#him quitting wearing glasses for years probably didn’t help with classes either | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wincore · 4 years ago

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atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of.

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low.

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours.

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget.

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore.

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume.

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type.

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises. If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts.

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself.

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask.

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it.

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it.

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily.

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year.

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately.

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one.

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt.

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover.

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours.

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth.

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words.

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table.

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad.

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back.

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing.

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters.

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs.

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.”

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can.

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off.

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating.

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know.

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young.

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.”

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling.

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung.

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses.

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention.

Inviting him somewhere.

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure.

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more.

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter?

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him.

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.”

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.”

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.”

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts.

You’re disappointing.

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose.

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps.

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask.

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you.

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue.

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.”

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you.

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families.

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe.

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard.

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them.

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out.

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure.

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up.

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt.

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder.

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart.

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it.

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him.

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak.

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time.

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional.

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love.

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved.

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding.

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either.

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple.

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action.

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t.

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days.

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.”

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by.

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers.

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever.

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout.

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!”

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?”

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this.

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose.

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond.

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—”

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder.

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him.

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too.

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again.

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling.

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you.

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care.

“Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there.

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally.

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer.

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.

2K notes · View notes

tennessoui · 4 years ago

Note

hi all of your aus are amazing! pls what happens with divorced!obiwan and the twins?

hey!! sorry this took so long i had to think of an appropriate cliffhanger

this is a continuation of this ficlet and this ficlet, where divorced!obi-wan accidentally acquires a partner and a set of twins.

(2k WHOOPS)

The twins are not, and probably have never been described by anyone except their father, angels. They take to Obi-Wan as well as Obi-Wan takes to them, which is to say that all three of them watch each other suspiciously until one day Luke launches himself off the top of the fridge--how the fuck did he manage to get up there--and Obi-Wan drops his morning toast in a frantic bid to catch him.

After that, Leia and Luke apparently decide he is Another Anakin Who Is Just Around A Lot Less But Is Better At Reading Bedtime Stories and deign to treat him as such.

Obi-Wan decides that he’s going to have a heart attack by the age of fifty. Do all children see a childproof house as a challenge?

It somehow takes both a longer and shorter time to win over Anakin’s favor, mostly because Obi-Wan isn’t sure what the man’s thinking at any given moment. He seems to blow hot and cold depending on how he woke up or how the work day goes. Some days, Obi-Wan comes home from campus and Anakin and the twins have waited to eat until he’s there. Sometimes they’ve eaten and there’s a meal under foil on the stove just for Obi-Wan.

(“I don’t know how you do it,” Obi-Wan tells him one night after the children are put to bed. “I mean, work from home with your job, mind the children, and cook?”

“They made me head of the R&D department a few months ago,” Anakin admits, taking a sip of his second glass of wine. “So I’m doing a lot more checking through other people’s work instead of making my own. It just means I can do that and make something edible--no, really, you just can’t cook, Obi-Wan, I’m not the best either.”

“Do you miss getting to make something other than food?” Obi-Wan asks eventually, giving himself enough time to recover from the sound of the other’s giggles.

Anakin shrugs languidly. “It’s better salary, and I’m the youngest ever in the company to have the position. Means I’ll pay off my student loans quicker, same with my mom’s hospital bills. Doesn’t matter what I want.”

Obi-Wan’s chest hurts and he wants to lean across the gap between their chairs and place his hand on Anakin’s arm, but they don’t know each other like that. It’s only been a month and a half since they moved in. Still. “It always matters what you want,” he insists. “And I think you’re amazing.”

Anakin blushes bright scarlet and takes a huge gulp of wine, and Obi-Wan wonders if this is a throwing-yourself-off-the-fridge break through.)

(It’s not because the next day, Anakin doesn’t say a single word to him, which bothers him more than he’d like to admit.)

(“Am I in the wrong for wanting to get along with my housemate?” Obi-Wan asks Quinlan despairingly during their office hours that he should be using to grade papers. Instead all he can think about is Anakin Skywalker and the goddamn cold shoulder he’s been getting from the man for the past three days.

“Yeah,” Quin says absentmindedly, marking something with a red pen before looking up at Obi-Wan’s outraged intake of breath. “I mean, no. I mean, sorry, Obi, what are we even talking about now? Is it still your hot new roommate with the two kids? Because that’s what we were talking about an hour and a half ago.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m just not sure I appreciate--”

“And you said he’s not been hanging around in the living room when you get home? But he’s still leaving you meals in the kitchen? And you’re upset about the free food?”

Obi-Wan is upset at the lack of Anakin’s presence, but he thinks that’s probably not the right thing to say here.

“Maybe he’s just tired?” Quinlan puts down his pen and rests his chin on one of his hands as he looks at Obi-Wan. “From the kids and the job and putting up with your moody ass. C’mon, Obi, what’s really getting you worked up?”

Obi-Wan purses his lips and stares at the desk in front of him, but he had come to Quinlan for help. He should at least be honest about what’s eating at him, even though he knows how silly it will sound when given a voice. “...Satine always waited up for me,” he mutters. “Until she didn’t.”

Quinlan’s quiet for a worryingly large amount of seconds, before he reaches out to pat Obi-Wan gently on the arm. “Oh, Obi,” he says pityingly. “Repeat after me. You cannot make your new roommate your rebound from your thirty year marriage.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. That’s not the problem at all. “That’s not the problem at all,” he says, not defensively in the slightest. “I think I’m just worried about the children not having enough structure in their lives.”

“Right,” Quinlan says, not quite managing to hide the skepticism in his voice. “Then you should talk to him. For the sake of the children.”

Obi-Wan will absolutely not be doing that, but it’s a nice thought.)

The real turning point in Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship happens five months after the Skywalkers move in.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are in the living room. Anakin is trying to braid Leia’s hair while Obi-Wan tries to pretend he isn’t watching. From the kitchen, there’s a very, very loud crash and the sound of something shattering.

Both adults leap up from their seats immediately and run to the other room.

Luke is standing in the epi-center of disaster, little face scrunched up like he doesn’t know whether or not to cry. At the sight of his dad and Obi-Wan, he starts to wail, moving forward and reaching for Anakin.

Obi-Wan, who is wearing shoes inside the house (a point of contention between himself and Anakin), grabs Luke roughly and picks him up by the armpits before he can cut his feet on the glass. He hands him over to Anakin to soothe, stepping further into the kitchen to find the dustpan he keeps in one of the pantries.

It’s very obvious what broke, though Obi-Wan can’t for the life of him understand how Luke got ahold of Satine’s heavy cake stand. He can definitely understand how Luke dropped it, as the thing was ridiculously heavy.

It had been one of the only things left in the house that had been Satine’s. She’d left it, and Obi-Wan had been too bitter or petty to point it out to her. Yes, it had been her mother’s. No, keeping it had not made him feel any better. But it’s not like Satine ever baked anything anyway.

Good for Luke, actually, for doing what Obi-Wan never could bring himself to do.

He grabs the broom and dustpan and marches back to the pieces of shattered glass. Anakin has placed Luke on the counter, ostensibly to check to make sure his feet are fine if the boy would ever let go of his father’s neck. Leia is peering around at the mess on the floor.

When Obi-Wan comes back and starts sweeping everything away, she darts forward to pick up a rather sizeable chunk.

“Don’t touch that,” Obi-Wan says sharply, much harsher than he intended. Leia drops it instantly and scurries back to her father, eyes wide and sort of watery. Oh, fuck.

“Hey,” Anakin snaps immediately. “She’s just trying to help and Luke didn’t mean to break--whatever that is.”

Obi-Wan holds up his hand to cut Anakin off. “I’m not mad,” he promises all three of the Skywalkers. And he’s not even lying. He’s really not mad, hasn’t even thought to be mad at this last piece of proof of his relationship with Satine shattering on his kitchen floor. “I just don’t want either of you to cut yourself. Glass like this can be very dangerous and none of you are wearing shoes.”

“Promise?” Luke asks, untucking his red face from Anakin’s neck so he can peer up at Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry I was a bit rough,” Obi-Wan apologizes, coming over and bending down a bit so he’s on the same level as Luke. “I was just worried about you. Promise.”

Luke sniffles but lets go of Anakin to throw himself at Obi-Wan, apologizing all the way.

“Hush,” Obi-Wan says as Leia scrambles up his leg, vying for his attention. With his hands full of children that aren’t his, he raises his head to look at Anakin who’s watching them with a very strange expression on his face. He tilts his head toward the broom and then down to the kids in his arms. “Come along,” he tells them both. “Leia, I’ll finish your braids if you’d like.”

“Braid my hair too!” Luke demands with a pull on Obi-Wan’s shirt.

Luke’s hair is floppy but awfully short. “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Obi-Wan says generously, leaving the kitchen.

“I suppose I’ll just clean this up then?” Anakin calls sarcastically behind them.

“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan responds.

There’s the sound of something else breaking, but it’s not Obi-Wan’s problem at the moment.

(A year later, Anakin mentions something over morning coffee about looking for a new apartment, now that he’s got everything straightened out. “We’ll get out of your hair,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll look today since it’s my day off.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to examine why that idea makes something curl tightly in his stomach, making him feel vaguely nauseous, but it does. On his way out of the house, he unplugs the router, and then after a second of thought, takes it with him just in case.)

(Quinlan laughs his head off when Obi-Wan sheepishly puts the router down on the desk in front of him. “It’s a bad market right now,” Obi-Wan says defensively. “I’m just looking out for him.”

“Obi, I mean this in the best way possible, but there are at least four professors in the psych department that would probably love to do a case study on you.”)

(Two years after the Skywalkers move in, Obi-Wan is running late for a meeting with the head of his department. The man is stepping down, finally retiring, and Obi-Wan thinks that perhaps he’ll be tapped as the new head. It would mean dropping some of his classes, but it would be worth it.

“I made you a breakfast wrap,” Anakin greets him at the door, holding out a paper bag. “It’s got that salsa you like in it.”

The salsa Obi-Wan likes is the mild version of what Anakin and the kids eat, but Anakin treats it as if it’s from another planet entirely.

“Good luck!” he says with a sweet smile, also passing Obi-Wan a travel mug of what’s hopefully fully caffeinated tea. Obviously Obi-Wan needs it. He got perhaps two full hours of sleep last night, tossing and turning and thinking about this meeting and now he’s running late and his tie is crooked and none of his favorite sweater vests were clean.

“Thank you, dear one,” Obi-Wan mumbles, mind somewhere else. If traffic isn’t too bad, he could still be on time.

“Text me how it goes!” Anakin chirps, following Obi-Wan out the door to stand on the front porch with his arms crossed in an attempt to fight off the early winter chill.

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan replies, turning around to brush an absent-minded kiss to Anakin’s lips before hurrying to his car. It’s a twenty minute commute. If he gets his preferred parking spot and runs to the department building, he won’t be late at all.

Is that too much to hope for?

He starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, looking back in the rearview mirror to see Anakin standing frozen on the porch. That’s strange, usually the other man can’t stand being out in the cold.

Obi-Wan gets to the first stop-sign out of the neighborhood before he realizes what he’s done. It’s lucky that he’s already slowing down, because he slams on the brakes. Did he--

Did he kiss Anakin? Did he really kiss Anakin as if he does it all the time? As if they were in a relationship?

Oh shit.

Frantically, he pulls out his cellphone from his bag and checks to see if he has any new messages. He doesn’t.

Oh. Shit.

#asks #one more ficlet in this universe and i will have No Choice but to piece them together somehow on ao3 #there was supposed to be a bit where one of his students is like 'oh i didnt know you were a father!'#and obi-wan is like 'im not a father'#and then he plugs in his laptop to pull up the powerpoitn for the day #and his background is a picture of luke and leia #not even doing anything theyre just sleeping peacefully in his favorite armchair hugging the same book #anakin had sent it to him #with the text that they were taking turns playing Obi-Wan and Student #but the game was so boring they fell asleep #KUWSK

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hopelesshunny · 4 years ago

Text

the love languages part ii: physical touch (f.w.)

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: fred has always felt the need to touch y/n and after a drunken night he realizes he can't sleep without her.

warnings: very, very light profanity, drinking/underage drinking, kissing, bed sharing.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: my second instalment is here - i did in fact say i would wait until monday but i was really excited to write this one!! i am so grateful for all the love i have received on this series so far, i cannot thank you guys enough. i still feel like i have a ways to go in improving my writing - but as always my ask is open if you have comments, questions, concerns, luv or just wanna chat:)

*all photos are from pinterest*

series masterlist // part i // part iii // part iv

For as long as Y/N had known Fred he had always been touchy. Fred’s need to constantly touch her was never unwelcomed, she relished in the way he’d wrap an arm around her shoulders when he’d walk her to class or how he’d lean into her when he laughed uncontrollably. However, she had always assumed that he was like this with everyone he was friends with, that he just needed to touch people in some way in order to feel close to them. This was very true but Y/N never knew that it was her touch that he craved the most, that as soon as he saw her, he longed to feel the soft skin of her cheek, the way her shoulders shook when she laughed or the rise and fall of her chest while he laid on her stomach in the common room, gentle sighs leaving her mouth every so often.

Fred couldn’t count on two hands the amount of times he almost told Y/N his feelings for her, the words sat on his tongue so often that he was starting to believe that they felt more comfortable in his mouth which is why they never launched themselves into the air. He didn’t know why he couldn’t force the confession out, there was always just a cloud of doubt and fear that swarmed his mind whenever the thought presented itself. But alas, here he was sitting across from her watching her flip her hair over her shoulder and let out a light laugh as she found whatever George was saying quite amusing.

“Y/N! You have to come, you literally can’t miss a party like this!” George practically shouted, a shocked look on his face.

“I’m so behind on my studies.” Y/N started, resting her chin on her hands. “I’ll be practically chained to the library all weekend as is, I can’t go to a party.”

“Y-You’re not coming tonight?” Fred questioned, his eyes hopeful as if he had heard the conversation wrong.

“Sorry Freddie.” She pouted. “You can tell me all about it at breakfast tomorrow.” At that Fred reached across the table to run his finger across her knuckles, relishing in the way her skin felt under his calloused fingertip, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to how they would feel against his lips. However, he was pulled out of his daydream by the sound of George making gagging noises to the side of him as Y/N giggled.

“In that case I’ll have to drink a little extra.” He threw a wink her way. “To make sure I don’t bore you back to sleep tomorrow morning.”

“You never bore me, Trouble.” She smiled before saying her goodbyes to the rest of the table and making her way to the library. The nickname brought a gentle smile to his face, it was the first thing she’d ever called him. During her first year Y/N had been studying in the common room when the twins busteled in, laughing and hollering about another successful prank. When she asked what they were so excited about, the two boys were more than happy to explain, Fred wildly acting out the look on Snape’s face before George asked her name and introduced himself in response. Before Fred even had the chance to open his mouth to follow suit she stopped him.

“You sound like trouble, that’s what I’ll call you.”

George laughed at his twins new-found nickname but it made Fred’s heart swell - the fact that she had specifically given him a special name, the smile on her face when she said it and the way she never left their side since that day, produced a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. Now, here he was, years later, with the same girl, same nickname, same smile and the same butterflies.

Fred kept his promise to Y/N, he was drunk, very, very drunk. He stumbled through the Gryffindor common room, his feet feeling like they were trying to carry him off in different directions until he finally found an armchair to ground himself with. Plopping himself down into the chair he looked out into the crowd of people, some laughing others whispering, couples hanging off each other, it made him miss Y/N. If she was here she’d be sitting next to him, his arm slung around her shoulder as she giggled over the way he slurred his words and she’d always made sure he got to bed safely before finding her way to her own room. Fred groaned as George sat in the chair across from him, pushing a glass of water towards him, causing his twin to chuckle at his annoyed state.

“At least you’ll have something funny to tell Y/N in the morning.” He laughed. “Tell her all about how your drunk ass could barely walk straight.” Fred leaned his head back on his neck.

“I should go see her.” He spoke quietly, just loud enough to convince himself of the idea but hopefully not loud enough for George to hear. He knew that his drunken state failed him however, when his brother quirked an eyebrow at him.

“And do what? Spill your guts?” George chuckled. “Either by finally telling her you’re bloody in love with her or literally?” This earned another groan from Fred as he shot daggers at him.

“That’s it.” Fred started, chugging the glass of water that was placed in front of him. “I’m going.”

“Best of luck mate.” George spoke as he watched Fred stumble his way through the crowd.

“Where’s he going?” Ron asked, suddenly appearing by his brother's side.

“On a death mission.” George responded.

Fred let out a sigh of relief when he finally made his way out of the common room and began the trek towards her dorm room. But his mind was running rampant, what if George was right? What if he was just better off going to bed? Maybe she wouldn’t want to see him, she was probably tired from studying all night and the last thing she wanted was him keeping her up. But despite his doubts his feet still carried him towards her, the walk was sobering, which he would need if he planned on getting a coherent sentence out when he finally made his way to her.

“Y/N?” He called softly when he opened her room door, trying his very best to keep quiet to not wake her roommates. He recognized her frame immediately, bundled under bed sheets, her hair messy and lips slightly parted. He stood over her, watching the way her chest rose and fell as soft breathes left her mouth. “Y/N.” He spoke again, shoving his hands in his pockets, fearing her reaction to his sudden visit. Her eyes shot open but when they found his, her face softened, a small smile forming.

“You scared me, Trouble.” She laughed lightly. “Are you okay?” She asked, the concern that laced her voice made him have to restrain from kissing every square inch of her face.

“I’m okay, just a little drunk.” He hiccuped, his response earning a bright smile from her as she scooted to the side and patted the bed, signially for him to sit next to her. He graciously accepted her offer, his hand immediately finding her knee, needing to touch her. She leaned into his touch as he slurred on about how Ron tried to flirt with Hermione but failed miserably and how red Harry turned when George dared him to kiss Ginny. Neither of them could remember falling asleep, they were too caught up in each other's whispered stories and soft giggles.

When Fred woke the next morning, his head pounding, his legs feeling as if they had carried him across the entire country, he looked down to find his best friend fast asleep on his chest. Y/N’s arms were wrapped tightly around his middle with his hand tangled in her hair as she shifted slightly on top of him. He felt like he should panic and apologize for last night’s antics but she looked so peaceful and he was so close to her that he couldn’t bring himself to worry about barging into her room at who knows what time.

“Mornin’ Trouble.” She spoke, her voice groggy and flooded with sleep. “How are you feeling?” She asked genuinely, pulling herself from his embrace to stretch her arms above her head, making him curse himself for ever moving and waking her.

“I’ve been much better.” He groaned, sliding his hands down his face. “Guess I don’t have to fill you in on last night's events at breakfast anymore.”

“No, you did a sufficient job of that last night.” She giggled. “But we can still go to breakfast, you need to eat something.” Y/N pulled him out of her bed, still fully clothed in what he was wearing the night before.

He grumbled his way through breakfast as George and Ron cracked jokes about how drunk and lovesick he was, Fred throwing warning looks their way as Y/N laughed seeming unbothered by the way they were pulling her into they’re jokes, taking it all as a way to poke fun at Fred. But his head was still swimming, the feeling of her weight on top of him and her hands pressed against his chest, all he wanted was to be back in that position again. He couldn’t get it out of his head for the rest of the day and no matter how many times he attempted to distract himself from her that night as he lied in bed his mind kept travelling back to Y/N. He lay awake staring at the ceiling thinking about how empty his arms felt without her in them - she was addicting, he had always known that, since the moment he met her he had not been able to pull himself away from her. But now he was in too deep, he needed to be there with her.

So, here he was, in his pyjamas, on his way to her dorm room once again, all shame and guilt left long behind, just needing to be near her. Fred padded into her room, his hands rooted in his pockets once again, fully expecting to have to wake her just as he did the night before. But she was wide awake, sitting on her bed, a novel clasped in her fingers, a smile forming on her face when he came into her line of vision.

“Did you miss me?” She teased, as he ran a hand through his hair, rocking on his heels.

“Can’t sleep.” He mumbled. “Was wondering if you were still up.” He said, offering her a grin.

“Well then Trouble, you’re in luck.” She smirked, moving to allow space for him to lie next to her. Fred laid his head in her lap as she turned her attention back to the book in her hand while the other snaked its way into his hair. All the trouble sleeping that had been previously plaguing him melted away with her nails lightly scratching his scalp.

Over the course of the next week Fred and Y/N fell into this routine, he would lay away in his bed before eventually giving into the knowledge that he could not sleep without her any longer before he would make his way to her room, crawl into bed beside her and fall into the soundest sleep that has ever graced him. In the beginning, he was apprehensive, worried that she would reject him at some point and tell him that she wanted to sleep alone. But she never did, every night she shot him a warm smile and opened her arms to him. As the week went on his worries morphed themselves into something new however, he was no longer concerned about her rejecting his company but that she would instead reject his feelings for her. That she would eventually realize that he was in love with her and tell him that she never felt that way about him and was just trying to be a good friend.

“I don’t think I can sleep without you anymore.” Fred spoke into the darkness of the room, his voice audibly shaking, the silence that filled the space causing his stomach to turn.

“Mhmm.” Y/N started, tightening her grasp on him. “I can’t complain, you’re a great pillow.” He let out a light laugh, rubbing small circles in her back.

“It’s true.” He spoke, more seriously. “I haven’t been able to sleep at all lately, but as soon as I get into your bed, I’m out.” She sighed. “They must have better beds in the girls dorms.” He added, which earned a giggle from her.

“I don’t know about the quality of the beds, maybe it’s who's in it.” She spoke, her voice quiet as she bit her lip now regretting her sudden burst of confidence. Fred was silent for a moment before he spoke, a deep breath filling his lungs before he had the nerve to confess to her.

“I always thought that the reason I always had to touch you was because I liked to feel close to people. But it’s different with you.” He shifted to look at her. “I need to touch you, need to feel your skin. Fuck Y/N, I just want to hold your hand in front of everybody and kiss you in between classes and fall asleep next to you every night.” He searched her face looking for any sense of emotion but all he could find was her typical soft smile. “It’s just that I-I-” He started.

“I love you too Fred.” She cut him off, placing her palm against his cheek, he turned into her touch despite the shock that was lacing his features.

“You what?” He said, a giggle falling from her mouth as she clasped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to save him some pride.

“The first night you came to my room, after you left the party, you kept saying you loved me in your sleep.” He groaned at her confession. “I was worried it was just drunk babbles but-”

“But I do love you.” He finished. “I’ve loved you for years.”

“I love you too, Trouble.” She giggled, placing a long awaited kiss to his lips.

taglist (join here!!)

@onlyfreds @fandomhideout @lilypad-55449 @youngblood199456 @thanxxskz

#fred #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley series #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fluff #hp fic #hp

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years ago

Text

But professor... - c.1

Summary: Penny Townsend is going to attend her first criminology class. What she didn’t expect was professor Walter Marshall.

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood

A/N: I hope you enjoy this Professor!AU -- can you imagine? Walter Marshall as a professor? 🤤

Masterlist // But professor... masterlist // Next chapter

✎ ✎ ✎

My parents hoped that I would become a doctor. I get it—being friends with a lot of successful parents with equally successful children, must’ve raised their standard for me. They however must’ve known that medicine wasn’t it for me and going to law school isn’t my forte either. It must’ve been hard on them, knowing I wasn’t that intellectually gifted, though they tried their best for me to be.

They did a lot for me. At the ripe age of two to five hours, I was placed at the entrance of a church in Maryland. The pastor and his wife discovered me and brought me to the hospital, only to found out I wasn’t just a couple weeks premature, but also had a lot of heroin in my system.

My birth parents barely gave me a chance the second I was born (probably when I was conceived, but okay) and that is why I am so grateful that my adoptive parents care so much about me.

And that’s why I want to make them proud and studying psychology is my best chance at being the successful daughter they deserve, but man does it feel wrong to be here. I know there is another student out there who deserves to be here, who actually wants to do this, yet here I am taking their place.

Psychology wasn’t the greatest choice already, but having to take criminology was an even bigger mistake. I walk into the lecture hall for the first criminology class. My hands shake because of the nerves, they’re even clammy. I’m not good at making friends, so seeing those cliques that has formed after only two weeks of university, makes me slightly jealous and really alone.

I never really fitted in. My teachers would describe me as a sweet young girl, who is painfully shy.

That, of course, is if they even noticed me at all.

It can be hard to fit in, especially when you feel out of place the second you enter a room, like I have felt since I can remember.

‘Take a seat,’ I hear a deep voice say and I look up, to meet the eyes of the professor. He is unlike all of my other professors. He isn’t in a suit or at least some decent slacks. His denim jeans hugs his thick thighs, as he wears a sweater on top. His curls are disheveled and slightly frizzy and his beard is asymmetrical. A deep frown in between his brows.

‘Me?’ I ask in a soft tone.

He nods. ‘You,’ he confirms.

I walk passed him to choose a seat in the back. I take place and look around me, only to meet the eyes of the professor again. While I wonder what made him choose teaching, since he doesn’t look like someone who was born to teach, I also ponder about the fact he is looking at me again.

Why would he do that?

I grab my laptop and open it, opening a new document. I’ve been going to NYU for two weeks now, yet this is my first criminology class. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing up the glasses on my nose bridge.

‘Okay everyone,’ I hear the professor say, when it’s time for the class to start. ‘There is a sheet going around. Find the spot you’re sitting now and write down your name. If I find out you are messing with me, you have failed your class immediately.’

He is not beating around the bush.

‘I’m detective Walter Marshall. I have worked for the MPD, the Minneapolis Police Department. For this semester there are three subjects we’ll cover. Victimology, crime analysis and the psychology of criminal behavior.’

This is not at all what I want to learn. This is too gore for me. I should’ve stood up to my parents and go to cosmetology school like I originally wanted. It’s better for me anyways.

I’m so stupid.

The paper ends up on my table and I try to find my place on it. I write down ‘Penelope Townsend’ and slide it to the person two tables over. Professor Marshall explains how we have a weekly lecture of two hours and how he is available for questions every Friday, since he’ll be in his office.

‘Does anyone have any questions?’

A guy raises his hand. ‘Why aren’t you working for the MPD anymore, sir?’

Professor Marshall sits on the edge of his desk, crossing his muscular arms in front of his chest. ‘I was put on leave.’

‘Why?’

‘There were some issues,’ he says. ‘Between me and suspects.’

I have no idea what he is implying, but the silence in the classroom is so thick, that I have a clue what types of issues came with said suspects.

‘Really?’ the guy asks.

The professor only raises his eyebrows, which obviously means he isn’t joking. You don’t need to have studied Psychology to figure that out. ‘Any more questions?

‘Do we work in pairs for the assignment?’ a girl asks.

He shakes his head. ‘No, individual works only.’

I let out a sigh of relief. Thank the stars, I don’t want to work with others. Really, I don’t.

‘Okay, if that’s all, let me start right away. What do these women have in common?’ He presses a button on his presenter and the screen behind him changes. Three pictures of women appear on the screen. It’s their driver’s license photo.

‘They’re women,’ a guy says, causing a few to laugh.

Professor Marshall grabs the paper with names and says: ‘Does anyone have something less obvious to comment than mister Fitzgerald?’ He seems not amused at all by the words of Fitzgerald.

‘Brown hair, blue eyes,’ a girl says.

He nods. ‘And?’

‘They’re pretty,’ another girl says.

‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ he notes. His eyes scan the paper and he looks up. ‘Miss Townsend, do you have something to add?’

Our eyes meet again and I realize that I’m the only miss Townsend in the class. I clear my throat and look at the pictures. Say something smart, Penny. Say something intelligent. Really intelligent.

The obvious things have already been said, so I should stay away from those things.

I swallow hard, press my glasses better on my nose and say: ‘Their left eyelid is slightly droopy.’

I hear some people chuckle a bit, making me feel everything but intelligent.

‘Quiet,’ professor Marshall says and the chuckles die down instantly. ‘Their droopy left eyelid is what made them appealing to the killer.’ He looks up from the other side of class, right at me. His slightly annoyed gaze dissolves for a few moments into a soft one. ‘Miss Townsend made an excellent point here. It took an entire police department to come to that conclusion over the course of two months.’

Oh my goodness, I made an excellent point.

The slides change and I see another picture. This time it’s of a man. It’s a mugshot. I bet he is the killer.

‘Miss Townsend, since you are on a roll,’ the professor continues and I nearly groan. Really? He wants me to answer another questions? ‘What’s do you notice about this man?’

I scan his entire face. He has a crooked nose, blemishes on his forehead and thin lips. He looks like a killer. This would be the type of man I would avoid if I came across him.

‘His left eyelid is also droopy,’ I say.

Is that a tiny smirk on his lips? ‘Correct.’ While professor Marshall continues to explain about how his own appearance is unknowingly influencing his choice of victims, I can’t help but beam a little with pride. ‘Because,’ he continues, ‘if you understand your victims, you can understand your killer.’ The slideshow changes to one word. ‘Welcome to victimology.’

✎ ✎ ✎

Time spend in a lecture hall while professor Marshall teaches flies by. Though he is a bit grumpy and not very welcoming, he is interesting and smart. Much better than my other teachers. I put everything in my backpack, before I get up from my seat. I’m one of the last students to leave the place, mostly because I don’t want to be swarmed by the cliques.

‘Miss Townsend,’ professor Marshall says, causing me to stop misstep as I already passed him.

I turn around. ‘Yes?’ I ask.

He doesn’t look up from his notes. ‘You did well in class today.’

Is this man giving me a compliment? He might be the first one in a teacher like position to ever notice me, let alone give me a compliment. ‘I did?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, now looking up from his notes. ‘Don’t hesitate to say something in class next time. You have great insight.’

‘Or just luck,’ I say.

Professor Marshall shakes his head. ‘No, this isn’t about luck, this is good insight. So, can you promise me to raise your hand next class?’

I bite my lip, before shaking my head. ‘No, I can’t.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘What I said: this was luck and it probably won’t happen again. I have to go. I reserved a spot at the library. If that is all, sir?’

He doesn’t say anything, simply looks at me. It takes a second, maybe two before he nods. ‘If you have questions,’ he says, ‘you know how to contact me.’

I nod, before I walk out of the hall. I see students gathering in front of the door and I quickly slip through them and make my way to the library. I’ve been going to classes for around two weeks now and I’m still up to date as we speak. I decide to at least make a beginning with the assignments of my criminology class, because the sooner I start, the less work and stress I’ll experience later on, because I most definitely will stress about it.

It’s been quite awhile since I opened a book for school for assignments or preparing for exams. After high school, I decided to take a gap year, which ended in two. I’ve traveled with all sorts of groups to different countries, worked at an international cafe in Japan for awhile. It did help me with my social skills. I was happy, social and totally in my element. Those wonderful skills were all forgotten the second I stepped foot back in the USA again.

It was my parents that pushed for going back to college and once they figured out that medicine or law wasn’t up my alley, they agreed psychology, though it wasn’t my thing either.

It’s okay, sure, but… Gosh, I miss the freedom I had during the gap years. I’m not stupid, but is the academical life for me? I have looked at cosmetology school and boy do I wish I was there at the moment.

And not here.

✎ ✎ ✎

I don’t know how long I have been at the library, but my eyes are tired by the time I close my laptop. Besides working on my assignment, I also texted my parents to tell them everything is going fine and checked out multiple cosmetology schools here in the area.

Originally I’m from Maryland, meaning it’s only a three hour drive to see my parents and for them to check in on me. I considered lying about my major, about attending NYU and just go to cosmetology school, but mom and dad are paying my tuition, which is another loophole in my plan.

I put the laptop in my backpack and walk out of the library. Every second my mind wasn’t occupied with university related things, it went straight back to my first criminology class, more specifically my professor. His words. It’s one thing he said those things to me, but another that he looked so handsome while saying it.

‘There she is,’ I hear from behind me as I walk through the hallways to the exit. I turn around to discover it’s Fitzgerald. I forgot his first name, which is weird since we share a lot of the same classes together. He isn’t easy to miss. Pleasant on the eyes, that’s for sure, but he is loud, thinks he is hilarious and that makes him kinda annoying. ‘Miss Townsend,’ he says in a mocking tone.

Okay, change kinda annoying to absolutely insufferable.

‘Hm?’

Fitzgerald walks next to me and he comes a lot closer than I prefer. ‘You’re already the teacher’s pet,’ he continues. ‘Bet the man has a thing for Asian chicks.’

I have no idea how to respond to that implication. My instinct says to get out of here, but the exit is right ahead of me and from the looks of it, Fitzgerald is going there as well. So there is no escape.

‘But let’s say it’s beginners luck,’ he says, ‘because it was actually the first time I heard you speak.’

‘You mind leaving me alone?’ I ask.

‘Why is that, sugar boo?’

Okay, now I’m gonna vomit. Goosebumps run over my spine and the hairs in my neck are standing straight up. I bet this guy’s dad is rich, therefore the only reason he is here. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘You don’t want me here?’ He starts to chuckle. ‘Sweetheart, everyone wants me here.’

Not me.

‘Fitzgerald, are you deaf?’

It’s professor Marshall.

His eyes enlarge when he realizes that too. ‘No, sir,’ he quickly says.

‘She said she doesn’t want you here.’ He stands in front of the two of us, looking everything but amused. ‘You know, back when I was working, I encountered a lot of guys like you. Did you know they usually peak in high school, do okay in college, but the second they end up locked up in jail—and I promise you, they most often will—they aren’t so tough anymore. They usually end up as someone’s bitch.’

To hear this entire monologue and the word bitch from a professor, was not at all what I was expecting. Fitzgerald’s face is drained from all its color. While Fitzgerald looks like he shat himself, I am utterly amazed. I wish I was this intimidating, I think to myself.

Fitzgerald clears his throat, eyes darting around the hallway, almost as if he is trying to find the closest exit. He shoots out of this place very quickly, meaning I’m left with only our professor.

‘Thank you, sir,’ I say.

Professor Marshall simply nods. ‘You know, if you lowered your shoulders, you’d appear more confident.’

Why do I feel so offended? ‘Oh…’

‘It’s advice, miss Townsend, not criticism.’

‘Oh,’ I say again, this time in a whisper like tone. He could’ve brought it up a bit nicer though. No need to hurt my feelings like that.

Professor Marshall and I both walk towards the exit and I notice it’s raining. Great, guess who didn’t bring her umbrella and also isn’t wearing a jacket with a hood?

Absolutely fantastic.

‘Here,’ the professor says, holding out his umbrella for me.

Is this truly happening? ‘Oh, sir, that’s not necessary.’

‘I insist.’

With some hesitation I grab the umbrella from him and smile. ‘Thank you, professor.’

He politely nods and walks off, leaving me with the umbrella and a little bit confused. Though he looks so handsome and slightly intimidating, he still is nice to me. The only teacher ever. Maybe Fitzgerald is right and—

No, no, no, don’t think like that. It’s not that every man who is nice to me all of the sudden has this fetish. That can’t be it, right?

Maybe, despite my aversion, I am actually good at the whole criminology thing and isn’t it a one time thing. Luck. Maybe I do have something I am good at.

✎ ✎ ✎

That Friday I am still on campus after I spend my entire afternoon in the library. Since I have a question about the criminology assignment, I decide walk to the office of professor Marshall. To kill two birds with one stone, I brought his umbrella with me so I can give it back. I knock on the door and hear a low: ‘Come in.’

I open the door and am met with the professor, who is sitting behind is desk. ‘Sir, I have a question about the assignment.’

He leans back in his chair and gestures me to come in. I close the door behind me and expect to sit, until I notice there isn’t a chair anywhere for me to sit on. How unwelcome of him, I think to myself. Does that mean I have to remain standing?

‘What’s your question, miss Townsend?’

‘I didn’t know which format I had to use for the entire assignment. It’s not really that big of a deal, but I was here in the building and I thought that I could…’ Nice way of getting off track, Penny. As they said in high school musical: ‘Get’cha your head in the game’ and this is not the game. ‘Never mind. Which format should I use?’

‘That’s up to you,’ he says.

That’s it? That’s the answer he is gonna give me?

‘Right,’ I mumble.

‘Other questions, miss Townsend?’

Yes. I let out a deep sigh. ‘The assignment is just harder than I thought,’ I admit. ‘I don’t really understand it.’

Professor Marshall stands up and holds out his hand. ‘Sit, I’ll try to explain it.’

‘In your chair?’

He simply nods and I walk around the desk, to take a seat, while he leans against the windowsill. Oh, the leather is warm… What a body heat does this man produce. ‘Okay, the point of the assignment is to use some of the example files of—staged—murders. Based on the file you choose, you choose a format. You write out the victimology, try to narrate who the killer is, writing down all your findings and there are things I’m gonna talk about in next classes.’

I nod. ‘That makes it easier, thank you, sir.’

‘You’re already working on the assignment?’ he asks. Why does he sound genuinely surprised?

I nod again. ‘I am. I find it easier to work a bit every day, than to cram it all in one day.’ I realize how that sounds. ‘That sounds dorky.’

‘It doesn’t really. It’s a whole lot better than what I did back in the days,’ he says. ‘What did you think of the class?’

Is he asking for my opinion? ‘Your class was very interesting. Slightly morbid though, but fascinating.’

‘Morbid?’ the professor asks. ‘There was nothing morbid about my class.’

I scrunch up my nose. ‘It was kinda scary. With the blood patterns and all. The peek into the murderer’s mind?’ I shiver. ‘Don’t know, felt too personal and too much into the killer’s brain.’

‘The class you’re taking is criminology,’ he says, ‘you should’ve known.’

I shrug, not knowing what to say to him. He is right…

‘Miss Townsend—’

‘Penny,’ I say. ‘It’s Penny. Penelope officially, but people barely call me that.’ People barely call out for me ever, but that’s a different topic. Total different topic.

‘Penny,’ he says, ‘could’ve known.’

I don’t know what he is implying, but I realize I am totally overstaying. ‘I’m sorry, I should go. Thanks for helping me out. Oh, I brought you back your umbrella. I don’t need it anyways.’

Professor Marshall nods. ‘Okay.’

‘I should go. It’s getting kinda dark already.’

‘Let me guess, you don’t do well in the dark.’

I smile almost out of guilt. ‘That obvious?’

For a brief moment I spot a smirk on his face. ‘I’m a detective, I spot these things.’

Okay, not gonna lie, but that’s pretty funny. ‘See you next class, professor,’ I say, standing up from his chair and I walk towards the door.

‘See you next class, Penny.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x penny townsend #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #walter marshall #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall x oc #walter marshall x asian ofc #walter marshall x penny townsend #professor!walter marshall #but professor

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hops-hunny · 4 years ago

Text

Girls Like Her

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Black!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.7k

Request: N/A

Summary: In which Kyoya is smitten and not afraid to show it.

Warnings: None! Fluff.

A/N: this is so self indulgent and I don't even care I NEEDED some Kyoya with a black girl bc where's all the color in the ouran community??

Kyoya had a fine eye for spectacular things. Running the host club with Tamaki required it. He was always looking for something of interest that he knew the guest would like and that would bring in a nice bit of money as well. That's why he was mesmerized when he saw (Y/n). Sure, Kyoya had seen girls that were deemed "beautiful" by whatever measure of beauty the rest of his high class socialite peers thought. However, he had never put much thought into what he personally found beautiful but now thanks to her, he didn't need to.

Sure he had seen women with nice skin. It wasn't very uncommon. Going to school with girls whose parents made most people's yearly salary in a day meant they were well cared for. They took care of their skin with the finest of products, as did he. However her skin was unmatched. Nice hues of brown which glowed beautifully in the soft daylight of music room 3. Not a blemish or wrinkle in sight. Smooth and brown all over like a bewitching goddess. And sure other girls had hair. It was all a blur to him however, nothing he could point out or was anything but ordinary. All of it was the same straight hair in the same bland style. But hers however?

She wore some of the most elaborate styles he had ever seen. He didn't know the proper names for them at first but the more she visited the host club, the more he'd overhear her speak about them to the other guest. Box braids, goddess twist, faux locs. Each style suited and complimented her well. Anytime she'd change it up he'd observe it carefully, viewing every bump and turn on the art that was her hair. His favorite though was when she'd wear it naturally.

God was it a sight. A large, picked to perfection afro atop her head like the crown a princess, no, a queen of her caliber should have. It reminded him of the clouds in the sky he'd see on a nice summer afternoon except far more eye catching and far more mesmerizing.

"Tamaki?" Kyoya questioned, looking up at his blonde friend. The last few of the guest had trickled out by now.

"Yes mommy dear?" He quipped, walking over to his raven haired friend.

"Is there a reason we don't see Lady (L/n) any time other than the host club? How come I've never seen her in any of our classes?" He asked, trying to ignore the stupid look Tamaki had on his face.

"Kyoya, are you in love?! Oh how amazing! I always knew this wo-"

"Forget it, this is a waste of time." He began to head to the door but stopped as Tamaki stopped his path.

"Wait! (L/N) as in (Y/n) (L/n) right? She's a year below us, that's why you probably never see her outside of class. We don't have any classes with her except lunch if you count that." Kyoya hummed at the man's words before walking to the door, opening it.

"Thank you." He said, giving him a nod of acknowledgement.

"No problem, dear friend."

--------------------------

Kyoya stood behind his podium, greeting guests as they came through. He offered each of them the same fake smile he'd give, confirming their host choice for the day. He never cared too much to remember faces, just the different things they'd enjoy and how he could make profit off of them. Well everyone except-

"Kyooo! What's up? How ya doin today?" She chirped, leaning close to him as she offered him a bright smile from behind her supple plump lips. He smiled down at her, a genuine one (not that he'd ever let anyone know that).

"Ah, lady (L/n). A pleasure to see you as always. Your usual I presume?" He said, searching for the twins' names as he went to check the mark.

"Actually I thought I'd switch things up today!"

"Really? Who will it be then?" Whoever it was would be so lucky to be graced with the girl's presence. Her smile grew wider at his question as she leaned even closer.

"You! You do host right? I haven't seen anyone come to you for some time." She mused, resting a brown hand on his arm. Normally he'd remove himself from anyone's touch but for her he didn't mind so much. He'd even go as far as to say he enjoyed it. "Any excuse to stare at that nice face of yours longer."

'The same could be said even more so about you, darling.' Is what he wanted to say but consumed by his own nerves he let them get the best of him. "Usually I find myself too busy to," he started, noticing her face drop, "However I can always make exceptions for ladies of such high beauty as yourself, princess." She smiled, heading over to the empty table that Kyoya rarely hosts at. She sat on the couch across from him, fiddling and moving around as usual. (Y/n) was an unusual energetic girl who found that she couldn't sit still for more than a few seconds, which was a trait that usually drove him up the wall but when it came to her he found it to be quite cute.

“You’re not going to eat or drink anything?” (Y/n) asked, shoving her mouth with the tiny tea cakes that sat on the silver cake stand. Kyoya let a soft smile take his face as he watched her. He always kept them hidden in the back because he knew they were her favorite and they were far more expensive than anything else they served. The cakes themselves were imported from France daily which was obviously a pretty penny but, he didn’t mind. The smile on her face made it worth the extra bit of cash.

“I’m not much of a fan of sugar, it’s bad for your skin.” he stated, looking down at the little black book in his hands. She hummed processing his words before wiping her mouth off with a napkin.

“Well what do you usually drink? I wanna have the same thing as you!”

“I’m a fan of earl grey served black. No sugar, no cream.” he said. She eyed him carefully before giggling. She leaned in close, looking into his dark eyes as he stared back.

“Yeah you seem to be quite the fan of,” she cleared her throat to hide a giggle. “Black things.” Kyoya set his cup down, choking on the liquid. (Y/n) sat back in her seat satisfied, laughing loudly as she threw her head back. A few of the guests stared at her with angry eyes, upset by her mild disturbance. But, she didn’t care. She never did. Once his choking died down, she sent him a wink. “I’m only messing with you, Kyo-chan! Lightin up will yeah? Anyways I’d like to have a cup of what you're drinking. It couldn’t be too bad, right?”

Wrong, she had been deeply wrong. Kyoya smiled in amusement as she sputtered out the tea, coughing dramatically. “Is it not to your liking, dear?” he asked in a sarcastically cheerful tone.

“Like hell it is! This shit is gross.” she began to pout, pushing the cup away from her. “I’d like my usual back please.” she said, looking up at him. He felt his face heat up slightly as he nodded his head, grabbing her cup before heading off with it. He searched the shelves carefully before finding her usual and preparing the way he knew she liked it. Too much sugar and too much cream. He chuckled at the thought, 'it suits her.'

(Y/n) smiled as he returned with her cup taking a sip as she let out a sigh of content. "As much as I'm enjoying my time with you today, my lady, I'm curious about your sudden shift. You always without a doubt choose the twins." He questioned, watching as she delicately set her cup down on the wooden table. He admired her presence. She was graceful but in a way he had never seen before, unique just like everything else about her.

"Do you want the real answer or the fake answer?" She questioned, biting the inside of her cheek nervously. Kyoya had a split second of a confused look before offering her another smile.

"Honestly is the best policy, my dear."

"Well- you see- ugh!" She huffed, slouching back in her seat. He couldn't help but find it adorable how the big ugly yellow dress swallowed her whole during that action. "I always wanna request for you Kyo-chan but you always seem so busy, so distant. I figured I'd let you have your own peace." She leaned forward on her hand as she rested her elbow on the table. "And besides, I've seen you reject to host much prettier girls so why would you host me?"

Kyoya's eyes widened at the (h/c) haired girls announcement. Prettier girls, than her? Too busy, for her? He chuckled some catching the girl's attention. Before she could ask him what was up he began to speak. "I don't mean to laugh in your face princess but I think you've got it twisted." He stood up, pulling the girl close to his chest. The other host watched with wide eyes and their mouths open at Kyoya's uncharacteristic behavior. "There are no prettier girls nor is there anyone I'd rather spend my time with," he tilted her head up bringing his face closer to hers, "Than you." (Y/n) stood there breathless at his words. Her eyes gleamed brightly at his confession.

"Are you busy this weekend?" She asked him faintly.

"Well, I'd have t-"

"Well now you're not. Take me on a date." His eyes widened at her forwardness before laughing softly. She did have a way of doing that, leading the way in any conversation no matter what the topic.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" He teased, pulling back from his hold to push his glasses up his nose. "Either way, alright dear. How could I say no to you?"

Tamaki watched from a far with a hand over his heart, genuine tears falling out of his eyes. In all his time he had known Kyoya, he had never seen him passionate about much of anything. To see his friend so sure of himself, so content in his emotions moved him. Thank god for the sun that had taken away Kyoya from his rainy days.

#kyoya x reader #ohshc kyoya #kyoya ootori #kyoya x you #kyoya x y/n #kyoya ootori x reader #black!reader #black reader #poc!reader #poc reader

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atlafan · 4 years ago

Text

Regular Thing - One Shot

a/n: okay, here’s bouncer!Harry, or bouncerry as I like to call him. this turned into a longer thing than I thought, and it’s a no strings attached type situation. there is A LOT of smut, enjoy! (reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated) not proofread, sorry!

Warnings: SMUT

Words: 14K

Being a bouncer in a college town wasn’t Harry’s intended career of choice, but it was a decent enough gig while he was in grad school. He was sort of over partying and boozing himself, so he didn’t feel like he was missing out much. It was fun at first, letting people in, turning others away. He took his job very seriously, never giving into the people that would flirt with him when the bar had reached capacity.

“Sorry, you’ll have to wait until some people leave.” He would say to them. The girls would push their boobs up and try to look as convincing as possible, but it never worked on Harry.

That was how the beginning of the night usually went. He’d stand outside for a few hours checking ID’s, and listening to the chatter of the people that would come out for a smoke or for some fresh air. He sometimes had a co-worker outside with him on the busier night, but most of the time it was him. Then he’d head inside and help grab empty glasses and survey the scene for overly drunk people. The bartenders would nod towards specific people and Harry would get them the fuck out.

It was tough at a college bar because people would often come to the bar already smashed. Their parties would get ruined by noise complaints, so everyone over twenty-one would come down to have some more fun. That’s not to say people wouldn’t try to sneak in, that’s when more of the flirting will happen.

“I just wanna dance with my friends, please? You can even stamp my hand.”

“No can do, come back in a few months.”

Harry was going for his MBA, and wanted to be a business owner someday. He got paid well as a bouncer, especially since he had boxing experience. His boss knew he could take care of business when need be. His boss, Greg, had taken him under his wing. Not only did Greg own the bar, but he also owned some off-campus apartments. He told Harry once he had his MBA a property manager job would be waiting for him. It would be an incredible start for Harry as buying and selling homes was something he really wanted to get into. He even wouldn’t mind owning the bar, or some bar, himself one day. He had time to figure it out.

For now, he was perfectly complacent working Tuesday through Sunday (technically Saturday, but the bar closes at 1:30AM), getting free drinks and food when he wanted, and listening to music. Luckily, his classes were either online, or in the afternoons, some were even weekend intensives, all of it was manageable.

Y/N worked at the university in town, also going for her master’s, but was only able to do so through her benefits as an employee. She didn’t get to go out that much, pretty much only when her friends were in town. One of her good friends, Mike, was in grad school for biology, and when her friends would come to stay with him, he’d invite her out. She had explained that unless it was a small thing at his place, or a night at the bar, she couldn’t really party with him or them if it was somewhere else. Nothing would look worse than her boss seeing her on barstool sports, hammered and popping her ass at some off-campus party where there could easily be people underage. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

Y/N only had guy friends, who she just referred to as her boyfriends. It wasn’t on purpose, it just sort of happened. She started hanging out with them her junior year of college when they were seniors, and they all just clicked. She had dated one of them earlier in the school year, but none of them put two and two together until later. She sort of absorbed them as a friend group, and the one she dated never really came around much.

Mike: hey, Y/N! The boys are coming into town this weekend. We plan to go to the bar Friday and Saturday night, will you come out???

Y/N: hey! Omfg I’d love to!

Mike: great! Can’t wait to see you

Y/N: same here, who exactly is coming?

Mike: Danny, Rob, Drew, and Conor

Y/N: amazing!! It’s gonna be a great weekend

There was a local band playing tonight. Harry didn’t love the way they sounded, and most people couldn’t wait for them to finish their set so the dance floor could open up, but it was a nice break from all of the overplayed music. The DJ on Fridays always spun the same tunes.

It was starting to get a little colder out at night, and even though Harry had been doing this a while, he still couldn’t quite understand how some of these people came out half dressed. People were coming in herds, and Harry had to turn a good chunk of them away. There was a $3.00 cover charge to see the band, but no one ever carries cash, and Harry couldn’t let them in without the cover. Simple as that.

He noticed this girl walking down to the entrance by herself. She had her hair up in a cute ponytail that flowed, and she was wearing skinny jeans with some booties, the jeans look to be high-waist. She was wearing a wind-breaker and a crop top. Not totally bundled up, but certainly more sensible than what many of the other people inside were wearing. As she got closer he could tell she had some light makeup on, but her eyes were done up. Whatever shadow she had on made her eyes pop.

Y/N had been to this bar many times, but not in a long time, and never at the hour Harry worked. Or maybe she had, but she had never really noticed him. As she approaches she gets her ID out and ready.

“Hi.” She smiles at him and hands him her ID to check.

Clearly not already intoxicated, good sign, he thinks to himself.

“Evening.” Harry mutters as he shines a small light on the ID, double checking it before handing it back to her. He catches her name; Y/N.

“Thanks.” She starts walking towards the door.

“There’s a cover tonight, three dollars.”

“What?” She scoffs. “Very funny.”

“Not kidding, we have bands a lot on Friday nights now…”

“Shit, it would have been nice for my friends to let me know, I would have stopped to get cash.” She fishes her phone out of her pocket. “And there’s never any service over here, ugh.”

Normally Harry would turn someone like this away, he would tell them where the nearest ATM was, and to have a nice night. But she looked up at him with wide eyes, and he couldn’t help himself. He sighs heavily and then speaks.

“Do you plan on drinking once you’re in there?”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“If I let you in, do you promise to tip the bartenders really well to make up for the three bucks?”

“Are you serious?” She perks up. “Yeah, of course!”

“Alright, go ahead.” He nods towards the door.

“Really?”

“Yeah, have fun.” He smiles, something he rarely did to the patrons.

“Thank you so much.” She smiles back and heads inside.

“Mate…” Niall, the other bouncer says. “Did you just let a girl flirt with you to get in?”

“No.” Harry scoffs. “I felt bad for her, that’s all. She looked panicked. Her friends clearly didn’t communicate with her properly.”

“Right.”

Inside, Y/N makes her way around to find her friends. She grins when she sees them all sitting down at a high top. She walks up and smacks Mike’s arms.

“Could have told me there was a cover.” She pouts and he gets up to hug her.

“Sorry, we didn’t know either. The bouncer made us go to an ATM.”

“It’s fine.” She says as she sits down and puts her jacket on the back of the seat. “He let me in for free.”

“Of course he did.” Conor rolls his eyes. “And don’t sit down, you have hugs to give out.”

“You’re right.” She giggles and gets up to hug all of her friends.

“We got you a drink already, at least.” Danny says, sliding it over to her.

“Ah, thank you, boys.” They all clink their glasses and get to drinking.

The band wasn’t terrible, but Y/N was definitely ready to dance with her friends. As soon as they packed up, and the DJ got on the turntables, they all made their way to the dancefloor. Y/N loved dancing with her friends, they always made her laugh, and the sleezy guys around usually left her alone. She could feel how lit she was and she knew she needed to slow down. Harry was at the point in the evening where he was standing inside, scoping out the scene. You walk by him giggling with Drew, you needed some fresh air and he needed a smoke.

“Shit, it’s cold out.” She says as she unties her jacket form around her waist.

“Mm, these keep me pretty warm.” Drew smirks as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

“That’s a nasty habit.”

“I only smoke when I drink, chill.” He chuckles. “You offered to come outside with me.”

“Certainly wasn’t going to do it alone.” You wobble a bit as you stand. You hear a song you love come on and you both look at each other.

Drew puts his cigarette out, and you both run back inside, whipping right by Harry. He notices how your friends are people he made go to the ATM earlier. He also noticed they were all guys. He figured you weren’t dating one of them, if you had a boyfriend you probably would have said so, and if you had a proper boyfriend he either would have come with you to the bar, or would have waited for you outside.

“Hey, Greg wants you outside again.” Niall says.

“Why?”

“Because I guess the town cop is coming tonight to make sure people leave safely, and Greg knows you won’t say something stupid to him.”

“Oh, Tom’s coming? Love that guy, he’s so chill.”

“If you say so.” He shrugs.

“Alright, I’ll go back out.” Harry sighs and goes back out, pretty much forgetting about Y/N until it was 1:30 in the morning, and she was walking out with her friends.

She was laughing hysterically about something, and Harry was making small talk with Tom. She stops short in front of Harry.

“Hey!” She smiles.

“Y/N, come on.” Mike tugs on her arm.

“Hold on.” She scolds him and looks back at Harry. “I did what you said.”

“Which was what?”

“Tip the bartenders well.” She bats her lashes at him. “You let me in without the cover, which was super nice, so I wanted you to know I did what you said.”

“Oh…um…good, thanks.”

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll give you a piggy back ride back to the apartment.” Mike says and she immediately gets excited. Y/N hated walking anywhere while she was drunk.

Harry watches as she hops on the man’s back, and wraps herself around him happily as the group walks up the small hill to the street.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you at such a loss for words.” Tom nudges him. “Thought the college girls didn’t affect you.”

“They don’t…and she’s not just some college girl, she’s a little older, I saw on her license. She’s around my age.” Harry shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve never seen her before, and I’ll probably never see her again.”

Or so Harry thought when she came strolling down with all of the same guys. This time around she had a ripped pair of black skinny jeans on, not so high-waist, Harry could see her belly piercing, and she was wearing a white crop top. Her hair was half up, and flowed down her shoulders. She looked pretty, gorgeous really. All of them were giggling over something, and it was already 11:30, so Harry assumed they had already started drinking.

“Hello.” Y/N smiles and hands him her ID.

“Evening.” He says as he shines the light over the card. “All set.” He says as he hands it back.

“No smile tonight?”

“Go inside, would you?” He says as he checks the other ID’s.

“Too bad.” She giggles. “You have a nice smile.”

“Y/N.” Rob hushes her and leads her inside.

“Hear that, mate, you got a nice smile.” Niall jokes.

“Shut up.” Harry grumbles and crosses his arms.

The boys all wanted to play pool, which Y/N sucked at, so she just happily stood by sipping her drink, swaying to the music. She munches on popcorn, and notices Harry going around collecting empty glasses and bringing them behind the bar. She notices how he smiles at the bartenders, letting them nudge him playfully.

He looks over and sees her looking at him and his eyes widen. Instead of feeling embarrassed, she keeps looking at him. She smiles and bites the straw in her drink, and his face flushes before turning away. Harry wasn’t an easily flustered man, so he was extremely confused. When he looks over in that direction he finds her cheering on her friends. He wondered why you weren’t playing, billiards weren’t that difficult.

Later on when she was on the dance floor with her friends, they point over to the door where Harry was effortlessly carrying someone out.

“Damn, that guy must have been fucked up!” Danny says.

“Yeah!” Mike says.

“I wonder how I could get him to pick me up like that?!” Y/N says and the boys laugh.

“Are you gonna try to pick him up?!” Conor says.

“Not tonight, it’s boy’s night!” She backs her ass up to Drew and he laughs as he dances with her. “But maybe another time, he’s cute!”

“Last night was boy’s night.” Rob scoffs. “Go on and get yourself some.”

“Maybe when he’s less busy.” She laughs.

Harry was about to go on a fifteen minute break as he was carrying some empties to the glass racks. Right when he was walking back to the main area, he bumped into someone, causing them to spill their drink on the floor.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He sighs.

“Oh! No, that was my fault, I…” Y/N looks up at Harry. “I should have been more careful.”

“Can I get you a new one?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Really, it’s okay, not that much spilled.” Harry nods at her. “So…you work here, that’s cool.”

“Yeah.”

“Saw you toss that guy out, does that happen often.”

“Maybe a couple times of week.” Harry shrugs.

“You seemed like you were in a hurry, am I keeping you from something?”

“No, I was just headed for my break.” He looks her up and down, she was so pretty, and maybe it was the couple of shots he had in his system, but he was feeling more bold than usual. “There’s an office in the back I usually go hang in for a bit…it’s quiet.” He steps a little closer to her.

“Do you wanna show me?”

Harry nods at her and she smiles. She follows close behind him to the back office. Now, normally this wasn’t something Harry did. Hooking up with drunk girls while he was barely inebriated himself wasn’t an activity he participated in often. Having worked at the bar for a good chunk of time now, though, he’s able to tell that she’s fine. She can stand on her own feet fine, and she’s not wobbling around.

“How many drinks have you had?” He asks as he closes the door, locking it.

“This is my second.” She says as she places it on the desk.

“And before coming down?”

“Just a couple of shot.” She shrugs. “How long is your break?” She walks towards him.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“And how would you like to spend that little chunk of time?” She says as she presses her hands to his chest.

Harry’s answer is to cup her jaw and lean down to kiss her, which she happily accepts. Her lips were sticky-sweet with the cranberry juice from her drink. He runs his tongue over her bottom lip before sucking on it. She tugs on his shirt as she balls it up in her fists. His hands move to her hips to walk her back towards the desk.

“Is this okay?” He whispers against her lips.

“Yes.” She smiles up at him. “You’re right, it is quiet in here.”

Harry smirks at her and attaches his lips to hers again. Her hands splay across his back, and she runs her nails down the length of him. She’s back up against the desk with his leg between her. His hands slide down to her ass and he squeezes what he can, getting a gasp from her.

“Um, what’s your name?” She says as he kisses from her jaw to her neck.

“It’s Harry.” He mumbles against her.

“I’m Y/N.” She grunts as his teeth graze her soft skin. “That feels good, but I don’t think you have time for all that.”

He moves to look at her, eyes pleading to have him just touch her already.

“You really wanna do this?” His asks as he grips onto the waistband of her jeans.

“Yes, would have tried to last night, but I was way too fucked up.”

“And you’re not tonight?”

“Nope.”

“How do you want it?”

“Just bend me over the desk.”

A soft groan leaves Harry’s lips. He undoes her jeans, and slides his hand inside to get a feel for her, and her back arches. She bites her bottom lip as his fingers graze over her folds.

“Just wanna make sure you’re wet enough for me.” He kisses her again as she grinds against his hand. She whines when he takes his hand away. “Turn around.” She nods and braces herself with her palms gripping the edge of the desk.

“Wait!” She says and rummages through her purse. “Condom.” She gives him a shy smile as he takes it.

“Good catch.”

He tears it open with his teeth and undoes his belt and zipper, tugging his boxers and pants down just enough to get his hard dick out. He rolls the condom down his length. You tug down your own jeans and panties. The lights in the office were dim, so neither of them felt over exposed. It was the perfect atmosphere, really.

He sucks his fingers into his mouth and reaches between her folds again, finger her for a moment or two just to make sure she was good to go.

“Please.” She whimpers as she looks over her shoulder at him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Harry nods and grips her hips as he slowly pushes inside her. Y/N’s mouth falls open as he keeps feeding it into her.

“Oh my god.” She breathes.

“Alright?”

“Yeah, you can move.” She looks at him briefly. “And remember, you have to be quick.”

“Want it fast, is that what you’re telling me?” He smirks and she nods with hooded eyes.

Harry pulls almost all the way out and slams back into her. She gasps, but she encourages him to do it again. And he does, over and over until he gets a comfortable rhythm going. He was drilling into her, but she seemed okay. He snakes an arm around her chest so he can grope at one of her breasts. She arches into him, and her head falls back against his shoulder. He licks into her mouth while his other hand works to rub her clit. She moans into his mouth, and he hooks an arm around his head to tug at his hair, causing him to moan into her mouth. He slows his pace up to focus on her. She was moving her hips in sync with the motions of his fingers on her clit.

“Fuck.” She groans. Her breathing gets heavier and faster and she bites his bottom lip to stifle her cry. She bucks into his hand as she climaxes.

“Okay.” He breathes, and pushes her back over the desk. He grips both of her hips and gives it to her full forces. “Good?” He grunts.

“Y-yeah!” She gasps. With each stroke he was hitting deeper and deeper, brushing her g-spot. “D-don’t stop.”

He could feel his orgasm bubbling at the base of spine, and his stomach was starting to tighten. She was squeezing around him, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last, especially when he looks down at the way her ass bounces back against him.

“Shit, fuck.” He moans out as he releases into the condom and he gasps when he feels her squeeze around him again, another release of her own coinciding.

He pulls out of her slowly and wraps the condom in a tissue before throwing it away. He didn’t need Greg giving him a tough time. He pulls his pants back up all the way and watches as she does the same.

“Sorry, I don’t have any rags in here, uh-“

“It’s okay, I’ll just go use the bathroom.” She wipes his fingers under eyes and looks at herself using the camera on her phone. Her voice was a little hoarse now, so she takes a sip of her almost forgotten drink. She makes a relieved noise once the cool liquid hits her throat. “Look at that.” She says, pointing to the clock on the wall. “You’ve got two minutes to spare.” She winks and leaves him standing there.

“Holy shit.” He says to himself as he makes sure the office is in order. He scarfs down a granola bar, and heads back into the bar. He looks for Y/N, he wanted to make sure she was okay.

There she was, back on the dancefloor with her friends. She was grinding back against one of her friends, who could only assume was one of her friends, he could easily be her second fuck for the night. Harry furrows his brows and then snaps out of it. It was a simple one-night-stand, if one could even call it that, he felt good after his release.

Last call on a Saturday night never failed to irritate Harry. There was usually a few different girls that stayed until the last second to try to pick him up, but he never went. Those girls were usually way too drunk, and it just wasn’t worth it to him. He was behind the bar now, helping the bar tenders get the last few orders in, and square up some tabs. He sees Y/N walk up to the bar with one of her friends.

“I’ve got it, Y/N.” Conor says.

“No, you’re not paying for me again.”

“Technically Danny got all the drinks last night.”

“Yeah, so it’s my turn.”

“Your money’s no good. Hey, man, put everything of hers on Donovan.” Conor says to Harry and he nods.

“No! I can pay for my own drinks!” She laughs at her friend. “You’re the worst.”

“We’re just taking care of you, Y/N.” Conor puts his arm around her and she leans her head on his shoulder.

“Here.” Harry slides the card and receipt to Conor. He looks at Y/N and she looks at him, a grin growing on her face, and a blush growing on his. “Have a good night.” He says more so to her.

“I don’t think it could get much better than it already is.” She says to him.

“Not true, we’re gonna go stuff our faces with pizza and have a group snuggle, what’s better than that?” Conor says to her as he signs the slip and leaves a decent tip.

“Oh, god, yeah, I really need to snuggle right now.” She says to her friend with a pout.

“I’ll bet.” He winks at her and leads her away from the bar.

Harry’s face turns beat red. Did she tell them what she went off to go do? He didn’t want rumors being spread that the bouncer fucks. He needed to keep some authority, after all. People start leaving, and others linger until the lights flip on at closing. Harry helps clean up and gets everyone out of the bar. He hadn’t seen Y/N again, but that was okay.

“So, you had a good break.” Niall teases him as they head to their apartment, which was conveniently just above the bar.

“What do you mean?”

“Saw you go into the office with that girl.”

“So what if I did?” Harry shrugs. “Not like you haven’t done it before.”

“Oh, I’m not judging at all, please know that. I’m more so just shocked. Usually you shoot every person that flirts with you down.”

“I know, I don’t really know what came over me, but she was hot so.” He shrugs again. “I’m going to bed, I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sure you.” Niall nudges him as they make their separate ways to their rooms.

Y/N woke up spooning Rob, and with Drew spooning her. Not the most unusual way to wake up with her friends. She felt gross as she sat up. She was cozy in some borrowed sweats, but there was an ache in her stomach and between her legs. The stomach was easily from the amount of sugar she had from the cranberry juice in her drinks, and between her legs, well, a sexy bouncer comes to mind for that.

Everyone slowly gets up and they all decide to go out for brunch, just like old times. They laugh and reminisce over the fun the weekend brought them all.

“Wait, so did you really hook up with that dude?” Mike asks.

“Mhm.” She giggles as she sips her coffee. “It was good too.”

“Define good.” Rob says.

“I had two orgasms that I didn’t have to conjure up myself, I’d say that’s pretty good.” She says bluntly and they all laugh.

“Do you think you’ll try to see him again?” Conor asks.

“Oh god, I have no idea. I have no reason to go to the bar unless you all are here.”

“You could always go down with Mike on trivia night or something.” Drew says.

“Mm, no, I don’t like going out on work nights. I’m always way too tired the next morning.”

“You don’t have to drink. Come on, when was the last time we went to trivia night?” Mike says.

“True…maybe next week? I don’t wanna seem too eager, you know? I’m not really looking for anything serious right now, and I don’t need him thinking I’m stalking him.”

“Don’t force her, man, if she just wants it to be a one night stand she can leave it as that.” Danny says.

“See, he gets it.” She says.

Harry had thought of the pretty girl he fucked in his boss’ office only a couple of times, and then he slowly let her slip away. He had class and schoolwork to occupy his head. The same could be said for Y/N. Harry had left some after affects, but he slowly faded in her mind as well.

Well, it had faded until she was mindlessly swiping through Bumble one night, and she came across his profile. Even if she hadn’t already met him, she would have liked him. He really did have a nice smile, and his pictures weren’t the standard douchebag pictures. She decides to swipe right and see what happens. She wasn’t sure how often he used the app, if at all, but she was interested to see if she’d see anything from him.

On a Sunday evening, after getting some homework done, Harry went on to Bumble to see if he had any notifications. He used the app less and less as he didn’t want to accidentally hook up with someone that might be too young for him. His eyes widen when he comes across Y/N’s profile.

“So she is from around here.” He says to himself. He had thought maybe you had just come into town for that weekend for some fun with friends. He takes a leap of faith and swipes right. He smirks when he sees it’s a match.

Harry preferred Bumble to the other “dating” apps out there. He never wanted to make someone uncomfortable, so he liked that the girl had to message first.

Y/N was just getting out of the shower when she saw the notification from Bumble that she had a new match. Her jaw drops when she sees that it’s Harry.

Y/N: let’s go out on Friday night…I matched with that bouncer on Bumble…but I’d rather talk in person

Mike: sounds like a plan to me! I’ll be the perfect wingman

Y/N: don’t think I exactly need your help for that lol

Mike: maybe you can be mine then

Y/N: deal

Harry had completely forgotten about the Bumble thing until he saw Y/N strolling down the hill with Mike. She gets her ID ready for him.

“Is there a cover tonight?” She asks him. His gaze on her was intense, like they both knew about the giant elephant looming around them.

“No band tonight.”

“Ah.”

He checks Mike’s ID, and the two go inside. The sit down at the bar after Mike makes up a bowl of popcorn.

“Don’t let me drink too much.” She tells him. “I’m gonna try to nurse a vodka-lemonade for a bit.”

“You got it. Hey, maybe you could give me another shot of showing you how to play pool?”

“I’m looking to get laid again, I don’t need to make a fool of myself, Michael.”

“He could think it’s cute, maybe he could teach you.”

“He’s on the job.”

After the nightly rush, Harry’s relieved from the cold, and comes inside to do his other duties. He gathers up empty glasses, cleans up anything that’s spilled, and goes behind the bar. He notices Y/N about halfway done with her drink.

“Are you gonna want another?”

“I could certainly use another blue moon.” Mike grins at Harry and he nods.

Y/N watches as Harry’s muscles flex as he pulls the tap. He grabs an orange wedge to put on the lip of the glass and slides it over to Mike.

“Thanks.” Mike throws a couple of singles on the bar and Harry pockets them.

“Well?”

“Trying to get me drunk?” She smirks. “Thought you might like me a little more sober.”

Harry smirks and leans on the bar so he can talk a little closer to her.

“Don’t tell me you came all the way down here just to see me again?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs and takes a careful sip of her drink. “What time you off?”

“Two.”

“Places closes at 1:30…”

“Mhm, and then I have side-work. You don’t have to wait if you don’t want to.”

“No…I’ll wait.” She looks at her watch. “It’s only a couple of hours anyways.”

Harry nods and walks away to get back to work. Mike gives Y/N a thumbs up of approval.

“Well, if you won’t play pool with me, will you at least go dance with me once I’m done with this drink?”

“Oh, without question.”

There were plenty of people on the dancefloor. Y/N didn’t love coming to the bar often, only because sometimes she’d run into some of her student workers and it could get a little awkward. For the most part, things seemed safe. She was having a great time with Mike, but her eyes kept scanning the room for Harry. Once in a while they’d lock eyes and smile awkwardly, fully knowing what was most likely going to go down at the end of the night. When 1:30 hit, she let Mike go square up his tab so she could chat with Harry.

“So…” She says as she approaches him. He was putting chairs on top of tables.

“Mine or yours?” He asks bluntly. “I live right upstairs, but if you felt more comfortable at your place then-“

“Yours.” She smiles. “Yours sounds good.” Y/N didn’t like bringing men home that she didn’t know all that well. His place was better.

“Okay.” He looks around the bar and furrows his brows. “You gotta get rid of your friend, we’re not really supposed to let a lot of people hang around.”

“Oh, alright, well, where should I wait?”

“Take a seat at the bar, it’s fine.”

She nods and goes over to Mike to say goodnight. He winks at her and tells her to call if she needs anything. Niall was running around with Harry mopping the floors and cleaning everything up while the bartenders cleaned up the bar. They gave Y/N a couple of knowing looks, but other than that no one seemed phased that she was waiting for him.

“Hang down here a minute.” Harry says to Niall. “I’d like to get her in my room first.”

“Say no more, I’m actually headed to a little cutie’s of my own.” Niall winks. “Have fun.” He says as he heads out.

“Y/N?” She turns to look at him. “Ready?”

“Mhm.” She smiles and follows him up a set of stairs.

Harry unlocks the door to let them both in and she looks around. It was a decent enough set up.

“Can I get you anything?” He asks as he closes the door.

“No, I’m all set.” She presses him against the wall and wraps her arms around his neck. “There’s really only one thing I want from you, anyways.”

He leans down to kiss her, and her fingers lace through his hair. His hands slide down her sides to her butt, to the backs of her thighs.

“Jump.” He says, and she does so. She kisses on his neck as he carries her to his room.

He doesn’t bother with the light, he just kicks his door shut, the only light in the room coming in through the shades from the street lights. He gets her on his bed and they both work to get each other’s clothes off. He gets her jeans off and she lays back as he kisses on the fleshy parts of the tops of her breasts. She tugs his shirt off and runs her hands up and down his torso. She could just make out some of the tattoos he had. Interesting, she thinks.

“You have condoms?” She asks as he unhooks her bra.

“Yeah.”

She hum in approval and lets him continue getting to know her body. He swirls his tongue around one of her nipples before sucking on it. His hand goes between her legs, and rubs her covered clit. She feels him pull the material to the side, and then she feels him slip his middle finger in, the cool from his rings causing her to gasp.

“You were really tight last time, did I hurt you?” He mumbles against her neck as he gently sucks on her skin.

“N-no, I would have told you if it hurt.”

Harry kisses her as he slides another finger inside her warm center. Her mouth falls open as his thumb rubs her puffy clit. She reaches between them, and pets him over his boxers. He groans into her neck and starts pumping his fingers faster, curling them, hoping to find that spot of hers.

“Oh, oh!” She gasps. “Just like that, oh fuck, please don’t stop!” She has to clutch at the blankets on his bed to ground herself.

He kneads her breast with his other hand, and wraps his lips back around her other nipple, consuming just about all of her senses. She was panting and moaning and squeezing around his fingers. He feels her pulse around him and her legs twitch as she comes to her release.

“Shit.” She breathes with a smile on her face. “You’re good at that.”

“Don’t it’ll go right to my head.” He smirks. “Let me go get a condom.” He kisses her forehead before getting up to rummage through his desk drawer.

Y/N wriggles out of her now drenched panties, and tosses them somewhere on the floor, and gets more comfortable on his bed. As good as the office sex was she was sort of happy to be somewhere they could do a little more.

“Ready for me?” He asks as he gets on the bed.

“Mhm.”

He parts her legs and gets situated between them, running his tip along her folds and clit. She lifts her hips towards him, and it makes him good knowing how impatient she was. He pushes inside her and bottoms out.

“Jesus!” She gasps.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He grunts as he starts to move.

“I think you’re just big.” She moans as he rocks in and out of her. “Not complaining though.”

He comes down closer to her, and hooks one of her legs under his arm to thrust in deeper. It has her head rolling back. She gets a fistful of his hair and he moans as she tugs on it.

“You like that, huh?” She says into his ear and she feels him nod yes. Harry nibbles on her earlobe before responding.

“What do you like?” His deep voice in hear ear was enough to send her flying to the moon.

“God, anything you wanna do to me I think I’d like.” He moves to look at her with a raise eyebrow. “Within reason of course.”

“Wanna get on top?”

“Sure.”

He pulls out and shifts to sit up against the headboard. She was a little surprised since most guys liked to lay flat when she rode them, but she wasn’t going to watch him on it. She swings her leg of his lap to properly sink down on him. When she starts to move he stops her.

“I wanted you on top, that doesn’t mean you need to do anything.” He pecks her lips and thrusts him into her, her mouth forming an ‘O’. “Deeper, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She licks into his mouth as he grips her hips to move her on and off his cock. “Fuck.” She whispers in his ear. She was going to come soon, and she knew it. She wanted to hold on a little longer, but she also just really wanted to let go. “H-Harry, fuck, I-“

“Go on, come, Y/N.”

She cries out into his neck, tugging his hair maybe a little too hard. She just misses the moan he lets out as he spills into the condom. They stay there like that for a moment before she gets off him.

“Bathroom?” She says, reaching for the shirt he was wearing earlier.

“Just down the hall on the left.”

“Great, thanks.” She slips out the door and Harry gets his boxers on after throwing the condom out. She comes back in and shines her flashlight on the floor to find her clothes. “It’s really late, you can crash if you want.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” She says. “I’ll sleep better in my own bed. Besides, the last thing I need to run into any of the students on my way home in the morning.”

“Do you, um, work at the university?” He hadn’t even thought to ask.

“Yeah.” She tugs her jeans on and snatches her shirt from the floor.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you message me after matched?”

“Oh.” She blushes. “I don’t know…I like doing these things in person better.”

“Me too. I only swiped to see if you did.”

“So, you’re not, like, seeing anyone else?”

“Not on the regular, no. What about you?” She shakes her head no at him. “Do you want my number?”

“And what would I do with it?” She smirks.

“Use it to give me a heads up if you’re coming to the bar or…or if you just want me after one of my shifts.” She bites her bottom lip and hands him her phone. He puts his number in and texts himself. “Can I give you a ride home or anything?”

“No, I’m parked right out on the street, actually, but thank you.”

“Well, let me at least walk you out there.”

“Okay.”

Harry throws on some sweats and leads Y/N out. He walks her down to her car, and he presses her up against it, kissing her before letting her go. Once her car is out of sight he heads back up to his room. He wasn’t sure how often they’d communicate, but at least he knew if she didn’t feel like waiting for him in the bar, they could just plan it out better.

Y/N didn’t want to come off as greedy or clingy. She didn’t want to text him every time she felt like getting railed, but she couldn’t stop thinking about his dick, or how he used it. He was careful and aggressive all at the same time. She could tell he respected her, maybe all women in general, just by the way he would check in. It was a wonder to her how no one else was fucking him, well, maybe they were. Just because he said he didn’t have anything else on the regular didn’t mean he didn’t have an assortment of numbers in his phone. The following Saturday night she couldn’t sleep, and before she even had a chance to text him, he texted her.

Harry: you up?

Now, usually a text like that would make her eyes roll out of her head, but it was nice coming from him. He was clearly up because it was one in the morning and he was working. If anything it was courteous.

Y/N: yeah

Harry: how come?

Y/N: couldn’t sleep

Harry: maybe I could come tire you out when I get off work

Y/N: you know, I love a home remedy as opposed to taking a pill, so that sounds good to me, I’ll text you my address

Harry: 👍

Y/N bites her bottom lip and springs out of bed. She wanted to tidy up a little before he got there. Maybe they could just fuck on her couch or something. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him in her room just yet, but it might not be up to her when he gets there. She’d let him fuck her where he wanted. She wanted to make herself look cute, but she wasn’t sure how much he’d really care. She decides to change into a tank top and shorts as she waits for him.

Around 2:15AM there’s a knock on her door, jolting her awake from the couch.

“I’m getting too old for this.” She says as she rubs her eyes. She gets up and opens the door for him. “Hi, Ha-mph!”

He cuts her off by cupper her jaw and kissing her. He kicks her door closed, and picks her up.

“Sorry I’m late, where’s your room?” The girl simply points him in the direction of where to go and she lets him carry her there. “I even tried to leave early, but these idiots were causing problems.” He says as he gets his shoes and socks off, along with his shirt. “I had to break up this fight and it was a whole thing.” He unbuckles his belt and lets his pants drop to the floor.

“No worries, I figured you’d get here eventually.” She shrugs and works on getting herself naked. “You promised to help tire me out, after all.”

“That I did.” He smirks and pulls her towards him for a searing kiss.

Harry pushes her back on the bed, and kisses down her body. Her skin felt soft and smelled cocoa butter, she must have put lotion on before he got there. He looks up at her just as he reaches her naval.

“Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Eat you out.”

“Oh! Um, only if you really want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Well, yeah, but only if you want to also. I don’t like when guys just do it to do it, you know?”

“I can assure you that’s not the type of guy I am.”

“Okay.”

He kisses and sucks on her inner thigh, marking her up, and then he licks a flat stripe up her center. He does this a few times, just getting a feel for how she tastes, and then he swirls the tip of his tongue around her clit.

“Shit.” She breathes. “Found it pretty fast.” She pushes some hair out of his face as he smirks up at her.

“S’not rocket science.”

Before she can say anything she’s gasping as he sucks on her clit. She gets a grip on his hair as she grits her teeth. He works her up, almost to the brink, and then he drags his tongue around her folds. He licks into her center and she cries out from the warm feeling of his tongue. His thumb rubs circles into her clit as continues to give her the best head she’s ever had. Every time he moaned against her she moaned louder. She couldn’t believe he was enjoying it so much. Her legs were starting to shake around him and she just wanted to close him in around her, but he had his other hand pressed firmly on one of her thighs to keep her open.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Her back arches off the bed as she comes on his tongue. He laps her up before kissing up her body. “Let me put my mouth on you too.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He lays down next to her. “But come sit on me and I’ll do you at the same time.”

“Fuck, really?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N feels giddy as she situates herself over Harry’s head. She leans forward to get him out of his boxers. His hard dick slaps back against his stomach. She spits into her and grips him. She feels him jolt underneath her and she chuckles. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to concentrate on giving him a blow job while he was slurping away at her again, but she’d do her best. She gives him a few pumps before wrapping her lips around his tip. He groans into her and squeezes the backs of her thighs. She sinks lower on him and bobs up and down. She has to dig her nails into one of his thighs to keep herself from gagging on him. She decides to focus on sucking his tip and pumping the rest.

“I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” He tells hers, but she doesn’t let up. He starts panting and fingers her because he just can’t use his mouth on her right now.

“Oh, fuck, don’t’ stop.” She pops off him to say and then goes back to sucking him off.

She comes around his fingers just as his hot come shoots up into her throat. He hears her gulp as she swallows and then she licks his tip clean. She rolls off him and giggles, he giggles too, and she props herself up on her elbows to look at him.

“What?”

“Think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”

“Chalk it up to being lightheaded.” He sighs. “Just give me a minute, and then I’ll fuck you.”

“If you’re too tired, we don’t have to-“

“M’not tired, I just need a second.” He gives her ankle a squeeze.

“Want some water?”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

She gets up and quickly shuffles into her kitchen to get a glass of water. She takes a sip first before going back into her bedroom. She hands it to him and he thanks her. She knees onto the bed and sits next to him.

“You have condoms?” He asks.

“Mhm.” She reaches over into her bed side table takes one out.

“Alright, I’m ready if you are.” He says, taking it from her.

“If I lay on my stomach, will you get on top and fuck me from behind?”

“Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat. He liked a girl that was blunt and forward.

She smiles and gets on her stomach for him. He parts her lips and slides in, she was still plenty wet. She groans into her pillow as he rocks in and out of her. He snakes his hand between her and the bed to rub her clit.

“God, you’re so attentive.” She says, looking over her shoulder at him in amazement.

He smirks at her and gives her a bum a smack before pushing her head back down into the pillow. His chest was flush with her back, and they were moving in a perfect rhythm with each other. She was white knuckling her blankets feeling the damn about to break again.

“Oh, shit, fuck, Harry!” She cries out as she comes again. He gives her a few harsh thrusts before he fills the condom up. Once he pulls out she rolls onto her back. “Trash is over there.” She breathes, pointing to the can in the corner.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be right back.” She gets up and slips out to use the bathroom. He’s just pulling his boxers on when she comes back. She throws on a large tee shirt to cover herself up a bit.

“Tired now?” He smirks at her.

“Very.” She chuckles. “Um…it’s, like, almost four in the morning…you can stay if you don’t feel like driving.”

“Oh, um, that would be great actually…if you’re sure.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

Harry nods and stands up.

“Bathroom?”

“Just outside the door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Y/N hadn’t let a guy sleep over in a while, but it would only be for a few hours, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. Harry comes back in a few moments later smelling like mint.

“Used some of your mouth wash, hope that’s alright.”

“It’s fine.” She smiles and gets settled into bed with him. “Well, goodnight.”

“Night.”

She rolls over and he turns with her, spooning her. She adjusts into him, getting especially comfy, and before she knows it, she’s drifting off, and so is he.

The next morning, Y/N wakes up to the sounds of Harry rustling about getting his clothes on.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” She yawns with a stretch of her arms. “Do you want me to make some coffee or…?”

“No, I’m gonna crash when I get back, I just wanted to get out of your hair.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That was fun, last night.”

“Mhm.” She smiles and curls up in her blankets. “It’s been fun every time.”

“What if, uh, I mean, would you want to make this a regular thing? My schedule is the way it is, so relationships are tough, but this…is easier.”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t want a relationship right now, but having sex with a hot guy is certainly something I’d like to continue doing.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.” He smiles and knees onto the bed to peck her lips.

“What time does your shift usually start? Not that I don’t love waiting up until after two in the morning, but I’m not usually awake that late.”

“Oh, right, um, I usually go in around seven. I help out at the end of the dinner rush. Get the place set up and all that.”

“I usually get out of work around 4:30 most days…”

“I typically have Sundays and Mondays off too, just FYI.”

“You know, I think this could work out well.” She smiles.

“So do I.” He kisses her again before getting off the bed. “I’ll text you later, or, I don’t know maybe you could text me first.” He says sarcastically.

“I was actually going to text you last night, but you got to me first.” She giggles.

“Right.” He rolls his eyes. “See ya later, Y/N.”

“Bye, Harry.”

“You’ve been exceptionally chipper lately.” Y/N’s colleague, Lilly, says at lunch on Monday.

“I’m getting laid, that’s why.” Y/N was close with Lilly, it wasn’t unusual for them to have a conversation like this.

“Oh? With who?”

“Do you ever go down to the Yard Dog?”

“The bar where all the students go?” She laughs. “No.”

“Okay, well I go there when my friends come to visit because it’s nostalgic for us, you know? Anyways, there’s this bouncer that works there…and one thing led to another one night and I fucked him in the back office of the building.”

“Oh shit.”

“I know! And then we matched on Bumble a little later, so I went to the bar again, and I waited for him and we fucked at his place, and then the other day he came to my place. We have a regular thing going now.”

“Damn…is it the British guy?”

“Yeah! His name is Harry, do you know him?”

“Yeah, I recruited him for the MBA program.” Lilly worked with international students at the graduate level. Y/N worked in grad admissions as well, but at the domestic level. “I told him to look for a job down there, guess he listened.”

“He’s nice enough, quiet, and sort of intimidating, but he’s nice to me.”

“Well, that’s all that matters.” She laughs. “When do you think you’ll see him again?”

“I don’t know…I was thinking of texting him to come over tonight because he doesn’t work on Monday nights…is that too eager?”

“No way. It’s been established that you’re using each other for a specific service, I say go for it.”

“Right, like, it’s just sex, it’s not like I need to make him dinner or anything.”

“Don’t offer him any food at all. As soon as you share a meal with the person you’re sleeping with, it becomes more.”

“Shit, you’re right…good call.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

After lunch Y/N goes back to her office and contemplates texting Harry. It really shouldn’t be this difficult, they agreed to make it a regular thing, she should be able to just let him know what she wants.

Y/N: hey, Harry…are you free around 7 tonight?

She sent it, and took a deep breath. It’s fine, this is fine.

Harry: I can be, my place or yours?

She nearly squeals when she sees the response.

Y/N: could we do mine if it’s not too much trouble?

Harry: no trouble at all, see you then

“I could give him some wine or something.” She says to herself. “I know I’ll need to have a glass.”

Y/N wasn’t sure what she should wear. Should she stay in her work clothes, which she looked awfully cute in, or should she put something sexier on? Would he even care? She groans to herself as she goes to change into a nicer set of underwear. Maybe he’d appreciate some lace.

“I should really go shopping for some lingerie.” She huffs. Y/N did, however, have a silk robe, so that paired with the lacey underwear would be good enough.

She goes into her kitchen and gets two glasses down, and fills one just under halfway with some sweet red wine. She takes a generous sip, and sighs. There’s a knock at the door, and she goes to answer. She has to keep herself from drooling when she sees him. He was dressed so differently. Usually he was in all black, but tonight he was wearing a long sleeve blue shirt with the first few buttons undone, and a dark blue pair of jeans. He was wearing a black jacket to tie the whole thing together along with a beanie.

“Hey, come on in.” She smiles as he steps inside.

“Getting bloody cold out.” He says as you close the door. “You look cozy.”

“Cozy?” She pouts at him.

“Cute.” He says as he shrugs his jacket off. She unties her robe to slightly reveal how little she has on underneath. “Sexy.”

“Much better.” She giggles. “Would you like a glass of wine or anything?”

“No, thanks.”

He grabs her and holds her from behind. He kisses her cheek, her jaw, and then her neck. She cranes it to give him better access, and he walks her over to the couch. He slides her robe off and turns her around.

“Very sexy.” He pecks her lips. “You wore this for me?”

“I just wanted to look nice.” She starts unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. “Let’s go to the bedroom, it’s comfier.”

Harry nods and follows her in. He cups her jaw as she undoes his pants, and he licks into her mouth. She palms him over his boxers, and he bucks closer into her hand.

“Really wanted my dick tonight, hm?”

“Mhm.”

She puts her hands on his hips and pushes him to sit down on the bed. She sucks on his bottom lips and kisses her way down his stomach until she’s on her knees in front of him. She tugs his boxers off and looks up at him as she wraps her lips around his tip. He runs a soothing hand through her hair and keeps it out of her face for her. She sinks lower on him before popping all the way off and taking him in her hand. She brings her lips back to his tip and just rubs it around her low lip before licking over his slit.

“Feels amazing, Y/N.” His head rolls back momentarily, but he doesn’t want to miss a second, so he forces himself to look back down. “I don’t wanna wait to fuck you…”

She sucks on him a little longer before getting back up. She takes a condom out from one of the cups of her bra and hands it to him as she wiggles out of her panties. She unhooks her bra and lets it drop to the floor. He grabs her hips and turns her around. She sits in his lap as he lines himself up and she moans out. He reaches around front to rub her clit while she moves up and down on him. She turns to face him and she licks into his mouth. She swallows a groan from him. His other hand kneads her breast, and he kisses on her shoulder, biting down just enough to make her gasp. Her head rolls back to his shoulder.

“H-Harry.” She whimpers.

He thrusts up inside her, and she loses all control. She lets him move her, bounce her, whatever she wants. His fingers on her clit felt incredible. Y/N had hooked up with plenty of guys, but Harry was so different. He was attentive. He asked the important questions, and nothing more. She didn’t need to get to know him other than his body, and he felt the same way about her. This was perfect.

“Y/N I’m gonna come.” He grunts into her ear.

“M-me too.” She pants.

She feels him fill up the condom just as she’s coming around him. He peppers her neck and shoulder with kisses before he helps her off of him. She grabs a tee shirt to throw on while he grabs all of his clothes to get dressed.

“Thanks for coming by.” She says as she walks him to the door.

“Thanks for the invite.” He smirks as he gets his beanie back on.

“I felt bad since it was sort of short notice.”

“Gave you my number for a reason, didn’t I? Never be afraid to use it.” He hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her in for a kiss. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” She smiles and so does he. He leaves shortly after that.

Y/N finishes her glass of wine, takes a shower, and puts herself to sleep. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Things continued you like that for a few weeks. Sometimes Y/N would go over to Harry’s before his shift for a quickie, or if she could stay up, he’d zip over to her place after his shift. If it was a particularly late night, they would sleepover, but other than that they wouldn’t. Not that the either didn’t offer, they were both polite people.

“You seeing that girl again this weekend?” Niall says to Harry as he whips up dinner on Thursday.

“No, I have a weekend intensive, I’m getting an elective out of the way.”

“Are you still working?!”

“I am tonight, but I have Friday and Saturday night off. I couldn’t pass up the tips on ladies night.”

“I hear that.” Niall sets a plate of pancakes in front of Harry.

“Thanks.” He takes a bite. “Do you think I should let her know I won’t be around this weekend?”

“Like ahead of time?”

“Yeah, like, what if she texts me expecting me to come right over and I can’t? I’d feel bad.”

“You could just sext with her.” Niall smirks as he takes a bite of his own pancakes. “You said she was pretty good at that.”

“She’s better than good. She’s a fucking wordsmith.” Harry smiles. “But I’ll be working on the rest of the projects for class, so I won’t have time for that either.”

“So give her a heads up, then no one needs to feel rejected.” Niall shrugs.

“Maybe I should tell her in person, I’m a gentleman after all.”

“Or you wanna bone one more time before having to focus on school.”

“Let’s go with both.”

Harry: wanna come over quick before my shift?

Y/N: god yes, stressful day at work, definitely need the distraction

Harry: cool, come by whenever

“She’s coming over, make yourself scarce.” Harry says to Niall.

“You got it, I’m actually going down to bus some tables for a little extra money.”

Y/N comes over to Harry’s about twenty minutes later, and barely gives him a chance to say hello before she’s kissing him. He carries her to his room, and finally gets a breath in.

“How do you want it, Y/N?” He says against her lips as his hands slide down to her ass.

“I want you to bend me over the bed and fuck me so hard I forget my own name.”

Both of his eyebrows shoot up.

“Shit, you really did have a stressful day, huh?” He caresses one of her cheeks.

“Yeah, I did.” She bites her bottom lip. “But I didn’t come here to talk about it.”

He kisses her again and starts undoing her pants. He knew what she needed, and he was happy to give it to her. Normally he would have taken more time to prep her, but he really did need to be quick so he wasn’t late for work. Once they’re both naked, and he has a condom on, he bends her over his bed, and pushes inside her. She clutches at the blankets as he slams in and out of her.

“Just like that, fuck, Harry!” She moves her ass back against him to feel even more, and it makes him moan out.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He grunts. “Like it when I give it to you like this?”

“Yes!”

“I want you to come for me.”

“I’m really close, just keep going.” She was starting to pant and squirm.

“Yeah? You’re close?”

“So close, I..oh fuck!”

She releases around him, and he spills into the condom shortly after. He pulls out and helps her stand up. She faces him and wraps her arms around his neck. She slots her mouth over his and he groans into it.

“Fuck, I…I wanna go again, but it would look bad to be late when I live right here.”

“No, it’s okay, um…I’m gonna be busy this weekend, like, I’ll even barely be on my phone.”

“Me too, actually, it’s why I invited you over tonight.” He smiles and steps back to throw the condom away. She starts putting her clothes back on.

“How kind of you.” She laughs as she wipes the smudged makeup under her eyes.

“Feeling better?” He asks as he puts his own clothes on. The ones she’s more familiar with.

“Yeah, thanks.” She smiles. “It’s too bad you have to get right to work.” She puts her hands on his shoulders. “These black shirts look too fucking good on you.”

“Really? I always thought it was the tight jeans.” He smirks.

“That too, your ass is perfect.” She gives him a little pinch and pecks his lips. “Guess we’ll just talk next week?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Okay, have a good weekend.”

“You too.”

Harry sighs happily as he goes into his bathroom to fix his hair before his shift. He grabs his jacket and heads down to go outside and starting manning the door. It was the same as ever, lots of pretty girls flirting with him, and him having to turn half of them away because they’re underage. Later on Harry and one of the bartenders to take bets to see who Niall was going to take home later.

“What about you?” Ryan says. “Gonna try to get lucky?”

“Nah, got my fill earlier.” Harry says as he wipes down the bar with a rag. “Plus, all these girls are wasted, you know I don’t play that.”

“True, you’re definitely one of the good ones.” He claps his hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives him a squeeze before going to grab more empty glasses.

Harry didn’t see it like that. Guy or girl, if someone was drunk, he declined any offer he got. It just didn’t feel right to him.

Y/N had the day off from work Friday, but only because she had a weekend intensive for grad school. It was an elective she was trying to get out of the way. All of the other classes she had to take were online, but she thought it would be nice to just get this over with in a weekend. It would be a class of twelve people, she just hoped it wouldn’t be awkward.

She gets into the building, and finds the classroom. A couple of people were there already. She finds a spot to sit down and set her things up. There was a poster that was due on the first day. Weekend intensives involved a lot of prep work. She gets her laptop out and sips on her coffee.

Harry was exhausted. He didn’t get off work until nearly 2:30 because people didn’t want to leave the bar. When his alarm went off, he was not looking forward to spending the day with a bunch of people he didn’t know. He was interested in the subject matter, and almost excited to present his poster, he just could have easily done it all in an online class. His eyes were too tired for contacts, so he goes for his glasses. He throws his beanie on, a sweater, and a nice pair of jeans, and heads out. He grabs a cup of coffee before heading for the academic building. He walks in and scans the room. There were a few people there. His eyes widen when he sees Y/N. He wasn’t sure what do. Should he ignore her? Should he sit next to her? Before he can decide she happens to look up and make eye contact with him. He sighs and makes his way over to her table and sits down.

“Thought you just worked here.” He says as he sets his things down.

“I do…but I’m also in grad school. I’m taking this as an elective.”

“Same here. What program are you in?”

“Education, you?”

“MBA.”

“Nice.” She nods. “And here we were thinking we wouldn’t see each other all weekend.”

“Mm, lucky us.” He smirks.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” She rests her chin on her palm.

“Something tells me we’re going to get to know each other fairly well in the next forty-eight hours.” He leans back in his chair with his arms crossed. “You okay with that?”

“I don’t quite think I have a choice. It’s not the end of the world, it’s sort of nice to know someone.”

“Yeah, we could grab lunch or something.” He says it nonchalantly as he takes his laptop out of his bag.

“Yeah.” She nods. “Or something.” She winks at him and he smiles as he rolls his eyes.

The professor comes in shortly after, and has everyone sit in a circle. Everyone explains what program they’re in, why they’re in grad school, and what career aspirations they may have. Y/N and Harry were already learning a lot about each other. For example, he thought it was extremely ironic that Y/N recruited students to come get their grad degrees, and she herself didn’t have one yet.

Next, the professor had them all work on a craft project. They had to build these towers that had all these different components. They could listen to their own music and just work away. Harry and Y/N occasionally glanced at each other, but they did their best to focus.

“Okay everyone, it’s time for lunch! Afterwards, we’ll come back and present our towers.” The professor says.

They look at each other awkwardly.

“Our break is an hour and a half.” Harry says to her.

“I don’t need that long to eat, do you?”

“Nah, well…” He smirks at her and she blushes.

“I don’t live that far from here, um…if you wanna just come to my place to eat.”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Want me to drive, or?”

“No, I can.” She grabs her keys and he follows her out.

Once they’re in Y/N’s apartment, he’s got her laying on the couch with his head between her legs. She tugs at his hair as she squirms underneath him.

“I-I thinking you were hungry than you let on!”

He groans against her in response, and slides two fingers into her as he sucks on her clit. He looks up at her/ She looks down at him, confused for a moment, and then her mouth falls open when he slides a third finger inside her. He pumps them in and out of her slowly to not hurt her. His tongue flicks back and forth on her clit, and she tugs harder on his hair.

“H-Harry!” Her back arches as she comes. He sits up and licks his lips, and his fingers, before undoing his pants. He tugs them down enough to get his dick out. “Condom.” She breathes and points to the side table.

“You keep them in your living room now?” He chuckles as he reaches into the drawer to get one.

“Are you making fun of easy access?”

“Not at all, you’re resourceful.”

He rolls the condom on and moves to hover her. He pushes inside and she wraps her legs around his waist. He bites her bottom lip and sucks on it as he rocks in and out of her. He bottoms out and she gasps. He smirks against her lips and keeps thrusting into the same spot.

“Oh my god.” She moans. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

“Right there?”

“Yeah, right there, don’t stop.” Her breathing gets heavier, and he can feel her tightening around him. She cries out as she comes, and he follows suit.

On the drive back to campus things are quiet, but not uncomfortable. They both head into the classroom, and sit down. Harry takes out the lunch he packed and digs in, Y/N does the same. Once everyone is back, the professor has the class present their towers. It was an oddly emotional experience. Some tears were shed, and there was no judgement whatsoever. Y/N was stunned when it was Harry’s turn. He got choked up when he had to talk about his family. It was just him and his sister. They both needed a change of scenery, so he came to get his grad degree in the states, and she moved to France. That was about all he was willing to say, which was fine.

After the towers are done, there’s a quick bathroom break, and then they get into the poster presentations. Harry found Y/N to be extremely intelligent. She clearly knew what she was talking about. He briefly wondered how such a smart, beautiful girl could be single. Then again, he knew how little free time there was while working full time and going to school. He knew he didn’t have time for a relationship, anyways. Nor was he emotionally available enough for one, but that was a separate story.

“I want to thank you all for the wonderful work you did today. Nothing to work on tonight, as I know today was draining. Tomorrow, we’ll be talking about the readings that were assigned ahead of time.”

It was 8PM, and Y/N was exhausted. Harry happened to park in the same lot as her, so he walks her to her car.

“That was better than I was expecting.” She says.

“Yeah, wasn’t terrible. Sort of flew by.”

“I can’t wait to crawl into bed and just pass out.”

“Same here.” He hits the unlock button for his car. He runs a hand through his hair. “Well, see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” She smiles. “Thanks for the afternoon delight earlier.”

“Please, it was my pleasure.” He winks and opens his car door.

“Harry, wait, uh…”

“Yeah?”

“You live above the bar right?”

“Um…yeah?”

“Well, it’s bound to be pretty loud, how will you sleep?”

“Noise cancelling headphones.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Well, I was thinking you could come back to place if you wanted.”

“Thought you were ready to pass out.”

“I feel like I’m so exhausted that I won’t be able to sleep.” She laughs. “Would be nice to be able to roll over and have the person there that’s usually good to make me fall asleep.”

“I like the way you think. Let me just grab some clothes from my place and then I’ll head over.”

“Sounds good.”

Harry comes over to Y/N’s, and needless to say after a couple rounds they both sleep pretty well. He was snuggled up against her when her alarm goes off.

“I need to shower.” She yawns. “Feel free to sleep a little longer.”

“I could go for a shower, actually.” His hand drifts down between her legs and she starts rubbing her folds.

“Please tell me you wanna fuck in the shower.”

“I wanna fuck in the shower.”

“Race you!” Y/N kicks the covers back and sprints to her bathroom. Harry wasn’t too far behind.

Once they’re in the water, he has her pressed up against the wall. He fingers her, slow at first, and then he picks up the pace. She wraps her hand around him and pumps him at the same time. Her other hand squeezes at his chest, leaving crescent shaped marks behind. They come at the same time, and then take turns actually showering.

Harry gets dressed while Y/N is still in the bathroom, doing her morning skin care. He stands in the bathroom doorway for a moment.

“So, I’m gonna head out, you good?”

“Yeah, go on.” She waves him off. “See you in a little while.”

“I’m gonna grab coffee, do you want anything?”

“No! No, um, that’s okay, I’ll just make my own here, uh, thanks though.”

“Alright.” He shrugs. “See ya.”

Harry sits next to Y/N again in class. She enjoyed listening to him speak about the readings. She shouldn’t be surprised at how articulate he could be. Sometimes when they sent explicit texts her would write these paragraphs describing the things he would do to her.

It was another long day. This time around, Y/N was truly exhausted, and wasn’t in the mood to fuck, so she doesn’t offer to Harry to spend the night again, not that he was expecting her to. He walks her to her car, and they say goodnight.

Sunday was a half day, and time for reflection on their final papers. As they were packing up at the end of class, curiosity takes over Y/N.

“So, how many more credits do you need?”

“Not sure, honestly. I just know I have another year and half. What about?”

“I have, like, five more classes to take. I can only do a couple per semester. I’m done until end of January, which is nice.”

“I wish more of my classes were online. I have a class that meets twice a week in the afternoons, so my break won’t start for another few weeks.”

“Do you…see your sister often? Like, will you spend the holidays with her?”

“Y/N, we don’t have to do this.” He says as he slings his bag over his shoulder. They start walking out together.

“Do what?”

“This.” He gestures between them. “I sort of like that we don’t know a ton about each other. It makes it easier just to meet up and do what we do, you know?”

“Oh! Yeah, I completely agree…I just…” She stops when they reach their cars.

“You’re a compassionate person, I can see that. I do see my sister. We FaceTime when we can, and we take turns visiting. I spend the holidays with my roommate, he’s one of the other bouncers. I’m going to France for a bit this summer when I’ll have more free time. Any other questions?” He smiles at her.

“Nope, that’s about all I wanted to know.” She smiles back. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

Mike: the boys are coming to town this weekend, be ready to get fucked up!

Y/N: god bless, I love boys weekend!

Y/N goes over to Mike’s Friday night, and they all pregame before heading to the bar. As they approach, she realizes she forgot to give Harry a heads up that she was coming. His eyes widen when he sees her.

“Where’s your coat?” He asks immediately.

“I…didn’t need it.” She blushes.

He rolls his eyes as he checks everyone else’s ID’s.

“It’s cold out…” He frowns at her. “And you’re wearing a crop top and jeans.”

“Don’t worry, dude, we’ll keep her plenty warm.” Drew says and throws an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

She giggles and goes inside with her friends. It puts a sour taste in his mouth. Obviously he didn’t own her, and he knew they had to be just friends, but he wondered if she had a past with any of them.

Y/N and her friends do three rounds of tequila shooters before hitting the dance floor. Harry was at the point of the night where he was inside the bar helping out. One of the bartenders snaps her fingers at him and points at two idiots who were demanding to be served more. Harry grabs Niall and they make the people leave. When Harry gets back inside he sees Y/N on the dancefloor grinding against Rob, and Conor. They were all laughing, but he didn’t like what he was seeing at all. If she needed something to grind against, all she had to do was ask.

“I’m gonna go to the ladies room!” She shouts at them, and leaves the dance floor to go wait in line.

She sees Harry and who she assumes is Niall walk by everyone and pound on the door. Harry kicks the door open and finds three people doing lines off the bathroom counter.

“Jesus Christ.” Niall groans. “You can’t be doing that in here!”

Harry and Niall grab the guys, and they struggle at first, but they get them out of the bathroom.

“Now we have to fucking call the police.” Harry says as he basically picks one of them up by the back of their shirt. “Tom’s gonna love this.”

“Doing fucking drugs in the bathroom, grow up boys.” Niall says and Y/N watches as they get them out of the bar.

“Holy shit.” She says to herself.

Around last call, Y/N sees Harry behind the bar cleaning up. She goes up and sits down on one of the few open stools. She taps her finger nails on the bar and he looks at her. She pouts and bats her lashes at him.

“You can come up later, but I’m not fucking you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

“We’ve had sex before after I’ve been drinking.” She scoffs.

“Not like this, you’ve had a lot. I saw the tab.”

“So then why would you want me to come up if we can’t fuck?”

“Because…I…where would you go otherwise?”

“Back to Mike’s.” She points over at her friends. “We do, like, a group sleepover when they come visit, it’s fun.” Harry scrunches his face slightly at that. “What?”

“You all stay in the same bed?”

“No, don’t be silly, I usually end up sleeping in Mike’s bed with him, and one of the other guys. We did it a lot when we were all in school together.”

“Is that all you did?” Harry plants both of his hands on the bar and cocks his head. “With them?”

“Are you asking me if I’ve ever slept with one of them? Because that’s really none of your business.”

“From the way you were dancing with them I didn’t even think you’d be looking to go home with me.” She starts giggling and smiling at him. “What?”

“I just didn’t you could get any cuter, and here you are being a jealous little thing.”

“I’m not jealous.” He scoffs.

“Really? So it wouldn’t bother you if I went back with all of them, and tugged one of them into the bathroom with me, and got all hot and naked?”

“Nope.” He smirks. “Because you’d be thinking of me the whole time, babe.” He leans forward and pecks her lips. “Or am I wrong about that?”

“So I can really come up when you’re done?”

“Yeah, but no hanky panky.” She bursts out laughing at that.

“I am totally down to just cuddle.”

“Better tell them that.” He nods towards the group of boys and she turns around. She waves goodbye to them and they all give her a thumbs up. “They’re a supportive group, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Y/N was doing her best to stay awake, sipping on some water at the bar, while Harry was running around cleaning up. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment when she feels his hand on her back.

“M’all set.” He says.

“Okay.” She yawns. “Think I’m sober now if you wanna get a little frisky.” She wobbles a bit as she gets on her feet.

“Mhm, yeah.” He chuckles. “Come on booze-bag, let’s get you up to bed.”

“Heyyy, don’t be mean.” She swats at his chest. “I only drink like this when my boyfriends come to town.”

He rolls his eyes as he helps her up the stairs to his apartment. He gets her into the bathroom first, using a warm washcloth to help take her makeup off. She giggles and sighs as he does so. Harry could be really gentle when he wanted to be. He gives her some privacy when she needs to use the toilet, and then he leads her into his room.

“Alright, you can have the Kiss shirt for bed.”

“Oh, my favorite!”

He chuckles and helps her out of her clothes, and into the bed shirt. He strips down to his boxers and gets into bed with her. She lays her head right on his chest.

“Why didn’t you wear a coat tonight?”

“I got drunk at Mike’s and felt too warm to wear it when we made our way to the bar. Why do you care so much?”

“I saw on the news once that a lot of college girls get sick or get hypothermia from not dressing warm enough on their ways to parties or whatever. It’s scary.” She shifts to look up at him. He moves some hair away from her face. “I got nervous when I saw you walking up.”

“You were worried about me?”

“A little.” He clears his throat. “But to be fair, I worry about everyone I see dressed like that.”

“Mm, nice save.”

“Shut up.” He smirks. “You’re only here so I can fuck you in the morning.”

“Got that right. You could fuck me now if you wanted.”

“No, I couldn’t.” He strokes her cheek. “It wouldn’t be right.” He says softly. “Try and sleep, yeah?”

“Okay.” She mumbles and nuzzles into his chest.

He plays with her hair until her breathing evens out. He rolls over onto his side, and he feels her tighten her hold around his stomach. It had been quite some time since Harry let someone spoon him, but right now it just felt nice. He puts his hand over hers, just to give her a comforting squeeze, but she ends up lacing her fingers with his. He doesn’t pull away, he just lets it be. He knows he’s fucked now, of course, but he tells himself he’ll worry about it after some sleep.

Part Two

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #bouncer!Harry #bouncerry #regular thing

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vnderoos · 4 years ago

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looks like slytherin betrayal to me ✷ fred weasley

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language, underaged drinking, steamy scene word count / 5.4k

masterlist in bio ↴

MUGGLE STUDIES HAD BEEN nothing but boring that day, so it only made sense that Y/N had been so quick to leave. Well, that, and the fact that it was her last class of the day. She sucked in a deep breath as she made her way towards the Great Hall for lunch, happy to get a lungful of something other than the smell of dusty books and parchment paper, but her newfound relief didn't last long. She'd made it not even halfway down the corridor when she felt a presence pop up on either side of her.

"You're coming tonight, right, Y/N?" A voice chimed and she didn't have to look to know it was Fred Weasley, in all of his tall, red-headed glory. She glanced at him, anyways, and she pretended to roll her eyes at the sight of him. Even though he and George had been two of her least favorite people in their first years at Hogwarts, after they'd almost accidentally killed her during one of their firework shows, their persistence had won her affections over somewhere along the way. She'd never verbally admit that to them, but sometimes, she did hope that the two could see through the cracks they'd made in her reptilian demeanor.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows up at Fred, unsure as to what he was talking about, before she fixed her gaze back on where she was walking. "What's tonight?" she questioned, peeking up at George out of the corner of her eye, and he laughed.

The twins knocked their elbows against hers at the same time, on their shared wavelength, as usual, and they grinned. "It's our party, of course," they said simultaneously and Fred placed his hand on the top of her head, ruffling her hair beneath his fingertips. She shot him an annoyed look, despite the way that her cheeks tinged pink, and grabbed his forearm, flinging it away from her.

He looked amused as she reached up to fix her hair, tucking one of the strands behind her ear after she did. "Exciting," she deadpanned and Fred feigned being offended. He reached out to mess up her hair again, but she pressed her palm into his, locking their fingers in order to hold his hand at bay.

His eyebrows lifted and his lips curled into a small smile. "Not that I'm complaining, Y/L/N, but if you wanted to hold my hand, you could've just asked," he teased, nodding towards their interlocked fingers, and her cheeks turned red.

She wasted no time in ripping her hand out of his and shuffling closer to George. "I wasn't— I didn't—" she stammered, feeling the boiling beneath her cheeks, and she resorted to smacking her palms over them. "Oh, shut up," she snapped and both of the twins started to laugh. She glared at George and he only laughed harder. Willing to do anything to change the subject, she sighed. "How would I even get in, anyways?" she questioned, crossing her arms over her chest sheepishly as the flush started to wear off.

"Fortuna major," Fred hummed, throwing his arm around her shoulders and her cheeks heated right up again. She didn't fight it this time, though, as he jerked her into his side and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. In fact, it was quite nice, but she'd rather take the Killing Curse than admit it.

Though she wanted to look anywhere but Fred, she couldn't help but let her eyes flicker over to him. He was wearing that familiarly cocky grin of his and it made her heart stutter, but she ignored it. She silently cursed him and his stupid, charming smile. "What's that?" she asked, like she wasn't thinking about reaching up to the hand he'd draped around her and intertwining their fingers again.

"It's the password, darling."

Y/N's heart nearly melted at the pet name, and if she let him think he could get away with it, she knew it'd only be a matter of time before he made her putty in his fingertips. She held up a stern finger and pointed it in his direction. "Do not call me 'darling', Fred," she told him in a firm tone, like she was talking to a naughty cat, and George chuckled from beside her.

"Yeah, Freddie, no 'darling'," George reiterated, shrugging his shoulders. "She's more of a sweetie pie, I reckon," he teased and Y/N's head whipped over to him. She narrowed her eyes at him and he pretended to fight his smile, holding his hands up in surrender.

She turned her head back to Fred. "Call me sweetie pie and I will hex you, boys," she promised and they let out huffs of amusement. She figured her efforts would be in vain and 'sweetie pie' would be a nickname that would resurface eventually, but it didn't hurt to try. "Anyways, isn't it just Gryffindors? You lot hate anyone from Slytherin," she explained.

Fred only shrugged his shoulders and gave hers a squeeze. "Who could hate you, though?" he quipped with his trademark grin and she shook her head in mock annoyance, the smile tugging at her lips giving her away. "I wouldn't worry, anyways. Everyone'll have a bit of Ogden's in their system by the time you get there, anyways, so I think you'll be quite the hit," he added, his fingers rubbing her arm softly as he spoke.

She flashed a look of skepticism up at him, before she looked over at George to see if the two of them were on the same page. He was quick to dispel her worries with a small nod. "If not, everyone trusts us, anyways. We're like gods to them," he said jokingly and Y/N sputtered out a laugh. He wasn't entirely wrong. "We'll vouch for you if we need to, isn't that right, Fred?"

"That's right, George," Fred sang.

Looking between the boys one last time, taking in their sparkling doe eyes and expectant grins, she sighed in defeat. "Fine, I'll come," she caved. At that, the boys laughed in unison and high-fived each other above her head.

—

Y/N looked down at her sweater as she walked up the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room. She plucked at the dark red knitting, having decided to wear it for the party in order to seem less... Slytherin, she supposed. Despite being an unusual color for her to wear, the sweater was actually quite cute. She'd tucked it into a pair of high-waisted jeans, thrown on a pair of white sneakers, slipped on a few gold rings, and it looked way dressier than she'd intended.

The Fat Lady in the portrait between her and the Gryffindors crossed her arms over her chest as she watched the girl approach. She raised an eyebrow and Y/N's eyes met her own. She felt her stomach flip as their gazes connected and she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she didn't get in. She could feel her cheeks burning slightly, but she ignored it, shoving her hands into her back pockets instead. Thumbing at one of the seams, she managed a small smile. "Um, fortuna major," she said. Instead of swinging open like she normally would for the students, the Fat Lady stood still, staring down at her skeptically. She felt her nerves replace themselves with frustration and she lifted her eyebrows. "Well, what're you waiting for?" she asked. "That's the bloody password, isn't it?" she snarked, which probably wasn't the best way to go about the situations, but her quick temper tended to get the better of her.

The lady in the portrait rolled her eyes, before the portrait swung open, revealing a hole in the wall. This wasn't the first time she'd been in the Gryffindor common room, as Fred and George had snuck her in a handful of times before, but as she climbed through the wall, she realized it was much different than when she'd seen it last. Instead of being peppered with a couple of students, the room was full. Everyone was squashed together, cheeks tinted pink from the firewhisky as music thumped throughout the room. There were small, multicolored fireworks sizzling through the air in loops over everybody's heads and it wasn't hard to guess where they'd gotten them.

A lot of the students wore beads and crazy charmed accessories that she'd never seen before, but it brought a small smile to her face as she advanced through the crowd. "Hey, check it out," she heard someone yell off to her right, before he pulled out a party horn and blew it up towards the ceiling. Her eyes widened when it rained sparks from above and everyone erupted into cheering. She'd never seen anything like any of this when the Slytherins threw parties and she had an inkling that it was all the twins' doing.

Speaking of the twins, she realized she hadn't seen them anywhere. As she squeezed between two drunken students, she spotted Ginny, her fiery hair sticking out amongst everyone else. She was giggling and propped up against the sofa, with a glass of Ogden's in her hand, and Y/N felt a surge of relief. At least she knew someone. "Ginny!" she called, loud enough for her to hear over the commotion and the red headed girl turned towards her. Y/N watched as Ginny's face lit up with excitement and she pushed herself off of the couch, practically leaping towards her.

"Oh, Y/N!" Ginny's words came out in a slurred squeal. "I am so happy that you're here. George told me you were coming and that Fred was so excited to see you, and now, you're here!" she yelled enthusiastically, throwing her arms around Y/N as she stumbled into her.

Y/N laughed and hugged Ginny tightly in greeting, steadying the girl as she did it, and when she pulled away, she grabbed onto one of Ginny's elbows to make sure she didn't fall flat on her arse. "How many of those have you had, Gin?" she asked quietly, barely even registering the part she'd spilled about Fred. She'd been too worried trying to keep the girl upright.

Ginny's eyebrows furrowed at the question and she began to count on her fingers. Before she could give a proper answer, Fred and George popped up out of nowhere, giving Y/N a start. She clutched her chest as her heart hummed at the sound of her name. "Y/N!" they'd exclaimed at the same time and she let go of Ginny to give them a hug, but she gasped when the girl swayed. She jumped back to catch her, but George beat her to it.

"On second thought, I'm going to get this one off to bed. She's had more than enough, but I'll catch up in a bit," George hummed, prying the glass of firewhisky out of Ginny's fingers and handing it off to Y/N, who took it softly. "You two chat while I'm gone," he said, winking at the two of them, and he was off.

Y/N's eyebrows knit together at that and she turned back to look at Fred. She would've questioned the wink if he wasn't smiling so widely down at her. The same smile spread across her own lips when she took in the knitted hat that he was wearing, with two dangly bits framing his face. It was kind of cute—very cute, actually. "Glad you could make it," he told her and she laughed.

She held up her hand and gestured to the room around them. "Me, too, I've never seen anything like this. Slytherin parties are much less... explosive, I guess is the word," she said and Fred let out a soft chuckle.

He offered her a small shrug and a tilt of his head. "Might've been my idea to pass out all the fireworks."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised in the least," Y/N told him, and instead of saying anything else, Fred chugged what was left of the glass in his hand. It was only then that she noticed that his cheeks were tinged red from the alcohol, and he looked quite handsome, honestly. The flush complimented his complexion and brought out a sparkle in his pretty, brown eyes.

Y/N caught her heart fluttering in her chest at the mere sight of him and she wasted no time in downing the rest of Ginny's drink to ease her nerves. It was alcohol, so it basically killed off all of Ginny's germs, anyways. "Do you think I could get another? And maybe a new glass?" she asked, holding up her empty cup, and Fred nodded quickly.

He took the glass from her hand and set it down on one of the random tables around them, before he reached for her hand. "Sure, come with me," he hummed, just loud enough for her to hear, and her eyes darted to his fingers, which had wrapped themselves around her own. She blushed at the warmth of his hand around hers, thankful that he hadn't looked at her long enough to notice before he began to tug her through the crowd of Gryffindors. He pulled her towards a long table at the end of the room, which was cluttered with half-empty glasses and bottles of Ogden's Old. He let go of her hand gently and set his own glass on the surface. He popped the top off of one of the bottles of whiskey and refilled his cup, before he held the bottle over an empty one. He peeked up at Y/N out of the corner of his eye, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Say when," he said.

Then, he gave the bottle a sharp tilt and the liquid came gushing out. Y/N's face flooded with heat as she watched him. "Oh, my god, stop. Stop," she rushed out and Fred began to laugh. It filled her ears just as the alcohol filled her cup, all the way to the brim, and she looked at him with wide eyes. "What the hell, Weasley?" she asked.

Fred couldn't contain his giggles as he slid it over to her. "What? You're late, Y/L/N. You've got to catch up," he stated matter-of-factly. He picked her glass up carefully and it almost sloshed over the edge, so he brought it to his lips. Fred took a small sip out of her glass and swallowed it down with ease before he registered what he was doing. He then went to hand her glass to her and her eyebrows lifted. She looked at the glass in his hand and back up at him. "Well?" he asked, confused as to what the hold up was, but then, it clicked. "Oh, sorry, I can make you a new one if that was weird. I just figured..." he trailed off, shaking his head. He went to set it back down on the table, but she placed a hand on his forearm before he could.

Fred froze in his tracks and he looked over at her. Y/N could see the color spreading over his cheeks like wildfire and something about it made her stomach flip. She'd never seen him blush before, let alone at her hand. She swallowed her heart, which was thumping its way up her throat. "No, it's fine. I'll take that one, Freddie," she said and she reached to take it out of his grasp, her own cheeks reddening as her fingers brushed softly against his.

He straightened himself up a bit when she took the cup from him and he smiled as he watched her touch it to her mouth. "I'll give you three galleons if you drink it all in one go," he challenged, and Y/N raised her eyebrows over her cup in acceptance.

She tilted her head back and began to guzzle the amber liquid down, squeezing her eyes shut as it tasted more bitter with every gulp. She only got it around halfway down before she had to quit, pulling it away from her mouth and shaking her head as she swallowed the rest of what was in her mouth. She grimaced and a bit dribbled down her chin as she stuck out her tongue in disgust. "I can't," she said. "It's too gross," she confessed in defeat.

Fred shrugged. "To be fair, I did give you a big cup," he countered and she scoffed, sloshing the liquid around in her glass.

"Clearly," she told him. She looked down at her cup, and then back up at him, only to realize that his gaze was locked on her lips.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion and she watched as Fred's eyes blew wide. "Oh, no, I wasn't—" he started, before he cut himself off with a nervous laugh. He wiped his hand over his forehead sheepishly. "I mean, yeah, it would be nice to kiss you and all, but I'd like to think that'd I'd be a bit cooler about it, yeah? I wasn't going to try anything, I swear, you've just got some..." he trailed off when he realized he was spilling too much and her eyes were as wide as saucers. "You know what? I'll just get it," he blurted, and before she could do anything, he swiped his thumb sloppily over her chin, smearing away the trickle of firewhisky, and she blushed.

She blushed at the fact that he said it would be nice to kiss her, at the fact that he wanted to be cool about it, and at the fact that he touched her fucking face. Her cheeks were on fire, with her stomach warm to match, and she wasn't sure if it was Fred or the firewhisky she'd just downed. Either way, she couldn't help but gawk at him.

Fred's thumb lingered on her chin for a moment, their eyes locking in a moment of mutual mesmerization, and her lips parted softly. He was pretty. He was so goddamn pretty and she really wasn't sure where he got off. Part of her wished he would just grab her by the face with the hand that he was holding her chin with and plant one on her, but she would never, never tell him that. Before the moment could take her mind anywhere else, she blinked up at him. "Thank you," she whispered, feeling shy all of the sudden, and he pulled his hand off of her chin faster than she could even register it.

"Yeah." He flashed her an awkward smile and he nodded. "Um, I like your jumper," he hummed after a minute, clearing his throat, and her eyes widened. She glanced down at the red, knitted fabric and she tugged at it softly with a smile.

She hadn't thought it was anything too special, but it made her feel nice that he pointed it out. "Really?" she questioned, a bit of excitement playing in her voice, and she looked back up at him.

Fred nodding down at her with a grin. "Well, yeah," he stated. "Nothing says 'Slytherin betrayal' like a bright red sweater," he teased.

His words elicited a small laugh from her lips and she shook her head. He took on his signature cocky grin as he touched his glass to his lips once more. "Shut it, Weasley, I just wanted to impress you is all," she hummed.

At that, Fred almost choked on his drink. He sputtered out a small cough and his eyes widened as he looked at her. "Impress me?" he repeated.

Her cheeks flushed pink when she realized how it'd sounded. Granted, she really had put it on just to impress him, to try and fit in for him, but he didn't need to know that. The whole red sweater ordeal was embarrassing enough in itself. "No, no, I mean, not like that. I just meant 'impress you' like 'impress you all'—Gryffindor," she defended and she swore she'd need a whole muggle fire department to put out the flames under her cheeks.

Luckily, she'd worked her way out of that awkward exchange, but she and Fred endured a couple more as they continued to stand next to the drink table talking. Fred chugged the rest of his drink after a bit, and since she'd only taken a couple sips after he'd tried to get her to drink it all at once, she downed the rest of hers as well. Her cheeks had begun to feel a little warm and fuzzy with the bit of firewhisky on her system and her hands had started to feel somewhat tingly by then, but she was still very alert.

Her inhibitions were just significantly lowered.

"We should dance, Y/N/N," Fred suggested after a bit.

Y/N laughed softly at that. "Should we? I'm not really good at it," she admitted, her eyes trailing to the center of the room where the party was still very much alive.

Fred shrugged his shoulders. "You don't have to be good. We're all plastered anyways," he said and he reached for her hand. Y/N nodded, realizing that he was right. She really didn't have anything to lose by dancing in a common room that wasn't her own with people who were too drunk to even remember her in the morning. She met Fred's hand halfway and he smiled down at her gently as she slotted her fingers between his. She wasn't sure where the whole hand-holding thing had come from that night, as neither of the two were usually that touchy with each other, but she wasn't complaining. His hand was soft and warm, and she might've held it forever if she'd been given the chance.

With her hand in his, she let him lead her to the middle of the crowd of students, where a record player sat on top of a table, and he cranked up the dial. The music started to blare louder and the entire common room erupted into absolute chaos. Y/N's eyes went wide as Fred tugged her away, letting the two of them melt into the cluster of Gryffindors, and he looked at her dreamily. He lifted their hands, which were still intertwined, into the air, while he let his other settle on her waist. He straightened himself up with a smile, the balls on the end of his knitted hat bobbing around, and she shot him a look of amusement.

"A waltz?" she shouted over the noise music, which was entirely too punk rock to slow dance to, but to her surprise, Fred nodded his head. "To this?" she asked again, and instead of offering her a proper response right off the bat, he took the lead in their dance.

Y/N tilted her head forward in a laugh, but she stepped with him all the same, finding it rather amusing how their calculated movements contrasted with the jumping and aggressive dancing that everyone else was doing. "But of course," he said as he'd leaned in, muttering it into her ear, and when Fred lifted his arm up, she found herself spinning underneath it, and they were both laughing, then.

Everyone was throwing their arms around and shaking their heads around them to the fast-paced song while Fred danced with her on his own time. It might've been weird to watch, but with his hand on her waist and his eyes locked on her own, she didn't care. Every time he led her in their next step, the party around them faded further and further away, until it felt like they were the only two people left in the common room—which wasn't true by any means. She smiled brightly up at him, regardless, and a soft grin settled onto his lips to match. "You know, you look so beautiful tonight," he told her and even though it was quiet compared to the noise, she'd never heard him so clearly.

Y/N stopped dancing and the two of them stilled. "Fred," she said, her heart swelling in her chest when she noticed the way that his eyes had softened and the way they fluttered over her features. She saw a pink dust fall over his cheeks and her stomach tingled. "Really?" she asked hopefully.

He didn't hesitate in nodding. "Yeah, red is a great color on you," he complimented and her smile only widened. "It's a shame you've got to wear green all the time, but it makes sense, I guess."

She tilted her head at him and pulled her hand, which was still extended in the air, out of his. She set her arms on his shoulders and laced her fingers behind him instead. "And why's that?" she questioned.

His smile turned crooked and there was a glint in his eyes that made her nervous. He leaned in and touched his lips to the shell of her ear. "Well, I doubt any man would pass a test again if you were to wear a Gryffindor robe everyday," he said quietly and she could feel her heart pattering in her chest.

Heat rose beneath her cheeks and she turned her head away from him in an attempt to hide it. "How drunk are you, Weasley?" she laughed and she could feel him shrug beneath her arms.

He leaned his head against one of her forearms, which still rested on his shoulder. "Quite, but I mean it, really," he hummed and with all the butterflies he set loose in her stomach, she was surprised she wasn't floating off of the ground. He pressed his lips softly against the skin of her arm after a moment and she froze. "Can we step out for a second, actually? I need to talk to you about something," he explained.

Whatever it was sounded serious, like something that didn't need to be said when they were both under the influence—Fred significantly so—but the Ogden's kept her from saying no. Instead, she nodded and he slipped his head out from under her arms, slipping his hand around one of her own again. He pulled her back the way they'd came through the pool of Gryffindors and he led her into the boys dorm. He let go of her hand when they were safely inside and he gently shut the door behind them.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her shoulder against the wall. "What is it, Freddie?" she asked, almost afraid of what was to come.

Fred took a deep breath. "Look, I know you're not a fan of the red and gold. To be quite truthful, I'm not wild about Slytherin, either," he started and Y/N felt a tightness in her chest. What was this? She wondered if she'd done something to upset him in the time that she'd been at the party, but when he opened his mouth again, her worries dissolved. "But ever since I met you, I've thought about nothing else," he confessed.

Any negative thought was swatted from her mind and her stomach flipped. "Wait, what?" she asked, hoping she'd heard him properly.

"Yeah. You got so mad that first day, when George and I nearly blew your head off with that firework—which we're still sorry about, by the way—but you were so stunning," Fred gushed, taking a couple of steps towards her so he could take one of her hands in his. "Why do you think I never left you alone after that?" he hummed.

There was a warmth in her body, radiating up from the hand that he held, and she looked up at him with the softest of eyes. She'd never known that Fred had felt this way about her, too. She'd spent months swallowing down the urges and shutting out the thoughts, clueless to the fact that they were plaguing him, too. "Is that why?" she almost whispered, her eyes searching his. "I'm going to be honest, I didn't like either of you at first because I thought you'd made it your sole purpose to annoy me, but you idiots grew on me. And you, Fred," she paused, pulling the hand that he had wrapped around hers towards her lips so she could press a kiss to his knuckles. "I'm really glad you didn't leave me alone," she admitted.

His eyebrows quirked upwards. "I hope you're being serious, because if you're not, you're going to regret it when I pin you against that wall," he huffed, his voice throatier than it had been a moment before, and it made her heart skip a beat.

"I'm serious, Freddie. I like you."

"You'd better."

"I do," she assured him, and that was all she had to say for him to place one of his hands on her waist, slip the other behind her head, and slam her against the wall.

Fred's lips met hers in sloppy, heated kisses and she'd barely known what had hit her until she melted into him. Her eyelids fell closed and she let her hands slip beneath his hat, sliding it up off of his head and tossing it somewhere to the side. She tangled her fingers in his shaggy, red hair, and her fingers slid through it like butter. She let out a complacent hum when his hips pressed against her own and she rolled her body against his. He took that as an opportunity to hook his hands behind her knees and lift her up off of the ground. She wrapped her legs around him as his hands slid to hold onto her ass and her lips never left his.

His fingers dug into it and she whimpered softly against his lips, tilting her head in order to kiss him better, and one of his hands started to untuck her sweater. She grabbed his hand and placed it back on her ass when she started to slip down the wall, and she made the decision to pull her sweater over her head for him. "Bloody hell," Fred muttered in awe when the sweater dropped into a pool at his feet, leaving her in a lacy, dark green bra. "Couldn't go all Gryffindor for me, I see," he teased breathlessly, his eyes staring at her chest, and she laughed.

"I'm only a house traitor on the outside," she hummed with a wink that made his stomach churn. She grabbed the fabric of his t-shirt and she bunched it up in her hands, pulling it over his head as quickly as she could without having him drop her, and she tossed it down with her sweater. "Quidditch practice does you well, Weaselbee," she complimented when he was bare-chested. His torso was taut, soft lines defining his muscles, and his skin was warm against her hands.

"I'd say the same for you, but considering you don't play quidditch, I'd guess you're just naturally this hot," he rasped and she could feel her skin prickle. One of Fred's hands lifted off of her ass once more, trailing up her spine softly until it settled on the clasp of her bra. "Can I?" he whispered, his eyes meeting hers as he asked for her permission and she nodded. He unhooked her bra in one quick motion and she shimmied out of it for him, letting it fall to the floor. She could feel him still as her torso was left completely uncovered, but just as he opened his mouth to praise her, the door clicked open.

Y/N let out a gasp of surprise but Fred was quick to drop her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her in order to cover her. Her bare breasts were pressed against his naked chest and she started at the door where George Weasley gawked at them. He stared at the two of them wide-eyed, holding up a finger in silence for a second, before he erupted into laughter. "Months. Months you two go tiptoeing around each other but get the both of you sloshed and the air is cleared in an instant," he teased, running a hand through his hair.

He didn't seem to register why the two of them were half naked, just that they were and just that they were pressed against each other. Fred stared at his brother with wide eyes. "Merlin, get out, George," he blurted.

"Alright, alright." George giggled in the doorway. "As you were, lovers," he said with a wink, before he slipped away once more.

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley x reader #james phelps #james phelps x reader #james phelps imagines #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagines

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ipuckwithhockey · 4 years ago

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History Repeats Itself- B. Boeser

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

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

warnings: None that I can think of

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you a Canucks fan?” Elias asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, shoot.” He says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No such luck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Brock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, he was.” You answer back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#brock boeser #vancouver canucks #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic #nhl #canucks

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thediamondgirl17 · 4 years ago

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Rin Okumura x Reader: First Bell

Wow...I have not seen any Blue Exorcist content in a while! But I have to admit I am a big fan of Rin Okumura! He is definitely on the list of some of my top fav anime characters!

Considering I am a not so popular writer, I decided to write for a not so popular anime! (I don’t know how it isn’t popular, I freaking love this show!)

Anyways-! Onto the story! As always if you would like a Part 2 to this I will gladly write one! And constructive feedback is always welcome!

Warnings: PG-13 (Spoilers!: This story will be taking place right after Season 1 of the anime! Nothing beyond that point will be talked about however!)

You remember it like it was yesterday. Rumors of the gates of Gehenna opening, with True Cross Academy being in the center of all of it. Nobody believed the rumors. Why should they? It had been years since Satan had crawled out of the gates of hell and rampaged through Assiah. You had your doubts however. Everyone knew about the son of Satan, how he wanted to become an exorcist. And then...the gates opened. There was panic everywhere, doors to True Cross Academy opened, mirrors were placed to deflect light through the darkness. And then...Your school was destroyed.

Opening the doors and letting in sunlight through mirrors was a great idea and it had saved many lives in the short amount of time that it had been planned. However, nobody had expected demons to lurk in the shadows behind the mirrors. Nobody had expected large demons to find their way through your school and tear it down whilst having sunlight beat down on them, destroying them as well in the process. What in the name of Assiah did they do it for? Nobody knows. However now you had to start somewhere else for Exorcist training. Everyone in your school then was moved to different schools that offered the same program so you could continue your studies. And of course...Having your luck, you landed at True Cross Academy.

Most everyone who was in your course back at your original school was spread around so that one school wouldn’t be mobbed with exorcists in training. Not that you were complaining about getting into one of the most prestigious schools in the country, it was just the student body that worried you. To say you were scared of the twins of Satan would be a lie, but it wasn’t like you were jumping out of your skin to go meet them either.

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The first bell had rung of your first class of the day. Demon pharmaceuticals. You gently held your backpack straps and bit your lower lip. You stepped forward and gently pushed open the large door in front of you. It was heavy, but years of training and working out to make yourself stronger helped out a bit with your struggle. You stepped inside and looked around the classroom. There weren’t a lot of people there, which pissed you off considering you had to leave a lot of friends behind to come here. Your eyes travelled to a boy holding a poppet. A girl with purple pig-tails. A boy with pink hair. There was a boy with a blonde Mohawk. One with a shaved head and glasses. A girl with blonde hair. And finally the two who have had your curious since you entered the school.

One stood in front of the class wearing the official exorcist uniform. His ears were pointed, and if you looked close enough you could see fangs poking out of his mouth. Your eyes however lingered on the tail that poked out from underneath his official jacket. His hair was black and he had two beauty marks directly under his eyes.

“Sorry I’m late!-” A voice called as another demon boy jumped through the threshold of the door. “Holy shit, who are you?!” He asked with wide eyes. Almost like he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. He had the same demonic feats as his brother but his hair was blue and he looked roughed up. Your cheeks involuntarily heated up at the comment.

“Rin! Don’t be rude!” The other demonic twin said and wacked his brother on the back of the head gently with his hand. “Everyone take your seats and I will explain everything.”

“I-...I’m sorry are you my teacher?” You asked softly and a bit confused. He offered a kind and sweet smile.

“Yes I am...Now take a seat anywhere you see fit and I will begin todays class.” He said and went back behind the counter in the front of the room. You nodded slowly and sat down in the far back corner as to not be disturbed. You had known there would be two of them...You did not expect one of them to be your teacher.

“As you all are quite aware, we have a new student today. Miss (L/n) please come up and introduce yourself.” He said, and the moment he stopped talking all eyes were on you. Especially a pair of demonic ones. Slowly you got up and walked to the front of the class. You stood next to Mr. Okumura and started talking.

“My name is (F/n) (L/n) I was transferred here after a demon escaped from Gehenna and trampled my school while supplying light here through mirrors.” You started, but soon got cut off.

“What?! No way! Not one demon from that portal made it’s way through those thresholds!” The boy with the blonde strip shouted as he stood up.

“Bon! Lower your voice!” Yuiko scolded him.

“I assure you it did-” You started.

“Are you sure it wasn’t someone’s familiar?”

“No.”

“How do you know?!” He said getting defensive.

“Bon!” Yukio shouted. “That’s enough just let her talk...Please continue...What kind of exorcist are you training to be?”

“I want to be a tamer...Well I am a tamer...But I have been studying being a Knight on the side.” You replied softly

“And why did you want to become an exorcist?” He asked. You went utterly silent. What would they think if you told them why you were really here? Would they think you were crazy? Probably. A dream to live in peace with demons was not a dream that people take kindly in this field, and you knew that better than anyone in the room. “If you don’t want to tell us you don’t have to...,” He said placing a hand on your shoulder. You glared at his hand and he suddenly pulled it off.

“...Your so warm...,” You said softly. “Nothing like the other half demons...,” You said softly.

“Well what did you expect?” The girl with the purple hair said sarcastically. “They ARE the sons of Satan...and by the way your reason to become an exorcist doesn’t matter to us...There are two people sitting in this room who want to kill Satan.”

“Kill Satan?!” You asked shocked. “That’s suicide...,”

“Is not!” The other demonic twin stood up. “I can totally do it!”

“I’m going to be sobering honest with you Okumura.” You said and looked straight at him. “Your still half human. You will die.” You said plainly. “Half-demons are mortals...,”

“So what?! If I’m so crazy then why are you here hmm?” He questioned. Now the whole room was staring right at you. Your cheeks heated up from the sudden attention.

“If I tell you....You can’t laugh...,” You said softly.

“Nobody will laugh at you.” Yukio reassured you.

“I-...I believe with enough hard work...And studying...We could...Live in peace with beings from Gehenna...And I know it sounds crazy-!” You said.

“That’s a great goal!” Rin said shooting up from his seat with a sloppy grin. And there was a moment of silence in the room. A moment you took to mark this in your memory. He was the first one to not laugh, or judge, or try to convince you that your dream was not in reach.

“...So is yours...,” You replied softly before sitting back down at your desk.

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The next day was your first day doing academic classes at your new school. Currently the first bell for lunch had rung and you went to get food. You stood silently in awe as you noticed there was nothing left for students on a budget. You groaned softly and your shoulders slumped.

“Hey!” You heard someone say behind you. “You hungry?” You turned only to find Rin behind you holding a bento in his hands. His hair covered his ears and his teeth were still fanged like, but normal enough to be considered normal. And his tail was tucked away somewhere, but it wasn’t exactly like you were looking for it.

“Yeah...Actually...I didn’t get to eat breakfast today either...I’m like the last person to show up every day...,” You chuckled softly.

“Wanna split my lunch?” He offered. You did a little double take.

“You would...Do that?”

“Hell yeah! What are friends for?” He asked and motioned for you to follow behind him. “Follow me!” He called. And soon the two of you were off. After a little while of walking and trying to find a good spot for lunch, you both settled on a patch of grass. “Here...I have an extra pair of chopsticks.” He said and handed them to you.

“Thanks...,” You said softly and took a bite from his lunch. “Wow!” You said with your eyes lighting up. “This tastes amazing!” Rin felt his cheeks heat up and he bashfully looked down.

“Oh stop!” He said gently waving his hand back and forth, then reaching down and taking a bite from his lunch. “Sho...Do you rweally fink shat we can live wif demons...,” He said with his mouth filled. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit at it.

“What?” You asked with a slightly tilted head.

“Do you really think we can live with demons...Ya’know...In peace?” He asked looking up at you. You paused for a moment and hummed.

“I don’t see why not...,” You trailed off.

“Where did you even get that idea in the first place? I mean- not to be rude...But I don’t think you just woke up one day thinking that humans and demons should live in peace...,” You hummed softly at his question and thought about it.

“Well...Way back when I was a little girl...I got attacked by a demon, it latched on to me and slowly was draining my life away...I was only 7 years old at the time.” You sighed and smiled. “But then...An exorcist came and she banished the demon back to where it came from.”

“Why didn’t she just kill it?” He asked sipping on his water from his plastic bottle.

“It was against her belief...I hold some of those beliefs.”

“What were they?”

“She believed that all life was a precious gift...I believe that too, however I also believe that sometimes things need to die to keep balance...Like how predators kill their prey to survive. I believe the same for demons, that they shouldn’t die unless it’s life on the line.” You blushed. “Sorry I’m rambling.”

“No no! I totally get it! That’s a very interesting kind of thinking...but I like it!” He smiled a wide toothy grin. You blinked and felt your heart pound in your chest.

“Everyone calls me crazy...When I tell them that...,” You said softly and pushed some hair behind your ear.

“People say that about me when I talk about killing Satan...So I guess we’re in the same boat!” He raised his hand to give you a high five. You smiled and gently clapped your hand against his.

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After that, your relationship with Rin got much better. You sat next to him in classes, ate lunch with him, did your homework with him, and he even let you come over to his dorm and meet Ukokbach. All in all, you enjoyed spending time with Rin, and he enjoyed spending time with you. And slowly over the course of about three months, you both began to develop feelings for one another, feelings a bit deeper than friendship.

It was just before Yukio’s class when it happened. You were just walking down the long winding hallway with huge doors, when you saw something behind you glow. It was Rin, a bit of blue fire gently licked at the top of his head, and the tip of his tail. His cheeks were a soft pink and his walk looked uncomfortable.

“Rin...,” You said softly. “You okay..?-”

“Your really hot and pretty and I wanna go out with you cuz your really cool and I feel like we would make a good couple so whaddya’ say?” He said really quickly. It took a moment for your mind to process everything that he had just said to you. You gulped softly and smiled, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Let’s start with dinner Okumura...,” You said softly, then you heard the first bell ring and smiled. “We’re gonna be late.” You sang before heading into the classroom. However, Rin stood frozen, with red cheeks. A wild large flame surrounded his body as he celebrated in the hallway.

“Yes! She likes me back! Oh shit I gotta make something good for dinner!” He cried happily, completely unaware...

...that you could hear him through the door.

#blue exorcist #anime #rin x reader #rin okumura x reader

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icerosecrystal · 4 years ago

Text

Marijon - My Secret Older Sister

Her name is Marinette Amani Al-Ghul. Marinette is the first grandchild of the demon-head and the daughter of Talia Al-Ghul. She is also the older sister of Damian Al-Ghul by two years. Despite what others may think, both she and her brother came from the same man. Bruce Wayne. Although Damian has no idea who his father is, Marinette has known for eight years. Despite the young age of 12, she was an incredibly smart girl. She also possessed the ability to be happy and feel love. But not in front of anyone but her brother and sometimes her mother. She and her brother had a great relationship. They were always there for each other. Damian was there for Marinette when her grandfather Ra's would sometimes beat her for not doing well on a mission. And he would base it solely on her gender. Marinette was there for Damian the first time Damian had to kill someone. It disgusted him, but he continued doing it for the sake of his title.

Then the day the League fell came. Slade had attacked when Ra's was showing the whole League to Damian and explaining that it would all one day be his. Marinette was standing behind them next to her mother. Ra's had told her mother to grab both of them and run. Marinette protected her brother throughout it all when suddenly, Marinette got shot in the stomach. She collapsed in pain. She saw her mother running back to them, so Marinette let go of Damian, who was looking at her worriedly, "Damian, my akhi, go run, save yourself. Tell Mother to take you to Father. I'll be fine."

Damian was crying now, "NO, I won't leave you, you have to come with me. Please don't leave me, ukhti."

Marinette smiled sadly. She then hugged Damian and kissed him on the cheek, "I love you. And I promise I will find you one day." She let go of his hand as Talia quickly grabbed his arm and lead him to the docks, glancing at Marinette once in worry.

Marinette was lying still for a little bit before she heard a voice say, "Tom, I found her!" Marinette turned her head to the side and saw her godmother, Sabine Cheng recently Dupain-Cheng, hurrying over to her, with her godfather Tom not too far behind.

When they reached her, they gasped at the wound in her stomach. Tom picked her up and quickly walked to the docks with Sabine following. "Where we going?" Marinette said her voiced slurring, herself only half-conscious due to the blood loss.

Sabine answered, "We're going to Paris. We had a house there just in case we ever had to escape the League."

Marinette nodded in turn before she closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion take over. "Good night," she heard before she was fully asleep.

Marinette woke up to an unfamiliar scene. She tensed, but when she caught sight of her godparents, she relaxed, "So what's the plan?"

Sabine was the one who answered", Well, you aren't allowed to act like the devil in disguise." Marinette scoffed, but she didn't argue, knowing Sabine was right. She may be sweet with her family, but with strangers and acquaintances, she wasn't the nicest. "Also, you are going to be Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You are the daughter of two bakers, Tom and I, and you are a designer. You will also be clumsy and stutter a lot."

Marinette nodded in understanding, "Okay, but what about Damian?"

Sabine sighed, "You're just going to have to hope that one day you find each other again."

Marinette nodded in understanding. She then went up to her new room, ready to put on a mask for the rest of the world to see.

(Time Skip)

It was now the start of the tenth grade for Marinette. She was now thirteen-years-old, and she was ready to play her part of the clumsy baker's daughter. She took some macaroons for her new classmates and then walked outside. While she waited to cross the street, she caught sight of a man crossing the street. A car was heading right to him. Regardless of who she was pretending to be, she wasn't going to let a man get hurt. She ran and quickly pulled him to the sidewalk, effectively using it as an excuse to trip over her feet. She handed the man a macaroon and then ran to school.

At school, she sat down quietly in her seat. When a dark girl, with brown hair and auburn highlights, picked a fight with a blonde girl. The blonde girl was supposedly bullying Marinette. Marinette and the blonde girl exchanged looks, acknowledging that the girl before them was a load of bull. Marinette then found out that the blonde girl's name was Chloe, and she was a bully, and the other girl was Alya.

Marinette looked around the classroom, analyzing everybody.

She then heard a voice scream, "Kim!"

She looked behind her to see a big, burly blonde kid, look like he wanted to beat up somebody. The teacher then asked him, "Ivan, what is going on?"

The blonde kid replied, "It's Kim! I'm so going to get..."

The teacher then pointed to the door and shouted, "Ivan, go to the principal's office."

Before Ivan could stomp off angrily, Marinette spoke up, quite surprised by the way the teacher was handling things, "With all due respect Miss, you didn't even listen to Ivan's side of the story. It could be Kim that's bullying Ivan, but you're rather playing favoritism."

The teacher sputtered, not knowing how to react, "Who gave you the authority to question my teaching skills?"

Marinette smirked, replying, " Common sense."

Mrs. Bustier walked out of the classroom to calm down, pure fury clear on her face. That day she turned into Zombispect. When she kissed them, they would automatically obey and respect her. That was also the day Lady Spots and Chat Noir resided in Paris.

While Lady Spots was a great superhero, Chat Noir was an incompetent fool. Marinette hated him. He would always flirt with her and never get anything done. And in many cases, if he didn't get what he wanted, he would either threaten to quit or sit out. Marinette never told him, but she honestly thought that she did better in battle when he wasn't around.

In terms of her civilian life, Alya convinced herself that she was Marinette's best friend and that Marinette had a crush on Adrien. In actuality, Marinette's best friend was and is her brother, Damian, and Chloe. While Chloe was spoiled, she was also neglected by her parents, which made her act rather bitchy at times. And she for sure did not have a crush on the spineless Adrien Agreste. No one in the class knew anything about the real her. But her godparents and even Chloe, who knew a bit about her. But, the one person that Marinette wanted to talk to was her precious little brother. She needed to hug him, spoil him, and talk with him about everything. But most of all, she wanted to know that he was still alive and happy somewhere.

Marinette would cry herself to bed every day, hoping that one day she would see him again. Thankfully, Tikki was on her side.

(Time Skip of one year. This is after Volpina, but before Chameleon)

It has been two years since Marinette last saw her brother. Alya was still going strong, coming up with ridiculous plans for her to date Adrien. She was still a "clumsy" baker girl. And while designing was her supposed hobby, after about a month, she really got into it. What pissed Marinette off the most was that she had to wear pink, have her room pink, and wear pigtails. Why? Because it strengthened the fact that she was an innocent, little, naive girl. While it did help people underestimate her, it annoyed the heck out of her. She actually ranted to her godparents one day about how bad her appearance was, "How can one color be so bright?! How could anyone like looking at it?! Why the hell do these pigtails make me look like a short-ass baby?! I look like a fucking moron! Where the hell is Damian when you need him?!" It was about three days later when her question was answered.

Marinette had been walking around town when suddenly someone bumped into Marinette. Marinette caught herself and caught the person she bumped into. But the words that came out of the person's mouth had her reeling, "Tt, what type of imbecile are you to be bumping into people on the street?" Marinette would know that voice anywhere. And sure enough, when she actually looked at the person that she bumped into, she was staring into the face of her brother. When he realized who she was, he let out a timid, "Marinette," that had Marinette practically sobbing.

When she found that her face was wet, she realized that she was sobbing, but she didn't care. Damian was alive. She strangled him with a hug, cooing softly into his ear once he too started crying. They stayed like that for a while before they released each other. It was then that Marinette saw the boy standing behind Damian.

She blushed when she noticed his features, black hair like her own, the bluest, purest eyes she had ever seen. He was wearing glasses that gave him a nerdy look, but his body begged to differ. He was very tall, probably 5ft 11, and had huge muscles that gave off more of a jock look. He had so many characteristics that Marinette felt insanely attracted. She snapped out of her thoughts and offered the boy a hand, "Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or Marinette Al-Ghul, Damien's older sister by two years."

He gave her a blinding smile that could rival the sun and then kissed her hand, "Jonathan Kent, Jon for short. It's nice to meet the sister of my best friend." The more she studied him, the more she realized that he looked familiar. It was then that she realized he was Superboy, the superhero Alya had been raving about last week.

Marinette blushed at him kissing her hand. She then decided to let her inner devil come out to play. Leaning closer, she whispered, "It's nice to meet you too. I hope that you have been nice to my brother. Because if I found out you haven't, I might get my katana and skin you. I know that you might be invincible, but with the kryptonite, which I do have, you would be weakened within a second. So make your decisions carefully." She then leaned back and watched how his expression changed. His face went from happy, to confused, to shocked, to scared, and the surprisingly, love.

He smirked, "Well, you are better than I expected." He then pulled out a piece of paper and wrote his phone number. "Call me, you're hot and a little devil, I like it." He then winked and gave it to her.

They both heard Damian scream, "KENT! Stay away from my sister before I skin you!"

Marinette giggled and took the piece of paper from him. She then asked, "You look to be about my age. Why are you with Damian?"

Jon replied, "I'm 15-years-old. So one year older than you. (I know that Jon is actually three years younger in Super Sons, but for this to work, Jon is three older, not younger. If you have any problems with that, fight me.) And Damian and I work together a lot. We're considered the Super Sons, so we're best friends."

Marinette nodded in understanding before suggesting that they all go to a coffee shop to talk. Damian and Jon agreed. Damian told Marinette all about their father, their brothers, and sisters, him being Robin. He told her everything. She offered him support and asked questions about their family.

When it was her turn, she explained how Tom and Sabine saved her and how she came to Paris. And how she is pretending to be a clumsy sweet girl who likes pink. (She wasn't totally over the whole pink thing along with the pigtails.) That coaxed a laugh out of both Damian and Jon. But when she got to the part about Alya, Damian wanted to skin Alya. He was Marinette's best friend, not some dumb harlot. When she explained how she was Lady Spots, and Chat Noir had some major failings as a partner, it took both Jon and Marinette to hold him back. He continued trying to escape while shouting, "LET ME AT HIM, HE DARE FLIRT WITH MY SISTER!!! I'LL SKIN HIS SORRY ASS BEFORE RIPPING HIM INTO SHREDS AND DUMPING HIM IN A RIVER!" He then continued to explain exactly how he would kill Chat Noir. Marinette knew that he was capable of going through with his plan, so she distracted him by asking for his phone number so that they could stay in contact. Damian calmed down enough to give it to her.

When she realized how late it was, she gave a hug and promised to meet up with him for the rest of the week. She also promised that once he left Paris, she would stay in contact. She wasn't going to leave her brother again. She then went up to Jon and kissed his cheek before saying goodbye. She then turned around and went home. If she had stayed a second longer, she would have seen Jon blush and then touch the cheek that she kissed with his fingertips, a goofy smile adorning his lips. Although Damian wanted to keep Jon away from his sister, he supposed Jon was better than the mangy cat or the spineless model.

For the rest of the week, the three met up every day and did different activities. One day they went to the Lourve, another an arcade, the day after that a carnival, and so on. On their last day, they went to the park and then went for Andre's ice cream. When they arrived, Andre greeted Marinette, "Bonjour Marinette! Would you like a sweetheart ice cream."

"Oui Andre. This is my brother Damian, and his friend Jon." She then turned to the boys, "Andre is the sweetheart's ice cream maker. He essentially gives you icecream based on the characteristics of your soul mate. Damian, how about you go first."

Damian stepped in front of the cart, "Ah, Damian, one scoop of violet and honey for her eyes, coconut ash for her hair, and cherry for her mysterious and complicated past. Here you are." (There is actually such a thing as black ice cream. It's made with coconut ash that people sometimes flavor with burnt honey vanilla.)

Damian took the ice cream and looked at it. He then realized that it looked like Raven, his crush. He blushed. "Ah, I see the love fair and true. I suppose you know who is right for you?" Damian nodded and started eating his ice cream, a small smile gracing his lips. He then paid attention to his sister and his best friend. They were now getting their ice cream.

Andre looked at the two and said, "Ah, but here's the truth, the two of you are the right match. You complete each other just like one, so come, let Andre supply you with love." Marinette and Jon were both surprised by the turn of events. But they both just blushed and agreed. Andre then said, "Blueberry for both your eyes, strawberry for her lips, cherry for his secret, and cotton candy for your personalities. Enjoy!"

Jon and Marinette waved goodbye and then ate their ice cream. They were still surprised about the turn of events. Neither knew what to say to the other until picked up some courage and asked, "Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

Marinette was surprised but agreed. They shared a chaste kiss. They then heard Damian gagging in the background. They broke apart, and Jon raised an eyebrow, "You're one to talk. I saw your ice cream. It really represented, mmph." Damian covered Jon's mouth before he could blurt out the name of his sweetheart.

"Kent looks like it's time to go! By the way, if you hurt my sister, I won't hesitate to kill you." He then dragged Jon off, leaving Marinette to chuckle to herself. The next day, she said goodbye to Damian and Jon. She gave them both a quick hug along with an extra kiss for Jon. She was so happy that she had found her brother again.

(Time Skip of three years)

It has been three years since Marinette bumped into Damian and Jon in Paris. The two visited whenever they could, the same with Marinette. But they never told their families. Marinette didn't tell her family because they didn't know she was Ladybug. Damian didn't tell because he wanted his sister to himself. Jon didn't tell because the other two didn't. Jon's and Marinette's relationship was still going strong. They loved each other very much. Jon loved how playful and happy Marinette could be, but she wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone. She was his little devil. Marinette loved Jon because of how pure and sunshiny he was. She loved how he cared for her and was always there for her no matter what. Damian actually started a relationship with Rachel Roth otherwise known as Raven as Andre's ice cream had indicated all those years ago.

During the three years, many things had changed, though. A girl named Lila came and turned everyone against her except Chloe. Marinette pretended that she was sad, but really she was ecstatic that she didn't have to hang out with morons anymore. She found Lila quite pathetic. Lila let others do her dirty work for her. She hid behind lies and morons. Marinette never found her as a threat.

She also defeated Hawkmoth a year ago, but it was because he surrendered. So, she didn't take him to jail, she made him donate thousands of dollars to people who needed therapy from the akumas and do community service. He agreed, so she let him go. She was glad that Gabriel Agreste had learned his lesson.

Yeah, for the most part, everything was going fine, she wasn't stuck with morons, and she had her brother and boyfriend. Until her brother and significant idiot forgot that her bio family didn't know about her.

It was the end of another shitty day for Marinette. She collapsed on her chaise. She looked at the time and realized that it was time for her's and Damian's video calls. She groaned before getting up and getting her phone. She dialed his number before waiting for him to pick up. Once he did, she saw that Jon was with him. They all talked together animatedly. What Damian and Jon forgot to do, was make sure that the Bat-family didn't come back from patrol while they were still on the call. But naturally, the two idiots forgot.

So, two hours later, when the three were still talking, they didn't realize when Jason came into the room. They only did when Jason screamed, "Demon Spawn and Supes Junior are talking to a girl on the phone!" This alerted the rest of the Waynes, so they all ran into Damian's room. When they entered, they were met with quite a sight. A confused Jason was watching a small pixie-like girl screaming at Jon and Damian in what seemed to be Arabic, Urdu, Russian, English, French, Spanish, Romanian, and Greek.

Once she calmed down, although she was still glaring at the two boys, she introduced herself, "Hi, my name is Marinette."

Dick asked her, "What's your last name?"

Marinette replied, "It depends on who your asking. Here in France, I would be Marinette Dupain-Cheng. In the league, I would be Marinette Al-Ghul. But, my real name would most likely be Marinette Wayne."

Jason yelled, "Your married to Demon Spawn!"

Marinette scowled, "No, Tt, are you always this incompetent? I am Damian's older sister by two years. I am also Jon's girlfriend of three years."

Bruce took a deep breath and pinched his nose, "And the reason none of you said anything was because?" He looked directly at Damian when asking the question.

Damian snapped, "I didn't want to share my beloved sister. She is too good for you imbeciles. She is also too good for Kent. But Kent is better than the mangy cat or the ugly model."

Everyone looked at Marinette confused except for Damian and Jon. She quickly shook her head, "Don't ask. If you want to ask me some questions, I'll be there in a minute."

Damian realizing that she was going to use the horse miraculous to transport to Gotham quickly said, "Wait, no, don't!" But she had already ended the call making Damian curse in Arabic.

Seconds later a portal appeared and a girl stepped out. She then spoke, "Kaalki, dismount." A flash appeared around her and they then saw the same girl on the phone now in front of them.

This left Wayne's gaping, while Alfred asked, "Mistress Marinette, would Kaalki I assume, need anything?"

Marinette replied, "Oui, she prefers sugar cubes to recharge. Merci, Alfred."

Then Jon got up and shouted, "My little devil!"

"Sunshine", Marinette exclaimed in joy before kissing him with full force. He kissed her back passionately. She placed her arm on his shoulders while he held her waist and lifted her a little off the ground. After a little bit, there was an awkward cough that reminded them that there were others in the room. They gave each other one more peck, before reluctantly pulling away. Although, Jon's arm was still around her waist. Marinette tried to not focus on the aching in her chest that was telling her to pounce on Jon and smother him in love and kisses while he did the same to her.

Marinette sighed and tried to focus on the situation at hand, "It's nice to meet all of you. My name is Marinette Al-Ghul Wayne, and I am Damian's sister as mentioned."

They all stared at her strangely until Tim asked, "Are you sure you grew up with Damian, or that your mother is Talia Al-Ghul? You seem a lot more different from Demon Spawn."

She smirked at them viciously, "First of all, I am for sure Damian's biological sister. Second of all, I may seem like an angel, but I'm the devil in disguise, hence Jon's nickname for me. Third of all, I'm not as arrogant as Damian because Ra's was always abusing me since I was a girl. So, I am a lot worse than Damian, I just don't show it."

No one knew what to do with this information. Sure Damian already knew about the beatings, but no one else did. They stared at her in worry, but she just waved them off, "Don't worry about me. Ra's is dead, I'm living with my godparents, and I'm happy."

Damian then rose an eyebrow, "What about your moronic classmates?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you. This pathetic girl who threatened to take my friends away, made it so that no one talks to me anymore. So, yay! Oooh, also I should probably explain my life to you?" She then went on to talk about everything, how her life was at the league, what happened when Slade attacked, her life in Paris and when she became Lady Spots, how she met Damian and Jon, what happened after that.

By the end of her story, everyone looked like they wanted to kill her classmates and Chat Noir. Well, almost everyone. Bruce was on the ground muttering to himself, "Why, why, why? I just wanted one of my kids to not be a superhero. Is that too much to ask for?"

While Bruce had his breakdown, Tim asked her, "Did you defeat Hawkmoth?"

"Yeah, I did. He surrendered, so I let him off with some requirements in place. I actually was thinking of doing something to expose Lila. As much as I hate the morons, their future will be horrible if they keep on listening to that pathetic bitch."

Damian looked at her curiously, "What were you thinking?

"You are going to invite my class to the Wayne Gala. There we are going to introduce the whole family, including me. Damian, you are going to bring Raven. I'll bring Jon obviously. If we disprove that she knows the Waynes, the rest of her lies will come crashing down." Everyone smiled obviously pleased with the idea.

So they spent the next month getting the gala together. They organized a contest that Bustier's class won. During the month, the Waynes got to know Marinette. While Damian did have a problem with sharing her, everyone still go to know her. They were officially scared of her after she won after sparing against everyone and then cussing at Damian in many languages. It made Jon fall more in love with her though.

Another problem was that the Waynes would walk into Jon's and Marinette's make-out sessions all the time. Once, Jon, had Marinette pushed up against a wall and he was kissing her passionately. Marinette had her hands in his hair, one of them playing with the ends of his hair. She had taken off his shirt and was kissing down his neck. Jon had groaned and had stopped her so he could kiss her neck as well making her moan in want. He was whispering about what he wanted to do with her at the same time. Through dazed eyes, Marinette looked up and finally saw her family looking at her, both Damian and Bruce had their jaws clenched. When Jon noticed them, he quickly let go of her. Dick, Jason, and Tim started laughing, cooing, and teasing them, making Marinette hide her head in his chest. This made Damian launch himself at Jon, but before he could, Marinette had already disarmed him. She screamed, "Don't hurt my boyfriend, Damian." He just huffed, but let it go. From then on, they made sure to lock the door.

It was finally the day of the gala. Marinette saw all of her classmates. They mostly looked nice, but Lila was wearing an incredibly revealing dress.

It was then time for the reveal. Bruce went up to the stage and announced, "Good evening, everybody. I am pleased that you could all attend. Today, I would like to introduce all of my children along with their significant other. To start, my oldest son Richard Grayson, also known as Dick Grayson along with his wife Kori Grayson."

(Bruce's suit)

(Dick's Suit)

(Kori's Dress)

"My son Jason Todd."

(Jason's suit)

"My son Tim Drake."

(Tim's suit)

"My son Damian Wayne with his girlfriend Rachel Roth."

(Damien's suit)

(Rachel's dress)

"Finally, my new found daughter, also Damian's biological older sister Marinette Wayne. With her date Jon Kent."

(Marinette's dress)

(Jon's suit)

When her classmates saw Marinette they started screaming insults. She just raised an eyebrow at them, "Is there a problem?"

Alya yelled, "Yeah there is. You're not a Wayne, you never told me that you were."

Marinette replied, "We were never best friends so I was under no obligation to tell you anything. I am a Wayne. I just lived with my godparents in Paris until my dad found out about me. I am dating my handsome boyfriend, Jonathan Kent. I have given you so much proof. How about you question Lila. She claimed that she was dating Damian. Damian is two years younger than her and he is dating Rachel. She isn't close to the Waynes, I am. So, stop questioning me and question her."

Everyone looked at Lila, but she was incredibly pale. That showed everyone that she was lying. They started yelling at her. Bruce then spoke up, "Security, escort this class out of the gala." As security did so, no one stopped yelling at Lila.

Marinette and Jon then turned to the reporters and Marinette said, "Five questions go."

She pointed to one reporter, "Where do you live?"

"Paris like I mentioned earlier."

She pointed to another, "How old are you?"

"I am 17-years-old, almost 18."

She pointed to a third one, "Were you surprised about being a Wayne?"

"No, I knew that I was a Wayne my whole life. But I was sent to my godparents instead of my dad like Damian. But I still knew." She pointed to her family, "They were surprised about my existence."

She pointed to a fourth reporter, "How do you like being a Wayne?"

"I really enjoy it. They are so nice to me. I really cherish them and we all have a lot of fun together. "

She pointed to a final reporter, "Do you like being Jonathan Kent's girlfriend and how did you meet?"

"We met when I bumped into him and my brother in Paris. We spent the week together. We got this thing called sweethearts ice cream. The ice cream tells you who your soulmate is. The guy who runs it Andre said that we were meant to be together. Jon asked me to be his girlfriend after. We have been a couple for three years. I love Jon a lot. He's really sweet and considerate. I wouldn't trade him for the world." Everyone awed.

Jon then picked her up bridal style, "Now that this is over, we'll be going home to have some fun." He winked at everyone.

Marinette blushed at the implications, "JON!" But, Jon silenced her with a passionate kiss, carrying her off the stage.

As Marinette kissed him back, she felt so happy. She had a loving family and boyfriend. They accepted her and cherished her.

She didn't know that the league was going to be attacked, but it helped her grow as a person and escape abuse. She didn't know that she would get a boyfriend. She didn't know she would ever meet her little brother ever again or meet her family. She didn't know what the future had in store for her. But she did know that she was going to spend it with her boyfriend and her family, and nothing was going to stop her.

(Sorry for the pictures smack in the middle of everything!)

#mlb x dc #maribat #miraculous ladybug #jonette #jonmari #jon x marinette #marinette x jon #marinette al ghul #marinette dupain cheng #jonathan kent #damian wayne #batfam #marinette is damian's older sister #league of assassins #dc #marijon

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maggiec70 · 3 years ago

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The Addams Family at Home in the Dordogne I had no desire to track down Jean-Boy’s descendants when I moved from city to town to village, London to Lisbon to Zaragoza to Vienna to Paris and many stops between in search of useful archival documents and elusive local knowledge for my dissertation in 1992. I already had a feeling that the descendants were an odd bunch. I just didn’t know how odd.

After graduating in the summer of 1994, I spent the last of my financial aid funds on two months in SW France with my besties who’d moved from Canterbury to the Gers and within spitting distance of Lectoure two years earlier. They suggested we pack a nice picnic, drive up to the Dordogne, and visit, for five francs each, the chateau bought, renovated, and occupied by the present duc de Montebello. My friend Jill had already been, but she said, with a straight face, that it was worth a second visit.

And as we say here in the South, “Boy, howdy!”

If this pile of stones, circa 11th century for its squat tower and through the 16th century for the rest of its unprepossessing additions, is the best that Jean-Boy’s descendants could do—or chose to do—then I have to think the gene pool has been sadly corrupted, in quite a few ways. As an aside, Jean-Boy loathed the English, so two of his sons married average middle-class Englishwomen; unfortunately, that trend continued down the line for a while. He hated the Ancien régime aristocracy, and another descendant, probably in the third or fourth line of dukes, married into the duc de Broglie’s family. He was until the end anti-clerical, and the last couple of generations are rabidly conservative Catholics, and religious artifacts, drawings, and paintings abound. He also hated the Chouans/Vendéans, and I think one or two of those somehow crept into the mix by the end of the 19th century.

The tour of the family pile—and when I say “family” here, I refer to the last duke only because he bought the place in the 1960s—began outside in the gardens. I think they were indeed supposed to be gardens because I saw a couple of roses among the knee-high weeds and a couple of shaggy ornamental hedges. Our tour guide was—wait for it!—madame la duchesse de Montebello herself; she is from some stalwart Prussian princely family, which explains why she looked precisely like Aunt Lydia or the wife of some former well-fed Nazi official. She was responsible for showing visitors around the outside grounds and the weeds.

After about 30 minutes, she shooed us inside, where Woody Allen met us. The present duke is about 5’5”, with a wizened little face, rather elf-like, with a hairstyle resembling a 13th-century monk’s tonsure. He was wearing a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, a plaid jacket, and khaki pants held up by—I do not jest here—a piece of rope. A pair of blindingly white tennis shoes and some red wine stains down one leg of the khakis completed this bit of sartorial splendor. As he greeted us, M. le duc held a full glass of red wine and never let go of it for the next hour or so as the level steadily decreased.

The tour languished in the 11th-century tower for over twenty minutes as Woody expected us to admire each stone on the way up a spiraling and quite worn staircase. At the end, we entered a large room with the usual array of wooden ceiling trusses and beams and early Renaissance features holding up an otherwise unadorned ceiling. The walls were stone with a few distinctly threadbare tapestries hanging here and there. The most noticeable feature was a long refectory table, enough for two dozen guess at least, covered in no discernible order with stacks of porcelain plates, serving pieces, and cups from wildly different designs and historical periods. The display included battalions of knives, forks, and spoons, then glassware, lots and lots of glassware. I picked up a glass and looked for a hand-written price tag; the entire setting resembled items arrayed for sale in a large junk shop. The patina of dust lay everywhere, as did the evidence of mouse droppings and a few pigeons that had flown in from holes in the ceiling to leave their calling cards on the dining table and some of the plates.

The next room was a reception room, but it was impossible to tell what historical period it represented. Jumbles of chairs, stools, small tables, a baby carriage, porcelain dolls, bookcases, modern lamps leaning to port and starboard added to the garage sale atmosphere. The oil portraits on the walls featured a collection of Ancien régime folks—Woody spent ten minutes of the glories of the de Broglies—a portrait of Berthier—Woody seemed fond of him too—and various high-ranking clergy, primarily bishops and archbishops. And who did I not see on the walls? Yep, you guessed it.

The last room on the tour was a small study, crammed so full of nondescript stuff that we could scarcely move around without bumping into something. But at last, I saw Jean-Boy. A black-and-white drawing, and not a very good one, of him, LouLou, and the five little Montebello rugrats all looking so en famille I couldn’t help but snicker. By then, I’d had it with Woody and his bottomless glass of wine. I asked what he had that either belonged to Jean-Boy or somehow related to him. He shrugged, took another gulp, rummaged around in a desk, and produced, encased in plastic, an inscribed invitation to the coronation. That was it. I asked, rather sharply, where all the letters, documents, uniforms, and other possessions had gone. Woody shrugged. His response, accompanied by more wine, was that those things had all disappeared over time.

I almost slapped him.

And that, Dear Readers, is one of the driving reasons I intend to bring to light all the dirty linen I already have, as well as the rest we’re gathering as I type. No one else has bothered. Everyone else is happy with the “official version.” But I do hate to see such a marvelous Kardashian-style saga go to waste.

#Jean-Boy #Montebellos

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

Text

I Got You (Part 2)

Summary: The reader has a quieter morning with Jensen while trying to convince him that he needs to talk to his family sooner rather than later if he wants to start feeling better...

Part 1

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 5,900ish

Warnings: language, angst, lying, mention of alcoholism, fluff

A/N: Might do more of this, who knows. Enjoy!

_______

Jensen was asleep when you woke, hair messy, covers tucked up under his chin. He’d probably be hungover. He normally was if he’d drunk too much, even if he threw up. Very gently you ran your hand through his hair, surprised when he rolled over to face you and snuggled into your side. He still seemed so small, so unlike the guy that was normally one to shove his crap down inside. He let stuff out in acting he’d told you once. He let it out when he did boxing or lifted weights. He let it out alone. It seemed to work for him so you never thought much of it.

Occasionally you found him upset though. When he was eighteen and almost quit acting. You flew out on a Thursday night after class and stayed with him that weekend, helping him to stop freaking the fuck out. God he freaked out more than most everyone knew. Laid back, easy going, go with the flow, that was the image everyone had of him. The anxiety used to be bad but you knew he acted through it, pretended he was cool with it all and it worked pretty well for him. You could still tell though when he got quiet and let other people speak that it was still there. It was hardwired into him. But it was better than it used to be.

But for the first time in his life you were fairly certain he was anxious to see his family and that was enough to send you into new territory with him.

“Don’t,” he mumbled when you stopped moving your hand through his strands. You started moving again, his face burrowed down under your arm.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, hoping he’d have fallen back asleep. Instead he peeled open his eyes and turned his head up, staring at you with big green eyes. “I love you.”

He smiled and moved his head up to your shoulder, reaching his arm across your waist and holding you tight.

“I love you too,” he said. You leaned your head down and kissed his temple, Jensen squirming a little. “I give you the forehead kisses.”

“You’re just gonna have to get used to me kissing you all sorts of places,” you smirked.

“I am very okay with that,” he said, a softer look about him. “It’s been a bit since I’ve been with someone.”

“I know,” you said as you played with his hair.

“You okay? With the whole Andrew situation?” he asked quietly. You nodded and he stared at you, trying to hide the fact he was happy Andrew was gone but still concerned you were hurt.

“I was on the way out the door with him anyways. He couldn’t respect you and if he can’t do that, he has no place in my life. It’d be like me asking you to give up Jared. It’s just insane.”

“To be fair Jared and Gen are some of your best friends too,” chuckled Jensen.

“But you get my point. Relationships are give and take and he always took. Andrew was tolerable until he wasn’t. I don’t want to spend my life tolerating my husband most of the time and hating him the rest. I’d rather love him and occasionally tolerate, you know,” you said.

“Not for any particular reason but do I have any habits that...annoy you?” he asked.

“Yes. But I know I can annoy you too. Don’t worry about you. You’re different,” you said. He stared at you and you ran your thumb over his cheek. “Jensen think of it this way. I don’t expect to always like my husband 100% of the time. He’ll piss me off and annoy me and all of that. But I do expect to always love him. Andrew...that never happened with him. But there is someone in my life that even when he frustrates me or bugs me I’ve never not loved. He’s different. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said. He leaned up and kissed you, cupping your cheek with a gentle little smile on his face.

“We waited twenty five years. We can take this slow, okay?” you said. He nodded and lay back in bed, tracing his finger over the curves of your face.

“Always wondered what it’d be like to do this...wake up next to you in the morning,” he said. He booped your nose and smiled. “You’re so soft.”

“I moisturize,” you said, Jensen chuckling. “How was it that I learned how to have a proper skincare regime from you? Shouldn’t this have been the other way around?”

“I wear more makeup than you do,” he teased. “Do you remember that time you slept over senior year unexpected?”

“Very well,” you said as you smiled.

“Hi, Mr. Ackles,” you said, forcing a half-smile as he opened the front door.

“Hey, kiddo. Jensen’s not home. He’s sleeping over Jack’s house. I’m sure the boys are still there,” he said. You nodded and shrugged, getting a nod as he noticed the bag on your shoulders. “How’s your dad?”

“My parents had a big fight tonight. Dad...he said he was going out to get drunk. Mom doesn’t want me home if he relapses,” you said.

“Come on,” he said as he pulled you inside. “You eat dinner yet?”

“I’m okay,” you said and he rolled his eyes. “I’m hungry.”

“Put your bag in Jensen’s room. You can have his bed tonight. I don’t imagine you want to go hang out with the boys too much right now,” he said.

“Jack doesn’t like me,” you said. He raised an eyebrow and you shrugged. “It’s a guys night or something. I’m okay hanging out here...if that’s okay.”

“You come here and knock on the door you’ll always have a place to stay, Jensen or no Jensen,” he said.

“I wish my dad was like you. Didn’t drink at all.”

“I never cared much for it. But as far as you know he hasn’t drunk yet and he’s still seven years clean. That’s not easy.”

“I know. I’ll be back in a minute,” you said. You jogged upstairs and set your bag down in Jensen’s room, passing by his sister’s room on the way out.

“Jensen’s not home,” she said, hopping up and rounding the corner into the hall.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m gonna stay here tonight anyways, Kenzie.”

“Kenzie! Beth is here!” called Jensen’s mom from downstairs.

“Bye, Y/N,” she said, giving you a quick hug before she ran down with her backpack.

“Later, dork,” you said with a smile. You went down and heard a car pulling out of the driveway, Jensen’s parents both working the kitchen. “Can I help?”

“You can set the table, sweetie,” said his mom. You went to the cupboard with plates and got out three, setting everything down after a minute. You poured yourself a glass of water, smiling when you saw they’d made creamy chicken casserole. Jensen’s dad carried over the dish and set it on the table, scooping some out for each of you. His mom set down a bowl of sweet mashed potatoes and you hummed. “I made extra. I know how much you like them.”

“Thanks, Mrs...my mom called you guys before she dropped me off, didn’t she,” you said with a sigh.

“Yes, she did, and we made your favorite dinner. Sue us,” said his dad.

“Thanks,” you said quietly. You started to eat, even munching on the broccoli in the casserole.

“So why doesn’t Jack like you?” asked his dad. You gave him a look and he cocked his head. “Y/N…”

“Cause I’m not popular,” you said. You poked at your potatoes and played with them before sighing. “It’s fine, really. I don’t like him either so it works out.”

“He always seemed like a nice kid,” said his dad.

“I always thought he was a little shit,” said his mom. You smiled and she returned it. “What’s Jensen think of this? It’s not like he tells us anything.”

“He’s seventeen. What are you expecting?” said his dad. “But yeah, what’s he think?”

“It’s fine. We tolerate each other cause we both like being Jensen’s friend. I don’t know. He just doesn’t like me cause Jensen does stuff with me sometimes and doesn’t invite his other friends too. It’s up to Jensen who he wants to hang out with, not me.”

“Well we like you much better than Jack if it’s any consolation,” he said.

“Thanks. Jensen can hang out with his guy friends without me though,” you said. You pushed your food around a bit before you ate again, his parents shifting the topic to you picking out a major for school the next year.

Half an hour later you were making some cinnamon rolls with his mom when the front door opened.

“Jensen?” she called, his dad sitting in a chair and watching TV.

“I forgot my wallet. We’re going to the movies,” he shouted back. “Mom, where’s my wallet?”

“In your backpack pocket. I told you to keep it in your back pocket,” she said.

“I had practice so I…” he said as he popped into the kitchen and saw you there. “What are you doing here?”

“Just…” you said, looking down.

“Is your dad drinking again?” he asked quietly.

“Maybe. They got in a fight. Mom wanted me out of the house in case it wasn’t a good night,” you said. He stared at you and you looked away, surprised when he was suddenly there grabbing your hand. “Jensen.”

“Come to the movies with us. I’ll pay for your ticket,” he said.

“I’m making rolls with your mom,” you said.

“They’ll be there when we get back. Come on,” he said.

“Ackles!” shouted Jack from the foyer. Jensen stepped back into view of the hall, taking you with him. Jack saw you and shot you a dirty look. “Jensen you coming or what?”

“Actually, not,” he said. He narrowed his eyes and dropped your hand, going down the hall. He walked outside with Jack, the two of them saying something before about thirty seconds later Jensen was walking back in with his duffel. He dropped it by the stairs and walked back over to you.

“I thought you were having a guy’s sleepover tonight,” you said.

“Yeah well...fuck him,” said Jensen.

“Jensen,” said his mom with a frown.

“I’m only his friend because of baseball and if he is so worked up at the sight of you then screw him. I’ll hang out with the guys some other time. I’d rather have a sleepover with you.”

“Better be a no fucking kind of sleepover,” said his dad.

“Alan,” said his mom.

“Guys, it’s Y/N,” said Jensen. His dad mumbled and Jensen grabbed your hand, pulling you upstairs. “Video games?”

“Okay with me.”

“Y/N,” said Jensen from his bed that night. You had your eyes squeezed shut from where you lay on the air mattress, something his parents had bought years and years ago for you when you were regularly staying over. “Y/N.”

“What Jensen?” you said quietly.

“Are you crying?” he whispered. You rolled your eyes and heard the bed creak behind you. You pulled the blanket over your head but he sat down in front of you, peeling it back. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” you said. You sat up and you pulled you into his lap, holding onto you and keeping your blanket around you while you hung onto him. “He’s been sober seven years, Jensen...and he might have fucked it all up.”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. He’s still your dad, Y/N. He’s not a bad guy.”

“Mom said they’d get divorced if he drank again,” you said. “Why can’t my family be normal like yours?”

“You’re my family so you gotta be normal,” he said. You rested your chin on his shoulder and squeezed him.

“Like a sister?” you asked. It was horrible timing but you had to know how he actually felt. For your own piece of mind.

“I love you is all,” he said, squeezing you back. “Best friends forever right?”

“Yeah,” you said. You sniffled a bit more and he rubbed your back. “Wanna go eat the rest of the cinnamon rolls?”

“You’re on, Y/L/N.”

“You know I was so scared you could hear my heart pounding when you asked me if I loved you like a sister,” said Jensen as he sat up in bed. “I was full on in love with you by that point in every single way.”

“Did you get off to me in high school?” you smirked. He shrugged but grinned. “Oh my God. Naughty boy.”

“I swear never when you slept over though or anything like that. You were just...you never thought twice about taking off your shirt in front of me and standing there in your bra and underwear. You were the first girl I ever saw like that. First woman really.”

“My heart would beat so fast when I did that. I always waited for a comment but it never came.”

“I thought you thought of me like your brother. Up until last night I still thought that.”

“Jared’s like my brother. Your brother Josh is like my brother. You’ve never been like my brother,” you said, smiling as you kissed his cheek. “Come on. Let’s get ready for the day. Dallas is a three hour drive.”

“Y/N...I don’t want to go,” he said. You took his hand and laced your fingers together, Jensen shutting his eyes. He took a short breath and his chest rose and fell quickly. “Please don’t make me go.”

“You have to Jensen.”

“Why?”

“Because you love them and they love you.” He huffed and got out of bed, crossing his arms as he walked into the bathroom. You followed him and paused at the door, Jensen exiting a moment later. “They lied. They don’t share your blood. That’s true. But have you ever doubted for a single second that they don’t love you unconditionally?”

“It’s not the point,” he said. He left and you followed him to the kitchen, Jensen making himself a cup of coffee. “Y/N, drop it.”

“We’re going to your parents house. It could be this morning. It could be tomorrow. It could be a week from now but we are going and you will not get out of this.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong! Why the fuck do I have to go talk to them? They’re the ones that lied!” he shouted, turning to glare at you. “Why do I have to be the bigger fucking person? They’re supposed to take care of me. They’re supposed to protect me. They’re my parents. They’re not…” he trailed off, putting a hand over his face again. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay,” you said. You stepped over and pulled down his arm, wrapping yours around his body. He shut his eyes and turned his head away. “Jensen it’s okay if you’re upset and need to cry and shout. It’s okay to feel however you need to.”

“How do I know they loved me?” he asked quietly. “That they didn’t pretend at first...that they didn’t pretend the whole time and I’m just an idiot that fell for it.”

“I know they’ve always loved you Jensen and so do you but this is why we need to go talk to them. They can tell you themselves.”

“How do I believe them? They’re liars.”

“Jensen liars aren’t necessarily bad people. Everyone lies,” you said.

“Why are you defending them so hard?”

“Jensen...my dad was a drunk. A nice drunk. One that just smelled and fell asleep in front of the TV. He never hurt anyone. But he was still a drunk. Jensen your parents gave mine money to help with dad’s rehab costs. They fed me. They gave me a safe place away from the fighting. My sophomore year of college I got too drunk at a party and my parents were out of town on vacation. You know who picked me up? Your parents. I stayed in your room and sobered up. Jensen I am not their child and they have always treated me like I’m one of their own. If they feel that way about me, how do you think they actually feel about their own kid? I grew up my whole life knowing my parents aren’t perfect and I’m sorry you know what that’s like now too. But I don’t love my parents any less now than I did as a child. They screwed up. Your parents screwed up. It doesn’t mean that they are any less your parents today than they were yesterday.”

“...I didn’t know they helped with the rehab,” he said quietly.

“Our parents are friends after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad is talking to yours right now telling him that it’s not the end of the world what happened.”

“You’re gonna make me go, aren’t you,” he said with a sigh.

“Yup. But I’m gonna go with you.” He dropped his forehead on your shoulder and took a deep breath. “Jay.”

“We’ll go up tonight,” he said. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you said.

“But...I have the condition that we move out your stuff of Andrew’s today,” he said.

“That is pretty okay with me,” you said. “Let’s take your truck too. I’d rather only have to make one trip.”

“Fingers crossed he’s not here,” you said when you walked into the apartment. Andrew was laying on the couch though, rolling his eyes as you stepped out of the foyer with Jensen.

“Bring your other boyfriend by?” said Andrew, flipping a channel on the TV.

“I thought I made it very clear last night that we’re over,” you said.

“Y/N, we both got heated was all,” he said. “He looks fine to me.”

“Andrew-”

“You didn’t fuck him last night, did you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No I didn’t, not that it’s any of your business considering we’re done. I am here to get my stuff and that is it. Jensen, I have some shoes and coats in the front closet. Can you chuck those in a bag for me?” you asked. He nodded and went back into the foyer while you took a box into the bathroom. You tossed most everything in the cabinet in there, leaving the box in the bedroom while you got your clothes in some bags. You emptied your nightstand out and the closet, Jensen grabbing your stuff and carrying it out. You were nearly finished with some small things when Andrew wandered inside.

“Y/N. Come on. Don’t go. I got jealous of Jensen was all. It won’t happen again,” he said. “I promise.”

“Andrew,” you said as you stood up. “Last night was the last straw. I’ve been thinking about ending things for a long time. We both deserve to be with people that make us happy and I’m not that person for you and you’re not it for me and that’s okay.”

“Y/N we’ve been together for two years,” he said. “Engaged for one. You want to throw all of that away?”

“Andrew do you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“No I mean do you really love me? Down in your soul love me?”

“Y/N I don’t do all that sappy shit, you know that.”

“I’m not talking about romantic crap. I mean...do you miss me even though you saw me two minutes ago. Do you get nervous when I’m five minutes late from work? Do you think about building a fort out of sheets in our bedroom and watching movies in it?” He stared at you and you shook your head. “Andrew you were a decent guy once but you’re not the guy for me. Learn to pick up after yourself too. Girls don’t want to your mom. They want to be your girlfriend.”

“You were the one with the Hollywood best friend,” he said. “How could I not be intimidated by that?”

“Because if you ever took a moment to know him, you would know that he wants me to be happy, no matter who the other person is. You’re just a selfish dick, Andrew. Grow up some before you find another girl.”

“Slut,” he said as he walked out.

“At least I know how to give an orgasm,” you said. You shoved some things back in a bag, Jensen turning into the room.

“I take it things ended very maturely,” he said.

“As mature as it was gonna get. This is the last of it,” you said.

“Let’s get you home then, Y/N.”

Six Hours Later

“Jensen. You have to get out of the car,” you said, parked in the driveway at his parents house.

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well you haven’t peed in three hours and you’re gonna break at some point. I will be inside,” you said. You turned off the car and climbed out, Jensen crossing his arms in the front seat. You shook your head and knocked on the front door before you opened it, slipping inside. Your shoes came off and you walked to the back of the house, Jensen’s parents and siblings sat in the family room quietly. They all turned in your direction, his dad nodding. “He’s in the car. He’ll come inside when he’s ready...or has to pee. One or the other.”

“Thank you for bringing him here,” said his dad. You shook your head and took a seat on the couch, his sister a little miffed but the other three looked a bit blank.

“Guys he’s thirty, almost thirty one. Why did you not tell him when he was little?” you asked.

“Because it didn’t matter,” said his dad. “I haven’t thought of him as my adopted son since he was a baby. He’s just my son.”

“Your son is afraid that you guys don’t love him.” His mom shut her eyes and turned towards the back window. “He wants to know that you’ve always loved him unconditionally, that he was adopted because you loved him, not pitied him.”

“He had a heart murmur,” said his mom quietly. “That bitch and that asshole husband of hers got pregnant on accident. She didn’t realize until she was nearly six months. She was very petite. Skipping a period was normal for her so she never thought a thing of it until she gained a bit of weight. She was down visiting when she found out.”

“She didn’t want the baby. He didn’t want the baby. She spoke...crudely about it. It was very clear they didn’t want a child. But they spoke so horribly and they found the murmur and she hoped something would happen and…” said his dad.

“We looked at one another, Alan and I did, didn’t discuss it all and told them we’d adopt the baby when it was born. By the time three months later got there, the hole had sealed up and Jensen was perfectly healthy. We loved him before he was even born. We were there for him before he was born, when he was born. Everything was true what we said, it just wasn’t me that had him,” she said.

“Last year they tried to contact Jensen,” said his dad. You frowned and he nodded. “They said their son was a successful actor and they’d like to meet him. I told them to fuck right off. He was never their son. They didn’t love him. They didn’t give him a bottle. They didn’t clean up after him and hold him while he cried. They didn’t give a rat’s ass about him until they could brag about him. They hated him which is perfectly fine because we got him and he got a real family, one that never cared that he was a little bit different than the rest of us. We didn’t tell him because I haven’t thought about the fact my son is adopted in over twenty years. He’s just our kid to us. That’s it.”

“You could have just said that instead of just staring at me last night,” said Jensen quietly. You all turned in your seats, Jensen stepping out from the front hall. He stayed half hidden behind the wall and his mom was out of her seat quickly, Jensen stepping into the family room to meet her for a hug. “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have swore at you like that.”

“No, we’re sorry, sweetie,” she said. “We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” He took a seat beside you on the couch. He glanced at his dad and nodded. “Why’d they want to talk to me last year. They want money or something.”

“They make probably more than you do which is saying something. I think they wanted to be able to boast that their son was a big star,” said his dad.

“If I asked, would you tell me how to get in contact?”

“Yes, we would,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because you have that right.”

“What did they say about me. Before I was born. What made you pity me?” said Jensen. Your head snapped in his direction and he ignored you. “What was it? Were they going to try and get rid of me? Give me up for adoption? What?”

“We’re not telling you that,” said his mom as she took a seat. Jensen scoffed and she did it right back. “You do not get to-”

“I get to know whatever the fuck I want to about this situation,” he said.

“You don’t get to know that,” said his dad.

“It’s my life! I have the right-”

“You have the right but it doesn’t mean we’ll be fair,” he said. Jensen stared at him and his dad shut his eyes.

“What’d they say. What the fuck did they say to make you feel so terrible for me.”

“Jensen, just-” you said as he got up and walked in front of his dad.

“Tell me what the fuck she said!” shouted Jensen.

“Mom had a miscarriage,” said his brother quietly. He had his head in his hand, Jensen turning to face him. “When I was little. Before you. They said mom might not be able to have more kids. They were gonna adopt a baby whether it was you or somebody else. I think when your fucked up bio parents started talking about what pills she could start taking to help get rid of the baby early, mom and dad, who’d just found out they couldn’t have that...well I learned a lot of new swear words that day.”

“You had…” said Jensen as his mom looked down. “Is Kenzie-”

“She is biological. You saw me pregnant, sweetie,” she said. “But she was a very happy surprise.”

“We didn’t pity you. We were jealous,” said his dad. “We wanted you and then the more we got into the conversation we knew you had to be ours. We could love you and keep you safe and protect you. We’d never hurt you. We were scared of you being alone with those people. We didn’t know what they’d do. All we are guilty of is lying. Nothing more, Jensen.”

Jensen sat back on the couch beside you, biting his bottom lip before he caught his brother’s stare.

“Did...you...you know…” said Jensen. He smiled and nodded.

“You’re my little brother, dork. Always. I kinda forgot to be honest.”

“I think they should have told you. And me,” said his sister, Jensen smiling. “But nobody was trying to hurt you, Jensen. Everybody’s been calling and texting all day worried about you.”

“Sorry for ruining your birthday party,” said Jensen.

“You made it lively,” joked his brother. Jensen wiped off his face and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry. I’m just...I got scared,” said Jensen. “You didn’t love me.”

“You’re kinda a dumbass, you know?” said his brother. Jensen laughed and nodded. His mom got up to hug him. You sneaked out as the rest of them joined him but not before a hand caught your shirt collar.

“Where do you think you’re running off to?” said his dad. “This is a mandatory hug.”

You turned and joined them for a moment, Jensen relaxed when they broke apart.

“Okay?” you asked him and he nodded.

“Yeah. Thanks for dragging my butt up here,” he said. He gave you a kiss and you smiled, his whole family staring. “Y/N and I got together last night. She broke it off with her fiance. She’s staying at the house with me now...can you all stop smiling?”

“About time,” said his brother and sister.

“Shut up,” he said.

“You’ve been crushing on her since you were twelve,” said his brother.

“Jensen’s had a hard enough day. Let’s cut him some slack this time,” said his dad. He did smile though and you shook your head. “Well...now that that’s dealt with who wants ice cream?”

Two Hours Later

“Hey,” you said, taking a seat on the old swingset in the backyard beside Jensen. He kicked lightly, dragging his sneaker along the grass. “You okay? You never came up to bed.”

“Just feel stupid now, for reacting that way. I mean I threw up on you last night.”

“Not the first time and not the last,” you said. You swung over to the left and bumped him. “Jensen it wasn’t stupid. You were scared.”

“I don’t get scared like that. You were as cool as a cucumber and I was freaking out.”

“I have sat up with you crying my eyes out since I was a little girl. It’s your turn to be the freaking out one,” you said. He bumped you back and found your hand, grabbing it in his. “Don’t feel stupid over being human.”

“I’m really glad I called you,” he said.

“Me too. I needed to leave Andrew too. I really needed that,” you said. “I didn’t realize how unhappy I’ve been.”

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“If this doesn’t work between us, and I am fully expecting it to work, but if it doesn’t or if the long distance element gets too hard...still best friends forever?”

“Always,” you said. You squeezed his hand and he pulled on it, brining your swing over closer. “What?”

“People will hate you just because you’re with me. They already hate me for stupid shit. It used to bother me. Some days...it still does. I can’t protect you from it,” he said.

“Jensen anytime you post me in anything I get called a slut. Andrew called me your whore to my face. I don’t give a flying fuck. I have a lifetime of thick skin. I can handle some petty little bitches. Your real fans are good. Don’t worry about the haters.”

“Just wanted to give you one last chance to back out,” he said. “Before I inevitably make you fall in love with me and spend the rest of my life with you. No pressure though.”

“Oh well when you put it like that,” you said. “I really should think about this.”

“You really should.” You hummed and tugged on his arm hard, spinning him over towards you. You caught his shoulders and planted a deep kiss on him, Jensen blinking when you broke it off.

“Satisfied with my answer?” you smiled.

“Very,” he said. “But you are very cold and we should go inside now.”

You followed him up to his old room, Jensen shutting the door after you. The bed was a full and you both could certainly fit if you really tried but it probably wouldn’t be all that comfortable.

“I have an idea,” he said, booping your nose. “Wait right here.”

He left and was gone a few minutes, returning with a mess of blankets. He laid them out on the floor and grabbed the covers off the bed along with the pillows.

“Looks perfect, Jensen,” you said. You gave him a side hug and saw a call from Andrew’s mom pop up on your phone. You wanted to ignore it but Jensen nodded and you sat on the bed, picking it up. “Hi, Karen.”

“What happened with you and Andrew? He just came home very upset and says you cheated on him with that Jensen guy.”

“Karen, that is not what happened,” you said, Jensen raising an eyebrow and listening in.

“Andrew says he’s willing to forgive you if you two go to couples counseling. Half the wedding is already paid for,” she said.

“I did not cheat. We broke up yesterday. I broke us up because I don’t love your son. I moved out today. I also told you not to put money down on anything. That is your fault if you did.”

“Y/N, I’m really trying here. Please come talk to Andrew. He’s willing to-”

“Your son is an ass, Karen and we are through,” you said. “Don’t call again.”

You hung up and tossed your phone aside, Jensen frowning at you.

“That sounds like it didn’t go well.”

“He’s now claiming I cheated on him. Forget all of them. I just want to lay down with you,” you said. He smirked and picked you up quickly, giggling as he spun you around and plopped you down on the floor. “You’re cute.”

“Am I?” he teased.

“Yes,” you said. You kissed his cheek and then his lips, Jensen laying down beside you. You knew he was still tired after the long day and broke it off, his hand quickly catching your cheek.

“Don’t stop doing that,” he said.

“Whatever you say, Jensen.”

________

#spn #supernatural #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #rpf #jensen x #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #jensen fanfiction

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galahadwilder · 4 years ago

Text

Future Perfect

This is my @mlsecretsanta fic for @crispypata! Crispy asked for DJWifi and Bunnyx, so I delivered.

It’s been a long week, and Alya is grateful for some alone time. While it’s always nice to have the others around, there’s an unstated pleasure in being the only one of her friends awake this early. Nino and Marinette are always asleep until very shortly before class, and Adrien may be awake, but his driver won’t be here for at least another twenty minutes. That’s a precious twenty minutes away from her sisters, away from anybody else. A precious twenty minutes of quiet.

Normally she’d spend this time updating the Ladyblog, moderating comments, writing posts, but after last night’s battle she just… she needs some time. Time to herself.

She’s shaking, just a little. She’s not even touching her phone. For the first time in a while, she’s actually reading a physical comic book—specifically, The Mighty Majestia Issue #48. Her first comic. A gift from her father when she was a little girl. It used to make her feel better when things were going bad. She needs that, a little bit, today. The feel of the paper under her fingertips.

It wasn’t her first near-death experience—she’s had a lot of those since Hawkmoth appeared in Paris. But Ladybug almost hadn’t made it last night. Alya had gone running after the Akuma, like usual, and…

A body flops down next to her on the bench. The warmth and weight of it—she glances to the side, and meets the familiar warm eyes of Nino.

“You okay?” he asks, laying his hand on top of the comic. “You haven’t read this since before we met.”

Alya nods. “Last night was bad,” she says.

Nino nods. “Yeah,” he responds. “Yeah it was.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

Alya is rarely the most perceptive person—more passionate than perceptive, honestly, though not for lack of trying (she tries really hard, it’s just… hard to tell what other people aren’t saying sometimes)—but she cares, and Nino is at school forty minutes before he’s usually awake and he seems unusually tense. She closes her comic. “Babe?”

Nino sighs, looking down as he picks at a hangnail on his thumb. “I can’t keep watching you die, Als.”

Alya’s heart judders. “You’re not okay, then.”

He shakes his head. “I mean Rena Rouge is one thing. I know you can protect yourself, and Ladybug is right there if things go bad. But every time I see you chase after a giant baby with no protection but that sexy plaid shirt...”

“I have a responsibility, Nino!” she says.

“I know,” Nino says quietly. “I can’t really ask you to stop, either.”

Alya swallows. “Are you... breaking up with me?”

Nino looks at her for a moment, then snorts. “Hell no.” He reaches up to Alya’s cheek, brushing her hair away from her ear. “You ain’t getting away from me that easy, girl.”

Alya relaxes, leaning into his palm. “Attaboy,” she says.

Nino grimaces. “I might… need a day or two to process, though.” He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

Alya’s heart falls. “You’re sure.” It’s not a question—Nino doesn’t make decisions half-cocked the way she does. He thinks, and considers, and once his choice is made, he sticks to it. That surety—that stability—is one of the reasons she loves him. Even if right now it’s hurting her.

“I’m sure,” he says. “Just… I need a few days after. You know.” He hangs his head. “Seeing you die again.”

Oh, God, Alya wants to slap him. And maybe a year ago she would have. But today-Alya is not last-year-Alya, and, instead, she just drops her head a little. “It was a bad one, wasn’t it,” she says.

Alya trudges out of class, dragging her feet. It’s been a difficult day, to say the least, and Marinette—bless her—may be trying to help, but there’s not all that much to do.

“We could go to my place and stuff ourselves with Beignets,” Marinette offers, with her characteristic hyperenergetic movement. “I know you love the Majestia movie?”

Alya shakes her head. “I relax a bit better when I move,” she says. She looks at the basketball hoops. “Can you stick around for…” She catches a hint of green out of the corner of her eye—a familiar shade, one that she’s seen quite a lot. She blinks. “For a few…” She turns her head, and there—staring down at her from the roof of the school—is Carapace. “Uh.”

Marinette follows her gaze. “What are you—”

Carapace’s head jerks as he seems to realize that he’s been spotted, and he leaps down out of sight.

“What is he doing?” Alya murmurs.

Marinette’s iron fingers wrap around her bicep. “Alya,” she hisses, “that’s not Carapace.”

“What do you mean?” Alya says, turning her head, just in time to catch a glimpse of Nino—as Nino, not as Carapace—walking out of the locker room on the opposite side of the school from where Carapace disappeared. It’s too soon, too fast—there’s no way he could’ve come around the school that quickly.

“Excuse me,” she says, bolting towards her boyfriend. She grabs his arm and yanks him away from Adrien.

“Babe... what?” he says, looking at her like she just grew a second head.

“I just saw Carapace on the roof,” she hisses.

His eyes widen behind his glasses.

They didn’t really discuss it, at least not verbally, but they both pretty easily came to the decision that whoever this is, stealing their identities is not something this person gets to get away with. They don’t even talk it through before they’ve agreed to chase this imposter down.

“You’re sure he went this way?” Nino asks as they charge off down the street toward where Alya had last seen the false Carapace.

“Yes, I’m—!” Alya starts to snap, before she catches herself and—stopping her headlong charge by pressing a palm into a nearby wall—breathes in. “Sorry, sorry.” She glances at him. “Pretty sure, yeah.”

“God, I wish I had my shield,” Nino mutters. He grabs her hand and meets her eyes with his characteristic Nino Soft Look. “If this ends up being a bad one, please take cover?”

Alya grimaces. “The Akuma is using your face, Babe,” she says.

“Please.” His voice is calm and soft.

Alya thinks about how distraught he was this morning, how little she wants to do that to him again. “I’ll—I’ll try.”

Nino smiles. “That’s really all I can ask, isn’t it.”

Alya smiles, tugging him along. “You knew I was crazy when I asked you out,” she says, building carefully building back up to a run.

Nino snorts, vaulting over a street barrier. “That I did.”

It takes barely a minute before they reach the spot where the false Carapace must’ve gone, leaving them looking down wide avenues packed with people—none of whom are wearing a green hood.

“We lost him,” Nino says, puffing.

“I mean,” Alya gasps, “duh.” She leans onto her knees. “He’s got—powers, and we—we have, what—about eight—months of parkour training?”

A familiar whizz-crack comes from above, as a spotted red figure drops down in front of them. “Alya!” Ladybug says, glancing confusedly at Nino. “Did you see where Carapace went?”

“Nope,” Alya says. She leans in toward Ladybug, carefully eyeing the other people who are watching the exchange. “Definitely an Akuma, then?” she whispers, quietly enough that nobody else is alarmed.

“Maybe?” Ladybug whispers back. “Or a Sentimonster, or. Well. One other thing.”

Alya’s eyebrows narrow. “What other thing?”

Ladybug shakes her head. “Probably not important,” she says. She straightens and backs away, whipping her yo-yo in rapid circles. “Everyone stay calm and quietly evacuate the area,” she says in a clear, authoritative voice. “Calmly, please! Everything is under control.”

There’s a growing undercurrent of panic in the crowd at Ladybug’s words, but there’s a force behind her last sentence, a reassurance, that passes calm through the crowd like a ripple. Much to Alya’s surprise, there’s no stampede, no rush to flee. Everyone actually listens, beginning to carefully file away, emptying out the street.

“Any chance we could get our Miraculi?” Nino asks. “I don’t like this.”

Ladybug glances over her shoulder at him. “Not until Chat gets here,” she says. “I can’t just leave the Akuma without anyone containing it.”

A black blur drops out of the sky, rolling and springing to his feet next to Ladybug. “Good thing I’m here, then!” Chat says, leaning his elbow onto her shoulder.

Ladybug rolls her eyes. “Always so dramatic,” she says, turning to her partner. “Can you hold down the fort for a few while I grab backup?”

Chat eyes Alya and Nino. “So long as the Ladyblogger doesn’t get herself killed, yes.”

There’s still been no sighting of the fake Carapace by the time Ladybug returns carrying the bracelet and the necklace. Chat has been running across the rooftops, spying into alleyways, but hasn’t seen scale nor shell of him.

“Alya Césaire and Nino Lahiffe,” Ladybug intones, holding the two Miraculi aloft. “I’m trusting you with the Miraculous of the Fox and Turtle.” She purses her lip. “I’m going to ask you to switch, though. I don’t want us mixing up our Carapi.”

Alya grimaces, but Nino just nods. “Makes sense,” he says, taking the necklace and draping it around his neck. It sparks, and a tiny fox spirals out from it. “Trixx, Let’s Pounce!” Nino calls.

He flashes orange, sparks running across his whole body, and suddenly Nino is gone, replaced by an orange-clad superhero. He still has Carapace’s hood, peaked down over his forehead, with ears poking through holes in the top. Leggings are tucked into combat boots, black gloves cuffed over white-and-orange sleeves. He looks down at his arms, twisting his hands to look at both sides. “Hmm,” he says. “Pretty cool.”

“What should we call you?” Ladybug says.

Nino meets Alya’s eyes. “What about… Reynard?” he says.

“Reynard it is,” Ladybug says. She turns to Alya, handing her the jade bracelet. “You ready?”

“Always,” Alya says, sliding the bracelet onto her wrist. “Wayzz, Shell On!”

She feels her hair lift into a high ponytail as her glasses meld to her face into a domino mask. Unlike the Rena Rouge transformation, which slims her down, she feels herself bulking up. Armor plates slam into place around her chest, shoulders, and thighs. Everything feels heavier, but also stronger, more stable.

Reynard whistles. “Damn, babe,” he says. “Green looks good on you.”

Tortue Verte grins. “You expected anything else?” she ask. She absently lifts the shield. “Damn, this thing is heavy,” she says, looking at Reynard. “How do you even lift it?”

“Practice,” Reynard says, twirling the flute. “This is really light!”

“It’s basically bamboo,” Tortue replies, slinging the shield onto her back. “You ready?”

Reynard sheathes the flute on his own back. “Let’s take this guy down.”

Tortue Verte’s super jump is a lot like Rena Rouge’s—though, given the balance between her being slightly stronger with the Turtle and also being heavier, it’s a little weird to balance. She gets more distance but less height with each jump, and since her brain keeps expecting Rena’s jump arc, she keeps misjudging where she’s landing.

She lands hard on the side of her foot, twisting her ankle and stumbling shoulder-first into a chimney with a yelp. Her ankle is struck by stabbing pain, and she immediately collapses onto her side. She lies there on the roof, huffing, feeling desperate and foolish. This is not what she was hoping for.

She carefully drags herself up the chimney into a sitting position, carefully pulling the shield from her back and dialing Reynard.

“Hey babe,” he says, his orange-hooded face filling the screen. “You good?”

She shakes her head. “Landed bad,” she says. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

Reynard’s eyes widen behind his goggles. “Where are you?” he says. “I’ll be there in a—”

“Babe!” she interrupts. “Akuma. I’ll be fine up here.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I’m sure,” she says. “Give that fake hell.” She hangs up, then collapses backward against the chimney with a gasp.

“Sorry I didn’t catch you,” a voice—a familiar one, but one she can’t quite place—says from behind her. “I think you’d have broken a few of my bones.”

She whips her head around to see a red-haired woman dressed in blue and white, bunny ears sprouting from her head, leaning on an umbrella as if it were a cane. Tortue tries to leap to her feet, shield up, but pain spikes through her ankle the second her foot meets shingle. “Augh!”

The woman immediately drops the umbrella, and her arms are around Tortue’s body. “Careful,” she says. “Don’t want to put too much weight on that.”

“Don’t touch me,” Tortue growls.

The woman laughs. “Relax, Foxy. I’m not an Akuma.”

Tortue blinks. Foxy? She’s wearing the Turtle, not the Fox, which means… “You—you know who I am.”

The woman smirks and throws up a peace sign. “The name’s Bunnyx,” she says. “Wielder of the Miraculous of Time, from ten years in the future.”

“Prove it,” Tortue says. “What’s Ladybug’s real name?”

Bunnyx snorts. “You’re not getting it that easily… Alya,” she says. “Also, Nino’s sort of downplaying how worried about you he is. You really should start being more careful before you give him a heart attack.”

Tortue stares at Bunnyx, then blinks. “...Okay, you’re for real,” she says. “What are you doing here? Are you warning us about something?”

Bunnyx shakes her head. “I brought Carapace and Rena back from my time for one reason,” she says. “Future Hawkmoth has discovered Ladybug’s identity, which has put her daughter in danger.”

“Daughter?” Tortue says.

Bunnyx continues as if she hasn’t heard. “Ladybug asked me to bring her back in time to protect her from Future Hawkmoth, but I needed backup just in case she followed us. You and your boyfriend were the obvious choice.”

“Where is she?” Tortue says, trying to work her way to her feet. She hisses as pain lances through her ankle again.

“Jeez, stay down, Tortue!” Bunnyx says, carefully easing her back into a sitting position. “You need to be careful. We need you for this one.”

“Don’t bother,” says a voice that sounds like Tortue’s own as an older, taller Rena Rouge lands in a crouch. “I had absolutely no self-preservation at that age.”

Carapace lands next to her, softer, gentler. “You nearly killed me like eight times,” he says, cradling a baby in his arms. He looks down at Tortue. “Hey, babe.”

Rena rolls her eyes, gently punching Carapace’s shoulder. “Don’t flirt with young me, you butt,” she says.

Tortue stares at the baby, wide-eyed. “Is that…” she murmurs.

Rena nods. “Our god-daughter,” she says.

Carapace smiles. “Do you want to hold her?”

“She’s… mine?” Ladybug says, gazing down into her daughter’s emerald-green eyes.

The baby laughs, reaching up toward her mother’s face and pressing her chubby palm into Ladybug’s cheek.

“Who’s the father?” Chat says to Bunnyx, hope shining in his eyes. (Tortue admits to herself that she’s just as interested in finding out.)

Bunnyx smirks. “Oh, Kitty Noir, you know I can’t tell you.”

Chat looks crestfallen. “Not even a hint?”

“She’s so small,” Ladybug whispers, pointing a finger at her daughter’s face. The baby laughs again, gripping her mother’s finger in between her hands.

“You said she’s my—our god-daughter?” Tortue says.

Rena laughs. “My boyfriend has spent more time pampering this little terror than he has me lately,” she says. She turns and pokes Reynard in the chest. “You’ve got some growing to do, babe.”

Carapace rolls his eyes. “Please don’t flirt with the babies, babe,” he says with a smirk.

The laughter that follows seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, and Tortue looks around, unsettled.

“...Wasn’t that funny,” Carapace mutters.

Bunnyx walks toward the edge of the roof, looking down. “Missing the point again, Shelly?” she says, pointing down. “It’s starting.”

“What is?” Chat says.

“ATTENTION PARIS!” a booming, feminine voice echoes deeply through the sky as if it’s rebounding off the very atmosphere, followed by a sudden eruption of Wagnerian opera. “YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO JOIN THE RANKS OF ODIN’S MIGHTY WARRIORS IN VALHALLA!”

“Ah,” Chat says, nodding. “Akuma time.”

“Bad one,” Bunnyx agrees, nodding. “We picked today for a reason. Two illusionists needed at minimum.”

Tortue gingerly attempts to stand, only for the pain in her ankle to spike like a jagged piece of bone. “Ah!” she yelps, collapsing backward.

Immediately, two sets of hands are holding her up—Reynard’s and Carapace’s. “You okay?” Reynard says, his eyes soft and concerned.

Carapace swallows. “I’m sorry, babe, but I—” He glances at Rena. “We are going to need you to stay out of this fight. You’re injured.”

“I can help!” Tortue protests.

Carapace shakes his head. “I know how much it means to you to be out there with us, but A—um, sweetie, I need you alive, okay?” He smiles, glancing back at Ladybug. “Besides, um. Someone needs to keep the baby safe.”

Reynard raises an eyebrow. “You are a braver man than I,” he says.

Rena laughs. “Oh, it’s just ‘cause she’s a baby,” she says. “He knows I’d rip his throat out if he tried that.”

“You are also much less suicidally reckless than she is,” Carapace shoots back.

Rena shrugs. “Fair point.”

Ladybug approaches, carefully laying the baby into Tortue’s arms with a look of regret. “Stay safe, okay?” she says. She looks down and presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “And keep her safe.”

Tortue swallows, overwhelmed by the—the everything. The trust Ladybug is showing her, the softness of the moment, the sadness in the child’s eyes as her mother goes back off to battle… it’s too much.

“I’ll do my best,” she croaks, trying not to tear up.

Carapace had carried her away from the battle. Vilekyrie controlled the sky, making it difficult to keep the baby out of her reach, but he’d found her a little out-of-the-way cubbyhole that nobody would come looking in during the attack. Or, well. Not a cubbyhole, really. More of a luxury suite at the Hotel Gran Paris.

“How did you know nobody would be here?” Tortue had asked him.

He’d only smiled in reply. “Spoilers,” he’d said. “Love you forever, but I gotta get back there.”

“Good luck!”

Now, about forty minutes into the battle, she can hear the clash of swords, the clanking of armor, the screaming of horses as they flew past her shaded window. She’d looked outside earlier, caught a glimpse of the copies of Vilekyrie flashing across the sky—copies of her that kept growing by the moment—and the marching of ghostly Viking soldiers on the ground: the Einherjar she’d selected from Paris’ citizens, transformed into undying warrior spirits. It doesn’t seem to be going well, but then, she doesn’t really have the best vantage point.

The baby is fussy, fussier than she was when Ladybug was around—Tortue can only guess that it’s because she wants her mother. The room has been stocked with formula and fresh diapers, and, thanks to her experience with the twins, Tortue has plenty of experience with taking care of a baby, but the girl just won’t settle down.

There’s a quiet footfall on the balcony—not a Vilekyrie, and the Einherjar can’t seem to climb. Tortue turns around to see the balcony door creek open, followed by a pair of large orange ears. “Hey. Mini-me,” Rena says. “You hanging in there?”

Tortue smiles, rocking the baby gently in her arms. “You didn’t tell me her name,” she says. “Feel weird just calling her ‘baby’.”

Rena ducks around the door, shutting it behind her, then bends down, cooing over the child’s delighted face. “HellooOOOooo!” She tickles the baby’s nose with her finger, and the girl laughs.

Rena looks back up at Tortue with a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she says. “No names. Spoilers.”

Tortue rolls her eyes. “Am I always this aggravating?”

Rena gently wraps her arms underneath the baby’s back, lifting her from Tortue’s arms. “Pretty much!” She turns back to the baby and blows a raspberry.

“What’s up?” Tortue says. “Why aren’t you with the others?” As if to punctuate her point, an explosion sounds in the distance, and Tortue raises an eyebrow.

“Needed to talk to you,” Rena says, sitting down on the plush velvet bedspread across from her. “Also, I told them you were planning on running into the combat zone, so…”

“I was not!” Tortue yelps, leaping from her desk chair. The baby immediately squeals in distress.

Rena grins. “I know,” she says, gently tickling the child’s nose. “But they believed me when I said it, and by the time they figure it out…”

Tortue sighs. Gods, her older self is annoying. “What do you want, Alya?”

The animation in Rena’s face slackens, and she looks down at her own stomach. “I… want to show you something.” Keeping one hand under the baby, she reaches behind her and unslings the flute, opening the space within. “Take a look.”

Tortue reaches inside the extradimensional storage space inside Rena’s weapon, confused—and then her fingers close around something small, round, and metal, and she understands. “You’re going to propose,” she says, fishing the ring out of the flute. She stares at it, entranced.

“Yep,” Rena agrees with a nod, gently bouncing the baby. “Bought the ring last week.”

Tortue doesn’t even know what to say in this situation. Is it… weird to congratulate herself? Some situations, there aren’t just good responses for.

Rena sees her face and laughs. “Don’t look so shocked, Mini-me,” she says. She carefully rocks Ladybug’s baby, staring into her green eyes. “I mean, you always knew we were gonna do this eventually.”

“Yeah, but… kinda young?” Tortue says, handing the ring back to Rena.

“Ladybug’s younger.” Rena absently places the ring back inside her flute, still bouncing the baby in her other arm. “About a year younger than you, actually.”

Tortue blinks. She’s—well, she figured out a while back that Ladybug wasn’t actually 5,000 years old, but she’d always assumed she was, maybe, Anansi’s age? The thought that Ladybug is younger than she is... “Yikes.”

“Yikes is right,” Rena says. “And she has anxiety. So every time you go running face-first into danger like you’re never gonna die…”

“Is this a lecture?” Tortue says.

“Little bit,” Rena responds.

Oh, great. The last thing she needs right now is a lecture from herself of all people.

Rena rolls her eyes. “Listen, Kit, sometimes—sometimes Ladybug isn’t gonna be there. She doesn’t always show up, you know.”

Tortue narrows her eyebrows. “Yes she does?” That’s, like, the big consistency. Aside from that one time where the Akuma and the Sentimonster were in different cities, Ladybug has shown up for every single Akuma battle.

Rena shakes her head. “She has a life, Alya. And, well, sometimes she needs Chat to cover for her.” She looks toward the curtained window, toward the sounds of the battle still filtering in from outside. “And sometimes, Chat and Viperion get taken out early, and the only person who can use the Ladybug is you.”

A chill runs down Tortue’s entire body. The responsibility of using the Ladybug Miraculous—it’s terrifying. It hadn’t even occurred to her that it might pass down to her, that—oh, no. This is… this is what Ladybug feels all the time, isn’t it?

“Listen, however you feel about Nino now?” Rena says. “It’s nothing compared to what it’s going to be. He and I, we’d do anything for each other.” She breathes in, stroking the baby’s head. “Which means that, well, you and I need to stay alive.”

“The Miraculous Cure—”

Rena shakes her head. “It’s good, but it’s not… 100% reliable. Sometimes, Ladybug can’t be there.”

Tortue’s mouth opens, closes. Opens again. “Oh.”

Rena stands and places a hand on her younger self’s shoulder. “Alya, someday, you’re gonna get hurt. You’re gonna get hurt in a way that Ladybug can’t fix, and you’re going to wonder if you even deserve this Miraculous. If you even deserve Nino.” She looks down at the baby with naked fondness in her eyes. “I’m telling you now—you deserve way more than you realize. But if you want to make it to see our wedding...” She trails off.

Tortue waits for her to finish, but Rena doesn’t say anything else. The implications in Rena’s words are disconcerting, and Tortue asks the question that’s burning inside her chest. “Am I going to die?”

“Of course you are,” Rena replies. “You’re going to die a lot. But some of them are going to be harder to come back from, and Alya.” Rena’s eyes bore into hers. “You need to come back. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tortue whispers.

“Miraculous LADYBUG!” Ladybug calls from outside, and pink insects swarm across the room. There’s a brief moment of pain as Tortue’s ankle snaps back into place, immediately replaced by cool relief as the pressure vanishes.

Rena puts a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell Reynard, okay?” she says. “About the ring.”

Tortue mimes zipping her lip.

Rena nods. “Thanks,” she says. “Oh, and one more thing—you’re also gonna need to be more careful if you want to get into a good journalism school. Nobody wants to be the professor that killed the Ladyblogger.”

Tortue blinks. She… hadn’t even thought of that. “That makes sense, I think?” she says.

The balcony door creaks open and Carapace peeks through. “Hey, guys,” he says. “How’s everything going in here?”

“Really great!” Tortue says. She eyes her older self. Rena is fidgeting, looking away from her boyfriend��s face, and Tortue realizes—if she doesn’t make the push, Rena isn’t going to do it. “I think Rena has something to tell you.”

Rena glares at Tortue. “Betrayal!” she hisses.

Tortue laughs. “You’ll thank me later.”

Carapace glanced between them, confusion written across his face. “Um, what’s going on?”

Rena takes a deep breath, then carefully hands the baby to Tortue. “Hold her for a moment?”

“Of course.”

Rena looks at her boyfriend, then drops to one knee, fishing the ring out of her flute. “Nino Lahiffe. Will—will you, um…”

Carapace gasps and covers his mouth with both hands, his eyes shining wetly. “Alya?” he whispers.

Both of them sit in shocked silence, staring at each other, frozen, and after a moment, Tortue gets fed up. “Babe,” she says. “Say yes.”

Carapace glances at her, then back and his girlfriend... then lifts his fiancée bodily into the air in a crushing, spinning hug.

“Yes, yes, yes!” he crows in delight.

The portal closes, leaving just the four of them behind.

Ladybug huffs in relief. “You know, I love Bunnyx, but… every time I see her, it’s a brand new disaster.”

Chat looks at her in confusion. “Every? Isn’t this only the second time?”

Reynard sidles up to Tortue Verte. “So, how was meeting your future self?” he says, as Ladybug and Chat quietly discuss something else off to the side. “Mine was a lot more confident than I expected.”

Tortue snorts. “Kind of a butt,” she says. “But then again, that’s not much of a surprise, is it.”

Reynard coughs. “I invoke my right to not incriminate myself,” he says.

Tortue smacks his shoulder. “You’re such a dork.”

Reynard smiles. “Your dork.” He looks at where the portal vanished. “For quite a while, apparently.” He turns back to Tortue. “She tell you anything interesting?”

Tortue smiles, thinking about the proposal, about how happy she and her Nino were. About all the advice her future self gave. She has a lot of work to do.

“Sorry, babe,” she says. “Spoilers.”

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #djwifi #original content #my fic #Alya cesaire #Nino lahiffe #ninalya #Rena rouge #carapace #turtle!alya #fox!nino #bunnyx #bunnix #mlsecretsanta 2020 #mlsecretsanta2k20 #emma agreste

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