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justagalwhowrites · 2 years ago

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Lavender - Ch. 14

Tommy comes into the clinic and you offer your medical skills to both him and Joel. Continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-13 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and treatment of injuries from canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI!

Length: 5.4k

Sunday, October 4, 2009 - 3 months later

You came out from the exam rooms and frowned. It took you a second to place the song just starting on the speakers in the waiting room.

“Marta!” You said. “Is that Back in the U.S.S.R.?”

“It is indeed,” she leaned across the front desk.

“I haven’t heard that song in years!” You resisted the urge to dance in a waiting room with half a dozen patients as witnesses. The CD case was sitting on the desk and you gaped at it. “Is that the whole White Album? Where did you find that!”

“I didn’t,” she smiled. You smiled too, shaking your head. “Andrew told me to keep my mouth shut about it until Sunday afternoon. Said you’d need it.”

“He’s a sneak,” you said.

“He also said you work too much, that you need to stop changing his schedule and that you need to stop conspiring with Jess,” her smile shifted to a smirk. “But I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that today.”

“Oh I’m sure he’ll tell me himself later this week,” you rolled your eyes, still smiling.

“You’ve got one in exam four,” she handed you a chart. “And Kristen is in with one in exam seven when you’re done there.”

“Well, as long as we have The Beatles,” you said, tapping the file on the countertop in time to the music before heading back to the exam rooms.

It was a small miracle that Jess had actually kept Andrew away from the clinic that day. He’d been almost unreasonably protective since Joel had left three months earlier and with your birthday the next day… You didn’t want to disrupt his life any more than you already had. He needed to do things like have a day off. His life was on track.

The day after Joel left, you didn’t move. Andrew came by to make sure you were still alive. His knuckles were banged up. You stared at the wall. You slept. You stared at the wall some more. Andrew came back Monday morning, letting himself in your apartment and all but dragging you out of bed.

“You can come to our place or you can go to work,” he said, standing at the edge of your bed, your face pressed against his stomach as he ran his hands over your tangled mass of hair. “Those are your choices. You need to get cleaned up, you need to get out of bed, you need to eat something. You’re not going to just rot here.”

“I’ll go to work,” you said softly.

“Then let’s get ready for work.”

He walked you to the school, stood outside until he saw you go in the doors to make sure you didn’t just turn around and go back home. You didn’t go get your cup of bad coffee or stop and say hi to other teachers. You just went to your classroom and stared at the wall. Unlike in the schools before the outbreak, they’d let you paint your room. Andrew had helped. There was a solar system in one corner and a forest in another and flowering vines that framed the cracks in the cinderblock.

Your room was the only one in the building like this. The FEDRA teachers were different than the teachers you were used to before. Everyone decorated their rooms before, doing everything they could to keep students engaged. From what you gathered for the regular schools in the QZ, that was still the case - or as much as it could be in the end of the world. But at what amounted to a military school for orphans of the war on humanity, the bare necessities were all there was. It was part of why you decided to teach at this school. Someone, you thought, needed to be invested in these kids. Why couldn’t it be you?

So you’d decorated your room. Made a bookshelf and stocked it with things you picked up on the black market that had been brought in by smugglers and let the kids borrow what they wanted - everything from old copies of Scientific American to the Harry Potter books (you were still disappointed you’d never find out how those were going to end.)

As you stared at the vines you’d painted four years ago, you decided that you couldn’t shut down on these kids. They had no one. You couldn’t just be one more person to leave them. You could be the one person they knew loved them.

You made yourself smile as your students came in. Just because you didn’t matter to anyone else doesn’t mean that they didn’t matter to you. They were worth it.

You threw yourself into your work. You picked up extra shifts at the clinic. Before, you had Sundays and Wednesdays off but now, you were there every day. Elias had talked to you twice already about burnout but you’d just shrugged him off. All you cared about was finding something that forced you to keep going, something that made you feel something besides hollow. The clinic and the school could be those things. You’d make them be those things.

You quickly knocked on the door of exam room four before letting yourself in.

“Hi there,” you smiled, without looking at the patient for a moment, just opening the chart. You froze.

“Hey Kid.”

The door closed and latched behind you. Dear Prudence was playing.

“Hey Tommy.”

You stood there looking at each other.

“I didn’t think you’d be in today,” he said eventually. “Thought you didn’t work on Sundays.”

“I do now,” you shrugged. “I like keeping busy. There are no other doctors here right now but I can do a quick eval and see if a nurse can handle what you need or…”

“No,” he waved you off. “I don’t have a problem with seeing you if you don’t have a problem seeing me. Wouldn’t blame you if you did but…”

“I don’t,” you said quickly. He smiled. It reminded you of Joel in a way that made your heart ache while making everything seem lighter. You went to the sink and washed your hands, looking over your shoulder at him as you did. “How’ve you been?”

“Tryin’ to stay out of trouble,” he said. “Don’t know how good a job I’ve been doing at that though.”

“Not one of your considerable talents, I will say,” you teased. “What brings you by today?”

“My inability to stay outta trouble,” he smirked.

You laughed

“Alright, let’s see it.”

He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of one side of it. There was a makeshift bandage around his bicep and you frowned. The blood was dried and the bandage looked like it had been on for far longer than it should have been.

“Well that’s coming off,” you frowned. “And it’s probably going to hurt. The hell have you been doing, Miller?”

He just looked sheepishly at you while you unwound the dressing, trying to do so as gingerly as possible. He still winced as the dried blood and discharge pulled on the open wound.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy?” You shook your head, looking over the injury. “The hell didn’t you come see me sooner?”

“It didn’t seem that bad at first,” he said. “But it hasn’t been getting better and…”

“Yeah, it’s infected you idiot,” you rolled your eyes, dropping the bandage in the trash. “When did you get this?”

“Last week?” He winced. You sighed.

“And why was someone shooting at you last week?” You asked. He went to respond and then glared at you.

“Never said I got shot,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ve had a partial shoulder shot, Tommy,” you glared at him. “I know what they look like. Who was shooting at you and why. Please tell me I’m not conspiring against FEDRA by treating you right now…”

“It wasn’t FEDRA,” he rolled his eyes. “Just… had a run in with some bad people is all.”

You looked at him for a moment.

“It wasn’t in the QZ was it?”

He paused.

“No.”

You groaned.

“What the fuck, Miller?”

“Can you spare the lecture, Kid?” He asked. “Can you fix my arm or not?”

“Nope, I’ll have to cut the whole thing off.”

He rolled his eyes. You sighed.

“Yes, I can fix your arm,” you said. “But it’s going to be a process because you didn’t come see me sooner. It needs debridement, I’m going to do some fairly intensive antibiotics because right now your shoulder is a goddamn Petri dish for a super bug and I want to nip that in the bud and then you’re getting stitches. And I swear to God Tommy if you don’t follow my directions for wound care…”

“You’re not as scary as you think you are, Kid,” he smirked. “But I’ll listen to ya.”

You glared at him but went and got what you needed from the supply room and scrubbed in before gloving up.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you said, sitting next to him on the exam table as you injected his arm with local anesthetic. He winced. “Otherwise I’d just do this without numbing you up just to teach you a lesson.”

You got out a scalpel and forceps, testing his arm after a minute before starting in on the infected tissue.

“That’s disgusting,” he sounded a little sick.

“Yeah, well, this is the price you pay for being a dumbass,” you said, focused on his arm.

“Your bedside manner is shit, Kid, anyone ever tell you that?”

“You’d be the first,” you replied, depositing some of the tissue on a sterile cloth and going back in. He laughed. “Hold still or I will take off your arm.”

He looked straight ahead for a moment while you worked, eyes narrowed, trying to make sure you were getting all the infected tissue while not taking any of the healthy with it. But after a few minutes he looked at you.

“So how’ve you been?” He asked.

“Busy,” you said noncommittally.

“C’mon,” he said. “You know what I’m askin’.”

You were quiet for a minute.

“He told you then,” you said eventually.

“Yeah.” He was still looking at you. You resisted the urge to cry. You couldn’t fuck up your sterile field.

“Well, I’m still here,” you shrugged as you deposited more tissue on the cloth, giving the wound a final look. You grabbed the saline and went back to it. “May not want to tell him that, it’d probably be a let down.”

“Look, Joel’s a fucking asshole but he’s not that much of a fucking asshole,” he said, sounding a bit defensive. “He wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“He said he never wanted to see me again,” you irrigated the wound and looked it over again. “A lot easier to do if I dropped dead or left town.”

Tommy didn’t say anything. You put the saline away and got out the suture kit.

“I’m going to stitch you up now,” you said. “Let me know if you feel anything, I can add to the anesthesia…”

He just nodded and you started stitching.

“How is he?” You asked after a moment. Tommy paused a moment before answering.

“Survivin’,” he said eventually. You nodded slowly.

“He going outside the QZ too?”

“Not sure I should be telling a FEDRA doctor anything about that,” Tommy said wryly. You glared a him. “But yeah. He is.”

“Tommy,” you groaned. “Jesus Christ…”

“You think I can control a damn thing that man does?” He asked. You glared at him. “We both know he’s going to do whatever the fuck he wants, whatever he thinks is the best thing for everybody because no one else can take care of shit like Joel fuckin’ Miller can…”

“Been sitting on that feeling for a while there?” You half smiled.

“Something like that,” he muttered.

You finished stitching his arm and gave him a shot of antibiotics.

“That’s going to start clearing the infection,” you said. “But I’m sending you home with pills, too. You take every single fucking one of them or I swear I will come and shove them down your throat like I’m drugging a dog. Bacterial infection is a shit show here as it is, I will not let you make it worse because you create an antibiotic resistant strain of super bacteria by not completing your meds…”

“I’ll take the drugs, Kid.”

“Good.”

You wrapped his arm and sat back, looking at your handiwork.

“Come in like that again and I’m not giving you the anesthesia,” you said, cleaning up your supplies.

“Well there’s some incentive for you,” he laughed, shrugging back into his shirt. You threw away the trash and your gloves and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as he buttoned his shirt.

“How often are you leaving the QZ?” You asked.

“Don’t exactly have a set schedule,” he said, cagey.

“Tommy.”

“Bout twice a month.”

You nodded slowly.

“And how often are you getting fucking shot at?”

He laughed a little and gave you a cocky smile.

“Bout twice a month.”

“Jesus Christ…” you muttered.

“They’re bad shots, Kid.”

“Not that bad.”

You sighed.

“I’m only saying this because I know you’re going to keep going out there regardless of what I say about it,” you said. “But next time one of you is hurt and you don’t feel… comfortable coming to the clinic, please get me. I’ll come to you, you can come to me, I don’t really care. Just please don’t get yourselves killed because you’re stubborn idiots.”

“That go for my idiot brother, too?” He asked, watching you.

“Course it does,” you said. “Just hit him over the head with a frying pan after taking a thorough medical history so he doesn’t have to see me when I treat him.”

Tommy snorted, shaking his head as he got down from the exam table. He looked you up and down, a sense of sadness on his face.

“He’s an idiot, Kid,” he said, meeting your eyes. “I love him but he’s the biggest fuckin’ idiot I know.”

“He’s not,” you half smiled at him. “But I appreciate the thought. Try to make sure he stays in one piece? Look out for him?”

“I will,” he said, leaning in and giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You pressed the bottle of antibiotics into his hand and watched him leave the exam area, staring at the door he left through for a moment before going to the next exam room.

Your birthday was a Monday. It was hard to not think about the year before, the day that Joel and Tommy made it to the QZ. You’d thought, for a while, that it was a sign that the day might not be cursed. It could hold the best and the worst of life, it didn’t matter. It felt less good now.

This year, a long workday helped. Your students were particularly well behaved for a Monday. You weren’t sure if they sensed that you were off or if it was just a coincidence but either way, you were grateful for it. The clinic was good, too. Enough patients to keep your mind occupied and body moving, not so many that you were overwhelmed.

“Not a bad day all things considered,” Andrew said as you finished with your last patient’s chart a few minutes before 10. The White Album was on again.

“It was not,” you said, perching on the edge of the desk. He leaned beside you. “Thank you for The Beatles, by the way.”

“Course,” he kissed your temple and you rested your head on his shoulder. “Knew you’d need it.”

“I come bearing cake!” Jess sang as she came into the clinic, plate in hand. “Andrew said it wasn’t really that kind of birthday but I figure hard days are an even better excuse for cake so…”

“Any days are a good excuse for cake,” you smiled.

“My sentiments exactly,” she smiled back.

The three of you walked to your place and you put on the AC/DC album that you kept at the apartment specifically for when Andrew was being a jerk about your music or needed some cheering up.

“Awww, real music,” he said as you cut the cake. “You DO care!”

“Don’t read into it,” you shook your head and smiled a little, passing out plates. You poured each of you a beer and you gathered around your small table.

“To an honestly not bad birthday for the shittiest of birthdays,” Andrew raised his glass. You shook your head.

“If society ever returns, you’re not giving a toast at my wedding,” you teased.

You’d only gotten halfway through your beer and your slice of cake - Jess, as it turned out, was a talented baker - when there was a sharp knock on your door. The three of you looked at each other, frowning. Andrew gestured for both of you to stay put and tiptoed to the door. He checked the peephole before opening it, holding the door against his side so whoever it was couldn’t see in.

“Are you the Kid?” A woman’s voice you didn’t recognize asked. “I was told to come here and get the Kid, it’s urgent…”

You got up and went to the door, ducking below Andrew’s arm. He groaned.

“You couldn’t just stay at the table…” he muttered.

A woman, about 10 years older than you, was standing there. Her lip was swollen, blood at her arm where her shirt was torn. She looked you up and down, assessing you.

“You’re the Kid,” she said instead of asked it this time. “Jesus, you are young.”

“I’m 31,” you said defensively.

“Huh,” her eyes lingered on your hair. You’d put a ribbon on the end of your braid. “You look younger.”

“Thanks,” you said wryly. Andrew pulled you back against him, his hand on your shoulder possessively. You crossed your arms. “I take it you know Tommy?”

“And Joel,” she said. Andrew’s hand clenched you harder. “They need help and Tommy said I should come to you…”

“No,” Andrew said before you got a chance to respond. “I don’t care what shit they got themselves into…”

“I don’t think I was asking you,” the woman said. “Look, I don’t have time…”

“How bad is it?” You cut them both off. She looked you over again. You sighed. “Before the outbreak would you call an ambulance or drive to urgent care?”

“Ambulance.”

You shoved past Andrew and went to grab the go bag you kept stashed under your bed for emergency situations where they called you into the field from home. The woman had followed you inside. Jess waved awkwardly from the table.

“Celebrating?” The woman asked.

“It’s her birthday,” Jess nodded in your direction. The woman winced a little.

“Sorry about that.”

“Hasn’t been a day worth celebrating in a while,” you shrugged. “Don’t know why that should change now.”

Andrew grabbed your arm and you frowned up at him.

“You don’t need to do this,” he said. The woman stiffened, sizing him up. You ignored her.

“Yes I do.”

He pulled you in for a tight hug and sighed.

“Don’t let it destroy you.”

You gave him a stiff nod and hurried out into the night with the woman.

“Where are they?” You asked, walking quickly to the stairs. “Their apartment?” The woman nodded once. You started down the stairs and you looked her up and down. “Can you run?”

“There’s a reason I was the one to come get you,” she said.

You took off for their place the second you were down the stairs, glancing back to see that the other woman wasn’t far behind.

It had been months since you’d ventured into this part of the QZ. You’d actively avoided it. You tried not to think about the fact that it had been more than three months since you’d last seen Joel but you knew it would hurt. His picture was still on your bedside table. You thought about him all the time - when you found a clever line in a book you’d share if he were reading beside you, when you remembered the way he’d touch you without thinking about it because touching you was the most natural thing in the world, when you tried to channel his blunt way of moving through life when something about the QZ was especially frustrating. You’d missed him desperately before he came to Boston. It was worse now. He was so close, close enough that you could be touching him in just minutes and he’d never been further away. You were worried you were going to be stuck like this - longing and alone - forever.

And you were still running to his side.

The woman let you into their apartment. Joel was flat on his back in the middle of the living room floor, Tommy beside him with a towel on Joel’s side.

“Hey Kid,” Tommy said sheepishly. He was bleeding, too, what looked like a shallow knife wound on his ribs. You glared at him, going to the other side of Joel and dropping your pack next to him.

“I just patched you up fucking yesterday, Miller,” you said. “And this is what you do?”

“Can you lecture me after you save this asshole?” He asked.

“Move the towel,” you ordered. “I need to see what I’m working with.”

He obeyed, pulling the cloth away and revealing a bullet hole in Joel’s stomach.

“Son of a bitch,” you breathed. “You just had to fucking go outside the QZ again, didn’t you?”

“I know, I know,” he said. “Please say you can fix this…”

“I sure fucking hope so,” you looked between him and the woman. “Which of you is better with blood? Both with seeing it and have lost less of it?”

“I think I’ve lost less,” the woman said. Her fingers were winding around themselves. She was nervous.

“Good,” you said. “Tommy, move.” You grabbed the bag and went to where he’d been and looked at the woman. “You… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Tess.”

“Tess,” you repeated once, nodding. “You’re with me. Go wash your hands like you just swam in a sewer and you’re about to eat a sandwich. Tommy, I need light, a fuck ton of light. And boil water, I’m going to need sterile water.”

They both rushed to obey while you assessed the situation. Joel was unconscious. You tried really hard to not think about the fact that it was Joel who was unconscious. The bullet wound was your primary concern. You checked his pulse. It was a lot weaker than you wanted.

“Tommy,” you called. “How many towels have you gone through?”

“Three, I think?” He called back, running in with flashlights and depositing them next to you.

“Shit,” you muttered. Tess came back from the bathroom and you pulled a pack of gloves from your bag. “Put those on, hold pressure on the wound. I need to go scrub because I need to get in there.”

You pulled off your button down shirt leaving just your tank top below and left Tess there, trusting her to follow your instructions. You were still fighting not to panic about the fact that it was Joel bleeding out on the living room floor. You focused on the water running over your fingers, the soap, anything but whose life you were about to try to save.

Tess was holding the towel against Joel’s stomach when you came back in and you pulled on gloves, getting on your knees beside his body.

“This is going to be messy for multiple reasons,” you said, looking between Tess and Tommy. “Either of you ever drawn blood before?” They glanced at each other but were silent. “Either of you happen to know his blood type?”

“You don’t?” Tommy asked.

“Why would I know Joel’s blood type?” You looked at him like he was crazy.

“Weren’t you studying for that doctor exam when you were…”

“Yeah, I didn’t go around memorizing everyone’s blood types!” You closed your eyes for a second. This was going to take a small miracle. “Doesn’t matter. I’m O-, either of you O-?”

They shook their heads.

“Why’s that matter?” Tommy asked.

“Because I’m basically a walking blood bag,” you said, cracking your neck. “And he’s going to need a transfusion…”

“How are you going to transfuse him while operating?” Tess gaped at you.

“Fucking carefully I guess!” You snapped. “This is going to be a first for me, too, but unless you guys want to move him to the clinic and get potentially executed by FEDRA for leaving the QZ…”

“Right,” Tess nodded. “Right, OK…”

“Any other emergent injuries that I should know about besides the gunshot wound?” You asked. They were silent. You took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright, let’s do this. Tommy, I need light.”

He held the light over Joel’s stomach and you palpated his stomach, finding the bullet.

“Tommy,” you glanced up at him. “I’m not sure how unconscious he is, but if he starts moving, you need to hold him down. I don’t have anesthesia and I can’t have him thrashing around when I’m wrist deep in his abdominal cavity. If the call is light or holding him still, drop the light and hold him down, got it?”

He swallowed hard and then nodded. You picked up the scalpel, took a deep breath, and cut. Tommy made a gagging sound and you ignored him. You located the bullet quickly, lodged in the large intestine. All things considered, he got lucky. It had missed the pancreas, the stomach and the small intestine.

“Tess,” you said as you got ready to extract the bullet. “I need you to try to monitor his pulse. If it gets any fainter, we’ll have to start a transfusion now. Once I start pulling the bullet out, the bleeding could get a lot worse.”

You pried the bullet free, trying to move it as cleanly as possible down the path it had entered his body through - easier said than done without the proper tools. And he did start bleeding more. You just hoped it wouldn’t be too bad.

“I need gauze, from the kit, in the sterile packs.”

Tess moved quickly ripping it open. You yanked it out and stuffed the wound, giving you time to repair the damage to the large intestine without flooding the abdominal cavity with blood. “He’s getting pale,” Tess warned.

“Pulse?”

“I think it’s OK…”

You nodded, swapping out gauze.

“Tommy,” you said. “I need that water…”

He grabbed the still warm kettle, handing it to you. You splashed some on your skin. It was hot but didn’t burn. You cleaned the area and watched to see if he was still losing blood, if there was a repair you’d missed. You were pretty sure you’d caught everything.

“Good news,” you pulled the gauze from his body. “Damage was pretty minimal and it was a simple repair. I’m going to close him up, then we can just tap into me and finish this up…”

You stitched him up quickly and yanked the gloves off before switching them for a clean pair.

“In the bag, there should be a needle pack, alcohol wipes, some tubing and a tourniquet,” you said. “I need all of it.”

Tess moved quickly again, handing you the supplies. You didn’t have a bag to transition the blood from you to Joel, so you were going to have to settle for a direct transfusion. It wasn’t something that was ever really done anymore, but you’d read enough about it, you were pretty sure you could figure it out. You got everything set up and sat down, your back against the couch, before putting the needle in your own arm. You removed the tourniquet and blood started flowing from you into him. You slumped over a bit, finally able to take a breath. You kept his wrist in your hand to monitor his pulse.

“He should be largely out of the woods,” you said. Both Tess and Tommy visibly relaxed. “He’s going to need to take it easy for a while. Tommy, those antibiotics I gave you yesterday? Give Joel the same dosage. Track how many you give him, come by the clinic sometime this week when I’m there and I’ll give you another bottle.”

“Thank you,” Tess was watching you. “For doing this. Your friend was right, you didn’t have to…”

“Yes I did,” you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the couch. “But I would have anyway.”

Tommy brought you a glass of water and you chugged it, trying to pay attention to how long you’d been transferring blood and how strong Joel’s pulse was. His color was getting a bit better. Tess and Tommy were talking in hushed tones in the kitchen but you didn’t care.

You hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d seen Joel without tension in his face. He was soft and beautiful like this. It reminded you of life with him in Texas, when the biggest problems you had were whether or not Sarah should do regular soccer or travel soccer. You had to resist the urge to touch him, kiss him. Fuck, you loved him. You’d always be stuck loving him.

You decided to enjoy it. You doubted you’d have a chance to see him like this ever again, so you quietly memorized his face, the flecks of gray coming into his beard, the creases around his eyes, the precise arch of his nose. You looked away for a moment to check the status of his incision - relieved to see that it wasn’t oozing blood - when the hand that was in your fingers started to move.

You tightened your grip on him - not wanting to disturb the transfusion - but watched his face. “Tommy,” you called over your shoulder, still watching Joel. He and Tess both rushed over, the three of you watching as Joel slowly came round.

His eyes found you first and you braced yourself for his wrath, but it didn’t come.

“Hey Baby,” his lips tugged up at the edges. “Did I die? What are you doin’ here?”

“Not dead,” your heart was racing. “You’re very much alive, despite your best efforts.”

“He doesn’t remember,” Tommy said. “Why doesn’t he remember?”

“He will,” you said. “He’s just out of it. He probably won’t remember this at all, which is just as well…”

“Always remember you…” he muttered. He tried to sit up but you pushed him back down. His eyes drifted over you. “Even dead you’re so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Not dead, Joel. Giving you a blood transfusion right now,” you said. “And you just had surgery. You need to lie still for me, OK?”

“Knew you’d be a doctor,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again. “My girl the doctor…”

“That’s me alright,” you said, feeling light headed. You looked up at Tommy. “Hold him down for me? I think he’s got enough blood now and I can’t stand losing much more…”

Tommy listened as you stopped the transfusion and got everything cleaned up. Joel was unconscious again, but no longer bleeding out.

“He’ll need to be monitored for the next 48 hours,” you said, writing out some basic care instructions. “Anything goes to shit, Tommy, you know where to find me. And don’t forget about the antibiotics. We can’t have him getting infected…”

“We can pay you when we cash in from this run,” Tess said, her hands in her back pockets as she watched you. You frowned.

“I don’t want your money,” you said.

“I’m not comfortable owing someone,” she replied. You read between the lines. She wasn’t comfortable owing you, Joel’s ex. Something told you that Tommy hadn’t mentioned the specifics of your relationship to Joel. And Joel had moved on. Of course he’d moved on. There was a stabbing pain in your chest that you’d have to cry about once you were out of here.

“You don’t,” you said, desperate to go home. “Really. Hippocratic oath and all that…”

“There has to be something you need,” she said.

You looked at her, thinking for a moment before settling on something.

“Can you take me outside the QZ?”

A/N: Soooooo please excuse any and all medical errors in this sucker. I word for a living (that's right, I write all day at work and then I get on my personal laptop and write all evening because why not.) I know jack crap about anything medical beyond what some googling does and the fact that I binged watched both Grey's Anatomy and E.R. at the start of the pandemic. This is probably a medical disaster area but just act like I know what I'm talking about, OK? It'll be way more fun that way.

Thank you as always for reading! We're into the QZ era of the story which I might be weirdly excited about given the realities of it. I have lots planned for this chunk of the fic and I hope you all enjoy it. I love love LOVE reading all your comments and seeing what you respond to and connect with. Thanks so much for sticking with this story! I love you all!

Taglist (just comment below if you want to be added!): @paleidiot @ayamenimthiriel @ginger-swag-rapunzel @drewharrisonwriter

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

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toy-with-eli · 1 year ago

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I bet it would be fun to come to your place, and while I'm there you decide to take a nap, and to make myself at home, so I do. After about 10-15 minutes, I go up to your room, and noticed you left your door open, and I can see you sleeping soundly on your side. As I quietly enter room, and get closer to your bed, I see your nude body, just laying there out in the open. At first, I take a step back, and avert my eyes, but I can't resist. As I look at your lovely body, I look over every inch of it, start it with your supple breasts, your pink nipples and areolas. As I work my way around your body, I come to you ass, which doesn't seem real. It's so full, and looks so soft. The more I look at your body, the harder I'm getting, and the more harder it is to resist my urges. The more I resist, the stronger the urges get. I gently begin to touch your skin, starting on your leg. I move my fingers gently up and down your leg, just to see how asleep you really were, having no explanation for what I'm doing, if you wake up. After a few times up and down your leg, I move to just below your ass, on your thigh, inching closer to your ass, and a few fingers won't satisfy my need his time, so I used my whole hand, and it feels amazing, and before I know it, I'm squeezing your ass, and it feels so good. The more I squeeze the harder I get. I swear I heard moans, but it must have been my imagination. There are times when I think you're going to wake up, but you don't. Once I'm finished with your ass, you move on your back, and leave your leg sprawled open. That's when I get to see that lovely pussy. I didn't even hesitate slide my fingers inside that pink pussy, slowly of course. As I move my fingers, I hear you moan, but you don't wake up, which means you must be dreaming, so I keep going. I go just fast enough that you don't wake up, once I get you wet, I stop, just so I can leave you wondering why you're wet. Hopefully, I'll be around for your next nap.

A few weeks later that afternoon, you invite me over to hang, still having no idea it was me that made you cum like that. You and I know each other, but not super well, but we’ll enough that you invite me over on your birthday. As the night goes on, I have too much to drink, and you say I could stay on the couch. You say that you had a little too much yourself. As I crash on the couch, and you go to bed, and I notice you leave your door open. In the darkness of your place, I listen for soft sounds of you sleeping, I’m not sure how much you drank but it wasn’t long, until you’re sleep. I rise up from the couch, slowly walking, as not to wake you. I clear the threshold of your bedroom, I see it, in all it’s beautiful glory, your naked body. My dick hardens instantly at the sight of it. I spread those legs and slowly slide my dick inside you. As it gets deeper inside you, your eyes begin to open as you see me entering you.

As you open your eyes, and feel my black dick filling you up, you see me, and I’m expecti see ng you to yell, but you just smile slyly, and say, “It’s about time you gave me that dick, I’ve been waiting for this.” I’m a little surprised, to hear this, but that just turned me on even more. So I move my hips deeper, as you let out some quiet moans. My dick feels so good inside you, I can feel it stretching you with each stroke. As I begin to move faster, the room begins to fill with the sounds of your moans, which only fuels me. I place a hand around your throat, and gently squeeze, as those moans turn raspy. “This is the dick you’ve been waiting for, hasn’t it?” I am almost hypnotized by your breasts bouncing with each stroke, so I take some time to suck on your nipples. I know you love it, so your moans get louder as now I’m playing with your clit, biting/sucking on your nipples as I’m fucking you.

Since I know how good I’m making you feel, I stop fucking too for a moment to admire your lovely body, as it writhes in pleasure. “Arch that ass.” I tell you, as I watch you assume the position. I stroke my dick, as I admire that booty of yours, because I’m about tear it up. You know I’m going to tease you some more before I enter you, so I begin by rubbing and squeezing your buttocks, in disbelief of how soft and supple it is, my dick gets harder with each squeeze. I can tell you’re enjoying it, by the little moans of satisfaction, as I massage them. I can feel you getting anxious, wanting my dick, but I’m going to take my time, so I give you a hard spank, which you clearly weren’t expecting since you let out a little scream, followed by a moan. The jiggle from the smack was a thing of beauty, so I do both cheeks at the same time, which causes you to let out a little louder scream.

More smacks follow, as each slap echoes in the room. You ass is so raw, that just the slightest touch makes you flinch. I decided to give your ass as rest, because I want to taste you, and you look so delicious with your ass in the air. I grab you cheeks and I begin eating your out from behind, getting my tongue as deep inside you as I can. You turn face down, as I begin to hear muffled moans, as I ravage you. Once I’ve gotten my fill of you, I stand back up, give that ass a few more smacks, before I slowly enter you from behind.

As soon as I enter you, you let out a gasp, as I get all the way inside you. I didn’t think you feel even wetter than you were before, but you are, must have been the spanks. Either way, I’m in heaven, and you are the angel guiding me there. I begin to move my hips, as you let out another gasp, and I feel you tighten around my dick. As my hips gather speed, soon I am thrusting quickly. My balls slap against your pussy with each stroke.

The ripples in your ass as I make you mine, only make me want to make more. I grab your hips, to get even deeper. Your legs give out, and soon I have you in the prone bone position. While I have you face down, taking all my dick, I realize I haven’t seen what you’re head game is like. I slow down my pace until I’m slowly stroking that pussy, like I want to get you pregnant. I stop, and I pull my dick out of you, “On your knees, please, I want to fuck that face and throat.” “Yes, daddy.” You reply, as you excitedly come face to face with my dick. You admire it, what has been giving you such pleasure, ready to take it down you throat like a good girl. “Open wide.” I say as I move my dick closer to your lips. You do as your told, and open as wide as you can, your mouth salivating as my dick touches your tongue and I feel your lips come around it, as you move your neck and head, and stroke the tip of it with your lips. The sensation of the tip being played with feels so good to me and you start to go a little deeper. You notice how good you’re making me feel, and you won’t let that pass, so you pull my dick from your mouth, and stroke my dick with one hand, and play with my balls, which I love, and the pleasure is immense.

The more you stroke, I feel myself about to cum, but not before I’ve used that throat like I want. “Look at me as you suck that dick, like a good slut.” As I look you in the eyes, o grab the sides of your head, and I pull your head onto my dick, trying to get it all down. Although, at first, your little throat couldn’t get it all, with lots of spit and some leverage from me, you got it all down. After you do, I give you a moment to breath, until I fill that throat again, fucking it with all I have. Your gags sound off around the walls. I pull out one last one and I tell you, “I’m not stopping until I’m ready to cum, then I’m going to cover that pretty face, be a good girl and last until I’m done, and I want you to look at me, as I do.” You oblige by nodding and looking up at me. I place one hand under your chin and the other on your forehead to help you open your throat. You take it better than you did the other times, and I begin to move my hips faster and faster. The wetness of your throat, much like your pussy, makes me want to cum, and try as I might, this time I can’t stop. I fuck that throat until I almost explode, as I pull my dick from your throat, and I release all over your pretty face, as promised. Once I’ve drained my balls, I help you up, gently, and I say “We’ve got to do this more often, let’s get you cleaned up.” As we walk towards the bathroom, I notice you looking at my still hard dick.

Please let me know your thoughts!

#submission

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chu-diaries · 8 months ago

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100 days of mental healthcare: day 1/100

I’ve been thinking about a challenge I could do after my birthday (which was last Wednesday). I’m not into productivity challenges anymore because they wreck my mental health and I often feel guilty when I’m not doing things. Since my priority now is getting better I thought of this challenge: a mental healthcare challenge.

As a psychology student and a psychotherapist myself, I know our mental state can be influenced by our daily routine, stress levels, spiritual connections, relationships, pleasures… so I’m always asking myself when I feel depressed or highly anxious: am I drinking enough water? Have I exercised this week? Can I go out for a walk? Also, I’m a woman. I’m a hormonal human being. My body is always telling me something and my menstrual cycle is very important to me.

I have already been tracking important information about myself but I hope to discover new things on the way, so this challenge’s structure may change. If you have any suggestions or concerns feel free to share them with me and if you feel like doing this challenge with me you’ll be welcome as well.

My first day was okay. My ADHD was bad and it was hard to keep focused but I managed to work a little and I finished my tasks. Did some indoor fitness exercises after lunch and, although I was tired, I decided to go out to help some friends after dinner. It was amazing and I needed it so bad. I came home feeling better.

🥀: day 22/29

💧: 1,5 L

🏋🏻‍♂️: 40 min

📚: Harry Potter and the goblet of fire - jk Rowling

📺: see you in my 19th life

🎧: cream soda - exo

🎮: 🚫

💊: all vitamins were taken

🛑: resisted the urge to pick at my face for 6h

#from-persephone #journaling #mental health #my thoughts #mental health challenge #challenge #getting better #adhd #skin picking #psychology #100 days of mental healthcare #100 days challenge #100 days

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rubyastari · 1 year ago

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The Saddest Thing About Life I’ve Learned So Far …

Me: “My father was the only honest man I really knew.”

Them: “Why? What did he say?”

Me: “He once said: ‘Nobody can or will always stay with and for you.’ And he was right.”

#realisticallyspeaking

Many may interpret this as my expression of grief. I’m going to have to say … yes and no.

Dad passed away on January 19, 2014. His birthday is on October 23. He’d be 75 if he were still around.

Then, what about me? Well, I turned 42 in November this year. How does it feel to be at that age and still single? Not surprisingly, nothing special. I’m not dreading or relishing anything from that. You could say that I’ve probably grown numb.

Must I worry? I honestly don’t know. I haven’t really had a chance to analyze or identify my own feelings lately. I’m too busy with work and simply trying to get by. It’s getting harder to set aside time to just do something like this:

Writing … for the sake of writing …

I’m also struggling to catch up on my reading. I used to be able to read a lot and finish faster — one book after another. I also did that with countless of articles, short stories, and poems too — per week.

Nowadays, I can only finish reading one article per day … if I’m lucky. Still better than nothing, eh? I also slowly finish reading a book one page at a time. Not ideal, I know, but once again — it’s still better than nothing at all.

Isn’t it typical of us — human beings — to miss what we’ve often taken for granted before?

Have I already grown cold on the inside? Hopefully not. I’m glad I still feel because the current news in Gaza is still making me cry. I wish they’d stop with the killings and the lies. Ceasefire now!

I know Dad was never the most openly emotional man. You could never imagine him as the father who would comfort his daughters after a breakup with a boyfriend. He never did.

Instead, he’d always challenged me with the same question: “So, what’s next?”

“Huh, what do you mean?”

“Okay, so you’re in trouble / stuck in a rut / rejected. What are you going to do next?”

Those who had misunderstood him in the past (I included, shamefully) must have thought he was being dismissive. According to Ma, he didn’t know how to comfort a person, let alone a woman or his own daughters. He was never taught that and he felt he couldn’t teach himself that well. Since he was a little boy, he’d been taught that showing real feelings — including grief — was a sign of weakness. Anger was necessary, especially when he needed to defend himself.

“Your father was an unhappy man.”

When I sometimes look back, I remember him and those sad stories about him. I have to resist the urge to cry. I wish I’d had more time to get to know him more / better, to understand him better …

… and to have forgiven him sooner, for all he couldn’t do or should’ve done …

On the outside, I began to imitate some of his traits. People say I look more like him, but that’s not really accurate. My brother is a carbon copy of him, although he’s got a taller, leaner figure like our maternal grandfather. I don’t glare like he did and I’ve got Ma’s snub nose.

However, I’ve picked his old mannerisms along the way. These days, I tend to shut myself down all too easily. I rarely talk; I’ve grown quiet and I sometimes get myself lost in my own thoughts.

Some people ask me why I work in North Jakarta while still living in the South. It’s ridiculously far. I’ll need at least an hour and a half to get there and another to get back — whether it is by motorbike or by bus and train. Why not move to North Jakarta instead, closer to work? Or, why not try to find a job much closer to where I still live?

I get those questions a lot. I like living in the city center because it’s easy for me to get around. It’s easier for people to reach me as well. About the job? Well, that wasn’t my original plan. I got transferred to the North branch during the Covid-19 pandemic because the other one close by had closed down.

I like the job okay so far. I can manage, as long as I can still steal some time outside to write.

Of course, there’s also another strange reason I don’t tell them all:

I simply love being on the road these days, despite the traffic. I get to emotionally detach myself from people for a while — and just be at peace with myself. Sounds like a paradox to you? Maybe. To many people, a traffic jam is equal to chaos. To me, it’s an opportunity to blend in and sort of disappear for a while.

That way, I don’t have to interact with people that I don’t like. I don’t have to answer their super intrusive questions as if I owe them an explanation of why I’m like this. I know I sound defensive, but I sometimes feel the need to be (left) alone.

Dad was right — and he couldn’t be more right if he could see me today. I guess now I can see why he’d taught me to be more independent, down to the point that I’ve forgotten how to open up properly and let people in.

Eventually, everybody leaves. I know that because I’ve experienced a lot of departures. I’ve been the girl who had to see every guy she’d ever loved to end up with somebody else — and people blamed her for that. I’ve been that girl who’d been lied to by guys who claimed to have loved her, only to either take those words back or worse — play her around. This is why I always hate it when people accuse me of “not trying hard enough” or “not making more effort”.

What the hell do they all know? Nothing. They don’t even care that what they say can make you feel ugly as hell as if you’ll never be good enough for anyone out there. What effort — when the other side just won’t do the same for you too? That is so stupid! You’ll only look sad and desperate with that.

The bad news is, they’ll be the same people who mock you for that too. Believe me, you can never win with them.

Even your friends who once promised to always be there for you would turn away too. People change. They can either get too busy or quarrel over something so petty. They can die before you do too.

This is why I have no problem being alone. Dad had been right all along. As sad as this may sound to you, I have to be good at being on my own. This includes learning how to not take everything way too personally like some angry, self-entitled bratty girl.

This is why I have to be ready to always look after myself, just in case:

· Romance may not be meant for everyone.

· Friends abandon you, especially over petty reasons, such as you disagree with them, but it’s perfectly okay for them to dismiss your every valid argument. Double standards much?

· You’re not really a priority to anyone, even when they claim that you are theirs.

· You’re the last resort, not a destination or a companion. Hell, you’re not even their first option.

· You’re about to be forgotten …

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glitterslag · 2 years ago

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the one with all the firsts, part 2: carrot cake and class As

Synopsis: Eddie drives down to Illinois for Chrissy's birthday weekend.

Word count: 12k! (hefty)

Warnings: 18+ for hard drug use, explicit sexual content (loss of virginity, PIV sex, oral) language, mentions of eating disorders, period typical attitudes

Author's note: read part one of this fic here. For my other works set in this AU, visit my masterlist.

Chrissy’s always disliked her birth month. February - a dull, drab, frigid month, when the holidays are long-gone and spring seems like it isn’t coming after all. The worst time of the year.

February, for Chrissy, has always been a month that signifies getting up for school in the morning while it’s still pitch black out. A month of waiting for the bus all bundled up and shivering in the damp, chilly air. A month of soggy socks and muddy feet after running the mile on the wet field in gym, of stomachs growling in math class and not fitting into birthday dresses.

Last year, for her eighteenth birthday, her mom hired out the function room at the church. Chrissy had attended a lot of parties in that room over the course of her life, and there was nothing about it she didn’t hate - the stale smell, the dark green carpet, the dingy panel lighting. It was the furthest thing from a party atmosphere you could think of.

All of her family and friends came. She remembers getting wasted from a secret hip flask filled with vodka that she’d stuffed under her dress, and her mom never suspected a thing. She remembers going to the bathroom to throw up and hearing two of her friends from the cheer squad applying lipstick in the mirrors outside, talking loudly about their latest fucks. Drunk and jealous and spiteful, she’d come out of the cubicle and scolded them, told them they were acting like sluts. By that point in senior year, she recalls, she’d just about stopped letting Jason touch her altogether.

Chrissy only set eyes on her eighteenth birthday cake once. It was large and rectangular, iced in baby pink and edged in white and after she’d blown all of the candles out, her mom had cut it into little square pieces to give out to the guests.

“You don’t want to ruin your dress, sweetie.” Laura had said, voice sweeter than piped buttercream and exchanging knowing looks with the other girl’s moms as she’d tucked a slice of it away in a folded serviette and slipped it into her handbag. “We’ll take some home and freeze it.”

Laura shot her daughter one of those faux-sympathetic smiles she was so damn good at and Chrissy knew then that she’d never see that cake again. By that time, though, the alcohol was already at home in her bloodstream and she couldn’t bring herself to care. No one back then had ever told her that you aren’t supposed to drink vodka on an empty stomach.

Chrissy’s party dress was green and shiny with poofy sleeves and a big bow on the chest. When she’d tried it on in her room a few weeks before she’d fallen in love, but out there in front of everyone? Being looked at and having photos taken of her, Pastor Michael eyeing the dress’s hem and Laura’s grip on her shoulder just a little too tight - she’d just wanted to disappear.

A few days later, Eddie drove her to the mall after school to get the film developed, and they ate hot dogs in his van in the parking lot while they waited for it to be done. Eddie let her tear a page out of his chem notes to wipe the grease off the frank before she took a bite. It’s okay that I’m eating this, Chrissy had reasoned with herself. I’m making up for the birthday cake.

He’d insisted she let him see the photographs of her in the dress, smiling to himself as he carded through them - even at the one of her and Jason, and he said it looked like a fun party. She’d just smiled back and resisted the urge to tell him she’d choose eating greasy hotdogs in a parking lot with him over attending her own birthday party any day of the week.

Chrissy doesn’t think that Eddie knows any of this. He must be smarter than she gives him credit for though, because about a week before he’s due to drive down to Illinois he gets a brainwave and swings by the Family Video after work to ask Steve Harrington for advice. Unlike the guys in his band, Harrington is the only guy friend Eddie’s got in Hawkins who actually reliably gets girls, so Eddie figures he’ll be best to ask.

“She’s probably gonna be really sad,” Eddie explains as he plonks himself up on the store counter (much to Steve’s disdain), swinging his big, clunky boots out in front of him. “You know, first time away from home and all. So I wanna do something that’ll cheer her up. But if she thinks I’m trying to make it into a ‘big deal’ or whatever” - he waves his hand around and rolls his eyes - “she’ll get mad at me. So it’s gotta be low-key.”

Eddie may not know all of the details but he isn’t dense, especially not when it comes to how Chrissy’s feeling. He knows this birthday is going to feel pretty different from her last, what with everything that happened between her and her family at Christmas. And she doesn’t exactly have her big group of friends from school anymore, either. Besides, it wouldn’t be too far out of reach to think that the girl with an estranged relationship with cake didn’t care much for her birthday.

Steve puts his price gun down and walks over to the register.

“What about taking her out for dinner?” He muses, as if reading his mind. “Doesn’t have to be someplace fancy.”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Nah, that won’t work.”

Steve gives him a weird look.

“Why not?”

It can’t involve food, Eddie’s decided. After what she’d revealed to him not six weeks ago, the last thing he’d want to do is to pick the wrong place and send the girl into a meltdown on her birthday.

“Uh,” Eddie struggles to come up with a cover. “She has… allergies?”

Steve scoffs at him.

“Just say you’re broke, man.”

“Hey, I earn more than you do, jerkwad.”

“Whatever.”

“How about jewelry?” Steve wonders, reaching behind Eddie to grab a pack of dusters and a spray bottle of pledge. Eddie sighs. It’s true - that would be the obvious choice.

“I got her jewelry at Christmas.” He says.

“Hmm.” Steve takes out a duster and throws the packet back to Eddie, who silently takes one out and starts helping without being asked. “Chocolate?” Steve says. “Every girl likes chocolate.”

Not Chrissy, unfortunately. Well… actually. Eddie’s willing to bet that she does like it, even if he knows she’d probably have a hard time receiving it, much less eating it.

“It’s a birthday present, not a ‘sorry you got your period’ present.” He snarks.

“Touché.”

“Come on Harrington,” Eddie grumbles, tugging at his wild hair in frustration. “I thought you were supposed to be God’s gift to women.”

Someone snorts behind him and Eddie whips round to see Robin Buckley standing in the staffroom doorway. Eddie’s never spoken to her before, but he knows through Steve that she works here, too.

“Not if the last six months have been anything to go by.” Robin says, walking towards them with a stack of what looks like sci-fi tucked under her arm. “I mean, have you seen any women around here lately? No offence, Steve.” She adds, shooting Steve an apologetic look.

“Nope, you’re right.” Steve shakes his head with a sigh and Eddie watches his luxurious mane of hair flopping back and forth atop his head. “I’m actually starting to think my virginity’s growing back.”

“Fucking idiot.” Eddie tells him, before abruptly turning his head to address the girl behind him. “Anyway. Robin, right?” he asks, gesturing towards her with an open palm. She nods.

“Look,” Eddie begins. “I’m trying to get my g-” - he breaks off, clearing his throat - “trying to get this girl a birthday gift. Needs to be something special. She probably won’t be getting a ton of gifts from people this year.” He clarifies the last part, and Robin shoots him a quizzical look.

Steve pops his head up at this too.

“How come?” He inquires.

Eddie’s surprised he doesn’t know, given how fast gossip seems to travel in the jock community.

“Uh, you remember how she went all uh, incommunicado for a while, last year?”

“What, after you pulled off whatever satanic ritual it was that made her leave Carver for you, you mean?” Steve pipes up. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, it was after all that. Well, she lost a ton of friends. Kinda my fault, I guess.” He adds, and Steve looks a little trite.

“Hey man, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Nah, you’re good, Harrington.” Eddie smiles, clapping his hands together. “Anyway. Figured the least I could do was get her something special.”

Cogs starting turning in Steve’s head - Eddie can tell, because he looks like he’s in acute pain.

“Hey,” he starts, and Eddie leans forward on his elbows, one eyebrow quirked. “At risk of hearing something about your freaky demonic sex life I really do not wanna know, have you thought about getting Chrissy, like, lingerie?”

Oh man. Had he ever.

“Uh, duh,” Eddie says, like it’s a no brainer, which it is. “‘Course I have. I just don’t think it’s exactly, y’know, appropriate.”

“Why not?” Steve challenges. “You’re a big hairy man now, Munson.” - Steve reaches out to clap him on the back - “You’re sleeping with this girl after all.”

Well, not technically. Not yet. But again, Steve doesn’t need to know that part.

“Yeah,” he concedes. “But she’s gonna be sad on her birthday, man. I don’t wanna be that guy that gets the tone all wrong and gives the sad girl sexy panties, or whatever. Oh and uh, say Chrissy’s name and the world ‘lingerie’ in the same sentence ever again and I’ll blind you.” He adds cheerfully, and Steve holds both of his hands up in surrender.

“Wait, Chrissy Cunningham?” Robin butts in suddenly, and both boys turn sharply to look at her, almost forgetting she’d been there. “Your not-girlfriend is Chrissy Cunningham?” She repeats, staring at Eddie with an expression that can only be described as sheer bewilderment.

Eddie shrugs and scratches at the back of his neck.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t know that?” Steve directs at her.

“No?” She retorts. “What the fuck.”

Eddie feels his ears getting hot. Looks like he and Chrissy have been better at keeping things low-key than he thought.

“Look, just get her something personal, okay?” Steve says finally, glancing over his shoulder and lowering his voice as the first customer in over an hour walks through the shop door. “Doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture. Something you know she likes.” Steve shoos him down from the counter as he slips behind it to take the bemused customer’s return. “And if all else fails, just get her flowers.” He adds.

Huh. Eddie hates to admit it, but neither one is too bad of an idea.

“And stop coming in here if you’re not gonna rent something!” Steve yells after him when he’s halfway outside, and Eddie stops in the doorway and turns.

“Come on Harrington,” he drawls, a slow grin making its way across his face. “We both know you’d miss me too much.”

With that, he strolls out to his car, leaving a disgruntled Steve and an even more perplexed looking Robin standing behind the register.

“Chrissy Cunningham?” She mutters again in a mixture of disgust and awe, eyeing him darkly as he skids out of the parking lot in his beat-up old van. “Steve, explain straight people to me again because how the hell did Eddie Munson get a girl like that?”

Steve scratches at his neck, watching Eddie’s dust retreating into the distance.

“I don’t know either.” He admits. “But he must be unbelievable in bed.”

—---------

The week drags out slow like the tick of an exam clock until Friday finally rolls around, the day Eddie’s due to drive down to Illinois. Chrissy’s restless all day.

He’ll get off work around six, Eddie tells her, then he’ll go home and grab his stuff, probably take a shower and eat something before he sets off. He can miss the rush hour traffic that way and still get there for around eleven, he says, eleven thirty at the latest. It goes around on a loop in Chrissy’s head all afternoon like a mantra. She does the crawl to it at swim practice, studies to it in the library, repeats it over and over again in class when she’s supposed to be paying attention to the lecturer. Ever since their little late-night phone sex venture the other week, Chrissy’s mind has been preoccupied to say the least.

There’s been no mention of it in conversation since it happened, their phone calls filled instead with regular, everyday things, like how her classes are going, and swim meets and about his job, and the places they might go when he’s down to visit. If she didn’t know any better, Chrissy could almost believe he’s forgotten about it altogether.

Of course Eddie hasn’t. For a good few days after it happens, he walks around the house like he’s some kind of zombie. He makes careless mistakes at work, and Wayne gets mad at him for daydreaming at the dinner table. There’s something that tells him not to bring it up with her again, though, as if talking about it would break some kind of spell.

Chrissy knows sex is going to be good with Eddie. She used to be pretty scared of it, back in school, having heard from a few of the other girls that it had hurt for them, or that their boyfriends hadn’t been considerate. She’d heard some of those boys talking about the girls they’d fucked as if they were conquests, had even heard Jason laughing along with them, and she remembers the dismal realisation that that was probably how Jason viewed her, too.

He used to get pushy with her, sometimes. Especially after he’d had a drink. Chrissy didn’t like it, but there was a small part of her that felt good, even though she’d never say it, to know that he wanted her.

Sometimes, back in summer, mostly, when she and Eddie spent nearly every day together, she’d wished he would be pushy like Jason was. Sometimes she’d wished he’d just try something, just once. She thinks maybe she would’ve let him, even though it would’ve ruined things, because at least then she’d know she was desired. There were times that summer, after Eddie had dropped her off home, kiss-bruised but otherwise undefiled, when she’d thought about calling him up and screaming WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCK ME. You had the chance. I would’ve let you. Even though it would’ve ruined everything I would’ve let you. Do you even like me at all?

She sees things differently now. She used to think that it was because Jason loved her so much that he couldn’t keep his hands off her, but the truth is that Eddie Munson was burning up inside her for long before she’d even viewed him as a viable option, and he’d never once touched her without permission. Sweet, gentle Eddie, who wouldn’t even let her kiss him until she’d broken up with Jason. Not until it was honorable.

Chrissy’s glad she waited.

—---------

It’s been dark a while by the time she finally walks home from campus, homework all done for the week. She takes a shower, the scalding hot water a tonic for her aching muscles. She’s tired, she realises. Bone-tired. Classes aren’t getting any easier. And she’s been swimming a lot lately.

The chill of the unheated dorm block hits like a brick wall the minute she steps out, and she hurries back to her room to change into warm sweatpants and fuzzy socks. She doesn’t bother to take the five minutes to blast her wet hair with the dryer. She sits down on the bed, and she really doesn’t mean to fall asleep but she must do, because the next thing she’s aware of is the mattress dipping and Eddie’s soft voice coming from somewhere above.

“Hey, sorry to wake you,” he’s whispering, slipping under the sheets beside her. He smells of the outside, stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers, hands and face freezing cold but his body warm and delicious.

“Ed?” she croaks groggily, trying to sit up and orient herself. The room’s dark. “How’d you get in?”

“Some guy buzzed me inside,” he murmurs, jostling the single bed as he shifts around, pushing Chrissy further back into the wall. “One of your hall-mates, I think.”

“I’m so sorry I fell asleep.” She says as she grabs around for him blindly. Her hands find solid chest and she sinks into his embrace, body relaxing instantly.

“Hey, hey, no…” he shushes her gently. “You must’ve needed it.”

They talk for a while in the dark - conversations Chrissy won’t have any recollection of in the morning - until she falls back to sleep. Eddie lays there a while staring at the ceiling, enjoying finally having her sleeping on his chest again until he’s drifting, too.

—---------

The next day is February fourteenth. They sleep like the dead, waking late in the morning to weak winter sun and the windows dripping condensation. Neither of them mention the date.

After breakfast they get bundled up against the cold and take a bus all the way to Missouri. Eddie scored tickets to a concert he thought Chrissy might like: Warlock.

“It’s a chick front woman.” He tells her on the bus, leg bouncing up and down in feverish agitation. “I think you’ll like some of their songs. They’re from Germany. They supported Dio on their European tour last year.”

“Cool!” Chrissy chirps. She likes listening to Eddie talk about things she knows nothing about. It’s honestly kind of soothing.

This’ll be her first metal concert. She’s not exactly nervous - apprehensive might be the better word. She didn’t know there were girl singers in metal.

“Not many,” Eddie tells her. “But this girl is cool. You’ll see.”

The bus ride is two hours but they still get there crazy early, which was sort of in his plan all along. St Louis is foggy and chilly, perfect for hunkering down exploring record stores and thrift stores and musty smelling antique stores - all high on Eddie’s list of favourite things to do. Chrissy loses him pretty quick to a labyrinth of dusty books and old, faded record sleeves. She wanders the aisles of the junk shop they’re in, turning over trinkets in her hands and trying to figure out what exactly it is that she likes to do.

She likes swimming, she thinks. She enjoys the repetitiveness of it at least, the meditative nature of sinking into the water and switching your mind off, trusting your body with the movements. She likes how distant and echoey everything sounds down there. She likes the smell of chlorine, and how deeply she sleeps the nights after she has practice. Her coach gave her a leaflet about the best foods to eat before and after training, and she likes having a set of guidelines to follow given to her by someone she trusts.

New Year really has felt like a rebirth of sorts. Most of the time, Chrissy feels like a newborn calf stumbling around in the hay. Weak, but hopeful. Learning how to live.

Neither of them buy anything the whole day, but Chrissy finds a yellowed photograph of a woman from the dust bowl era, and she can’t really explain why but she loves it. She’s standing in front of her porch with no shoes on, wearing a long, floaty, floral dress. She’s beautiful. The guy behind the counter tells her she can have it for free.

—---------

After that, Eddie takes her to a little back-alley bar to meet up with some people he knows before the concert.

“I’ve got some friends I’d like you to meet,” he’d revealed on the way there, leading her down a side street by the hand. “If that’s okay?” He’d glanced at her tentatively at her over his shoulder, half expecting her to say no, but she’d agreed.

She’s nervous walking in, having never formally hung out with any of Eddie’s friends before, but as it turns out they're the first ones there.

“You should eat something,” Eddie tells her as she orders a beer. “You need to line your stomach if you’re gonna be drinking.”

Chrissy’s gut twists. They haven’t had any lunch, and she is hungry, but… new people. New environment. Greasy bar food. All of it makes her nervous.

Eddie must guess, because he whispers, “Wanna share?”

Chrissy nods gratefully, and he turns to the bartender and orders them a burger and fries, and a whisky and coke for himself.

“Starting on the hard stuff, huh?” She jokes as they slide into one of the brown leather booths near the back of the room, drinks in hand.

Eddie shrugs airily, an easy smile making its way onto his face. “Ehh. Figured we deserve to have a little fun tonight.”

Chrissy grins back at him.

It’s a cozy little bar - small and narrow, the walls all made of exposed brick giving it a dingy but intimate feel. There’s a jukebox by their table playing rock music. There are other metalhead types in, Chrissy notices, but there are regular-looking people as well. A real mixed crowd.

Their food comes out and Eddie splits the plate up with a practiced ease. Chrissy gets all the fries, and he gets the beef burger, which she hates, (but not before he dutifully hands over the pickles, which she loves).

She’s two beers in and full of salty carbs by the time Eddie’s friends arrive, and decidedly less nervous than when she walked in an hour ago. It’s not long before she realises there was never any need to be nervous in the first place.

There are three of them - two guys and a girl, all about Chrissy’s age, all metalheads. They greet her like she’s an old friend - the girl, Tracy, even gives her a hug - and Chrissy’s cheeks turn pink with pleasure when she realises Eddie’s already told them about her.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Tracy says as she pulls back from the embrace. Her hands, painted with chipped black nail polish, remain tight around Chrissy’s shoulders. “Wow, you’re pretty!”

“Oh! Um, thank you!” Chrissy replies shyly. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“I’m sorry, Chris - I should’ve said.” Eddie interrupts, leaning across the table to place his own hand on Chrissy’s arm. “These guys and I meet up a lot at concerts in different states.” He explains. “That’s how we all met, actually. At a Metallica concert a few years back.”

“Oh, I see! That’s cool.” She says, smiling at them.

Chrissy always thought that the “guys” Eddie would talk about going to concerts with were the guys from his band, but it would seem that Eddie had friends all over the place.

“I used to go to everything on my own,” one of the guys, Ian, tells her. “Before I met these guys, that is. I was one of the only metalheads in my school.”

Chrissy giggles. “So was Eddie!”

“Guess I found my tribe.” Eddie smiles softly, clapping Ian on the back.

She watches him fondly across the booth as he catches up with his gang. His tribe. Back in high school Chrissy may have been the popular one out of the two of them, but Eddie’s got more true friends than she ever did. It shouldn’t surprise her, either - Eddie was always kind. Always welcoming. He had been with her after all, hadn’t he?

More drinks keep appearing in front of her and everybody’s talking over each other and Chrissy’s keeping up until she isn’t. At some point, Eddie must notice she’s overwhelmed, because he catches her eye and makes a little cigarette sign with his fingers and jerks his head towards the door. She follows him out into the alleyway, the gasp of cold air a relief against her hot skin. It’s gotten dark out.

“I could see you as a big city boy.”

It’s the first thing she says to him, shoving her hands into her warm pockets as they lean against the outside wall. Eddie lights up his cigarette and laughs.

“St Louis is hardly the big city.”

“You know what I mean.” She says. “It suits you.”

Chrissy’s not lying. It does suit him - being here where the culture and the art and the music is. Where finding your clothes at the bottom of an old trunk at the thrift store is seen as something cool, something edgy, not as something shameful you have to do only if you can’t afford to buy new. Chrissy’s always pictured him finding a life in the city. Maybe not here in Missouri, but somewhere else. Like New York, or maybe Chicago.

Eddie just shrugs.

“One day, maybe.”

She watches him take a big drag and let the smoke go. He looks handsome in his leather jacket, the fuzzy orange street light softening all the hard angles that make up his face.

“Hey,” she suddenly finds herself saying. “I got you a Valentine's present.”

Eddie snorts a little but he doesn’t smile.

“Oh yeah?” Chrissy nods at him bashfully. “What’s that, princess?”

She goes fishing in her purse until she finds what she’s looking for. She pulls it out - a perfectly wrapped joint. Eddie’s name is written on the paper in her signature pink, glittery pen, and she’s drawn him a little heart. He takes it from her and turns it over in his hand, examining the craftsmanship. There’s a slightly bemused look on his face.

“Where’dya get that?” He wonders.

She shrugs.

“Made it.”

“Yeah, but with what? You pinch some of my stuff?”

“No, of course not!”

“So where’dya get it?” Eddie repeats, and a smile tugs at the corner of Chrissy’s mouth.

“From my dealer, of course.” She says simply, and his mouth drops open into an incredulous grin.

“You have a new dealer?!”

She’s not sure why he’s so surprised. Yeah, Eddie had been the one to introduce her to weed (sort of - she’d taken a puff or two at a few parties before she met him), but that didn’t mean she couldn’t smoke it on her own.

“What, am I not good enough now or something?” He says, only mostly joking, and to her absolute delight Chrissy realises he’s jealous.

“Eddie,” she begins, trying not to smile too wide. “We live in different states now. I have to get it from somewhere.”

He says nothing.

“I rolled it up real nice for you.” She offers, pointing out her handiwork, which she’s actually pretty proud of. “See?”

Smoking without Eddie is easy, but having to roll her own joints has proved that bit trickier.

“Hmph,” is all he says, and Chrissy’s positively gleeful.

“What?!” She says finally, unable to stop herself from all-out beaming.

“Thought you only smoked with me.” Eddie grumbles, smacking her shoulder with his so she stumbles a little. But he’s smiling in the dark now, too. Chrissy can tell by the way his voice sounds.

“Are you jealous?” She asks, pretending to be affronted, even though she already knows the answer.

Eddie scoffs.

“Look, all I’m saying is that not every dealer is gonna be as gentlemanly as I am-”

“Gentlemanly?!” Chrissy interjects with a disbelieving scoff of her own. He is gentlemanly, and she’d tell absolutely anyone that, just not Eddie himself. Not to his face, anyway.

“I’m telling you, Chris,” he continues, and she watches the glow of his cigarette waving about as he talks with his hands. “Your standard garden-variety dealer is as sleazy as they come. He probably thinks if he gives you enough free shit then he can get lucky-”

Chrissy pushes him hard, and he stumbles back off the pavement.

“What was that for?!”

“You’re being gross.” She says firmly. “Plus, you sure are talking some shit for a guy who’s not my boyfriend.”

She probably wouldn’t have said it if she hadn’t had four beers, but then again, Eddie probably wouldn’t have said what he did next, either:

“Yeah, well, maybe today we change that.”

Chrissy grins then, so hard it could probably split her ears, and it’s not the big, scary, serious moment that she’s been building it up to be in her head for the past six months.

“Whadda you say, Cunningham, huh?”

Her heart races.

“Sure, Eddie.”

“You for real?”

He might act cocky, but Chrissy knows Eddie well enough by now to know that he would never ask her for anything he wasn’t a hundred percent sure she was going to say yes to, and even when she does say yes he still has to double check anyway.

“Yes.” She says.

And that’s it. No fanfare, no fireworks, he’s just her boyfriend now. It’s something they probably should’ve talked about a while ago, she realises, but in that moment they’re both just glad they did it at all.

“So you wanna help me smoke this bad boy or what?” Eddie says, hardly missing a beat.

“Nah, it’s yours.” Chrissy tells him. There’s a confidence instilled into her chest that wasn’t there before. “Like I said. Consider it a Valentine’s day gift.”

—---------

The concert is loud and a little overwhelming if she’s honest, but Eddie sticks close behind her the whole time, arms slung around her waist and making sure she doesn’t get lost in the crowd even though she can tell he really wants to jump around like a madman. He even lets her get up on his shoulders at one point, which is kind of scary but also pretty cool.

Doro, the singer, is pretty cool too. She’s wearing chains and black leather but her hair is pretty and long, and even though she’s got one of those deep, powerful rock voices, Chrissy thinks there’s something kind of beautiful about it.

She’s never been in a room with so many people who look like Eddie before. It’s not everyone, mind. There are guys there with short hair and ordinary clothes and there are even some girls dressed a little like her. Chrissy always thought she’d feel so, so out of place at a metal concert, sticking out like a sore thumb, but everyone’s just lost in the music. They’re not looking at her at all.

Eddie asks her afterwards how she liked it.

“It was good!” She tells him as they file out of the building, gripping onto his arm so as not to lose him. In a crowd of this many long-haired, leather wearing metalheads, she’s not too sure she’d find him again.

“You don’t have to say that.” He says kindly, but she finds she’s not lying - not even a little bit.

“No, I’m serious actually. It was a lot of fun.”

There’s an afterparty going on at the apartment of one of Ian’s friends. They fall in step behind the rest of the group and Eddie whispers that they can just get a motel or something if she doesn’t want to go but she tells him no, she wants to hang out with his friends. Eddie looks so happy that Chrissy can’t help but grin, too. They take the metro downtown and get stares from people, and she finds herself delighting in it because this isn’t Hawkins - no one knows them here. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

The party’s already in full swing by the time they arrive. Three college guys live in the apartment - Ian’s friends. He and Tracy both go to college here.

Eddie’s mouth is at her ear as they walk through the front door.

“This is probably more your scene, huh?”

Chrissy hasn’t been to a lot of parties since she started at SIU, but the ones she has attended have been a little… uptight. This one bears a much closer resemblance to the high school keg parties she remembers from her cheer days - rammed to the rafters with people, half empty pizza boxes and spilled cans of beer littering every surface you can see. The music’s noisy and people are wasted, but what Eddie says is true - Chrissy kind of likes that in a party. Walking into a place like this doesn’t feel too dissimilar to walking down the busy high street in St Louis. You’re anonymous.

They sit on the floor in the living room sipping beer, Chrissy half in Eddie’s lap and talking to Tracy about college, while Eddie gets wrapped up in conversation with someone else about the concert. A little later, when she wanders through into the kitchen to find more drinks, Chrissy gets accosted by a girl with purple hair who nods towards Eddie in the next room and then back at her.

“You guys are such a hot couple,” she says, throwing Chrissy a flirty grin that she’s never been on the receiving end of from another girl before. “I don’t know which of you I’m more jealous of.”

Chrissy’s eyebrows nearly come off the top of her head. It’s friendly, at least she thinks, but it’s brazen, too, and she feels herself getting red as she stutters out an “oh, thank you!” with a little giggle. She grabs herself a beer off the side and another one for Eddie, and by the time she makes her way back to where they’re sitting some of the guys Eddie’s talking to have pulled out a bag of what looks to be cocaine.

She watches with curiosity as they tip the contents of little baggy onto a shiny silver tray on the coffee table. Ian crushes it up really fine with the razor blade he wears on a chain around his neck, before forming small lines in the powder. Some of the guys take it, some of them don’t.

Eddie looks extremely unfazed by what’s going on two people down from him, which is probably about right, all things considered. It doesn’t bother Chrissy at all, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t slightly jarring to see this part of Eddie’s world first-hand, and to see him looking so comfortable there. She hands him the beer and scoots back in beside him, tucking herself against the wall between him and Tracy as she tries to pick up the conversation from where she’d left it ten minutes ago. She cracks open her beer.

Chrissy and Eddie have drunk plenty of beer together in their time. Smoked a lot of pot, too. Never enough to get wasted, though, and never enough pot to get her out of her mind. At parties, sure, but never with him. They only ever did enough to let themselves pretend they weren’t in some dead-end town in Indiana.

They’re not in Hawkins tonight, though, and for once, Chrissy’s ready to get a little wasted. Get a little out of her mind. She’s not too sure how many more beers she gets to the bottom of before the curiosity eventually gets the better of her and she’s whispering in Eddie’s ear, “can I try some?”

By now, things are a little quieter, and they’ve migrated to a couple of shabby old armchairs in the centre of the room. She’s in his lap, playing with his rings as he has a conversation with Ian next to him. Eddie laughs against her neck and it sends a trail of goosebumps across her skin.

“You wanna try the blow?” He murmurs.

Ian’s cutting up lines on the table again and Chrissy’s watching him, the conversations that are happening around her all but tuned out.

“Yeah.” She whispers.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He says steadily, shifting her off him slightly to lean forward over the table. “Someone pass me the bag.”

No one's paying any attention to them, Chrissy notices, relieved. The music’s loud and everybody’s talkative and far too occupied with each other to pay them any mind. No one cares if this is her first time doing it or not.

“I don’t wanna snort one of those big lines.” She says quickly, grabbing Eddie’s hand as he goes to reach inside the bag. “Looks like it hurts.”

“Shouldn’t hurt,” he assures her. “Not if you crush it up small enough. But here, you wanna do it like this, for your first time. Ready?”

Chrissy nods, and he sticks his finger into the bag, telling her to open her mouth. Here goes nothing, she thinks. Gently, he rubs the substance onto her gums.

It looks like sugar but it tastes bitter, and still she sucks every bit of it off his finger, letting out an exhilarated little giggle just before he leans in for a kiss. It feels funny, her mouth quickly becoming numb, like she’s about to get a filling. She’s laughing when she breaks away but Eddie’s serious, looking up at her with those big, dark eyes.

Every so often, Chrissy has moments where she can’t quite believe that this is her real life. Now is one of them, sitting in Eddie Munson’s lap at a party in a different state, surrounded by metalheads and sucking coke off of his skull ring.

She’s having those moments a lot more frequently of late. Like when she’d told him she loved him over the phone three weeks ago and then she’d heard him come. Or just before, outside the bar before the concert when he’d asked her to be his girlfriend. It feels surreal.

After he makes sure she’s okay, Eddie takes some too. It’s kind of hot to watch, him scraping the white powder into a thin line with a practiced hand, rolling up a piece of paper and pushing it along the surface as he inhales it through his nose. After he’s done, he tips his head back and closes his eyes.

All of a sudden Chrissy’s feeling flushed, skin hot and her heart beating fast, and she doesn’t know what’s part of the drug and what’s Eddie. She’s overcome with the urge to kiss him, right there on the gross, stained armchair in front of everyone, which isn’t something she’d ever normally do but she’s going in for it before she can stop herself. Eddie doesn’t mind. She grinds down on his lap, nipping at his neck and whispering in her ear. It’s dirty shit, more renditions of what was said on the phone the other night. What she's gonna do to him. What she wants him to do to her. They’re in their own little world.

They stay up all night like that. Chrissy feels a little guilty that she’s not making more of an effort to talk to people besides him, but Eddie clearly doesn’t mind all that much, because every time she pulls away he’s dragging her back in for another kiss. He asks her how she’s feeling and then they take a little more, him using her dorm room key to show her how to do little bumps, all the while making sure she doesn’t get too much.

It’s a very different kind of high to pot or alcohol and she thinks she likes the feeling, but she knows she probably won’t do anything like it again. She’s happy for her first hard drugs experience to also be her last, to remain a wild memory from her college days that she can look back and smile about. She suspects that things aren’t quite the same for Eddie.

“How often do you take this kind of stuff?” She asks him at one point, after she’s watched him do another line using a rolled up ten dollar bill.

“Barely ever anymore, actually.” He replies truthfully. “This shit’ll ruin your life. And your finances.” He adds, waving the now-crumpled note at her. Chrissy nods, reassured. “Wasn’t gonna let you try it all on your own, though, was I?” He quips, and she grins.

“Okay, fair.” She concedes. “But I am glad to hear it.”

“Why’s that?”

She makes a face at him.

“Because you definitely have an addictive personality.”

Eddie laughs.

"Sure I do."

He looks down at her, all laid out across his lap, lips red and swollen and her nose all dusted in white. He taps at it teasingly with the tip of his finger. Chrissy grins up at him.

“After all," he starts again." I never could manage to leave you alone, could I?”

—---------

The bus ride back to college is unpleasant. Chrissy falls in and out of a restless sleep on Eddie’s shoulder, headache already setting in and a bitter, chemical drip in the back of her throat. She’s never been happier to get back to her dorm room in her life. The two of them crawl into her cramped little bed and sleep hard, neither one stirring until late into the afternoon.

The day disintegrates while they sleep, and Chrissy wakes up jaded and grimey, dismayed to find that it’s already gotten dark out. She wakes Eddie and makes him phone for pizza and when it comes they eat it in bed, and he doesn’t say a word when she picks the pineapple off every single one of his slices.

“Phew.” She says later, stretching out on her back and patting at her stomach, which makes him smile. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

The pizza box lays discarded on the floor next to the bed, now empty save for a few grease stains on the cardboard. Chrissy surprised herself by eating even more than Eddie, devouring slices one after another while barely even stopping for breath.

“That’s good, Chris.”

She rolls her eyes. Nothing makes Eddie happier at the moment than seeing her put away a plate of junk food. She mostly likes it, actually, but for some reason she still feels the need to act like he’s more annoying than he is.

“You’re gonna make me get all chubby.” She tells him with a frown, pulling at her t-shirt until her bare midriff is exposed. She pinches at the skin there and Eddie’s quick to swat at her hand. He knows she’s fishing for a compliment, (probably something like “but baby you’re so skinny. You could never be chubby!”) and Eddie’s too smart to take the bait. Plus, he would never say something like that to her, so instead he says: “And what would be wrong with that?”

Chrissy knows he’s right, but rather than admit that she just shrugs and changes the subject.

“We should take a shower.”

“Yeah.” Eddie agrees reluctantly. “No use staying in bed all day, I guess.”

They both look at each other expectantly, but neither one of them makes a move to get up from the bed. It’s far too warm under the comforter right now to consider leaving it for the drafty corridors of the accom.

“Okay, okay.” Eddie says finally with a yawn, stretching his limbs out across the sheets like a cat. “I’ll go first. You can lay there a little longer. Unless…?” He makes a move to get up and then he stops himself, throwing her a questioning look over his shoulder. “Unless you wanna go together?”

He cringes slightly as he says it, immediately worried he’s said the wrong thing, but to his surprise Chrissy's nodding at him shyly.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He repeats, just to make doubly sure.

“Yeah!”

Eddie grins.

“Shit, okay.”

“This is gonna be a tight fit.” She’s whispering a minute later as they squash themselves into the shower cubicle, giggling and trying not to slip on the wet tile.

Eddie’s seen her body before, but only in bits and pieces, never all at once like this. Actually, other than Chrissy’s mom, who’d always seemed to think it was her god-given right to barge in on her daughter changing, no-one’s seen her fully naked at all. It isn't scary like she thought it would be. She feels safe.

Eddie holds her body close under the hot water and murmurs that he loves her, ducks his head down into the junction between her neck and shoulder and plants a sweet kiss. It’s the first time he’s said those words to her in real life. Chest pressed against her back, she can feel his heart beating - strong and fast. He’s nervous. Or maybe he’s just as exhilarated as she is, naked, body flush against hers and enveloped in steam. They stay quiet, not wanting anyone else on the floor to hear them in here together, and both of them think privately that this is the closest they’ve felt to another person in a long time. Maybe ever.

Eventually the shower starts to run cold, forcing them to quickly finish up washing themselves (Eddie dancing from foot to foot, Chrissy quietly squealing as she rinses the last of the shampoo from her hair, sending icy shocks of water down her back).

After, Eddie lays down on the bed and watches her dry her hair in front of the big mirror she’s placed on top of her study desk, the surface of which looks more like a beauty salon than a place to work. He admires her reflection, watching as she picks up various bottles filled with sweet-smelling stuff that mystifies him like ‘heat protector’ and ‘de-tangler’. They sound like something you’d use on a car.

He must be staring kind of goofily because Chrissy turns to him, one corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile and says, “what?”

“You look beautiful.”

Eddie replies without thinking, but her smile widens and he senses it was the right thing to say.

He realises he probably doesn’t tell her things like that nearly enough. In his defense, Chrissy’s only officially been his girlfriend since yesterday. Eddie’s never really thought of himself as the romantic kind of guy, but for her, he thinks he could learn.

When she’s done she comes over to the bed and lays on top of him, and when he asks her what she feels like doing now she says she doesn’t know. Eddie has a suspicion that there is something she wants, though, because she buries her face into his neck and starts kissing at his throat, hands sliding up under his t-shirt and towards his chest. Eddie moves his hands down to steady her, one warm palm coming to rest firmly on her butt, one stroking the back of her bare thigh. After their shower, she’d slipped on a big t-shirt, fresh underwear and a pair of fuzzy socks. Nothing else.

“You don’t know?” Eddie repeats into her soft, freshly-washed hair, still slightly damp and smelling of apples. Chrissy shakes her head. He places a kiss where his words were, and his grip on her thigh becomes just a tiny bit tighter.

Her kisses have turned wet, her hot mouth open and spit-slick, sliding up towards his jaw, around to the soft spot behind his ear. She feels him growing hard.

It’s cold as hell in her little dorm room. The cinderblock walls do nothing to insulate and the heaters, controlled by some central system, are never switched on. The little window above her bed steams up pretty quickly. As Eddie rolls her over onto her back, she pulls the sheets up and around them, clinging to him for warmth. He’s hot as ever.

He kisses her for what feels like forever, like that’s all he ever plans to do with her, his soft, full lips teasing her own until they’re bruised and tingling. Chrissy puts her hands everywhere, half seeking his warmth and half just to touch him, to feel the hard muscle of his biceps and the soft, downy hair on his chest and stomach. Her hands travel lower and Eddie sighs against her, warm breath fanning over her face.

“Are we doing this?” He mumbles into her mouth, stopping to kiss her lips once, twice - little pecks. She nods vigorously, clutching him tighter, answering with a breathless, whispered “yes.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs, one hand skimming over her waist, her ribs, settling on her chest. “You sure?” Chrissy lets out a whole-body shudder when she finally feels his hot palm where she needs him, gently cupping her bare breast, thumb brushing over her nipple like an electric shock.

“Yeah, m’sure.” It comes out more desperately than she intended. She lays her hand over his own, squeezing, urging him to carry on, and he lets his head drop down into her neck.

“Alright, baby.” He whispers, his hand leaving her for just a second to thread his fingers through her own. He gives her a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got you, yeah?”

His voice is all low and it makes her shiver, nodding again as she loops her arms around his neck, pulling him down close and threading her fingers into his hair. She lets him work her up under the covers, touching and tasting everywhere except for where she wants it most, so that by the time he’s finally sliding her panties down she’s dripping.

She curls her knees up to her chest so Eddie can hook them down and over her feet, throwing them off behind him somewhere carelessly, which makes her giggle. His hands slide up the under-sides of her thighs, gently prizing them apart. This is the part always makes Chrissy feel the most exposed, the most vulnerable. Eddie knows she doesn’t like him looking at her for long, but right now, he can’t help it. She’s so… pretty. Rosy brown, wet and flushed and open. He places a single kiss to the inside of her knee, his dark gaze burning into her before he comes back up and they’re eye to eye.

“Okay?” He checks in, looming down for a soft kiss on the lips which Chrissy returns, mumbling into his mouth.

“Yeah Eddie, I’m okay.”

He splays his palm out on her lower belly, rubbing at her affectionately with his thumb until he’s slipping down lower. No one but herself has touched her there in nearly two months, and the first brush of his fingers against her lips sees her hips stutter and jerk.

Eddie starts off slow, working her up gradually just how he’s learned she likes it, needs it. He slips a finger inside and she whines, arms clamped tight around his shoulders and her hot little face buried in his neck. He can feel her changes of breath, damp and tickling on his skin.

He pushes a second finger inside, rubbing soft circles that make Chrissy opens her legs wider, hooking one foot around the back of his calf to bring them even closer than they already are. She pushes her hips up into his palm, grinding against the flat of it, urging his fingers deeper. She’s gasping softly, eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration, completely lost in the sensation. Eddie knows how this goes by now. He can tell that she’s close.

He curls his fingers, brushing fleetingly against the spot that makes her cry out.

“Eddie,” she whispers, and he cuts her off with a kiss, shushing her gently and pushing her bucking hips down into the mattress. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulls him down by his shoulders until there’s not even a millimetre of space left between them. He presses comforting kisses along her jaw, her neck, starts curling his fingers rhythmically like he has done a thousand times, the movements he spent the whole summer getting good at sending her over the edge like always. Those perfect, breathy sounds escape before he can trap them with his mouth, and Eddie finds he doesn’t care anymore if anyone can hear them. He wants to listen to those sounds forever, Chrissy’s hallmates be damned.

He gives her a breather while he strips his shirt off, throwing it behind him to join the rest of the growing pile. Chrissy takes her t-shirt off too, finally sufficiently warmed up, leaving her in only the socks. With a sharp twang, Eddie's brought back to their phone call a few weeks earlier, to all the things he’d confessed to her. He thinks of their coked-up conversation from the night before, of the things he’d promised to do to her.

“Chris, baby.” He says, reaching out to stroke at her sweaty, bare stomach. She’s still panting, coming down from her high, but her head snaps up the minute he says her name.

“Huh?”

“How are you feeling?”

She squints up at him. He’s sitting crossed-legged on the bed above her, stroking her belly and admiring her now-naked form. Chrissy eyes the bulge in his underwear. Left only in his boxers, he’s straining against the thin material.

“Good.” She tells him.

“Baby,” he starts again, shifting onto his side so that he’s propped up over her, leaning on one elbow. “Remember that thing we talked about, on the phone?”

“What thing?” She wonders.

“Me going down on you.” Eddie prompts. “Remember?”

“Oh.”

Chrissy reaches up to take a lock of his hair between her fingers, twisting it back and forth around her pointer. Her breathing is starting to calm down, sweat cooling a little on her chest. She shivers.

“You wanna try it?” Eddie prompts again, one hand skating down her shoulder, coming to rest at her waist.

They’ve only done that once before, back in the summer, and Chrissy had been too nervous to let him carry on for very long. Things are different now, though, and despite the nervous tingling in her stomach, she nods her head yes.

“Jus’ tell me to stop if you don’t like it.” Eddie assures her as he makes his way down, settling in between her thighs. “Okay?”

“I don’t think I’ll need to, but okay.” She whispers as he nips gently at the inside of her thighs.

Eddie strokes at her legs reassuringly while his kisses move closer to her centre, leaving a burning path of desire in their wake. Something else Chrissy didn’t know before meeting Eddie is that she can come more than once - maybe even infinitely, if she has inclonation. It makes her feel a little guilty sometimes, particularly when she’s on orgasm number three and Eddie’s neglected dick is still inside his trousers, untouched. On the other hand, though, it feels like karma, divine retribution for all the times Jason tried to get her off and failed, so she can never really feel too bad for too long.

Eddie grabs a handful of her ass and spreads her legs wider before diving in, licking an experimental stripe right up her clit. Unprepared for how intense it immediately feels, Chrissy lets out a squeal, clapping her hands over her mouth to shut herself up.

He has to hold her hips down, doing his best to still and subdue her as she squirms all over the bed, but she never asks him to stop. In truth, it feels even better than it did in her memory, only this time she’s going to let him continue all the way. She's going to let herself come in his mouth.

At one point, Eddie reaches up to slap his own hand over her mouth, and even though neither of them really care about being quiet any more she seems to like it, so he keeps it there. She grabs onto his wrist with both hands, alternating between biting at his palm and sucking on his fingers, which earns her a pained groan.

Poor Eddie, she remembers. Still untouched, after all this.

“Touch yourself.” She encourages, leaning up just a little on her elbows until she can make eye contact. What she’s not prepared for is the way he looks.

Lips pink and swollen, his face is wet with her, his hair wild from where she’s grabbed and pulled at it, and his pupils are so blown his eyes look black. Chrissy’s breath hitches.

“Chris, I can’t.” He warns, shaking his head. “I’ll come for sure.”

His expression is so serious it scares her for a minute.

“Really?” She says, not sure how that can be true, but the look on his face tells her he’s not lying.

“Yeah,” he breathes, dipping his head back down to place a burning kiss on her thigh. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long Chris, you don’t even know.”

Her stomach twists with his words, suddenly devastated that she’s deprived him - deprived herself - for so long.

This is brand new territory for Chrissy, and she doesn't realise she's approaching her climax until she’s right on the edge. Eddie’s tongue is inside her, fucking her - something so thrillingly intimate it sets her heart racing, and his nose is bumping against her clit.

“Eddie. I think I’m gonna…”

She lets him know and he threads both of his hands through hers, lacing their fingers together tightly before bringing them to rest on her hips. She drapes her shaking legs over his shoulders and squeezes his hands tight, trying her best to keep breathing as he brings her over the edge for the second time that night.

It’s a different high to when he uses his fingers - a sharp spike of pleasure that makes her yell, followed by a dozen little aftershocks, pulsing through her body like waves. Her legs spasm wearily, and Eddie keeps planting little kisses to her clit until she pushes him off, too sensitive. She’s gasping for air again, chest heaving as she comes down.

Eddie kneels up on the bed, surveying her beneath him for a second as he wipes his glistening mouth on his elbow before surging down to meet her in a kiss. She realises she’s tasting herself - salty and a little tangy, but nothing too bad. Eddie seems to like it, though.

“See how sweet you taste?” He’s murmuring, kissing her fervently over and over again, like he’s high, and even though she doesn’t see how anybody could think it tastes sweet she indulges him, because it makes her feel like some kind of goddess.

He stills after a while, rolling off her, and she rolls onto her side to face him.

“You wanna take a breather?” Chrissy asks, to which he shakes his head violently.

“No, why? Do you want to?”

She shakes her head.

“No.” She says, grabbing him again in another searing kiss, pulling him in closer.

“No.” She repeats. “Want you to fuck me. Eddie, please, I’m ready. You promised you would.” She adds, pulling back to look at him earnestly, and Eddie’s not sure why she thinks she needs to beg but it pulls at his heart all the same.

“‘Course I will,” He assures her, kissing her clumsily in between words. “You sure you still want to?”

“Yeah I’m sure,” Chrissy says for the umpteenth time tonight. “Eddie, please?”

“Alright, baby.” He says, soothing her with a kiss to the shoulder before he’s clambering off the bed. “One sec.”

He makes a beeline for his bag under the desk, and Chrissy watches his ass as he roots around in there, up to his elbow.

“Just getting a condom.” He explains, glancing at her over his shoulder with a sweet, bright grin. Chrissy’s heart skips.

He finds what he’s looking for and comes back over, kicking his underwear off before perching on the edge of the mattress. She watches his cock spring back against his belly, flushed pink at the tip and leaking. She thinks, not for the first time, about how thick he is, and wonders briefly how she’s going to accommodate him.

“Eddie?” She whispers, and he turns to look at her again over his shoulder, hovering behind him on the bed. He puts the condom packet down and reaches for her.

“What is it, princess?”

She kneels next to him and puts a hand down on his shoulder, which he quickly covers with his own. He’s looking up at her with his big brown eyes, kind and warm and expectant. She shifts her gaze away, burying her face into his shoulder.

“Will it hurt?”

She mumbles it into his skin, and his hands come to rest around her waist.

“Maybe a little,” he says truthfully, mouth brushing by her ear before he’s kissing her hair. “But it won’t be for long, I promise.”

And that’s all it takes - that’s all it ever takes, if she’s honest, for her to calm down again. Just one word from him, reassuring but not hiding the truth, so that she knows that no matter what happens next things are going to be okay.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She says, picking up the shiny wrapper and pushing it into his hand.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Let's do it.”

Eddie looks at her a beat too long, searching, but in the end he must find what he’s looking for because he nods - more to himself than anything - and rolls the condom on. He swings his legs round onto the bed and pats the space next to him.

“C’mere, beautiful.”

Chrissy wants to be under him, wants to be able to look up at him and hold him and pull him down close and kiss him, and most of all she wants to feel like he’s in control and that she’s safe and of course Eddie doesn’t mind any of that.

First, he lays his dick out on her stomach, and he gets this sort of strung out look in his eyes when he sees how far inside her he’s about to be. Like, all the way up in her stomach. He feels a little nervous for her if he’s honest. Not that he thinks his dick is anything special - it’s just that Chris is really fucking tiny. After one final check that she’s ready, he lines himself up and slowly pushes inside.

He kisses her forehead as he enters her, distracting her from the sting. After the initial pain subsides, however, Chrissy’s surprised to find that it doesn’t hurt at all. It feels strange, for sure, and maybe a tiny bit uncomfortable, but it’s a totally manageable feeling. He’s big inside of her, and it sort of feels like she needs to clamp down around him, like her body wants to push him back out, but after a couple of minutes she’s getting used to the feeling and urging him to move.

It doesn’t exactly become pleasurable - not like when he fingers her, or just before when he’d kissed and licked her clit. But it does feel nice to finally have him inside of her, so close to her after so much waiting, particularly every now and then when she feels him brush up against that spot.

For Eddie, however, it’s a completely different story. In truth, he’s been wrecked from the first thrust, unable to believe quite how good she feels, how tight and how hot, even through the condom. By this point, he’s not had sex for about a year, because deep down, even though he’d told himself at the time it wasn’t true, he’d been holding out for Chrissy since long before she’d split up with Jason. It’s for that reason that Eddie’s amazed he’s not coming instantly - although it’s still an embarrassingly short length of time before he’s physically fighting his body not to.

“You feel so good, Chris.” He whispers into her ear, head dropped down onto the pillow below. His voice sounds utterly wrecked, and it sends shivers down Chrissy’s spine. “Oh my god. M’ not gonna last, I’m sorry,” he rambles, lost control of his mouth by now and long past bothering to try and reign himself in. “You just feel so fucking good - so fucking tight. I can’t believe it.”

His words make her throb, make her back arch and her toes curl, and all of a sudden she is up there with him after all.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, hiding the amazed grin that’s burgeoning on her lips into his shoulder. “Eddie, that feels really good.”

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah, I’m really not kidding.”

She laughs against his shoulder, and Eddie’s half stunned. He’s never been someone’s first time before, and of course, he was always going to make sure she wasn’t hurting, but he’d kind of resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be a dud, pleasure-wise. So to hear her say that, that he was making her feel good - it’s pretty amazing.

“Ed, keep going.” Chrissy spurs, tapping him lightly on the back. He hadn’t realised he’d stopped moving. “Please,” she adds, nipping at his neck affectionately. Eddie’s heart soars.

She's renewed his confidence, and somehow, seemingly, his stamina, and he manages to last a little while longer before he’s about to fall off the edge.

“Fuck - Chris, baby. I’m gonna come.” He pants, biting down into her shoulder as he fights to keep his thrusts steady.

“Come for me, baby.” She whispers it, mouth on his ear, and his hips stutter violently as he lets out a high pitched groan. “Come inside me.” She appeals again, making him swear under his breath, eyes screwed shut. “Wanna feel it, Ed. Wanna feel you come.”

He’s done for, spilling into the condom with a drawn-out moan that’s so pretty it makes Chrissy’s stomach flip. She pets his hair as he collapses on top of her, winded and panting.

“You’re a bitch for that.” Is the first thing he says when he gets his breath back, looking up from her chest with this dreamy, fucked-out expression on his face. It’s quite something. They both burst out laughing.

“Fuck,” he says as he comes up to kiss her, hard and a little wet, before he’s pulling out of her to slip the condom off. “I love you, Chris.”

“I love you too.”

He seems surprised to hear her say it back so readily, but he covers it up with a smile to himself, tying the condom off in a knot before he chucks it towards her waste-paper basket. It misses. Chrissy doesn’t seem to notice, though, so he says nothing and lays back down next to her, arms out wide to receive her in a sweaty, sticky cuddle. It’s a little gross honestly, but that’s okay with him.

“How was that, my darling?” He murmurs tenderly into the top of her head.

“Good.” She says contentedly, snuggling into his neck.

“Yeah? Not painful or anything?”

“No.” She answers honestly, craning her neck up to kiss him for the millionth time that night. “Felt pretty good towards the end, actually.”

“Ah,” Eddie says with a grimace. “About that. Sorry you didn’t get to come.”

Chrissy laughs, incredulous.

“Eddie, don’t be stupid. I came twice before we even got started.” She grins at him, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “I think that’s more than fair.”

“It’ll get better.” He promises her. “Next time, I mean. In fact, gimme twenty minutes and we’ll go for round two, I'm serious. I’ll last longer than thirty seconds this time, promise.”

He draws a cross shape over his heart with his finger and Chrissy giggles at his dramatics, rolling her eyes. Leave it to Eddie to get her half-way to her third orgasm in an hour and be self-deprecating about it.

He makes good on his word, though, after they take a break for snacks and after he’s eaten her out once more, because now he’s experienced it he can’t resist doing it again. And it does get better. Much better, in fact.

It’s not until they collapse into a sweaty heap some hours later that Chrissy notices the time on her alarm clock, blinking at her from over on her desk. 01:47.

“Hey, look!” She manages, out of breath and stiff and sore, pointing over at the desk. Eddie looks over at her questioningly. He follows her finger and then looks back at her, not understanding at first until she clarifies, head flopping back onto the pillow. “It’s my birthday.”

“Hey, look at that.” Eddie says, a brilliantly sleepy grin making its way onto his face. Chrissy’s follows. He reaches out for her naked form, pulling her in and pressing a big, wet kiss onto her cheek, making her squeal and squirm out of his grasp.

“Happy birthday, princess.”

It’s gonna be a good year.

—---------

Chrissy feels like it might as well read “not a virgin anymore” on her forehead in big red letters. She doesn’t know for sure if anyone heard them, but when they trudge through into the kitchen the next morning, pink faced and eyes on the ground, no one says anything. A couple of the girls from her floor (Suzy and Kathleen - two super sweet, slightly nerdy girls Chrissy’s become friendly with in the last few months) are already in there, talking and drinking coffee.

Chrissy’s noticed that Kathleen always blushes a tiny bit when she sees Eddie, and this morning is no exception. Chrissy doesn’t mind. Eddie makes her blush, too.

She’s blushing right now, actually, stealing looks at him from across the breakfast table, over the stack of waffles a mile high that Suzy's gone out of her way to make for them knowing it was Chrissy's birthday.

Chrissy wonders if her mom will call her, glancing periodically towards the phone in the hall as she sips her coffee.

“Do you want her to?” Eddie prompts, and the answer's probably no but also, kind of, in a way maybe yes? Birthday feelings can be confusing.

“Hey, come somewhere with me.” Eddie says to her after they clear away the plates.

They take the van into town, and he won't tell her what he's doing as he parks up on the street corner and runs into somewhere (obscured by parked cars, Chrissy can’t see what the store is). He comes out hiding something behind his back, but he can’t disguise it for long. It’s a huge bunch of flowers - lilies, specifically, which are her favourite flower, although Chrissy swears she's never told him.

"Oh! Eddie, you didn't have to get me anything!"

She grins, making a grab for them, and it's the sort of thing Chrissy always says but for once, she really means it. She genuine hasn't even given a single thought towards presents. The amazing weekend Eddie's given her has been enough.

Eddie holds the flowers out of her reach and tells her to open the glove compartment. There’s an envelope in there, and she shoots him a weird look before opening it.

It’s a birthday card, and inside it’s been signed by a while bunch of people - Steve Harrington, Max Mayfield, Nancy Wheeler, Gareth, Jeff, Grant. Even some of the girls from cheer have signed their names - she recognises Tina’s handwriting right away, and there's Lisa. A few more. Lots of little handwritten messages reading ‘happy birthday’ and ‘good luck with college’ and ‘hope to see you soon’, all from people she’d honestly thought she’d lost as friends, and some she didn’t even know she had as friends in the first place.

"Eddie…” she begins, blinking back a stray tear or too as she tries to process what’s in front of her. “You got everyone to sign this?”

“Not just that.” He tells her, smiling. “They all put a little money in for you, too.”

“What?”

She doesn’t quite understand what he’s saying at first. Doesn’t quite believe it.

“Baby, these are from your friends.” he explains gently, finally handing over the bouquet of pinks and whites. She grabs it, so big she's barely able to close her arms around it, and inhales the scent she loves.

“Wanted to get you the best flowers we could afford.” Eddie says proudly. “It was Harrington’s idea, actually.”

Eddie had taken Steve's advice about the flowers. How Eddie knew her favourites were lilies though, he doesn't know. She's never told him. It's like he has this sixth sense sometimes, when it comes to her, and it told him not to get her roses - he just knew somehow that they wouldn't be right.

“God, I thought Tina hated me - I…”

Chrissy’s eyes are streaming now, and Eddie has to admit he feels a little bad, even though he knows the tears are mostly happy ones. “I should give her a call. And god, Gareth, Eddie. And Grant and Jeff. Your friends put money in, for me. I don't even know what to say.”

Eddie shrugs pleasantly.

“They’re your friends too. They love you, Chris.”

She looks up at him with her big, glassy eyes, and the look on her face - it's really something. He knows he's done a good thing, but, never one to dwell it, he quickly directs her attention back to him.

“Oh uh, I also got you a little something just from me, too.”

He pulls it out of his back pocket. A pink, sparkly swimming cap. It's not wrapped - just a gag gift, but hey. It's the thought that counts.

“A swimming cap?”

Eddie nods gruffly.

You’re always telling me how the chlorine’s making your hair turn green, so.”

“Awh Eddie, that’s thoughtful of you." She beams, reaching up to bring him down for a quick kiss. "Thank you. Even if swimming caps do make me look like an egg.”

Eddie grins.

“Babe, you're gonna be the prettiest, pinkest egg in the pool.”

They both crack up laughing.

Chrissy props the flowers up on the back seat and they leave the car to go get carrot cake and milkshakes in town, and it tastes even better than how Chrissy imagined her eighteenth birthday cake had tasted.

She eats the whole slice and doesn’t think twice about it because hell, it’s her big day. She deserves it. Eddie watches her proudly, and she doesn’t give her mom or dad or anybody else a second thought all day.

Yeah. It's gonna be a good year.

#eddissy #hellcheer #eddie munson #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #eddie munson smut #hellcheer fanfic #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson headcanon

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literaila · 3 years ago

Text

ten seconds of space.

spencer reid x reader

summary: the reader overhears spencer ask for space and well...

warnings: angst, seperation anxiety, intimacy issues, fluff, contridicting myself every sentence.

a/n: hi darlings! so, maybe you know, that a year ago i started writing again. and maybe you also know that exactly a year ago (in two hours!) i posted my first fic called “space”. it was a birthday present to myself, and so now, so is this. if you enjoyed space i hope you’ll enjoy this! (the only differences are.. improvements i hope). thank you for reading, and getting me here.

the first one here.

it was something in the air, sure.

it must’ve been something uncontrollable, unexplainable. something in the air.

that’s why you’re staring at him, now, watching him with a familiar sensation in your stomach.

love, maybe? pain, possibly. maybe it’s just because you haven't eaten anything yet, or maybe this feeling is real. you don’t really care, you know.

you just stare, watch his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and resist the urge to reach out to him. in so many ways, you’re resisting the urge.

it’s mornings like this— since nearly a week ago —that you adore most. mornings when you can just pretend until the alarm goes off. when you don’t have to sleep, cold, next to him.

it’s something in the air, something around you, on mornings like this. if you have to put the blame somewhere— and you do because this is shameful, because this is ridiculous and you hate it —you’re going to put it on the air.

and the sun, and the blankets, and your emotions, and this infuriatingly beautiful man who is lying next to you. and those words, terrible words that just won’t-

it’s an immature deflection that you don’t care to think about.

you breathe in, one, two seconds. then, close your eyes and memorize the scent.

your hand reaches out, your eyes are still closed, not ever daring to actually touch spencer’s skin. (never). but, coming just close enough to his cheek, just right there. the warmth, tiny, superfluous, is just enough to keep your hand from daring any closer.

it’s enough to keep the words at bay. to avoid that swell in your chest.

to make sure he’s still sleeping.

…you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. honestly, you trusted spencer, you trusted your friends, and you knew that spencer would tell you if something was going on.

well, used to.

it wasn’t your fault, really, that you slipped up. that you stood on the other side of the door (cracked only slightly, just enough for you to hear) and listened to every word he said.

it was an accidental pause, one that you might wince at every time you thought back. but still, you didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

especially not when he was talking about you, telling JJ that he-

you breathe in again. force the memory away from the front of your mind. you turn to check the clock, making sure to never let your hand drift too far down, and frown when you catch the numbers.

there’s only a few more minutes left of this morning, of this moment. you want to savour every second, but really, how can you do that when you’re not even supposed to be looking at him in the first place?

a scoff emerges from the silence, not loud enough to wake spencer, but enough to bring your attention back to that feeling in your stomach.

love, you swear. why would you be feeling anything else?

you steal another look. watch his parted lips, breathing, watch his eyebrows, his nose, his cheek, his eyelids, and his skin. his skin.

you’re looking at it all, and you know it’s not really there but you can hear something counting down the seconds in your mind. reminding you that this is it. it’s cruel.

finally, you let one fingertip trail along the space under his eyes, you let one fingertip move across his cheek and bask in the exhilaration. spencer doesn’t stir. doesn’t breathe.

you smile, for only a moment.

and then, there’s ten seconds, and you’re moving away from spencer.

there’s nine seconds and the smile on your face is gone.

there’s eight seconds left, left, and you’re closing your eyes briefly. trying to keep that feeling from tearing through them.

there’s seven seconds and you’re rolling on your side, facing away from him.

six seconds.

and then five, and you whisper the rest of the numbers out loud, you breathe and breathe and there’s only one second left.

you don’t jump when the alarm goes off. you don’t move, you don’t breathe.

spencer is sitting up beside you, always meticulous and dependable.

you breathe in once and feel his hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake. you breathe once and turn to look up at him.

“good morning,” he whispers, notes of sleep around his eyes and a soft smile on his face.

you stare, watch, look. you stare for only one second, just to get a chance to look into his eyes, longing for something that’s not really there. and then as every other day this week—

you’re up and out of bed, away from his eyes, within five seconds. you’re in the other room in six.

when spencer looks at you later that day— at work, several hours after you stopped thinking —you don’t hesitate to smile.

it’s easy, actually, to act normal from across the room.

it’s easy to enjoy the smile you get in response. it’s easy to enjoy it just for a second.

you turn around though, forget the moment ever happened.

it’s exhausting to pretend this is normal, so terribly easy. it’s too much for the middle of the afternoon, for a boring day at work.

you tune those thoughts out and get back to the paperwork you’re supposed to be finishing. you haven’t noticed the looks your teammates have been giving you lately, so you don’t notice now.

really, it’s not that hard to pretend. not this time.

you didn’t mean to eavesdrop when you failed to knock on the door. you didn’t mean to pause, or to turn your head so that you could hear a little bit better.

you didn’t mean to listen, or to turn around a minute later, wet eyes and dry feelings.

it was all an accident.

to be there and to hear. to be taking a file to him at this very moment.

but you are, and you were, and you’re standing there, hanging onto his every word.

“it’s…” there was a murmur, something you couldn’t hear through the door. “suffocating…”

you shouldn’t have been standing there.

“i’m sure y/n isn’t…” the higher voice drifted off, and still, you weren’t supposed to be listening.

“no, no. it’s not them, it’s just-“

this time the voice stopped. you were leaning in closer, curiosity spiked, adrenaline flowing.

you should’ve just walked away.

“i just need some space,” there was something after that, a whisper, a name you knew, a word you could hear. but you were already walking away.

it wasn’t much. it wasn’t a long sentence. it wasn’t anything significant.

except, except. he had whispered your name, just after. he had said the words, the words— that would repeat themselves over and over for god knows how long after —and then he had whispered your name.

i just need some space. he said.

not to you, of course. it was an accident to hear them in the first place.

i just need some space.

you walked away, slouching, unaware of anything else. you tried not to listen, tried not to hear it. begged that pause to erase itself, and begged those words to disappear.

but they couldn’t, and they wouldn’t. and maybe, maybe it wasn’t an accident at all.

at home, you move rooms.

you’re learning, you know. learning how to separate yourself, how to keep your distance, how to be better.

how to. how to. how to.

you decided, moments after those words, seconds after that feeling crawled its way up your neck. you decided that you needed to learn how to give spencer space, how to be okay with some more distance.

and that everlasting question, what are you doing wrong?

, well you had to learn how to fix it.

but you’re still learning. and you still yearn to cuddle with him on the couch when he sits next to you. you still want to play with his hair when he’s sitting at his desk. you still want to drag him to get coffee at two in the morning, and laugh with him when he beats you at chess.

you want it all, but, you have to learn. and so, you learn, you navigate and you try to let it all go. smile at spencer, kiss him in the morning, hand him his file at work, and keep your distance.

it’s a perfectly balanced, perfectly organized routine, but he always tilts the scale when he comes to sit down next to you.

when he watches you in the kitchen, and when he comes into the bathroom with you to brush his teeth.

when it hurts, when it burns, when you ask again, what are you doing… but you still try to discreetly move out of the way. when you smile at him then change rooms and pretend this is all normal.

he walks into the room now, book(s) in hand, a happy smile on his face. he watches you and you pretend not to notice. then, he sits next to you, so close, and leans your way.

he smiles some more and whispers out a gentle “hey, love,” as he opens his book.

you acknowledge him with a short “hey,” so quiet that you’re not sure if he heard.

you breathe while he’s right next to you, try to keep your eyes off his hands and off his face and off of him.

and too many seconds later, you’re getting up. you’re swiftly walking away.

and you don’t turn back to look at him. you’re learning.

there was something to be said about the feel of his skin.

god, you’re not supposed to be doing this.

something there, addictive, exhilarating, an unstoppable tidal wave of emotion. something to be said about the feel of his skin against yours.

you’re supposed to be walking away right now.

something about his hands and his mouth and this kiss that he’s breathing into you.

what are you doing wrong?

you’re kissing him, you know, you’re kissing him because he grabbed onto your waist. you’re kissing him because once he was close enough, once you could practically taste him, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

you’re kissing him because you miss him and because he grabbed onto you while you were walking by because he grabbed on and he wouldn’t let you go and you missed him so much and—

what are you doing wrong?

you’re not supposed to be doing this.

it’s his voice, it’s his face, it’s his skin, it’s his lips, it’s his everything that finally gets you to break away from him with a gasp.

it’s his words, from before, that finally get you to move away, a few steps back, and catch your breath.

spencer is just staring at you, lips raw, eyes glistening.

he’s so beautiful and this is so terrible.

you smile, tight-lipped, trying not to say anything.

“what?” he asks, he’s smiling back, bigger than you. you’re both still panting.

you can hear those words again, louder, pounding in your ears almost as loud as your heart.

this was a mistake, you know.

“i’m tired,” is all you say. not really answering, not really listening.

but it could be true, it might be true. you’re right next to the bed and it’s so easy to slip in and pretend that whatever just happened didn’t happen.

it’s so easy to forget everything, all of it, to leave yourself standing there on the floor while you lay in bed.

it must be easy for spencer too, because, moments later you feel him move in beside you.

you both fall asleep, inches apart.

it's the words that keep you from crying out to him.

it’s the words that stop you from telling him.

it’s those words, so loud, that make sure to lock your secret up. to hide the pain away somewhere no one will ever find it.

except for maybe you, because really, how can you avoid it?

it’s those words, too many and too much, that keep you from talking to spencer. from asking him for help. from begging him for a hug, or a kiss, or even just a glance that lasts longer than five seconds.

you don’t want space, you want to scream at him. but you cant, you won’t, and spencer shouldn’t know. you shouldn’t blame him for the words.

but you hate them, you hate them so much that sometimes you feel as if your chest is going to explode. you think you’re going to collapse if you spend one more night years away from him. you think that you’re almost gone, that you won’t make it. you hate them.

you hate them for making you feel this helpless, for hiding you from spencer. you hate them.

(but maybe. maybe you don’t.

maybe you can’t because they came from him. because they’re a truth that you needed to hear. maybe you love them because they’re so obvious. After all, they’ll keep him here longer.

maybe you love them, secretly.)

it wouldn’t matter if the words weren’t there— pounding in your head, yelling in your ear —anyway, you think.

you and spencer don’t talk much, these days.

you aren’t expecting it, when it comes.

or maybe you are. you can't really remember, to be honest.

but you’ve noticed the looks, the frowns, the raised eyebrows. you noticed, you know. you just ignore it. just ignore it all.

so, when it comes, when he’s finally in front of you, finally there. you aren’t expecting it.

not the quip in his voice.

not the harsh way he asks you what’s going on.

not his never-ending stare.

“what?” you ask back, staring at the floor because there’s not much else to stare at.

“what's going on?” he asks again, softer this time. he's standing in front of you, blocking your way through the door.

you can feel the impatience rising up in your chest. you just want to go lay down, right now. you look up.

“can i pass, spence?”

he looks shocked at the words, and for a moment you wonder if it's because you didnt answer, or because you’ve just called him spence. by the look on his face, you guess it could be both.

you sigh and wait. you’ve been waiting all day.

you still didnt expect it though.

“what?”

“i want to go throu-”

“no, i heard you. i just...” he pauses, turns around and through the door, complying with you. you move past him.

this is cruel of you, some part of you knows, this is cruel. but you’ve learned, you’ve practiced for far too long to stop now.

you cant just stop because spencer asks a question. you cant stop. you wont make another mistake.

the bile rises in your throat. you push it down with a question, you turn it away, slam the door.

spencer is looking at you, watching you grab something out of a drawer. you can feel his eyes on your back.

“what is going on?” he asks again, anger and desperation mixing in his voice this time. you’re glad you cant see his eyes, you note. glad this isnt really happening.

you’ve been playing pretend for a while.

“nothing, spencer,” you say, you mutter, you sigh. you’re very tired, you realize.

“nothing?” he whispers and you turn around to face him. his soft eyes are pleading, now. his face is contorted, his worry is palpable in the air. you dont understand it.

you’ve been acting perfectly normal.

there's a longing in your mind that wishes for it to go away.

you nod at him.

spencer laughs then, a harsh sound in the quiet room. you dont think you understand anything. “nothing?” he repeats, a doubtful question this time. “you arent even looking at me,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair and your eyes flick up. “you won't even look at me for more than two seconds at a time and theres nothing going on?”

you meet his eyes. dont flinch. this is normal. it's very easy.

“i’m looking at you now,” you offer, a brighter tone, shifting into a happier person in an instant.

spencers eyes are wide. “thats not-” he groans and moves away, turns toward the bed and paces. you can see his impatience with you, you can feel the tension in the air.

and despite everything, the voices, the words, the feeling in your stomach you’re trying to push down, you still have to help. somehow, you have to do more.

“whats wrong, spence? what can i do?” you’re asking, you’re pleading and spencer turns around so fast you have to take a step back.

“what can...” his voice is drifting off as he observes your face, your terribly blank face. hes walking closer, and you’re taking another step back.

its painful, to be standing this close to him. painful, to not scream at him, painful to keep it all hidden behind your perfectly placed mask. your face doesnt move though, despite the pain.

spencer tries again. takes a step forward. you take a step back.

his eyes are frightened, but you can barely tell.

“can i touch you?” he asks, soft, a voice you recognize but cant recall. his eyes are careful, his smile is practiced.

you breathe in and the first flash of emotion hits your eyes. you gulp. can he touch you? you wonder, can he?

“um,” you pause and nod at him, you pause and try to weigh the outcomes. you try not to freeze. “sure,”

your words are quiet but spencer is rushing towards you, hes taking your arm in his hand, and hes trying to meet your eyes but you’re looking at the floor again.

this is so strange. theres something about his skin.

“are you okay?” he asks, he wonders, he pleads with you again.

you laugh, trying to liven your voice, trying to push down that stupid-

you laugh. you nod. “i’m fine,” you say, but your voice is too loud, but you’ve spoken too fast and its coming out wrong.

spencer whispers your name. it takes all your effort not to look up at him. not to move closer, not to suffocate him with your hug, with your kiss. it takes so much effort to breathe out again.

he whispers your name. again.

you dont know if its him, or if its you, but suddenly your chin is up, your eyes are on his and you want to melt under his touch, you want to melt to the floor and disappear into the earth. you want so, so many things that you arent supposed to have.

“are you okay?” hes asking the same questions again and again, but this question is desperate, helpless. you can hear that. he doesnt understand, you know, and thats terrifying.

“why, spencer?” you ask, you demand from him in a soft voice.

you dont need to do this right now. you can just go to bed, you think. you want to move away, you’re sure, but thats such a lie.

he whispers your name again, takes another step toward you. its threatening in a way, terrifying in its advance.

“why?” you demand again. “why now?”

you’re fully in his arms now, his hold quick, strong, as your voice breaks, as your breathing halts. you’re whispering it over and over again, why why why, and spencer doesnt know what to do. he doesnt know whats going on.

so he asks, one more time.

“whats going on, love?”

that feeling is there now, you know, that feeling that is just pain, just longing, just nothing and everything and so much. unbearable, strong, malicious.

“i’m just trying to give you space,” you sob out, turning, wrapping yourself in him, breathing in the scent of his sweater. you’re crying, but you cant feel the tears. and you’re shaking, but you cant feel your limbs.

you think, briefly, that spencer must be holding you up but you dont know.

spencer, in reality, is frozen. hes repeating your words in his head. hes going over them like an equation, something he cant solve.

just the same as you.

the two of you, together, think over and over and over again. the words that have been stuck in your head for so long.

space. space. space.

its such an evil little word and its attacking you both. you hate it.

“you heard,” spencer whispers against your head, maybe in awe, maybe in shock. “you werent supposed to hear that,”

you laugh but it comes out as more of a sob.

spencer is apologizing, whispering to you, saying “shh, shh,” in your ear. hes trying to console you, but he barely even knows how you figured it out, why you havent spoken to him.

hes recalling everything thats happened, every kiss, every passing touch, every step you’ve taken away from him.

this is all so shocking.

you werent expecting any of this. you didnt expect this.

“it was an accident,” you say when you get a moment to breathe, when you gasp just enough to finally take in air. you’re not sure why you’re crying. maybe its spencers hands, or maybe its his voice, or maybe its just the pain in your stomach and in your chest and resting on your throat.

spencer, then, is grasping at your wrists which are clawing at his shirt, hes trying to breathe with you, trying to get you to look at him. hes trying so hard, but you cant tell.

it takes a minute, and then, his hands are just soft enough to make you focus, you make you look at him again. they’re enough to breathe.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, void of explanation, eyes pained looking at your face. you rub a rough palm over your cheek, wiping the tears away, trying to claw at something that isnt there. your skin feels raw, your chest feels split open.

you’re not sure how it happened.

“spencer,” is all you say.

“i- i dont-” he sighs and looks down, away from your eyes, sending pangs through your chest again.

theres something unspoken in the air, your heart beats louder, your chest feels tighter. you dont know what to say next.

spencer speaks for you. “i’m so sorry,” he repeats, hands grasping onto your face, holding your eyes on his.

the feeling is so unfamiliar, so strange after weeks of not touching him properly, weeks of getting by with nothing more than a sharp kiss. weeks of nothing, and more and more silence between the two of you. weeks of unbearable, undeniable, pain.

your mind is reeling in relief but your body doesnt trust him yet. you cant relax.

he feels the tension, he feels you pause every time he shifts. its doubt, you both know, unspoken in the air. trust, spencer knows now, is gone. trust, you realize then, has been broken.

trust, has never been your strong suit.

“i’m sorry,” its another whisper, another plea, another sentence full of nothing.

and you, you’re just sitting there. you’re just waiting, just listening to him, just trying to trust him with all the fervor you used to have.

“what happened?” you choked, voice sore.

spencer, took a deep breath. the contraction of his chest was clear against your body, your hand, still latched on to him.

and then,

“avoidant personality disorder affects around 2.5 percent of the population,” he pauses, looks at your face. “it- it affects both men and women equally, and usually, it um, it tends to start early on in childhood.”

you dont say anything, just watch his eyes, so strange now.

spencer laughs, but its sad. its lonely. “my mom, she never mentioned anything like it. i didnt even really know what it was until-” a breath. “until i- i started studying psychology and-”

he stops. looks away from you.

and you dont know where this is going, you dont understand yet. you’re not like him, you cant piece together a puzzle, solve an equation. you can only listen.

you’re not sure if you’re hearing clear enough.

spencer looks at you again, stares for a second. swallows. “even when i learned what it was i didnt believe that i might- that i would have it.”

he stops again.

you hear the words. you hear and still you ask,

“you think you have it?”

spencer, who is still looking at you, still holding you even though you’re not sure how he can stand it, laughs. he laughs and looks down and frowns then looks up. you cant tell what hes feeling.

“no, i’m saying i do.”

“oh.”

hes speaking some more, teaching you. “a lot of people dont realize that intamcy issues fluctate-- that one day someone can be completely okay and then the next they feel irritated and uncomfortable-”

and.

“social isolation is a common symptom of avoidant personality disorder-”

he tells you more. speaks so fast that its hard to keep up.

“it can span out from abandonment issues, or fear of rejection. kids with deep-rooted trauma are more likely to experience it-”

he tells you so many things, so many facts.

and then he stops.

spencer is holding your head in his hands again, grasping, pleading for something that you dont understand. hes making you look at him with suddenly desperate eyes. “i never meant to hurt you, though. i promise,”

you blink at him, then nod, eyebrows furrowed.

“i didnt you to hear that conversation with JJ- and i still wish you hadnt because i was so...i was..” he draws off, nervous, eyes looking back and forth.

your chest is burning, that pain is still there, still ringing. some voice in your head, spencers maybe, whispers the word again.

you flinch, almost away from spencer. scared. “you were what?”

“i was wrong,”

a moment pauses, spencer is staring, waiting for your reaction.

and then, after a breath, you laugh. manically. too loud.

spencer is confused, hes concerned.

you keep laughing, leaning back to cluch at your waist, leaning away from him and laughing. you dont know why this is funny, you’re not sure, but it is.

“you’re-” you start, giggling some more. “you’re a genius-” you’re running out of breath, and the tears are falling out of your eyes again, and spencer is still just staring. “you were wrong!” you exclaim, almost mockingly, almost seriously.

spencer though, still isnt laughing.

he waits, waits for you to calm down, to look at him again, and then he moves away from you, taking a step back.

you frown, but his hands are finding yours. his hands are grasping yours with a grip you dont expect. you hold your breath while he stares again.

“i was wrong,” he repeats, earnestly, urgently. “i didnt realize it until a couple of nights ago, when you moved away after we kissed. when you-”

you try to interrupt, to explain but he continues, breathless.

“when you looked at me like you were terrified, like you were making a mistake. you just stared at me for three seconds, and then you left. you didnt explain, didnt speak.”

“spencer, i-” you start.

spencer is leaning over to kiss your forehead, to hold you softly in a hug you’ve been waiting weeks for.

its so strange, to stand here like this.

“i realized you were avoiding me then.” spencer says, whispers. “i missed you so much and i didnt even realize it,”

you breathe in. shocked.

“i’m sorry,”

“no,”

“yes, love, i never wanted you to feel like that. to hurt you like i did, like i am.” spencer looks ashamed but you press on, scowl on your face.

“no, no, no.” you move back, stare at him with hard eyes with a soft face. “i needed to know, spencer. if you need something, even distance from me, than i needed to know.”

you know thats why you listened, you know that your pause had a reason. it was never an accident to know the truth-- to give spencer what he needed.

it was easy, when you thought thats what he wanted.

“i was wrong, though-”

“i needed to know.”

spencer stares at you, for the millionth time. he looks at your unwavering eyes, your stern faces. he sees it, the fear, the worry that he’ll move back, or leave, or run away from you. he can see it.

but you, you’re just standing there. you, you changed everything just so he would be happy.

he sees the sacrifice now, curses himself for it.

but all he says is “okay,” and then, taking a step forward, he repeats it. “okay.”

“okay?” you ask, voice small.

“yes, okay. i will tell you. i’ll tell you everything,” he promises, intense eyes, and stronghold on you.

he pulls you in again.

its enough. its enough to fade that pain down into a simmer, to turn trust inside out again, to straighten the pins you’ve put up on the wall.

the words are there still, but they’re distant, like the chime of an old clock, but quiet. broken.

its so overwhelming, to be in his arms again.

but you fall, even still, you hold him back even tighter than before, you trust that hes going to stay there.

and the ten seconds start again.

you’re scared, still, with nine seconds. scared that this isnt going to last, that hes going to change his mind, that hes going to realize hes right.

you’re breathing, at eight seconds, thinking about these weeks without him, about this comfort in his eyes, in his arms. you’re thinking about how hes here right now, about how thats the only thing that matters.

you’re smiling at seven seconds, tick-tock, as you breathe him in, as you taste the air and realize that theres always been something about his touch.

at six seconds, hes whispering in your ear, a quiet “i love you” a meaningful promise that you’ve missed dearly.

at five, you’re whispering back, you’re promising, you’re breathing, you’re trying not to think, trying not to worry.

at four, you’re kissing his lips, you’re molding yourself to him once again.

at three, hes gripping your waist, kissing you like he never has before.

at two, you’re whispering “stay” against his lips, tasting him, pulling him, begging him. you’re not afraid to speak this time, and you dont need to pull back.

and then and then and then, you’re holding each other and theres only one second left, theres just one tiny little moment left.

and it’ll last a lifetime.

my masterlist here.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fan #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #Criminal Minds Reid #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid series

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mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

No Fun

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Everyone knows there’s no fun in friends without benefits. (Inspired by the song Friends Without Benefits by Chloe Collins) Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, drinking, oral sex (fem receiving), mention of male receiving oral sex, penetrative/unprotected sex, creampie Word Count: 3.4k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello! Sorry my scheduling has been all over the place lately, as I’m sure you’re probably tired of hearing about at this point 😅 But, No Fun is finally out!! (It was also a very good way for me to ease myself back into writing after recovering from my cold alsdjflsdkjf) Also, if you don’t follow Chloe on TikTok (or any social, really) you should! She’s super sweet and writes all her songs about Criminal Minds. This one’s my favorite, though! It’s such a vibe, I hope you’ll all give it a listen! 😊❤

***

Her eyes opened of their own accord. No alarm, no ring of the cellphone, no hand on her shoulder accompanied by the voice of one of her co-workers saying they'd finally landed... She liked it that way. Not only because it meant she had that rare peace and quiet first thing in the morning—though that was definitely a perk. It also meant that she was most likely at Spencer's apartment.

In his bed.

In his shirt.

As her eyes adjusted to the golden warmth that beamed through the curtains, she stretched out her arms and legs, knowing full well that he was in the kitchen; He was always in the kitchen, ever the early bird.

Speaking of, the smell of coffee started to permeate into the bedroom, and it comforted her further as she rose into a seated position. In a matter of minutes, the coffee would be ready, and Spencer would be waiting patiently, sipping from his own cup while hers sat untouched at the spot across from him.

Normally, she would get dressed and meet him out there, but upon remembering all the delicious things that happened in that kitchen the night before, she was feeling a little devious.

So she got out of bed and removed her underwear, leaving her in just his shirt, which barely covered her ass. She was going to leave them in the bedroom, but after a split second decision, she ended up striding out into the kitchen with the garment dangling from her fingers.

"Good morning," she sang, standing in front of the kitchen counter. It covered her lower half, so the only indication of her indecent exposure took form of the fabric in her hand.

Spencer was reading something, not bothering to look up as he spoke. "Good morning. Your coffee's how you like it. I thought we could stop at the gas station on the way in to get something to eat."

"Yeah, that's fine," she responded, setting the underwear on the counter and picking up her coffee. "But I was hoping you would eat me instead."

She nonchalantly lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip as he finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes glanced down at the counter as if to say, Look...

And he did.

The seductive sparkle in his eye at the sight in front of him sent a drip of excitement into her bloodstream that rippled throughout her whole body. It always had.

That's initially what drew her to him in the first place. Yeah, it was common knowledge to anyone that Spencer was intelligent, endearing, and handsome, but it was his flirty side that really got Y/N going. It didn't come out often, if at all— unless he was drunk or with the person of his affections.

Y/N found this out when the team threw him an impromptu birthday party last year. After discovering that he hadn't reminded anyone of his thirtieth birthday, Emily immediately called Penelope back home to start planning, and she looped everyone in before they landed later that night. Y/N herself was kind of disappointed with herself for even fathoming the idea of forgetting her friend's birthday, especially since she'd known him for years and celebrated his birthday with him and their friends before.

So before the party that night, she decided to go out and get him something. Only, she couldn't find anything, and it was on her way back when everyone was wondering where she was that Y/N started to question whether or not she really deserved to be considered his friend.

It didn't stop her from putting on a happy face and celebrating his birthday to the fullest, though— She showed up and hugged him immediately, holding onto him perhaps a little too long before offering to give him anything he wanted as compensation for forgetting his birthday, and his thirtieth at that. Of course, he insisted that she didn't really have to do anything for him, but she knew that was just him being himself.

Nonetheless, the party moved along, and with pretty much everyone out of his apartment after a long night of drinking and cake and celebration, Spencer and Y/N were the only two left, buzzed and sitting a little too close.

After convincing him to let loose and have a little fun on his 'special day', Y/N had managed to get him to help her finish an entire bottle of wine. And he'd been making his way through a few beers as the sun set and the stars came out.

And then he started looking at her weird.

That was the only way she could have described it in her drunken state, but it was certainly true, if only for the fact that it wasn't a look she'd ever seen from him before. His eyes were wide, pupils blown to almost full dilation, and his tongue kept dancing behind his lips like he was tracing out some sort of invisible pattern.

When she confronted him about it, drunkenly giggling and asking why he was looking at her like that, he laughed back and flat-out told her, "Have I ever told you how pretty y'are?" And she didn't even get a chance to respond before he continued. "Y/N, you're really pretty... Like, you're the prettiest woman I-ever seen."

"You're pretty, too, y'know, birthday boy," she laughed, smiling incredibly wide. Her whole body was practically on fire, and it only got hotter when he leaned in and kissed her, hard and sloppy, and with purpose.

They went on that night, stumbling around every square inch of his apartment while mumbling drunken compliments and haphazardly throwing aside their clothes until they woke up the next morning in his bed, naked, hungover, and absolutely shocked by what had happened.

Things at work were significantly more awkward, as to be expected, but as the days went on, the more they started to catch little stolen glances and shared recovered memories of what really happened.

More specifically, Y/N couldn't stop replaying these few sentences in her head, on a loop in between flashes of hands in hair and tongues on skin...

"You said you'd give me anything I wanted, right? What if I want you?"

"Then go ahead... Have me."

...Have me...

They met up in the parking lot one day after work and simultaneously blurted out in their own words how they couldn't stop thinking about what happened and how much they wanted to do it again...

And they did.

That seductive sparkle in his eye was there when he kissed her that first night on his birthday, it was there just before they started making out in the parking lot just a week later, and it was there now as he looked down at her panties on the table and then flitted his gaze up to meet hers.

Y/N's body buzzed with a thrill as Spencer made his way around the kitchen counter and dropped to his knees as she sat on the barstool and spread her legs for him.

***

They were late for work that morning.

To make it inconspicuous, Y/N showed up ten minutes after Spencer did— maybe a little exaggerated, but it didn't raise any suspicions. It might have sucked when as soon as she walked in everyone was on their way out to go to the airstrip, Hotch with his phone in hand and ready to dial her number, but nobody suspected a thing.

Spencer threw a little smirk at her as he passed, and she resisted the urge to smack his ass out of spite.

She would have done it, too, but there were two specific rules they'd set once they decided to regularly sleep together, and one of them was that nothing could happen at work or around their friends. And regardless of how badly they wanted to steal kisses or touches at work, their arrangement meant too much to compromise. Once either rule was broken, their little friends with benefits excursion would be immediately void.

Unfortunately, after a flight that was absolutely laced with their sexual tension and once they'd landed in Minnesota for this latest case, they both shared a look that practically set in stone the undeniable, inevitable truth.

They were obsessed.

The whole ordeal was incredibly exhilarating, already an inevitable outcome when it came to regularly sleeping with a co-worker, but what they weren't counting on was just how thrilling it was. Almost a year into their extracurricular activities and they were spending just about every free moment attached by mouths and hands and limbs. And as time progressed it became increasingly more difficult to keep to themselves, needing to be in proximity to one another constantly.

That's not to say they weren't excellent at handling it, though.

Sure, the burning in their veins at the sight of one another after knowing what it was like to be intimate was excruciating, and being paired together on cases knowing that they couldn't break any rules had them feeling like they were going to drown... But the pay-off after a long period of time with no physical contact was absolutely worth it.

All the secrecy and the holding back made it that much explosive when they finally got a decent moment alone.

Right now they were on their way back from a week-long case in Georgia.

And maybe it was fucked up, but once the team realized it was going to be rather grueling, the first thing Y/N thought was how better her stress relief was going to be when they finally finished. The second she thought it, she briefly glanced over at Spencer and saw that he had the same look on his face.

Even during the jet ride home, they were sitting on opposite sides while everyone slept around them, staring at each other and only breaking eye contact when someone rustled in their sleep.

Grueling images of the things they'd seen in the past week danced between them alongside flashes of all the things they wanted to do to each other as compensation. They heard faint screams and gunshots muffled by the high moans and shouts of each others' names, heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin...

The only word that sat between them as they clamored into Spencer's car and drove off was, "Drive."

It was late. They were exhausted and alert all at the same time. Their bodies were practically on fire. Y/N's leg bounced rapidly as Spencer's fingers tapped the steering wheel with fervor and impatience. And when he knew there would be no one around to pull them over for speeding, he stepped on the gas harder, and their heartbeats picked up right alongside their speed.

Even the walk up to his apartment was laced with impatience, Y/N's leg still bouncing as Spencer unlocked the door.

They rushed through it the second there was a tiny sliver of light from the dim nightlight she knew he kept in the entryway.

And then it was beautiful, heavenly chaos.

The door slammed loudly as Spencer leaned his whole body weight against Y/N, sending her flying towards it. They were drawn together like a magnet to a fridge, a moth to a flame, days of pent-up frustration and tension beginning its firework show right there in his entryway as their mouths clashed together.

No amount of contact was good enough it seemed, because it was just constant movement. Their hands wandered and their bodies pressed into each other continuously as they kissed the breath out of each other. Even still, they continued all the way to his bedroom, grunting while bumping into furniture and walls and doorways, but never daring to separate an inch all the same.

"God, I needed you," Spencer whispered once his bedroom door was shut. His hands tugged at her shirt and tried to get the buttons done as he continued. "All fucking week, you were just right there and I couldn't touch you..."

Y/N pressed her mouth to his and started hastily unbuttoning his shirt as well. After a few seconds, he pulled his mouth away and started to speak again, his fingers still trying to get her shirt undone. "I need it bad..."

With a frustrated grunt, Y/N pulled him in closer by the collar of his shirt and hissed into his mouth, "Then shut up and fucking take it..."

Her words kicked him in the ass and shot him forward, sending them flying towards the door once again. She yelped at the sharp pain that came and went as her back hit the wood, but with Spencer's hands finally tearing open her shirt and settling on her bare waist as he practically shoved his tongue down her throat, she couldn't complain.

Both of their shirts came off, and as soon as they hit the floor her hands went to his hair. She tugged on the wavy locks, a soft moan escaping her as he dipped his hands under the back of her bra and worked the clasp. It came off quickly, as it always did, and once it hit the floor he leaned down and gave her breasts all his attention. His tongue swirled around her nipples one my one, littering her skin with kisses in between and reveling in the way she kept tugging on his hair each time he gently tugged a nipple with his teeth.

Eventually, they both couldn't take any more, Y/N pushing his head down while tugging down her slacks and Spencer being glad she did, using his hands to assist her.

Having known for about a year now how heavenly his mouth was when it worked at her wasn't even a fair warning for the intensity of the shudders that soared through her body when his lips made contact with her clit just then. She let out a loud, broken cry of relaxation and relief and pure ecstasy as he practically devoured her.

His tongue was gliding through her with ease, ravening groans erupting from his throat and sending more sharp waves of excitement through Y/N's bloodstream with every passing second. His ministrations were quick and greedy, sloppy yet precise. And when he added his fingers to the mix, she gripped his hair tight and cried out his name, tensing at the sweet, burning stretch they provided.

That only drove him more wild, his tongue flicking over her clit faster while his fingers pumped, curled, and dragged languidly inside of her. He worked to pull every ounce of pleasure from her body, all while squeezing his eyes shut and losing himself in the taste of her, the way her thighs lightly trembled over his face and the desperate clutches of her fingers in his hair...

He wanted all of it. All of her.

He also wanted to hear that sound she made when he was helping her through the peak of her orgasm— a high, dreamy cry that boiled his insides and turned him into an animal.

And there it was, with just three more quick pumps of his fingers. It started off soft, though he knew the second he sucked on her clit and grazed her g-spot with his fingers it would careen higher and louder, right into that perfect pitch that he wished he could hear for eternity. Her thighs shook almost violently around his head, her fingers clawing at his scalp so tight that he felt little pinpricks of pleasure run down the back of his head and through his neck.

Y/N came down soon after, her voice resorting to small whimpers and pants as she tried to push his head away. But it wasn't until she actually tugged his hair up that Spencer finally retreated and got up off the floor.

"I thought you wanted me to take it?" he panted, already missing the warmth of her legs over his face.

She reached down and started toying with his belt, pulling him closer by the leather and throwing him a smirk. "Yeah, but now I wanna take it."

Before she could sink to her knees, though, he stopped her, walking her towards the bed and sitting her down as he finished taking off his pants. "Another time... Right now I need to be inside of you."

The urgency dripping in his voice and through his movements made Y/N burn all over again, and really, who was she to argue? Yeah, maybe she wanted to suck the living soul out of him, but his eagerness to get to the main event gave her the opportunity to treat him tomorrow morning. Spencer was always hard in the morning (at least on the rare occasion that she'd wake up before he did), and the thought of his sleepy groans and whines as she slowly worked his cock with her mouth was more than enough to keep her satisfied until then.

It also made her incredibly wet and ready, which was convenient when he climbed over her and bent her legs back, leaning forward and sinking into her in no time at all.

The sounds that came out of their mouths right then were exceedingly pornographic. It had been too long since their last sexual encounter, and even though they'd been at it plenty of times before, it still felt as intense and fresh as the first few times.

As aforementioned, they were obsessed.

Their song and dance of skink on skin never got old. Time and time again, it was like they'd never touched before, every feeling so intense it was like they were on the top of a rollercoaster that just kept falling and falling with no end in sight.

Every time he snapped his hips forward and and stretched her wide, her insides crumbled apart and gave way to his storm. She embraced his using of her body for pleasure, and he gave her the best orgasms in turn.

As of right now, she was caught between wanting to look down between their bodies to watch him fuck her and laying back to let it happen— take it all in that way and lose herself in the moment.

Though, she settled on the former, just as she always did, because watching Spencer fuck her was always the more exciting option. Especially when he was as urgent as he was now.

She watched with her bottom lip out in a pout as he fucked her, taking notice of how his hands looked gripping her waist and how his stomach tensed with every movement. Her eyes wandered over the planes of his body, and then finally his face. Usually he'd be so focused on the task at hand that his eyes would barely be open, taking in every ounce of pleasure that he possibly could, and that was exactly the case here. Fluttering eyes, pouty lips, flushed face, hair damp and wild as ever...

It drove her half mad.

"Harder," she demanded, reaching out and pulling him closer by the ass.

Spencer was more than happy to comply, a satisfied huff of laughter coming from him as he leaned down and sharpened his movements. His hips were heavier, pinning Y/N down into the mattress with every thrust forward, consequently drawing a little whimper from her each time.

To take it a step further and complete her request, he leaned back a little and pushed her legs open and wide, spreading her further and pinning her down that way to give his hips more driving force.

Unsurprisingly, neither of them lasted long after that.

Y/N shouted his name into the air, leaning her head back as her body tensed and gave in to his force. And he fucked her through it, his grunts gradually getting louder until his hips pushed into hers one final time, at which point he leaned down and put more of his weight on top of her.

As he filled her with his release, she sighed out, clenching herself around him and reveling in his warmth. Whether it was the warmth inside of her or the warmth he provided by blanketing her body with his own, she was glad for its presence. There was nothing else she'd rather have felt after a hard week at work—or any hard feat, really—than Spencer.

He retracted his warmth once they'd settled, however, removing himself from the bed on shaky limbs to grab wipes on the other side of the room.

And of course, Y/N admired him the whole way, flashing him a devilish wink when he inevitably caught her staring.

***

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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needleandhammer · 4 years ago

Text

From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

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

A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

#curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #smut #fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

411 notes · View notes

just-come-baek · 4 years ago

Text

bet on it

Pairing: Na Jaemin x female!reader

Word count: 21.2k

Summary: One day, Jaemin stops by with a strange request. Any other person would just laugh in his face and refuse in a second. Unfortunately, I, being the dumbass I am, agree to it. Soon enough, everything gets out of hand, causing much more drama than we could ever predict.

Or in other words, Jaemin shouldn’t bet on things he knows he can’t win.

A/N it’s an instalment for love letters event hosted by neosmutcollective, I hope you enjoy my jaemin entry as well as other entries written by my friends from the network, check out the event tags too, and yeah, happy valentine's day! 😏 💖

***

“What?” I yelled, almost spitting my tea. No, I must’ve heard him wrong. Jaemin wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that. It had to be a joke. Or I must’ve imagined him say that. “You don’t mean that,” I added, still in shock, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Come on, Noona,” Jaemin whined, staring right into my eyes, wishing for me to say yes to his ridiculous proposal. “I wouldn’t suggest that if I knew we couldn’t pull through.”

With a sigh, I shook my head. Jaemin’s proposition was absurd, and I couldn’t believe I was about to ask him again to walk me through it.

Damn me and my curiosity.

“Before I make my mind about this… tell me what the fuck led you guys to make that stupid bet. Then, and only then, I will still say no, but in good faith,” I demanded, smiling at Jaemin, knowing I wouldn’t make it easy for him to convince me. The odds weren’t in his favor, and he really had to put in lots of effort if he really wanted me on board.

“So we were chilling after practice, and then Haechan started to tease me that I have no game anymore,” Jaemin started, and I rolled my eyes. Of course, I should’ve figured it out. A man in his age apparently is a failure unless he has a different girl in his bed at least 3 nights a week, moaning his name at the top of her voice. Even though Jaemin doesn’t have a competitive nature, it still provoked him into agreeing to this absurd bet.

Life must be though with an ego so fragile…

Jaemin isn’t a fuckboy, yet he still has a fair share of love conquests. Though I had no idea whether it was true or not, he must have fallen a little behind the others – otherwise, they wouldn’t tease him about it.

“And then I said his mother must’ve dropped him on the head if he really thinks that,” Jaemin carried on. I nodded my head, trying to wrap my head around this preposterous situation. “Then, I said I could seduce any girl I want,” he added proudly, making me want to flicker his forehead, hoping it would knock some sense into that empty skull at the top of his neck.

“Okay, but how the hell did you end up with having to seduce me? This is the part I have the most trouble understanding,” I pointed out, cocking my eyebrow.

“Then, Chenle suggested we bet on it, and I agreed to it,” Jaemin whispered, looking away, sounding both regretful and shy. “I urged them to pick any girl, so Haechan looked around to choose my next conquest. It was the time when you and Ten were walking to the dance studio, and that bastard suggested you.”

So it was Haechan’s doing – I should’ve figured this one out. He was the only one wicked enough to possibly ruin somebody’s friendship because of a stupid bet.

Or, it was quite genius of him – maybe he figured Jaemin would not cross this line, choosing our friendship over winning this imbecilic bet.

“And you were confident you can woo me? What about our friendship? Does it mean anything to you?” I inquired, curious of what was going inside his head when he agreed to this half-witted bet. Did he seriously think we could have sex and then forget all about it?

“It’s not like that! I don’t want to woo you. I mean… I could, and you would be very much aware if I tried to hit on you, and you would fall for me. No doubts on that,” Jaemin spoke confidently, grinning like an idiot with ego blown way out of proportion. “But–“

Jaemin was about to say something dense, so before more bullshit managed to leave his mouth, I hit him with a cutting board. Jaemin whined, but I was sure he was exaggerating for comedy purposes. My hit was calculated and balanced – it was powerful enough for him to understand it wasn’t a good idea, but at the same, it was not going to cause any permanent damage to his brain. I’d never purposefully do that to him.

“We’re not having sex. Get that shit inside your head,” I interjected, pouring my herbal tea down my throat, already thinking about making another cup. This conversation was making me uncomfortable, and I wanted to put an end to it. Perhaps another lemon balm tea would calm my nerves.

Ignoring his penetrating gaze, I shuffled around the kitchen, setting the kettle on the stove. In the meantime, Jaemin walked around the kitchen island and grabbed me by my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes.

“Come on, Noona, I am not asking you to sleep with me,” Jaemin defended his case, quite determined to pull me on his side.

“Well… it looks exactly like you’re asking me to sleep with you,” I cut in, walking around him to the cabinet to get a fresh tea bag. I’ve really had enough of this bullshit.

“We could just make it look like like we did,” he carried on, and I heaved a deep sigh, regretting even letting him in today. I had this extremely boring essay to write, and at this point, I’d rather begin my research on whatever topic my professor assigned.

“It’s still a no from me, sorry,” I replied harshly, crashing Jaemin’s expectations. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn’t the outcome he anticipated when he decided to knock on my doors. “What happens when you lose that bet? Well… except for your pride, of course.”

“500 dollars.”

“Ouch, sowwy, I hope you can afford that,” I added with a fake smile, patting him on the shoulder, being well aware this amount of money was a game-changer to Jaemin’s budget. If he won, he would have the time of his life, spoiling himself. However, if he lost, he’d have to eat instant ramen on every meal for the entire month. “Either way, I hope it will teach you a lesson to not bet on things you know you can’t win.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jaemin groaned in disappointment, reaching for my hands, holding them carefully as if they were made of china. “If you help me, I’ll give you half of the money,” he proposed, and I looked at our hands linked together, then quickly shifted my gaze to his eyes. “If you help me win, you’ll get 250 dollars, and you’ll be finally able to buy those fancy shoes you wanted so bad. What do you say?”

When did he get so persuasive?

It was a low blow.

Jaemin knew that these shoes were tempting me ever since I had seen them. Multiple times, my thumb hovered over the add-to-cart button. Every time, I resisted the temptation last minute upon seeing the price tag, though. This purchase was way out of my budget. However, now, when the new income opportunity presented itself, it made me wonder.

Suddenly, the kettle began to whistle, bringing me down to Earth from that ridiculous train of thought. Shaking my head, I tore my hands out of Jaemin’s gentle grasp, fidgeting back to the stove, pouring boiling water into the cup.

“Okay, fine, but I have a few questions first,” I gave up after a short pause for intense pondering, and Jaemin smiled brightly in instant gratitude and relief. Without my help, he would be doomed. “And then, if I like the answers, I have a few conditions.”

“Anything.”

“Okay, so first of all, how much time do we have to do the deed,” I inquired as I blew some air before taking a cautious sip.

“About two weeks,” Jaemin mentioned after a while as he had counted on his fingers how many days we have to team up and win five hundred dollars for us. “Officially, we have to do it before Jaehyun’s birthday party,” he specified, and I hummed, realizing it is very little time.

“You seriously think I am that easy? Outrageous,” I gasped, throwing a fake tantrum as I made my way around him to sit down on the barstool on the other side of the kitchen island.

“No, of course not,” Jaemin quickly realized what I was getting on, so he smiled sheepishly, already trying to figure out the best wording to calm me down. “I am just that good,” he added, and I leaned over to smack his shoulder. “Kidding,” he defended himself, stepping out of my reach. “Renjun proposed this party, I mean, it’s the easiest way they can verify we did it,” Jaemin carried on, and I cursed under my breath.

How convenient.

“But we’re not going to do the fucking,” I stated, as a matter of fact, repeating myself in order to make sure we were both on the same page. As much as it would be pleasant to actually do it with him, never under these circumstances.

“No, we’re not, but I guess we can sneak out upstairs to one of the unoccupied rooms, and once we make sure they’re listening, you can just shout how good I’m fucking you,” Jaemin reasoned, and I sighed as regret once again washed through me.

“That’s creepy,” I commented as my mind conjured an image of a group of peeping Toms, eavesdropping on our sex session. Once again, I felt the temptation to drop out of this deal, but then, another thought crossed my mind. “Ugh, fine, I’ll do it. All I have to do is shout for two minutes, and then, these cute shoes will be mine.”

“Two minutes? Are you insane?” Jaemin hollered, offended by my comment. “It happened once, and it was ages ago. I’ve learned plenty of tricks since then,” he blabbered, acting way too defensive for his past mishap. “Just let me live in peace, please.”

“Okay, so we have established the deadline, and although it’s not enough time for anyone to woo me, let’s go with it.”

“Thank you! I knew I could count on you,” Jaemin replied with gleeful enthusiasm as he sat down on the barstool beside me and pressed a chaste kiss against my knuckles.

“But you have to go overboard with the courting,” I added, making Jaemin groan. Hard work wasn’t his best suit, but this time, he really had to try his best, or I’d have to turn him down at Jaehyun’s party. “You really have to make it believable and super romantic. Otherwise, I’m out,” I clarified, and Jaemin nodded, though unwillingly.

“Fine, any other wishes in mind?”

“Once we win the bet, we have to end this whole fake-dating fiasco immediately,” I announced, already planning ahead. It was easy to win the bet, but the most difficult part was getting back to normal. If we planned to fake-date in order to fake-fuck, then it was reasonable to figure out how we’re going to fake-break up.

“We should agree on admitting it was the best sex of our lives, but despite that, we value our friendship even more, so we decided to remain friends. How does it sound?” Jaemin suggested, and I had to once again resist the temptation to roll my eyes.

“I agree with the overall message, but later, we have to work on proper delivery.”

***

On the very next day, Jaemin and I decided to implement our secret plan.

Since I specifically asked to be courted in an over-the-top manner, Jaemin suggested going to the cinema. There were no attention-grabbing titles screened, yet ultimately, we agreed on watching the very last projection of the sequel to Wonder Woman.

“Go get the snacks, I’ll buy the tickets,” I ordered once we stepped into the cinema area of the nearest shopping mall. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, so the establishment wasn’t crowded. Except for us, there was only a family of three slowly making their way to the exit.

“See you in five minutes,” Jaemin murmured before he walked off to the bar to get us some salty popcorn and soda drinks. Though we both considered them way overpriced, it was a perfect way to celebrate the beginning of our fake relationship.

“We still have some time until the movie starts,” Jaemin shyly whispered as he cleared his throat. “Let’s take some selfies to make it public,” he added, and I nodded, sending him a timid smile, knowing this protocol had to be done in order to properly keep up appearances.

These days, everything had to be posted on social media, or it didn’t exist. If we didn’t leave a single digital mark, people might’ve grown a little bit suspicious of our alleged rendezvous. It would probably shock our friends, but it had to be done if we wanted to really sell it to them.

The circumstances were perfect for an impromptu first-date photo shoot. We were able to snap a few pictures without any annoying looks of prying eyes, choose the best angles, and finally post it with an ambiguous description confusing the shit out our friends.

Though Jaemin took about fifty photos, ultimately, I allowed him to upload three.

One picture showed me standing back to the camera as I looked at the cinema schedule, trying to pick a movie. I was wearing an A-line crimson red dress and a pair of warm black tights – the outfit really made my figure look pretty slim.

“What do you think about this one?” Jaemin inquired, showing me the photo of our interlaced hands. With a hum, I inspected the picture, giving him the green light. It was appropriate for our first date – it would signify we weren’t at the cinema as friends.

“This one looks good enough,” I commented as I reached to swipe across the screen of his smartphone. “I look cute here,” I added, showing Jaemin a picture of us. We were smiling, staring at the camera, almost stuffing our faces into the bucket of popcorn.

“What kind of description should I write?”

“Something vague, I guess,” I answered with a shrug, having no clue what kind of comment would be fitting for this Instagram post. “Maybe stick to emojis,” I suggested, and Jaemin went back to work, adjusting filters and typing the description.

With a chuckle, Jaemin handed me his phone, letting me approve his commentary.

“Are you out of your mind?” I hollered, quickly deleting the emojis. Having smacked his shoulder, I turned around, blocking him from seeing the screen. Three blushed emojis suited our fake-date better than a popcorn bucket, a wine glass, and an eggplant.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Jaemin apologized, still laughing at his incredibly funny joke.

“Here, I posted it,” I said with an eye roll, throwing his phone at his lap. “The commercials must’ve started; let’s go,” I rose from my seat and extended my arm, wanting Jaemin to hand me the cup of coke. Jaemin, however, completely misunderstood my intentions, putting his hand into mine, holding it gently. “Give me my drink, Jaemin.”

“Sorry,” Jaemin sheepishly smiled before he yanked back his hand and turned his head around, too embarrassed to look at me. I, on the other hand, laughed hysterically. That should’ve served him right after that emoji faux pas.

“I was kidding,” I admitted when my laughter died down. “Come on, Jaemin. Let’s go; I want to see the trailers,” I added before grabbing his hand, hauling him inside the screening room.

At the last row, we plopped down onto our double seat, getting comfortable for the movie. With our belongings thrown onto the neighboring seat, we stretched our limbs before the lights went out, providing us with the best viewing experience.

“Do you think they’ve seen it?” Jaemin whispered into my ear as he placed his head on my shoulders. “I want to check it, but at the same time, I don’t.”

“Mood,” I replied, feeling just as anxious.

The movie began, and we quickly forgot about our bold social media statement, focusing much more on the screening. Residing to our typical behavior, Jaemin placed his head on my shoulder, snuggling closer, taking full advantage of the bucket of popcorn, which rested on my thighs.

It was peaceful and comfortable – just as things were before Jaemin had come up with his brilliant idea to fake-date each other for the sake of that ludicrous bet. Though we acted the way we used to with each other, it felt somewhat different with that supposed romantic connotations haunting us. Not necessarily bad kind of different, though.

Just as we expected, two hours was more than enough for our friends to spam our individual inboxes. We both had dozens of messages from group chats, as well as private ones. All of them were asking and/or speculating what happened and why.

“I don’t feel like answering any of these,” I muttered, dreading to read what Ten and Jiwoo wrote on our roomies’ group chat. “I don’t feel like coming home, either. They’re gonna eat me alive with questions. I am not ready to face them yet. Wanna hang out some more?”

“Fuck, even my mom has seen them,” Jaemin cursed under his breath, completely forgetting about his mother being a mad keen Instagram user. Now, when he looked at our arrangement from a slightly different angle, Jaemin realized it brought way more consequences than he was planning on facing.

It was bad.

Really bad.

With shaky hands, I unlocked my phone, checking the Instagram post Jaemin had tagged me in. Not only our friends flooded the group chats, but also, they didn’t forget to embarrass us even further in the comment section.

lucas_xx444: what the heck??? 😧 is this for real???

yuu_taa_1026: finally!!1 maybe they stop simping for each other now 🤡

_jeongjaehyun: another man down, shame 😔

choi.jiwoo21: 🙄🙄 some men actually grow up, jeong…

mama_nana: Why am I only finding about this now?

“Well… fuck,” I murmured under my breath, still unable to process the fact that Jaemin’s mom knew about it. It was supposed to be a harmless charade; however, with each passing minute, it was getting out of hand. “What is the damage control procedure?” I asked in concern, biting the bottom lip nervously. Lying to our friends was pretty bad, but keeping this relationship thingy up in front of his mother was despicable.

“You know how she is,” Jaemin started, and I sighed, wishing I had no clue of what she was capable of. Unfortunately, I did, and it scared the hell out of me. “Either we go and visit her, or she’s coming to visit us,” he wondered, unable to choose which option was worse. “Fuck, she’s calling me. What do I do?”

With panic flashed in his eyes, Jaemin handed me his phone, expecting me to handle the conversation with his gossip-girl type of a mother. As if that would ever happen…

“Pick up and tell her we’re awfully busy or something,” I ordered him, gliding my finger across the screen, pressing the device against Jaemin’s ear.

“Hi, mom,” he spoke through gritted teeth, staring at me in absolute fury. Quickly, his hand cupped mine before he grabbed the phone, adjusting it.

By Jaemin’s mom’s standards, the conversation was brief. Or rather, her monologue was because Jaemin didn’t speak a single word through the entirety of it. Except for a couple of mmm’s thrown here and there, he didn’t engage at all.

Ideally, Jaemin would schedule the visit after we will have broken up. He’d go there by himself and tell her a story of us coming back to our senses and deciding to remain just friends. Unfortunately, that would require at least one functional brain cell and a pinch of assertiveness – both of which Jaemin seemed to lack.

“And?” I inquired, praying to hear some good news.

With a sheepish smile, Jaemin cautiously looked up at me. “We’re visiting her for dinner on Friday,” he announced, and I gripped my hands, trying to refrain myself from beating the shit out of him.

I didn’t sign up for any of this!

I just wanted some shoes.

“I hate you, Na Jaemin,” I angrily declared, storming out of the cinema, ready to indulge myself with plenty of greasy food. It wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but I needed to consume a ridiculous amount of calories in order to forget I was stupid enough to agree to participate in this travesty. “Are you coming or not?!”

***

The last thing I wanted was to face my roommates. They must’ve had dozens of questions about this out-of-the-blue date, and I was dreadful because I couldn’t provide them with genuine answers. Perhaps, I could try to confabulate my way out of this, but it was, nonetheless, risky.

Having eaten at least two servings of a delicious greasy meal Jaemin and I went for a stroll under the pretense of taking some more photos for future references.

Around 8 o’clock, I unwillingly made my way home. Even with that romantic aura lurking around us, it was still fun to hang out with Jaemin.

Walking up the stairs to the fourth floor, I wondered about possible solutions to my problem. In a perfect scenario, I’d sneak into my room without anyone noticing, so I wouldn’t have to deal with any prying questions until, at least, early morning.

Unfortunately, the moment I pulled out my keys, the doors swung wide open.

“Well, well, well…” Ten tsked with a mischievous smirk dancing across his gorgeous face. Asshole. How dare he tsk me? “Had fun on your date?” He asked, and I tried my best to ignore him. It wasn’t that easy, though. With Jiwoo backing up his teasing, I was outnumbered.

“So… you and Jaemin, huh?” Jiwoo mused, cocking up her eyebrow in curiosity. “Spill the tea. I didn’t spam your inbox to not hear all the details,” she added, and I rolled my eyes, regretting all of my poor life choices that led me to this moment.

“I’ll bring wine,” Ten hollered before he disappeared in the kitchen, also keen on knowing everything that had happened between us. “Don’t say anything until I get there!”

They wanted to hear a romantic story of how two friends realized they had hots for each other, and that’s exactly what I did. Unwillingly, I provided them with an incredible piece of fiction of how we felt the spark when Jaemin stopped by the other day.

Admittedly, it was easy to go with the flow once the wine molecules were coursing through my veins. With some liquid inspiration in my bloodstream, I narrated how adorable Jaemin had been when he had gathered enough courage to ask me out on a date.

“So I assume you’re bringing Jaemin to the cabin on the weekend,” Jiwoo inquired in a teasing manner, and I blinked in confusion. What cabin was she talking about? “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot about what?” I asked, still clueless about the whole ordeal. With a confused frown, I wondered what this cabin trip was about. Positively, I didn’t forget about it. It’s impossible to forget about plans you weren’t even invited to.

So, Jiwoo explained everything in great detail.

Apparently, Jaehyun and Johnny planned a weekend getaway to the cabin by the sea. They invited plenty of people, but since it’s the middle of a hectic period of exams, only a small percentage of invitees would be able to make it.

Jaehyun, Johnny, and Lucas gave up trying to get the best grades two semesters ago, so their schedule was pretty much open. Renjun, Chenle, and Yeri were nerds with every necessary book memorized by heart, so they didn’t have to cram the weekend before the tests. Jiwoo, being heads over heels in love with Jaehyun, would even cancel her manicure appointment to make it to that trip. She was that serious about this fratboy for some reason…

And now, two individuals needed a perfect excuse to ditch an uncomfortable family dinner. When a chance presented itself in front of me, I just couldn’t say no.

“I’m going. I don’t know about Jaemin, though. He’s meeting his mom on Friday, but maybe he can make it work.”

“Fantastic,” Jiwoo shouted in excitement before finishing her glass of wine.

“Now, when I think about it, I am glad I’ve taken an extra shift at the gym,” Ten chimed in with a playful smirk as he sipped his wine. “You two simping for each other was painful to watch, but now, when you’re hitting it off, it’s gonna be unbearable.”

“What do you mean simping?” I yelled in a threatening manner, ready to fight him for spitting nonsense so carelessly. I might’ve had a tiny crush on Jaemin, but I wouldn’t call it simping. Also, suggesting the simping was mutual? He must’ve lost his freaking mind. Ridiculous!

“Shit, I didn’t think this through,” Jiwoo mentioned, now probably re-considering if the trip is worthwhile. She would love to hang out with Jaehyun and finally make a move, but on the other hand, she would have to deal with my and Jaemin’s romantic shenanigans.

“Why are you such drama queens? We’ve been on one date, for crying out loud! Stop acting like we’re some kind of overly touchy couple because we’re not,” I barked, having no more energy to argue with them. “We’ll keep PDA to a minimum, don’t worry.”

“No need to get so defensive,” Ten added, enjoying my misery a bit too much.

“I am not getting defensive,” I argued, though facing real trouble, unable to actually back up my perspective. “Anyway, I am going to sleep. Unlike the two of you, some people have real jobs,” I added before storming to my room, plopping onto my bed with a tired groan.

Having changed into my pajamas and sneaked under the covers, I finally dared to connect my phone to the Internet. My inbox was full of texts, so I read them all. I didn’t feel like replying to any of them, though. Instead, I opened my chat with Jaemin.

my love 💖 | 20:41 | I figured it out

my love 💖 | 20:41 | You don’t have to thank me

my love 💖 | 20:41 | Also

my love 💖 | 20:41 | Wtf Jaemin?

my love 💖 | 20:41 | What kind of name is that???

my love 💖 | 20:42 | Change it back

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | No. 😘

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | The name stays

baNANA 🍓 | 20:43 | You can’t make me 😝😝

baNANA 🍓 | 20:44 | And what don’t I have to thank you for?

my love 💖 | 20:44 | I might’ve found alternative plans for friday

baNANA 🍓 | 20:44 | Oh???

my love 💖 | 20:45 | Jiwoo invited us to the cabin for the weekend

my love 💖 | 20:45 | We’re gonna get so drunk!

my love 💖 | 20:45 | It’s okay if you can’t make it, tho

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | Wow

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | I have an exam on Monday…

baNANA 🍓 | 20:45 | But I can make Haechan give me his notes

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | I wouldn’t miss it

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Good, then it’s a date

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Date??? 🥰🥰

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Stop being so cringy!

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Good night, love~~ 😘

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | Dream of me 😇😇😇

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Ugh.

my love 💖 | 20:46 | Disgusting 🤢🤮

baNANA 🍓 | 20:46 | I love you, too

***

As brilliant as my plan was, it fell through. Only partially, though. The little getaway was still a thing, but unfortunately, regardless of how much we tried, we couldn’t reschedule the dinner at Jaemin’s family home.

We still had to pay his parents a visit, but, at least, there was a silver lining.

Thanks to our hectic schedule, Jaemin’s mom wouldn’t have a chance to force us to stay longer. Whether she wanted to feed us dessert or stay the night, it was out of the question.

Since Jiwoo had one more exam to pass on Friday, half of the guests would have to show up later in the evening. Johnny, Jaehyun, Lucas, and Renjun were about to take off around noon while Jiwoo, Yeri, Chenle, Jaemin, and I had to carpool later in the evening.

I didn’t complain, though.

“It’ll be fine. It’s just my mom,” Jaemin reassured me, slipping his hand into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I bet it’s gonna be like any other time you stopped by,” he added, and I cocked up my eyebrow suspiciously.

“You better be right,” I spoke, though still unconvinced. I knew Jaemin’s mother. She had a tendency to be, hmm…, a little bit extra. Who knew how she would behave now when she found out we were dating?

Since Jaemin was carrying our suitcases, I knocked on the front doors. Jaemin’s mom rushed to let us in, but not before she gave us bone-crushing hugs.

“I think you’ve misunderstood. I invited you for dinner. I didn’t ask you to move in with me,” Mrs. Na jested upon seeing the suitcases in Jaemin’s hands, misinterpreting the situation in the funniest way possible. “It must be shocking, but I enjoy living alone with your father.”

“We’re going to the beach with some friends after the dinner,” Jaemin clarified, and his mother hummed in understanding, acting a bit too cool about it. It’s been a while since Jaemin paid them a proper visit, and she was a little too nonchalant for my liking. “They’re going to pick us up around seven.”

She must’ve done something or was about to do something.

“Here’s some wine,” I spoke up, handing her the bottle as a small thank you gift for inviting us over for a delicious home-made meal.

“Thank you, dear. You’re so thoughtful,” Mrs. Na accepted the beverage, guiding us to the dining area. “I didn’t feel like cooking today, so I ordered some Chinese takeout. I hope you don’t mind,” she added, and I chuckled at her typical antics.

She was an amazing mother to Jaemin, raising him well, but she really was a terrible housewife. She didn’t change one bit, and I loved her for it. She had so much love for her husband, her son, and her son’s friends, and that’s what really mattered.

“Your father will be home in thirty,” she announced before she made a beeline to the kitchen to get a bottle opener. “And the takeout was supposed to arrive twenty minutes ago. If it weren’t for that slow delivery guy, I would’ve got away with my little secret,” she blabbered, laughing awkwardly.

“It’s okay, really,” I reassured her, sending her a genuine smile. “I am craving Chinese food, anyway,” I added before I elbowed Jaemin, so he would say something, too. For a blabbermouth he was, right now, he seemed awfully quiet.

Before Jaemin managed to provide his mother with a proper response, someone knocked on the doors. Since we had already arrived, it must’ve been the delivery guy with food.

“I’ll go get it,” Jaemin excused himself, leaving me alone with his mother.

“So…,” Mrs. Na cleared her throat as he began pouring wine into fancy glasses. “You guys are finally dating. And if you want me to be completely honest, I am a little bit disappointed,” she made a pause to look at me in the eye. What? She didn’t approve of me? That’s surprising; I used to think she adored me. “I am a little bit disappointed either of you didn’t make a move sooner. I was slowly losing hope,” she added, and I sighed in relief.

For a while, I was seriously concerned she didn’t like me.

“Are you expecting any guests? There’s no way we can finish it all by the four of us,” Jaemin commented as he walked into the dining room, setting two plastic bags of takeout. It smelled heavenly, and I couldn’t wait to taste whatever dish Mrs. Na had ordered.

“I can always invite your friends inside when they pull up,” she spoke matter-of-factly, but as soon as Jaemin looked at her sternly, she seconded that idea. “Or, I can pack it up, so you can share it with your friends later.”

“Should we wait for dad?” Jaemin asked when his stomach growled, demanding food. In the morning, he was quite anxious about going to his parents’ house, so he didn’t even bother to eat. Now, Jaemin was starving. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“I’ll get the plates,” his mom spoke, not really answering his question. Within two minutes, she came back with a special set of tableware. In their household, it was used only for holidays and other rare occasions. “Dig in,” she urged us, waiting for us to fill our plates before doing the same herself.

Whatever restaurant provided today’s dinner, it was remarkable. It wasn’t too salty, nor too spicy. Even when I was full, I still stuffed my mouth some more, unable to stop myself.

“You have sauce on your chin,” Jaemin remarked, pointing at his own chin, helping me locate the stray drop of soy sauce. “Here,” he added with a tired shake of his head, wiping it clean with his napkin.

“You two are too adorable,” Mrs. Na cooed, smiling at us widely. “It was worth the wait,” she added, and I creased my forehead in confusion. “Oh, did you hear that? It must be your dad,” Mrs. Na said upon hearing noise from the garage. “You keep eating, I’ll go greet his workaholic ass,” she excused herself with a playful smile before walking away from the table to welcome her husband as any loving wife would.

With a deep sigh, Jaemin leaned toward me, resting his arm on my chair.

“It’s not that bad, actually. I was excepting to go through some kind of FBI-level of interrogation, but she seems kind of chill about this whole thing,” Jaemin whispered into my ear, and I giggled, agreeing with him. It was kind of suspicious, but I couldn’t complain.

“It’s kinda creepy when she’s talking like she’s been rooting for us to end up together, but this one thing aside, it’s bearable,” I replied, and Jaemin nodded his head.

“I am gone for a minute, and you’re all over each other,” Mrs. Na snickered when she returned to the dining room, seeing Jaemin leaned in, only inches apart from my face. “Jaemin, mama’s so proud,” she added before she walked around the room to set the plate for Mr. Na.

“Stop embarrassing me,” Jaemin whined, playing with the food on his plate, pouting. Though his mother pretty much ignored his childish tantrum, I chuckled, finding it absolutely adorable. Maybe she was a teaser, but little Jaemin knew, he inherited it from her. It was time he experienced the taste of his own medicine.

The apple doesn’t fall that far from the tree…

The rest of the afternoon went peaceful. Though Mrs. Na threw in some cheesy remarks here and there, we could handle it. We were slightly buzzed, after all.

“It’s time for us,” Jaemin announced as he heard a car parked in front of the house. “It was nice. We should totally do it again,” he sarcastically added when he reached for my coat and helped me put it on.

“Don’t have too much fun,” she added with a playful smirk upon her face, earning a judging look from her more conservative husband. “No, wait, I second that. Have as much fun as you want. I am a cool parent,” she spoke, changing her mind in a matter of seconds. “And I plan on becoming a cool grandparent.”

At first, I wanted to remind her that we’re too young for children. Besides, technically, we only went on one date. It was definitely too soon to even think about these things, let alone talk about them out loud.

Thankfully, before I managed to say something I’d regret, Jiwoo honked, urging us to get going. If it wasn’t for her impatience, I might’ve ruined the image I had built for myself in Jaemin’s parents’ eyes.

“Your mother was joking! Always use protection,” Mr. Na hollered before he closed the doors after us.

***

Except for a few playful comments shot toward Jaemin and me, the ride was peaceful. As soon as we threw our suitcases into the trunk and squeezed in on the backseat, we hit the road. Jamming to Jiwoo’s playlist, we chatted in excitement, all of us in desperate need of a little vacation. It was a stressful time of a year, but maybe this short trip would actually help us recharge the batteries and calm down after busting our asses off.

“How was the dinner?” Jiwoo asked, staring at us in the rearview mirror. Since there was a limited amount of space, I was almost sitting on Jaemin’s laps. Jiwoo didn’t miss it with her eagle eyes. The way Jaemin played with my fingers didn’t go unnoticed, either.

“Bearable,” I muttered under my breath, not really wanting to recollect these memories now. I’d probably tell Jiwoo everything later, and she understood the subliminal message in a heartbeat. “How was your test?”

“I probably failed, but, at least, now I know what to expect,” Jiwoo answered as she turned to the left as the navigation system instructed her to.

In about two hours, we arrived at our destination.

Having stepped into the cabin with our heavy luggage in our hands, we encountered the middle of the party. A handful of beer bottles were scattered around the living area, the boys fervently discussing some matter.

“You’re finally here,” Jaehyun spoke matter-of-factly, as he noticed us in the threshold. “Go upstairs and leave your stuff in your rooms. We’ve already assigned them; just read the post-it notes stuck to the doors,” he explained before he turned away.

Huh, apparently, they were pros at planning.

The guys rented a cabin that consisted of six tiny bedrooms. Generally, we wouldn’t have a problem assigning them; however, since Jaehyun, Lucas, and Johnny didn’t want to room with anyone, we were facing a dilemma. They guys wanted to have some privacy if they managed to pick someone up at the hotel in the neighborhood. In this case, the six of us had to share rooms. Jiwoo and Yeri could room together. Renjun and Chenle could occupy another one, so it looked like they put Jaemin and me in the last one.

Thankfully, it wouldn’t be the first time when I had to share a bed with Jaemin. He had stayed the night plenty of times before when he dozed off during our Netflix marathons. However, it still was to be a little bit awkward since everybody thought we began dating. We were going to pull through, though.

As soon as possible, we came back downstairs, ready to even the score of consumed alcohol. All of us needed it. Everybody had a different reason for it, but none of our troubles were to be discussed tonight.

In the fridge, there was a whole palette of different types of alcohol. Quickly, I grabbed two tequila-flavored beers, handing one to Jaemin, allowing others to choose their poison.

My plan for tonight was to test every kind of alcohol, gradually going up with the percentages. It was a bad idea, but that’s what college was about – having fun like there’re no consequences.

We partied like there’s no tomorrow.

At first, we kept it simple. Fervent conversations led us to shout at one another, trying to force one perspective over the others. We were going through so many subjects that any sober bystander might’ve had real trouble comprehending how we managed to switch among them.

Then, someone suggested playing a drinking game. Of course, it had to be never have I ever. Everybody had so much fun, especially when the participants yelled at Jaemin and me because we didn’t even bother to abide by the rules. We were sipping our drinks whenever we felt like it, even between rounds, and it didn’t sit right with the rest. Eventually, they kicked us out of their little circle, giving us the crucial task of bringing some snacks from the kitchen.

Sometime past midnight, Jiwoo proposed going outside. It was beautifully snowing, but at the same time, it was freezing. Though I was opposed to this idea, everybody seemed to love it. The guys were throwing snowballs at each other, bringing out their inner child.

As if this wasn’t enough, they decided to take a stroll to the seaside. Though our cabin was maybe a mile away from the seashore, I didn’t particularly fancy the saunter. Jaemin was by my side, offering to warm my hand in his pocket, but I still was on the verge of freezing my ass off. I’d much rather sit by the fireplace under a few blankets with a mug of the mulled wine in my grasp. Apparently, everybody besides me was really intrigued by an ice bath and other winter extreme sports.

Though it was dangerous as fuck, Jiwoo took off her shoes and rolled up her jeans before she walked into the ice water of the sea. Being the dumbass he was, Lucas instantly followed suit.

“They seem to hit it off tonight,” I nonchalantly whispered as I elbowed Jaehyun. Jiwoo and Jaehyun might have a thing going on, but neither of them acted on it. Jiwoo was too whipped to make a move, too afraid of rejection. Jaehyun, on the other hand, was just a fuckboy, not really looking for a relationship. “Look at them. Don’t they look cute?” I carried on, cautiously watching Jaehyun’s expression. They weren’t together, but he seemed slightly jealous and frustrated watching her have lots of fun with Lucas.

In my opinion, he didn’t deserve her, but I didn’t really have a say in that matter. Jaehyun was the person Jiwoo’s heart longed for, and I, being her best friend, had to support that. Or, in this case, I had to give him a little push to get things in motion.

Jaehyun had some feelings for Jiwoo, but he needed some time and character development to fully comprehend them. Until then, it was my duty to remind him what he’s missing out on by not being serious enough to ask her out.

“Nah, I wouldn’t call them cute,” Jaehyun murmured through gritted teeth, positively jealous. “What they’re doing is dangerous; somebody has to stop them,” he added before he kicked off his own shoes, running toward Jiwoo to pick her up and bring her back to the shore.

“What was that?” Jaemin asked, being shook as to what he had witnessed.

“What was what? What do you mean?” I smirked, winking at him, hoping he wouldn’t tell anyone about it. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You played him,” Jaemin spoke, still impressed by how easily I manipulated Jaehyun into stepping into the scene, pulling Jiwoo away from Lucas. “Is this even legal? You’ve never done this one me, have you?”

“No, of course, not! Don’t be ridiculous,” I answered, though my tone suggested a completely different message. “You would’ve known, wouldn’t you?” I teased, chuckling at Jaemin’s funny expression. He was mortified. “I think you’re overreacting. I just pointed out some facts, and Jaehyun reacted to them according to his emotional opinion. I really didn’t do anything,” I added, defending my case.

“Don’t you ever try pulling a trick like that on me, okay?” Jaemin stated, and I nodded, giving him a promise. “I mean… I wouldn’t fall for it, but still, don’t.”

“We should head back to the cabin,” Johnny shouted, gathering the gang. Surprisingly, he seemed the most sober amongst us, so it didn’t come as a shock to me that he tried to look after his hammered friends.

In my opinion, it was a perfect call. I was slowly sobering up, and I definitely needed a refill. With my schedule packed, I had no idea when I would have a chance for another getaway, so I had to make the most out of this one.

As we returned to the cabin, Jaehyun’s eyes didn’t leave Jiwoo.

Jaemin, on the other hand, went upstairs to grab his camera, deciding it was the best time to snap photos. Of course, he had to take pictures of us when we were drunk out of our minds. Why didn’t he take any when we looked decent without smudged make-up?

“Sexy,” Jaemin commented as he pointed his camera at me. “Ahh, sexy,” he kept calling me that, and I stuck my tongue at him, wanting him to go away pester someone else. My hair was a mess, and my lipstick smudged off my lips a long time ago. “So sexy,” he carried on, making me roll my eyes at him. At some point, I tried kicking him, but that bastard was beyond my reach.

Around 2 o’clock, one by one, we began feeling tired.

Lucas was the first one to go. Considering how much alcohol he had drunk, I was surprised he lasted that long. Better yet, it was a shock he could even stand straight. Jaemin and Renjun had to escort him upstairs, but nonetheless, his alcohol tolerance was impressive.

I didn’t even realize when, but Yeri and Chenle managed to fall asleep on the couch. Firmly, Renjun shook them away, ordering them to go to their respective rooms. With tired yawns, they made their way upstairs, falling on their beds face-first.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Jaemin pouted as he sat on the side of the armchair, resting his head on my shoulder. Entwining his hand in mine, he stood up, pulling me up.

“Have fun, guys. We’re calling it a night,” I announced, refraining from yawning.

“No, you have fun,” Jiwoo replied, sending us a wink. Shaking my head, I sighed before we disappeared upstairs. I don’t know what she was thinking; however, I didn’t have the energy to keep my eyes open, let alone other nighttime activities. Besides, Jaemin was just as spent. Even if we were in a real relationship, we wouldn’t engage in half-conscious unsatisfactory messy sex.

“Come here,” Jaemin whispered as he smiled. His eyes were already closed as he patted the mattress beside him, waiting for me to join. “Good job. I think we really sold it to everybody,” he added as he snuggled closer, wrapping his limbs around my body.

“That’s good,” I purred, slowly drifting into dreamland. It was a long day, and it was finally over. Though it had a rough beginning, I ended it in Jaemin’s arms. “Good night.”

“Good night, my love,” Jaemin muttered, resting his head on my pillow right beside my face.

“You were supposed to change that name,” I replied, too drunk or/and too tired to realize it was his spoken words and not a text message.

***

During the second week of our relationship, we grew to be less tense around each other. Better yet, we seemed awfully comfortable, almost as if that’s how everything was meant to be. It was a little bit alarming, but I decided not to point that out. Even if it was just an act, I enjoyed it much more than I’d ever dare to admit. As long as it lasted, I was to savor it.

Ever since we came back from the weekend trip, Jaemin would pop up out of nowhere at least once a day with a surprise for me, proving how over the top he could be in courting a woman.

On Monday, he spammed his social media feed with my pictures from the trip. Of course, he didn’t forget to put a corny description under it, making me flustered. Even though I wouldn’t consider myself photogenic, Jaemin managed to bring out my best features with his photography talent and editing skills.

On Tuesday, Jaemin was waiting outside the auditorium with a cute bouquet of my favorite flowers – white roses. He was there to congratulate me on passing my last exam of the semester. The professor would send us results by the end of the week, but according to Jaemin, there was no chance I’d fail it.

“I still don’t get it how you do it,” Jaemin mused, scratching his temple, trying to put two and two together. “I hardly ever see you study, but then, you panic before an exam only to nail it later on. What kind of black magic is this?” He wondered, and I giggled, unable to explain my poor studying technique. I just winged it last minute every single time in my academic career.

“You better be right about this one,” I replied, still anxious about my grade. I didn’t manage to answer all of the questions, so a passing grade would be a relief. “I’m craving pasta. Do you want t go on a celebratory date?”

“You’re reading my mind,” Jaemin said, grabbing my hand, leading me to our favorite restaurant.

On Wednesday, Jaemin invited me to a bowling alley. Every month he would visit the establishment with his friends. Only on rare occasions, their significant others were invited. None of them could really commit to a serious relationship, so it never became a repetitive custom of their group.

“You guys are disgusting,” Haechan whined after our turn. Jaemin and I were losing by an enormous margin, but we didn’t mind. We were having fun despite a low score. “But at least, we’re winning,” Haechan added, pointing at Chenle and himself.

“I am the winner here,” Jaemin boldly announced, giving my hand a light squeeze, making me almost spit my soda.

Everybody cringed at Jaemin’s bold corny statement.

“I second that,” Haechan mused, looking away from Jaemin. “She’s bearable, and you are just absolutely repulsive,” he corrected himself, and I chuckled. Never in my entire life, I thought I would agree on something with Haechan, but this moment occurred right then.

On Thursday, although my schedule was packed with work, Jaemin insisted on hanging out. Tired out of my mind, I let Jaemin inside the apartment. He was carrying Mexican takeout; I couldn’t send him back home. Not when he had goodies.

“What do you want to watch?” I asked as I handed him the remote, allowing him to choose the movie. I was going to pass out anyway, so he might’ve as well picked something he liked.

“Anything is good,” he answered as he unwrapped his quesadilla, taking a bite off of it.

“The Notebook it is then,” I teased, but since Jaemin didn’t stop me, I put it on.

Having eaten my portion of a delicious meal, I lay down on the couch, resting my head on Jaemin’s thighs. I didn’t even realize when I fell asleep. Only when the credits were rolling down on the screen, Jaemin shook me awake.

“When did you fall asleep?” Jaemin inquired, a little bit mad that I forced him to watch the ultimate romantic movie of the twenty-first century. It was toxic as hell, and the way their behavior got romanticized didn’t sit right with me.

“As soon as I lay down,” I answered honestly, as I rolled around, staring at Jaemin’s handsome face. “How did you like the movie?” I asked innocently, swiftly changing the topic. It was for the better if Jaemin didn’t find out I paid no attention to the film. Instead of a great viewing experience, it was just a mere background noise that lulled me to sleep.

“I didn’t,” Jaemin whined, tapping his foot against the floor, making me sit up instantly. “It was toxic and sad at the same time. Noah was a manipulative jerk, and Allie was moody as fuck. The only bright side of their relationship is that they ended up with each other, not ruining other people’s lives,” Jaemin spoke the truth, and I couldn’t agree more. “In conclusion, give me my 2 hours back,” he added, and I hit him with a cushion.

Unable to comprehend what I just did, Jaemin blinked in confusion. Then, a few seconds later, he smirked and grabbed another cushion, ready to fight back.

Unfortunately, our childish antics were interrupted by Jiwoo. She was hanging out with Yuta, studying for the exam they had to retake the next day. To be completely honest, she couldn’t have any worse timing. While watching a movie was explainable, it wasn’t the case when it came to an impromptu pillow fight.

“Should I come back later, or something?” Jiwoo asked, pointing at the doors, willing to leave if it meant for me to get laid.

“Nah, Jaemin’s leaving. I am trying to kick him out, actually,” I announced, sticking my tongue out.

On Friday, Jaemin and I planned on going to the arcade. Unfortunately, we had to raincheck that. One of Jaemin’s coworkers fell sick, and Jaemin had to take a double shift at the coffee shop in his neighborhood.

I already had canceled my other plans to hang out with Jaemin, so I didn’t really want to stay at home all by myself. It was a Friday night, after all. Surprising him at work seemed like a better idea. His friends liked hanging out there; therefore, it must’ve been an excellent excuse for a little bit of acting in order to keep up appearances.

Quickly, I assembled a cute outfit and put on light make-up.

About an hour before the closing, I entered the coffee shop. Except for a few students with their noses in their computers, the establishment was empty.

“Welcome to–,” Jaemin hollered, ready to welcome the customers. “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?” He asked as a wide smile spread across his face, enjoying my surprise.

“I just came to surprise you,” I confessed, though none of us paid enough attention to the gravity of my words. I genuinely wanted to hang out Jaemin him as his girlfriend. “And I also wanted to get some discounted goodies. What do you have left?” I asked, looking over his shoulder, trying to see what food didn’t sell yet. An hour before the closing, everything on the menu was discounted by seventy percent, and I just couldn’t walk past that kind of deal.

“You’re not the only one who came for cheap stuff,” Jaemin commented as he saw Haechan and Renjun on the other side of the doors. “Take a seat, I’ll bring you your favorite,” he added, and I smiled at him, walking to the booth by the window.

Having finished my Greek sandwich, I focused on my cup of tea. I was scrolling through social media feed, giggling whenever I stumbled upon a funny meme. It was a perfect evening; complete relaxation in the rhythm of soft foreign jazz music playing through speakers, Jaemin checking up on me once every a couple of minutes.

“Oh, hi, there,” Haechan hollered as soon as he noticed me. He must’ve been returning to his table from a restroom. “I didn’t realize you’re here. What’s up?” We weren’t close, so his question was more like a polite generic statement rather than genuine curiosity.

“I’m waiting for Jaemin to finish, so we can hang out at my place,” I answered, hoping Haechan would get the suggestive tone.

“Actually, there’s something you should know,” he said quietly, looking around, probably checking if Jaemin was within earshot. “I am so ashamed it happened, but I really have to tell you something,” Haechan added, and I couldn’t wait for him to reveal the secret.

Haechan was playing dirty. He wanted to tell me about the bet, ruining Jaemin’s chance at getting me to sleep with him. It was some top-tier double-crossing, and I found it impressive. I had no clue Haechan had it in him.

“We shouldn’t have done it. I don’t know why we even agreed to this,” Haechan added, scratching the back of his head, trying to sound genuinely regretful. “I think Jaemin’s not genuine about the thing you have going on. You see, we made a bet. He has to have sex with you, or else he owes Chenle 500 bucks.”

“What?!” I exclaimed, hoping my consternation was believable. At first, I felt the temptation to say something along, yeah, I know, what’s new, but then I decided to play along. It was actually a good idea to make it seem like Jaemin’s about to lose the bet. Knowing them, they wouldn’t call it off. If anything, Jaemin could double the stakes. “No, it can’t be true. Jaemin would never –“

Now, it was my cue to make a scene. Hopefully, it would play out exactly like in my impromptu prediction.

Reaching the stage of fake hysteria, I rose from my seat and stormed to Jaemin. He was energetically wiping off the tables, wanting to leave shortly after the last customer.

“Is that true? Did you really make a bet you can have sex with me?” I yelled at him through gritted teeth. Jaemin, on the other hand, was confused as fuck. “Did you really think you could get away with it? You disgust me!” I shouted, slapping his cheek. “Don’t ever call me again,” I added before I turned on my heel, storming out of the coffee shop.

Being the only employee at work, Jaemin couldn’t run after me.

Jaemin deserved an explanation. I had to fill him in on my wonderful plan before he would blow it in front of Renjun and Haechan.

my love 💖 | 20:46 | play along

my love 💖 | 20:46 | trust me

my love 💖 | 20:47 | kick them out pls

baNANA 🍓 | 20:47 | wtf???

baNANA 🍓 | 20:48 | that hurt

baNANA 🍓 | 20:48 | I didn’t have to kick them out

baNANA 🍓 | 20:49 | they ran out a few seconds after you

my love 💖 | 20:49 | good

baNANA 🍓 | 20:49 | what the hell is going on???

baNANA 🍓 | 20:50 | I am confused

my love 💖 | 20:50 | Haechan ‘told’ me about the bet

my love 💖 | 20:50 | he wanted to double cross you

baNANA 🍓 | 20:51 | what???

my love 💖 | 20:51 | so the plan is

my love 💖 | 20:51 | they know you don’t stand a chance

my love 💖 | 20:51 | so you double the stakes

my love 💖 | 20:52 | and then bam! we win double the money

baNANA 🍓 | 20:52 | wow

baNANA 🍓 | 20:52 | you’re a genius

my love 💖 | 20:53 | I know

my love 💖 | 20:53 | and since I’m acting like I’m not talking to you

my love 💖 | 20:53 | bye

my love 💖 | 20:54 | see you @ the party!

***

Everything went according to my plan. The guys thought I was pissed with Jaemin, while Jaemin still tried to convince them he stands a chance to court me. It was kind of ironic, they wanted to play me, but it was them getting played.

Together with Jiwoo and Ten, we came extra early to Jaehyun’s party. Still being stuck in friendzone, Jiwoo went out of her way to help him out. Today it meant setting up all types of decorations all over the fraternity house and preparing different kinds of snacks.

Around seven, an Uber pulled up in front of our building. Not to brag, but despite the limited amount of time, we managed to dress up to the nines.

I decided to keep it simple. My outfit consisted of a pair of skinny high-waisted black jeans, a long-sleeved sequin embellished crop top, and a pair of ankle-high boots.

Jiwoo, on the other hand, was wearing a two-piece baby pink dress and a pair of massive mid-thigh black leather platform combat boots. She looked fierce, like a weird baby of 90’s Britney Spears and Marilyn Mason.

Though Ten’s outfit looked the most effortless, it took him longer than us to put it together. Having thrown every single thing from his closet on the bed, Ten experienced a mild crisis. Even though he looked gorgeous in everything, he didn’t seem to believe us. Only after the off-hand intervention, he agreed to play it cool with a pair of ripped jeans, a black shirt with three top buttons left untouched, and an oversized leather jacket.

Once we arrived at Jaehyun’s fraternity, nothing was ready. Thankfully, it wasn’t my problem. Jiwoo was the one who volunteered to help out. Ten and I were about to vibe in the corner, letting other people arrange the place according to Jaehyun’s vision.

Trying our best not to disturb others, Ten and I watched the way the smelly fraternity sex mansion turned into a festive valentine’s manor.

“I hope she’s gonna get laid today,” I whispered into Ten’s ear, looking at Jiwoo working like a busy bee around the house.

“She better; that’s really painful to look at,” Ten agreed, looking a little bit disappointed. Jiwoo was at Jaehyun’s beck and call, and it was about time he acknowledged her feelings.

Around nine o’clock, it was getting a little bit crowded.

Music was blasting through the speakers. Some of the fratboys were already looking for their next conquest. Girls were dancing on a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living area, suggestively swaying their hips, teasing whoever was watching with their sexy moves.

Later on, when I was in the middle of my fourth drink of the night, Jaemin finally showed up. Together with Haechan, Jeno, Renjun, and Chenle, they walked through the threshold. They all looked great, but Jaemin stood out in the crowd. After all, he was the only one to put on a suit jacket over his white T-shirt. While the rest rocked the comfortable outfits, Jaemin opted for a more elegant look.

Almost as if he wanted to impress someone. Or at least, apologize properly, trying every sly trick to make me forgive him.

Upon entrance, his eyes searched me in the crowd, and when he met my gaze, a smile stretched across his face. Shyly, he raised his hand, wanting to wave at me, but since I stubbornly turned my head around, playing my role of offended woman, he lowered it.

“I’ve seen an ATM on our way here,” Renjun commented, knowing Jaemin didn’t stand a chance of winning the bet.

“It won’t be necessary,” Jaemin replied, following me with his gaze. “I didn’t lose it yet,” he added, and the guys laughed at him. There was no way he still thought he could woo me. “I still have a few hours left; I am not going to give up.”

“You’re such a loser,” Jeno interjected as regret washed through him. Although he didn’t actively participate when the bet was placed, he didn’t oppose it. He was an idle bystander, allowing other people to ruin our friendship. It didn’t sit right with him, but it was too late. The damage was already done, and Jaemin was going to embarrass himself even further. “She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“It’s not like that,” Jaemin started, but he refused to explain how exactly it was like.

“You’re still gonna fail,” Haechan added with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Back at the coffee shop, he ruined Jaemin’s chance for success. “Hey there, beautiful,” Haechan spoke when his attention was snatched by one of the girls who walked past them.

Once the boys divided to greet other friends, Jaemin strolled to the kitchen. I was there, and he needed to initiate the first step of our plan.

Sincere apology.

“Can we talk?” Jaemin whispered as he reached out to grab my hand, interrupting my conversation with Ten and Yeri. “Let me explain. You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to listen to me,” he asked, and I unwillingly complied, letting him lead me toward an abandoned corner in the living area. No one could hear us talk, but at the same time, everybody could see us.

“What do you want, Jaemin,” I barked, folding my arms across my chest, startling myself with how good I managed to behave like an angry ex-girlfriend. Though it was my last semester, maybe I should change my major to professional acting.

“Wow. You’re too good at this,” Jaemin commented before he proceeded with his part. “Anyway, I made this card for you. I hope it finds you well,” he announced before he pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

Cautiously, I took the valentine’s card out of the envelope. Once I saw the front page, I couldn’t help but laugh. Jaemin must’ve done it himself, or he stole it from Jeno’s four-year-old niece. It was all covered in hearty stickers and glitter.

Jaemin definitely wasn’t a poet. He had never stood next to one, either.

Instead of a heartfelt apology and love confession, there was a short corny message which simultaneously made me cringe and chuckle.

Are you a ba-NANA? Cause I find you a-peeling.

From Your Love

P.S. it’s from me, your Jaemin

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” I spoke, shaking my head, trying my best not to grin. I was supposed to hate him, but it was too difficult. “I am gonna walk away now. Approach me once you raise the stakes.”

Although I didn’t want to party without Jaemin by my side, it was what I had to do. Having sent him a faint smile, I turned around and walked away, giving Jaemin some time to initiate part two of our plan.

Having drunk a few fancy shots Ten had made for me, we hit the dance floor. At first, we just jumped in the rhythm. However, when the DJ played the song we had practiced at the dance studio, everybody stepped to the side, making enough room to let us perform the choreography.

With alcohol coursing in my system, my moves weren’t as precise as usual – they still earned a round of applause.

“Hey, hey, hey, are you having fun?” Drunk as a skunk, Jaehyun shouted through the microphone connected to the DJ’s console. “How about we slow up the tempo?” Jaehyun yelled, and everybody cheered, making a lot of noise. “Tonight’s the love festival, and I, the valentine’s boy, specifically request every find a person to slow dance with.”

Having set the microphone aside, Jaehyun pushed DJ away from the console, putting on his Cigarettes After Sex playlist. The first song which graced our ears was Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You.

“Can I have this dance?” Jaemin appeared out of nowhere by my side, extending his hand for me to take. “Please?” He looked into my eyes, waiting for my response, looking hopeful.

As soon as I nodded, Jaemin grabbed my hand and gently pulled me against his firm body, resting his left hand on my back, holding me still, making sure I’d not run away. With my head resting against his chest, we swayed slowly, getting lost in our little world.

“They think I am a terrible person,” Jaemin whispered into my ear, his breath tickling my skin. “They seriously think I’d try to ruin our friendship with this bet,” he carried on, and I hummed, taking an inhale, getting hit with Jaemin’s musky cologne.

The boys truly underestimated the power of our friendship. Jaemin and I told each other almost everything. It was bold of them to assume I had no idea about the bet.

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied as I had closed my eyes, getting lost in the moment. “Everything will come back to normal soon enough,” I added, trying to ignore the bittersweet taste of my statement. Our fake relationship had an expiration date, and it was near.

“You’re right. Everything will come back to normal,” Jaemin repeated my words as he rested his chin on top of my head, pulling me even closer. “You’re the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had,” he added, pressing an innocent peck against my hairline.

“How many fake girlfriends have you had?” I asked, chuckling, sounding a bit jealous.

“Anyway,” Jaemin started, trying to change the subject. “The guys took the bait. And now, judging by the stupid looks on their faces, they’re shitting their pants.”

“Once the song is over, we should initiate the third phase of our plan,” I commented, wanting to be over with this. In about a minute, I was about to pull Jaemin out of the dance floor and lead him to the bathroom upstairs, where we would do the deed.

When another song from Jaehyun’s playlist echoed in the room, all the other couples kept dancing. Jaemin and I, on the other hand, were about to not so discreetly sneak upstairs.

Unfortunately, we met an obstacle on our path.

It was Jaehyun, pointing his phone at our faces.

“It’s a kiss cam. Do what you gotta do,” he spoke, and I creased my forehead in utter confusion. What the hell was he doing? What the hell was a kiss cam? It was a frat party, not a baseball match. Didn’t he have a beer pong championship to win or something?

“What?”

“Do I really have to explain this to everyone? Jesus,” Jaehyun complained, taking a deep sigh, trying to ease his irritation. “It’s Valentine’s day! I am Valentine’s boy! And this is a kiss cam. You kiss, and I take pictures,” he explained, but I wasn’t convinced. “Hurry up! I have to take like 50 more of them.”

At first, I didn’t want to do it. But then, a thought crossed my mind. Who would believe Jaemin and I had sex if I refused to give him a kiss. It was just one kiss; it wouldn’t hurt.

Having licked my lips, I smiled at Jaemin before I wrapped my hands around his neck, giving him a chaste smooch. It lasted maybe a few seconds, but it still made me uneasy. Even if it was just a brief peck, it was too much for my poor heart.

“What the fuck was that?” Jaehyun groaned in disappointment. “One more time, guys. That’s how you kiss your mother, not your girlfriend. You can do better.”

“Show him how it’s done, Jaemin,” I encouraged him, giving him permission to assault my lips, hoping it would happen to be one hell of a performance.

Having smirked, Jaemin leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against mine. Cautiously, he deepened the kiss, knocking the air out of my lungs, making my legs shake under my weight. His hands held my chin in place as his tongue slipped through my lips.

Out of a sudden, nothing else mattered. Jaemin and I were in our bubble, and despite it being a one-time thing, I wished it lasted forever. Whatever expectations I had about this moment, it wasn’t even close to reality.

Jaehyun cleared his throat, wanting to pull us out of our trance. In vain, though. I moved my lips against Jaemin’s in slow sync, letting the sweet sensation strip me of the last remains of dignity. I was to savor every second of it, basking in bliss.

“Ekhem,” Jaehyun grunted, starting to feel a little bit flustered. “You guys done?”

Once we broke apart to take a breath, Jaehyun spoke again.

“Have you seen Jiwoo, by the way?”

“Yeah, I think she went for a smoke with Lucas,” I answered casually, watching panic display on Jaehyun’s face. It was evident he didn’t fancy the newfound information. “She went outside like half an hour ago, though. I wonder what it takes them so long,” I added, planting another grain of doubt in his subconscious.

As soon as anxiety downed on him, Jaehyun bolted outside. He better, though. If Jaehyun wasn’t going to make a move on Jiwoo tonight, I was about to find another guy to ship her with.

“You did it again,” Jaemin pointed out, and I just shrugged, dismissing his comment. So what? One push in the right direction wasn’t enough for Jaehyun to grow up, so I decided to be generous enough to give him a second chance.

“Are you ready for phase three?” I asked Jaemin, but before he managed to reply, I grabbed his hand, pulling him across the dance floor. Giggling, I ran through the sea of people, not so accidentally bumping into Chenle, almost spilling his beer.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” I hollered, giggling. Now, when I had Chenle’s attention, we could sneak upstairs to proceed with the final step of our plan. “Come on, Jaemin, let’s go. I am horny,” I added, probably overdoing my part. Unfortunately, the words were already spoken. I couldn’t take them back.

Having locked the bathroom doors behind us, I jumped onto the countertop. “Don’t you think it’s a bit creepy they’re gonna eavesdrop on us bang? It’s kinda off-putting, you know…”

When Jaemin wanted to speak, somebody knocked on the doors. It must’ve been one of Jaemin’s friends, checking if we were indeed fucking. “It’s occupied,” Jaemin hollered, mentioning for me to start my performance.

“Fuck, Jaemin! Eat me out, already,” I yelled, pressing my hands against my mouth, trying to stifle my laugher. This situation was ridiculous, and I couldn’t help myself but giggle. I had only a few drinks, yet I felt like I was high as a kite. “Yes, like that! Ahhh…”

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight hole,” Jaemin played along, almost dying of alcohol-induced tittering. We were definitely having too much fun.

“Right there, Jaemin!” I screamed, holding my stomach as it began aching due to excessive cackling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there,” I moaned loudly, kicking my head back. “Don’t tease me, please!”

“I gotta get you ready for my cock, love,” Jaemin growled, and I gasped, my mind conjuring the forbidden image®.

“Just fuck me! I need your cock inside of me now!” I groaned, hoping whoever was on the other side of the doors heard enough of what was going inside. “Mmmm… you stretch me out so well…” I purred, almost falling off the counter when another round of uncontrollable laughter tried to erupt from my throat.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight.”

“Jaemin! Fuck, I am close. Keep going,” I yelled, mentally preparing for the big finale. This whole act was a vocal performance, and it was time I finished. “I’m coming! Come with me!”

“It was spectacular,” Jaemin whispered so only I could hear him. “I have one more favor, though,” he added, shying away. Oh no, he was about to ask about something stupid.

“What is it?”

“It could’ve been some random dude,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head, unsure how to voice his supplication. “Give me your panties. It’ll be the definite proof.”

“You’re joking,” I deadpanned, staring into his eyes, waiting for him to say it was just a harmless prank. “You’re serious,” I added as soon as I realized Jaemin meant it.

“Come on, I won’t be sniffing them,” Jaemin nagged, and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t even think about it, but now that he mentioned it, I had another reason not to comply with his weird-ass request. “I’ll give them back, I promise.”

“I can’t believe I am considering this,” I cursed under my breath. If any other person would like such a favor from me, I’d deny it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, I had a soft spot for Jaemin, so denying him didn’t come easy to me.

Hell, I wouldn’t be here if I was able to say no to him.

“You owe me big time,” I caved in, jumping off the countertop, stepping behind the shower curtain, providing myself with some privacy. “Don’t peek. Even if I slip, you gotta stay on the other side. Got it?” I added as I stuck my head through the curtain.

“Scout’s honor,” Jaemin pledged, and I rolled my eyes. He was a scout for maybe a week. His honor didn’t mean shit.

Clumsily, I took off my shoes and jeans. “Here,” I warned before I threw my panties over the curtain. “I am too sober for this,” I nagged, trying to put my skinny jeans back on.

“Let’s do celebratory shots!” Jaemin suggested, balling up my undergarments, hiding them in his pocket. “We deserve it,” he added, landing me a helping hand when I was stepping out of the shower.

“Let’s go.”

***

Needless to say, Jaemin won the bet.

Unfortunately, it meant the inevitable end of our fake relationship. It was fun when it lasted, and though I’d miss these times, it was time to set the record straight.

As we had discussed, we had to arrange our break up.

Sometime next week, Jaemin stopped by to give me half of the prize. Since the boys had been stupid enough to fall for our little charade, I received a large sum of money. It was Chenle who sponsored the prize. Because of that, I didn’t feel particularly sorry about deceiving them. After all, Chenle was so loaded; he wouldn’t notice if he lost that kind of money on the street. I could finally buy these shoes which I had been dreaming of for so long! Better yet, I'd still have some money left to spoil myself some more.

“How should we do it?” Jaemin asked quietly. Ever since he came, he avoided my gaze, staring at the floor.

“I don’t know,” I unwillingly answered. This conversation was the last thing I wanted to do right now, but it had to be done. Better sooner or later, before I’d catch some real feelings for Jaemin. I had no idea how I would pick up the pieces of my broken heart if we kept this act any longer. “Let’s just delete all posts we published. Someone will figure out something’s wrong, and when they spread the word, we’ll explain we decided to remain friends.”

Maybe I wasn’t in tears, but I felt regret wash through me. Though our relationship had never been a real thing, it felt like it.

And it hurt.

“Alright then,” Jaemin complied, rubbing his hands against his thighs before he pulled out his phone to erase any digital footprint of our brief romance. His thumb hovered over the delete button for a while. After a few moments of hesitation, when he didn’t hear any sign of protest from my side, he pressed it, sending our memories to a bottomless void. “And it’s gone.”

“Are we cool?” I asked, hoping that nothing would change between us. I had a hunch it would take me some time to get used to how things had been before the relationship fiasco. Nonetheless, I still had hope we could remain best friends without any awkwardness.

“Of course,” Jaemin answered with a faint smile, but I didn’t fully believe him. Something was off, and it bothered us. Shame that none of us dared to begin this topic.

After he left that day, we saw each other very seldom. We barely even spoke to one another. If it wasn’t for the group chats we were both in, we wouldn’t talk at all.

Jaemin had said we were cool, but it was evident we weren’t.

It was eating me from the inside out, but whenever somebody asked me about the break-up, I’d always shrug it off, confirming everything’s great. I would tell our friends nothing changed between us. There was nothing wrong; our schedules are just incompatible these days.

When I had pretended I was in a relationship with Jaemin, it was easy. It came naturally, and everyone ate it up without any second thoughts. Unfortunately, now, when I was trying to play it cool, no one seemed to buy it. Thankfully, they didn’t confront me about it. Instead, they offered me their support if I ever needed anything.

In my head, I had a few wild scenarios in which I tell Jaemin we should date for real. However, at the same time, a little devil on my shoulder was telling me it should never leave the realm of fantasy. It’s ridiculous to think Jaemin would reciprocate my feelings.

I felt as if sadness took over my body. Though I was smiling on the outside, I was filled with regret. Barely anything sparked joy these gloomy days. Even this pair of shoes, which I wanted so badly, didn’t stir any positive emotion. I bought them, but I never took them out of the box.

Jiwoo had taken me out on a few girls’ nights to make me feel better. Men are trash – she would always say when Jaehyun ignored her yet another text. Even though they had fucked each other at Jaehyun’s birthday party and agreed to become exclusive, Jaehyun still had lots of problems committing to a monogamous relationship. They hadn’t officially labeled it, but everyone knew Jaehyun was slowly caving in.

Fratboys’ habits die hard, but Jaehyun was finally shaping himself into boyfriend material. He no longer slept around, as far to my knowledge at least, but he still lacked in some departments. For instance, it would take him way too much to text back.

“You were so adorable together,” Jiwoo began after she gulped down another rum and coke. Despite her high alcohol tolerance, she was already drunk, speaking with no filter. “I mean… you were simping for him for so long, and you finally managed to jump that dick.”

“Your point being…” I inquired, finishing my drink. Though Jaemin and I had never had sex, I didn’t want to admit that. What would Jiwoo thought if I told her it was all-pretend?

“I shipped you guys so hard,” Jiwoo confessed. “Ten shipped you too, but he will never admit that,” she added, and I giggled. Now, that was an interesting take. Ten was so random at many aspects of life; it came to me as a surprise he even had an opinion on my relationship with Jaemin. “Can I just take some duck tape and put my ship back together?”

“I am not sure Jaemin would like that,” I answered with a sigh, my mood instantly decreasing.

“Nonsense,” Jiwoo replied in a heartbeat. “This guy is even worse than you,” she revealed, and I rolled my eyes, not buying this. At least a few times a week, at my lowest moments, I happened to check Jaemin’s social media updates. He didn’t seem to mope around at all.

“I find it hard to believe,” I muttered, trying not to get too emotional.

“I mean it,” Jiwoo confirmed her previous statement, eager to explain her thesis. “Jaehyun and I went on a little date to the coffee shop where Jaemin works,” she started, and I nodded, not really sure what she was getting at. Nonetheless, I let her continue. I was curious what Jaemin had been up to. And since he didn’t seem to want to tell me anything himself, I’d accept any type of second-hand information from Jiwoo. “Jaemin misses you. You have no idea how many times I caught him daydreaming. He still has your photo set on his lock screen, and he stares at it a lot.”

Now, that’s interesting.

I had no recollection of Jaemin ever setting my photo as his background picture. Even if Jiwoo was right, it meant he set after we had broken up. It made no sense at all, and I was too drunk to try to comprehend the meaning of this.

Instead, I ordered another round, trying to stifle all the brooding emotions within me.

***

February was the month of parties. Too many birthdays fell during this hectic period, and I had trouble keeping up with them. Fortunately, Ten’s party was the last one of the month. After a small get together at our place, I’d have some time off to relax by myself, most preferably, without alcohol.

Being the semi-hosts with Jiwoo, it was our duty to help Ten organize everything regarding his party. Though our trio was a little bit disorganized, somehow, we managed to get everything ready before anyone arrived.

Maybe it wasn’t comparable to birthday parties at fraternity houses; it still had its charm. It wasn’t as wild, but guests still were having a great time in the company of their closest friends. However, what was the most important, Ten had a blast.

It was his day; he deserved everything he wanted.

Trying my best not to embarrass Ten, I decided to socialize with his friends.

It was time I move on. It took me way too long to mourn a relationship that wasn’t even real. I couldn’t let my brooding mood ruin the party.

“Hmm… Ten has never mentioned you before,” I confessed, not finding it particularly odd. Ten didn’t have secretive nature; he just wasn’t the type of person to over-share. And he often forgot to even mention stuff about his personal life.

“I can’t say I am surprised,” Hendery replied, making me giggle. It was fun chatting with him. Hendery was hilarious, and he knew many secrets regarding Ten. It was my mission to get as much information from him as it was possible. I would need it for blackmailing purposes, of course.

Hiding out in the kitchen, we sipped beer and exchanged rumors as if we were two gossip girls. It was too entertaining to stop. I was incredibly immersed in the conversation; I didn’t even realize when someone tapped my shoulder.

“Can we talk?” I heard the question, recognizing the voice in an instant. It belonged to Jaemin, and it seemed to be laced with both jealousy and irritation. The way he phased his plea gave me flashbacks of the conversation we had at Jaehyun’s party.

I really wanted to continue my discussion with Hendery, but I couldn’t say no to Jaemin. It wasn’t how my brain was programmed. Besides, I missed him a lot.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” I told Hendery before I grabbed Jaemin’s hand, leading him to my room, locking the doors behind us.

“Nothing was supposed to change,” Jaemin started as he sat at the edge of my bed, leaning forward with his upper body propped on his elbows. His gaze was trained on the floor, too frustrated to look up at me.

“I know,” I whispered as I sat down in my chair on the other side of the room. My first instinct was to kneel in front of Jaemin, kiss his forehead, and assure him that everything’s going to be alright.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like a good idea, so I refrained from doing so. “I am sorry, it’s my fault.”

“Don’t,” Jaemin interjected before I embarrassed myself even further. “We’re both at fault.”

Despite the loud party noises coming from the other side of the doors, my bedroom was filled with deafening silence. It was awfully uncomfortable, and it was probably a good thing. One of us would get annoyed eventually and cave in, letting out all the bottled up emotions.

“I missed you,” I admitted, staring at my hands. I was all fidgety, and although I was too embarrassed to reveal my inner feelings, Jaemin deserved to know this much.

“I missed you, too,” he genuinely confessed, showing me a shy smile. “Actually, I missed you more than I thought it was possible to miss a person,” Jaemin carried on, and I held my breath, not ready to hear whatever he had to say. “You have no idea how much I wanted to text you or call you, but ultimately decided not to because I was sure you don’t want me to.”

“Jaemin,” I spoke, not really sure what I should say next. I had too many things I wanted to tell him about. However, now when he was here, I couldn’t properly voice my thoughts.

“Are you dating this guy you were talking to in the kitchen?” Jaemin asked out of the blue, catching me off guard with this random accusation. “Or do you want to date him? You two looked like you’re having a great time together,” he added, and I rolled my eyes. At first, Jaemin acted on his jealously, but then, insecurity crept in.

“I don’t know. I met Hendery today, but he seems like a great guy,” I answered honestly, thinking of possibilities of me trying to pursing something of romantic nature with Hendery. After our brief encounter, I could tell he’s fun to be around. And honestly speaking, I might’ve considered dating him if I hadn’t already had feelings for someone else.

Unfortunately, right now, I wasn’t in the right state of mind to date. Not when I was still hung up on my best friend.

“I probably won’t, though. I like somebody else,” I confessed, gaining Jaemin’s interest. Instantly, he sat up, staring into my eyes, patiently waiting for the reveal. “I am stupid, but I like this one guy. He’s such a jerk, I can’t even… he’s been ghosting me for weeks now,” I carried on, hoping Jaemin would get the hint.

Two weeks ago, we promised each other nothing would change. Despite our good intentions, it did. Even though I hadn’t told Jaemin how I really felt, I still lost my best friend.

My silence didn’t save this friendship. I tried to bottle up my emotions to secure our unbreakable bond. It didn’t work, so I figured confessing my feelings wouldn’t do any more harm. Surely, Jaemin was going to reject me, but at least, I’d clear the air between us.

Hopefully, my confession, followed by a harsh rejection, would help me move on.

Instantly, Jaemin ran up to my chair and knelt in front of me, trying to look into my eyes. “Please tell me this jerk is me,” Jaemin urgently spoke, unable to handle any more suspense. Jaemin’s gaze was hopeful, and it was too much for me to comprehend.

“What?” I asked, still being overwhelmed by confusion. What was going on? Why was Jaemin on his knees in front of me? Nothing made sense. How was I supposed to wrap my head around it? “I mean… yeah, it’s you. Who else could it be?”

“You have no idea how sorry I am,” Jaemin confessed as he grabbed my hand and yanked me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me, giving me a tight hug. “You could’ve said something… anything,” he added as he pulled back his head, placing a chase kiss against my forehead.

“I didn’t want to scare you away,” I admitted quietly, unable to break free from Jaemin’s cone-crashing embrace. I couldn’t believe he was so close. Na Jaemin was holding me in his arms, letting me listen to his rapid heartbeat.

“The worst two weeks of my life,” Jaemin spoke, once again breaking the silence. “It felt at least like two centuries,” he added, making me chuckle. Of course, it was an exaggeration, but it’s how I felt, too.

“How about we start over?” I proposed, taking a step backward to have a proper look at him. “Will you go on a date with me? This time around for real, no pretending,” I carried on, trying not to grin like an idiot.

“No.”

“What?”

What the fuck was that?

Did I misunderstand Jaemin’s words? I thought he felt the same, but apparently, he didn’t? Everything suggested he followed my flow only to crush my expectations, later on, leaving a big ass scar and more trust issues.

“I mean yes, but I should be me asking you out. Definitely not the other way around,” Jaemin clarified, making me relax. Thankfully, my mini panic attack was uncalled for. It was just my brain over-analyzing everything, conjuring the worst possible scenario.

“Then you better do your best to woo me,” I teased, wondering if he was willing enough to take the bait. It was just a mere joke, reminding me how it all began. He had wooed me once, and I wasn’t going to oppose to a second attempt. “Fun dates, romantic messages, silly gifts. I want it all,” I added, going a little bit overboard with my request list.

“Everything can be arranged,” Jaemin replied with a lopsided smile before he tightened his grip, almost crashing my bones in the process.

***

Jaemin and I began dating. This time around, it was real; no more pretending, no more stupid bets. Just two people who had discovered friendship could never be enough.

Even though I had told Jaemin I was just joking about this whole wooing thing, he refused to accept it, going to extreme lengths to make my heart flutter. I was already stupidly in love with him, yet he kept trying to make me swoon even more.

Despite our busy schedules, we made sure to see each other every day. It could’ve been a date at the arcade or just a quick coffee or a video call. In all honestly, I gladly accepted any form of contact from Jaemin.

I hated the prospect of going through a day without any message from him.

Except for many mini and maxi dates, Jaemin would also spoil me with plenty of encouraging notes of many kinds. Each massage from Jaemin was even sillier from the previous one. He never ceased to amaze me.

At first, Jaemin would stick post-it notes in different places in my room. Whenever I paid no attention, he would quickly write one for me to find it later. Whenever I saw sleep tight message stuck to my bedpost or you looked extra sexy today attached to the mirror, I smiled like an idiot, imaging Jaemin writing it.

If Jaemin forgot about post-it notes, he would always make it up to me by sending me corny direct messages. We would always text each other before sleep, and Jaemin never failed to make me smile with words such as:

If you happen to have wet dreams of me, you gotta tell me everything that happened. We can recreate it later.

I saw some sexy lingerie on my way home. Your ass would look amazing in it. I’m gonna buy it for you when I get my paycheck.

You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. Just kidding, I have to pee.

Whenever we went out, Jaemin would also scribble something either on a napkin or on a receipt. One time, Jaemin even gave a crumbled piece of paper that he was carrying in his pocket for some reason.

You know I’d give you my kidney, right? And a piece of the liver if you ask nicely. I hope you would do the same for me.

When we have kids, I’ll let you name the first one. Don’t fuck it up.

You’re my favorite pain in the ass.

You are stuck with me. You better get used to it.

Messy notes weren’t sufficient for Jaemin. Although I was more than content with the attention and affection he was giving me, it wasn’t enough for Jaemin. With each massage, he had to out-do himself.

Jaemin even wrote me a song! Or at least, he tried to write me a song. It was really bold of him to assume I didn’t know the lyrics to Jonas Brothers’ Sucker. I loved this song, and even though I perfectly knew it wasn’t Jaemin’s piece of work, I still appreciated the gesture.

Later on, his love letters reached another level of ridiculousness. Jaemin sent me a love e-mail, and if that doesn’t prove how extra he can get, I don’t know what can.

Jaemin didn’t stop there. No, it was just a warm-up.

When I was checking the mailbox, I found a paper plane stuck in between bills. Jaemin must’ve put it there, probably after one of his frequent visits to my apartment. Though the paper plane was a little bit crumbled, I found it incredibly adorable. On its wing, it had “open me” written with Jaemin’s messy handwriting. Inside there was a corny message that turned my insides in absolute cringe.

Your wings already exist. All you have to do is fly.

A few days later, Jaemin gave me a CD with the love playlist he had made for me. Carefully, he had chosen our favorite songs and burned them on a disc. I had no means to actually play it, but I adored the gesture.

Jaemin’s creativity did not disappoint. At this point, he might send me a love letter via a fax machine, and I wouldn’t be surprised. There were no limitations to his imagination, and it was one of the many things I loved about him.

Neither of us dropped the L-bomb yet, but we really didn’t need to. Though that dreaded word has yet to be spoken, we perfectly knew how we felt about each other. We would do anything for one another; no doubt in that.

Having exceeded my expectations, Jaemin proved himself worthy of being my boyfriend. Or rather, he showed me he was way out of my league. When he was bending over backward, I was passively basking in the glory of Jaemin’s confessions. Relationships were about giving and taking, and it seemed our balance was off.

It was time we switched roles. It was only fair if I tried to creep my way into his heart the way he had been wooing mine.

As soon as I cleaned up the apartment and pampered myself a little bit, I pulled out my phone, quickly texting Jaemin. Hopefully, he wasn’t that busy.

my love 💖 | 18:12 | U want to come over?

baNANA 🍓 | 18:16 | 😏

baNANA 🍓 | 18:16 | You miss me???

my love 💖 | 18:17 | 🤡 🤡 🤡 🤡 🤡

my love 💖 | 18:17 | nvm forget I asked

baNANA 🍓 | 18:17 | 😧 😧 😧

baNANA 🍓 | 18:18 | I’ll be in an hour

baNANA 🍓 | 18:18 | want me to bring anything?

my love 💖 | 18:19 | nah, just get your cute butt over here

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | ?????

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | are you high??

baNANA 🍓 | 18:19 | should I be concerned?

Okay, I had an hour to prepare something for our impromptu date. It was fine; it was more than enough than I needed. The apartment was already clean, so I just had to whip something to eat and cool the bubbles.

For some reason, I felt in a celebratory mood. Whatever tempo Jaemin and I had, it worked in two week periods. We had fake-dated for fourteen days before we called it quits. Then, we didn’t talk to each other for two weeks. Tonight another period came by, and I wanted to celebrate it, hoping to break the unfortunate chain of bad luck.

The alcohol was already in the refrigerator. Having put on an apron, I opened all the cabinets around the kitchen, quickly analyzing the ingredients and what I can make out of them. It wasn’t much, but pasta would have to be enough.

It wasn’t a fancy dish, but I was made it with love, so Jaemin shouldn’t have any complaints. Pouring my emotions into the pasta was to make it extra flavorful.

When the sauce was slowly cooking on the stove, I decorated the table. I wanted to provide Jaemin with some high-end restaurant experience despite being in my cramped apartment. It was the best thing out of two words; we had all privacy in the world offered by a homely atmosphere, but at the same time, we would eat some beautifully garnished food.

Just when I was about to drain the pasta, someone knocked on the doors.

“Coming,” I hollered before I put the pot in the sink, wiping my hands on the apron before making my way to answer the doors. “Hey there, beautiful,” I greeted Jaemin with a playful remark, standing on my toes to press a brief smooch on his adorable lips. It took him off guard, but in some sense, he liked it.

“Hey, it’s my line,” Jaemin nagged when his hands found purchase on my hips, bringing me closer for another kiss since one was never enough. “What do you have there? It smells delicious,” Jaemin turned his head, trying to peek inside to see what surprise I had prepared for him.

“You know, just some carbs,” I answered vaguely, sending him a playful smirk, not wanting to ruin the surprise. I wanted him to sit down at the table and wait for me to bring the whole dish and pour us some cheap champagne.

Jaemin took off his shoes, kicking them to the side. A second later, he handed me his coat, and I put it on the hanger. Jaemin was wearing a pair of gray jeans and a mint oversized hoodie, and I drooled over this comfortable look. He didn’t have to try hard to impress me.

“Just wait here. I’ll be back in a sec,” I spoke when I guided Jaemin to the table, forcing him to sit down in the chair. Jaemin wanted to help me out in the kitchen, but I firmly refused. Tonight I wished to impress Jaemin; he didn’t have to move a finger.

“I know it’s not much, but I hope you’ll still like it,” I whispered when I put a plate in front of him. “Dig in,” I added as I sat on the other side of the table, carefully trying to pop the champagne bottle open. Though I hated doing it, too afraid of breaking something or hurting someone, tonight I wanted to try it.

“What’s the occasion,” Jaemin wondered as he fondly watched me fight with the bottle. “Do you need some help? You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Jaemin offered, genuinely concerned about my safety. However, I just turned around, wanting to finish it by myself.

It took me good five minutes to pop it. And when I finally did it, Jaemin gave me a round of pitiful applause, officially declaring it’s his job from now on.

“It was just painful to watch,” Jaemin playfully commented, and I kicked his shin under the table, showing him how much appreciated his remark was. “So… what’s the occasion?”

“Do I really need to have a reason to spoil my boyfriend?” I innocently asked, batting my eyelashes, and Jaemin smiled at the word boyfriend. We had never discussed labels, but it was self-explanatory we were in a loving relationship. “I figured it’d be nice to give you some more attention,” I absentmindedly added as I reached for my phone to play some soft EDM music through the Bluetooth speaker.

“Is that it?” Jaemin wondered, gazing into my eyes, searching for any ulterior motive I might have. “Are you sure you’re not trying to butter me up before you say something I may not like? What did you do?” Jaemin inquired, and I chuckled loudly.

“Calm down, Na,” I spoke, making Jaemin look up at me once again. I only called him by his surname when I was extra affectionate, so he was curious what I was going to say. “I just wanted to hang out with you. That’s all,” I confessed, but Jaemin scrutinized his eyes, not really buying my innocent talk. “Okay, fine. There’s one more thing.”

“What is it?” Jaemin inquired, grinning at me.

“Can’t you already tell? I am trying to woo my way into your pants, duh,” I confessed, and Jaemin choked on his champagne as he did not expect this wording. “Your heart! I meant to say into your heart,” I corrected when I realized my little Freudian slip. “Wait, no, screw it. I second that. I want to get into both.”

“You’ve already got into one,” Jaemin declared with a lopsided smirk pinned to his face. “But... if you don’t suspect it already, you’re welcome in both,” he added mischievously, taking a sip of his alcohol. I, on the other hand, looked away, feeling the heat in my cheeks.

“Good to know.”

“Where are Jiwoo and Ten by the way?” Jaemin wondered as he looked around the apartment, finding it suspicious they didn’t crash our date yet. Under typical circumstances, Jiwoo or Ten would haul another chair to the table and steal the food, third-wheeling our date.

“Ten is at the dance studio. He’s having a dance competition next week, so he goes there every time he has some free time to practice. And Jiwoo is with Jaehyun. He came here to pick her up a few hours ago. I don’t think either of them is coming home anytime soon,” I explained, smirking. We had the place to ourselves.

Finally, we could bask in each other’s company without any intrusive guests.

“I’d like to cheers to that,” Jaemin raised his glass, clinking it gently against mine.

Having eaten the food, we moved to the couch.

“What now?” Jaemin asked as he stretched his arm, resting it on the back of the couch right over my shoulders.

“I have one more surprise,” I announced before I jumped to my feet. “Wait a second,” I added before bolting to my bedroom.

“What is it?” Jaemin inquired, having no clue what else I could surprise him with. “What do you have there?” He pressed, tilting his head to the side, trying to see what I was hiding behind my back.

“Let’s take some pictures,” I announced in excitement, showing him my Polaroid camera. “I finally bought some film, and I really want our photo in my wallet,” I added as I plopped down onto the couch, resting my head against Jaemin’s chest. “You take it,” I ordered, handing him the camera. After all, he was the prodigy of photography. Besides, his hands were longer than mine.

“I think that’s more than enough,” Jaemin spoke after snapping the twelfth picture.

Having put the camera on the coffee table, he wrapped his arms around me. Jaemin pulled me on his laps, embracing me tightly, placing a round of pecks against my temple.

“Wait! One more thing,” I hollered, leaning forward to reach for the envelope which was lying on the coffee table next to our photos.

“You can’t say it’s the last thing and then bring another one. That’s not how it works,” Jaemin nagged, a little flustered that I managed to find another excuse when he wanted to cuddle. “Who are you? A fitness instructor? When you say it’s the last one, it should be the last one. You can’t come up with new ones every three minutes.”

“I promise it’s the last one,” I sat cross-legged on the couch beside him, handing him the envelope. Cautiously, he pulled the card out of it, and I looked at him, studying his expression in excitement.

“Annoyingly, I like you way more than I’d originally planned,” Jaemin read the cover of the card, smiling widely at the passive-aggressive message. “It’s already good, and I didn’t even read what you wrote inside,” he commented before he leaned forward to kiss my forehead. “I don’t get it,” he added in confusion as he saw the blank page inside the card.

“It’s my love letter for you,” I clarified, but Jaemin was still clueless.

“It’s a blank page. You really have that little to say?” Jaemin asked, trying to make sense out of my card.

“That’s not how you were supposed to interpret that!” I yelled, climbing on his laps, wanting to tear the card out of his ungrateful hands. Unfortunately, Jaemin’s hands were longer than mine, so even when I was hovering over his thighs, I couldn’t reach it.

“How was I supposed to interpret that then?” Jaemin challenged, holding my hips, forcing them down on his laps.

“I wanted to write something meaningful, but I just couldn’t decide what. I have so many things I want to tell you, it wouldn’t even fit on the card,” I started, trying to find the best way to form a coherent sentence. “One way to interpret it is that you have to imagine it’s written in a very tiny font. Because I have so much to tell you, I wrote everything down, but you just can’t read it.”

“I like it,” Jaemin whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against my knuckles.

“Or you can say it’s blank because whenever I’m with you, my head is completely empty,” I added, chuckling at the corny confession. “Or you can assume there are no words to describe my feelings for you.”

“How is it possible that without writing anything, you managed to top all of my love letters?” Jaemin wondered, smiling at me. “What kind of sorcery is this?”

“No, Jaemin. You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I loved your love letters. They were silly, but at the same time, I could feel you really meant everything,” I reasoned, looking down at Jaemin’s lips, slowly leaning in for a delicate kiss.

“Okay, I have an idea,” Jaemin suddenly spoke as he grabbed my butt and threw me off his laps. “I need a pen,” he added, looking around the living room, finding the pen on the coffee table. In a hurry, he scribbled down something on the blank page of the card, making sure I couldn’t peek. “Here, I found my way to interpret it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Jaemin answered confidently, handing me the card. “Read it out loud for me.”

“Okay, I guess,” I cleared my throat before I opened the card. “My beloved Jaemin,” I read, looking at Jaemin’s face with a raised eyebrow. This was going to be good.

“Carry on,” he urged, and I shook my head, unable to believe I was going to do it.

“You’re the most handsome man I have ever seen. You’re also the smartest and the funniest. Not to mention, you’re the best kisser in the world. What the fuck is this?” I interjected, having doubts, knowing it was a bad idea.

“Just keep reading, babe,” Jaemin ordered, wanting me to carry on with his antics. “Though you’re no poet, it’s, by a huge margin, the best love letter I have ever received,” he added, blowing his ego way out of proportion, and I rolled my eyes.

“Now, when I look at you, I understand there’s not a chance I wouldn’t fall for you. So, since there’s not much space left, I just wanna tell you that I love you. I really love you, Jaemin.”

Before I managed to complain that he forced me to say the L-word first, Jaemin interjected.

“Finally, took you long enough,” he teased, and I sighed, wondering where to hit him first. “As if you haven’t figured it out yet, I love you, too.”

“You’re impossible,” I commented, still not quite sure if we just confessed to each other.

“I’m impossible not to fall in love with,” Jaemin corrected, once again hauling me back on his laps, taking my breath away with a fervent kiss. “How about you show me how you want to get into my pants, babe?”

Having had enough of Jaemin’s teasing, I decided not to comply with his request.

“I think you should go.”

“You’re right,” Jaemin agreed too quickly, and it made me alert. “Let’s go to your room because once I start pounding into you, I will not stop even if a group of nuns was about to break in and steal all of your shit,” he added as he picked me up, carrying me to my bedroom.

“You’re impossible,” I repeated my words when Jaemin threw me onto my bed before he landed on it right beside me.

“I think we’ve already discussed this,” he remarked, reminding me of the remark he had given me earlier. “So… where were we?” Jaemin asked as he put his hand on my side, pulling me closer. Soon enough, his palm slipped under the hem of my shirt, caressing my skin.

“Is it weird that the only thing I can think about is you eating me out?” I wondered out loud, stripped of all remains of dignity. Jaemin was in my bed, and I was planning on taking full advantage of it.

“Not at all, love,” Jaemin replied, showing me his eager smile. Quickly, he sat on his calves between my legs, taking his time to take off my jeans. “I thought about eating you out way too often ever since that thing in the bathroom,” Jaemin confessed as he threw my jeans across the room.

Though my panties were still on, Jaemin began his teasing. His soft lips trailed across my thighs, driving me crazy. His lips touched every inch of my skin except for the area I wanted the most. At this point, my panties were dripping wet, yet he didn’t even think of pulling them to the side, giving attention to my much-ignored core.

“You’re killing me,” I whispered, slowly losing patience. If Jaemin kept up with his antics, I’d combust out of sexual frustration. “Bold of you to assume I won’t let you taste your own medicine,” I warned Jaemin. It worked because as soon as I voiced my mischievous threat, Jaemin’s finger hooked under the hem of my panties, quickly pulling them down my legs.

“You’re no fun at all,” Jaemin clarified before his lips finally landed on my clit, making me buckle my hips in an instant. Slowly, his mouth moved against my sweet spot, and I arched my back with each swirl of his tongue.

Though he barely started, I could feel the electricity coursing through my body. In my state of permanent frustration, it wouldn’t be difficult for Jaemin to make me come against his mouth.

Getting into it, Jaemin squeezed my hips, trying to keep me still when he ate me out. His jaw was dripping in my juices as he made his way down to lick my folds.

“Fuck,” I moaned loudly when Jaemin’s nose rubbed my clit when he was running his tongue all over my entrance. “I think I am gonna come,” I admitted what made Jaemin smirk through the kiss. Jaemin barely touched me, but I was already close.

“Come for me,” Jaemin urged, releasing my hips from his firm grip. Now when I could buckle my hips against his face, my orgasm was just seconds away. With my hand in his hair, I rocked my hips, basking in pleasure.

“I need your fingers,” I begged, and Jaemin quickly obeyed my shameful plea. I expected him to tease me further, denying me his long fingers, but he was kind enough to do anything to make me come.

Thanks to my juices and Jaemin’s saliva, his two fingers slid right in.

“Fuck,” I shouted at the top of my voice when the wave of pleasure shot right through me. Jaemin’s jaw still played with my clit as he continued his actions throughout the orgasm.

“You blew my mind, Jaemin,” I muttered after I regained my focus after he had made me come on his face. “I came so hard,” I confessed, smiling like an idiot. It was way too long ever since someone made me feel this good.

“You better get used to it because I am planning this to be a frequent occurrence,” Jaemin whispered, looking at my face as if it was an art piece. “Do you have condoms?” he casually asked as he pulled down his jeans. His erected cock was restrained in the denim fabric, and Jaemin needed to get rid of it.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” I replied as I opened the bedside table and threw a brand new package of condoms at Jaemin’s chest. “Jiwoo got me those after she walked on our pillow fight the other day. Apparently, she doesn’t want any cum stains on the couch.”

For a while, we were lying on the bed, staring at each other. Jaemin gave me some time to recover from my orgasm. According to him, I needed to take breaks because he didn’t want to over-stimulate me too soon.

“I really love you,” Jaemin confessed genuinely, and I quickly rolled closer to him, giving him another chase smooch. His confession was music to my ears, and I could listen to it on repeat without getting tired of it.

“I love you, too,” I quickly replied, leaning in for another kiss. With his hand on my cheek, he deepened the kiss, giving us another chance to get lost in the love trance.

Having thrown my leg over his hipbone, I hovered over his erection.

“Let me take care of you,” I said as I pulled away from the kiss. With a playful smirk upon my face, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Slowly after, my bra followed suit, and Jaemin grunted upon seeing me completely naked in front of him.

“Sexy,” he purred before he eagerly took off his hoodie, throwing it onto the floor. “On a second thought, maybe you should put something on. You’re too sexy, and I’d like to last longer,” Jaemin explained, handing me his hoodie so I could cover myself up. “No, it’s even worse. Take it off,” he changed his mind after seeing me in his clothes.

Carefully, I pulled Jaemin’s boxers down his legs, letting his rock hard cock spring free. Biting on my lips, I grabbed his erection, giving it a few gentle strokes.

“Fuck it, I am ready,” Jaemin yelled, placing his hand over mine, making me stop. “You have all the time in the world to blow me. Right now, I want to feel you,” he added, quickly pulling out a condom from its packaging.

“Let me at least roll it down for you,” I offered, and Jaemin sighed, weighing his options.

“Nah, I am not willing to take that risk,” Jaemin answered, proceeding to wrap his cock by himself. “Now, come here, sit down on it,” he urged, and I shook my head. Smiling like an idiot, I guided his cock towards my entrance, slowly sinking down on his length.

“You’re good?” I asked, trying to guess what was going on inside his brain. Judging by his sour expression, he must’ve been thinking about something terrible in order to stop himself from coming too soon.

“Yes, everything’s cool,” he reassured, and I took it as permission to gently rock my hips back and forth. Whenever I moved, Jaemin kept grunting quietly. Apparently, he also suffered from sexual frustration.

My hands were wandering all over his muscular chest, admiring his athletic built. My hips were moving at a steady rhythm, but whenever I happened to increase the tempo, Jaemin would slow me down with a firm grip on my hips.

“If you keep doing that, I might spank you,” Jaemin warned me, but it only made me want to disobey more. “Why did I even expect you to be a good girl?” Jaemin asked, rolling his eyes.

“Spank me,” I ordered, trying my best not to chuckle. “I dare you,” I added, pushing the right buttons. “Like that,” I moaned when Jaemin’s hand collided against my butt, shaking me with newfound excitement.

“You’re impossible,” Jaemin comment, still in shock after discovering how much into spanking I happened to be.

“I’m impossible not to fall in love with,” I remarked, using Jaemin’s own words against him.

Unable to handle my teasing, Jaemin sat up. “I love you so much,” Jaemin stated once again before he looked at my lips, kissing them. Now, when I was distracted by his tongue, it was easier for him to control my movement.

In our upgraded position, I significantly slowed down. Carefully, I moved up and down Jaemin’s cock, while he sneaked his hand between our entangled bodies, rubbing my clit. I was close, and I was about to come again.

I didn’t know what he was so self-conscious about. No doubt I would come first.

“Jaemin, I am coming,” I breathed out, messing up my rhythm. It was difficult to maintain the same tempo when Jaemin was playing with my clit. Jaemin’s lips moved down my neck, finding a perfect spot on my collarbone to leave a hickey.

“Me, too,” Jaemin whispered as he began thrusting from underneath me, now desperate to push the both of us off the edge. “You’re so tight, fuck,” he cursed as my walls started to swell around his throbbing cock.

Jaemin moaned against my skin, muffling his sinful sounds. I, on the other hand, screamed Jaemin’s name at the top of my voice, telling everybody in the world he was the person, making me feel this good.

Having fallen onto the sheets, we looked into each other’s eyes. We were panting as if we just ran a marathon. Not that I had any doubts, but Jaemin turned out to be a passionate lover, and it made me love him even more.

“You’re beautiful,” Jaemin complimented me, staring at my face in utter admiration. “I am so lucky,” he added, and I moved closer, snuggling up to him. It was still early, but I was so fucked out, I could fall asleep right there in his arms.

Having pulled me closer to his chest, Jaemin threw a duvet over our sweaty bodies. His fingers were tracing shapes on my shoulder when he pressed yet another peck against my temple.

“Are you down for another round?” Jaemin asked as he discarded the full condom. His cock was still semi-hard. In a few minutes, Jaemin would be ready for some more. “It’s cool if you’re not,” he added, trying not to put any pressure on me.

“I want you to do me all night,” I confessed, looking over my shoulder at the clock. It’s only 8 pm, and I could stay up till daylight with Jaemin.

“Do you want to go bowling tomorrow?” Jaemin asked, and I eagerly nodded. It was fun the last time I had joined the boys on their monthly trip to the bowling alley. Besides, I would be the first woman to break the unfortunate one-time-only curse. I couldn’t wait to show up two months in a row.

“I’d love that,” I answered, snuggling closer to Jaemin’s side.

In content, we basked in happiness until Jaemin regained enough energy to go for the third time. However, this time around, it was slow and steamy. Under the covers, Jaemin crawled on top of me, kissing every inch of my body.

“Do you want to roll it down on me? I think I can handle that,” Jaemin asked, and I reached for the condom, carefully rolling it down his length. “I wish I could fuck you without one, though,” he added, and I flicked his forehead, making him whine. “I’ll pull out.”

“I trust you, but it’s still a no from me,” I replied, guiding his cock into my entrance. Inch by inch, Jaemin pushed himself all the way in. “You fill me up so well,” I praised, purring into his ear. “I love your cock.”

Distance between our bodies was practically nonexistent. Jaemin was slowly snapping his hips, rubbing his pelvic bone against my clit, turning me into a moaning mess. I wouldn’t be surprised if my neighbors called the police because of all the noise coming from my bedroom.

“One day, you’ll let me fuck you raw. I’ll make sure you do,” Jaemin carried on, and I hissed, feeling the approaching orgasm. I didn’t even bother to comment on Jaemin’s statement. I was whipped for him. I knew I wasn’t able to maintain my assertive stance for long. Eventually, I’d cave in, letting him fuck me without a condom. It wasn’t today, though.

“In your dreams, lover boy,” I answered, but Jaemin just giggled, knowing I wasn’t serious.

“You have no idea how many times we’ve done it raw in my dreams,” Jaemin confessed as he picked up his pace, pounding into my pussy, making me moan at the sudden speed. “One day, I’ll tell you all about my fantasies, but right now, I really want this pussy to cream around my cock,” he added, his filthy words making my walls squeeze around his length.

“You wait until I tell you mine,” I challenged with a smirk. If Jaemin thought he was the only one with a dirty mind, he was seriously mistaken. While most of my fantasies were PG-13, there was still a large portion of naughty scenarios. Now, when Jaemin and I were finally together, it would be fun to try to recreate at least some of them.

“You better come because I can’t go much longer,” Jaemin warned me, pounding in and out, chasing his own release. “Fuck,” he yelled, falling on top of me as he shot his load into the condom. His cock twitched inside of me as he moved slowly, riding out his orgasm.

“Jaemin,” I hollered, coming undone underneath him. Despite the other peaks, this orgasm hit me the hardest. For a brief second, my vision turned black as I gave in to the pleasure.

Breathlessly, I lay in the sheets, slowly descending from my high.

“I think all I can do tonight is cuddle,” I commented, feeling too fucked out to engage in any other form of affection. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“It’s okay. I can carry you around the house,” Jaemin answered, finding a solution for my problem. Having pulled his limp cock out of me, Jaemin rolled down another condom, putting it aside.

“What is it?” Jaemin asked as he heard a noise from the living room.

“It sounded as if someone was knocking on the doors,” I spoke, trying to identify the sound. “It must be a courier for Jiwoo. She keeps ordering stuff online. It’s probably the late evening delivery she forgot about. Can you get it?”

“No problem, babe,” Jaemin answered as he put on his jeans, walking around the bed to answer the door.

At first, I wanted to wait for Jaemin in bed. However, it’s been like three minutes, and he didn’t come back, so I found it weird.

Having put on Jaemin’s hoodie and a pair of leggings, I made my way out of the room.

Jaemin was standing by the doors, looking inside a plastic bag. Whatever it was, it smelled like Thai food. Unfortunately, it didn’t explain anything. We were here alone, and we didn’t order anything.

Just when I was about to open my mouth and ask Jaemin what the hell was going on, Ten walked out of his room. It was strange, but I saw him leave, and I didn’t hear him come back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked angrily, trying to hide my embarrassment. If he was here the whole time, he must’ve heard us having sex.

“I live here, duh,” Ten answered matter-of-factly, choosing not to give me the explanation which I desperately needed. “I think it’s mine,” Ten spoke as he walked up to Jaemin to take his Thai takeout.

Although Jaemin and I were standing in the living room in complete consternation, Ten didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. In front of his bedroom, Ten stopped in his tracks, turning his head to face me.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Ten spoke, making me even more embarrassed. “Three times, wow. It’s impressive. Don’t fuck this up, dear. He’s a keeper,” Ten added, sending me a playful wink before he disappeared inside his room.

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years ago

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Give your heart a break - Chris Evans smut

The one where Chris is a biker and decided he wants to start your forever.

Warnings: I’m gonna tag this as dubcon just to be safe, Chris definitely crosses a line without proper consent, breeding kink, biker!Chris AU, bondage, (belt used to restrain hands), dirty talk

A/N: this is for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them. Hope you guys like it!

Chris’ P.O.V.

“Hey, baby!” The smile she opened up when she turned around to see it was truly me who had just arrived at her coffee shop made my heart beat faster than it ever did while I was away from her.

I guess the adrenaline the bike used to give me was nothing compared to her effect on me.

“What are you doing here?” She exclaimed, jumping on my waiting arms so I could twirl her around, like I always did after we spent some time apart. She looked just the same, which comforted my heart somewhat.

I hated leaving her, but this nomadic lifestyle I’d chosen for myself long before we ever met would never work for her. It’s why she always resisted accepting any kind of labels to what we shared.

That was all about to change, though. Even if she still didn’t realize it.

“What? Can’t I stop by to visit my best girl?” Her smile became even bigger at the pet name. It was the indication I needed of her true feelings. She wanted to be mine, she really just couldn’t handle the biker lifestyle.

“Of course, you can. I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all. Sit down, I’ll bring your usual order!” I watched as she fixed me a black coffee and picked a muffin with great care before bringing it to me. I had no doubt it was the warmest one on the tray. “Will you be sticking around for tonight?”

I could see the glint of hope and desire in her eyes. I knew that even though she didn’t want to be tied down to me, she hadn’t looked for pleasure in anyone else ever since I first kissed her. And even though I was sure she thought differently, neither had I.

She owned my heart ever since we met. There was no one else I’d rather have underneath my body. “I think you’ll soon realize I’ll be sticking around for a lot longer.”

Her eyes lit up at that, excitement clear in her features. “A whole week?” She’d been asking me for that for as long as I’ve known her, and I’d never been able to stick through the whole seven days. There was always some shipment to assess, brothers to help.

This time, nothing would force me away from her.

“You’ll see.” She rolled her eyes at my attempt at keeping a mystery, and I know what was going on through her pretty little head. I was already too secretive as it was, there was no need for more hiding. But I had a plan, and I was going to stick to it.

“I’ll be right here until it’s time to lock up. I’ll walk you home, how does that sound?” The way the corner of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at me was enough of a response, yet she gave me one anyway.

“Perfect.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Stop that.” The order startled me, too lost in the haze of lust to realize that he’d stripped down to his boxers, finally noticing that I’d climbed on the bed and had been playing with myself while I waited for him to join me.

Usually, I’d immediately follow his directions - almost instinctively, actually. It was probably some remaining fear that used to exist inside of me when I saw him on his bike just outside my shop, before I decided to give him a chance and began this little adventure between us…

I never wanted to see his anger directed at me. But tonight, I was feeling brave for whatever reason. Maybe it was because of how much I had missed him this time we spent apart and how I unconsciously resented him for always leaving. We’d never have an actual relationship, and it was all because of him.

So maybe that awoke the brat in me, because all I gave him was a smirk, keeping the movements on my clit as I watched him watch me. “I don’t think you deserve that,” I taunted, taking notice of the way he seemed transfixed by the wetness gathered on my lower lips, until I stopped my movements and raised my hand to slather it on my lips.

“You’ve left me all alone so many nights, with only these fingers as company…” I returned them to the apex of my thighs, pushing them inside of me this time, making sure to exaggerate my moan at the relieving sensation of being filled. “I think you deserve to suffer for a while longer.”

He looked so beautiful with his eyebrows furrowed, the length of his eyelashes and the pinkness of his lips almost making me overlook how threatening he still looked, all tatted up, clearly disappointed in me.

“Stop it,” he warned once more, but I wasn’t in a submissive mood. Not tonight.

“Why should I?” I argued, fucking myself faster. “I’m not yours. You can’t boss me around.” That was the wrong thing to say, I realized the second his eyes darkened, jaw clenching at my defiance. He was on me in a second, easily gathering my wrists in one of his hands as he pulled them up in the direction of the headboard, and it was only when I felt the leather around them that I realized he’d picked up his belt to tie me to bed.

“Yes, you are,” he breathed out against my face, eyes looking directly in mine to show me just how serious he was. “And you should know better than to disobey me.” The authoritative tone in his voice had me shivering, especially after he pulled away and stopped covering my body with his, taking advantage of how I was bound to the bed to drink in my naked figure.

“I promise I’ll behave,” I tried to argue, legs flailing around his figure until he grabbed them. “I-I just missed you, that’s all.” The way his huge, rough hand felt on the inside of my thighs should be illegal. And he knew just how much it affected me, as he smirked and looked up at me from under his eyelashes with a knowing glint in his gaze.

“Don’t you trust me?” He questioned, head tilted as his thumb slipped and found place right over my nub. “I just want to make you feel good, sugar.” I hesitated for a moment - I hadn’t really experimented with any sort of kinky sex before, even though I expected him to try something unusual ever since the first time we were together. Guess this was starting small. I could take it.

Besides, I needed him too fucking badly.

“Yeah?” He confirmed after I nodded, tone almost patronizing as he kept rubbing me and playing with himself. “Got yourself wet and ready for me, won’t need to prepare you, huh? Guess your disobedience has it’s advantages.”

All I could do was whimper, especially when he finally leaned over me again, resting his hard cock over my navel. “Feel this?” He asked, and I nodded once more. “It’s about to be inside of you, pretty girl.”

And so he grasped my hips and adjusted himself to start pushing in, spearing me open. Having him for the first time after a while was always a challenge, and although he always took it slow to get me used to him again, he was never one to give me time to accept the intrusion. He just took his time, thrusting in and out, taking note of every little moan that I released as his hips pressed against mine.

“Oh, fuck…” I groaned, wanting to wrap my arms around him but unable to do so, due to my restraints. “T-that f-feels s-so good!” I was positively trembling as he started to pick up his pace, cocky smile only adding to my arousal.

“Oh, yeah?” He panted, drops of sweat starting to form on his naked body from the frantic activity. “Then fucking scream it, sweetheart. Tell your entire neighborhood how good it feels to have my cock inside of you.”

I must have obeyed him, from the way my throat felt hoarse when I finally came back from my orgasm, but I couldn’t remember it. I was too far gone. All I knew, all I could focus on was the way it felt to have his cock rhythmically dragging in and out of me, the sounds of my juices reverberating off the walls.

“Pretty little pussy,” he complimented, eyes focused on the part of me he was so obsessed with. “Can’t wait to fill it up with my cum.” Well, that jolted me back into reality, suddenly pulling on his belt again.

“W-what?” Only when he heard my question and the hesitation in my voice did he raise his gaze to meet my eyes, a patient smile defining his expression.

“C’mon, pretty girl… You know you want it too. Don’t you want an ‘us’?” He urged while I could only stare back, mouth agape. “You know I want more, I’ve always wanted more. Now I’m ready to give it to you. And I know you want me too.”

His voice was soothing against my ear as he kept fucking me, “You want to be round with my baby, don’t you? You want me to keep you filled all day long, until your breasts are heavy and your belly starts growing, so everyone will know you’re now undeniably mine.”

And to be his is all I’d ever wanted, but I never expected it to happen like this. I could only watch, frozen in place as he came deep inside of me, moaning right by my ear before kissing my temple.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He’d never said those words to me before. I don’t think he’d ever said them to anyone. “I know it’s fucked up that I’m only now telling you this, but I do. And I wanna fall asleep next to you every day from now on.”

And so he kept me plugged, full of his cum even as he released my wrists and lulled me to sleep, and for the next seven days, when I woke up in the morning, he was really still there.

“You’re really here to stay,” I whispered on the eight night, cradling his face in amazement as he smiled before kissing my palm.

“Forever.”

#my 2k challenge #my fics #chris evans smut #smut #chris evans #biker au #rpf #rpf fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans reader insert #chris evans reader inserts #chris evans reader #chris evans fanfiction

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amjustagirl · 4 years ago

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Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her.

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance

Wordcount: 7.8k

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics.

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!).

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time.

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out.

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter.

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball.

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party.

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back.

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air.

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory.

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head.

Why on earth did he agree to this again?

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’

His glare softens by a fraction.

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting.

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here.

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down.

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’

‘Hm.’

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews) when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey.

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively.

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender.

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree -

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek.

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest.

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness.

Then he takes a breath.

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end .

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands.

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn.

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts.

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders.

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even worse .

Much, much worse.

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand.

He ends up face planting directly into her chest.

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – ,

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt.

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed.

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.

He takes her hand with a rare smile.

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband.

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees.

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough.

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product.

He appreciates that.

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal.

He likes that.

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify.

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules.

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer.

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls.

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently.

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings.

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together.

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes. He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so I know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb.

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks.

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’ on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way.

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod.

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other.

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north.

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself.

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant.

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course.

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night.

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands.

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence.

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify.

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle.

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind.

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’.

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze.

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before.

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze.

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant.

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways.

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day.

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on.

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially.

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time.

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands.

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss.

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her.

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain.

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars.

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up.

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer.

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air.

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands.

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look.

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either.

He finds himself wondering about them.

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text.

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two?

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion.

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’.

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him?

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers.

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card.

Oikawa Tooru .

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further.

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer.

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’

He blinks. That was unexpected.

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance.

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb.

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’.

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined.

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache.

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’.

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance.

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause.

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her.

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground.

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales.

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’.

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him.

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips.

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips.

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no – it’s always going to point towards her.

They move in together after that.

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards.

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife.

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while.

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep.

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much.

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold.

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning.

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob.

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly.

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other.

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell.

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes.

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way.

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’.

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them.

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in -

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place.

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open.

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’.

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal.

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat.

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath.

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.

He waits.

Then his phone buzzes.

Ah.

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.

“Omi?”

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first.

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind.

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what I want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’.

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face.

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles.

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date.

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again.

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two.

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more.

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party.

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association.

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread.

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name.

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make.

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’.

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake.

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out - pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead.

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability.

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud.

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser.

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist:

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

Text

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #bucky x sarah #Sarah Wilson

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taestefully-in-luv · 3 years ago

Text

The Hero's Countdown | PJM (One)

Summary: Soulmates: The one you are bound to. In this world, you feel everything they feel. Their joy, their pain, everything. Once day you feel the most excruciating amount of pain only to find out your soulmate has died. What happens when the God’s of Time offer to turn back time so you can make things right and save your soulmates life?

Pairing: Jimin x Female reader

Genre: soulmates au, Gods au, fluff, smut, angst, crack

Word Count: 9.4k

Warnings: swearing, suicide, mentions of sex, oc is kinda a bitch

Notes: And the first chapter is finally here! Sorry it took so long!! I don’t know why I have been so nervous to post this…but It’s going to be a fun journey! Send an ask if you want to be added to a taglist or if you just want to chat:) (Remember this is all fictitious)

Taglist: @mawwnsterr @fancycollectormoon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 21

Pain. Excruciating pain. You feel it in your chest first, then the intense feeling travels from your beating heart to the tips of your fingers. You choke on air trying to compose yourself, but the pain is so unbelievably powerful that you struggle to catch your breath. Something’s wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Your hand goes to your chest, you pull at your shirt as you try to breathe and then suddenly it stops. Just like that. Something happened. Something happened to him.

Soulmates: Two people with the soul connection who feel they are linked on a soul level in a significant or extraordinary way. In this world that means the person you are bound to. When you meet you feel an incredibly intense pull of instant recognition and intense attraction followed by intense emotions. And you feel everything they feel. Their joy, their pain, just everything if it’s considered intense. Physically and emotionally. And that doesn’t stop until you officially “connect” with your partner. What does that even mean? Connect? Does that mean fucking? That sounds like it means fucking. It probably means fucking. You don’t believe in all this bullshit though. The universes predestined bullshit can kiss. Your. Ass.

You’ve learned the hard way that even destined soulmates can’t always make it work…and leaving it up to fate leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. So you ignore fate. You do the very opposite of what fate wants. Fate is strong though and very hard to ignore. It pulls you in the direction of your soulmate constantly—quite literally. Whenever you get the urge, like urge to do something—like out of nowhere get the idea to visit the new bookstore down the block…even though you don’t care for reading. Yeah, that’s a sign that fate is trying to work its magic but you resist that god damn urge and do your own thing. And that’s just one example.

Feeling all your soulmates feelings wouldn’t be so horrible if the man you are destined to be with wasn’t so god damn emotional. Fucking Park Jimin. Yes, you’re well aware who your soulmate is…how else do you know how to avoid him so perfectly? As much as you can at least…considering… But he doesn’t seek you out either—thankfully. But you know he wants to. You can quite literally feel it…his yearning is so powerful it makes you nauseas. But he agreed to stay away. So now you live your life however you please! You have an amazing job that you love, a fantastic group of friends and a hot man you sex up on the regular. Things are good!

The only thing that isn’t good is that you still haven’t bought Isabelle a gift for her birthday party tonight. You’re walking on the sidewalk back to work from getting a coffee on this breezy Monday afternoon when you are hit with realization that you are the worst best friend ever. She always goes above and beyond for your birthday but you can’t even think of a decent gift for her! You listen to the click clack of your heels hitting the pavement as your mind wanders…what could you possibly get her that she doesn’t already have?

You feel your phone buzzing and speak of the devil.

“Hello?” You bring the phone to your ear and your coffee to your lips.

“Please tell me you didn’t invite Julio to my birthday event? Because I just got a text from him asking if he needs to bring anything.” You hear your frazzled best friend on the other line.

“He’s my date tonight.” You say nonchalantly. “Come on, when you guys drink together you…kind of…get along.” You shrug even though she can’t see you.

“Good lord, y/n. You know I can’t stand him. I know he’s got “that good dick” but couldn’t we have went one night without him.” she whines into the phone and you chuckle.

“I’ll make sure he behaves.” You promise. “Now tell me,” you stop at a cross walk and wait for the little person to light up. “What the hell do you want for your birthday?”

“…classic y/n.” Isabelle sighs out, “Just do what you did last year and buy me yet another scarf for my collection.”

“Okay I’ve only bought you like three scarves.” You defend with a pout.

“Four actually, but okay.”

“I’ll just figure it out. See you tonight boo.”

“Fine, see you tonight.” And then you’re bringing the phone down and clicking the end button. Isabelle and Julio (your fuck buddy) don’t necessarily get along. They’re both too similar, you think. But neither will admit that. You’ve been seeing Julio for a few months now, it’s nothing serious of course. He has yet to meet his soulmate and you’re just totally against soulmates. So it makes for good sex.

You walk up to your building and take a deep breath, time to get back to work. You love your job, you really do. But you constantly put your job before your sanity. Because—

“Oh hey.”

Him. You felt him before you even saw him…that’s how strong the pull is. Fate is a funny thing. It brought you to this job, and it brought you to him. But instead of purposely choosing another path and avoiding him like the plague you chose to endure. Because you fucking love this job.

You write scripts for video games and it’s the most fulfilling thing in your life right now…yes even more fulfilling than Julio’s dick. But seeing him 5 days of the week and feeling how he yearns for you is really fucking your head up.

“I said don’t talk to me, remember?” you say with a tight smile. “Seeing you is hard enough.”

Jimin’s eyes soften as he looks at you and he offers an apologetic smile.

“Goodbye, y/n.” and he’s walking past you as he decides to take the stairs while your lazy ass waits for the elevator.

Pain. You feel his pain. And you wince at the overwhelming feeling. But you have to endure and move forward!

“Afternoon y/n.” Your boss comes up to you as you both wait for the elevator. “You got that new script ready for me?”

“Yes sir, I’ll bring it up to your desk before I leave work today.” You offer him one of your sweeter smiles and he brightens.

“Great!” he chuckles wholeheartedly and pats your back, then he’s walking forward once the elevator arrives.

You sigh out in relief that he didn’t question you further…because in truth, that script is not ready and you’re about to have to work your ass off for the rest of the day.

~~~~~

It’s pretty chilly for being an evening in the summer but hey, you won’t complain. It’s better than the blistering heat from a few days ago. You have the address on your phone for the restaurant you’re meeting Isabelle at for her birthday bash. The streets are busy as usual since the city never rests. You walk towards a group of people when you suddenly are hit with an intense feeling of…despair? God, it hurts. But it’s over just as quickly as it started. You compose yourself and continue walking…a few worried looks from strangers but you brush it off.

“She’s finally here!” Isabelle slurs out, “My best fucking friend bitches!”

“Oh my god who let her get drunk before dinner?” you ask, scratching the top of your head as Isabelle rushes to hug you.

“It’s my birthday, I can do what I want.” She drunkenly giggles. “Hurry, hurry.” She ushers you to take a seat and you do. You plop down in the spot next to her, setting your birthday bag down on the ground.

“Another scarf?” she teases, pointing at the bag.

“And if it is?”

“Then I’ll love it you predictable bitch.”

“Hey gorgeous.” You feel a pair of lips kissing your cheek and you know just who they belong to.

“Hi.” You breathe out, “just getting here?” you ask and Julio nods his head yes.

“I didn’t want to get here way earlier than you…I wouldn’t have a friend to hang out with.” He playfully pouts, “But you’re here now.”

“Yes, now you have a friend.” You wink.

You’re about to speak again when another wave of pain hits you. You throw a hand over your racing heart and breathe out heavily.

“Hey, you okay?” Julio rubs your back, “y/n?”

And then it disappears as quickly as it came…

“Yeah, yeah.” You gasp out, “Jeez, wow.” You whisper. “I’m fine.”

Julio gives you a look of concern before he’s nodding his head slowly and turning his body to grab a drink.

“If you say so.” He mumbles.

You try to shake off these strange feelings, and try to have a good time. Isabelle is throwing back drink after drink and after dinner you join her. You begin to loosen up, the alcohol working its drunken magic on you. Isabelle is dancing on a table as the restaurants staff tries their best to get her down, you just watch and laugh like a maniac.

Everything is going good, really good…until pain.

“y/n? y/n?” You hear Julio call out for you desperately as you try to even out your breathing.

“Hey, you okay?” his voice sounds so distant, like he’s getting further and further away from you. “Get out of my way!” You now hear Isabelle’s voice, she’s pushing through the crowd that surrounds you. “I said, get out of my way!”

Then finally she’s at your side, you are heaving, you are struggling to breath. You feel your cheeks wet from the tears that managed to escape your eyes unknowingly.

What the fuck happened? What’s happening?

Finally, after several minutes of gasping for air, you manage to relax.

“What the hell happened? Are you okay?” Isabelle looks at you with worried eyes, her hand on your back as you straighten yourself.

“Isabelle…I think something happened.”

“What?”

“It’s Jimin, I can feel it.”

Isabelle’s eyes widen and she nods her head in understanding. “Let’s get you home.”

“You have reached the voicemail box of…” you slam your phone down on your coffee table and sigh out in frustration. You have called Jimin maybe 10 times now but it just keeps going to voicemail. What the hell happened? Is he okay? This feels wrong, you feel wrong. You feel empty for some reason like someone stole your life away, like they sucked it right out of your body. You feel weak. You are barely able to move from the coffee table from how fucking weak you are.

You decide to call it a night, you will just confront Jimin at work tomorrow and ask what the hell happened. You drag your weak, weak body to your bed and try your hardest to fall asleep. But all you can think about is Jimin, he’s taking over your mind. Like, you can’t control it. You see images of him and images of his life, maybe you are just imagining it? But you’re sure these are images of his life…is that something soulmates can do? You toss and turn for hours, until finally you see the sky turn a dark blue and eventually the sun is rising.

You decide to just say fuck it, and get up. You’ll get to work early today. You have so much trouble getting ready, you feel ill. Like, a demon sucked you dry of your energy. But you endure because you really need to see Jimin today.

You grab a coffee on the way to work when you feel yourself being pulled into the direction of your office—Jimin must be there. You walk a little faster and when you finally reach the building you notice something is off. There’s groups of people gathered around the building and police officers inside, you walk in and see your boss talking to one of the officers.

“Oh y/n!” your boss calls out to you, his hand raised up to get your attention, and then he’s waving you over.

“Yes?” you look between him and the officer, “What’s up? What’s going on?”

“Did you know Park Jimin?” The officer gets straight to the point.

“I…do…” your eyes scan the inside of the building and you notice a couple of women that work in your office crying into each other’s arms.

“Do you know if something was going on his life? Something that could lead him to commit suicide?”

“C-Commit?” you look around the room again, you notice your boss looking antsy and the couple of women crying did happen to work in Jimin’s department.

“Yes mam, we understand this is difficult. But any information you have could be crucial. We need to make sure we can rule this out as suicide and not something more serious.”

“He loved his job.” Your boss cuts in nervously, “So it’s not because we didn’t treat him well or something…”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “Commit suicide?”

“We found Park Jimin’s body this morning in his apartment. Overdose it seems. His elderly neighbor usually brings him breakfast in the mornings and when he didn’t answer she got concerned. She was shocked to say the least.”

“He-He’s dead?” you blink at the officer repeatedly, “He died?” you are in a state of shock yourself. There’s no way…you just saw him yesterday…but…but those waves of pain you felt then that huge wave that felt like…death itself.

“I think you’re wrong.” You say, in a state of denial now. “Jimin was just here…I just saw him yesterday.”

“Time of death is some time last night.” The officer confirms. “That’s her!” you hear the voice of a woman scream out. “That’s that bitch!” you turn around in a daze, trying to find the source of the screams.

“You fucking bitch!” you see a woman charging at you, screaming at the top of her lungs with her finger pointed in your direction.

“M-Me?” you point at yourself in confusion.

“He just…why couldn’t you give him a chance?” The woman breaks down, falling to her knees in front of you. “You’re his soulmate for fucks sake. This is all your fault!” She cries out, defeated.

You stand here, confused as hell. He told people? And how is this your fault?

“H-He’s not gone.” You say weakly, your shock still very fresh. “I’ll call him.” you quickly grab your phone from your pocket and dial Jimin’s number.

“You have reached the voicemail box of….”

You gulp, trying again…

“You have reached the voicemail box of….”

And again.

“You have reached the voicemail box of….”

Fuck, why isn’t he answering? You start to panic now. You blink back growing tears, your body seems to be growing weaker and weaker.

“He’s just…”

“He’s dead!” she screams out, looking up into your eyes, her own eyes bubbled over with tears. “And it’s your fucking fault!”

The officer is helping the women off the floor and escorting her outside the building. You stand here in complete shock still, your body about to give out on you. There’s absolutely no way Jimin is dead. And there’s absolutely no way it’s your fault. Right?

~~~~~

Your limbs are so overwhelmingly heavy as you are draped over your sofa. You are unable to move. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat. You are unable to form sentences at this point, you feel drained. Completely drained. You still can’t believe the news. Jimin is gone. You don’t want to believe it but you do feel heartbroken…you feel so lost and empty and incomplete.

You close your eyes, hoping to drift off into a deep, deep sleep.

“We should let her sleep…”

“No! Girl needs to wake up and we need to get this show on the road!”

“Jin…”

“What? The more time she sleeps the more time she wastes.”

“We literally control time we can let her sleep for 5 more minutes.”

“Exactly, we control it so you know how precious it is, Namjoon.”

You swear you hear voices but you’re too fucking tired to open your eyes, they sound so far away…

“Listen I’m only letting her have these 5 minutes because girl needs her beauty sleep. Do you see those horrible dark circles?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“Okay, she has like 30 seconds left and we are waking her ass up.”

“Fine.”

“Hey! Hey!” your shoulders are getting fucking rocked as somebody tries to wake you. “Wakey Wakey, hands off snakey!”

“She doesn’t have a snakey dude.” You hear another voice.

You slowly begin to open your eyes when you see a man with his hands on your shoulders. You scream. You scream bloody murder.

“Hey, woah, woah!” The guy puts his hands up in surrender. “Not going to hurt you!”

“We’re just here to talk.” The other voice cuts in, you snap your head to the side and notice another man. You scramble on the sofa, getting into a defensive position as you scream again.

“Have ourself a screamer, don’t we?” the first man winks, “Huh? Huh?” he opens his arms wide and shakes his head around. “No? Tough crowd.”

“Who the hell are you two? Take what you want! Please just leave me alone!”

“We don’t want anything and leaving you alone isn’t something we can do.” The second man says, he sighs out and crosses his arms. “Look, we need to talk.”

“Oh!” the first man quirks a brow, “We don’t want to take anything…no offense, maybe a little offense, but your apartment isn’t that ni—”

“Jin, now is not the time.”

“What the fuck is happening?” you yell out, “Who are you two?”

“Right.” The first man says, “Introductions. Should we just say who we are or should we do our little number that you refuse to rehearse?”

“We aren’t singing as our intros, Jin.”

“Why not? So unfair, Tae and Hobi do it.

“They’re a special breed.” The second man releases a long breath, “I’m Namjoon.”

“And I’m Jin.”

“And we’re—”

“The Gods of Time!”

You blink at the two psychopaths in your living room with your mouth wide open. What the fuck?

“How did you two get in here?!” you ask, deciding to ignore their little introduction.

“Walked through the front door.”

“But it’s locked—“”

“No, like literally.” Jin states, “We walked through it. Because we’re you know, Gods.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Did you just tell a God to shut the fuck up?” Jin grins, “Brave girl.”

“We have an order of business.” Namjoon rolls his eyes at Jin, “We need to talk.”

“We aren’t talking until you tell me how you got in my apartment! And what you fucking want!”

“He told you already,” Namjoon sighs, “We walked through the front door and we want to talk.”

“You walked through? Because you’re Gods? Right, like I’m supposed to believe that.” You huff out and Jin lights up with an idea.

“Here.” He’s suddenly handing you a knife. “Stab me.”

“What the fuck?” You hold the knife in your hand, where did he even get a knife so quickly? “I’m not going to stab you!”

“Just do it!”

“No!”

“Yeah, just do it.” Namjoon encourages you with a tired face.

“No!”

“Come on just a little stabby wabby.” Jin sings, “Come on!”

“Fine!” you stick the knife in Jin’s leg and he starts screaming in agony.

“What the hell!!!! Why would you really stab me?!?!? Oh MY GOD?!!!”

“YOU TOLD ME TO?!?!” you stand up in panic, rushing to his leg and seeing if it’s something serious.

“YOU MANIAC!!!! YOU REALLY STABBED—” then he’s laughing hysterically as Namjoon just claps his hands with an unimpressed face.

“Great performance Jin, but can we get to the point?”

“Performance?” you stutter, “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m a God. You think a little human knife can hurt me?”

“Wait, wait, wait! You really are okay? I stabbed you! Oh my god,” you start spiraling, “I stabbed someone.” You whisper. “Oh my god. Are you okay? I am so sorry!”

“Once again, we are God’s.” Namjoon states matter of fact. “Human weapons do not hurt us.”

Your eyes widen in complete shock, you look between the two men and start shaking your head—spiraling even further.

“God’s? God’s of what?” you breathe out. “This is…this is impossible.”

“God’s of time.” Jin snaps his fingers, “and do we have an offer for you.”

“W-What offer?” you plop down on your couch, your face has gone pale. What the hell is happening?

“Your soulmate, Park Jimin…” Namjoon begins. “Committed suicide last night.”

“And full offense girly, but it’s sort of your fault.” Jin chimes in. You feel your entire body go weak again.

“But we want to offer you something. We will roll back time by one month. Giving you the opportunity to make things right and save his life.”

“Turn back time?” you mumble, “That’s impossible.”

You watch as Jin rolls his eyes and with his pointer finger he’s making small circles.

“Turn back time?” You mumble, “That’s impossible.”

Suddenly you’re hit with Déjà vu. “Wait, didn’t I just say that?”

Jin grins and making small circles with his pointer finger again.

“Wait, didn’t I just say that?”

Your eyes go comically wide. “Woah. How did you do that?”

“God’s of Time, it’s literally our specialty.” Namjoon says.

“This girl really don’t listen.” Jin sits down on the couch next to you and you try scooting away.

“Okay…say you really can turn back time…why one month? And why are you giving me this chance?”

“One month because that’s how long it will take to change Jimin’s mind. And because…” Namjoon’s eyes slide to the side…”We were sort of pressured into this.”

“By who?”

Ding Dong

“Great, they’re here.” Jin whines, “I was hoping we would have more time with the human by ourselves.”

“Who’s here?” you start to panic, “Who pressured you?”

“Pressure? That’s not very nice to say.” You hear a new voice and it startles you. “Hi there.” You look up to see two new bodies in your living room. “We are—”

“Great, they’re going to sing.” Namjoon sighs. “On with it then.”

“Taehyung and Hoseok!” They say as melodically as possible, “God’s of Fate!” You swear you can see flowers and hearts and stars surround them.

“And we are not happy with you!” Taehyung dramatically pouts while pointing at you, “We have set up such a nice life for you but you always do the opposite. You really hurt our feelings.” Hoseok smiles a huge ass smile, ultimately confusing you further.

“God’s of fate?” you stand up and shake your head frantically. “What’s happening? What’s happening?”

“If you would have followed our path—the natural path—then you and Jimin would be happily together right now.” Taehyung lightly scolds you.

“But instead…” Hoseok begins, “You did the opposite of what we wanted and now look what happened.” He says with a smile still. “You messed with the natural order of things.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault? That Jimin is…”

“Didn’t I literally say it was your fault?” Jin questions and Namjoon swats his arm. “It’s okay though girly, we are offering you a chance to fix this. You can save his life.”

“He’s right y/n.” Namjoon walks closer to you, “You can save his life.”

You can save Jimin? How is this even possible? Suddenly, you hear faint knocking on your front door.

“Oh man. They’re here.” Taehyung looks towards the door.

“Well, we knew they would show up.”

“Who? Who?” you ask, clearly not ready for more guests.

“May I?” Hoseok gestures towards the door, asking if he can open it. You just shrug at this point.

Hoseok walks to the door and swings it open, revealing two more men.

“Oh if it isn’t mister sunshine and sunshine Junior.” The shorter man says under his breath as he walks past Hoseok and Taehyung. Another man following closely behind.

“We actually like those nicknames.” Taehyung says with a smile. “But yes, what are you doing here?”

“You know why we’re here.” The taller man smirks. “We have a soul we don’t intend on returning.”

“Who the fuck are you two?” you grit out, clearly tired of everyone at this point.

“Yoongi.” The shorter man states like he’s bored.

“And I’m Jungkook.”

“Okay? And?”

“Introduce yourselves properly you fools!” Jin yells out.

“Right right.” Yoongi nods his head subtlety, “God’s of Death.”

Your eyes widen in terror. God’s of Death? “So you kill people? Oh my god…you killed Jimin…”

“Okay, one… we don’t kill people.” Yoongi states and Jungkook jumps in.

“But we do like it when they die.” He says with big doe eyes and Yoongi’s expression changes like the realization has hit him.

“Yes,” he admits. “We do like that.”

“Actually we love it.” Jungkook pipes in again.

“Yes, we do love it.” Yoongi comments nonchalantly.

“And two… Jimin offed himself, we just wait to retrieve his soul.”

“His soul is all we’re interested in.” Jungkook chuckles darkly. “That’s all.”

“Oh? Is that all?” Taehyung mutters underneath his breath.

“Can someone please explain to me what the hell is going on and why you all are in my apartment?”

“Damn girl, you really don’t listen.” Jin puts a hand on his hip.

Namjoon steps closer to you again and pats you on the back, urging you to take a seat.

“Taehyung and Hoseok are the God’s of fate, they want to bring you and Jimin together for your epic love or whatever…Jin and I may owe them a favor. So here we are, the God’s of Time…offering you a chance to turn back time and save Jimin’s life. But the God’s of Death over here…” he gestures towards Yoongi and Jungkook, Jungkook looks at you with a wink, “…don’t want that. They’re here to stop you so they can keep their soul like the soul hungry bastards they are.”

The other 5 men nod their heads in agreement as you look at each of them incredulously.

“And you expect me to believe this?” you wipe your sweaty palms on your pants and sigh out heavily, not believing a word.

“Should you stab me again?” Jin offers with a grin, showing you his little human knife you just stabbed him with earlier.

“What??” Jungkook slumps his shoulders, “Jin got stabbed and I missed it?” Jungkook frowns, “I always miss the good stuff…anyway, I vote you stab him again.”

“No!” you’re quick to yell out. “No more stabbing.”

Jungkook physically deflates once again, clearly disappointed.

“y/n…” Namjoon puts his hand on your shoulder, “Make your decision. Do you want to save Jimin or not?”

Of course you want to save Jimin…you don’t want someone you know dead, like come on. But what does it mean to save him?

“Follow our path.” Taehyung whispers to you, “The natural path.”

“You mean your predestined bullshit?” you spit out and Taehyung and Hoseok frown.

“It’s not bull…” then he whispers, “shit.”

“You can say cuss words sunshine junior.” Yoongi smirks, “come on, say ‘fuck’ just once.”

“No!” Taehyung whines

“Stop trying to make our Taehyungie do bad things!” Hoseok stands in front of Taehyung, defending him.

“I’ll say ‘fuck’.” Jungkook looks around the room raising his hand, offering his foul language.

“You already say it all the time, doesn’t count.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “Get sunshine junior to say it though and I’ll give you 5 bucks.”

“Come on bro, say ‘fuck’ let me get 5 dollars.” Jungkook begs.

“Human money literally means nothing to us?” Jin questions.

“I still like to collect it.”

“Collecting souls isn’t enough?” Namjoon deadpans.

“I’m a collector, leave me alone.”

“More like a hoarder…” Yoongi cuts in, sighing out.

“Okay!” You stand, “Enough!”

“Finally, someone with some sense.” Namjoon says, “So are you taking us up on our offer? Going to save Jimin’s life?”

“Listen girly, take the offer. Be a hero. Because right now you’re technically the villain.” Jin says matter of fact, his hip poking out as his hand rests on it.

“Or live the life you want. It’s not your fault lover boy offed himself.” Yoongi walks closer to you. “He basically gave his soul for free.”

“You know Jimin was a good person…” Hoseok tells you, “You could feel it.”

You feel yourself grow guilty…this should be a no brainer right? You may not like the idea of soulmates but Jimin doesn’t deserve…this. He deserves to live.

“I’ll do it. I’ll make things right with Jimin, I’ll save his life.” Your firm voices echoes throughout the apartment and Jungkook scoffs.

“You think you can change his mind in a month? He’s set in stone, sweetheart.”

“One…gross, don’t call me sweetheart, and two, I can try.”

“Have fun trying with us by your side.” Yoongi states, a scowl taking over his face.

“She will have us buy her side as well.” Taehyung offers, “We will guide her every step of the way. You can rely on us, rely on fate.”

You roll your eyes, you don’t want any of these guys by your side.

“Is this your final decision?” Namjoon asks, he looks at you with a serious expression and you shudder.

“…Yes.”

“Did you hear that besties? Girl has made her final decision. Shall I do the honors?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. When you wake up y/n…it will be one month ago yesterday. Are you prepared for that?”

“Will I be aware?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Remember you have 30 days to make things right.” Namjoon reminds you and you nod your head.

“Okay, here we go!” Jin spins in circles and you all watch him …it’s lasting for several seconds too long, you grow confused. Jin keeps twirling around, doing little curtseys and now he’s doing the fucking robot…until Namjoon stands up.

“For heaven’s sake.” He uses his finger to spin in circles and things start fading to black, time slowly turning backwards.

May 21

It’s morning. You check your phone and it’s around 7am on Friday, May 21st. What the actual hell. It worked? You went back in time, right? This isn’t just some really incredible, elaborate prank right?

“If you’re thinking if this really happened…it did.” You hear Namjoon speak up from across your room.

“And if you’re thinking ‘wow these two super handsome guys really did that?’ we did.” Jin says hovering over you in bed. You can’t help but yelp, still surprised of their presence.

“Why are you guys here still?”

“Oh honey, it’s not just us.” Jin says matter of fact.

“It’s us too!” Hoseok says cheerily.

“Hoseok and Taehyung too?” you question slowly, your eyes scanning the room.

“Please,” Taehyung throws a hand over his heart, “Call us Hobi and Tae.”

“It’s just you four—”

“You really need to go grocery shopping.” Jungkook walks in the room with an apple in his hand, he brings it to his mouth and takes a crunchy bite.

“And as expected of the human world, the TV is trash.” Yoongi walks in after him, throwing your remote on your bed.

“Why the hell is everyone still here?” you yell out, grabbing at your hair. “I thought I was on a solo mission now!”

“Oh baby girl, it’s not just you anymore” Jungkook smirks, taking another obnoxious bite of his apple—your apple.

“Okay, if I didn’t want to be called sweetheart what makes you think baby girl is gonna pass?”

“I don’t know, thought I’d give it a shot.” He shrugs.

“Anyway,” you roll your eyes. “What do you mean it’s not just me?”

“You insist on saving Jimin’s life…we insist on keeping his soul. We have opposing goals here.” Yoongi explains, a bored expression drawn on his face. “We are going to make sure you are not successful. We can only interfere so much though.”

“And we,” Hobi cuts in, “Are here to make sure you are successful. You see, we are here to guide you on your little journey.”

“Think of us as your friends.” Tae grins at you.

“Yeah, I’d rather not.” You deadpan.

“And you two?” You point at Namjoon and Jin. “What is your purpose?”

“To make sure you don’t fuck up, to put it simply.” Jin states. “You do that a lo—Ow!” Namjoon hits Jin in the gut.

“What Jin is trying to say is, we are giving you a total of 3 mess ups. Once you strike through all 3, you’re on your own. We won’t manipulate time any more for a human like you.”

“A human like me?”

“I just mean, a human in general.” He clarifies and you relax.

“Can others see you?” You ask, quite curious. This whole thing is curious actually. You have 6 God’s chilling in your room right now and you are surprisingly chiller than you thought you’d be.

“They will…” Hobi’s eyes slide to the side. “Listen,” he sways on his feet. “We are going to be spending a lot of time together this next month so let’s all get along.” He smiles that big ass smile and you roll your eyes.

“Yes, let’s all get along!” Tae chirps, “Except maybe not with these two.” He points at Yoongi and Jungkook. Jungkook narrows his eyes at Tae and slumps his shoulders.

“I’m gonna get you to say ‘fuck’ sunshine junior, mark my words.”

“Not likely.” Tae narrows his own eyes before he’s spinning on his heels to face you again happily. “y/n.” he sings out, “Our new companion!” Hobi joins in on his song, they both start humming and whistling and suddenly Hobi is rapping. It’s all too much, really.

“Yo yo yo, Jin is in the house too—OW!”

“Anyway,” Namjoon brings a small book from his pocket. “There’s rules. Just a couple.”

“Rules?” you mumble, “What rules?”

“Rule number 1,” Jin starts, “You can’t tell Jimin you’re aware of his suicidal thoughts—this can just have more negative effects. Keep his little secret.”

“And rule number 2,” Namjoon closes the little notebook. “You can’t tell anyone about us.” He gestures towards all 6 of them. “You have to swear on this book.”

“What happens if either of those things happen?” You ask.

“Oh they won’t girl.” Jin shakes his finger at you. “Once you swear on a God’s book…you are bound to secrecy. You will literally not be able to talk about it. Your mouth will physically shut.”

“Jin’s right.” Hobi says, “That’s the law of the God’s promises.”

“And you are promising to us.” Tae adds in.

“That’s just the way it is.” Yoongi comments nonchalantly as he picks at his nails.

“Fine, fine. I get it. I’ll swear on the book.” You get up from bed and walk towards Namjoon, you eye his little notebook and then you look at him incredulously.

“Book of the God’s my ass! You can buy this exact notebook from the dollar store!”

“I like human objects too.” He mumbles shyly, “But it is property of the God’s so…are you going to sign it or not?”

“Do I…do I have to like sign with my blood or some—”

“—Yes.” Jungkook says.

“No, no. Stop that Jungkook,” Namjoon pulls out a pen from his pocket. “Just a regular pen. Also probably from the dollar store you speak of.”

“Okay, I got it…” you grab the pen from him and sign your name to the paper. The notebook starts shining a bright gold, almost blinding you. Then the glow fades and you see your signature in gold letters.

“It is done.” Namjoon says, nodding at the others.

“We are going to be with you as much as possible.” Taehyung smiles at you, “So please take care of us.” He bows his head towards you and you wave him off.

“You guys do realize I still have to work right?”

“Oh,” Namjoon’s eyes slide to the side, “We are prepared for that.”

“How are you prepared for—”

~~~~~

You sit in your little cubicle in complete and utter shock, your jaw literally on the floor.

“And this is our new team of writers, editors, and soundtrack producers. They’ll be working on a new game that is still under wraps.” Your boss gestures towards 6 men. The same fucking 6 men that were just in your apartment. Can you even call them just men? They are God’s!

“Please introduce yourself to the rest of the staff.”

“Right, I am Namjoon in charge of writing along with my partner Jin—”

“Jin is me, yes hi. Call me Worldwide—Hey!” Namjoon swats Jin’s stomach. But Jin recovers quickly, blowing a kiss around the office.

“I’m Tae.” Tae brightly waves at everyone, “In charge of editing scripts. Please take care of me.”

“And I’m Hobi, also in charge of editing! Let’s get along everyone!”

“Yo. Names Yoongi.” He quietly says, waving like a shy child.

“I am Jungkook, I am single and I—”

“They’re in charge of soundtrack production.” Namjoon cuts in. “Nice to meet you all.”

The office starts to quietly applaud, nodding their heads in approval as you sit here with your jaw on the floor. There is no way…absolutely no way this is happening.

“Ah, y/n!” Your boss calls out for you, he’s already walking to your desk. “Namjoon here says you all know each other, so I would like for you to help get them get settled in.” The group of 6 men follow behind him. You look at Namjoon like he is absolutely insane.

“Help them how?” you ask quietly. “Like, show them where the coffee maker is? Oh, look. Its right over there.” You point to the left of you. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh y/n! You’re so funny!” Jin slaps his knee, “I need help with some formatting on the first script I have…apparently you know a thing or two about that.” He grins at you and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t worry…” Hobi begins, his eyes looking around the office. “We won’t just rely on you for help around here…ah! There he is!” Hobi nudges Tae shoulder. “Jimin!” he begins waving the man over.

Jimin looks around the office as if he isn’t the only one with that name. He points at himself and mouths ‘me?’ Hobi and Tae smile widely and nod their heads in unison as they wave him over.

“Yes?” Jimin walks up to you all, his eyes on you…he feels himself grow nervous. “Can I help you?”

“Actually yes.” Tae starts, “Boss man here says you’re an editor just like us, maybe you can show us the ropes.”

“Ah.” Jimin slowly nods his head with his mouth slightly open. “I see.” Then he is nervously looking at you again. “Is that okay? For us all to be working together?” he looks at you while asking this and you scoff.

“I don’t control your life Jimin, do what you want.” You spit out and Jin hits your arm.

“What she means to say is, yes of course we can all work together!” he sings.

You release a long breath, remembering you are on a mission. You muster the fakest smile you can and make eye contact with Jimin.

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” You continue to grin and Jimin scrunches his brows as he slowly nods his head again.

“O...kay…”

Hobi jumps in excitement and repeatedly hits Tae’s arm, like he just got an amazing idea.

“Why don’t we all go out tonight to celebrate?”

“What are we celebrating?” you deadpan but Jin hits your arm again and leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Remember…fate is guiding you. Do as they say.” He says through a tight lip smile.

“Yeah…” you find the energy to say, “Sounds fun…let’s do that.”

You hate this. You are only barely talking to Jimin but you can feel the pull intensify with every word you say to him and every word he speaks to you goes straight to your heart and your fucking vagina.

To call Jimin attractive is an understatement. He is beyond that…he is beyond handsome, beyond cute, beyond gorgeous and beyond sexy. He has a charming way about him, his sharp jawline, his smile with those full, full lips, his eyes. He is effortlessly beautiful…and it drives you absolutely insane.

You remember the first time you saw Jimin…love at first sight? Also an understatement.

He was blonde then. His hair swept across his forehead, you would almost think that was his natural color because it looked that god damn good on him. Now his hair is black and holy hell, it is also his color. But you might think any color is.

“Celebrate how?” Jimin speaks up, his eyes going to Hobi.

“Drinks!” Tae chimes in, “But only one because we all have to work in the morning.” He chuckles and the rest of the boys join in.

“I don’t believe in hangovers.” Jungkook says with his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk gracing his features.

“You literally had one like 3 days ago.” Yoongi comments, “You also said ‘I’m never drinking again’”

“That was a different Jungkook.” Jungkook snaps his fingers, “I’ve matured since then.”

“Yeah, right.” You laugh. “Also you guys realize tomorrow is Saturday…”

You actually laugh and the 7 boys snap their heads towards you and smile. All but Jimin…and kind of Yoongi.

“What?”

“You can laugh!!!” Jin takes your hand and high fives himself with it. “Amazing.”

“And you laughed because of me!” Jungkook cheers. “God, I knew I was fucking hilarious.”

“Chill out, kid.” Yoongi shakes his head.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “There’s a bar in the building next to us. We can meet at 7.”

“Actually let’s meet right after work, we can all walk together.” Hobi looks at you knowingly and you roll your eyes.

“Right. Okay, after work then.”

“Sure…” Jimin says slowly, “I will meet you guys here then.” Then he’s taking one last look at you before walking away back to his side of the office.

“Are you guys fucking insane?!” You whisper shout towards the 6 gods. “You work here now?!”

“We have to keep an eye on you and make sure everything goes smoothly…” Tae pouts, he messes with his neck tie nervously. “I even bought these cool human clothes…I thought maybe you would notice.”

“Yeah, yeah. You look nice.” You gesture towards his body and you swear you can see puppy dog ears and tail wagging behind him from how happy he is.

“What about me? What about me?” Jin motions towards his own body as he winks at you.

“You? Fine you look nice too.”

Jungkook slowly walks in the middle of your circle and shows off his outfit to all of you, spinning in a few circles.

“And me baby girl?”

“Call me baby girl one more time and I swear I will kick—”

“Jeez, no need to be aggressive!” Jungkook puts his hands up in surrender. “I’ll take the L for now.”

“Namjoon, please say something as the only person here who is sane.” You turn to face Namjoon and he is looking down at his own outfit.

“Human clothes are so boring.” Is all he says.

You can’t help but groan…then you feel it. Eyes on you. Not just any eyes. His eyes. You follow the feeling until your eyes meet his, he immediately looks away and you feel a sense of guilt. Jimin is going to kill himself? And it’s supposedly your fault? Can you fix this? Can you change his mind? Can you save his life? Can you?

~~~~~

The bar is quiet, well it is only like 5pm. But you assume in the coming hours it will be booming thanks to it being a Friday night. You are seated between Tae and Hobi as they fill your mind with thoughts of Jimin while he is in the bathroom.

“Can’t you just feel how badly he wants to sit next to you? His jealousy that you’re between us?” Tae giggles. “I can’t technically feel his yearning like you can but dudes, it’s so obvious.”

“I get it, I get it.” You groan, “So what’s the plan?”

“Oh that? You are going to ask Jimin out on a date.”

“A d-date?!” you feel the heat rush to your cheeks, “Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Not at all…” Hobi takes a sip of his beer with a fucking straw. “Trust us.”

You’re really about to trust mister sunshine and sunshine junior? They are drinking their beers with straws. Fucking straws.

“ You don’t owe Jimin anything.” You hear Yoongi’s voice from behind you. “You don’t want to be here y/n. Why are you forcing yourself?”

“She just wanted to hang with me.” Jungkook nudges Tae out of his barstool seat and takes it.

“Heeeey…” Tae pouts as he is left standing, watching Jungkook take his chair. “I was sitting there.”

“Say ‘fuck’ and I’ll give it back.”

“You’re mean.”

“Anyway,” you cut them off before they can continue, “Why do you want his soul so bad? Aren’t there more souls out there?”

Yoongi for the first time curls his lips upwards and smirks at you.

“Jimin is a pure soul. It’s worth more. And he gave it for free, his own will. That much more worth it.”

“Pure soul?” You raise a brow, is Jimin really that perfect? You can’t help but scoff.

“He’s a really good person, y/n.” Hobi says softly, “You know you can feel that.”

He’s right. When you first met him and you had that instant recognition, you could feel just how good he is. It hurt even more, considering how things went…

“I have shots!!!!” Jin comes up to you 5 with a tray of shots, “As the kids say, I am trying to get lit!”

“Barely anyone says that anymore dude.” Jungkook frowns, “Which is unfortunate because it… was…lit...”

“Where’s Jimin?” Namjoon asks, grabbing a shot from the tray, he takes a sniff and fake gags.

“Jesus Christ, I told you anything but Tequila, Jin.”

“He’s in the bathroom…” you say, your head falling in your hand on the bar top. You stare at all the bottles on the shelves and wish you could drown yourself in each one.

“I’m back.” Jimin says from beside you and Jungkook.

It looks like he washed his face with cool water, his bangs slightly wet. He’s nervous, you can quite literally feel it…that’s how intense it is.

“Jimin…” you say his name and it sounds and feels so weird on your tongue, his head whips in your direction with wide eyes and he tilts his head to the side.

“Yes?”

You two lock eyes, his gaze is intense. You can’t help but feel like you’re falling for some sort of spell as you stare at him. The pull between you two only grows…you find yourself leaning in closer to his direction before you’re shaking your head, clearing your throat and looking towards the other boys.

“Uh, there’s shots.” You point at the tray Jin is holding. “Let’s hurry up and take them.”

A few hours pass and your group is collectively drunk. Jimin seems to be the only somewhat sober one. Even Yoongi is shimmying to whatever song is playing! You look at Namjoon who is smiling at Jin as they talk to one another and you wave them over.

“I thought human things didn’t effect God’s? Why are you all so drunk?” you laugh, slurring your words.

“Alcohol is alcohol baybey!” Jin throws an arm around your neck as he continues to dance.

“Jin is right.” Namjoon points at him, “Alcohol is the same for us.”

You only nod in response as you eye the bar, Hobi and Tae are dancing with Jimin and he actually looks like he is enjoying himself. You stand from your stool and walk to the dance floor and join them, surprising Jimin.

“Came to hang out with the fun go—guys?!” Hobi moves his body expertly as he speaks.

“Just came to talk to Jimin…” you admit shyly and Hobi and Tae nod in understanding with their eyes wide.

“Good idea.” Tae yells out, “We will keep Yoongi and Jungkook distracted.”

“Thanks…”

“You want to talk to me?” Jimin says over the music, “Me?” he points at himself and you chuckle.

“Yes, you.” You reach down to grab his hand and fuck. You feel like you are being shot with electricity. “Uh,” you quickly drop his hand and gesture for him to follow you. “Come on.”

You and Jimin walk outside the bar, the night is a little chilly, even for May.

“What’s up?” Jimin asks nervously, he sways back and forth on his heels and you can feel his anxiety and it’s making you nauseas.

“Go on a date with me.” You blurt out.

Jimin is silent. His eyes harden as he stares at you and he breathes out roughly.

“You’re drunk.” He states.

“Don’t be difficult.” You begin, “Go on a date with—”

“No.”

“No?”

“You think I can’t feel it?” he asks quietly. “How much you…hate me…?”

You automatically get hit with a wave of guilt. He releases a few shaky breaths and continues. “You are forcing yourself…I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable around me.” He gives you a sad, soft smile and turns around to head back inside, leaving you out in the chilly May air.

“I thought you guys were fucking gods? I did what you told me and he fucking rejected me?!” you slur out angrily. Tae and Hobi exchange awkward glances before smiling for you.

“You have to put a lot of effort. Remember…you are working hard to change his whole mind. It isn’t going to be easy y/n. Even with us helping. We lead you on the right path but ultimately you humans do have free will.” Hobi says quietly, he looks around the bar to make sure no one can hear.

“And like Jungkook said…at this moment, Jimin is set in stone. It’s going to take some convincing.” Tae finishes. He messes with his neck tie some more before he is loosening it all the way. “And you better hurry to talk to him because he is with Yoongi and Jungkook. Who knows what nonsense they are feeding him!”

You look over your shoulder and Tae is right, Yoongi and Jungkook both have an arm draped over Jimin’s shoulders and chatting away. They both have sly smiles as Jimin nods his head in drunken concentration.

“Help me get rid of them…” you roll your eyes as you begin walking towards the God’s of death and their meal.

“You got it!” Hobi yells out brightly. “Let’s go TaeTae.” He grabs on to Tae’s arm and drags him towards the death gods. You follow closely behind eyeing Jimin carefully.

It’s a lovely spring day, the flowers are in bloom and the sky is blue with splashes of pink now that the sun is beginning to set. You finally found your dream job that you start in 2 weeks and an affordable apartment. It’s not thaaat much nicer than your previous place but still, an upgrade nonetheless.

Today you woke up feeling…different. Fuller, more whole. Something completely unexplainable. Once you stepped outside even the world looked more beautiful, colorful, vibrant. Your chest is warm and buzzing and you can’t help but fall in love with the feeling. What is going on?

You walk the streets in your restless city and you feel it. The pull. The pull is practically dragging you around without you totally realizing. You just walk the streets in a daze, the pull becomes more and more intense the closer you get to the main park downtown. You realize you don’t visit this park often which is such a shame because it is beautiful.

You stroll around, feeling yourself being pulled closer and closer to this gigantic tree in the center and then you feel your insides burst. Your eyes land on a figure, you can only see his back but you just know. He must feel it too because he is quickly turning his body around and facing you. His eyes find yours immediately and holy fuck.

You know him. As soon as your eyes meet you feel like you fucking know him. You feel yourself being drawn to him like there is spell you are both under. You don’t stop your feet from moving as you walk closer and closer. He only stares at you with wide eyes until his thick lips curve up into the most beautiful smile you have ever seen. Little did you know, this would be the only time you will see him smile like this.

Love at first sight? He is the most gorgeous human being you have ever had the pleasure of your eyes landing on. His blond hair swept over his forehead, his piercing eyes, his full lips, his entire figure. His beautiful, beautiful smile. He has charmed you. And it doesn’t help that you feel that instant attraction. That recognition and the intense, intense burst of love you feel.

But it is not your love that you are feeling. It is his. Because you feeling love for a someone you don’t actually know is impossible…that this is just some forced, predestined façade. And you are hit with the reality and the truth. You feel your insides turn from a gooey mess to hard. You feel yourself grow angry, you feel hatred grow within you and it must be intense because Jimin must feel it too. The way his smile drops and how his face goes pale. He takes a hesitant step away from you and looks at you with so much question. He feels how you loathe him.

You continue to look at Jimin as you walk closer and closer to him in the bar, Tae and Hobi pulling Yoongi and Jungkook off his body as you make your way over. Even walking closer and closer to him you feel all of your confusing feelings. You hate him yet you are drawn to him.

“Jimin.” You say his name, it comes out rough and breathless and he pinches his brows together.

“Yes?” he asks softly, he walks closer to you as well. “Is everything okay y/n?”

You swallow down your pride as you stare into his eyes. They look sad…empty even.

“Date…” you murmur. Jimin’s sad, empty eyes flash with a sliver a hope before they turn dark again.

“Why?” he finally asks…he walks just a bit closer to you and you step back, feeling suffocated. If he gets any closer you…

“I want to make things right.” You admit between a few breaths, “I want to get to know you.”

You aren’t lying, you do want to make things right. He doesn’t necessarily know what you mean but that’s okay. “I haven’t been the nicest to you but I want to change that.” You mumble.

“You want to know me?” he gulps, “You want to…spend time with me?” you can feel how nervous he is and you can’t help but chuckle just a bit.

“Coffee? We can start there.” You say, feeling your own nerves spiking. Who knew talking to your fucking soulmate could be this hard.

Jimin bites down on his thick bottom lip, his cheeks warming up as they turn a lovely shade of pink.

“Okay….” He says, trying to hide his growing smile “Coffee.”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #park jimin #jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin angst #gods!au #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #the hero's countdown chapter 1

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