bottle?” he said, the firmness in his tone made her look down to the floor.

“I- um,” she tried to speak but the tears that formed in her eyes stopped her.

“(Y/n),” Adam said gently, placing his hand on her shoulder, “you can tell me anything.”

She turned the lock on her locker and opened it, and sitting on the top shelf was a pristine looking white bottle full of caffeine pills.

“(Y/n)-”

Tears were falling down her face and he pulled her into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” he said, rubbing circles into her back. 

“I just- there’s these dreams, well, nightmares I keep having. I wake up panicking but I’ll sit and think and think about it but I just can’t remember it. How am I supposed to stop them when I can’t remember them?”

“I’m sure all that caffeine isn’t helping. Those aren’t good for you (Y/n).”

“I know I know, but it’s better than falling asleep in class.”

“I know, but nothing can replace sleep,” Adam said. He pulled away to gently brush some of her hair back, “I think I have an idea.”

 Adam ended up dragging her out of school and to his car, from there they drove to the mall in town.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Adam said.

The mall wasn’t that busy considering it was an early morning on a weekday. Adam lead her by the hand through the mall to the back where the toy store stood. (Y/n)’s eyes went wide with excitement before looking at him with a puzzled look.

“We’re gonna get you a dream buddy.”

“A what?”

“A dream buddy, to bring you some sweet dreams.”

(Y/n) giggled and pulled him into the store. Lining the walls were various toys and figures but towards the back were giant bins of different kinds of stuffed animals of different shapes and sizes.

“What about this one?” Adam said, holding up an elephant half as big as him.

“I think that’s a little big, don’t you think?” she giggled.

“Hmmm.... maybe.”

He dug through the bins a little more, “This one?” 

It was a frog made out of a shiny fabric material.

“Um… I don’t really like the frog.”

Adam sighed, “No one ever does.”

(Y/n) dug through the other bin for a while, carefully looking over each animal. Finally she reached the bottom and gasped out.

“This one!” 

She pulled out the stuffed figure to show it to him. It was a stuffed rabbit with light brown fur and big floppy ears.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Adam smiled, “I think it looks like a great dream buddy.”

The next day when Adam walked into class, (Y/n) smiled at him.

It wasn’t fake, or tired looking. It was the same smile that made his heart flutter since the first time they met.

Class went by as usual until the bell for lunch finally rang, (Y/n) grabbed Adam’s hand and led him in the opposite direction from the cafeteria.

“Where are we going?” he said.

(Y/n) didn’t answer until she opened her locker. She pulled out the same rabbit they bought yesterday. Today it had a red heart with the letter “A” sewn onto the paw.

“I named her Sunny,” she smiled. 

“I guess it helped last night?” he asked.

“Amazingly. Thank you so much Adam,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

He smiled, “I’m just glad I got my sunshine girl back.”

She pulled back but kept her arms locked around his neck. Her smile gave him butterflies, but when she leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek his heart almost stopped. She giggled at his wide eyes, “I can’t be a sunshine girl without my sky guy.”

“Sky guy?”

“Yup.”

He chuckled.

“Because there’s nowhere else I'd rather be.”

It was his chance to lean in, but this time it was a sweet kiss on her lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Taglist: 

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[chuckbass-love]

Hi lovely, I’d love to request a Loki x Male Reader writing if you’re up for it! One where Loki reads the reader’s mind and finds out that he’s attracted to him and that he has a kink for his long hair. So, before making any moves to get with the reader Loki uses magic on his hair to make it even more beautiful and much longer in order to tease the reader. This might range on the “weirder” sides of requests but honestly I’m a sucker for a pretty man with pretty hair haha. But if you don’t feel inspired by or comfortable writing this then obviously no hard feelings! I’ll enjoy anything you come out with in the future! 💚💚💚

Hey. Thank you so much for this request i am in love with it. I was more than happy to do this for you.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Male!Reader

Warnings: Fluff central and a sprinkle of cheekiness from the man himself because let’s face it he is evil but in the best way.

Word Count: 1,970

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @0goddammitloki go check them out ❤️

Just Like Magic

If there is one thing people should know about you is that you’re not captivated or taken easily. Especially when it comes to crushes. But with Loki. There was an instant attraction, on both parts.

Not that either of you have ever done anything about it though. It’s a known fact to you both that feelings are there and Loki has pretty much made it his mission to tease you every time you’re around him. 

The one thing he doesn’t know though, is the effect his long black hair has on you. The way you fantasise about running your fingers through it, about pulling on it when things get heated. But that will never happen. He’s too complicated for commitment apparently.

You make your way over to a café, you made plans with him for lunch today. He was desperate to get away from his family and you were more than happy to be his distraction. Despite it not being in the way you imagine. It’s still something. 

As you take your seat, you pull your book out, a classic. Romeo and Juliet, if you’re going to wait for him, you might as well do some reading. Feed the brain and all that business. 

“Always got a book in your hands” you hear, moving the book down slightly and just showing your eyes. It’s him.

“Always late”

“Touché” 

He takes his seat, glancing over the menu whilst you return the book to your bag before doing the same. Once you’ve come to the conclusion of what you want, you order. Plus drinks too, of course.

“So, what is it you’re reading this time then?” he asks, showing as much enthusiasm and interest as he usually does. He always likes to keep up with you and what you’re doing.

“Romeo and Juliet” you smirk, knowing exactly what he’s about to say to you, you’ve heard it a thousand times before.

He runs his fingers through his silky smooth locks as he opens his mouth to respond “again? how many times is that now?” 

You just roll your eyes at him, refusing to answer. But the truth is, you’ve lost count. You can’t help it, you love what you love. Being a hopeless romantic is incurable, not that you would try to cure it if you had the chance.

“Let’s just eat, shall we?” you raise a brow at him and he does as you suggest, digging into his food instantly, as do you.

During lunch, you ask him about the latest with his family. He tells you all about Odin favouring Thor again. 

You can’t help but feel bad for him. He’s always tossed aside, like he doesn’t mean anything. You wish you could help that, rectify it but you can’t. All you can do is be there when he needs to talk. You still remain the only person in his life that he can open up to. That’s saying something, right?

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear whilst flicking another strand out of his face. That hair is your literal weakness. 

It’s something you simply cannot explain. But it does things. Things that you could never repeat out loud. 

Especially not to him. 

But little do you know, Loki can hear everything inside that pretty little head of yours as he watches you eat. The way you’re sitting back into the chair, one leg over the other. So well put together, so graceful but your thoughts are far from it.

In fact, he’s known about your dirty fantasies for a while but he chooses not to say a word. Mostly due to the fact that he wouldn’t know how to bring it up but also because he would never want to embarrass you. He cares for you. 

Deeply in fact.

So he waits around for the perfect timing to say something in the best way he can. 

Whilst he waits, intruding on your thoughts. You think some more. 

About all the ways his hair turns you on, all the ways it could come in handy in the bedroom. 

His lips curl up into a satisfied smile, catching your attention.

“What’s that smile for?” you ask, kicking his leg gently.

“Oh, nothing really” 

Something tells you, that’s a lie “no, it’s clearly something? Tell me”

He just shakes his head, denying you the pleasure of the reason behind his smile. You just pout, hoping it’ll help but it doesn’t. Unlucky. You finish eating and both stand up ready to say goodbye and part ways. He pulls you into a hug, making you feel small compared to him. He’s so much taller.

“Same time tomorrow?” 

“How about we have lunch at my place?” you suggest, nervously gritting your teeth and awaiting his response.

“Sure” he agrees before turning on his heels and walking away. You feel weak in your knees as you rush back home. Time to continue reading. 

Loki gets home and as he stands in his mirror, brushing his hair. He’s reminded of your thoughts, the way you were practically drooling just looking at his hair. 

The way you were flustered. 

What if he could intensify that? Have you begging to touch it, feel it in your hands. 

Wait. He knows a way that he can make that a possibility. 

He racks his brain for a couple second before remembering a spell. 

Once he gets it mastered, he puts the spell into place, on his hair. Causing it to grow a couple more inches, it’s now just to his chest. Not much longer, but a noticeable change. One you’re sure to love. Just what he wants. 

He cannot wait for tomorrow now. This should do the trick intended.

---------------------

You rush around, tidying after yourself and the mess you made yesterday after lunch. You don’t want Loki coming in to a mess. Not that he’d judge.

The second you finish, there’s a knock at the door, making you jump out of your skin. You pass the mirror on the way to the door and you check yourself out before opening up to reveal the man himself.

“Afternoon” he grins, stepping in and waiting for you to lead him to the kitchen where all the food waits. As he takes his seat, you glance at his hair, it’s longer. Sexier somehow. You don’t recall it being that long yesterday. 

How does he do that? How does he have you so captivated? Not even just because of his hair. But because of how he carries himself, how he speaks, how he walks. Everything about him draws you in.

“You okay?” he asks, a smug tone in his voice, on purpose. He can hear your thoughts once again. The spell is definitely paying off. Nows the time.

“So you like my hair then”

You almost choke on your water, looking up, your eyes meeting his “what?” you ask, wanting to know if what you heard was correct.

“My hair? You like it, don’t you?” 

You feel your cheeks heating up, the panic filling you. You can’t deny it.

“I do, why?” play it cool Y/N.

“Why do you like it?”

You widen your eyes, standing up to bring some more food to the table and filling your plate “it’s just really nice”.

He chuckles, clearly not accepting your answer.

“So you don’t wish you could touch it? Tug on it in let’s just say, intimate situations” 

Okay, now you’re mortified. 

What could possibly give him that impression? How does he know that? 

“Have you been reading my diary? How could you possibly know that” you blurt out, regretting it right away and covering your mouth with your hands.

He gets up from the table “your diary?” he asks, walking past you and into the next room where he spies a book on the coffee table. He wastes no time in picking it up, all whilst you’re trying to retrieve it. 

He starts reading it out loud.

“Dear diary,

What am i to do about this? 

What am i to do about Loki? That man has all this power over me and i’m struggling to be mute about my feelings, about the things i want to do to him”

You jump up, screaming at him to give it back but he just holds it higher. Not letting up.

“Loki, stop. Please” 

He brings it back down to your reach but before you can even take it, he pulls it behind his back “not so fast. When were you planning to tell me all of this? What sort of things were you talking about?”

“That’s private”

“It’s about me pretty boy, i think if it concerns me then i have a right to know”

You gulp, twiddling your thumbs as you avoid his gaze.

“I just meant that um, if there was ever a situation where um, we would kiss. That your hair, would be great to tug on. I’m sorry, i’m so embarra-”

Before you can finish the sentence, his lips are on yours. The last result you anticipated. But boy is it just how you imagined it to be. Actually no, that’s a lie. It’s a million times better. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, he drops the diary to the floor and his hands grip your face. Your lips fit together like two puzzle pieces. Like it was always meant to be. 

You break away, your hands find purchase on his chest, your pinky fingers touching his hair.

And that’s when your whole body shivers. His forehead rests to yours, his breath fans your face.

“That certainly took a different turn” you let out a deep breath.

He seconds that “a turn that is most welcome” 

He pecks your lips once more “why didn’t you tell me about all of this pretty boy?” 

The name turns you on.

“Nerves mostly, not wanting to ruin the friendship and besides you made it clear you weren’t ready for anything” you explain

“But for you, that would have changed”

“Am i dreaming right now? Pinch me please” 

He can’t help himself, his right hand glides down to the spot just above your ass. He takes his finger and thumb, doing as you asked and making you squeal. 

“I’m sorry, was you not serious?”

You shove him playfully and attempting to walk away, not so fast though.

He pulls you back, attacking your lips in a less than family friendly way. More of a make out session.

A lip biting, tongue battling kiss. All consuming and breath stealing. 

The kind of kiss that everyone dreams of having with their crush. The kind of kiss that just like in the movies and books, leaves you seeing fireworks or stars. 

The way his lips move with yours, so effortlessly and so soft against each other. 

His hand remains on your lower back while the other still cups your face. You lean into him as a whisper like moan fills his mouth, causing him to smile into the kiss. Your hands finally get to run through his hair. And boy does it feel good to tug at it too, pulling him deeper into the kiss, if that’s even possible.

This is everything you could have wanted.

----------------------

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Feel free to tag anyone that would enjoy this fic.

[theawkwardterrier]

Blossoms Every Day

Summary: When you work at a flower shop requests for elaborate bouquets are just part of the job. Requests for bouquets this specific, on the other hand...

The other of my rejected Steggy Secret Santa stories. I was looking for AU tropes to play around with, thought of flower shop...and immediately began to write it in the weirdest way possible.

Read on AO3

After three years of being the only employee of Asters to Zinnias other than Michaela, the owner, you are fairly familiar with the peaks and valleys of the business. Valentine’s Day is big, of course (and the day or two afterward are even bigger for more elaborate apology arrangements) but considering the shop’s proximity to the university campus, there’s also an uptick in sales around graduation time and about a month after the fall semester starts each year, when the kids who’d met and fallen for each other at orientation have their first tiny anniversary.

Summer and winter breaks, though, are generally...well, you don’t want to call them dry spells because it would give Michaela an onset of migraine face, but they’re certainly less busy. That’s why on a drizzly Wednesday morning at the beginning of January, you feel certain enough about having the shop to yourself that, while you dust the vases behind the counter, you have your earbuds in playing an episode of the soothingly-voiced serial murder podcast you love.

The volume is turned up pretty loud, so you don’t hear the bell over the door (don’t tell Michaela) or the approaching customer’s footsteps, or your own shocked squeak when you turn to water the spider plant on the counter and find someone standing there.

“Sorry,” you gasp, pausing mid-murder description and hastily shoving your earbuds into your pocket. “How can I help you?”

There’s something of a stunned look on the man’s face, and he stares for a moment as if he doesn’t quite know how to answer the question and would have preferred you stay oblivious to him for another few moments while he gathered his thoughts.

Finally he says, “I—I think I need a recommendation. Can you think of what flowers would say ‘welcome to campus’ to a really smart visiting professor in the history department who specializes in European women's and gender history in the mid-nineteenth to mid-twentieth centuries?” And then, as if he wants to make sure you have every bit of information which might be helpful, he adds, “Her last book was an amazing collection of oral histories about women in the UK during World War II.”

You’ve picked out plenty of arrangements for people who didn’t know daffodil from a delphinium, for students who’ve walked in asking simply for “something pretty,” and you consider yourself pretty quick on your feet at this point. After a moment of staring, you offer weakly, “A nice plant always brightens up a new office. Maybe bamboo, for good luck?”

He walks out with his potted bamboo twenty minutes later. You spent two minutes wrapping the pot. He spent eighteen writing and rewriting cards. Hopefully the professor really likes bamboo.

Two days later, a woman walks in, comes right over to where you’re finishing up a new baby bouquet to send over to the hospital, and asks for “something to show gratitude for making me feel welcome. An arrangement expressing appreciation for brightening up my office.”

“Oh,” she adds, “and his eyes are a lovely shade of blue, if you have something that might suit.”

Holding back a groan, you start to offer some options. Apparently she liked the bamboo well enough.

You don’t see either of them for three weeks, long enough for you to have told the story to Michaela then to a couple of friends over beers, long enough that the pair of them are fading into a slightly amusing anecdote.

The man shows up just after you’ve come back from lunch break. You’re still wiping a few tricky crumbs off your sweater as he tells you that he’s looking for something that says “sorry about that horrible meeting, and here’s hoping for less exposure to jerks in the future - although since too many of them are tenured, I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Sunflowers are cheerful?” you suggest. “Maybe mixed with some tulips or snapdragons, plus white poppies - they symbolize consolation - and some greenery?”

He’s pretty young, probably too young for tenure or a significant salary, and you can see that his dark, tidy dress pants are getting a bit soft around the hems, but he doesn’t back down when you quote the price.

That evening, when it’s dark and the wind is blowing chill outside and you sit at the counter with your face in your hand dreaming of getting out of here and going home to hot soup and a blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak, there’s a call on the store’s phone. You hadn’t talked to the woman long enough in person for her voice to be familiar, but you have no doubt as to the identity of the person requesting a “thank you for speaking up to our terrible colleagues” bouquet.

The thing is that they never seem to show up or call when Michaela or any of the regular customers are around, or when any of the neighboring shopkeepers are popping in for a break and to share some gossip. You’re the only one who ever sees or speaks with them. Every month that the receipts tally with the inventory, you have a flash of relief at this small proof that they actually exist.

But this means that it’s up to you to suggest red tulips to represent “those journal reviewers were idiots to turn your paper down” and yellow poppies for “congratulations on the high average on your students’ last exam.” You’re the one charged with making arrangements in honor of “I had a great time at trivia last night,” and “best wishes on your sports team making the championship, even though I’m sorry you can’t be at the game,” and “you looked like you were a bit down yesterday,” and “that book you recommended was so great that I’ve already started on the sequel,” and “sorry I was short with you in the hall this morning, my neighbors threw a raging party last night even though it was 2:30 on a Wednesday.” In April, you help choose the three most perfect crimson roses in the shop to add to a birthday bouquet of calla lilies and orchids, and you don’t say anything about how the shade reminds you of a certain hue of lipstick or about what everyone knows red roses mean.

You’ve kept up with your schoolwork through it all, acquitted yourself nicely. Graduation day is approaching quickly now. But somehow, between helping Michaela find your replacement among the newer students and saying a slow goodbye to all your campus haunts, you can’t help but wonder how things will end for your two most politely irritating regular customers. Visiting professors aren’t meant to stay, after all.

The arrangement you put together in early May, tiger lilies and sweet peas and irises, is the largest yet. You’ve been told that it’s meant to say “I’m sorry that you can’t stay, but I know that there’s something amazing waiting for you,” although the sadness is obvious in his eyes as you hand it over. Nevertheless, he thanks you sincerely for all your help.

“I’m sure you’re glad not to have to see me anymore,” he jokes. You shake your head. Once, maybe, you would have secretly agreed, but in a certain way you’ve come to look forward to the challenge that only these two seem to give you. More than that, you’ve enjoyed seeing two people so eager to demonstrate their affection for each other. They seem to have said more with flowers over these last months than most people say with words in a lifetime; sometimes you wonder if they even have to speak when they encounter each other.

With a last smile, he turns to go, just as the bell above the door jingles, and she steps through.

“Peggy,” comes the surprised exhalation. You can’t see his face, although you can imagine the widened eyes, the parting of his mouth. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” The enormous bouquet in its vase lowers just a bit, so they can look each other in the face over your handiwork.

“Steve. Hello,” she says, surprised too but covering it better. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before our schedules overlapped here.”

You’ve seen people grin and shriek and tear up when presented with flowers before, but there’s something entirely new about the particular quiet tenderness with which they are regarding each other. It sort of makes you want to just stand quietly and perhaps hold the hand of someone you love.

“Your order is ready,” you say instead, hefting her vase forward onto the counter, filled with primroses, violets, and camellias. And before you can think better of it, before you can imagine what Michaela would say, you add, “One ‘Thank you for everything. If you ask me, I’ll find a way to stay’ bouquet, as requested.”

For a minute, nothing moves, and in the drowning silence you wonder if your last memory of this job is going to be filled with shouting and humiliation and demands to speak to your manager. But instead their eyes seem to shift into deeper focus on each other, as if you aren’t even there.

“Do you really—” he swallows, voice somehow even softer as he continues. “You don’t usually say things you don’t mean.”

“No,” she responds. “And I’m not now. They offered to have me stay on, if I want to.”

“But Cambridge—You can’t just tell Cambridge to go screw themselves.” The vase in his hands seems to be preventing him from gesturing the way he wants to, but he holds himself very still and her eyes don’t leave his.

She laughs a bit. “Of course not, but I can tell them that there are greater opportunities available to me here.” She places a hand on his arm. “And Steve? To be clear, I don’t simply mean academic ones.”

And suddenly the spotlight turns back onto you as he turns abruptly and says, “Can you send these over to the hospital instead? I don’t know that I need them anymore.” As you give a quick nod, somewhat shocked by the rapid turn of events, he strides over to set the vase gently back onto the counter beside hers.

“You can deliver mine there as well,” she tells you. “I think this is the sort of conversation you have in words rather than plants.” She steps forward and extends her hand. He glances at it, at her face, then intertwines his fingers with hers. The bell jingles behind them as they step out the door together.

A year later, you’re waiting for your lunch order at the specialty salad place near your new job when your phone vibrates with a text. You’d given your number to your replacement just in case you were needed to shed light on the location of the fancy twine or what to get Michaela at Starbucks when she was groaning over the January billing, after the holiday sales had dropped off and before the Valentine’s orders had started coming in. This is the first time it’s been used.

What in the world do I put in a proposal bouquet that’s meant to symbolize “You are the best, most brilliant woman in the world, someone who knows herself better than anyone I’ve ever met. I can’t fully describe when you are to me and I’d wait for you forever, but if you’re ready, I would love to be married to you”???????

You give a shout of a laugh, right there in the crowd, not caring about the glances thrown your way or the call of your name at the pickup area. You’re too busy typing back: Okay, you’re going to want to have orange blossoms in there…