#if someone could do a moodboard for this idea i’ll give you head

[lesservillain]

rugby player!steve harrington send tweet

[safarigirlsp]

a question, people of any color can read your fanfics right? it's not hate, it's just that in your panels some of your fanfics have white girls but we know that's just to show the character, your writing is amazing, but it's just a doubt.

Hi!

The short answer is that everyone can absolutely read my fics! I hope and encourage anyone and everyone who finds my crazy stories appealing to give them a try! I try to make my Readers as inclusive as possible while still telling a story. It’s my hope that everyone can put themselves in my Reader’s shoes and enjoy the ride! I do have some stories with OCs but they are labeled accordingly.

Thank you for sending this question in! I’ve never been asked this before but I thought it may come up and I had something about it in my masterlist. I’m so glad you asked me though because I’ll elaborate more here.

This is from my Masterlist:

A note on graphics/headers/moodboards. Although I try very hard to make RC’s as physically vague as possible, I make moodboards and headers for myself. I hope that everyone is able to picture themselves as my RC’s, and like everyone, I too do the same and picture myself when I read and write. I understand if this makes a story unappealing to some readers, and if this is the case, please pass on my stories. I make graphics exclusively for myself and to please myself. Images of women in graphics are not representative of how an RC is described or portrayed in my stories.

Early on, I did graphics differently and got a lot of negative hassle over it with people wanting X or Y or A or B in them, or they wanted to exclude things I like, which were usually things like edits of characters instead of pics of them from the movie or guns or weapons, etc. So, I just decided that I could either make them very basic or just make them for me, I chose the latter. Like the saying goes, It’s impossible to make everyone happy, but pissing everyone off is easy lol!

Now, it’s just a stupid little thing I do for me because I have fun with it. I have a whole folder of them on my phone and tons for random ideas and fics that only exist in my head lol!

I try very hard to make my Readers as physically vague as possible. I think I’ve gotten better at it and certainly more conscious of it over time. The characters that I’ve written the most are Flip, Jacques, Kylo, and Mills, and I’m as sure as I can reasonably be that there’s nothing that’s a physical turn off in my fics for those guys. Some of the other characters that I haven’t written for in years may have some mistakes in them that I never went back and fixed.

If you do read my stories and see any physical descriptions that take you as a reader out of it, please let me know. If I have screwed up in trying to make readers physically inclusive, I’d like to know to fix it and hopefully avoid it going forward. The only caveat to this is that I always write the male character as being big, tall, and stronger than the woman. This could potentially exclude very tall women. But I maintain that every man I write will be able to pick his woman up and manhandle her and carry her around. He could do that to The Rock too if he wanted lol.

I say ‘physically’ vague because I do want someone of any ethnicity to be able to read my stories and see themselves, but I do frequently give my readers a lot of character and some of their actions and/or behavior obviously might not work for everyone’s unique personality. I’ve had people who were very shy and introverted tell me they couldn’t relate to my Readers because they tend to be very outgoing, which is fair. I try to write Reader’s personality to fit with the story and make it genuine, and personalities vary hugely between people, so I can see how not every person relates to every sort of personality.

I don’t usually do graphic requests, but if you do end up giving my fics a try and find any you like, I’d be happy to make a custom moodboard/header/graphic/whatever for you for a one or even for a few of my fics with any person of any size, shape, or color you like. Except for Reylo lol. I don’t go there.

I want everyone to feel welcome here and I hope that you do! If you do give my stories a try, I hope you find some you enjoy! Please read the warnings on my fics before reading them as I tend to do some themes with horror and violence.

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Hello there, folks. It's that time of the week again. So that means I'm back on my bullshit. And as per usual, I make it everyone's problem.

Working title: Buck, the Wedding Planner

Basic idea: Buck is set on giving his sister the wedding of her dreams after she and Chim finally sealed the deal. Which means clipboard!Buck is back with full swing - and with a mission. Oh, and of course, there is the small inconvenience of some (not) unrequited feelings for a certain best friend. But that's just the details...

Find out more here: Moodboard, Part 1

“We have a pavilion we can set up right in the big garden on the other side.”

“Georgia, you may make me cry right now. I’ve been aching for an open ceremony with a pavilion. Most places don’t offer them unless they are on a beach. Is it white or at least a light color?” Buck touches her shoulder gently. “Please tell me it’s white.”

“It is.”

He strikes a victory pose that might be a bit over the top for a white pavilion. “That means it goes with all colors. Psych!”

“Dad, why’s dad so excited about white pavilions?” Christopher asks, leaning over to his father as they watch Buck gush about pavilions with the woman kind enough to give them a tour around the property.

One of the Top 5, as he kept reminding us on the ride. Several times.

“I’m not entirely sure, buddy, but I guess we should just be happy for him,” Eddie whispers back.

“Okay.”

Eddie certainly didn’t wake up this morning, thinking he’d spend the remains of his afternoon walking through a possible wedding location for his friend and his fiancée, who happens to be his other friend’s sister. Neither did he expect to do it with his son and Buck.

But then again, being friends with Buck should have taught him by now that he does best expecting the unexpected. Because Buck is the kind of guy to wind up at your place with packed bags, having planned out a weekend trip for you and your kid from start to finish just because he can.

“But alternatively, we could host it inside, right? In case there’s bad weather or whatever else?” Buck continues, the damn clipboard resting by his hip.

Georgia nods her head. “Sure thing.”

“You’re making me very happy right now, Georgia.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Buck beams at her with the kind of smile that can light up an entire room – and that for white pavilions and the option to host the wedding entirely inside.

“Well, that’s about all I can show you. You can either go with our own catering or bring in your own, whichever you prefer. And you can see which rooms you want to book. If you want to, I can work out an offer for you as an estimate, and how big the deposit would be,” she tells him.

“That’d be great, thank you.”

“Alright, then I will leave you to it for a while, and come back with the papers. You can venture around a bit, see for yourself. If you have any questions, you find me right at the reception. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He grins at her.

“Alright, then I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, waving at her as she walks off.

Once she is out of sight, Buck turns around on the back of the heel to look at Christopher with utmost sincerity. “So, Christopher! I need your honest opinion.”

“About what?” he asks.

“Do you like the place? Would you be okay spending a day here sometime?” Buck questions.

Christopher tilts his head, carefully considering his reply. “I liked the fountain.”

“The fountain was great, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Christopher agrees. “And they have a white pavilion.”

Eddie chuckles to himself, patting his son on the back.

Buck smiles from ear to ear upon hearing this, then looks at Eddie. “See? This kid gets it. Why can’t Chim, too?”

“Wouldn’t have any idea. After all, it goes with all colors,” Eddie snorts, amused.

“Thank. You. Finally someone talking some sense!” Buck waves his arms around in dramatic fashion, nearly losing the clipboard in the process, which is oddly admirable in its very own way.

“So is there anywhere else you need to go?” Eddie asks, looking around.

Buck wrinkles his nose, then shrugs. “Just down this way to see whether we can get a golf cart in here.”

Eddie makes a face. “Golf cart?”

Last time he checked, golf carts were no necessary component of a wedding. But then again, it’s not like he’s been reading all of the wedding magazines that have since piled up right next to Buck’s bed. Eddie’s wedding was nothing out of the usual. Dress, suit, cake, loads of food, the entire family, some music to play, and a perfect day was made.

But yeah, I guess I’m just being old-fashioned. Certainly if I asked Buck, which is something I just as certainly won’t do.

“Some people are not well on their feet, some don’t like walking, others are lazy, and golf carts are always fun. So I thought putting some here would be a great idea. I know a dude who knows a dude who runs a club,” Buck replies matter-of-factly.

Eddie shakes his head. “You have strange relations.”

“You’d have no idea,” Buck laughs. “But anyway, count yourself lucky I don’t play golf. That’s for old people… Does Bobby play golf, do you know?”

“I wouldn’t ask him if I were you,” Eddie snorts.

“Yeah no, now I’m gonna.”

And yeah, Eddie knows he now planted a thought. Tomorrow’s shift is sure as hell going to be interesting.

Eddie shakes his head before turning his attention to Christopher glancing up at them both. “You wanna come with or wait and play with your Nintendo a little?”

“I’d like to play a bit,” Christopher answers.

“Okay, then you stay here and play,” Eddie agrees, smiling at his son softly. “Buck and I will be right over there.”

“Okay.”

They make sure the kid is all settled in the grass before they head to where Buck wants to set up the golf cart palooza. Hugging his chest, Eddie watches silently as Buck checks the ground, takes some notes, then continues walking about.

“So,” Eddie says after a while.

Buck blinks at him. “So?”

��Will you explain to me why you work yourself up so much about your sister’s wedding?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“Buck, trust me, weddings are not about the event,” Eddie sighs. He’s been to his fair share, he’s had one of his own. In the end, none of that matters the moment that one person walks down the aisle.

Corny as it may sound, it’s true.

“Don’t say that when you haven’t seen all seasons of Say Yes to the Dress, the spin-off with the bridesmaids picking dresses and fights, The Wedding Planner, the one show where…,” Buck recounts, but Eddie cuts him off, waving with his arms, “Enough.”

Buck raises his hands. “I know it’s not about that, trust me, I know. Even though I haven’t walked down any aisle for that reason.”

“Well, if you know, then why do you insist on making it a huge event?” Eddie wants to know.

“This is Maddie’s and Chim’s big day. I want them to have a good time and not worry about a single thing, simple as that.”

Eddie frowns at that. “Worry?”

“Maddie has enough on her mind as is, now also including the prospect of marrying again. Thanks to Doug… that’s just another thing to add to the list of things she shouldn’t have to think about, but still has to because that’s what happened and we can’t change it anymore.”

Eddie grimaces. That does shed some light on the situation. While Buck caring for his sister and for Chim is perfectly out of question, wanting her to forget all about the past and focus on the future is… very much a thing Buck would do, Eddie knows.

“Maddie’s first wedding was all self-made, self-organized, and low-budget in a shitty place that smelled of toilets and moldy wood. She was entirely on her own coz I knew shit and I hardly got to leave the house. She made all the food herself, the location was mediocre at best, the music was shit… and the husband was evidently the biggest shit of all. I want it to be different for her this time.”

“But do you think Maddie needs all that?” Eddie ponders.

“I think she deserves all that,” Buck corrects him. “Maddie deserves a fresh start. A sign that all is headed in the right direction now, after they came such a long way together. I want this to be the perfect opposite of what she had before, so the only thing she thinks about will be how happy she is and not how unhappy she used to be.”

“You are a very good brother,” Eddie can’t help but say.

“And I hope to someday deserve the amazing sister I’ve got, but… yeah, I want to do that for her. And if that means bossing around some purveyors? Piece of cake for me.”

Eddie smiles softly. “I honestly didn’t know you were that much of a wedding enthusiast.”

“I’m not really,” Buck snorts. “Some images are scourged into my brain about women turning to banshees over the wrong cream tone for a dress.”

“Which does not at all sound familiar. Peonies.” Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him for emphasis.

“Vanessa was pulling my leg, I’m telling you, Eds,” Buck insists. “Either way. I don’t much care about the pomp and the glitter and the ironed table cloths.”

“But you think it’s important to Maddie?”

“No, which is precisely why I am taking care of it. Coz it isn’t important to her… just that it kinda is,” Buck tries to explain.

“And why is it, kinda?”

“I know she won’t say it out loud, but Maddie is freaked. She’s scared that things will remind her of the first wedding, that she’ll think about Boston, about all that’s happened, that it’ll show on her face… And that she may upset Chim with it. I don’t want her to look back but focus on her bright future with the man she loves ahead. That’s all,” Buck answers. “So I… take care of these things in her stead and make sure it’s all different from what she knows. A fresh start.”

“Which is very kind, but still, I think you are being a bit over the top,” Eddie argues. “Said as your best friend.”

“Just a bit?” Buck snorts, then shrugs. “Might be. I don’t know.”

Though honestly, Eddie finds it admirable. Buck is throwing himself into this so his sister doesn’t have to. Not that this in itself is any surprise. Now that he understands the reasoning, he knows he should have understood all along. Because Buck will do whatever it takes to make his family happy. And if that means making sure his sister doesn’t have a flashback to her shitty first wedding or her even shittier marriage, he’ll outdo himself.

That’s Evan Buckley for you.

“Leaves me wondering what you’ll cook up for your own wedding,” Eddie teases.

“Oh, if I get married, there will just be family, a tiny chapel or some open field, and family dinner over at the firehouse. I’m pretty set on that,” Buck declares.

Eddie blinks, somewhat caught off-guard. “I didn’t even know you had a plan for that to begin with.”

He still vaguely remembers Bobby telling him in confidence what kind of face Buck pulled when he teased him about a ring as a Christmas gift for Taylor. To quote: Just like when you give a baby a slice of lemon to eat.

“It’s not that much of a plan as a picture in my head,” Buck ponders. “Dunno. Also, are you slut shaming me with the whole ‘I didn’t take you to be the guy to wanna get married’?”

“You can be kind of slutty,” Eddie snickers.

Buck nudges against him. “Piss off.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You know how I mean it.”

“That was Buck 1.0. That guy was, admittedly, a bit slutty. But Buck 4.0 will be decisively different once he seals the deal.”

“Not the software updates again,” Eddie sighs.

Honestly, he really wished Buck would stop that. It always makes him uneasy somehow. That Buck still tends to think of himself as some piece of faulty software waiting to be fixed. Sure, Buck is not perfect, and he may be a bit over the top with all this here, but Eddie wouldn’t want to change a single thing about who Buck truly is. That does not need updates or fixes.

But that’s a conversation for another day.

“But just for the record, I’m not surprised at you wanting to get married,” Eddie adds. “I was just surprised at you having a fable for weddings. That’s two different things.”

Buck smirks at him faintly. “True again. Well, funny enough, I wanted to get married for longer than most guys should probably have business thinking about it.”

“Did you?”

“Oh yeah. First big crush I had as a kid? I had the whole damn wedding and reception planned in my head. Though it didn’t last long when I understood that you actually had to be dating that person, and not just pine after them.”

He laughs, leaning his head back at the memory.

“Things turned sour when I had to watch Maddie marry that asshole. That definitely does something to how you perceive the… whole deal. But still, I’d always wanted it. I just didn’t feel like I had that kinda special connection with anyone. With Abby, I thought it would come, but things changed. Well, and with Ali and Taylor… that just wasn’t meant to be.”

Eddie opens his mouth to utter a quick reassurance, but Buck beats him to it. “But… the day will come. Buck 4.0 is a patient man. And until then… I plan weddings of the people I care about.”

“… And you are surely doing one hell of a job,” Eddie mutters, honestly a bit at a loss right at this moment.

“With white pavilions? You bet I am,” Buck laughs. “Now let’s see what Chris is doing. If he set a new record, I need that Gameboy for the ride back.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as they start to head back.

“So golf carts are still in the game?”

“Definitely. They won’t fit the color scheme, but with some festoons and some cloth, they should look festive enough.”

“Just make sure everyone gets a proper instruction – and the kids don’t ride them alone.”

“Oh please,” Buck snorts. “You don’t seriously think I haven’t considered that yet, do you?”

The two continue silently. Eddie frowns when Buck stops in his tracks and turns around slowly.

“Something the matter?” he asks.

“Actually yeah,” Buck answers. “It’s decided. This is the place.”

“And you don’t intend to consult with, you know, the people getting married?”

“I have a permit!”

“You wrote it yourself?” Eddie snorts.

“You bet. With fancy font. They complained about how much work it is, so they don’t get to complain about not being in the picture. It’s like a huge surprise party!”

“Buck! I found some beetles!” Christopher’s voice rings out. The two turn their heads to see him sitting in the grass, the Nintendo abandoned, entirely focused on those beetles, apparently.

“Coming, little Superman!” Buck hollers. “Just don’t eat any!”

“You know that’s basically like daring him?” Eddie huffs.

“Well, you’re the dad. You keep your kid from eating bugs.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “You taunt him to eat a bug, you keep him from eating a bug. Or else I will end you.”

“They are actually nutritious. In some parts of the world they are common snacks and source of proteins.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t eat beetles,” Eddie rolls his eyes.

Buck smiles at him oh so sweetly. “If you go check in with Georgia to see if she’s done with the estimate, I might.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t want your son to eat any beetles. And I got a push message from the forum I dug this place up at for when it’s getting recommended. And it is. So, off you go!” he shoos him.

Eddie shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Eddie waves him off as he starts walking. No, this is definitely not what he envisioned his day to look like when he woke up this morning. Because even expecting the unexpected does not prepare you just what that unexpected thing is going to be.

After a quick chat with Georgia, Eddie heads back over to where he left Buck and Christopher and the beetles, with Georgia in tow. Buck has Christopher balanced on his back, mimicking an airplane as they rush over the grass, pulling sharp turns around the trees framing the large garden. Christopher croons happily as he is tossed from one side to the other, though always feeling perfectly secure when he’s held by Buck. Because that man would never let go of him, simple as that.

Eddie can’t hold back a soft smile at the sight.

Some things are going as expected after all.

“You have an adorable son,” Georgia hums beside him.

“Thanks. He’s my world.”

“So, when this wedding is through, you two will be planning your own, I suppose? Just to let you know, we still have some slots available early September,” she continues.

Eddie whips his head around. “What? Buck and I? We are not… we’re just friends.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just assumed you two were… nevermind.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her.

“Georgia! There you are!” Buck calls out from afar. He expertly rolls Christopher off his back to gather him in his arms and set him down. “We’re taking it! Sign us up!”

“Glad to hear that!” she laughs.

Buck runs up to her, beaming from one ear to the other. Eddie watches with amusement as Buck hands her his clipboard to take hers and sign the necessary forms, only to rotate it all back around again in a rather awkward manner.

“Alright, then I’m going to put down your info and arrange for the rest. You have my card right there. So the rest we can discuss once I have booked your slot. Sounds like a plan?”

“Like the best of plans,” Buck chirps.

“You’re welcome to stay a while longer and venture around.”

“Thanks, Georgia.”

“Enjoy your time. See you.”

“See you!”

She waves at Christopher another time, before heading back inside.

“We did it!” Buck shouts, raising his arms above his head for a victory pose.

“Congrats, man,” Eddie chuckles softly.

“Okay, you two can chill on the grass for a bit,” Buck then says. “I will take some pictures to send to Decoration Dude.”

“Is that how you call him?” Eddie frowns.

“Dave is great fun and yeah, he lets me call him Decoration Dude, or Décor Dave. I didn’t get too fancy with the names after her snort-laughed his green smoothie when I called him the former.” He grins at Christopher. “It looked like the boogers just kept coming out of him nonstop!”

Christopher giggles at that mental image.

“Sounds like you’re great friends, you and Decoration Dude.”

“Getting jealous?” Buck laughs, elbowing Eddie lightly in the side.

“Hey, if you and Decoration Dude are happy together over snort-laughing smoothies, it’s fine by me.” Eddie raises his hands.

“What can I say? He has an eye for details and he has reasonable prices. Anyway. I didn’t plan an actual picnic coz the time slot came up on short notice, but I got these,” Buck ponders, reaching into his backpack to take out some bottles of water, a few nut bars, a bunch of apples, and three small packets of chips.

“And you seriously didn’t plan on this?” Eddie laughs.

“Actually not,” Buck admits. “Normally, I would’ve taken you to the park and I didn’t find it in me last night to actually cook food to take along, so I just grabbed whatever I had lying around my kitchen.”

“I think we’ll survive on that diet,” Eddie assures him, taking the not-a-picnic items from Buck.

Buck smiles at him, visibly relieved. “Okay, catch you in a bit.”

With that, he starts to roam around the area, taking pictures from all kinds of angles. Eddie settles himself down on the grass next to Christopher, making sure the boy eats at least some of the healthier items Buck brought along.

“Are you enjoying yourself alright, mijo?”

“We should go looking for locations more often,” Christopher says between bites of his apple. “It’s fun.”

“Well, that may be a bit expensive,” Eddie laughs.

Though he will have to admit, the afternoon was surprisingly pleasant.

“This place is nice,” Christopher sighs happily.

“It really is.”

“So Uncle Chimney and Aunt Maddie will get married here?”

Eddie nods his head. “That’s the plan.”

It certainly is Buck’s. And the happy couple will have to deal with that.

“They’re going to love it,” Christopher declares with utter surety.

“Yeah, I think they are. I mean, Buck sure loves it.”

“Then everyone’s going to love it.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Eddie laughs.

“Because everyone loves Buck,” his son says, as though it was the most obvious thing on earth.

Eddie lets his gaze wander back over to the other man busy taking pictures, making even visiting a wedding location a day trip to be remembered.

“Everyone loves Buck, yeah,” he whispers, smiling.

A couple of minutes later, Buck seems satisfied with the amount of pictures he’s taken. He makes his way back over to where Eddie and Christopher sat down on the grass and flops down next to them unceremoniously, which earns him another heartfelt giggle from Christopher.

“So? Cartographed the whole place?” Eddie teases.

“Oh yeah. Dave’s gonna love me. My phone’s storage is gonna hate me for flooding the gallery again,” Buck chimes.

“Well, then how about you stuff your phone away at last?” Eddie snorts.

“In one hot second,” Buck laughs, before holding up his hand to snatch a quick group picture. He checks the picture for a brief moment, his smile growing even bigger. “And that one’s for me.”

“You’re not gonna share?” Eddie scoffs.

Buck rolls his eyes. “Fine, since you asked kind of nicely.”

Eddie smirks when the message pops up on his screen. His gallery is going to hate him for it, too. After all, Eddie has an almost endless collection of just those pictures, the three of them smirking brightly in the camera. And while he won’t say it out loud, he will look just through those pictures after a rough shift or when he needs to distract his mind on the way back from a tough call.

“Dad? I think Buck fell asleep again,” Christopher mutters.

Eddie turns his head to look at Buck’s peaceful expression, still clutching that clipboard tightly to his chest.

“You get to wake him in a bit, however you want to,” Eddie chuckles softly. “For now, let’s let him dream of that wedding for a bit.”

Eddie pulls Christopher against his side, ruffling the boy’s hair as he enjoys the soft breeze, glad that he let Buck be Buck and change his plans.

Because very often, they turn out unexpectedly good.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

49%

Title: 49% 

Summary: If there’s one thing that Spencer hates more than rejection, it’s spontaneity. But sometimes the things (and people) we love outweigh the things that we hate.  AKA a series of events leading up to a weekend wedding between the BAU’s finest Dr. Spencer Reid and his partner in crime, Y/N. 

Word Count: 1365 

Warnings: none 

Author’s Note: I hope that you enjoy reading this! I really appreciate all of the support and kind words :) 

49%

Spencer Reid is terrified. Nothing could compare for the pure fear that courses through his veins in this moment. Not even the times he’d run into hostage situations without wearing a Kevlar vest or even in the most lonely parts of his life. He figures that he’s terrified because he has so much to lose. Never in his life did he have someone that loves him as much as Y/N does. And that terrifies him. Somehow, when Spencer is with Y/N he’s simultaneously a man numb with love and a little boy shaking with fear. He knows that he should have gotten over this fear of rejection years ago. He knows that Y/N would never intentionally hurt him. He knows that she loves him more than anything. 

So why? Why is he so terrified to ask her to marry him? Logically, there’s no reason for her to say no. They’ve been together for 3 years, which is long enough at their age to enter into an engagement. It’s not like she doesn’t want to get married; he’s seen her Pinterest wedding moodboard. She talks about their children, almost like they're already here. She wants to get married and she wants to have kids, but the question that bounces around in Spencer’s mind is does she want that with him? 

“Next!” the barista calls Spencer forward to the counter to order. 

“Hi, I’ll have an extra large black coffee with 6 Splendas, and uh, a large iced green tea with honey,” Spencer orders, pulling out his credit card to pay for the drinks. Coffee is probably not the wisest choice, but what can Spencer say the heart wants what the heart wants. 

Spencer awkwardly waits for his drinks, trying to ignore the small box that burns a whole in his pocket. He’d bought the ring a couple of months ago, right after a case that both of them almost didn’t come home, or worse almost came home in a casket. 

“Two drinks for Spencer!” a barista from behind the counter calls, telling him that his drinks are ready. Spencer takes a sip of his coffee, the sweet liquid burning his tongue. Taking a look at the time on his watch, Spencer decides that it’s time to head to the park. 

It’s a short walk to the park, but it seems like it’s the longest walk of his life. Maybe if he wasn’t so nervous or terrified, he'd be able to enjoy how beautiful was. Spencer might be a complete ball of nerves, but he’s a romantic at heart. He wants this to be a perfect start to their perfect life. He finds the park bench that he told Y/N to meet him at. He sits there, waiting for her to show up and waiting for their life to start. 

Spencer’s leg bounces up and down. He should have worn a different pair of shoes. These Converse are so old and ratty, he thinks. He thinks he looks ridiculous in his cardigan and corduroy pants, what was he thinking? He can’t actually expect that she’s going to yes to him. 

While his thoughts are occupied by the constant inner commentary of rejection and ridicule, he fails to her the leaves crunch behind him. His vision goes black when his eyes are covered by a pair of familiar feeling hands. Y/N’s laugh gives it away instantly, but Spencer’s constant vigilance does cause him to yelp in a high pitched squeal. 

“Spencer! It’s me honey,” Y/N says, wrapping her arms around his neck and peppering his cheek with quick kisses. It’s the kind of kisses that say “I’m happy to see you” and “You’re the only one I want to see”. It’s at times like these that he doubts his doubts; maybe he can have faith and hope and lean into the romantic side of himself. The side of himself that sees them walking in the park with a baby stroller, playing on the playset with their children, teaching their kids how to drive in the parking lot and sitting on this bench when their backs hurt all the time and their faces have a few more wrinkles.

“I’d know that laugh anywhere, Y/N” Spencer says, watching her move to sit next to him on the bench. 

“Ohh, thanks for the iced tea!” She says, taking a sip of the cold drink. Even though it’s barely winter, Spencer still can’t believe that she can drink iced beverages in any kind of weather below 50 degrees. He nods and kisses her on her cheek, which causes a small giggle to emerge. Spencer is still kind of surprised that his affections can elicit such happy responses from her. 

“So,” Y/N starts. “Why did you leave our house at 7:00 AM and text me to meet you here?” 

“Umm,” Spencer says, the nerves bubbling to the surface. You can do this, Spencer, he thinks. You can do this, she’s not going to say no. She can’t say no. At this moment, Spencer is really wishing he had his passport with him and a getaway car to jump in, just in case Y/N says no.

“Did you know that only 3% of weddings happen in a courthouse?” Y/N asks at a completely stunned Spencer. 

“Yeah,” Spencer says timidly, not entirely sure where this is panning out, but grateful to listen to his girlfriend. It beats the alternative, him saying something stupid and her laughing at him; him fleeing the state and ending up a magician in a Las Vegas casino. 

“Yes, courthouse weddings are a great alternative, they’re affordable and efficient for couples who just want to get married without all that fuss,” Y/N adds, looking at Spencer. 

She’s profiling you, Spencer thinks. Don’t make eye contact. He knows (and she knows) that the moment he looks into her eyes, he’s done for. Las Vegas here he comes….

“And 51% of marriages end in divorce,” Spencer tells her, before he can even think about what he’s saying. Great he thinks, the day that he’s supposed to propose to her, he’s talking about divorce statistics. 

“You know that I failed statistics in college, Spence?” Y/N asks him. 

“I think I remember you mentioning that,” Spencer says, now thoroughly confused as to where this is going. 

“I have an evil plan to seek revenge against statistics, so I think that it’s my life mission to prove them wrong,” Y/N finishes, pulling something out from her bag. 

Spencer can feel his heart beating in his chest. He’s even more terrified than he was before. Suddenly all those songs that Y/N made him dance to late in the middle of the night make complete sense. 

“But, I also think that it’s my life mission to spend the rest of my life with you, Spence. So, I know that it’s not alway the case for the girl to propose marriage, but I think that you deserve someone to propose to you,” Y/N says, very quickly. 

Spencer sits there on the bench with Y/N sitting right next to him, utterly speechless. Did she just….

“You want to marry me?” Spencer says, dumbly. 

“Of course I do, Spencer! Give me your hand, I got you an engagement ring and-”

Spencer, suddenly fearless, cups her face in his hands, effectively making her quiet. He works on the surge of confidence, leaning in and kisses Y/N on the lips. It’s like he’s kissing her for the first time in his life. It’s like his first kiss ever, but it’s the first kiss of all the kisses of the rest of their life. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” Y/N says, breaking apart from Spencer. 

Spencer lets out a laugh, completely forgetting why on Earth he was so scared to propose. 

“So you’re not the only one who had this idea, Y/N” Spencer tells her, reaching into his cardigan pocket. He hands her the velvet box and reveals the vintage ring that he picked out from the second hand jewelry store. 

“Spencer? Is this why you told me to come here? Oh God, I ruined your proposal!” Y/N says, embarrassed that she messed with Spencer’s plans, knowing how nervous he can get. 

“On the contrary Y/N, I’m sure that this is the best possible proposal,” Spencer tells her, as she lays her head against his shoulder. 

“Spencer,” Y/N says, suddenly serious. 

“Yes, fiance?” Spencer teases. 

“How would you like to be in the 3% of marriages? Like as soon as possible. Like tomorrow? I don’t think I can wait another second not being married to you,” she confesses. 

“As long as we’re in the 49%, I’ll do anything you want.” 

[sunshine-on-my-mind]

Home, finally

one-shot

pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

description: Andy find comforts in someone when almost the whole world is against him. The bond grows stronger between them.

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: ANGST!! Fluff, Emotional infidelity (??), age gap (not specified) talk of divorce, crying, broken marriage.

a/n: I have worked hard on this one, hope you all like this, do reblog if you enjoy reading this. Any feedback is appreciated. This is my second work so I am not even sure if I am doing an okay job but I somehow got this idea and just wanted to write about it.

i do not own the characters Andy, Jacob and Laurie.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY WORK OR POST IT ANYWHERE.

I made the moodboard and the divider.

The knock on the door brings back Andy to reality, in a way it saves him from his thoughts. “Sir, are you busy?” her voice calms him, he asks her to come in. “Sir, it’s pretty late, maybe you should call it a day?” It is pretty late, how did it slip his mind? Maybe because his mind is a hollow place right now and ironically filled with so many thoughts.

“Right it’s late, I was actually going through these files” he picks up the file closest to him “Those?” she worries about him, she approaches his desk. “Yeah these, i-“ she interrupts him “Sir, that has been solved at least a month ago”. Andy doesn’t know what to say, well it’s not like he needs to say anything, she understands. Even though Y/n has been his assistant just for a year, she has learned a lot about the respectable ADA Andy Barber. Although the recent turn of events have changed everything. With his son, Jacob been accused of murder and the trial going on, Andy is hardly himself. Each passing day he seems to lose himself gradually and everything else. She genuinely cares about his well-being.

After a minute of silence Andy looks at her, “You should have left, it’s pretty late.”

She smiles. Such a warm smile, Andy feels good for a second, that smile seems like sunshine filled with hope, a reassuring smile.

“I wouldn’t be a very good assistant if I would leave when my boss is working so late, right?”

“I am sorry I didn’t even check the time” The truth is he doesn’t want to check the time, he feels like a failure, and going home will just remind him that. Is it his home anymore though? Doesn’t feel like it.

“You should go home now Y/n”

“What about you? It’s pretty late you should go home too.”

“I think I’ll stay here a little longer”

“I- I don’t want to leave you alone”

Andy doesn’t know how to react, recently he has been so stressed, so self-critical that one ounce of kindness and care seems unbelievable to him. But she, she cares for him, besides being a great assistant, she is a kind and supportive human. Andy thought she may leave the job as his assistant, but she didn’t, sometimes her words ring in his mind - ‘everything will be alright’. Sometimes he just re-plays that in his head.

“Alright then” Andy gives a barely there smile, “I’ll wrap up everything and then we can leave together” She nods and goes out of his cabin to wait for him. Andy is about to leave when his phone rings. It’s Laurie.

“Yeah” Andy says. On the other side, Laurie asks about him being late, says she is scared and nervous and Andy is being very irresponsible. “Listen I got caught up” He tries to stay calm. Laurie scoffs saying what can be more important than his son and his trial. “What do you think I am doing huh? All I do is think about Jacob, try to investigate things on my own as much as I can, I constantly worry about him okay? I may not be the best husband but I try my best to be a good father. I am trying everything I can.” He almost yells. Y/n can hear the muffled voice from outside. Before huffing and hanging up the call, Laurie doesn’t fail to mention that he should have been a better father. He bangs his fist loudly on the desk, he cannot take it more, he- “Sir? are you okay?” she comes without knocking, she got scared. Andy stares at her. “Do I- do I look okay? no. Am I okay? no. Does it matter? no.” He says a bit loud, she stands near the door. “Sir, I-I just want to help. I am sorry” and with that Andy tells her to leave, before she could say anything he repeats himself. “Go home Y/n” She nods and leaves his office.

She is standing outside, trying to book a cab, it’s difficult to find one now, it’s pretty late, it’s too dark to walk home alone. She is trying to think of a solution when Andy comes and stands next to her. “You don’t have a car I know, I’ll drop you” she has to take up this offer even though she doesn’t want to trouble him anymore.

The car ride was silent. When they are almost close to Y/n’s house Andy finally breaks the silence, “I am sorry, I am sorry for snapping at you, I shouldn’t have, I know you’re just trying to help, I lost my cool and I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s alright Sir, I understand.” why does she? Why does she understand? When almost everything is going wrong, when he feels so alone, why is there? She shouldn’t have to deal with him and his messed up life. She can get a better job, and a better boss.

“So that’s me” she says, Andy stops the car.

She hesitates to ask the next thing, she shouldn’t overstep but she just can’t see her boss like this, he seems miserable. “Sir, I am very sorry if I am overstepping but um- would you like to come in? Have some tea? Or-“ "Is there something with alcohol?” he looks at her. “I may have a couple of beers. And I have some wine, not something fancy though” Andy says that will work. So there he is at his assistant’s house having a glass of wine. Surprisingly enough it doesn’t feel awkward, in fact the atmosphere is pretty calm.

“I am sorry that I can’t be more helpful sir, I understand you are going through a lot but please have some faith, everything will be alright.” Andy can’t help but be in awe with her right now. “You are doing so much, you have no idea. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Sir please don’t thank me, I am trying to be a good assistant, I understand things are difficult and maybe not a lot of people are in your corner right now but I am. I have faith that things will be better soon. I am here for you.” He can cry any moment now, with his life being a complete mess, with him feeling so alone, Y/n is giving him hope. The moment is interrupted by Laurie’s call. Andy just picks up the call and stays quiet. Y/n can hear all the screaming and yelling from the other side. Andy just listens. “I am sorry but I am not coming back tonight, just give me this night, please.” He hangs up. Y/n doesn’t know what to say. “Don’t worry, I’ll go back to the office and spend the night there.” She cannot let him stay alone, it doesn’t feel right “You should stay here tonight, the only problem is that you will have to sleep on this couch.” Andy too doesn’t want to leave, but he doesn’t want to trouble her. As if she can read his mind, she immediately says “It’s alright, I’d be happy to know that you’re not alone tonight.” It’s true, after a long time he doesn’t feel alone, he isn’t alone tonight.

“I know I am being selfish, I know I should be with my family but I need just one night off you know? I am going crazy and if I go back tonight chances are it’s going to be a yelling competition between me and my wife and that won’t be good for anyone, especially Jacob.” He finishes the rest of the wine. “I am not saying my wife isn’t going through a lot too, but even if it is selfish I just need one night, a little time, I-I-“ he cannot finish his sentence before breaking down into tears. He hides his face with his hands and just keeps on crying. Y/n thinks about rubbing his back and soothing him but hesitates. She shouldn’t but she wants to, she cannot see him like this. She gently, very gently places her hand on his back. He is shaking. She can feel it, she can feel all his pent up emotions and stress slowly being let out with those tears. “Sir, as much as I hate to see you cry, sometimes it helps to let out pent emotions, it’s okay, let it out, I am here” Andy cannot stop crying, her words affecting him. Her hand radiating warmth.

After about two minutes, he looks at her, she gradually removes her hand and places it on the couch beside him, making sure not to touch him, he misses the contact of her hand but doesn’t say anything. He wants to say so many things right now but he doesn’t, just says, “Call me Andy, at least outside work.”

“I just want you to know you’re not being selfish, I am seeing you work hard everyday, trying your best, as you said I am sure your wife is going through a lot too, so is your son but then again so are you. You all need to stay functional too and for that do not let all those thoughts take over you. So recharge your self tonight, get some sleep, you have to fight a little longer unfortunately but I have a strong feeling the results at the end will be good. Just hang in there.”

Andy holds her hand. “Thank you for letting me stay and everything else. I am grateful to have someone as kind as you by my side.” She is about to stand up when she realises he is still holding her hand. As if on cue, he leaves her hand, he didn’t want to, she too misses the contact. How can she? What is she thinking? No, no this is nothing but her calming down her boss who is extremely troubled right now. He should sleep now and so should she. Andy too doesn’t exactly understand what is happening, all he knows is that her presence is calming him. Her presence feels like- feels a lot like home. “Alright then, good night, sleep well.” she stands up, about to leave. “Good night Y/n” Is her name actually that good or is it him saying it that makes it so much better. It’s better not to think about it.

“Thank you” Andy thanks y/n for the coffee. The trial is coming to an end in some days and after a long time things are looking minutely positive for them, with Andy’s dedication and to some extent desperation, and with y/n being there as a reliable assistant, they were able to get some evidence that proved to be helpful. Even though y/n has been his assistant for quite some time, after that night, they have grown closer. Andy who used to keep all his worries to himself, gradually let his guard down in front of y/n. They have become friends. He knows he can rely on her, she knows he is trustworthy. “You’re welcome Sir” she smiles.

“Hey y/n?” she turns back and faces him. “Are you free after work today? I was thinking we could go grab some food at the diner? My treat.” She looks confused. “Is there an occasion Sir? It’s not your birthday I know that.” Andy cannot help but smile.

“No I just wanted to give you a treat, after everything you have done for me. I thought this can be like a small gesture of appreciation.”

“Sir the fact that you thought about this gesture is more than enough, I am sure you’re busy with the trial coming to an end, I wouldn’t want to take up your time.”

“Well I am not busy, and you deserve a little break too, you have been working hard, so let’s go to the diner if you’re free. I know you like milkshakes.”

She smiles, he remembers? She may have said once or twice that she loves milkshakes. “Well I can’t say no to milkshakes, alright then.” Andy nods to that.

“This burger is so good.” Y/n said with food in her mouth. Andy chuckles at that. She is so cute. “I am glad you like it.” she nods and slurps her milkshake. Andy has a constant smile on his face, he is happy to see her so happy with just burgers and milkshakes. Y/n is happy, definitely because of the tasty food but mainly because of this gesture. She won’t admit how much this actually, truly means to her. “So Y/n you’re such a good assistant, you know a lot about me, but look at me I haven’t even tried to get to know you much.” She looks up while slurping her milkshake. “No sir-“ He corrects her about calling him by his name. “Sorry, Andy you do know me, besides I have heard how bosses can be super rude and unpleasant so I think I got pretty lucky with you. You’re kind and nice and sweet. Also hey you do know I like milkshakes.” Andy has that smile plastered on his face which now morphs into a laugh. A laugh, after so many days, she smiles at that, she is seeing him laugh after a long time. “Yes I know that, but what else do you like?” She likes making him smile, not that she would say that. “I like cooking, watching movies. I have very few friends, sometimes we go out, but personally I like staying in more.” Andy nods. The next thing he is about to ask, he isn’t sure whether he should, he doesn’t want to cross a line, but somehow he really wants to know it. “Are you dating someone?” She wasn’t expecting that. “Um no, i haven’t even been on many dates actually, the last time I was supposed to have a date and I got stoop up. I have an ex but i don’t even know if he ever considered me his girlfriend. I-“ she stops midway, realizing she has babbled a lot. “I am sorry to hear that, I mean I am little shocked actually, you are so nice.” she looks at her food, fidgets with it. “Yeah well nice isn’t good enough for guys to like me. Anyway that is something I have stopped thinking about, I don’t think I’ll get anyone.” Andy cannot believe what she just said. She is wonderful, caring, sweet, funny and beautiful. how can she think like that? “You really think that? You’re so wonderful, you’re funny, you’re talented, caring, sweet and b- well you are great! really, I think what you are saying doesn’t make sense, I am sorry that you have encountered some jerks all this while but I am sure you’ll get someone who will love you, cherish you and respect you. Besides, don’t get me wrong, most guys your age are stupid.” She smiles, she doesn’t usually get so many compliments. That last line is true, maybe most guys her age are kinda stupid. Maybe someone older, someone more matured will realize her value? “That’s very kind of you Andy.” She cannot help but look at him. She admires him, a lot. Every time she starts feeling anything other than respect for him she constraints herself immediately. He is married, has a kid, and he is totally out of her league. Granted he has had some troubles recently in his marriage but she hopes everything gets solved so that he can be happy. Y/n really wants Andy to be happy. “Well maybe I am not the best person to give relationship advice, considering how my marriage has fallen apart, but I truly believe you are wonderful and deserve someone great.”

“Andy, don’t say that, with time people can grow apart and the sad part is maybe not either is at fault, it just happens. Life changes everything at times, it changes people, changes feelings. What works for someone may not for someone else. There isn’t any right or wrong relationship advice I believe. Although when people say love is complicated, I disagree with that a bit, I feel love is very simple, we make it complicated.” How is she like this? Andy admires the way she thinks.

“Again you didn’t have to drop me but thanks a lot” She is about to step out of the car when Andy calls her name and she faces him. “Look I know recently I have shared some personal information with you, and obviously we have grown closer, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It’s just I don’t have a lot of people to talk to and you make me feel so comfortable. If you think I am crossing a line do tell me.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “Andy I am glad you can trust me.” That’s all she says. Andy looks at her, maybe he was expecting her to say something more. But she doesn’t. “Y/n i - i think I will get a divorce after the trial ends and when the situation is better. I respect Laurie too much and I know she has gone through a lot and I feel that getting divorced would be better for both of us and for Jacob too. We have fought a lot recently, and I don’t like Jacob seeing that. Plus maybe we all need a fresh start. I love my family but Laurie is now just the mother of my child. I have tried to feel more but I can’t, not anymore.” She doesn’t want to read between lines, doesn’t want to make out some other meaning behind this. She loses her train of thoughts when Andy places his hand on hers. “Y/n if you’re wondering why I am saying all this right now, then I don’t know how to answer that, maybe because I don’t know why I said it.” she is about to say something when Andy cuts her off “Or maybe I do know.” He looks into her eyes. There is so much to ask, so much to say but they choose to sit quietly in the car and look at each other. The atmosphere in the car is gradually changing. “I should go” She says, Andy removes his hand and nods. She steps out.

“Thank you An- Sir for the treat, I had a great time.” He doesn’t correct her this time. He smiles and says “Thank you for spending time with me.”

Y/n cannot stop thinking about that conversation, neither can Andy. Andy is scared he crossed the line. He cannot lose her trust, her respect. He cannot lose Y/n. Maybe he shouldn’t have said all that, maybe it was too much for her. She is not dumb she understands the situation. What does she think though, what does she feel? Andy stares at the ceiling of the guest room and keeps on thinking. It has been months since he is sleeping in the guest room. He picks up his phone, it’s late, he wants to text y/n but he doesn’t want to make things worse. What should he do. Before he can grasp his emotions his phone blinks.

It’s a text. From Y/n.

Y/n: “I am sorry for texting at this hour. I am sorry for stepping out of the car like that without saying much. I am not very smart when it comes to these things but I just want you to know that I respect you very much. I admire your work and dedication and how much you care about others. I have seen you doubt yourself as a father but if my opinion means anything to you then trust me when I say you’re an amazing father. You care a lot about your family. Sir I understand feelings may change but sometimes some relations are worth giving more time. It’s not really my place to say any of this probably but I personally don’t want you to regret something later. You were talking about a fresh start, maybe you all can take a fresh start as a family, together. Again it’s your life and I am no one to say anything. Sometimes things are better the way they are, even if the excitement of ‘what could happen’ or ‘what if’ makes us curious, it can be troublesome. Sorry if this makes you feel bad in anyway, I truly admire you and respect you for the person you are Andy.”

She has sent the message with a lot of courage. The conversation in the car changes a lot of things. It’s not that her heart didn’t skip a beat in the car when Andy said all that. But she respects him too much and doesn’t want him to make any decision that he may regret later. He is married, he has a son, he has a family. Y/n someday wants her own little family and to think that in any way she can anyway stop a family from being happy just breaks her heart. Specially Andy’s. After all his happiness means more to her than her own. After all she- well it’s not like she will admit it. Some things don’t need to be said.

Is it possible that Andy is getting more and more mesmerized by her? She is so pure, so kind. He types back the reply.

Andy: “Y/n, thank you for being so understanding, thank you for taking care of me when no one was there. I know I have thanked you before but I really cannot thank you enough. All I can say is that I am always here for you, if you ever need anything. That being said, the fresh start you are suggesting, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I had talked to Laurie too, we think we need a separate fresh start. I am lucky to have met you Y/n, like you said I don’t want to regret something later.”

Her heart seems a little less heavy after reading this. Wait why is she smiling like a teenager? She is blushing. She quickly sends a reply.

Y/n: “I just want you to be happy and I hope you know I am always here for you too.”

Andy: “I know you are and that makes me happy.”

Y/n: “Good night Andy. Sleep well”

Andy: “I will now, good night Y/n”

Andy loves the colour blue. A blue tie would be a great gift for him. Y/n gets a blue tie for his birthday. The Barbers are having a small get together for Andy’s birthday. Joanne, Jacob’s lawyer suggested them to seem as normal as possible, anyway the case seems to be in their favour now and the trial will end in a few days. So they shouldn’t behave like a guilty family. Andy has invited a few friends and colleagues and Y/n is invited too.

“Happy Birthday Sir!” Y/n says as she gives Andy his present. Andy thanks her and welcomes her to his house. With her here it feels a little more like home. She can make any place feel like home. He introduces her. “Jake, this is my assistant Y/n and Y/n I think you have met Laurie before.” They exchange greetings. Laurie is so beautiful. Jacob seems like a great kid. It’s very sad what he had to go through. What they all had to go through.

“Come on Dad, it’s time to cut the cake!!” Jacob ushers Andy over and asks him to blow the candles. Andy does. He wishes for Jacob’s safety and that they win the case. He had another wish but seems like that may have already been granted. He looks up at her, she is there clapping with others, but she is the only one who has been with him in this difficult phase unlike others. He cuts the cake and cuts out a small piece and feeds Jacob. That’s when it happens, Laurie kisses Andy. Andy is taken aback for a second but then he kisses her again. Right that is how married couples behave don’t they? He is still married. Then why are tears forming in Y/n’s eyes? What has she been thinking all this while? This is the reality. Andy is married and seems to have a great wife. She excuses herself and Andy doesn’t fail to notice that. He quickly goes to find her. She is standing in the lawn trying desperately to hold back the tears even though crying because of this seems so wrong.

“Y/n?” she composes herself. “Sorry sir I- I was- I got a call, had to take it, you have a great home by the way.” Andy moves closer to her but she steps back. “This doesn’t feel like a home anymore Y/n. It’s missing the warmth.” She suddenly unexpectedly snaps at him. “Really? Didn’t seem like that just few minutes ago.” Andy keeps quiet. What has she done? It’s wrong. “I am so sorry Sir I-“She gets cut off by Andy. “We are supposed to act like a loving family. Jake’s lawyer thinks that publicly we have to appear as a normal loving family since a troubled family would ruin Jacob’s image even more. There is a belief that troubled families have ill effects on kids. So we are portraying ourselves as a happy married couple but we aren’t. I don’t love her anymore Y/n. I lo-“ She stops Andy from saying anything more. “The lawyer is right. Troubled families do have ill effects on kids. Jacob has already been through a lot. You should give this another shot, Laurie seems wonderful, and she is so beautiful. You all should talk it out. Family is everything Sir, family comes first.” Andy tries to protest but she doesn’t let him. “Sir, sometimes some things just aren’t worth it. I’ll head home, happy birthday again. Goodbye.” she leaves, Andy wants to stop her but he doesn’t, right now things would get more complicated if he did. He wants to scream out, why? Why is this happening? Yes he agrees with her concern about Jacob’s well-being but he and Laurie won’t be able to stay together like a happy married couple for long, it won’t work out and that will probably affect Jacob even more. All of a sudden that ‘goodbye’ hits him. Goodbye? Is it? Did he lose her?

Y/n kept crying for two days even though she felt disgusted with herself for crying because of this. That unfortunately didn’t stop her from crying her heart out. Andy texted her, she hasn’t replied yet. Andy is so tensed he hasn’t heard from Y/n for two days. When a message arrives it shatters Andy’s heart even more. It’s not a text message, it’s an email. Her resignation letter. She says she will clean out her desk after some days. She didn’t fail to wish him luck for the end of the trial though. And finally the day comes, Jacob is proven innocent in front of law. The Barber Family is happy. Jacob hugs Andy and Andy feels good, he has been so stressed about this case, so much has happened during this time, finally all their efforts have been successful.

A series of “congratulations” and “I knew Jacob was innocent” keep on coming to them. Even though most of these people weren’t even beside them during the actual troubled time. Jacob doesn’t want to look back, neither do Andy and Laurie.

Andy receives a text. It’s Y/n “Congratulations, take care” Andy is about to call her when Jacob calls him and asks him they should go out for dinner to celebrate.

It has been two weeks. Y/n is looking for a new job. She didn’t go herself to collect the things from the office, requested a friend to go on her behalf. She too needs a fresh start. She makes her self some coffee and goes through some job openings.

A knock on the door. It’s Andy. “Can I come in please? Please.” She steps away from the door and he comes in. Andy doesn’t wait any time and gives her the paper in his hand. Divorce papers. Signed by both. “Before you say something, Jacob suggested the divorce. I love my son the most and always will, but things are different between me and Laurie. We all sat down together and had a talk and he suggested us getting a divorce before we even said that we were planning to. I was so proud to see how my son has grown so matured. He said he loves us both and he realizes that us staying together won’t make either of us happy and he wants us to be happy.” Y/n couldn’t stop her tears this time. Andy rushes closer to her takes her smaller hands in his. “Look at me please.” She does, still sobbing. “I know you deserve better, but if you give me a chance I promise I will do my best to make you happy. You make me so happy you have no idea. You feel like home Y/n. I love you so much.” She hugs him, she cannot control anymore. “I love you Andy,” Andy wraps her tightly, brings her as close as possible. She pulls apart and he wipes the tears with his thumbs. “I just didn’t want to be the reason to break your marriage. I want you to be happy.” He kisses her forehead. "I know sweetheart, I know. But you didn’t break my marriage, it was already broken, for quite some time, the recent incidents just gave me a chance to realize that. I was broken too, but you fixed me.” She looks up at him. “You make me feel so safe Andy, you feel like home too.”

He kisses her softly on the lips and both of them smile against each other’s lips. They are home, finally.

[mothandpidgeon]

Extra Credit (Professor!Dave York AU)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Dave York x F Reader

Words: 2865

Rating: VERY E 18+!

Warnings: student/teacher quid pro quo (safe to say this falls under DUB CON so please be careful!!!), spanking, humiliation/degradation, oral sex, orgasm denial, spitting, pussy slapping, biting/marking, p in v sex, Dave York

Summary: With graduation on the horizon, you just have to pass Professor Dave York’s class. But a bad choice on the final assignment leaves your grades in jeopardy. But he’s willing to give you extra credit if you can follow instructions.

a/n: First off, PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU MIND THE WARNINGS. I did not see myself sharing this kind of stuff but I guess I'm freaky like that.

Second, I’m sorry this has the plot of a bad p*rno but sometimes it be like that. Thanks @pascalslittlebrat, @starlightmornings and @mouthymandalorian for encouraging this. It is filth. And thank you P for the gorgeous moodboard!!!!

Also, here is my assignment for the class. What subject do you think Professor York teaches? I was thinking Political Science. Would love to hear your ideas.

It was hot in the lecture hall, one of those early spring days when the weather decided winter was officially over. You had only a few more weeks until graduation and you were white knuckling to the end.

It had been a tough semester. You had your classes to deal with and your motivation was dipping. It wasn’t entirely your fault. You’d had to take on a full time job on top of your studies. Your shitty little car always seemed to be in the shop and your roommate had turned into a psychopath so you slept with one eye open.

Professor York’s class was the hardest you’d ever taken. You liked his style, his dry sense of humor as he lectured. But he was difficult to please. Most professors let their TAs do their the grading but not him. No matter how hard you worked on your papers, you couldn’t wrestle anything higher than a B- from Professor York.

The TA was handing back your papers, the last assignment for the semester, and he placed yours face down in front of you. There was no grade on it just red pen that spelled out see me after class in tight, neat handwriting. Fuck.

You looked up to see Professor York glowering at you from his spot at the front of the hall. You approached him as the other students filed out. You wished you could share their relief that this class was finally done but you had a knot in your stomach.

“Have a seat,” he said, taking the paper from you and tapping it in his palm.

There was a chair next to the professor’s desk and you sat down putting your bag beside you.

“Thanks, Tyler,” he said, dismissing the TA.

When the lecture hall was empty, Professor York sat behind the desk, eyes skimming your paper.

“I wanted to talk to you about this,” he said.

You nodded, too nervous to try speaking.

“This is some great work. This is the kind of essay that really sticks with you after you read it,” he said. His brown eyes were warm and soft and he sat forward in his chair.

You were dumbfounded, your anxiety quickly washing away.

“That’s probably how I know I already read this,” he said, his features suddenly darkening.

Your stomach plummeted into your feet. You were such an ass, thinking you could get away with it.

“I don’t tolerate plagiarism,” he told you.

With everything that had been going on this semester, you didn’t have it in you to complete this final assignment. It wasn’t like you were going to get a good grade anyway. You’d been so exhausted, you hardly cared if you got caught when you’d handed it in. But now that you had to face Professor York, you were kicking yourself.

“I find it highly disrespectful that you would try and pass this off as your work. You know you can be expelled for this?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I’ve just had so much work to do-“

“I’m not interested in excuses,” he snapped.

You shut your mouth and felt tears bite at your eyes.

“Are you going to cry?” he asked in disgust. “That’s not going to work on me.”

“Professor, if I fail this class I’m not going to graduate. Please. I’ll do anything to just pass,” you said.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” you said. The word sounded so definitive when it left your lips.

Professor York leaned back in his chair, swiping his finger across his lower lip in thought.

“I can give you extra credit but you have to do exactly what I tell you,” he said.

You were so relieved, you nodded breathlessly.

His lips curled into a smile.

“What color panties are you wearing?” He asked.

Your cheeks set on fire but heat also pooled between your legs. “I- what?” You managed.

“Show them to me,” he commanded.

Your whole body flushed and you stared at him, wide eyed. You had to be dreaming. You’d always found Professor York sexy with that grin and his deep voice but he wouldn’t- this wasn’t happening.

“Do you want extra credit or do you want me to give this paper to your advisor?” He asked, his tone suddenly harsh.

You swallowed hard. Why did his words send a shiver down your spine? You picked up the hem of your skirt and lifted it so Professor York could see between your legs. You looked away, blushing deeply.

He made a guttural noise that made you drop your skirt and clench your thighs together.

“Give them to me,” he said.

Your mouth hung open. He looked completely serious, blinking at you slowly as if this was a casual request. You bit down hard on your lip but finally you relented.

You squirmed out of your panties, being careful that you didn’t give him a show in the process, and placed them in his large, outstretched hand.

He put them to his nose, inhaled, and then squirreled them away in his back pocket, all the while watching you with amusement.

“Stand up. Put your hands on the desk,” he said.

You couldn’t move, sitting there with a gaping mouth. Finally he narrowed his eyes and you did as he said. You put your palms against the table top, aware of the vulnerable way you were leaned over. His eyes moved over your form and he wore the same self-satisfied expression that came when a student asked a stupid question.

Once he was finished admiring your obedience, he stood up and walked behind you. Your heart was pumping wildly as he stepped closer and you could smell his cologne, leather and tobacco.

“I‘ll pass you but I don’t want you thinking you’re getting off easy,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said.

He chuckled and your breath caught. You felt him lift your skirt up, the fabric skimming over your bare ass, and you gasped. He didn’t touch you but he made a noise of approval that shot through you.

“I’m going to hit you five times,” he said into your ear. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded without even knowing you were doing it. What the fuck was happening? You were standing in the empty lecture hall, bent over, ass out, and desperate to graduate. You couldn’t believe Professor York’s audacity and yet you were going to let him spank you like you were a little girl. It wasn’t like you had a choice, you told yourself.

Before you could make sense of it, his hand connected with you and you let out a grunt. Were you getting wet? You definitely should not be enjoying this.

He hit you again and this time a moan escaped from you. You clamped your hand over your mouth.

“Hands on the desk,” he commanded.

You put it back down and another strike came against you. The sound of his punishment seemed to be echoing off the walls of the empty room.

He pulled your hips into him to steady you as he went on. You loved the feeling of his arm wrapped around your middle, holding you firm.

When he was finished, you were nearly shaking, your pulse quick and your lips parted. You were still reeling not least of all due to the fact that you wanted more.

“Good girl,” Professor York purred smoothing his hand over the spot he’d turned red. His fingers dipped between your legs to feel the slick on your lips. “You’re not going to learn your lesson if you’re enjoying this.”

He came up right behind you so he could wrap his hand around your front and stroke at you. You were thankful your palms were braced against the desk because your knees nearly gave out.

“Professor,” you tried.

“Did I say you could speak?” he asked, a hand gripping your hair.

“What if someone comes in?” Your voice shook.

“Then you’ll have to tell them why you’re failing my class,” he said and continued to play his fingers between your legs.

You whimpered. You could feel his hard length through his pants pressed into the tender flesh of your ass. Your head spun. You knew how fucked up this was but you didn’t want it to end. Professor York’s fingers circled you expertly and you felt like you were melting in his hands. You forgot everything— the circumstances that lead you to this moment, that this was your teacher, that you were exposed in public. Nothing existed except for your pleasure building and building.

As the sensation mounted in you, you began to buck against his hand.

“Are you close?” he asked.

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Good,” he replied and suddenly, his hand was gone.

You cried out in desperation. You clenched at nothing, left at the precipice with no relief. You were throbbing almost painfully. Professor York caught your chin in one of his hands, squeezing your face and wrenching your head around to look at him.

“Do you deserve to cum?” he asked.

You thought you might actually cry between your need for his touch and the fear his voice instilled in you.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

You shook your head.

“No,” he confirmed.

He loosened his grip on you and, for the briefest moment that softness returned to his eyes. You looked at him, eyes glassy and practically drooling, wishing he would touch you again.

“Needy girl,” he chided. “On your knees.”

He pulled you to your feet by the back of your skirt and you got down, bare knees and shins on the tile floor. You gazed up at him, still a little nervous, still pulsing between your thighs.

Professor York undid a few of the buttons of your shirt and skimmed his knuckle across your breast with a hum.

“Maybe I should take this too. Matching set,” he said. He snapped your bra strap which made you jump. “Off.”

He palmed the bulge in his pants as he watched you remove your shirt and unhook your bra. He squeezed one of your tits and pinched your pebbled nipple until you flinched.

“You want to pass?” he asked you, repeating the motion on the other side.

You nodded and he arched an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you said.

“You want to please me?” Now his hand ran gently along your jawline.

“Yes,” you breathed. You’d been trying all this time, studying hard, staying up all night to perfect your papers. Now you had a new goal in mind though you were afraid it was just as unattainable.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed and when you did he spit into it. “Don’t swallow that.”

You stayed like that, with your mouth open as he released himself from his pants. There was a dark patch on his boxer briefs stained by precum. You watched him wildly as he pulled at himself and a glistening bead appeared at his tip. Saliva, yours or his, was dribbling out of the corners of your mouth, dripping on your hard nipples.

“Don’t you look pretty. I hope you can suck cock better than you write papers,” he mocked.

For some reason this was what made your eyes pop. You asked yourself if you were really going to suck off your professor for a good grade. As if you hadn’t just handed him your panties. As if you hadn’t just let him smack your ass. As if your thighs weren’t drenched with your own slick.

He approached you, still stroking himself and you were jealous. You wanted that friction on yourself, were dying for more.

You didn’t have to be told what to do. You wrapped your wet lips around his thick length and your tongue swirled around him.

“Eyes on me,” he demanded.

You looked up at him, and grasped his shaft in your hand as you sunk your mouth around him as far as you could go. Your saliva dripped down his cock pooling in your fist.

“Fuck,” he said.

That word excited you. You kept going, watching him try to keep his eyes open as you surrounded him. The noise of your lips on him was almost disgusting, wet and squelching, and yet it was driving you insane. You clenched your core for some kind of relief that wouldn’t come.

He thrust deeper into your mouth and you tried to take him in but gagged. You pulled away, his cock bouncing out of your mouth and you coughed.

“Good girl,” he said. “Look at you trying to earn that extra credit.”

Tears stung in your eyes as you tried to recover.

“You still want to cum?” he asked, one hand pumping himself slowly.

You nodded timidly. More than anything in the fucking world. But you didn’t want to seem too eager, aware that he was ready at any moment to rescind the offer.

“Sit on the desk,” he said and you did. “Greedy little brat.”

Professor York slid your skirt up your thighs and that sensation alone felt erotic. He inserted two fingers into your mouth and you sucked them hungrily while he grinned.

He slid them across your folds and you were already so sensitive your back arched. He surprised you by getting down on his knees, opening your legs and throwing your thighs over his shoulders. You leaned back on your hands, laid out across the desk, fully on display.

You heard a noise in the hallway and gasped, your head snapping towards the door. But your attention was immediately drawn back to Professor York when you felt him smack you between the legs.

“Do you want to cum or not?”

“Please,” you begged.

He gave you a dark smile and then began nipping at the inside of your thighs. When he got closer to your center, he bit and sucked hard. You let out a breath, a mix of pleasure and pain.

“When you think about this later, I want you to touch yourself and look at this,” he said, swiping the pad of his thumb over the welt he’d just left there.

You let out a shuddering breath and he began to nibble at your clit between his lips. When your hand automatically shot into his hair, he grabbed you by the wrist and removed it, holding your palm against the desk. His tongue lavished you, churning you into a frenzy, and it didn’t take long before you were back where you’d been before. You were panting and grinding your hips into him.

This time he let you hit your high and you trembled and thrashed as he worked at you. It felt like you’d been wiped out by a wave, not being able to sense up from down. You were mewling and shaking when you finally begged him to stop, overwhelmed and cloyed.

He stood and wiped you from his chin and then said, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

You nodded frantically. He pushed into you and you were sure he could feel you still fluttering around him. You were wetter than you could ever remember but still he was difficult for you to take and you inhaled sharply. He didn’t seem to care, snapping his hips into you and grunting, one hand balling your skirt in his fist against you. Soon, though, you were lost in the sensation of his thrusts.

You didn’t even realize that you were whining loudly as he fucked you, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Professor York took your panties from his pocket and shoved them in your mouth to stifle your cries.

“You’re going to have to quiet down,” he rasped.

You whimpered against the fabric in your mouth and he smiled wickedly. He put his hand around the back of your neck to draw you in closer and he pressed into you faster and faster. He pulled out and you heard your own muffled moan at the loss of him. He worked at himself, spilling over your thigh and on your skirt with a groan.

Both of you took a moment to catch your breath and you watched as the professor leaned over you on his hands, swallowed, and then stood up, as composed as ever. He laughed quietly to himself as he took the panties out of your mouth and smoothed his hair.

“Put your clothes on. I have another class to get to,” he said, handing you a handkerchief and zipping himself up. He slid your panties back in his pocket.

You felt shaky on your feet after you’d mopped up his spend. You got dressed wondering how you were going to get through the rest of the day commando, with a ruined skirt, and the remnants of your professor’s cum drying onto your skin. He didn’t say anything else. You hooked your bag over your shoulder and Professor York looked you up and down one last time. He handed you back your essay. It was soaked through down the middle and you realized you’d been sitting on it on the desk. At the top was a new note in red pen: see me after graduation and his phone number.

You got an A.

-----

tagging some folks: @pascalslittlebrat @mouthymandalorian @starlightmornings @purplepascal042 @originallaura @cheekygeek05 @fangirl-316 @fairytale07 @tuskens-mando @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-skov @skulliebythesea @oceanablue @rebel-soldat @goddessinwolfskin @stevie75 @yespolkadotkitty @danniburgh @221bshrlocked

[hiccanna-tidbits]

HICCANNA MONTH WEEK 3, DAY 5 - SCI-FI AU BLADE RUNNER

Next up for Hiccanna Month: Another fic idea that’s been bouncing around in my head like a Windows screensaver since 2015! GOD, I remember watching Blade Runner for the first time alone in my dorm room my freshman year, and just getting OBSESSED--and, of course, the first thing my brain does is start building an overly-detailed Hiccanna/RotBTFD AU longfic that I’ll never have time to write XD Idk, maybe someday???

WELL ANYWAYS. Figured y’all deserved to see the base concept that I get super obsessed with every now and again, even if I never do anything with it XD I’ve read the book the movie’s based off of, too, so some concepts from the book found their way in here as well. I also rewatched the movie for this, and lemme tell you, that shit holds up--like every other cyberpunk dystopia deadass wishes they could be Blade Runner (1982). How they did all those flying cars and futuristic buildings and shit with practical effects and mini-sets is beyond me.

Fic summary under the cut! As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request!

***

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was one of the best Blade Runners in Los Angeles back in the day. Not like he had much choice in his career; he comes from a long line of proud android hunters--strong, ruthless men who will do anything necessary to protect humanity from its own rogue AI creations. Hiccup trained to “retire” replicants since childhood--and with excellent tracking skills, sharp intellect, and ruthless pragmatism, he was very good at his job.

Natural talent or not, blade running wasn’t a job that Hiccup could stomach forever. Eventually the brutality took a toll--it became more and more of a weight to bear, killing beings who looked just a little too human. Hiccup decides to retire early (much to the chagrin of his late father, he’s sure), turning in his pistols and retreating to his high-rise apartment. The perks of a such a dangerous and taxing job were that it didn’t pay half bad, and Hiccup has plenty to support himself for a while. And that’s all that’s really needed--no wife, no girlfriend, no roommates, only one real friend.

Despite his success in his career, Hiccup is a lonely man. He’s never particularly connected with his coworkers, not finding much joy or satisfaction in retiring replicants. The women he tries his luck often as not find him too awkward or sulky or sarcastic--hardly the charming man with a vibrant life that many seek.

Hiccup’s best and only friend is an electric black cat, found in an alleyway after work one day and lured into his building with canned tuna and freeze-dried salmon. He doesn’t know the precise story behind the abandoned cat, but what he’s able to semi-confidently piece together (he is a detective, after all) is that the artificial cat was an attempted scam--pawned off as real, as so many high-quality, convincing electric animals are. Real animals are a rarity, most having died off as the world became choked with trash and pollution that apparently only the human animal could consistently stomach.

The cat could certainly pass as real--at first glance, anyways. In fact, Hiccup is initially shocked, wondering how he stumbled on a real flesh-and-blood feline in a city where practically everything else is artificial. When he gives the loud-meowing cat some dinner, though, he notices the teeth seem to slide in and out of the creature’s jaw as he eats in a way no organic cat’s would. Hiccup suspects this is what gave him away as a fake to whoever adopted him--and whoever must have thrown him out in the street.

Nevertheless, Hiccup knows what it is to be rejected. To be ostracized and excluded because you’re not what people want you to be. And someone needs to fix “Toothless”’s broken tail--which, upon closer inspection, is sparking every so often, too. Certainly a fire hazard if left to wander about the city.

Hiccup’s retirement is going rather well when things get upended. Toothless is good company, Hiccup can afford the nicest games and streaming services money can buy, and he even has time to indulge in a hobby he was always too busy for--tinkering with and fixing broken machinery.

Then one day, over his regular lunch of shrimp-and-beef ramen, his old boss shows up and says he’s needed for one last job.

Hiccup won’t hear of it. He’s done with killing and hurting and destroying things, no matter how much society would have him think it’s not “real” life. It turns out, however, that Hiccup’s boss isn’t letting go of his best Blade Runner so easily.

“Your cat,” he says. “Organic or electric?”

“Electric.”

Hiccup sees no reason to lie. If he claimed Toothless was organic and word got out, everyone and their mother would be trying to steal him.

“So his software is hooked into the Cloud, just like every other electric animal in the city. Their brains were built to share a network.”

Hiccup freezes.

“What I’m saying, Haddock, is that certain...city officials have access to the animal neurological networks in the Cloud. Sure would be a shame if Toothless’ got damaged...or shut down completely.”

And so Hiccup is on the case. There are four replicants total who must be retired, all rogues who got loose on a ship bound for Earth, killed all the human passengers, and hijacked the controls.

“Jack Frost,” the supposed leader, is tough-as-nails combat model built to withstand subzero temperatures and be far more flexible and agile than any human could hope to be. He’s wily and charismatic, as likely to try manipulating or sweet-talking you as shooting you.

“Merida,” another combat model, is the brawn of the group. Aggressive and ruthless, she’s not the sort to back out of a fight until her opponent is beyond dead.

“Rapunzel” has appropriately long blonde hair to match the fairy tale moniker, though she usually keeps it braided back and out of the way. She’s a standard pleasure bot, not an uncommon sight at exoplanet military outposts, but rumor has it she is not to be underestimated, and she’s not as soft as she looks.

“Anna” is another combat bot, although she’s not noted as being brutal like Merida or cunning like Jack. She is, according to her profile under her spinning head on the hologram screen, fairly average in every way.

Nonetheless, Hiccup can’t take his eyes off her. There’s an intriguing--almost playful--glint in her holographic eyes that draws him in.

He manages to track Anna down to a seedy part of town, finding out that she’s been forced to work as an “exotic dancer” of sorts to lay low while still paying the bills. He meets her backstage, claiming he needs to run a “safety inspection” on the premises, but it only takes a short conversation for Anna to see right through his cover. She attacks with superhuman strength, throwing him hard against a wall and making a run for it while the wind is knocked out of him.

Hiccup gives chase through grungy, neon-lit streets, nearly losing her among the raincoats and umbrellas of thick crowds a number of times. He finally corners her near a backalley, out-of-the-way clothing store, in a place where there are no cars or people or power boxes to hide behind. She dives through a display window, the effort of breaking glass slowing her down, and at last Hiccup has his chance.

Something stops him from pulling the trigger.

She turns and looks at him the second before he shoots, and her eyes are filled with blazing, palpable fear. The fear of a clearly sentient creature. Not so different from the fear Hiccup saw in Toothless’ eyes when he first met him, back when Hiccup was just another in a vast world of humans that only wanted to hurt him.

He lowers his gun, and watches as Anna scrambles into the darkness of the closed shop and out of sight. He starts home, feeling sick.

He knows he’ll have to kill her eventually...but not tonight. Not tonight.

He’s almost to his car when a cold, steely grip closes around his arm, yanking him into an alleyway. In the bright neon glow from the adjacent street, he recognizes the round face and tied-back head full of red curls immediately--Merida, the most vicious of the rogue replicants. She saw him shooting at Anna, her comrade and friend, and now he is deeply fucked.

It’s not much of a fight. Within seconds, Merida gains the upper hand--and is, to put it delicately, beating the ever-loving shit out of him. Hiccup makes his peace with the gods, recognizing that tragically, this is indeed an occupational hazard of being a Blade Runner.

She’s just about to land the killing blow when someone intervenes.

Shaken and battered, Hiccup gets to his feet. He leans against a wall, watching a blur of red and orange hair as he gets his breath back.

His rescuer, he realizes, is Anna.

Merida is hard to subdue, blinded by rage and lashing out wildly in her efforts to get back to Hiccup. Anna pleads for her to stop, trying to explain that Hiccup let her go--that he’s not worth killing if he could help them.

Hiccup realizes with a start that she must really believe that. Why else would she save his life?

Finally, the realization that Anna is alive and well--and not bleeding out from a gunshot wound outside some dingy shop--seems to sink in for Merida. She calms down and takes a step back, eyeing Hiccup with distaste.

“He’d better be useful,” she hisses. “Imagine of he really had killed yeh, huh? That’s jest what his lot do.”

She spits on Hiccup before stalking off.

After Merida leaves, Anna admits she followed Hiccup, wanting to know why a Blade Runner spared her. After a rather tense conversation--including but not limited to Anna painfully shoving Hiccup against a wall and conducting an impromptu interrogation--Hiccup admits the truth: He had to take the job to retire her and her friends because someone he loved would be in danger if he didn’t. Someone mechanical.

With a little more prodding, Hiccup admits that the people he used to work for threatened to deactivate Toothless if he didn’t dispose of the four rogue replicants “terrorizing the city.” Anna muses--half to herself--that she may be able to help. No one better to understand an artificial life form than another artificial life form, after all. And Anna has been to dozens of planets in all different types of spacecrafts and interfaced with hundreds of other AIs--if anyone understands AI coding and tampering, it’s her.

Besides, she saved his life. Him, a bounty hunter who got paid for killing beings like her. That has to count for something.

Before they know it, the two are forming a tentative alliance. Anna offers to take a look at Toothless’ software and try to figure out how to disconnect him from the cloud, thus cutting off any outside access to his neural circuits. In return, Hiccup will give her and her friends protection, ceasing his hunt for them for the time being and keeping their locations a secret from other Blade Runners.

With nowhere else for her to really go, Hiccup reluctantly tells Anna she can stay in the spare room of his apartment--only because she might be the only one who can potentially save Toothless, of course. That’s the only reason it’s worth the dangers. Hiccup supposes it’s just as well--easiest to keep her safe (so she can still be around to decode and free his cat) by keeping her close. Emotions can’t factor into this when replicants have none--not like humans do, anyway. Right?

It turns out Hiccup can’t stay nearly as detached as he hoped. The more Anna tries to figure Toothless out--muttering about his wires and his circuit board and his signals as she tinkers with the squirming feline--the more Hiccup tries to figure Anna out. She’s fascinated by the humans on earth--their food, their culture, their art. Their reverence for the biological and their utter disdain for the artificial. He often finds her asking for bites of his food (despite not needing to eat), or watching cars and ships pass out of his high-rise windows. She begs to tag along when he goes undercover in dingy parts of town, fascinated by the bustle of the crowds and the crammed markets with their shouting vendors and ever-flashing neon signs.

Protecting replicants, however, isn’t without its dangers—as Hiccup well suspected. His employers are becoming suspicious of his skills having grown so “rusty” that he misses every shot and he often just “can’t track the bastards down.” But as he grows closer to Anna and meets the rest of her friends, he realizes everything he’s been taught about replicants couldn’t be more wrong. 

They’re intelligent, and they can be kind, emotional, loving, good. Their brains and souls are just as “real” as any human’s. All they want is what anyone wants—to not be treated as lesser for things they can’t help.

As Hiccup’s bond with Anna grows, she opens up to him about the horrors she’s faced. Bloody battles on distant planets. The death of her “sister” Elsa, a replicant made in the same factory as her who was the first living being she ever met. From the same line of Nexus models as Jack, Elsa was built to withstand frigid subzero temperatures...but it wasn’t enough to protect her from being slaughtered by a hoard of newer, even more cold-tolerant models.

Together with the four replicants he’s supposed to be hunting, Hiccup eventually uncovers a horrifying truth--all replicants are programmed to shut down permanently after 4 years. A self-destruct “failsafe” put in because humans were scared of their creations growing and developing in ways they couldn’t predict. Becoming a little too self-aware, and realizing how sick they are of living as second-class citizens. Before he knows it, Hiccup finds himself on a mission more perilous than ever: Find out how to override the programming sending his new friends toward an early doom, all while dodging the wrath of employers who will no doubt think poorly of him for fraternizing with the enemy, to say the least.

And the fact that he’s falling in love with his bounty isn’t going to make things any easier.

[stutterfly]

Failure to Communicate

This was a joint collab fic that @gukslut​ and I worked on, commissioned by @cypherft-v as part of our fundraising for Black Lives Matter. Thank you for contributing! Banner & moodboard by me :)

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader

{Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut

{Rating} Mature - Explicit 

{Word Count} 21K

{Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit

{Summary} You've always had a crush on Park Jimin, but the truth is that you're just one of many. He just so happens to be the TA for one of your classes, and you're determined to make your feelings known. Whether or not he takes you seriously remains to be seen.

{Prompt} Could either of you write an enemies to lover story about jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didnt give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful? Posted on tumblr on August 17, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to any platform, including YouTube.

Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn't crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn't afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It's just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that's what you're telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it's less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.

The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you're taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.

Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You're definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He's popular... like, really popular.

You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.

But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.

You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.

He's the object of just about everyone's affections, and rightfully so. He's not just gorgeous, he's charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You've been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.

Maybe they're chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don't stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn't stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Looking up as if he's been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn't listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that's not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. He's been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.

He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can't handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn't stopped you from thinking about it.

Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It's not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It's condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.

"Did you take notes?" he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you've just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.

"I- uhh..." You panic.

"You know that was all about the exam next week. You're gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it," he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.

"I was just.. um, I was--" you attempt to explain.

"Busy staring at me?" He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.

You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”

"Yes," he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. "Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?"

"What?" you choke, eyes watering at the idea.

Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”

"Get what?" you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It's the first time you've ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

"The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn't take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth," he tells you, heading for the door.

Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.

"Need the notes?" Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.

"Please," you sigh, relieved that he'd waited.

He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. "Drop your address in there," he says standing up.

"Thank you so much," you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.

"Hey, y/n?" Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Jimin is a fool," he tells you.

"What?"

"If you were looking at me like that, I'd at least ask for your number." Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.

Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.

"Thanks, Taehyung," you say, waving on your way out the door.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. "Where are you going? I'll walk you."

"My car?"

"Wanna come eat with me?" he wonders. He's confident, but it's not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He's softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he's a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I guess so," you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.

"Cool." Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?

"You like hamburgers?"

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Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.

"Hello, sugar," he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.

"Hey, Tae," you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.

"Still on Jimin, huh?" he asks. He doesn't sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He's just stating a fact. You're relieved he's not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug.

"It's okay. I can't blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We're close," he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.

Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. "I've got a plan," you confess.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. "Do tell."

"I think I need a little extra help with this material," you tell Taehyung.

"Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can't, I'm totally down to squeeze into yours anytime."

Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you joke.

"Please do."

The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It's embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.

"Hi, y/n," Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.

"Hi." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.

"Do you need something?" he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.

Damn, do you ever.

"I was wondering if you had time to help me. I'm struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance." Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.

"One-on-one, huh?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. "I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance."

You're sure that's true, but it's not Taehyung you're after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.

Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he's two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.

"I like you," you blurt out.

Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you're perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You're definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can't help teasing you anyway.

"Everyone likes me," he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.

He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You're stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you're about to tuck and run, he smiles again.

"But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I'll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”

"Oh. My apartment’s fine!" you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? "I mean, yeah, sure. You'll come to mine, yeah."

Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You're lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he's laughing at you. "You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead."

"I wouldn't mind you in my room," you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you're both well aware you meant every word of that.

"Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me."

"I’ll call you," you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.

Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.

He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.

A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.

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Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn't appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She's ready to move on, that means he has to as well.

Jimin isn't even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"Why so glum?" Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook's shoulder with his own.

"I'm the designated driver tonight," Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.

Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.

"Where's your girlfriend? I haven't seen you without your tongue down her throat all week," Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.

"Girlfriend," Jimin repeats with a snort. "Hilarious. That's not a thing. She's probably looking for her next kill."

Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. "If you take over DD you can have the futon."

Jungkook loves his futon. It's one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It's also incredibly comfortable.

Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung's little apartment.

"Okay," Jimin relents. "Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night."

"Ah, I love you man," Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin's general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung's hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn't react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.

"Do it again," an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he's finished so that he doesn't have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what's going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He'll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he'll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.

Jimin's suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he's not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he'd make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.

Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK's hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin's phone is totally destroyed.

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You should be sleeping. It's three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you're not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.

You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn't even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying 'it's y/n btw' seemed so desperate. You've been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you've convinced yourself he already knows and he's avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said "i'm excited to see you tomorrow" in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it's you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.

Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It's much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he's got something helpful to say.

"Why're you up? You look sad." His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He's tipsy.

"A boy I like isn't texting me back," you admit with a scowl. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?" Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. "I wouldn't worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He'll probably text you in the morning."

You don't bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you're harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It's embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.

When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.

It doesn't even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He's ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.

Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you're absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.

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Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae's notes to go by, you feel like you're quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn't give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you'd retain something pertinent.

On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.

Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you're going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you're so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.

Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.

That's what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He's stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You're not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.

With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don't even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn't clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.

"Ready to make this exam your bitch?" he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.

"That remains to be seen," you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. "I couldn't get anything done this weekend," you confess. "I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what's on the exam."

"Aw fuck, you could have called me," he says, passing you his note cards. "We could have studied together."

"Oh, Tae," you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. "You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn't be fair of me to take it from you."

"We've got ten minutes." He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. "Quiz me. It will help us both."

Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung's carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it's Jimin.

Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you're angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he quietly whispers, but he's moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn't have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.

Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.

You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.

As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.

He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.

You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?

Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.

[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?

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Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.

He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he’s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.

It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.

Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”

Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.

“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”

Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.

“No,” you answer.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.

“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.

Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”

Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.

“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.

You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.

“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”

“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.

“Now?”

“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.

You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.

“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.

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“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”

“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he's taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.

"No, this place is close. It's a secret. Not many people know about it," he says with a wink.

"You say that to everyone don't you?" You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.

"No," he laughs. "I've been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week." He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.

You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.

"Almost there," he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it's in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It's clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.

There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You're tempted to judge him, he doesn't strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.

To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it's just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?

You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

Forgettable.

Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. "Is it good?"

"It's vanilla." You shrug.

"Do you want something different?" he asks, counting the money in his hand.

"No, I like vanilla."

"Figures," he teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap back at him.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you're soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you."

"I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit," you argue, realizing too late that you've over shared in your annoyance.

Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it's dripping. "Noted," he says.

"I didn't mean-- I wasn't -- UGH," you huff, embarrassed that he's still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. "What'syourmajor?" You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.

"Your major?" you repeat, slower this time.

"Oh, uh. Urban studies."

"Interesting."

"You don't know what that means, huh?" He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.

You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he's teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. "What's wrong?"

You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. "You make me feel stupid," you confess. "You're wasting my time."

Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.

"Y/n, wait!" he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. "I don't think you're stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”

You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.

“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you're pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I'd love to get to know you better. I know I'm not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?" he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.

Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Hey," he jokes. "Just lick it. I didn't make you throw yours away."

You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what's left of his vanilla cone.

"Forgive me?" he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.

"Okay. One more chance," you agree. "So, urban studies?"

He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. "Yeah, it's like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?"

You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you'd rather not acknowledge. You're oblivious to the fact that you're having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you're licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.

"Teaching," you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

"Little kids?"

"Yeah." You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.

Jimin's expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.

"Kids are fun. I have a younger brother," he tells you.

"A lot younger?"

"No," he laughs. "But he's a total baby so it's basically the same.”

“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”

“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.

“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn't feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you're not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.

Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You've surprised him. You're not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he'd be texting you already. He'd call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It's alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.

Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.

He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you're in third grade and not your third year of college.

"Pick a color now, y/n," Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you've indicated the triangle marked 'pink.' "Hmm," he ponders. "It says you need to relax."

"What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like... who I was gonna marry," you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.

Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. "Do me," he says.

After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, "It says you need to apologize. Again."

Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He's not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it's cool that the two of you are getting close too.

"Princess?" Jimin's song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You've pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it's taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. "I'm sorry I didn't help you."

"I wish you were ugly," you mumble into your arms.

"What?" he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.

You lift your head to meet his eyes. "If you were ugly this never would have happened," you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. "Just be ugly! FUCK."

Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.

Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you're so used to again. "Let's do something fun together," he offers. "And then after that, we'll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay," you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He's even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.

"There's a party on Saturday, will you come with me?"

"Where?" you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You'd go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.

"Jin's," he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.

"Okay. I'll come," you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It's scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

"Why are you home?" Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.

"It's Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.

"I didn't wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You're gonna be up all night now, you know."

"I would have stayed asleep but I've got a friend in need," he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.

"Aww, you're so good to me." You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Not you," he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”

You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes. "That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”

He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you're good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?"

"Sure," you agree, trusting Yoongi's judgment. He's not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. "When?"

"I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I'll go pick him up now, if that's good with you," he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.

"What, he doesn't have a car?"

"Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He's got nothing. He's keeping all his clothes in another friend's closet. It's kinda sad."

"That's rough," you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.

"I'll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?" Yoongi suggests.

"Sure, sure," you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven't moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.

“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.

When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it's him before you open your mouth. He's there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”

“Oh good you know him," Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”

"Yeah, I can do that," you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you'd tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he's always walking everywhere.

You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.

Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you've spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you're hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.

The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you're awake. It's a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.

You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.

Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.

“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.

“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?

The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.

“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”

“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?

“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”

“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Wait!”

As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.

“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”

“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.

You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”

Your yawn says otherwise.

Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.

“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”

“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”

He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”

“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.

He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”

That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.

“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.

He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.

“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.

“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.

“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”

“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.

He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”

After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you're determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.

"What's your plan then?" you question, shifting closer so you're face to face against the pillows.

Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”

“Won’t you miss your family?”

“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.

“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”

Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.

“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.

He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.

He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”

You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.

“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.

You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.

“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”

“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”

He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Goodnight y/n.”

You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.

That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.

“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.

Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”

“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.

“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”

Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.

He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”

He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”

He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.

Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.

Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.

“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.

He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”

“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.

“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”

“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.

“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”

He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”

“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.

There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.

“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.

Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.

Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.

Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.

“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.

“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.

Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”

“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.

Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”

Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.

Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.

“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”

“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.

“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.

“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”

“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.

“Bro.”

Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”

Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”

“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”

“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”

Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”

“Jimin—”

“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl... like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.

“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”

“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”

“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.

When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?

You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.

“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”

“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.

Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.

“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.

“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”

“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”

He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”

He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.

You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”

He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”

A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”

Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.

“Are they the beige ones?”

“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”

“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”

“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”

He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”

He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.

“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.

“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?

He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.

The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.

That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.

Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”

“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.

Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It's pretty clear to everyone who's paying attention that there's something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you're there with Jimin, you're leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn't paying attention, or he just plain doesn't care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.

"Hey, y/n!" He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. "You look so pretty tonight."

"Thanks, Kook." You know he's one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you'll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren't familiar with. "I like your boots," you tell him, looking down.

He follows your gaze to his feet. "Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight," he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.

His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he's on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you'd say he's had more than he should have at this point in the night.

"So, I was talking to Taehyung recently," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.

"And?" You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.

"He told me something." Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.

You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You'd gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.

"What did he tell you?" you ask, fearing you already know the answer.

Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. "He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence," he pauses, "I haven't had dessert."

Jimin finds his way back to you just as you've moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.

A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.

Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.

“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.

Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.

"What'd he do?" Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.

"He came on to me." You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.

"That's it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?" Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.

"Well, it was kind of an accident. But," you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, "he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me." You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.

Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He's growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.

"That makes two of us," he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.

He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.

“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.

You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.

He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You're not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don't care. You want him now. You need him.

His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.

"Princess," he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.

"Jimin," you breathe back, pulling him closer again. "Come home with me." It's not really an invitation. He'd be coming back with you anyway since he's currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.

You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.

Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin isn't as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.

You're thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that's the alcohol.

He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

"Wanna take those heels off, princess?" he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.

"I can do it," you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what's left of your modesty. You aren't counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin's reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.

Parties aren't really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it's becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.

"I think... I'm drunk," you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.

"I think you're right, baby," he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. "Let's get you some water."

Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what's surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.

"I'm so sorry," you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.

"Shhh," Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he's sure you've finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you're left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.

He's going to think you're pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?

Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.

"You're never gonna fuck me now," you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.

Jimin laughs. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn't realize you were this drunk," he softly says. It's a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.

You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you're absolutely certain you've ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.

Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. "I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. "I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this."

"Please," you whine.

"Sober up first, okay?" he coaxes. "Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?"

"Okay," you sniffle.

Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”

You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.

When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.

Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he's relieved that you haven't fallen asleep. You've washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You've even pulled your hair back so it's no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you'll try it for his sake.

The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you plead in a weak voice.

"Why are you sorry? I don't hate you," he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He's shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn't overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.

"Will you hold me?" you ask.

“Of course,” he replies softly.

The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.

The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.

Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.

"Gimme your bae," Jungkook's voice calls through the phone.

"She's sleeping," Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.

You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It's a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.

"Wake her up," Jungkook whines. "Bro. She hit me so hard."

Jimin laughs. "You deserved it."

"I know," Jungkook agrees. "That's why I'm calling. Can I talk to her please?"

"You're on speaker."

"Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae."

"Hi Kook," you croak.

"I'm sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey."

"I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How's your dick?" you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.

"It hurts but I'll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?" he asks you both.

Jimin answers this time. "Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I'll text you." He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.

“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.

“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.

Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”

“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”

“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.

“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’

You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.

When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.

Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn't even touched you yet.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.

When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.

“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”

“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.

“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.

He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”

“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.

His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.

Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.

“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”

“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.

“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.

“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”

That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.

“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”

“Jimin--,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.

Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.

“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”

“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”

Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.

“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.

“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.

He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.

“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.

“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.

He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.

He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”

You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”

He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.

“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.

Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.

“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.

Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.

You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.

"Come on then," you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.

He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.

You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. "I'm sorry baby," he soothes. "I'll go slow." He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.

He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. "Tell me when."

"Move," you moan. "Move. Fuck me."

Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you're about to cry.

You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. "Harder," you plead.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me beg," you whine.

"What if I want you to beg?" he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It's almost hard enough to satisfy you.

"Then I'll beg."

Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. "You're so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good."

"Go faster," you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.

Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid's bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.

“You feel my fat cock baby?" he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don't you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it," he grunts. "You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.

"Can we try something?" he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.

"What did you have in mind?" you wonder. You reach for his cock but he's already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.

"Up on your knees for me, princess," he instructs. He kneels behind you once you're in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.

He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.

“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”

“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.

You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”

It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.

You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”

“I wanna ride you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.

He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.

“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.

You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.

“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”

Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.

He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.

“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.

Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.

“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.

Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.

Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.

“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.

He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.

You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”

He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”

“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”

The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”

He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?

“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”

“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.

“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”

Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.

You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”

His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”

“And so much more.”

It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.

“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”

“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”

“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”

You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.

“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”

You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”

He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”

[alwaysachorusgirl]

Adoption Day

Pairing: Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

Word Count: 2089

For: Covers the Animal Shelter square for @adarafaelbarba 's fall moodboard bingo

TW: very brief mention of past childhood abuse and animal abandonment, but other than that, it's mostly fluff

Dedication: This is for the world's best cat mom, @madamsnape921 ,because it's her birthday! Go send her some birthday love today!

Author's Note: Jumping back a little in the Cat Daddy Frederick timeline to cover Buttercup's adoption story. Per my previously established continuity, this would take place in January, right after New Year's, and prior to "Not According to Plan"

Tags: @itsjustmyfantasyroom @prurientpuddlejumper @thatesqcrush @welcometothemxdhouse @raulesparza4eva @teamsladsandgents @rosequcrtz

The winter wind howled outside the window and snow drifted across the windowpanes, but inside Frederick Chilton’s ornate home you were safe and warm. No, our home, I live here now, you thought to yourself. You were still getting used to thinking of it as your home, too. You were unpacking the last of the boxes from your recent move. A fire was roaring in the living room fireplace, giving the room a cozy, comforting glow. You inhaled the aroma of the hearty vegetable stew that was cooking in the crockpot in the kitchen, and your stomach growled. You were going to need to take a dinner break soon, and as if he was reading your mind, Frederick entered the room and came over to where you were placing your books on the expansive built-in shelves.

“How goes it with the books? Do you need more shelf space? I can always move somethings into my office if you need more.”

“Thank you, Frederick, but don’t worry; I think I have more than enough. I am, however, getting rather hungry. I think it’s time we ate dinner, don’t you?

“I couldn’t agree more, my love, shall I set the table?” he asked, taking your hand, and helping you to your feet.

“Thank you, Frederick, that would be lovely.”

*****************

“This stew is fantastic, my love! We’ll most certainly have to use this recipe again.”

When you didn’t respond right away, Frederick started to worry and reached for your hand. “Darling?”

“Oh! Sorry! I zoned out for a moment, must be more tired than I thought; Thank you, Frederick, I have a whole slew of crock pot recipes that are perfect for cold winter days.”

“Y/N, are you alright? Have I done something wrong? Is it the house? Is there something you’re not happy with?”

“What? Oh, Frederick, no!” You squeezed his reassuringly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, my love, and the house is perfectly fine. It’s just…” you paused, not sure how to broach your thoughts.

“What is it? Whatever you need, I’ll make sure you have it! Cost is no object!”

You took a breath and tried to collect your thoughts. You loved cats, but your previous apartment had not allowed pets. You had promised yourself that when you eventually moved you would be a cat mom again. It had been far too long. But it was something that you and Frederick hadn’t discussed yet, and you had no idea what his feelings were on the subject.

“What did you think about getting a cat?” You blurted out, bracing yourself for what you were sure was going to be an argument.

It was now Frederick’s turn to go silent, taken aback by your unexpected query. He mulled it over in his head before answering.

“Honestly, my love, I’ve never thought about it before. I never had a pet of any kind growing up. My parents did not allow animals in the house.”

“Oh, Frederick, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” In theory, you knew you probably should have guessed that. You knew that Frederick’s father had been a hard, cruel man, and had been abusive toward Frederick and his mother. Frederick’s mother had been so worn down by it that she eventually shutdown, mentally and emotionally, and neglected to protect her son when he needed it the most. Of course, they hadn’t allowed pets, they hadn’t even allowed their son to have a normal childhood, or an ounce of happiness.

“My darling, you have nothing to apologize for,” said Frederick, placing soft kisses on the back of your hand. “If it’s a cat you want, then a cat you shall have. I’ll do some research after we finish here. Cats need supplies, right? Food, litter, toys, those fancy cat trees, cute little sweaters?”

****************

After dinner you and Frederick sat side-by-side on the couch with your laptops, him researching what kind of supplies you going to need to buy, and you were looking at your local SPCA’s website.

“Good god, I had no idea how many different types of cat litter there were!”

“Oh, Frederick, if you think that’s bad, wait until you see how competitive the cat food market is. Hmm…that’s interesting…”

“What is it?” asked Frederick, looking over at your laptop.

“This listing here,” you said, pointing at a blank gray box. “There should be a picture here, like there is for the other listings, but it’s blank. It says it’s supposed to be a 2-month-old black female…. hang on; I have an idea.”

You grabbed your phone off the coffee table and scrolled through your contacts until you found the name you were looking for. You hit “Call” and waited.

“Hello?” A voice finally picked up on the other end.

“Joanne! Hi! It’s Y/N. How are you?”

“I’m great, how are you? It’s been ages since the last time we hung out.”

“I’m good, and you’re right; it has been too long. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure! What’s up?”

“Do you still work for the county SPCA?”

“Oh, you bet I do! Oh my god, are you finally in the market to adopt?”

“Yes, I am, and I have a question about one of the cat listings on the website. The one that’s missing a picture?”

“Yes, I just noticed that a few hours ago. Our website person put that up prematurely. The kitten was just spayed, and normally we wait until the animal has had adequate recovery time before we add them to the site, but accidents happen. Last I checked, the little one is recovering nicely and should be ready to interact a couple days. She’s the sweetest thing. Someone dumped her in a cardboard box at our front door. She had a leg injury, but that’s also healing up. She loves to play, loves to cuddle, and I’ll think she’ll thrive in a good home. Would you like to make an appointment to see her?”

“Yes, I would! What time slots do you have available?”

*******************

A few days later, you and Frederick walked arm in arm into the county SPCA. Frederick had rush-ordered all the supplies you thought you’d need and then some. You both excited and nervous. You’d already taken a huge step by moving in together, and now you were adopting a pet. You looked over at Frederick and noticed the uncertainty in his eyes. He also seemed leaning on his cane for support. He always seemed to do that when he was unsure about something. You gave his arm a gentle squeeze and kissed his cheek.

“It’s going to be okay, Frederick, you’re to be a wonderful cat dad. I believe in you.”

Frederick blushed and placed a soft kiss on your temple.

“Thank you, my love, I appreciate your faith in me, even though I’m still not sure what’s done to deserve it, or you.”

Before you could respond to that, Joanne came out her office and rushed toward you.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you, too, Joanne.” You enveloped her in a big hug and then motioned to Frederick. “Joanne, this is Dr. Frederick Chilton, my Frederick.”

Frederick gave you the most loving of looks, and nearly melted into a puddle at your feet at sound of you referring to him as “your Frederick.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Chilton,” said Joanne, extending her hand.

“And you,” he replied, shaking hands.

“Well, I suppose you want to meet the little one; right this way!”

You and Frederick followed Joanne to cat section of the shelter. You walked past several cats, each one trying to get your attention from their enclosures. If you had your way, you’d take them all home, but you didn’t think Frederick was quite ready for that yet; but maybe one day…

“Here she is, “announced Joanne, stopping in front of one of the enclosures. A tiny black, fluffy kitten was inside, and her eyes lit up when she saw you. She was immediately on her feet, and you noticed she still had a slight limp in her injured leg, but she was full of energy and mewing incessantly. Joanne opened the door and carefully lifted her out. You reached out to take her, but the impatient kitten leapt out of Joanne’s hands and into your waiting arms.

“Oh! Hello! Hi baby, hi sweetheart,” you cooed.

“Mew, mew, mew!”

You looked into her eyes, and it was love at first sight. You did your best to hold onto her, shifting and adjusting your arms to accommodate her constant movement and attempts to climb up your shoulder. You gave her a little scratch between her ears and kissed her head. She was perfect.

“Mew! Mew!”

“Yes, baby, it’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Frederick stood there watching you with the kitten, completely dumbstruck. Just when he thought he couldn’t fall anymore in love with you, you had to go and surprise him. You were a natural cat mom, cradling the tiny ball of fluff and talking to her like she was a human. He saw the kitten rub her nose against your chin and looked like she was giving you kisses. He also saw the look of pure love and joy on your face, and he lived for that, wanted to see that every day. He didn’t know anything about raising a cat, but for you, he would try.

**************

Joanne led you to a visitor’s room so that you and Frederick could spend some quality time getting to know the kitten. Frederick removed his coat and offered to take the kitten so that you could take off yours. You demonstrated how to hold the kitten and then handed her to Frederick. He held her close to chest and sat down.

“Mew?” the kitten looked up at him, confused as to who this new person was.

“It’s alright, little one, I’ve got you,” he tried to reassure her. A lock of his normally perfectly quaffed hair suddenly flopped in his face, and the kitten’s eyes grew wide.

“Mew?” she raised a paw and tentatively batted at Frederick’s hair. “Mew…”

“Oh, that’s adorable,” you said, plopping down next to them on a bean bag chair. You saw the smile on his face and nudged him with your elbow. “See? She likes you. And I think she wants to play.” You looked around the room and saw the toy boxes, filled with various dog and cat toys, but then something else caught your eye. “Frederick?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Hand her back to me and take off your scarf, please.”

He did as he was told. You carefully placed the kitten on the carpet and proceeded to dangle the scarf in front if her. Her eyes went wide again, and then she crouched, wiggled her backside, and pounced. Her little paws batted at the scarf, then she would roll around kick at it with her hind legs.

“It certainly looks like she’s enjoying herself,” Frederick chuckled. “So, what are we going to call her?”

“I was thinking ‘Buttercup”,” you said matter-of-factly.

“I am not the least bit surprised,” he replied, immediately picking up on your reference. He looked at the kitten. “Well, what do you think about that little one?”

“Mew?”

“Your name,” you told her, “Buttercup, do you like it?”

“Mew, mew.” She forgot about the scarf and crawled into your lap, kneading you with her paws.

“I think she likes it.” You threw Frederick a smile.

“Yes, I quite think she does. I have an idea, how about a story? Would you like that Buttercup?”

“Mew.” She replied with a yawn,

“Darling, if you check your bag, I believe you’ll find a book there.”

You checked your purse, and sure enough, in the largest section was a children’s book, one that you instantly recognized from your own childhood.

“If You Give A Mouse A Cookie?”

“It came highly recommended by the lady at the bookstore.”

“It’s perfect, Frederick.” You handed him the book and leaned your head against his knee. As he began to read, Buttercup curled up in your lap and shut her eyes, she was soon fast asleep, purring away. When he finished reading, Frederick caressed your cheek with hand to get your attention.

“So, shall we go find Joanne and make it official?”

“Yes,” you replied, gazing down at Buttercup, “If we don’t take her home today, I think I’ll cry.”

“Then let’s go fill out the paperwork and bring her home.”

[plaidbooks]

Dark Secrets: New Beginnings

A/N: This is the first installment of the Vampire!Sonny x reader fic. This chapter is only setting the stage; next chapter will be more about the vampire aspect, I promise! This covers the Bookstore square in @adarafaelbarba​ moodboard bingo!

Tags: mentions of sex

Words: 2233

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart​  @beccabarba​  @thatesqcrush​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ @permanentlydizzy​ @ben-c-group-therapy​  @infiniteoddball​ @glowingmess​ @whimsicallymad​ @lv7867​ @storiesofsvu​ @cycat4077​ @alwaysachorusgirl​  @glimmerglittergirl​ @joanofarkansass​ @caracalwithchips​ @berniesilvas​​  @reading--mermaid​  @averyhotchner​  @mrsrafaelbarba​ @detective-giggles​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ @dreamlover31​

You spent hours on the computer compiling resources for your thesis. After years and years, you were finally getting your Ph. D in History…if you could just finish this damned thesis. List complete, you headed to the local bookstore; you always checked them first before going online, since they were cheaper.

You were intimately familiar with the bookstore; you went there often. And you had double and triple checked online that they had these books. You had a small basket, four books in it, while you looked for the fifth and final book you needed. But its spot on the shelf stood vacant; a perfect hole where it should be.

Shaking your head slightly, you started to search the shelves around it, in case someone didn’t put it back correctly. But you were coming up empty. And this was the book that you needed to buy here; the shop had it for $20, while online was a couple hundred.

“Looking for Making the Revolution: America, 1763-1791?” a voice asked from behind you.

You turned to find a pale, lanky, attractive man, his hair slicked back, his bright blue eyes watching you intently. He was sitting at a table, open book in his hand. Seeing the cover, you knew it was the book you needed.

“I am, yes. Were you intending to buy it?” you questioned, praying he said no.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “I was debating it. Why, do you want it?”

“I do; I need it for my thesis. If you let me buy it, I promise to give it to you when I’m done, free of charge.” At this point, you were just desperate for that book.

His eyes seemed to bore into you as he thought about your proposal. Finally, he smiled, saying, “I think that’s a noble reason to buy this book. You’ve got yourself a deal.” He held the book out to you, and you gently took it from him.

“Thank you so, so much. You don’t know how much this helps me,” you said, placing the book in your basket.

He held a hand up. “No problem. There’s a lot of inaccuracies in that text, anyways.”

You blinked in surprise. “There are?”

“Oh yes. For one, it perpetuates the idea that Christopher Columbus came here to ‘escape tyranny’ in England, which is a load of crap, if I’m honest.”

You took a step closer to the strange man. “Do you have a source on that?”

He thought about it, chuckling to himself about something, before he answered. “Well, I am in the process of transcribing a manuscript from the man himself. But it hasn’t been published quite yet, so I doubt it’ll be of use to you for your thesis.”

“Wh—who are you?” you asked in awe.

He held a hand out for you to shake. “Dr. Dominick Carisi Jr., but you, my dear, may call me Sonny.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you quickly shook his hand. “Dr. Carisi? Oh my god! I’ve been reading your work in class; I loved your thesis on slavery!” You had never seen a picture of him, had no idea he was so young; he was about your age. You had expected him to be an old man, at least in his 80s, not this attractive man in his early 40s at most.

He barked out a laugh. “You’ve really been reading my work? I’m flattered. I didn’t think anyone put stock in my texts.” While it was true he was a world renowned historian, his work was seen as highly controversial. He had a knack for citing manuscripts and journal entries, things that no one had discovered before he brought them to the limelight. But every authenticator had proven that the writings were from the time period. And that was enough for you.

“Please, sir, er, Doctor. Could I spend a day with you, pick your brain for my thesis? I’ll—I’ll buy the drinks and food, just…please?” you asked, suddenly embarrassed.

But Sonny’s smile grew. “I’d like that. But only if you call me Sonny. If you’re doing your thesis, then I assume you’re almost done with your doctorate?” You nodded, and he continued, “then in my eyes, we’re equals, and you don’t need to call me ‘Doctor’.”

Your heart beat a little faster when he called you equals. “Thank you so much Doc—Sonny. Does the coffeeshop next door work for you?”

“It does. And I’m free all week, whenever you need me.”

“How about tomorrow morning? I don’t have class until 3pm; I hope that’s enough time to chat.”

He gave you that heart melting smile once more. “Sounds good. See you tomorrow.” Then he took your hand and kissed it. As he walked away, your knees felt weak. You were infatuated within five minutes of talking to him.

 **********************

Sonny turned out to be an incredible source of information. Plus, he brought books that he thought would help you, letting you borrow what you needed. And, like yesterday, you found yourself completely enamored with him. He didn’t have a ring on, so you assumed him unmarried, but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being weird. Sure, you were close in age, but he was done with school, became a published historian, while you were still finishing up college. But he never talked down to you; on the contrary, he seemed highly interested in what you had to say.

Like before, you had been nervous—star-struck, really—when you met up with him. But as the hours ticked by, you found yourself more and more comfortable with him. He was highly intelligent, especially about history. You had found it hard to find someone who was as interested in history as you were, without sounding like a pretentious asshole. But Sonny checked all those boxes for you. You were just unsure if he felt the same.

“When is your thesis due? I feel like it’s still early in the academic year,” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “It is; I still have months and months to work on it. It’s due next year, but I want it to be perfect, you know?”

“I do, I do,” he agreed, nodding. “I hope you’re taking some time off, though, as well. Don’t let this paper take up your whole life; you should be out, appreciating everything this life has to give you. Don’t get stuck in the past.”

You looked at the table, letting his words soak in. It was like he had looked right through you; for the past month or so, you’ve been deep in your studies. You had friends, sure, but you hardly saw them. And you’d given up on dating until after you finished college, anyways. But maybe Sonny was on to something. You should seize the day, capture every moment in memories.

“Would you like to get dinner with me, Sonny?” you asked, trying to sound as confident as possible.

It was his turn to look surprised. “Oh, uh…sorry, you caught me off guard. In all my years, no one has ever asked me out; it’s usually the other way around.”

You chuckled. “You’re not much older than me,” you joked, and he smiled. “Maybe it’s time for something new. For both of us…that is, if you want?”

“I’d love to go to dinner with you,” he said, and your heart soared.

When it was getting close to 3, you bade him goodbye, and he told you he would be eagerly awaiting your dinner date. You felt your face heat at the words, and you swore your face never cooled off for the rest of the day.

*********************

That date with Doctor Carisi turned out to be the best decision of your life. You both felt the spark between you, and you said yes to a second date before he even finished asking. Now, it’s been ten months of loving bliss between you. You completed your thesis, got your doctorate, and Sonny couldn’t be more proud of you. And you learned that while he was a historian, he was also a detective. He said he wanted to help people now, by giving them both access to history material, and by putting absolute monsters away.

But there were little things with him, quirks, really. Though you’ve been to his place, and he yours, he never made a move to get you into bed. Sure, you’ve kissed—and sometimes this escalated to a full-blown make out session—but he didn’t seem interested in sex.

He also didn’t seem interested in moving in together…or a future at all, really. Whenever you tried to bring it up, he would just nod along with you, agreeing to whatever you said and adding on a lot of “one day’s”.

He had no family for you to meet, and yours didn’t live close. You noticed he also didn’t eat or drink much; he loved to make you dinner, and he would say that he snacked while cooking. And then, about once a month, he’d leave for 3-4 days, claiming he wanted to be alone to work on the manuscript.

You gave him as much space as he asked for, and though you still loved him dearly, you were starting to wonder if there was something wrong with you…or if it was just something he was having issues with.

“Hey Sonny?” you asked one day while snuggling on the couch at your place. “Are we okay?”

He glanced down at you. “As far as I know, yes? Why, something on your mind?”

“Well…I was just thinking about how we’ve been together almost a year and we still haven’t moved in together,” you tried.

He looked to the ceiling as he thought. “Wow, I guess it really has been that long now, hasn’t it? I feel like I just met you yesterday.”

“So, are we not connecting on a deeper level, then?” You sat up, turning to look at him.

His bright blue eyes found yours, and his expression softened. “That’s not what I meant; I’m sorry it came out like that. Time just…it moves so quickly is all. Look, I love you, I just—I don’t think I’m quite ready to make that jump yet. I’m sorry; I know this must be frustrating, but I promise you one day, I’ll…I’ll be ready.”

You nodded. “I love you too, I just….”

“What is it? You can tell me—”

“Why won’t you sleep with me?” you asked softly. His eyes widened, and you quickly added, “are—are you ace? It’s fine if you are, I understand, but I just…I feel like it’s something wrong with me, and I—”

He cupped your face in his hands, looking deeply in your eyes. “No, it’s nothing wrong with you, I promise. I’m just…I’m not ready—”

“I have urges, Sonny. And I love you, want to wait for you. But it’s been almost a year. I—I don’t believe a healthy relationship is built on sex, but well, it’d be nice to have every once in a while….”

He sighed, releasing your face. “It’s not that I don’t want to, because I do. I just want to be absolutely sure I’m ready. Call it shyness, or embarrassment, whatever you want. But I want to make sure that—that you’re the one for me, first, okay?”

You opened your mouth to respond when his phone rang. He gave you an apologetic look before answering with his stiff, “Carisi.” He mostly listened, making little noises of affirmation, before hanging up.

“I’m so, so sorry, doll. But the department needs me. I swear we’ll talk about this once I’m home, okay?” he promised, getting to his feet.

He grabbed his jacket, heading for the front door. “Sonny wait,” you called, and he stopped, looking back at you. You hurried over to him, looking up into those beautiful blues. “Be careful.”

He smiled softly. “I will be; promise.” He gave you a kiss, and then he was gone.

 ********************

You didn’t hear from Sonny again until the next morning, when he showed up on your front door, breakfast in hand. He apologized for leaving you last night during that important talk, but you brushed it off, telling him it was fine.

“That’s not all I have to apologize for,” he said, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m…going undercover. I’ll be gone for three months.”

Your face fell, and you put your fingers under his chin, tilting his face until he looked at you. “Three months?” you breathed.

“I’m sorry; I tried to decline, but the Lieutenant gave her orders. I leave in an hour.”

“Three months…” you said again, worry blossoming in your chest. This was the longest he’d be gone since you started dating.

He nodded. “I’ll text or call when I can, but don’t expect it; it may be too dangerous.”

You’d heard enough; you lifted onto your tiptoes, kissing him desperately. Your hands went to his hair, and you pulled him close, all your fear and trepidation in the kiss. He froze for only a moment before he was kissing you back, hands on your hips. He clutched you tightly enough that you gasped in pain, and he pulled away, releasing you.

“I’m sorry. I love you,” he muttered before turning to leave, but you had a suspicion that he wasn’t apologizing for leaving.

[santigarcia]

Dessert is on the Counter

an abel morales x f!reader fic~

word count: 2k

rating: m for smut

summary: you’re a college student and you go home with your friend Elias Morales for Thanksgiving, and you meet his recently divorced older brother Abel....

a/n: this idea was given to me by the lovely @sergeantkane. she was kind enough to let me write this AND make a moodboard for it! this is my first time writing abel so i hope yall like it!

Holidays are never what you expect them to be. This is by far your most eventful thanksgiving to date.

You agree to be a fake girlfriend to your friend Elias. Your good friends, and honestly it would be a fun weekend away. You know his brother has a nice house, and you’d rather stay in New York than go back home. Too many flights to plan.

The house is nicer than you expect when you pull into the driveway. The housekeeper answers the door and she’s a pleasant woman. You can’t seem to find your “boyfriend,” but you do see three young girls run by, playing with their dog. They greet you happily and so does the dog. You set your bag down to bend down to pet the animal when you hear a male voice.

“Did you find the house ok?”

You look up to see the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. He’s dressed sharp in a suit, a tan coat draped over his arm. His cologne smells expensive, and his hair is perfect.

“Oh, yes! You have a lovely home. You and your wife must have put a lot into it!”

“Oh, it’s just me.”

“I’m so sorry- “

“Don’t be,” he holds up his hand to ease your worries.

“Don’t be,” Morales repeats. “She’s a bitch. Abel here wised up and left.” He says hopping up on the kitchen counter. Abel only chuckles, but the look in his eyes tells you that Elias speaks the truth.

“How long are you with us…?” Abel pauses realizing he doesn’t know your name.

“Oh shit,” Elias laughs and hops off the counter. He says your name and then introduces you to Abel. He takes your hand in a strong but gentle handshake, and you flush when his fingers stroke your palm as he slides his hand away.

“And I’ll be here just for the weekend!”

Abel nods and returns your smile, “make yourself at home. We’re so glad you’ll be joining us.” He nods and puts his coat on walking towards the front door.

“He’s always working,” Elias says. “Especially after the divorce, threw himself into his work. Come on, let me take you on a tour.”

You walk through the halls and peek in rooms – noticing the life lived here. It’s full of memory, but it’s almost too quiet. Empty. It’s too clean and you can feel the hurt this family has endured.

“She left him and the girls without a word one morning. The papers were on the kitchen counter.”

All night those words run through your head. You lie on the floor, a makeshift pallet in Elias’s bedroom – staring up at the ceiling. How does someone just leave their whole family behind?

You keep thinking about it as you sit across from Abel at the thanksgiving meal. His daughters and a few other children you assume are cousins sit at the designated kid’s table. The adults table is full of the Morales family, they are cheerful and warm. What about this family made his wife want to leave? They’ve been nothing but welcoming to you.

“What are you studying in school?” Abel asks you as he holds out a plate of homemade bread to you. You take a slice, it’s warm. Just like everything else in this house. Your fingers brush his and you hate how it makes you flush. So much so you almost forget the question.

“I’m an anthropology major.”

“Oh?” Abel raises a brow. His interest is piqued. “What made you chose that?”

“People fascinate me and learning about other cultures in the process has opened up my world view. I think it’s important.”

He nods in agreement as he takes a sip of wine.

“Knowing people is a key part in my business. Works better that way.”

“Abel,” groans Elias, “you’re so boring!” He laughs. A couple family members chuckle but mean no harm. You hold Abel’s eyes, and something sparks behind them. Suddenly you get the feeling he’d like to eat you alive. And watching his jaw move while he eats his meal doesn’t help the desire growing between your legs.

As their guest, a couple of the women take your plate and bring you a slice of pie. Abel smiles fondly at you as you enjoy the first bite. Elias has left to go watch the game on TV, but you didn’t notice.

“You’re not really dating him, are you?” Abel chuckles.

“How did you guess?”

“He’s in there, watching the game.” Abel nods his head in the direction of the living room. You can hear voices cheering and a clamor of excitement. “When he could be here with you. And hey, maybe you don’t have to be around each other all the time. But he didn’t even ask if you wanted to join.”

You can’t look at him, he’s too handsome. So, you look past him into the kitchen where more family members wash dishes and start cleaning things up. Someone laughs loudly and Abel turns to see with a smile. It’s so comfortable.

“I bet you’re wondering now why I’m here then.”

“Yes, I am,” he nods with a polite smile and folds his hands together, his dessert finished.

“I wanted to get away. Spend time somewhere else. And Elias is a good friend. I have an anthro project due at the end of the semester, and I wanted to see how different families are at over the holidays.” You pause, “but nothing looks all that different from Thanksgiving at my home.”

Abel asks you more questions and you end up talking for some time. You don’t even notice the relatives leaving. The only thing that stirs you from the conversation is your want for leftovers now that you’re hungry again.

“Thank you for the lovely conversation Mr. Morales,” you smile when you stand finally.

“Abel, please. And it’s been a pleasure. I’m glad you’re here.” He nods.

That night it’s even worse. Laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling thinking about him. You couldn’t sleep if you tried, this floor isn’t comfortable now. You shouldn’t be thinking about Abel, but you can’t help but think about him in his room, alone. His touch was so warm, you can’t imagine what his touch would be like sexually.

Why did his wife leave him? It bothers you.

Elias is snoring, and you can’t sleep – so you get up to go downstairs for a drink. You quietly tiptoe down the hall. You see the girls’ bedrooms, each of their doors has a pink sign with their name on it. A stair creaks when you step on it and you freeze, it’s as if your thoughts of Abel will expose you.

You carry on down the stairs and into the kitchen. There are only a few small lamps on to illuminate the space. But the fridge light pours onto the floor when you open the freezer for some ice in your glass.

“Can’t sleep?”

Abel.

Shit.

You gasp and spin around to see him in comfortable pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. He looks so handsome in the soft light.

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright! I hope this is ok…”

“Oh, of course” he points to the sink and you fill your glass. You feel your face warm, knowing he’s watching you. Seeing him while you’re in your pajamas wasn’t what you had in mind.

“And no, I can’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?” he asks casually, reaching in the cabinet for a mug.

Does he know? No. He can’t know. Can he?

You realize you haven’t answered and instead you’re just standing frozen overfilling you glass of ice water.

“The floor isn’t comfortable,” you say instead, which is also the truth.

“The floor?” he pauses, setting the mug down. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Well, we aren’t- “

“No, I know you’re not dating, but why did he give you the floor? I outta kick his ass for treating a guest that way. Especially one so pretty,” he smiles, there’s a glint in his eye of flirtation- harmless, but you want more of it.

“You know, Abel, it’s not my place to say this but I think your wife made a mistake.”

He takes a step closer to you and you feel your heart pounding in your throat.

“Things happen the way they are supposed to,” he says, taking a step closer. You take a drink from your water, but he pulls the glass from your lips.

“I shouldn’t-“ you whisper.

“Why not?” Abel sets your glass down. There’s a chill on his fingertips when he touches your cheek. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes all day. If you don’t want this, then please say so. But if you do, then please- kiss me.”

Throwing all caution to the wind, you wrap your arms around him and kiss him deeply. He grunts into your mouth and helps you hop up on the counter. Your legs wrap around him tightly, pulling him towards you. His mouth hasn’t left yours and the moans leaving your mouth already are full of need.

“Please,” you whine and buck your hips against him. His hands slide into your waistband and he’s quick to find your clit. The gasp you let out is obscene, and he claps his hand over your mouth. He gives you a little grin of satisfaction and he rubs your clit perfectly.

No one you’ve been with have touched you like this. You’re a 23-year-old college student, all your past relationships have been too inexperienced for good pleasure. This is a man who knows how to touch a woman.

He keeps up his pace and he doesn’t stop until your panties are soaking wet.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, looking in your eyes. You know he’ll stop if you ask. But you’d rather die than him stop right now.

You shake your head yes, and he moves his hand. He pulls down his pajama pants enough to pull himself free. He’s already hard and ready for you. You moan again and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he’s testing the waters and you’re ready to drown. You nod quickly as he slips off your pants and pushes your panties aside. He then lines himself up with you. He thumbs your clit with one hand as he guides himself in with the other. You stifle a moan, and he can’t help but chuckle quietly at your attempts to be quiet.

He thrusts into you, hard. You see stars and clench around him. Everything about him is too much, but just in the right way. His voice is smooth, his skin is warm. His hair is perfect and you’re messing it up with your fingers while he pounds into you on the kitchen counter next to the leftover desserts from today.

His thumb stays there on you while he thrusts, his other hand gripping the counter for support. When you near your end, his big hand finds the small of your back and pulls you as close to him as possible.

He makes sure you come again before he does. His moans are soft, his eyes asking you permission. You nibble on his ear and whine a yes when he spills himself into your heat.

“You wanna come sleep in my bed?” he whispers into your neck as he places a kiss there.

You nod and he pulls out, helping you slide off the counter.

He takes you again in the bedroom. Twice. He strips you naked and enjoys the touch of your skin. He worships you in his big bed. Once it crosses your mind he slept with his wife in this big bed. But you soon forget when he’s balls deep and making you come a fourth time that night.

You don’t want to explain this one to Elias tomorrow, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor.

xx

@punkpascal, @writefightandflightclub, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @himbodjarin, @pascalz, @bisexual-space-slut, @shadow-assassin-blix​

[lordabovehelpme]

Lazy Day- Din Djarin x Reader

Once again, @jedi-jesi​ has made another amazingly wonderful moodboard. I literally love that girl with all my heart!!!

A/n: Hello everyone and welcome to the first chapter of Days Filled with Love!!! I hope you guys enjoy this series as much as I do, because I really have a blast writing it!!! :) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scruff tickles your collarbones as kisses are placed along your neck. Both of your legs are trapped under his own, entangled as tight as your souls are. One of your hands trails up his strong back, feeling the muscles pulse and ripple underneath your touch. Finally, it’s path ends with threading fingers through his curls. Tugging lightly you pull him from your neck.

“Well good morning, handsome.”  

He smiles down at you; but not just any smile, a smile that conveys so much love and adoration. It’s dreamy and blissful, making you fall in love with him more. Your hand unweaves from his hair and cups his cheek, using your thumb to rub over his cheek.

Closing his eyes he leans into your touch. “Hmmm, morning cyare.” Wrapping both your arms around his neck you pull him to your lips. He growls and the vibrations run over your lips. Giggling you bite his bottom lip.

He pulls away from you, eyes hazy and dark. His hands already tracing the curve to your hips, sparks erupting after. But before he can continue with his unspoken promise, the door to your sleeping compartment flies open.

Based solely on adrenaline and his hard past, he moves to protect you, placing his entire body over yours, preparing for the worst.

“Daddy! Mommy!” Your son scrambles up onto the bed. So after, your daughter, with the child, run in after him. However, she is new to the whole walking idea, so she stumbles a little along the way.

Your husband relaxes and scoops all three of his kids into his arms. “What are you little womp rats doing up so early?” The child squeals and squirms, your son and daughter nearly choke with laughter. You can't help but to laugh yourself.

“Can we snuggle?” Your daughter wiggles out of her fathers arms. Stumbling she climbs over your entangled limbs, practically throwing herself onto your chest.

“Mommy, save me!” Your son whines out.

Din is overjoyed, cheeks starting to hurt with how much he is smiling. If someone had told him seven years ago he would have a family of five he would have scoffed and probably killed them. Yet, here he is, hopelessly in love.

Swatting your husband's arms you grab both your sons. Now all three children are hiding in your embrace.

“Tummy time!” Your daughter yells, moving your sleep shirt up your body. She lifts her shirt and places your tummies together. Closing her eyes, she tries to drift off into sleep again. The child giggles and reaches for you. Smiling, you pick him up and place him against your chest. Your first born son cringes but still stays in your embrace.

“Tummy time is for sissies.”

“Hey, watch your language young man.” Din scolds him. “Guess I’ll have to take your place.” Grabbing him and placing him between the wall and your entangled legs. Din, already shirtless, presses his stomach up against your side.

Your son looks away, trying to seem unbothered. A twinkle of amusement flies through your Mandalorians' eyes. Making a show of pressing himself further against your body, he sighs, overly dramatic. “Hmmm, nothing is better than tummy time with mommy.”

Silently giggling, you try not to wake your two sleeping children. Din’s hands rub over your daughters back, in a soothing rhythm. You can see the way your son longly looks at the gesture.

Slowly shifting your daughter more to the side, you make a space perfect for his body. “My, I wish I had somebody to come warm me. Mommy is cold.”

Your son's facade cracks and he looks at you. Suddenly he lifts his shirt and squeezes himself in between Dins side and his sister. “I’ll warm you, Mommy.”

“Mmmm so nice and toasty.” You bring a hand to the back of his head, brushing the curls which perfectly match his fathers. If you hadn’t birthed him, you would have sworn Din did everything in making him. He is a full carbon copy of your beloved husband.

Looking down, all three children are asleep on you now. Smiling, you lock eyes with your husband.

“Thank you cyar’ika.” His voice is hushed and soft.

“For what? I haven’t even got out of bed yet.”

“For giving me a family. For loving all four of us unconditionally.”

“Hmm. I wouldn't have it any other way handsome.”

He smiles, eyes swirling with emotion. The air around all of you floods with love and tranquility.

Blowing him a kiss, you close your eyes. Settling back into a doze.

***

You watch as the kids run around, playing some game they created two minutes ago. Two hands make their way along your hips, pulling you against a firm body.

Turning around in his arms you press your head against his helmet. Running your hands over his shoulders, pressing in between the hard beskar.

“What is it you have to ask me?”

His hands stop where they were rubbing circles on your hips. “What makes you think I have something to ask you?”

Giggling you pat his cheek. “You seem to have forgotten I have known you for seven years now. You never rub circles, unless you have something to ask or you’re anxious.”

He sighs, knowing there is no way that he could get away now.

“What is it? I hope you haven't also forgotten that I will never judge you. Tell me baby.”

His hands trail up your body, turning you back around to face your children. “I think they look lonely.”

You tilt your head, confused and unsure of where he is going with this.

“I think we should have another one.” His hands move to your stomach, rubbing all over. “I miss seeing you all round with my child. It’s been too long.”

Scoffing you turn back to him, poking his chest. “Let’s see you carry one of your abnormally large babies for nine months.”

He chuckles before pulling you even closer. “Hmm that would be a sight wouldn't it? But you do it so well. I wouldn't even look half as beautiful as you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a smile. “Hmm, I guess they do need one more person to play with them.”

Under his helmet, he is grinning from ear to ear. He picks you up and twirls you around. “Yes? Please say yes, cyar’ika!”

Fully laughing now, you cup his helmet. “How could I be so cruel to deny you?” Lifting his helmet just enough to reveal his wide grin, you place a kiss to it. “Alright baby.”

He sets you down, before running off to your children. “Who wants to go stay with Auntie Peli for a weekend?”

All three of them make sounds of approval, running into the ship to grab whatever they would need.

“Din! We can't just drop them off.”

“Watch me.”

You throw him an unimpressed look.

“Oh come on, she loves them. Plus, I have a job to do.”

“Maker, you’re insufferable.”

He picks you up and carries you into the ship. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Shaking your head you can't help but feel your heart swell with love.

“I do love you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part two: A day at the lake 

I hope you guys liked it! 

Love, Lordy :)

[cruzrogue]

Arrow's Horizon

This is a fic that has risen due to a fic idea posted on this A03 site. Oliver becomes a dad to William, is a husband, still gets shipwrecked, leaving behind a wife.

Chapter 1 Home base - Oliver finds out he is a dad. Fears losing Felicity

In this story, Felicity is only 2 years younger than Oliver. The chapters are roughly 4 pages each (using word)

This is a completed story. The next chapter will be published in 3-4 days and the others will be on some set time table.

Chapter 1 Home Base

Felicity finds Oliver exactly where his mother said he’d be. His favorite thinking spot. Located at the outskirts of his family’s estate. Sitting on a tree stump overlooking a stream that is generously full due to the recent rainstorm. She knows he can hear her make her way towards him. He doesn’t skip a beat as he continues pitching rocks upon the body of water as the silence between them endures.

Finding a log nearby. She waits to be acknowledged.

Coming to Starling City for a few days during a weeklong school break. Oliver had her come here to meet his family. Now that they are more than just friends. Their next stop is Las Vegas to officially meet her mom. Everything is moving nicely she thinks. She really, really likes him.

Felicity doesn’t glance at Oliver as he is still throwing the stones into the flowing stream. Keeping her attention on the skips the pebble makes against the water.

Oliver had a visitor yesterday. Since then, he’s made some elaborate excuses to be alone. Giving her forced smiles. Leaving her to go to bed wondering if they were alright. Since walking onto a meeting between Oliver and some girl she has never met before. His whole demeanor is of someone who now has the whole world on his shoulders.

They both are known to need time to process whatever ails them alone. It never boarders on more than a day. Felicity isn’t pushy in that department but being that she is here in Starling. Away from her comfort zone. She feels that Oliver needs to understand that and maybe open up to her sooner rather than later.

Oliver in a low raspy whisper finally speaks, “I’m sorry.”

Felicity now able to see him clearly notices the red eyes. She has never in their time of acquaintance seen him cry. He is usually so upbeat.

“Oliver?” She wants to add something else, but the words don’t flow out fast enough as her boyfriend falls to his knees before her. It isn’t a romantic scene where one would see in a movie. No. This moment is in some ridiculous romantic flick where it looks to be the end for the couple. His name makes it out of her lips before he finally sheds some light on what is tormenting him.

“It was before you and I became a couple. I need you to know that.” She doesn’t know what he is trying to say. The confusion must show on her face as he clarifies, “You know that time I went out with the guys because I finally ended it with Laurel?”

She nods. Felicity was the creator of his moodboard for almost a month of listening to Oliver count the pros and cons of his relationship with his high school sweetheart. So many images, pieces of text hung on a board to help him visualize his desires. Going to college has opened his views on what he wants in life. If truth be told. Meeting Felicity has curbed a good faction of his partying ways.

“I was finally free.”

Not knowing where he is going with all this, “Okay.”

“I messed up.” He swiftly gets up and begins to walk away which has Felicity almost ready to bolt after him. When he stops and walks closer to her. She can breathe slightly easier as it looks that his intent is to pace back and forth as he continues his story.

When he finally gets to the part of his dilemma that has her gasp in shock. He knows he is about to lose the girl that owns his heart. He is scared shitless. Even so, he owes her the truth.

Oliver’s been out here alone thinking of how his life is going to dramatically change. Scared of losing Felicity Smoak to a mistake that he’s been regarding for the last few hours with a heavy heart.

Finding out Samantha Clayton is pregnant with his child. Coming to him knowing she is going to keep his baby. Everything changed in a blink of an eye. He is going to be a father.

Oliver finally stops pacing to face the music. He tells her everything.

In an unsteady breath knowing that whatever answer Oliver has could change everything, “What does this girl require of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does she require you to try and playhouse with her? Is it financial?”

“We didn’t discuss anything in detail. Just…”

“That she is pregnant with your baby.” He nods.

“Felicity, I know this shifts how you’ll feel…” Her hand goes up to indicate for him to stop. He still adds, “I am so very sorry.”

She knows he is. In her heart she knows Oliver would never do anything to inflict pain on her. They got to know each other since meeting in a library. His inability to guide himself around a library's catalogue made her have pity on him. Turning her into the friendly guide that opened his world to library books. Nothing like the beginning of a friendship while teaching him how to identify and use a call number to find a specific book.

His sincerity pulls on her heart strings. Like him, she’ll need some alone time.

It doesn’t change the fact of how she feels. She is truly, madly, deeply in love with Oliver Jonas Queen. If bringing her here to meet his parents is any indication. His I adore you, you’re remarkable, and his soft voice that he uses when they’re just being them. He is also over-the-moon with her.

“Oliver.” His reaction is to look away, so she places her hands upon his face. Making sure she can glance into those saddened eyes, “I’ll need to figure my place in all this. That is if you’ll still want me in your life.”

He is up from his kneeling position, “Of course, I want you. I just don’t deserve you.”

Jumping to her feet. She isn’t letting him go.

“Hogwash!” For a brief second. There is a levity in his eyes, “Forget I just said that. You know what I mean. I am not walking away from you. Not saying all this won’t be tough.”

“Its nothing like the Cooper situation. A baby is a lifelong commitment.”

“Well, if you weren’t there to pull me back. I could have been a lifelong inmate in Guantanamo Bay or some fancy cyber jail.”

He cracks a smile, “I don’t think they send blondes there.”

“I’m actually…” He can’t help but sweep her off her feet. Their lips connecting. Felicity being in his arms brings optimism that wasn’t there when he came out here to agonize over some life choices. She brings balance and with her here. He can hope.

He almost blurs out how much he loves her. Glad to have caught himself from that blunder. Saying it now could confuse Felicity. She might think it’s not sincere. When he says it. It’s got to be at the right time where the woman he loves understands his words are true.

Felicity eyeing the small gathering of pebbles Oliver piled up beside the tree stump.

“Why don’t you go back home. Your parents are worried.”

“I don’t know what to tell them.”

With a hand on his arm, she tells him to be honest. Nodding to Felicity’s words a small moment of silence stretches between them.

“Okay then. I’m going to sit here for a while. Deplete a portion of your mighty impressive pile of rocks.”

“Wish me luck.”

Giving Oliver a quick hug they depart. Oliver heads back to his family’s home as Felicity takes a seat to contemplate the new norm of what their world will entail.

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 3)

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: a brief and half-assed description of theoretical male masturbation.  that’s it.  lol.

moodboard by @evnscvll​, if you’re not following her what are you doing with your life???

As the afternoon was just starting to wind down into the evening, you went for a stroll along the side of the lake; it was your new daily routine in this place, and you’d done it every afternoon for the past several days.  You found yourself looking for Sebastian outside, and being oddly disappointed when he was nowhere to be found.  It took you a bit to appreciate that the strange feelings and behaviors you were exhibiting were a crush.  You hadn’t had one in so long, not since you’d met your husband, that you almost forgot what it was like.  This one felt particularly childish, exceptionally misguided, as you knew so little about the man.  What was it that made you want to be around him anyways?  There were plenty of guys you’d met since getting married that were, on paper, worthy of a crush.  Successful, kind, good-looking... who knows, maybe if you’d been lonely and desperate and saw one of them hammering nails shirtless in the sun, you’d have been in the same predicament you are now.

And that was exactly why you needed to get your mind off this guy ASAP.  You were just projecting your loss onto him.  You’d been feeling neglected and unattractive because of everything that had happened with your husband and he had been kind to you.  And helpful.  And handy in a way your husband had never been.  And so devastatingly hot.  

He must know, right? you thought to yourself as you took in the scenery, just barely making out grey-ish shadows of mountains in the distance.  He must know that he looks like that, and exactly the effect he has on women.

...And a decent portion of men, probably.

The idea of him being overwhelmed with attention of that nature made you feel slightly jealous.  He was probably the exact kind of person you weren’t in high school: a heartbreaker.  Yes, this was the narrative you needed to keep yourself from falling any further into this crush; you two were sworn natural enemies-- him the heartbreaker, you the heartbroken.  A guy like him probably didn’t even give a girl like you the time of day.

Except, he had.  He’d been friendly and attentive.  Maybe he works for tips or something?  Why else would he be giving you any of his energy?

No, that was specifically not the line of thinking you needed at the moment.  Does he think about me when I’m not around?  Could he think of me as much as I think of him? you found yourself wondering anyways.

Either way, he could never beat me at overthinking, you smiled to yourself.  I always win at that one.  

You’d almost spent too much time outside; it was nearly too dark to see by the time you made it back to the cottage.  Clearly the bustling city had trained you to stay up late, but out here, you had no recourse if the sun set while you were outside without a flashlight.  

It was so late, in fact, that Sebastian was nowhere to be found when you passed through the living room— and since he was certainly not working outside with no light to use, you figured he’d gone to bed.  By now you knew where his room was, but you’d never seen it.  Not that you wanted to.  It was none of your business.

Making your way up the stairs, you tried to avoid the creakiest spots in case he was asleep.  It wasn’t that late though, he was probably just… doing whatever people do before bed when they don’t have a television.  Reading a book, maybe?  

You shook your head to no one in particular.  You shouldn’t be thinking about him so much.  God, having a crush was exhausting.

Oh god, what if he, you know… took care of himself, before bed?  It’s a fun way to end the day and wear yourself out for sleep, certainly.  You felt your face turning hot just imagining him in such a compromising position.  You didn’t even mean to imagine it, it just sort of happened.  Maybe right now, just as you were struggling to keep quiet on this rickety old staircase, he was trying to keep quiet as he stroked his cock, the muscles in his arm flexing with each movement, that perfect bottom lip caught between his surprisingly white teeth.  

Probably not.  But it was a nice thought.  

Just as you stepped into your room and shut the door behind you, you thought you saw something in the corner of your eye.  Turning to look, you realized that there was a rat running across the floor.  With an embarrassingly girlish scream, you ran and jumped on your bed, trying to see where it went while keeping elevated; you know, just in case it tried to run up your leg like in a cartoon or something.

Creaking outside alerted you that someone was running up the stairs.  Your door flew open to reveal Sebastian, wearing only pyjama trousers and a very concerned facial expression.

"Este totul în regulă?"

"There's a rat!" you screeched.

"Ce?" he asked with a furrowed brow of confusion.

You tried to explain, but how could you?  Pointing to where you saw it last, it was gone, so you turned back-- only to see it running towards him!  Screaming again, you pointed to the rodent barreling towards his feet and, finally, he understood.

In fact, he understood your situation better than you realized he would, so much so that he jumped up on the bed with you with a blood-curdling scream of his own.

"Şobolan!" he yelped, and you weren't sure there was room on this bed for two people afraid of rats but here you were anyway.

You both watched it scurry into a corner, and he seemed to relax a little.

"What are we going to do?"

"Stai așa," he said as he raised a finger as if to indicate 'wait', "ma voi intoarce."

He lept from the bed straight to the open doorway and dashed down the stairs.  You figured he might come back with a broom or jar, so you were beyond surprised to see him come back with an enormous shotgun, quickly pumping it and bracing the stock against his shoulder.

"Unde este?" he asked quickly, closing one eye to look over the sights.

You nearly screamed your protest.  "Jesus, Sebastian!  Don't shoot it!"

“Ce vrei sa fac?!” he squawked in reply.

“I don’t know!” you replied.  “Just put the gun down!”

He looked a little disappointed but lowered the barrel.

Hearing a squeak and a scurry from the corner of the room, you jumped off of your bed and found yourself hiding behind Sebastian.

“Nu sunt la fel de curajoasă pe cât crezi,” he said as he turned back to look at you.

“I can’t sleep here,” you admitted with a sigh.  “We can set a trap in the morning, or hope it escapes on it’s own…” you trailed off, talking mostly to yourself as you made your way back downstairs.  Sebastian shut the door quickly with a shudder before following behind you.

You pulled a blanket off of the loveseat as you passed through the living room, dragging it with you to the couch.

“Nu te pot lăsa să dormi pe canapea!” he protested when you laid down and covered yourself with it— after leaning the gun against a wall, thank god.  You wondered where it was normally kept for him to have grabbed it so fast.

“I can’t sleep in my room,” you explained. 

“Poți să dormi în patul meu,” he announced, pointing down the hall.  

“What?”

“Poți să,” he repeated slower, pointing to you, “dormi,” he laid his face on his hands and feigned sleep for a moment, “în patul meu,” he pointed to the hall again.

“There’s another bedroom down the hall?” you asked as you sat up a little, not having realized there was a third bedroom.

“Da,” he nodded with a smile.

You got up, the blanket still wrapped over your shoulders, and followed him to the room down the hall and around the corner.

As he opened the door, you smiled but sighed as you realized you couldn’t sleep in here.  The bed was still disturbed from where he’d jumped out of it; there was a picture in a frame by the bed.

“Sebastian, I’m not going to steal your room just because I’m afraid of a probably-harmless rat,” you sighed.  “I’ll take the couch—”

You turned to walk back into the living room but his arm across the doorway stopped you.

“Te rog ia-mi patul și voi dormi pe canapea,” he instructed, motioning away from his chest towards the living room to, apparently, indicate he would sleep on the couch in your place.  

“I can’t let you—”

He gently grabbed your wrist, getting your attention.

“Nu e nicio problemă,” he soothed.  “Noapte bună!”

He basically just shoved you into the room after that, shutting the door behind you.  You supposed it was the best option, but you still felt a little guilty that he was being kicked out of his own bed.

You turned and looked at the very bed in question.  Realizing you should change the sheets, you began to search the room for a linen closet or chest that might have a spare set.

You weren’t intending to snoop, per se.  You really just wanted the sheets… but it was a nice glimpse into the personal life of a man you knew so little about.  A room says a lot about someone, of course.

The picture on the bedside table was of a family with a small boy; it looked like it had been taken by an instant camera, the sepia tones evoking a bygone era.  You assumed that the boy was Sebastian, considering the faint resemblance.  He looked happy, and so did his mother; his father less so, but it seemed stoic more than negative.  Next to the photo was a card which rested partially open— thankfully, you couldn’t read it even if you wanted to, but you could also see the signature inside from where you were standing: “Iubesc, Mama.”

You weren’t sure if it meant ‘love’ or ‘sincerely’ or something else, but it made you smile.  You figured his mother must miss him with him living in Hungary for work.  You wondered if anyone missed you back in London.

A lot of his clothes were strewn in a pile on a chair in the corner.  Relatable.

Inside a small white paper box, you found a silver locket— oddly enough, no picture inside.  While ignoring the fact that you obviously were snooping because you would never look for queen-size sheets in a white paper box, you wondered why he would have something like that.  Maybe it was a relic from a previous relationship, and hopefully not a current one; maybe it was his sister’s or his mother’s.  Hell, maybe it was his: you weren’t the sort of person to say a guy couldn’t rock a silver locket.  He had the masculinity to spare, surely.

You gave up after searching the closet and the side bathroom and finding no sign of linens.  Surprisingly, he owned a lot of shirts.  They didn’t seem to get much use.  He wouldn’t mind if you stole one to use as pyjamas, right?

Pulling a soft button-up from the hanger, you stripped and changed into it, loving how small you felt with it on.  You snuggled up into the sheets and took a deep breath as you realized you were surrounded in the smell of him.  Oh, this was a very dangerous game to play.  You needed to be avoiding this infatuation, not indulging it by playing girlfriend.  It was almost like you two shared this bed, like he would come back any moment and pull you into his arms, kiss you goodnight.  You saw the light from the living room go dark through the crack under the door and felt another pang of guilt for his night spent on the old sofa.  Maybe in the morning you could convince him to take a day off or something, just so he could relax for once.  

Your last thought was of him as you drifted to sleep.  You wished you could say that wasn’t true of every other night.

The next morning came early; he slept with the shutters open, something you hadn’t noticed when it was dark out.  The sun shined directly into your eyes at about six in the morning.

“Must be an early riser,” you mumbled to yourself as you got up and used the side bathroom, splashing your face to perk yourself up a little.  When you left the hallway tentatively in pursuit of breakfast, all that was left of him was a Sebastian-shaped dent in the couch.  As you began to make a pot of coffee, you heard someone step into the kitchen behind you.

“Good morning,” you greeted as you turned around and smiled at Sebastian.

“...Cămașă mea,” he realized, pointing to you with raised eyebrows.  You glanced down and remembered what you were wearing, feeling yourself blush a little.  Maybe you should’ve put on pants…

“Oh, this… yeah, sorry, I hope you don’t mind…”

“Îl porți mai bine decât mine,” he shrugged, and it seemed to be a vague approval, so you kept on making the coffee. 

“You want some?” you offered, pointing to him and a mug as he stepped past you and sat at the table.

“Nu, mulțumesc,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand.  You nodded and poured your own, sitting across from him and sipping quietly.  You hadn’t noticed he was holding a book before; the shirtlessness, as always, distracted from that sort of detail.  But now that he pulled it out and continued from where he must have been before, you laughed a little.  It was clearly a Romanian translation, but the title was Dracula.  

“Isn’t that a little stereotypical?” you giggled.

He looked up from the book at you, and you pointed to it.  “Ah, Dracula!” he said.

“Yep, I’ve read that one.”

He made a little hissing noise, holding his fingers up and curling them, and you realized he was doing a vampire impression.  You laughed again.  

“You don’t make for a convincing vampire, what with the healthy glow and all,” you smirked.  “But feel free to bite my neck any time.”

For a second he made a serious, almost shocked face like he had somehow understood what you’d said, and you straightened up from sudden fear.  But he only nodded and returned to his book, relieving your anxiety a bit.  You realized that just because he didn’t speak English didn’t mean you could say whatever you wanted; maybe you’d given more away than you meant to with your facial expression.  Or maybe he really had no idea that you’d said anything notable at all and it was just a coincidence.

Maybe you needed to change out of this man’s shirt before it drove you even more insane.

~

@mariahthelioness29 @navybrat817 @navegandoaciegas @mandalorianspace @2smittinkittin @maizyistrash (it won’t let me tag you :(( fuck tumblr) @honeygingergemini @msmarvelwrites @honeyloverogers @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @fleeingdawn-blog1 @readermia @fanfuckingtastic04 

[es-kay-zee]

Goodbyes part 2 | Hyunjin x Reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: none

requested: kinda? yeah?

word count: 2.1k

proofread: nope

taglist: @bxngchxn @jisungsplatforms @qtieskz

a/n: i couldn't be bothered making a new moodboard for this one so i'm just using the same one for part 1. maybe i'll make a new one tomorrow but not right now lol

____________________

Four days. It’s been four days since that phone call. And not a single one had gone by where Hyunjin didn’t cry himself to sleep while hugging your pillow. And every single one of those days, he’d dragged himself to practice and put on a face in front of the other boys, pretending that everything’s okay, when in reality he just wants to curl up into a ball and cry.

Four days and you still hadn’t been around to pick up your things. Being honest, he wished you already taken it all. It was getting harder. Coming home each day, expecting to find the apartment empty of your belongings. But when he walks through the door and finds everything in the exact same place as it was when he left in the morning gave him a false hope. A hope that maybe you won’t leave, that maybe you’ll come back and kiss him tell him that you’ll give him another chance. But knowing that that’s not going to happen just breaks his heart all over again.

It’s another two days before you show up. It’s 10 am on a Friday, and you didn’t want to come yet, knowing that the moment you do, it’ll feel real. That it’ll hit you like a truck that the best relationship of your life is truly over. But you didn’t want to wait too long either, after all, it’s better to rip the band-aid off quickly.

You slide the key into the lock, taking a deep breath before turning the handle and pushing the door open. The apartment is quiet, and something about stepping back into the place you called home feel uneasy. Almost as if you don’t belong there anymore. Similar to that feeling when you go to someone else’s house for the first time, and you don’t know how to act. That’s how you feel in the place you lived in for so long.

You close the door and take off your shoes, tightening your grip on the folded-up boxes in your arms. It feels weird. You don’t know what you were expecting but finding everything in the exact same place as it was when you last walked out seems strange. Things have changed, so why does every knick-knack remain in its place as if nothing were different.

You walk towards the bedroom, the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment is that of your soft footsteps on the hardwood flooring. You make it to the bedroom and place all the boxes down except for one. You open it up and step closer to your drawers of clothes, and slowly start placing the clothing into the box. You continue like this for a while, silently packing until your drawers are empty. There’s something about the silence of the house that makes you not want to make a sound. Normally you’d put on a playlist and dance as you pack, but not this time.

You move over to your bedside table, planning to start placing more of your things into various boxes. But in the corner of your eye, you stop something on your pillow that you hadn’t seen earlier. It’s a note. A piece of paper that’s been folded up neatly and placed gently on the pillow. Your name is written tidily on the front in Hyunjin’s handwriting, and just the sight alone almost has you crying. Part of your mind tells you to just scrunch up the piece of paper and toss it aside, but a bigger part of you desperately wants to read it. And so, you slowly pick up the note, take a seat on the edge of the bed, unfold it, and start reading.

dearest y/n

you said i probably wouldn’t be here when you come to pick up your stuff. so i decided to write you this so i can tell you what i want to say. well, assuming that you’ll actually read this, which i hope you do. i really really really hope you read this. gosh, i’m getting off track, sorry.

i want to tell you again just how sorry i am. but i know that no matter how many times i say it, and no matter what way i say it, it will never truly convey just how sorry i am. i wish from the bottom of my heart that this didn’t happen. i wish that i wasn’t such a dick and that i was there when you needed me. i have no excuse for not responding to you or calling you for so long. i’m so so sorry for hurting you. i’m not going to ask for your forgiveness, because i wouldn’t forgive myself if i were you. i already can’t forgive myself. all i want is to tell you how sorry i am, and how much i love you. and seeing as i can’t tell you in person, this note will have to do.

i love you, y/n. ever since we met, you’ve brought me more joy that i ever thought i could otherwise feel. you have the ability to make me laugh and blush like a teenager in love. you make my heart feel warm every time i see you. every time i get a message from you i smile. you make me feel safe and comfortable and i know that i can be vulnerable around you. you make me so giddy with happiness and love. i still get butterflies in my stomach every time i see you or talk to you. you make me smile like an idiot and it’s far too often that the boys have asked me why i’m smiling at my phone. you know that feeling when you’re so happy and smiley that it makes you feel all tingly in the best way? yeah, that’s how you make me feel. you make me laugh and you make me feel confident in myself. even when i feel like everything is crumbling around me, i know that you’re there to help me through. you’ve always been there for me when i need a shoulder to cry on and you have no idea just how much i regret not being there for you when you needed a shoulder. every single day i’m grateful that i got the chance to meet you and i’m especially grateful for the time that i got to call you mine. you’ll always have a special place in my heart. it hurts me when you’re hurting, and for me to be the reason that you’re upset and crying is the worst feeling in the world and i wish with everything i have that i was better. i’m so sorry, and i love you to the moon and back a billion times over.

love from hyunjin

The tears that you managed to keep at bay earlier fall freely now, a few dripping onto the page. Your fresh tears mix with Hyunjin’s dried ones at the bottom of the note, and you’re just glad they avoid smearing any of the ink. There’s a part of you, the part that wanted to discard the note without a second thought, that wants to hate Hyunjin. That wants to hate him for what he did, for making you feel so alone when you needed him. But you can’t. You’ve tried to listen to that part of you ever since you walked out of the apartment weeks ago. But you can’t bring yourself to hate him. It’s not easy when you’ve spent so long loving him. You reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone. You open your contacts and hit Hyunjin’s name, typing out a message to send to him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Hyunjin sits in the corner, taking a momentary breather from the dance. He’s been going overboard with practicing lately, trying to distract himself from the situation. And it’s worked, until he’s gotten back to the apartment where he’s reminded that you’re gone. His phone buzzes, showing a message from you.

y/n <3: are you busy?

He quickly types back, asking why you’re asking. He hits send, his heart racing, shocked that you’re messaging him. His phone buzzes again with your response.

y/n <3: i was gonna ask if you could come to the apartment but if you’re busy then i won’t

Hyunjin jumps up, walking over the Chan and showing him the message.

“Can I go?” he asks, itching to run out the door and head straight over to you.

“Yeah, okay, you can,” Chan answers. He’s the only person that Hyunjin’s told about what happened, and he’s been worried about the younger man. “If any of the staff asks where you are, I’ll tell them you felt sick and went home.”

Hyunjin nods, says his thanks and rushes out the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the apartment door, making the trip in record time. But as he reaches for the handle, he halts. This will be the first time he sees you in person since he left for tour. And it’s not until now that he starts to think about why you messaged. Maybe you read the message, maybe you want to keep the apartment and have him move out instead of you, maybe you want to say goodbye one last time in person. The only way for him to know for certain is to open the door and face you. He’s nervous, but he still opens the door with shaking hands.

“Y/n?” he calls out while closing the door and removing his shoes.

“Bedroom,” is your response, and Hyunjin’s breath hitches at the sound of your voice. He missed the sound; it’s been too long since he’s last heard your voice without you sounding like you’re crying. He heads towards the bedroom, taking one last deep breath before rounding the corner and seeing you. It takes everything in him. Everything to not immediately run up to you and engulf you in a hug just the way he wanted to when he first came home.

You pat the spot on the bed next to you, signalling for him to come and sit. He does just that, slowly walking over, not taking his eyes off of you. He’s missed you too much to look away. If this is the last time he gets to see you, he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. You don’t even look at him yet, instead keeping your eyes trained on your hands in your lap. You both sit in silence for a moment, neither of you wanting to speak first.

“I read the note,” you say, holding up the piece of paper in your hands for a brief moment. You pause, waiting to see if he’s going to say anything, but he doesn’t. “Do you really mean everything you wrote?”

“I do, I mean every last word. I love you so much and I’m so incredibly sorry for not answering any of your messages. It was stupid and I regret it so much.” You finally look up at him, and you find his eyes welling with tears.

“I need you to know how much it hurt me, and that I can’t forgive you. Not yet anyway. But what I can do is give you one more chance. As long as you promise not to do it again. Because if you hurt me like this again, then I will leave, and I won’t come back at all.”

“I promise! I promise that I will never do this again. I promise to be there for you when you need me, and I promise to never hurt you ever again.” It makes you giggle quietly, the way he hold his pinkie finger up to make a pinkie promise. It’s the way you’ve always promised each other things, so you don’t think twice as you link your finger with his. “So does this mean you’re not gonna leave?”

“Yeah,” you say, finally smiling. And Hyunjin’s heart warms at the sight. He loves your smile, it’s one of his favourite things in the entire world. He’s often said that if he were only able to see one thing for the rest of his life, it would be your beautiful smile. “Kiss me?”

You don’t have to ask twice before Hyunjin presses his lips to yours. It’s sweet, the emotions he pours into the kiss. Through it you can feel just how much he loves you, just how much he cares about you. You can feel the sorrow he’s felt and the guilt that’s eaten away at him. The pain, the heartbreak, but most of all you can feel the overwhelming joy he feels at being able to call you his again. But you’re just happy to finally be kissing your boyfriend for the first time in months.

[mctherofdragons]

In the Afterglow | 3 | F.W.

moodboard by @minty-malfoy​.

Summary: The reader is married to George Weasley, and for all intents and purposes, he is the perfect husband. But, despite her best efforts to resist, Fred presents temptation she never knew she’d fall for.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem! Reader; George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Alternate Universe: No Voldemort AU

Rating: Mature, Future Chapters will Feature Explicit Content

Trigger Warnings: ANGST,  mentions of extramarital affairs, cheating, mentions of infertility/miscarriage, mentions of sex, cussing,  i think that’s it 

Author’s Note: I have to give a HUGE shout out to @starlightweasley because oh my gosh, she has been my sounding board for SO many ideas for this fic and i’m so thankful for that. I hope you all love this chapter, but I will say it’s a bit of a filler. Chapter 4 will be much more in depth and have action between the reader and Fred (including fluff). Also, please note the TWs for infertility and miscarriage, which were not TWs in previous chapters. XO. PS: If your name is in bold, i couldn’t tag you. 

Taglist: @oh-for-merlins-sake @sunflowernarry @vivianweasley @haf-the-trash-panda @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @msmarklee1213 @n3ssm0nique @satellitespidey  @michaylahpfan27  @girl22334 @starlightweasley @minty-malfoy @theweasleytwinsgirl @louist-pics @pigwidgexn @snehkaaay @slytherinbth @laurrrtyyy 

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December 25th. 

The Weasleys didn’t have all the money in the world for a lavish Christmas, but somehow, it was better to celebrate in their simple way. You sat on the sofa, your legs tucked beneath you comfortably. Taking a small sip of your hot cocoa, you watched as George stoked the fireplace. 

“Happy Christmas, y/n,” Molly said as she entered, opening her arms wide. You gave her a warm hug, feeling the happiness simply radiating off of her. But inside, your stomach was in knots. Last night’s kiss with Fred was still fresh in your mind. He, on the other hand, was still sleeping. 

You watched as Albus played on the floor with his new toys, looking over as George sat next to you. “Maybe next year...we’ll have another little Weasley on the way?,” Molly gave you a wink and you forced a smile. George put his arm around you. It made you feel ill. 

“Mum,” George sighed. “You know we’re trying.” “Ah, well, getting there is half the fun I always say,” Arthur chuckled, sitting down with his cup of coffee. 

“Arthur Weasley!,” Molly gasped. Again, the room filled with laughter. You snuggled further down into the sofa, glad to be distracted by the marshmallows swirling around in your mug. 

_______________________

5 years earlier, November. 

Gryffindor had won again, in no small part thanks to the Weasley twins. You took off running, your robes catching the wind behind you. You were practically bolting toward the twins as fast as you could. For a moment, Fred found himself smiling, allowing his mind to think you were running toward him. His forlorn face wasn’t apparent to you as you leaped immediately into George’s arms. You practically knocked George over as he twirled you around. 

He laughed, taking in the scent of your perfume. “Hi, poppet,” he laughed, setting you down. 

“My favorite beater,” you giggled, giving him a playful kiss. Leaning forward, you stood up on your tippy-toes to give his nose a little kiss. His whisper met your ear and you giggled. Fred had heard it, though, and he was sure George wasn’t even trying to be quiet. 

“C’mon up to my room, love,” he whispered. Then he turned to his twin. “Hey, Fred, make yourself busy for a while, eh?”

George grabbed your hand and you took off toward Gryffindor tower, your stomach bursting with excitement for some alone time with George. Fred felt his stomach sink, jealousy brewing somewhere deep within him. He threw his broom down, eliciting a shocked look from the keeper next to him. 

____________________________

Fred came down the stairs eventually. His red hair was tousled and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You caught yourself quickly, snuggling in closer to George. 

“Mornin, all. Happy Christmas, mum,” Fred gave Molly a little kiss on the forehead, heading over to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

“Well now that Fred has decided to arise from his slumber, we should get around to opening the rest of our presents, yes?” Ginny seemed annoyed with her brother, but that was not too unusual. 

Fred sat down on the floor, busying himself with sipping his coffee. Neither of you dared to look at one another. It occurred to you that maybe last night had been a dream, but then you felt the tiny rug burn on your lower back and knew it was real. Your sweater had lifted up while on the carpet with Fred, giving you a small scrape. 

Everyone busied themselves with opening their presents. Molly practically cried over every gift her children got her, including a framed photo of everyone from last Christmas. Meanwhile, George and Fred had gotten each other expensive bottles of whiskey, nearly dying in laughter that they both got the same thing for one another. 

Finally, George handed you a small black box and your heart fluttered. “For you, princess,” he grinned, giving you a small kiss. Something behind his eyes still felt distant, but you pushed your doubts away. You opened it up slowly, revealing a stunning vintage locket. It was eighteen karat gold and engraved with floral detail. It was no doubt madly expensive. It was stunning, the lights from the Christmas tree glinting off of its surface. You clicked the locket open, feeling yourself tear up at a picture of you both from your school days. 

“Oh,” you put your hand over your heart. George took the necklace from you and turned you around, fastening the clasp for you. Once he was back in front of you, he pulled him into a kiss. “I love it, George.” 

“Again, happy Christmas, love,” he gave your hand a squeeze. But you found yourself reaching up to touch the cold medal around your neck, secretly wishing a photo of Fred was inside. 

You looked up and caught eyes with the other twin. You stared for a moment, his brown eyes burrowing deep into yours. Fred broke his gaze. “I need a moment,” he mumbled, quickly rushing outside. 

“What’s got his goat?,” Ron said, stuffing a cookie into his mouth. Everyone shrugged, except for you. You felt your heart crack just a bit as you looked at the door which had just swung shut.

“I’ll go check on him,” you offered. No one suspected anything, of course. You were always kind to Fred. Each member of the family had assumed Fred was just stressed about the shop, as was usual, and needed some calming down. 

You headed out the back door, rounding the corner behind the Burrow. Fred was leaned against the small shed out back, tears streaming down his face. He saw you and buried his face into one of his hands, his other arm pulled across his abdomen. 

“Go back inside, y/n,” he sighed, using the sleeve of his sweater to wipe his eyes. 

You dared to step forward, moving his hand away. “Fred.”

“Please, go back inside,” he gently moved you away from him. 

But you pushed your luck again, stepping forward. He spun you around, kissing you with your back pressed against the cool wood of the shack. “Go back inside,” he repeated, the clouds of his breath floating up into the freezing air. A few tears remained on his cheeks, but they’d know somewhat rubbed off onto your cheeks. The winter breeze stung as it met the dampness. You kissed him again, and nothing about it was soft. When you and Fred kissed, it was as if you’d completely devour one another given the chance. Close was never close enough. He cupped your face in his hands, his forehead pressed tight to yours, your noses touching. “Go. Inside,” Fred repeated finally, and you slipped beneath his arms to head back toward the door. 

“You’d best come in before they start to worry,” you said quietly, thankful you had decided against wearing lipstick that day. 

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December 28th. 

George sat across from Fred, counting that day’s deposit. Fred had poured them both glasses of the whiskey from Christmas. This was something they occasionally enjoyed, basking in the happiness of just being brothers together. Usually, they talked about nothing in particular. World quidditch scores, or the latest movie they’d watched. But today, George seemed tenser. Fred hadn’t admitted it out loud, but he was partially nervous that George had suspected something. 

Fred tipped the bottle to top off his glass, taking a strong sip as George placed the deposit into the lockbox. He took his own swig, setting down his glass as he looked at his twin. 

“She’s driving me bloody mad, Fred,” he said finally, shaking his head. Fred raised an eyebrow, realizing George was about to start ranting about you. 

“Is that right?,” Fred adjusted his shirt a bit, undoing the top button. He was already nervous for what was to come, knowing any ill word against you would make his anger spark. 

“I mean, fuck, we’ve been trying for months now to get pregnant and she can’t. I know it isn’t her fault but, hell, it sucks, you know?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Fred said quietly, swirling his ice cubes around in his drink as he moved his glass. 

“And don’t even get me started on her being piss poor in bed, lately, neither,” George slammed back what was left of his whisky. He filled up his glass halfway again. 

Fred felt his blood pressure hit the ceiling as if someone had set a Whiz Bang off in his brain. 

“Ya know, I haven’t told anyone this, but she did get pregnant, a few months ago.” “How do you mean?” “Well, you know it….came away,” George frowned, feeling his throat get tight. “I just, ever since then, Fred. She doesn’t want to try anymore. I...I hate to admit this but, I’ve been...feeling less in love with her lately.” 

Fred stayed quiet, unable to form a coherent sentence that wouldn’t give himself away. You were perfect to him, and imagining you curled up on a bathroom floor, experiencing profound loss, broke his spirit. 

“It’ll all work out,” Fred gave George a friendly pat on the back. “C’mon, lets go down to the pub for a few with the boys, eh?” “Sure.” 

Fred left the conversation there, forbidding himself to venture any further. Two can keep a secret, but he tended to be rubbish at it.

He felt his phone buzz and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling down at the screen. Your name had popped up with a short text message. 

Miss you. Meet tonight someplace?