#and suddenly they decided to drop the news on a random Wednesday?! i hope their new groups treats them nicer but LOL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 3 years

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ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates.

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens.

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class.

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him.

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all.

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly.

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months.

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got.

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career.

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course.

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.”

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you.

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.)

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side.

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly.

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil.

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester.

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness.

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you.

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face.

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!”

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things.

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone.

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought.

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you.

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news.

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward.

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason.

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away.

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom.

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same.

Apparently not.

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed.

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile.

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.”

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck.

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot.

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi.

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.”

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face.

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments.

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.”

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.”

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character.

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester.

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right.

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile. He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.”

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?”

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh.

This man was dangerous for your heart.

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.”

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you.

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well.

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook.

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#mine

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bobohu4eva · 3 years

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Pink Lace - Chapter 3

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: College AU, stripper AU, fluff, smut, slow burn

Summary: Baekhyun, a philosophy professor with mysterious wealth, got himself completely fucked over a girl who can’t let him into her life.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault, sex work, adult themes/situations, eventual smut

Tag List: @smolbeanmika @leave-me-in-the-summertime @totallynerdstuff @bbhmystar @nana-banan @kimyhappy @thegreatandi @geniusloey @deligxt @baekwifey @rockerbbhyun @lovebuginlove @bellamendoza

Masterlist

Class on Friday was less terrifying. You arrived earlier than you had Wednesday, and sat with Lucas as you’d promised.

You told yourself that Baekhyun was just another one of your professors, and you needed to get your head on straight and pay attention, especially since the class was already more challenging than you’d thought. You were starting to get worried that you’d embarrass yourself by doing poorly, and you definitely didn’t want Baekhyun to think you were stupid. You knew you weren’t, but you also knew that this class wasn’t your strength.

You noticed Baekhyun walk in and take a seat at his desk. He looked happy to see you back in his class, and this time without you trying to avoid him. You gave him a shy smile, still feeling fairly awkward around him.

“So that party’s tonight, any chance I can still convince you to come?” You heard Lucas say next to you, flashing you a smile.

“I told you I’m not really a fan of parties, sorry.” You responded, avoiding his eyes and fidgeting with the things on your desk.

You were acutely aware of Baekhyun listening to your conversation from his desk a few feet away.

“Aw come on, even if I’m there? I promise it’ll be fun.”

Baekhyun was listening. And he felt his face harden and fists clench at the boy’s pushiness.

“I have homework, I don’t have time to go out.” You looked at him now, trying to get the point across. You just really didn’t want to go.

“But it’s the first party of the year! I promise you won’t regret it.” He continued anyway, now grabbing your hand. Baekhyun narrowed his eyes.

Panicking slightly, you blurted out “I can’t anyway, I have work” as you pulled your hand away from his.

Baekhyun cocked up an eyebrow, wondering what’ll happen next.

“Work? Where at?”

“I’m a waitress, at a bar across town, you wouldn’t know about it.” You stammered, building on your lie.

Baekhyun quietly chuckled to himself, now obviously amused. Especially when he knew what your real job was.

“But what if you got someone to-”

“She said she didn’t wanna go, so drop it.” Baekhyun suddenly interrupted, voice calm but stern. Before you and Lucas even had time to react, he was getting up from his desk and starting the lecture, and you found yourself opening your notebook.

As the class went on you understood less and less of what Baekhyun was saying. You were quickly learning that philosophy meant reading lots of things that were old as hell, and nearly impossible to understand. Your own notes weren’t even really making sense to you and you knew you’d have to go back over them later if you really wanted to understand the material. Who knew philosophy would be such a bitch of a class.

Near the end of class, Baekhyun started handing out a short pop quiz and you felt yourself getting nervous.

When he handed you yours, he mouthed “good luck” with a smile. When you read the question you cursed yourself for having been so distracted the first few days. You had no idea what the difference between moral relativism and objectivism was anymore, nor any of the other things he’d talked about. Despite taking notes, it was just too difficult for you to make sense of the things he taught with so many other things running through your mind.

Baekhyun noticed how stressed you looked as he watched you stare down at your paper. Every time you’d start to write something, you’d stop and erase it. Time was ticking by and you didn’t have much left until he’d collect everyone’s papers.

This wasn’t like you at all. Usually you could remember things easily and ace pop quizzes without a problem, but Baekhyun was too distracting. Especially when you knew he was watching you and you knew he was waiting to see what you’d write.

Eventually you started scribbling down something incredibly vague and almost definitely incorrect, but at least it was something.

Although Baekhyun could tell you were struggling with the assignment, he still found it amusing to watch you as you tried to figure it out. He lost count of how many times you brushed your hair behind your ear, only to have it fall right back in your face again. He could almost see the gears turning in your head as you mulled over the question and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen something so cute.

When he got up to collect everyone’s quizzes you were still frantically trying to finish your paragraph. When he got to you you were almost finished. You looked up at him, silently begging for more time, and he gave you a soft smile. He went to take the papers from the rest of the students in your row first before eventually coming back to you. Yours was the last paper he took, and you cringed as you saw him start to read over it immediately as he made his way back to his desk, brows furrowed.

Once he’d collected the quizzes from the students they were free to go, making you the last one in the room with him again.

“Thank you.” You said. “For giving me more time. I promise I’m not stupid it’s just been hard for me to focus.” Baekhyun was glad you seemed comfortable enough to talk to him like this, and couldn’t fight the smile that was creeping onto his face.

“I know” he looked at you with sincerity “you can go home” he looked over at the door “I’m not gonna make you stay again. I’m sorry for Monday. That was mean.” You could tell by the way he looked down at his desk after he finished speaking, he really was sorry.

You felt a small smile start to form on your lips.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have freaked out so bad.”

“No, I shouldn’t have talked to you like I did. You were obviously uncomfortable, it was a dick move to make you stay.”

You giggled, pleased that he could admit he acted poorly. “It’s okay, really. I was just in shock.”

“Well it won’t happen again.” He gave you a smile so full of warmth and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Don’t forget that essay is due Wednesday night.”

“I can remember a simple due date Baekhyun. I told you I’m not dumb.” You rolled your eyes, walking towards the door.

“It’s still Mr. Byun when we’re here!” He yelled after you playfully.

“Okay Baekhyun!” You yelled back, waving as you walked out the door.

Baekhyun’s face hurt from how hard he was smiling, very much pleased by how you seemed more comfortable today. He silently patted himself on the back for it, relieved that you wouldn’t be a nervous wreck every class anymore. Your answer on the quiz hadn’t been too bad either, despite how stressed you’d looked.

Hopefully, just maybe, this meant you would start opening up to him more.

You spent Friday night doing homework as planned, and when Saturday morning rolled around and you started getting ready for work, you started to worry about whether or not Baekhyun would show up. You both hoped he’d show up just for the money, and dreaded the awkwardness if he did. You decided to just assume he wouldn’t show and go about the night as if he didn’t matter.

You added some last touches to your makeup, opting for something natural and glowy to go with your glittery pink outfit you’d packed for the night.

“I like the outfit tonight” Dave said, winking at you as you checked in. “New shoes?”

“No. I got these a few weeks ago.”

“Come on Candy, loosen up.”

You cringed but gave him a smile anyway, not wanting to get on your manager’s bad side.

For the first time in months you were going to have to spend a Saturday night trying to talk to random guys to sell dances, something you hated. Half of them would likely waste your time anyway, the other half would give you money but you never knew what bs they’d try to pull when getting their dance.

You stood by the bar, facing into the room looking for someone who didn’t seem too bad. Eventually a group of guys around your age came in and you sat down with them.

“So what’s your name gorgeous?” One of them asked you, already slightly drunk.

“I’m Candy” you told them, asking for their names as well. They all introduced themselves and soon went back to laughing amongst themselves, until a waitress showed up.

“Shots of patron, and two for the lady” one of them ordered, and you didn’t object. In the back of your mind you were still worried about Baekhyun showing up, and drinking would easily help you forget.

You took the shots. And then two more. Your stomach felt pleasantly warm, and you kept laughing at whatever the men around you were saying, though you didn’t really listen. You could hear your words slur together when you spoke, but the comfortable haze felt nice to you and you let yourself get lost in the feeling.

Eventually they ordered a 3rd round, at which point you were thoroughly tipsy and probably shouldn’t have had any more, but with the thought of Baekhyun still in the back of your mind, and the alcohol clouding your judgement, you swallowed down the fifth and sixth shots with little thought. Although by then you weren’t counting anymore. They went down like nothing, body already numb to the sting.

You were laughing at something someone said, mind going hazy from the liquor as everything around you began to go blurry. You tried to stand up but nearly fell, having trouble standing on your heels on your own. You sat back down, closing your eyes, and the room felt like it was spinning out of control. You vaguely heard the chatter of the men around you saying something, but before you had time to process their words everything went black.

Next thing you knew, your head was on Baekhyun’s lap and he was staring down at you.

Baekhyun wasn’t sure if he was going to go that night. As much as he wanted to see you, he wasn’t sure you’d want to see him there again.

As the night went on he tried to distract himself, grade some papers, watch some TV, but nothing worked. No matter what he did, you were stuck in the back of his mind. He wanted, needed to see you again. As long as he paid you, you wouldn’t be too mad to see him there, and two of you could just act like it was any other Saturday night, right?

Not wanting to think about it too much, he got his shoes on, grabbed his wallet, and walked out the door.

When he arrived, he didn’t see you at the bar where you usually stood and waited for him. Upon looking around the main room of the club, he didn’t see you either, and his heart rate started to go up. What if you were stuck in a VIP room with some creep who was making you uncomfortable?

Baekhyun started to wander around the room to look for you. He checked every booth and could see every table, you had to be upstairs in a room. He hated to admit it to himself but even just the thought of you being up there with someone who wasn’t terrible bothered him. Thinking about you grinding on strangers at all made his stomach churn.

To calm his nerves he stood by the bar and ordered himself a drink, and not even a minute went by before there was a girl standing in front of him.

“Hey handsome, what are you doing here? You’re awful cute to be in a place like this.”

She started to touch Baekhyun’s arm and he slapped her hand away, turning around and gulping down his drink.

The girl frowned, but persisted anyway.

“So why are you here? Looking for some fun?”

“I’m looking for my friend.” He replied, eyes still scanning the room, ignoring her.

“I’m sure I can show you a good time too you know..” she stepped closer, blocking his view of the rest of the room.

Baekhyun dug in his pocket and pulled out a 50, holding it up with an annoyed look on his face.

“It’s yours if you leave.”

She took the bill, scoffing and turning around to walk away. Baekhyun faced his back towards the room and kept his eyes on the stairs, waiting for you to come down.

10 minutes went by, and then 10 more. Baekhyun couldn’t help but get more and more nervous. He knew it was pretty rare for people to spend that much time up there. He ordered himself another drink and started getting fidgety, trying to distract himself from worrying too much.

A few more girls came up to him, but he quickly sent each one of them away.

After about 15 more minutes you finally appeared, and Baekhyun’s worst fears were realized when he saw you nearly unconscious, basically being carried down the stairs by 2 men. Immediately his mouth went dry and he felt his stomach do a flip.

You had your arm around one of the men’s shoulders, and the other had his hand on your lower back as you clumsily made your way down, nearly falling several times. You hadn’t even put your top back on, probably too wasted to notice it was missing anyway. The two men sat you down in an empty chair near the bottom of the stairs and went back to their group across the room with disgustingly smug looks on their faces. Baekhyun would’ve loved to walk right up to them and deck each of them in the face, but the last thing he needed now was to get himself kicked out while you were alone, completely incoherent, and surrounded by strange men. He cursed himself for not being able to do anything about them, but you were more important now.

He quickly made his way over to you, crouching down in front of you and grabbing your hand between his as he desperately tried to get a response from you.

“Hey, it’s me, say something.”

You could only mumble something incoherent.

“Can you open your eyes and look at me?”

You just shook your head slightly, brows furrowed.

“Fuck” Baekhyun whispered. He saw other people beginning to give him weird looks, and decided to take you to a room upstairs. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” He slung your arm around his shoulder and kept a firm grip on your waist as he got you to stand up.

He helped your mostly limp body up the stairs, and into the room. He let go of you for a second, and immediately you fell onto the couch, hitting your head on the wall in the process. He flinched, hearing the impact.

“Shit” he heard you say and saw you rub your head where it made contact with the wall.

“Sorry.” He knew you couldn’t process his words in your drunken state, but he said it anyway.

He handed you your bra, which had been dangling off one of your arms when you came down the stairs and he helped you get it back on. He helped you out of your shoes as well and laid you down on the couch. He sat down and you put your head in his lap, curling up against him and quickly passing back out. He gently rubbed the bump on your head, and heard you hum at the feeling. He looked around to see your money bag discarded on the floor and when he picked it up to set it on the small table in the corner he noticed it was empty. Those creeps had stolen your money and left you without paying.

Baekhyun looked at his watch and took his wallet out of his pocket. 10:04pm.

He stuffed $800 dollars in your bag, and looked down at you asleep in his lap as he stroked your hair.

The whole time you slept Baekhyun couldn’t help but run his fingers along the lines of your jaw, lips, and brows. Although he hated that those guys had gotten you like this, now, peacefully asleep in his lap, he thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He ran his thumb across your cheek and noticed your eye twitch, and then open. As you looked up at him, he knew you were still too far gone to understand what was happening.

“What’sgoingon” you slurred, rubbing your eyes and sitting up.

“Some guys got you way too drunk, and then you hit your head.”

“Ohhhh” you sighed absentmindedly, not really having heard or understood what Baekhyun said.

“Come here, you’re still drunk.”

You seemed to listen, laying your head back in his lap and dozing off again. Another hour went by and he looked at his watch. It was after midnight, so he put another stack of cash in your bag. The movement seemed to be enough to wake you up this time, and when you opened your eyes you were a bit more aware of your surroundings. You shifted to lay on your back, looking directly up at him.

“Baekhyun” you groaned, still fairly drunk “why are you here?”

“I’m here every Saturday night.” He replied simply, smiling down at you in his lap. Gently he moved a strand of hair out of your face, and you felt yourself go red. Although you were now sober enough to know something was very wrong, with the way he looked at you in that moment, with so much warmth and admiration, you couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy inside.

You closed your eyes again and smiled, enjoying the feeling of Baekhyun caressing your cheek with the back of his hand in your drunken haze. No matter what shit had gone down earlier in the night, and why you were here with your head in his lap, this felt like bliss. You could’ve stayed like that for hours, just enjoying his gentle hands admiring your face.

“What time is it?” You asked lazily.

“12:15.”

“Fuck.” Your head snapped up and you sat next to Baekhyun, immediately feeling dizzy due to your intoxication. Head pounding, you rubbed your temples to try to relive some of the pain. “It’s that late? You never stay this late.”

“You’ve been sleeping for a while now.”

“Huh?”

“How are you feeling?

“Kind of drunk... and my head hurts. But what happened?” You slurred your words slightly, alcohol still apparent in your system.

He looked at you with sorry eyes. “Well, some assholes got you fucked up out of your mind. After I got here they came down the stairs and basically just dumped you into an empty chair and left, so I took you up here to sleep it off. You hit your head too, so be careful.” He rubbed the lump on the side of your head again, making you groan.

The terrified look on your face told him all he needed to know. He was about to see you cry for the first time, and he felt his heart drop.

“W-what? They took me upstairs?” A tear escaped, and more followed. “Who?”

“I don’t know. Some younger guys. I’d have beat the shit out of them if it wouldn’t get me kicked out.” You sensed the anger in his voice as he spoke. “Your bag was empty too by the way.”

Slowly you started piecing things together in your head, stomach churning with disgust and now fully crying.

“W-what, h-how did I-”

“No. This wasn’t your fault.” He interrupted, afraid this would happen. Afraid you would blame yourself. “They were assholes. They knew what they were doing.”

In reality, Baekhyun blamed himself. He knew you’d probably been nervous about whether or not he would show up. He should’ve been there earlier. But all that mattered now is that you were okay. At least physically.

As you sat next to him, head in your hands crying, he felt helpless. All he wanted to do was hold you tight and tell you all the things he was too scared to say out loud. But all he could manage was a comforting hand on your shoulder.

Your sobs got more intense and he was caught off guard when you threw your arms around him, head buried into his chest as you kept quietly crying. Reluctantly, his arms found their way around you as well, holding you as you shook in his arms.

“Hey hey, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re okay now. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” He said softly, rubbing soothing circles onto your back.

“Thank you” you choked out between sobs. Embarrassed, but still too drunk to stop yourself, you held on to Baekhyun tighter and tighter. You hated to admit it but you already felt much better with his arms wrapped around you. The gentle feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours, compared to your erratic breaths, felt like heaven. “Thank you, l-I’m sorry.”

“Shhh” he said, stroking your hair. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“B-but you stayed here with m-me the whole time.” You sobbed.

“That’s okay, I came here to spend time with you didn’t I?”

“Why are you like this? W-why me?” You asked, leaning back to look at him.

Baekhyun sighed.

You’d avoided the question when you were sober for a reason. You knew Baekhyun liked you too much, more than he should, and you didn’t need to know the details. It would only make you feel more guilty later. But now, with alcohol to give you courage you didn’t hold back.

“You know how much I like you.” He responds quietly, giving you a soft smile. “It’s stupid, I know.”

Another tear fell, and Baekhyun was quick to wipe it away. Even with makeup running down your face he looked at you with a tenderness that made it difficult to feel anything but a comforting warmth.

You stared at him, trying to find some form of deceit in his eyes, some hint that he was just messing with you, but all you saw was his admiration and care for you.

Another sob rolled through you and you wrapped your arms back around him. He held you like that for a while, and slowly the tears lessened and you calmed down a bit.

You pulled away from him and looked around the room, realizing where you were and thought to yourself how silly it all was. You were in a dance room, just sleeping on the couch all night as Baekhyun stayed and made sure you were alright. Every other time you’d been in here with him, your ass was on his lap grinding on him.

“Do you want a dance or anything?”

Baekhyun just laughed, “Don’t worry about me, I’m just as happy doing this. As long as I get to spend time with you.”

“Okay.” You said, but you made yourself comfortable on his lap anyway, legs stretched across the couch. You wrapped your arms around him again, and rested your head on his shoulder. He put an arm around your waist and you just sat like that for a while, enjoying each other’s embrace.

He hadn’t been lying, he’d take this over a lap dance any day. To have your arms around him like this, not because he paid you, but because you wanted to, for him nothing could beat that. The skin of your waist felt so soft beneath his palms, he thought he must be dreaming.

The sober part of you wanted to scream at you to get up. But when Baekhyun’s hands felt so warm and comforting on you, the drunken haze took over and you just basked in the feeling. In the back of your mind you knew you’d regret tonight’s events later, but now it felt too good to ignore. With your head resting on his shoulder and the sound of his heartbeat in your ear, you just felt right. Like this was where you were supposed to be.

“Do you want me to take you home soon? I don’t think you should be driving yourself tonight.” Baekhyun asked, and your lips pulled into a pout.

“Can we stay like this a little longer.” You lifted your head to look at him, and when you made eye contact, Baekhyun couldn’t help but grin.

“Of course sweetheart, if that’s what you want.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the pet name. That was the first time Baekhyun had called you anything like that before. He usually just called you by your name (or in the past, your stripper name). You didn’t mind, but you couldn’t help but find the word heart fluttering nonetheless. You laid your head back on his shoulder, and watched as he slowly ran his hand up and down your thigh.

“You have such pretty hands.” You told him, reaching for the hand on your thigh. He didn’t respond, only laced his hands into yours, rubbing the back with his thumb. You kept silencing the voice in the back of your mind that was screaming at you to get up, to push Baekhyun away. But when his presence was this sweet and comforting you just couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

“Everything about you is pretty.” Your face burned red at his words. “So, so beautiful.”

“You’re pretty cute too.” The alcohol did a good job of bringing the words out of you that you’d usually know better than to say out loud.

Much to your dismay, Baekhyun moved you off his lap and got up, putting his hand out for you to stand up as well.

“Let’s get you back home, it’s late and you’re still drunk.” At first you pouted again, but you eventually agreed. You grabbed his hand and got your shoes back on, following him back down the stairs. Your manager saw and gave you a strange look, but you ignored it. You went back to the dressing room to change and met Baekhyun again in the parking lot. Being seen leaving with customers looked bad, and after being upstairs for hours with him you didn’t want to raise any more suspicions.

You spotted him leaning against a black Audi, and you let him open the door for you and got in. You told him your address and he pulled out of the lot. For most of the car ride home you were silent. You still felt bad that Baekhyun had come to see you just for all of this to happen, and now he was having to drive you home too since you had gotten too wasted.

“I’m sorry, for everything. You just wanted a fun couple of hours and you got stuck babysitting my drunk ass.”

“You know I don’t mind, I’m just glad you’re safe now.” He said as he was pulling up to your place. He parked, but looked over to you before getting out. “Can I give you my number? You don’t need to use it if you don’t want to, but I just want you to have it so you can call me if you’re in trouble again.”

You looked him in the eyes again, looking for some sort of ulterior motives, but found them filled with nothing but care and warmth. “Okay.”

He looked surprised, but you just handed him your phone and let him put in his number.

“I don’t want you to think you have to text me or call me or anything, I just feel better knowing you can contact me if you need someone.”

You smiled. “I know.”

Baekhyun got out to open the door for you, and when you stepped out you found yourself wrapping your arms around him again tightly. “Thank you. Seriously, I don’t even wanna think about what could’ve happened tonight if it weren’t for you.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me, it’s no big deal. You know I’m happy as long as I’m with you.”

You didn’t want to let go. The feeling of your head resting against his broad chest and his arms around you felt too sweet, too good to be true.

He’s the one who breaks away first. You could see his eyes scan your face, spending especially long on your lips. Your face heated up as you noticed the proximity between the two of you.

“I, um.. I should get inside. Thanks for the ride.” You said, grabbing your bag and quickly walking to the door. Baekhyun waved you goodbye and waited until you were inside to get back in his car and drive himself home.

You almost immediately threw yourself into bed and passed out, but Baekhyun couldn’t stop thinking about your words and actions from earlier. The way you clung onto him as you cried, how happy you seemed to be sitting on his lap cuddled up to him, how you’d called him cute. His mind raced with the possibility of you maybe, possibly, being able to like him the way he liked you. He told himself it was just the alcohol, that you would never have acted like that sober.

But he couldn’t help hoping he was wrong.

As the night went on he only found himself falling deeper and deeper into thought. With nothing but the darkness of his bedroom to keep him company, he felt hyper aware of the emptiness around him.

Baekhyun hated sleeping alone already, and with the thoughts of your sweet words and actions running rampant in his mind, it felt impossible. How was he supposed to relax when you had just called him cute? The night drew on and on, but Baekhyun didn’t sleep. Not when the feeling of your hands around his body was still so fresh in his mind.

He was so close to what he yearned for more than anything, yet still so far.

Next Chapter

#baekhyun #exo #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fanfic #exo fanfic #exo fluff #exo smut

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13uswntimagines · 4 years

Text

I Should Sleep With You More Often (Sam x Reader)

Sequel to Works Like a Charm where Sam and Reader finally get together. It’s a very fluffy piece, with a little bit of late night breakfast making and a surprise kiss.

special thanks to @literaryhedgehog cause this wouldn’t have happened without her.

Hello?”

“Hey, I can’t sleep.” Sam’s voice comes over the phone, getting straight to the point with frustration.

“And you’re calling me about it? At 3 am. I could have been asleep you know.” You huff into the phone, pinning it between your chin and your shoulder.

“Were you?” She asks, and you can almost see her eyebrow quirking up.

You look down at the frying pan where you were about to pour your egg-cheese scramble. “No. But still.”

“Don’t worry, I appreciate the irony of the situation,” she says, with an attempt at humor. “can I come over?”

“Sure. You can split my omelet.” You hum, your tongue poking out as you make sure the entire omelet landed on the plate instead of the floor.

“Omelette?” Sam asked, sounding amused. “I thought you weren’t supposed to --”

“Eat anything after 9 pm I know, I know. But I woke up and was hungry, and couldn’t just ignore it to fall back asleep for two hours. I had to eat something or I was going to get nauseous.” You interrupted her, waving your hand dismissively.

“What?” Sam asked entirely confused.

“You know that feeling, where you’re like, so hungry that you get kind of nauseous?” You tried to explain again.

“No…” She trailed off.

“Oh, well it’s the worst. I like to try to eat something before it gets too bad because otherwise, the food won’t do anything. Anyway, I made enough you can have half of it, just let me know when you get here so I can send down the elevator for you.” You said, whipping your hands off and walking towards the door.

“I’m actually just parking,” Sam’s voice came sheepishly over the phone. In the background, you heard the unmistakable sound of her car being locked. She always insisted on clicking the lock button twice so it would beep, like she didn’t trust it to lock the first time.

You shook your head and left your apartment to buzz her into the building. “You’re telling me that at 3 am, before even checking to see if I was awake, you just decided to come to my apartment because you couldn��t sleep?”

“Yes?”

“You’re insane,” you said, hanging up the phone as the elevator door opened to reveal her tall frame.

She ruffled the hair at the back of her neck, grinning. “I knew you would be awake?”

“Bullshit.” You led the way back to your apartment and grabbed two plates from the cabinet. “You want soy milk?”

“What?”

“Soy milk. I’ve got vanilla or dark chocolate.” For some reason, soy milk helped reduce the insomnia nausea more than anything else most days. Still, the omelet smelled amazing.

“Um sure, vanilla please.” She shrugged, and you rolled your eyes. Vanilla was for the weak.

You pulled out both cartons and two glasses, before cutting the omelet in half and handing her a fork.

“Don’t I get my own plate?” Sam whined, cutting off a piece of the Omelet and popping it into her mouth.

“People who come barging into my apartment at 3 AM have to share with the host. Unless you wanna do dishes?” You raised your eyebrow at her, pointing your fork in her direction, smirking when she emphatically shook her head no.

She quickly changed the subject, avoiding your eyes as she ate. “So how are you liking your apartment, it’s new right?”

“Yeah, I moved in four months ago, you know when I suddenly got traded to North Carolina,” you said, a very bitter edge in your voice. How Mark could let you leave the thorns you would never know, but at least Hinkle was retiring.

You took another bite “So why couldn’t you sleep? At camp, you’re usually snoring like a freight train by now.”

Sam paused mid-bite, fork in the air. She looked like she was debating how to answer then, stuffed her last piece of omelet in her mouth. “I donb snowe.”

“You totally do. Rose even sent me the video evidence if you wanna see it,” you smirked, standing to go get your phone.

“No!” Sam jumped up and you sprinted across the kitchen to get out of her reach, grinning. “You really don’t have to do that, it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, but I really don’t mind,” you taunted, starting for your phone before Sam tackled you. Well, it wasn’t a tackle so much as a grab, but she had a good foot and a half on you, so same difference really.

“Put me down. This is highly unnecessary,” you sputtered, laughing from Sam’s shoulder. “I’m not supposed to exercise within an hour of bed. My therapist would be unhappy with so much activity.”

“Yeah cause eating an Omelette at 3 am is totally something she would approve,” Sam rolled her eyes, as she tossed you onto your couch.

“Lies and slander. I won’t get the alleged snoring video, but seriously. Why are you here?”

Sam sighs, and slouches onto the couch next to you, dropping her head into your lap. You smile down at her, liking this new angle. While you certainly didn’t mind being the baby of the team, it was kind of nice to do the petting for once.

“I don’t know,” Sam said, furrowing her eyebrows.

“You were never a good liar. It’s why everyone catches you when you try to pull pranks. I hear it helps if you talk about it,” You murmured, using your thumb to smooth out the crease that formed between her eyes.

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep because I kept having nightmares. It felt like, I was tossing and turning for hours, and then every time I dozed off, my brain came up with these fucked up images. Like, silence of the lambs shit. I could sell some horror film director the plotlines and make bank, I’m telling you. And since Rose and Wilma moved out, my place has felt so empty. It felt like, the panic attacks I used to have before games. When I had to always bring a bag with me to hyperventilate into before I could get my mind on the game.”

You frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“Once you became my bus buddy I didn’t have that problem. You got me out of my own head with fun word games and stupid jokes. Remember that time you gave me the sentence ‘The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog?’ You kept grinning telling me to stop stressing out, it would be alright, to just guess a letter.”

“Because whatever you guessed would be right.” You hum smiling down at her.

“You couldn’t take that shit-eating grin off your face, you jerk, but like, it helped me stop second-guessing myself. Sitting on the bus with you, I’ve never felt more calm going into a season. And so I just thought. It’s dumb but I hoped coming here would help.” She shrugged.

“It’s not dumb Sammy. You help me sleep too. Why do you think all the vets insist I sit with you?” You said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Because you used to fall asleep literally everywhere and they hoped I could get across the aisle and catch you before you hit your head?” She giggled and you snapped her shoulder lightly.

“Wow. Thanks.” You said in a monotone, “Or maybe it’s ‘cause you’re my favorite teddy bear.”

“If anyone is the teddy it’s you. You’re like half my size,” She giggled.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you muttered, playfully pushing her head off your lap. “Come on you giant.”

“Where are you going?” She asked, allowing you to pull her to her feet.

“To go grab you a toothbrush and a fresh pillowcase for the bed.” You said, your tugging getting a little more insistent. You really wanted to get to sleep tonight. You had been so good lately (ignoring the random omelet you cooked tonight).

“Oh, um. I was hoping we could just watch television on your couch and I would fall asleep,” Sam rambled, eyes wide. “I mean, not that I mind, but I didn’t want to like, invade on your--”

“Just come up to my room. It’s no big deal, it’s large enough for both of us, and I honestly don’t think that couch is even big enough to fit you. Besides, maybe it will help you sleep to be on a mattress actually purchased in this century.”

“Hey, I like my mattress!” She grumbled indignantly, crossing her arms.

“You flip it twice a month because it keeps forming an indention where you’ve slept!” You said exasperated. That sleepover had been a terrible idea and you stood by that. At least your bed didn’t spit out feathers when you turned over too fast.

“Well, I. um. No comment.” you hear her say as you go to take your turn in the bathroom.

When Sam gets back from brushing her teeth you’ve done everything except turn out the lights. You look up from your side of the bed as she pauses in the doorway.

“Is this… Welcome to Night Vale?”

“It helps me ignore my thoughts. Can you get the lights please?”

You had to replay the podcast the next day after Sam left. You couldn’t remember anything after “Wednesday has been canceled due to a scheduling error” because within moments you were asleep.

*****

You thought that sleeping with Sam was only supposed to be a one-night thing, but it wasn’t. One night turned into two, which turned into the two of you usually crashing at each other's places.

If you were being honest, it was the best sleep you had ever gotten. It was nice to have someone there to hold onto, to protect you from the bad dreams. The problem was that your feelings were edging past the line of friendship, and you had no idea what to do about it.

It started with a team party you both went to, where Sam offered to be the designated driver. After she dropped everyone else off, you told her she might as well stay the night at your place since it was already so late and she did. And you both slept great. And then you had your usual Saturday spa night the next night, and you were several shots in and it wouldn’t have been responsible to drive home. And you both slept a solid seven hours.

Not that Sam was a magical cure to your insomnia. You still had nights where your brain was like a train running off the rails, unstoppable no matter how hard you tried. Yet, having her there helped. She made sure blue lights went off when they were supposed to, and your late-night breakfast-making was kept to a minimum. AND after the first few nights, you realized that she was amusingly clingy in her sleep. Which meant that occasionally if you woke up and tried to get out of bed, she would sleepily grab you and hold you in place murmuring about whatever was happening in her dream. Since you couldn’t get up you had to just lay there, which normally might have been boring, but with her was amusing as you listened to her rambling state of consciousness.

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. You really needed to get your shit together and just ask her out. But what if she said no, and you lost your cuddle buddy? That would suck royally, and if you lost your bus seat it might completely curse the USWNT.

“Alright, I can practically feel the steam coming out of your ears, spill,” Sam groaned, rolling over and throwing an arm around your waist.

“Isn’t it weird?”

“What?”

“Time. Like someone decided that seconds were a thing and a certain number of seconds equaled a minute and there were a certain number of minutes in a day. Like someone just decided it was a thing, and everyone went along with it and now we all have to plan our lives around this arbitrary system. I wonder if that asshole realized that people would use it to put kids in detention and force them to cram so they could regurgitate facts in a specified amount of his made-up system. And like the Romans made a Calendar and the Mayans did one too…” Your rambling was cut off by Sams’s soft lips touching your own in a quick peck before she collapsed back into the pillow. “Just blame capitalism babe.”

You stared at her for a minute, shocked, before she bolted upright. “SHIT. Sorry, I just. I forgot to ask for consent. I just forgot--”

“I consent, yes, more of this please,” you said, leaning over to kiss her again. Your hands cupped her cheeks and her fingers tangled into the baby hairs at the back of your neck.

After a few minutes, Sam broke off the kiss, both of you breathing heavily. “Um, wow. You know, I’m not sure this is helping you get to sleep, love.”

You smirk, biting your lip and straddling her hips before you lean in to kiss her again, slowly. “You’re the one who said you needed to sleep with me more often.”

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #sam mewis imagine #sam mewis x reader #literalhedgehog

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knowltonsrangers · 3 years

Text

Pining

AKA: when they realized they loved you.

Benjamin Tallmadge:

Ben exists in the present, and in his own fantasy world. He’s a dreamer, and always has stars in his eyes as he thinks of new things to add to his beaten up journal. Things come and go, ideas float around and swim in his mind before they’re scrapped and used for spare parts. But it wasn’t until you started appearing in these happy mindless thoughts of his, that he took a second to evaluate what he was getting himself into. Usually, the planes don’t overlap. You’ve created a bridge from his existing reality into his life, and he can’t help himself when he stares at you lovingly. He really does love you, the moment his blue eyes lock onto you, saying aloud that you are perfect.

Caleb Brewster:

When the room finally ceases spinning, he can stop and gather his thoughts. So much is always constantly happening around him, and he needs a moment to breathe, and take deep intakes of air that have him nearly toppling over. He’s stressed, he’s overworked, but still he continues, in fear of what comes when he doesn’t obey the rules. He realizes he’s absolutely in love with you when you remind him to breathe, remind him to take all the time he needs to cool down, and help him when he’s gotten himself into a blurry mess that he can’t clean up alone. Now, the room only stops spinning when he sees you, and his eyes light up like you’ve never seen before.

Ensign Baker:

It’s hard for people to get a good read of him, because he appears instinctively intimidating but he’s quite literally the opposite. More often then not, he finds it’s hard to share eye contact with you because he thinks that you’re so beautiful and he’s not worth the half a mind. But when you agreed to his proposal of maybe taking your friendship to another level, he swore that was the moment he fell in love. You accepted him for who he was, and didn’t bat an eye when someone needed help. You’re perfect, an absolute gem, and Ensign sees you for who you are, just as you see him for who he is. Fingers intertwined on that red string of fate.

Robert Townsend:

Easily enough, when you asked him ‘can I read some of your works?’. Unable to concoct a sentence, he simply stared at you blankly, to which you hastily followed up with: ‘but only if it’s okay with you, of course!’ He had never even thought of allowing anyone to see or read what he writes, because no ones ever asked. He’ll feel a bit bad for making it seem like he didn’t trust you, but it really was him taking those moments to realize that you actually wanted to. It wasn’t a pity offer or something, you genuinely wanted to, and that not only confused him, but made his heart thrum loudly in his chest. He’ll keep that moment to himself, but he knows it as the day he quite literally fell in love with you.

Marquis de Lafayette:

Gilbert was always a yes man. Anything anyone needed at any time he was always there, a pillar to lean on and an absolutely fantastic listener. However, in his times of trouble, he found when it came time to return the favor, people were hesitant to cough it up. You, on the other hand, went way out of your way to be that rock for him. A check up every week or so, outside of seeing him regularly, just a simple: ‘how’s everything going?’. It made his heart swell, because he knew you actually cared, and never sought him out just to complain. You were an amazing person who always returns the favor, and for that, he came to the conclusion he would love you forever.

George Washington:

‘You are doing enough.’ Four words got him. Four words that you said to him at the kitchen table one random Wednesday night, where he’d hunched over in his seat to rub at his temples to get the ache away from his head. Convinced for so long in any scenario, that he should have done this, not that, or maybe gone this direction instead of the other way, you carefully shoved all those doubts aside with four words. It got him enough that he finally let those stressed filled shoulders to drop, letting the anxiety and tension building up go. He definitely felt something in his chest tighten when you said those words, and he often thinks that that was the exact moment he realized he loved you.

Paul Revere:

Often asking him what he’d like. What would Paul Revere like? That’s a loaded question-but you simplify it into the easiest term possible, and he suddenly finds himself stupefied. What would he like to do? Well? His jaw opens up and closes, and then opens and closes again. Feeling this type of way is foreign to him, so when you catch him a couple weeks later and ask the same question with different context, he just about loses it. In his mind, he declares this as the moment the connection is made between his brain and his heart, where he decides he’ll go down on your ship forever. What does Paul Revere want? That’s a horribly loaded question with the simplest answer in the book. You.

Doctor Joseph Warren:

Telling him what a kind heart he has. Easily enough, he’s a man of doubts in between times of trouble. He has to be brave and he has to be precise because he just has to be. When he can’t figure something out, he turns to his friends, and when they can’t satisfy his question, he needs gratification. He needs an answer or it’ll eat him alive. Because of this, he always feels that his heart is in the wrong place. Is he doing the right things? Will it all work out? What is going to happen— ‘you have such a kind heart, Joseph,’ the sentence physically shut him up, snapping his jaw shut in surprise. In times of doubt, he seeks you out instead, the loving twinkle in his eyes never fading.

[a/n: hi! The semesters wrapping up, and while I’m finding it hard to get back into my groove of writing, I hope that this is okay for now! Ly 💕]

#sul writes #turn amc #turn washington's spies #benjamin tallmadge #caleb brewster #robert townsend #marquis de lafayette #george washington #Paul Revere #doctor joseph warren #ensign baker

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kwantified · 4 years

Text

stolen liquor - liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

genre(s): fratboy!au, sororitysister!reader, exboyfriend!yangyang, angst, slice of life, suggestive, mature, badboy!au

warnings: alcohol consumption, heavy cursing, limited foreplay (second base), mentions of sex, mentions of violence, mentions of blood and bruises, stealing

word count: 6.8k

a part of @legendnct ‘s bingo collab! check out the full collab masterlist here.

prompts: “baby, i'm afraid to fall in love. 'cause what if it's not reciprocated?” / “i gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind” / “oh, you remind me of someone I once knew. maybe I'm crazy, but it's hard to ignore you”

synopsis: there’s a part of you that hasn’t let go of the relationship you broke off six months ago. but are you only coming back because you long to feel some sort of old familiarity? or does the reminiscent swelling in your chest mean more than nostalgia? you end up believing that it’s both.

is it bad to come back to a person you’ve left behind?

you’re starting to think it’s just normal.

humans are creatures of habit, you’ve learned. they seem to come back to what they already know solely because, well, it’s comfortable. familiarity is helpful. it’s a nice, warm pillow of pre-existing knowledge and emotional understanding that you lean on daily.

you used to scoff at those who would cower at the face of change, easily but painfully avoiding it like the plague. or maybe they’d endure it a bit, with heads up too high, and slowly melt back into the mould of where they came from. you thought it was laughable.

but you get it now.

getting yourself a new group of friends meant putting in extra time to keep up with their every hangout. drinks after class, “spontaneous” frat parties, clubbing most fridays - plus random wednesdays - and the constant back and forth between your dorm and the sorority house.

you like to think that you love the wind in your hair and the chill up your skin when you’re out late in town with your new friends, their bright smiles complimenting their designer purses. you think it makes the ache in your ankles worth it. though, sometimes it’s the only thing you can feel.

these days you find yourself craving quiet nights and old highschool connections, getting both tired and almost afraid of the same routine you used to so desperately want. it’s a shame, truly, and you blame yourself, for the second you brought yourself into a popular sorority and fit in almost perfectly, you felt as if you wanted to go back.

tonight is another one of those nights where you’ve unsuccessfully convinced yourself that “fun” was an illusion hidden under inches of booze and weed on the patio. this time, your taste buds don’t seem to be numb enough to want to consume anything, and everyone seems to already have eyes on who to take home (spoiler alert: not you). it’s the usual frat party.

that’s what all of you thought until na jaemin, one of the frat’s sophomores, comes in with a busted lip and bruised fists. from there, the murmurs start.

“jaemin told me he left him by the dumpster,” a girl, seri, says.

“isn’t he from another frat?” another girl, hyejung, adds.

“is he? he goes here, i know that for sure,” a third girl, chaeyeon, says.

“wait... his name sounds familiar,” a fourth girl, yeeun, points out.

“do you know him, y/n?” seri asks, and you find yourself lost in the conversation.

“who?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“yangyang. liu yangyang.”

you feel a heavy weight in your chest at the mention of your ex-boyfriend. but they don’t know that.

you only give seri a forced shrug and a pursed lip before she turns away from you to join in on the others’ conversation. usually, you’d scramble back into everyone else’s conversations too, but today you tell yourself otherwise.

the clacking of your heels makes a beeline to the back door, and you realise your heart’s beating a mile a minute. you feel out of place; you’re silently fetching your coat without any word of goodbye, and the relief you feel when the cold air hits your knees is conflicting.

you hate this. you hate that your first instinct was to leave. you hate that you’d rather stick up for him. you hate that you’ve gone so far as to painfully change your weeks just to shove it all in the dust because your ex-boyfriend had just been beaten up by one of the boys at your sorority’s sibling frat.

your wedges are hard against the stone pavement behind the house, and you’re sure anyone could hear you walk up to the dumpster from miles away. you never make it to the dumpster, though, as the rough thud somewhere in the crowd of parked cars near the entrance makes you abandon all reason and bump right into him - or, in front of him, at least.

“oh. it’s you.”

yangyang shuffles so that he’s leaning against the fence bordering the house, the moonlight shining on his messy collar and bloody face. through his ruffled hair, he forces a smile, and you feel the weight in your chest drop to your stomach.

god, you can’t stand it.

“c’mon,” you take his arm, silently begging him to stand up and lean on you before anyone sees.

"taking me to your car, huh? that used to be fun.”

“it’s not fun when na jaemin beats the shit out of you, is it?”

yangyang scoffs, his bigger frame dangling over yours. you’re going one step at a time, one hand on his waist and another rummaging through your purse for your car keys.

you can’t seem to look him in the eye right now, and you choose not to ask yourself why. you feel his eyes burning holes on your cheek and his arm wrapping warmly around your neck. you’re okay with this.

“miss me?” yangyang grins when he’s finally seated in the passenger seat of your car, your response delayed to silence as you drive out of the lot. it’s dark, mostly, and you can’t seem to bring yourself to say anything for the first two minutes of the drive.

then he cuts the tension.

“i’m surprised they actually like you.”

you keep your eyes trained on the road, the way to yangyang’s place still memorised in your head.

“who knew fake socialites would ever think of you that way?” yangyang glances at you, arms slouched beside him, “i heard even mark lee’s got an eye out for you.”

you slow down.

“yeah. he was thinking of approaching you tonight after being done with me,” he says, “guess that didn’t happen, did it?”

“bullshit,” you mutter, stopping at a red light.

“trust me, i hate na jaemin’s rich posse as much as you do. but even i’m-”

“i don’t hate them,” you cut off, tapping your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

“you just don’t like them as much as you like my frat.”

“your frat is as good as a worn out bike gang.”

“woah, y/n,” yangyang laughs, and it’s loud and fake, “your elitism is showing.”

the green light shows on, and you force every muscle in your body to stay calm and stop yourself from pulling over and giving the boy an extra punch to the face.

“what were you doing tonight? before... that,” you ask, changing the subject.

“isn’t it clear already?”

you furrow your eyebrows, “what?”

“they just love me too much, y’know?” yangyang jokes, suddenly rummaging through the car’s small compartments.

“fuck off,” you scoff, “and don’t touch that.”

the man just shrugs. “anyways, me and jaemin are obviously besties,” yangyang continues, his tone mimicking that of a valley girl, “so it’s only natural that besties lend each other booze.”

“no fucking way.”

“only the finest in the cellar, baby,” he flashes you a smile, and you try to chew on the inside of your cheek, but you can’t help the wide grin that erupts on your face.

“did they get it back?”

“that’s what they thought,” yangyang crosses his arms, “i still have two bottles - one at my apartment and the other at hendery’s.”

“fuck,” you laugh, “you got the nerve.”

“that’s rich coming from you, sorority sister.”

you roll your eyes, catching your bottom lip in between your teeth. there’s a guilt that stays in your gut, but you leave it. you don’t care.

“but why do you care for me to get home?”

you know every reason why you’re in your car, driving yangyang home, instead of at the frat house, kissing mark lee. still, you choose to keep it to yourself.

“that’s for you to decide,” you answer, shrugging, hoping his thanks for you giving him a ride home would cover for his curiosity for why you did this for him in the first place. yangyang responds with a satisfied hum.

the rest of the drive is silent, but the tension is loud in your cheeks when you catch him staring at you every few seconds, his damn smile never failing to be contagious.

“we’re here,” you feel every nerve in your body as you pull up into the apartment’s parking lot, fingers brushing against his when you two reach for the compartment where your phones were.

you get out of the car first, reminding yourself that there was still a moderate walk from the parking lot to his apartment. yangyang tilts his head when you reach your hand out to him, and his hand warmly holds yours as he stands himself up.

“you can lean on me if you want,” you offer after watching him limp halfway through the parking lot.

“no, it’s fine,” yangyang declines, “i’ll be fine by tomorrow, tops.”

“you’re not fine now,”

“that’s why we’re going to my place, isn’t it?”

“whatever you say,” you sigh, already familiar with the way he minimises his pain, “just so you know, forcing yourself to speed-walk won’t get you all great tomorrow.”

yangyang ignores the latter half of your words and keeps his hand in yours as the two of you approach the elevator connecting the parking lot to his apartment floor. like most of your interactions with him tonight, the ride up is silent. occasionally, you hear him let out a short hiss of pain, causing you to send him worried glances. he always replies with a smile.

when you two reach his front door, you wait as he takes his keys out from his coat pocket. you’re left to look around the hallway before his apartment, suddenly feeling the memories of your ex-boyfriend flash before your eyes, whether it be him beaten up on your shoulder, kissing you on the lips, or disturbing the neighbours. you can’t lie though, there was a different type of rush you felt when you were with him. maybe it was the late movie dates or his old part-time job at the bowling alley; maybe it was his oddly nice cologne or cans of redbull. or maybe it was the sex - you’re not really sure.

yangyang opens the door with one push and lets himself in, holding the door as you come in as well. he immediately removes his shoes and jacket before retreating to his nearby sofa bed, sitting himself upright against the headboard.

“did you hire an interior designer or something?” your mouth forms the shape of an ‘o’ at the sight of the completely different interior than the one you were so used to seeing. back then, the one-room-plus-one-bathroom space seemed cramped and unbelievably untidy, and the fact that his sofa bed lay only a few spaces from the kitchen used to gross you out.

now you feel like you’re almost littering the place by being there, seeing the windows lined with fresh curtains and his once messy desk compartmentalised into labelled drawers and organised folders. hell, his bed and kitchen were now separated with a floor-to-ceiling dark wood bookshelf, minimally stocked with decorative vases and his collection of video games.

“kun’s girlfriend-”

“kun has a girlfriend?”

“apparently,” the man continues with his sentence, “she has a youtube channel and decided to do an apartment makeover for one of her videos. she bought all of this for me.”

“honestly, i think you needed it.”

yangyang tsks, and you sit down beside him after taking off your heels and coat, one leg dangling off the edge and the other folded on the sofa bed.

“look at me,” you say, your fingers ghosting his chin and turning it towards you.

his eyes are cast downwards, and you carefully examine his face. his right cheekbone and brow bone are bruised blue. there’s only a slight cut on the bridge of his nose, and you can tell there had been blood running out of his nose at the vivid traces of dried maroon on the bottom half of his face. although his face wasn’t the worst you had seen him, your thoughts are halted when you remember the image of him with an arm over his abdomen in the elevator, clutching it with a heavy breath.

“can i?” you look at his abdomen, pointing at the hem of his shirt. yangyang nods, his gaze focused on a random spot on the ceiling.

when you lift up his shirt, it doesn’t take long to find a large patch of light blue and some swelling on the right side of his abdomen, spanning from the top of his ribs all the way down to his waist. yangyang purses his lips, “might need to get some ice for that.”

“do you have any?”

“freezer.”

you nod, immediately going to the freezer. in there, you find two ice packs, and beside the freezer, you find a wine bottle on the counter. you’re sure you’ve seen that at the sorority house..

“is this the bottle you stole?”

there’s a silence that creeps through the bookshelf, and you click your tongue in sarcastic disbelief.

“should’ve hid it in your dresser,” you mumble, though still making sure he hears, “they could barge in here if they wanted to, so. just so you know.”

you can practically hear the corners of his mouth turn upwards at your statement, and it’s then that the air changes into something much more comfortable for the both of you. he lets out a laugh, a genuine one this time, and tells you he’ll hide the booze better as you pick up the ice.

you make your way back to yangyang, fetching a cloth to wrap around the first ice pack on the way. as you pass the ice to yangyang, he leans into the back of the sofa, hissing at the feeling.

“do you mind if i take my shirt off?” he asks, already pulling at the hem of his black shirt.

you shake your head, giving him the ok to do so.

“you can keep icing while i get the first aid kit.” you leave the sofa bed again, this time heading to the bathroom.

“it’s in the-”

“bathroom behind the mirror?” yangyang nods, and he spares you a thankful glance when you come back with the small satchel of medicine. it was actually your satchel from high school, and before you dated yangyang, it had been the bag where you put all your toiletries for travel. with it, you also take a small towel from his bathroom and lightly wet it.

once again, you let yourself onto yangyang’s sofa bed, sitting the same way you did previously. you rummage through the satchel, finding the same bandages, cotton buds, and antiseptic solution from six months ago.

“these are old,” you mutter, glancing up at the man. he gives you a slow shrug and a deep breath, and you kneel beside him, taking the wet towel to wipe the dry blood off of his face. yangyang tries his best to stay still, though you can feel his muffled hisses and the sharp breaths he takes through his teeth. it sounds painful, and you know it stings.

“can i?” you ask, motioning to his lap. when he nods, you climb onto his lap, straddling his thighs. you make sure not to sit down on him too much, keeping your weight on your knees instead. his hands go to your hips by habit, and though he pulls away at first, his hands come back when you take them from his sides and place them on your hips, remembering how he liked to hold you during times like this. you continue to wipe his face, noticing his tired eyes staring right up at you.

“what are you looking at?” you ask absentmindedly, not really minding his gaze on you. yangyang only slightly shakes his head in response, and you see him opening his mouth to say something before closing it shortly after. you find yourself pausing at moments - whether it be to brush a few stray strands of hair away from his face or casually stare at his lips - and though you originally brushed them off by wiping the towel even slower, you think that he’s caught up with what you’re doing.

when you put the towel down, yangyang finally speaks.

“i miss you.”

it comes out like a quiet confession, his words thinly dissolving into the air like vapor. you almost ignore it, trying to bury his words into cotton balls soaked in antiseptic solution. though, the second you’re facing him, soaked cotton bud on cut, you realise you can’t.

“there hasn’t been… anyone else?” you question, half continuing the conversation and half trying to distract him from the sting. you dab on the solution slowly, feeling his thighs tense up underneath you each time the cotton bud comes in contact with his skin. you feel his thumbs rubbing up and down your sides, as if trying to smooth out the pain from his face.

yangyang takes a heavy exhale when the wound is well sanitized, answering tiredly, “kind of. but in the end, it was only you.”

you don’t know why you’re letting your ex talk to you like this. but with his hands on your hips and your legs on either side of his thighs, you’re starting to forget about the party you’ve planned to go to all week, and now you’re focusing on the boy you’re suddenly met with almost two hours ago.

“i mean, it doesn’t change the fact that i’ve been sleeping around and everything,” he begins, “but i can’t seem to have her stay.”

you raise an eyebrow at the word her, making sure he gets your cue.

“i slept with this girl for a few weeks - maybe like, seven?” he continues, “though, in the end, she started to be more.”

“did you-?”

“no, i just-” he pauses, “i couldn’t have her that close.”

“but you liked her?”

yangyang nods, and you ask, “so why?”

you break eye contact with him, taking a single band-aid from the satchel. when you place it on the cut, you feel his hands loosen away from your sides.

“isn’t it obvious? i’m afraid to fall in love. ‘cause what if it’s not reciprocated?”

your actions come to a halt. “i’m sorry.”

you feel guilt rise up your spine, feeling it for the way you broke his heart just six months ago. it seemed like he was barely over the breakup, and here you were, climbing onto his lap for lost comfort.

“you don’t have to be,” yangyang assures, “i like you more than i liked her.”

“yangyang…” you trail off, your voice getting softer as you move the satchel away from the two of you.

when your hands are finally unoccupied, yangyang takes them in his and puts them on his bare shoulders, and you have nowhere left to look other than into his eyes. you feel a weird rush in your stomach, the feeling so good yet so careful.

“i gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind,” yangyang mutters lowly. he has one hand holding the ice pack on his side and another behind your lower back, pulling you closer to him. slowly, your thumbs start thoroughly rubbing back and forth on the base of yangyang’s neck, and you look down to his chest, unable to keep eye contact.

“i hope you don’t do that anymore,” you pause, “don’t stay high all the time.”

you don’t really know what you’re doing, but you know you can’t let go.

the arm on his ice pack moves to ghost your chin in the same way you did earlier in the evening, and he whispers, “look at me.”

your faces are inches apart, and you don’t miss the little smirk on his face before your lips crash into his.

he smiles into the kiss, his lips tasting of the metallic residue from his blood. his hands travel to the small of your back, letting the ice pack slide beside him on the pillows. gradually, the space between you and yangyang grows smaller, and before you know it, he’s nibbling on your bottom lip, asking for entry. you’re compliant, letting his tongue slip into your mouth as you pull yourself almost flush against him, your arms wrapped securely around the man.

it’s only when you accidentally grind against his crotch that you’re brought back to reality. yangyang lets out a light groan amidst the sounds of your lips, and you realise you’re giving him something he should be getting over.

“wait,” you pull away, panting, “are you going to be okay?”

he gives you a confused look, “what do you mean?”

“i mean, with the bruises and…” you trail off, and he isn’t having any of it.

“and what?”

“us.”

he takes a loose breath, “if this doesn’t mean anything to you, it’s not going to mean anything to me.”

“are you sure?”

“i stole expensive liquor with my whole chest and now you’re asking me if i’m sure?”

your words are decreased to a hum when he catches your lips in his, harder this time. well, that was quick.

his hands are bunching up the hem of your dress, making it ride up your ass. you let your hips press into his crotch more often, the friction between his increasingly tented jeans and the thin fabric of your panties giving you something you’ve missed. it’s hotter than you had thought it would be, and you want to curse yourself for escalating the situation so quickly.

but, oh, it feels good.

it’s the sense of relief you feel when you realise you’re in old arms that already understand the shape of your movements and the frequency of your sounds. he still remembers the sweet spots on your neck, and one glance at you tells him he still remembers the panties you’re wearing tonight.

“ah, shit,” you sigh, feeling his fingers rub on your clit through your panties, your thighs slowly giving out and pressing more into his clothed crotch. the straps of your dress keep falling down your shoulders, and in no time you’re taking the one piece off, forgetting you hadn’t worn a bra underneath. you watch as yangyang’s facial expression turns cockier with every second his fingers play with you, a sly grin plastered on his face. his eyes immediately move to your bare chest this time, his free hand coming to take turns fondling with your breasts and playing with your nipples. for him, tonight is almost unbelievable, and it’s in the way you throw your head back and bite your lip, and the little sounds you make only egg him on.

“maybe seeing you like this was all i needed to get better,” he gasps, and you kiss him again as an attempt to wipe that smirk off his face. you take this time to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, the tent of his boxers prominent as he slides them off underneath you. you feel the bulge against your upper thigh, and you palm him through his boxers, eliciting a louder groan from the man. you only smile in satisfaction.

“so needy,” yangyang chuckles as you move down from his lips, sucking random spots on his jaw and neck, leaving one open-mouthed kiss after another.

“look who’s talking,” you quip in between kisses, your lips moving down his collarbone and onto his chest.

in a second, you get off him and tell him to lay down on his back. his shifts swiftly, visibly feeling more lust than pain in the moment. you hover over him to give him a quick peck on the lips, but that doesn’t stop him from tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before you move back down to the lower half of his torso. it’s just a strand of hair - you know that - but you hate the way he looks at you like you’re the only other person in the world. his eyes never leave your face, and you swear your cheeks are burning beet red.

“you’re pretty,” yangyang says all of a sudden as you’re kissing down his abdomen, your movements pausing from his words, reminded of all the times he’s told you in the past. despite your thoughts, you keep going, trying to act as if his words (and just about everything he did tonight) hadn’t just made your heart skip a beat. in no time, you reach his boxers, fingers playing with the waistband. he takes a heavy breath when you slide them off, his cock springing out fully erect.

you look at him, and then down, and then back at him again. you kiss him one more time as your hand lightly trails down his abdomen, your fingers ghosting around his shaft. he sighs.

when you pull away, you see his hand reach for your hair, already bunching it up as you move yourself lower down his body. you, however, push his hand away, “let me take care of this.”

“you have no idea what i wanna do to you after this,” yangyang sighs, and you feel him relax underneath you, his voice deep and laced with lust.

you hum in response, his words only riling you up for what’s to come.

and boy, did he know what was coming.

“i thought you fell asleep,” you say, voice raspy from your nap. you wake up to yangyang getting himself a glass of water, noticing the ice pack he’s keeping to his bruised side. he’s got a new pair of boxers and mismatched socks, his hair now wet. he had taken a shower.

“i don’t sleep.”

“i mean, me neither, but that was so tiring.”

“is that a compliment?”

“shut- you know what? sure,” you croak from underneath the covers, keeping them wrapped around your bare chest.

“just saying, i was doing all the work,” you call out, earning a laugh from the man.

“you’re forgetting the last two rounds.”

“i said what i said,” you mutter, reaching for your phone on the nightstand to check the time: five thirty-six am.

you figured it was early enough to drive to your dorm and early enough to reassure everyone that you had just gone to your dorm early, saying that you couldn’t stand violence, or something like that. it’s not entirely a lie.

after all, violence, stealing, and other stupid acts were the main reasons why you left yangyang in the first place. you remember you wanted to hate him for it. you never could.

“you can borrow my shirt? or is that too much-”

“sure,” you shrug, giving him a quiet thanks as you slip on your panties and a fresh loose tee from his dresser.

there’s a weird feeling you try to brush off. he’s stealing glances at you as you emerge from the bed, your presence against the kitchen counters making yangyang automatically take another mug from the cupboard - for you.

you sit yourself on the counter, oddly tracing the new marble patterning of the countertop. though you expect him to situate himself right in front of you, you see the man going to lean beside you, getting a small can of pringles on the way. he offers you a chip, and you take one before coming back to stare at the marble patterns on the countertop. you’re not sure what to say.

“you know, you remind me of someone i once knew.”

yangyang’s words make your head turn, curious and slightly taken aback through the crunching sound of the chips.

“who?”

“i don’t know.”

you tilt your head in confusion.

“there was a metaphor in there somewhere.” he hands you the can of chips and you take another one, humoured by his answer.

“i will say, though, it’s hard to ignore you,” he continues, “call me crazy or whatever - i swear i’m not an obsessed ex or anything.”

“no, i know you’re not crazy,” you reassure, reaching for another chip, “i just fucked my ex after he was beaten up by some of my friends. that’s crazy.”

yangyang appreciates your honesty. he remembers that most about you, and now that you’ve spent the night, he knows that you’re never coming back - it’s final this time. no amount of confessions or fights will ever let you come back to him, no matter how much he wanted it. he wants to tell you he wants you back, that he’ll be better. but he can tell you’ve made up your mind. you don’t need to hear him; for you, all you can hear is the crunching sounds of the food and the occasional dialogue between the two of you. it’s peaceful, you think, much more peaceful than any night in the past year.

“oh, i forgot to tell you this,” you begin as you fill your cup with water, “we were supposed to ice your face too, but we, uh, never got to do that.”

yangyang lets out a soft laugh, and he takes the ice pack from the freezer, switching it with the one he was currently holding to his abdomen. this time, the ice pack goes to his face, and he doesn’t even flinch when it comes in contact with his face.

“your face isn’t that bad anymore.”

“i told you,” he smiles, “i’m fast.”

you tell yourself you can’t stay too long in yangyang’s apartment when his glances start to erupt butterflies in your stomach. you find yourself staring at your feet all too much, and your hands start to crave the presence of his.

though, you’re sure he feels the opposite. he looks content, a neutral smile plastered on his face as he ices his cheek in intervals. he’s still talkative as ever, and you let him go on about his friends and classes. he talks about how he’s planning to spend the winter interning at a startup company in seoul and the summer at dejun’s brother’s beach house with “everyone”. he even tells you that he had stolen the liquor for the sole reason that he wanted to piss off your sibling frat, knowing that there was going to be a party last night.

as you’re listening to him, you realise how much you used to laugh with him around. you swear he has some kind of way to make the edges of your mouth turn upwards with his crazy stories and cute facial expressions. it brings you back to when you first met him: you were both freshmen, having just moved out from your hometowns all the way to seoul. you thought he was the most interesting person ever, and he had ultimately been drawn to you since the first day of orientation where you had stood out during a team building game. it was a time where at seven pm you had just gotten his name, and by midnight your lips had already been acquainted with his.

you’ve gotten so used to seeing him as a selfish and irritating guy that the traces of your attraction to him had faded away. your relationship is as good as a half eaten snack stashed in the freezer for a day that never came; and when you do come back to it, you know that no matter how good the frozen bite is, the only option is to throw it away. it’s expired. or maybe both of you simply need closure. a clean “i like you, but it’s never going to work” or a classic “it’s not you, it’s me” would’ve been better than an ambiguous one night stand. but he fucked you anyways, and you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you regretted it.

“were you… surprised? when i came?” you ask slowly, mentally face palming yourself for asking him.

“i heard you were hanging out with that crowd but i never really thought any of this would’ve happened,” yangyang replies, “turns out you’re still kind of the same.”

“you too,” you say, “you’re still stupid in the smartest way.”

“i’ve never heard that one.”

“that means stop stealing.”

before yangyang can throw out a response to your words, your phone buzzes twice. when you turn your phone on, you find that it’s none other than mark lee, sending you a short “hey” with a following “did you get home safe last night?”

you turn your phone back off, keeping it face down on the countertop. yangyang seems to not pay attention to your phone, this time only reaching for another can of pringles from the cupboard. it’s right now that you feel even worse than when you left the party to tend to yangyang, and you don’t know if you would be able to see yangyang again with so much on your shoulders these days.

“hey, yangyang,” you begin, the sound of his name from your mouth different from last night, “i think i might have to leave pretty soon.”

there’s a short silence that ensues before he hums a quick okay through the crunching of his chips, telling you that you could bring his shirt home. you decline, telling him it would probably leave you freezing outside. you also note that your friends would notice a new shirt appearing overnight, as you remembered your friends had grown familiar to your wardrobe, which was much smaller in comparison to theirs. but you don’t tell him that.

you slip the dress from last night back on, and yangyang gives you a random granola bar when you’re putting your coat and heels on.

“wait for me!” he rushes through his dresser, grabbing a pair of basketball shorts and a hoodie and slipping them on at what seemed like lightning speed. you stand by the doorway, zipping your coat up to your neck, the contents of your purse double checked.

you feel the quiet chill of the city rush through your hair as soon as you’re out the door. the hallway is once again filled with humorous banter and silence, and you can tell that yangyang’s back in health with lighter bruises left to heal. the ride down to the parking lot was much shorter than you remembered, and it leaves a sweet taste in your mouth when he presses all the buttons on the elevator just as you two exit - you know, just for fun.

the parking lot is empty as usual for a saturday morning, and you take the time to wander around the grey building. its walls are open, leaving room for the cold and the fog to cover up the faint view of the city. everything in the city is big and bustling, but you only feel a calmness amongst the dull cement.

“it’s just a parking lot,” yangyang mutters, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. he smiles at the eye roll you give him in response, nonetheless enjoying the way you’re staying for just a little bit longer.

“oh, by the way,” you begin as the both of you near your car, “what are you going to do with the liquor?”

yangyang folds his arms and cocks his head to the side, “dejun’s beach house?”

when you start laughing discreetly, his eyebrows start to raise, “wait, you’re not going to snitch on us, are you?”

you shake your head as you unlock your car from a few steps away. it makes a small bleep sound, and you put your purse in the passenger’s seat of the car, yangyang following you as you walk to the other side of the car for the driver’s seat.

you find yourself leaning against the door instead of opening it, trying to keep a conversation you know won’t last. eventually, you opt for a goodbye hug. you think it’s the appropriate amount of sweet, with his hands on your waist and your arms around his back, the thick material of his hoodie and your coat warming you up.

you’re sure you had stayed in the hug for a little too long, but you’re sure you’re never going to let yourself see him again, so you want to compensate.

apparently for him, a hug wasn’t quite enough compensation.

as soon as you two pull away from the hug, you find your lips on his. but it’s not greedy or hot, not a sweet confession or a beg to stay. it’s a goodbye, and you two are well aware of that.

he doesn’t hold you tight by the waist or smile into the kiss, and your lips don’t press onto his as hard as they did last night. it’s just long and gentle, leaving the two of you satisfied at the end.

you lick your lips once before you enter the driver’s seat of the car, turning the engine on to go. rolling the windows down, you tell him, “have fun at dejun’s!” and he replies with “have fun with mark lee!”

when your laughs die down, you look him in the eye one last time, and tell him - for real this time, without any shouting or door-slamming or swearing - goodbye. you tell him you had a great time, remind him to keep icing his bruises for twenty-minute intervals, but you never tell him you’ll see him again. he nods and smiles at you with a smile that you just realised you’d miss, and he eyes you with hazel circles and high cheeks, his dark hair barely dried from the shower. he’s handsome.

“we’ve said bye, like, twice now,” he points out, and you unbuckle and buckle your seatbelt in slight embarrassment.

“okay, i’m really going then,” you wave, pushing the window back up. you hit the gas, moving forward, and you change the gears. you see yangyang get smaller and smaller in your rearview mirror, and as much as you’d like to hit the brakes right then and there, you know that’s not an option.

before you know it, you’re gone.

as you exit the lot, alone now, you let out a tight exhale. you think about him, and you know you’ll keep thinking about him in ways that you might not be thinking about others. though, there’s a small wave of shame that echoes through your pride from last night, and you try to swallow it down your gut because you promise it’ll never happen again. hell, what would the other girls think if they knew you dated, and even recently slept with, liu yangyang? you don’t want to imagine it.

you’re praying he doesn’t talk about you because you know you won’t talk about him - you can’t. you tell yourself he was a freshman year affair, that you were just touch-starved and lonely last night. it’s easy to come back to yangyang, yes, and he knows you well enough to make you feel no need to walk on eggshells, but things are different now. maybe you might need to keep walking on eggshells, but you know it’s not for longer. these people - your sorority, the frat - they like you. they think you’re funny and charming and mark lee wants to ask you out (albeit he might only want to fuck, but there’s no harm in fucking mark lee), so why go back to yangyang? the man steals and gets himself into shitty situations, and though he cooks good food and tells you the funniest jokes, he’s not who you need.

you’ll get over yangyang, you say quietly, a whisper into the air like a sinful confession from your lips. you hate the way it sounds, like you’re finally agreeing that your feelings for him lingered even in the months you were away. you want to scold yourself, are you happy now? and slap yourself because you’ve just risked newfound friendship for your ex. but what’s happened has happened.

the only way to look is ahead, and though it’s still foggy in the mornings, you hope you can leave him behind. you still like him, so what? feelings fade. fake it until you make it. you don’t hate it, anyways. you like your new crowd, and they just happened to hate yangyang. at one point, you thought you did too.

and even though you feel your tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, hot beads falling down your cheek, you keep your chin up high. just focus on the drive home, and life will finally be back to normal. at home you can look forward to your hungover roommate, a warm bath, a fresh change of clothes, and maybe you could even reply to that text from mark lee. you’ll forget about yangyang soon.

your tears start to dry. with a slight sob, your chest holds you up, eyes still on the road, and you keep driving. and it’s enough to decide that, to you, he is only stolen liquor.

344 notes · View notes

penaltbox · 3 years

Text

study buddies - owen lindmark

here is a (seemingly) much anticipated re-post of an old fic that i still love so much. feedback is very appreciated; tell me your favorite line or part! i hope you guys like it the second time around, or if you’re new, the first!

“he just needs a little help staying caught up with things. the season keeps him busy so we like to ask students to help each other out,” your professor asked, smiling a little.

this is what you got for doing so well on the first test. you were stuck helping some hockey player study and take notes because he couldn’t be at class often enough.

just as you’re about to argue a boy comes busting through the classroom door, half out of breath. you see the red wisconsin backpack with a number 18 stitched into it.

“and here he is. this is owen lindmark, you’ll be working with him,” your professor explains.

owen smiles and it takes you back for a second. you weren’t prepared for a cute boy to need help and this one actually seemed nice.

“i’m so sorry i’m late. i promise i’m usually not like this,” he apologizes, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

you do so, immediately noticing how big his hand is. you swallow hard and pull your hand back, not needing to even think that way. he needed help with class and that was it. the professor lets you both off to do your own thing and owen hands you a schedule.

“i just figured it might help you to have the hockey schedule. i wrote on there as much info as i had about times i’d be busy so we can work a study schedule out. i’m okay with once a week unless you think we need more?” he says, looking nervous as he scratches the back of his neck.

you weren’t sure how such a large boy could look so shy, but you decided then that maybe this whole tutoring thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“well, just from looking at this i’m thinking tuesday nights might be our best chance? this is a monday/wednesday/friday class so we’d be studying between those days and then if you have a road trip we’re not missing any study time,” you explain, thinking out loud more than anything.

he smiles and pulls his phone out, handing it to you, “okay, tuesday’s it is. go ahead and put your number in just so we have them if something happens.”

you take his phone and plug your number in, trying to play it cool. he immediately texts your phone, but you don’t check it.

“okay, well i have to run to practice, but i’ll see you on tuesday?” he asks, another one of those bright smiles just about making your knees weak.

“yeah,” you say, knowing your voice sounded a little off.

he laughs a little and heads off anyways. you quickly unlock your phone, seeing the new message from him. it’s simple.

‘hey it’s owen 😁’

you shake your head, heading back to your dorm to tell your roommate about this one. you had a feeling it was going to be quite the semester.

—

owen is surprisingly tolerable for a d1 athlete. he doesn’t act better than other people, he doesn’t mind letting you pick where to meet up to do the studying. he even picks you up food and coffee some days.

“i hope that’s the right coffee order,” he laughs, setting the cup down.

you look up at him and smile, pretty surprised by it. you’d mentioned the first week that you loved this one coffee spot on campus and you always ordered the same thing.

“owen, you didn’t have to do that,” you blush, taking a sip of the warm liquid. it was perfect and he looked like a saint in that moment.

he shrugs, “it was nothing. i had to pass it on the way back from practice.”

“well i appreciate it. thank you,” you say quietly, opening your book up to the chapter you guys were on.

you start reading through your notes compared to what owen had and you can feel his eyes on you. you try not to look at first but eventually it’s too much.

you glance up and find him watching you, a blush dusting his face when he gets caught. he coughs a little and looks down at his book after a second.

“you really didn’t miss much,” you tell him, “i think you’re probably good to go this week.”

he looks up quickly, a small frown on his face, “oh. well i mean, we already came here. might as well keep working on stuff?”

you nod, telling him you don’t mind that. and even that quick the study dates were officially extended to whatever homework you both had with you that day.

—

he’d actually turned into a pretty good friend over the month or so since you got assigned to each other and you started looking forward to seeing him every week. it didn’t hurt that he sat by you in class now, too.

this tuesday was a meeting in the library again. owen looks exhausted and you know he’d had games over the weekend. he must not have had time to get much rest yet, so you try and condense what had been talked about in the last class he missed in case he wants to take off back to his place.

he lays his head down on his arms, groaning into the table, “i can’t do this any longer.”

you laugh a little at him, “it’s microbiology, o. did you expect it to be easy?”

he peaks up at you with the cutest scowl you’ve ever seen. it’s hard to take him serious when he looks like that and his eye roll tops it off.

“i should have picked a simple major like the rest of the team. this is ridiculous. i don’t understand this!”

you sigh and pull his notebook towards you. you realize he’d written something down a few lines ago that wasn’t correct about a transfer of disease.

“owen, come here. you don’t get it because you wrote it wrong,” you say, tapping the table next to you.

he grunts and gets out of his seat, moving to the one next to you instead. he crowds your personal space immediately, pressing his arm against yours as he leans over.

you turn your head to explain it to him without realizing how close he had gotten. his eyes are big as he waits for you to explain it and you have to look away from him. you know you’re blushing like crazy, but owen is polite and doesn’t pick on you for it.

you show him the section in the enormous textbook, telling him where he’d written the wrong thing down. the look on his face after is worth it though because he gets it then.

what you didn’t expect was for him to flip his book around and stay sitting next to you when he could have easily moved back to his previous chair. you tell yourself not to think about it, not needing to make this more complicated. owen apparently has other plans though.

“we’ve got a game this saturday,” he blurts out suddenly, “are you going?”

you look up at him, not even realizing it, “oh you do? i mean, i hadn’t thought about going.”

he looks down at his notebook before looking over at you, “maybe you should go. you might like it.”

“do you want me there?” you ask him. you have no clue where that bravery came from and you fully expected him to brush it off.

he smiles though, “yeah i’d love that.”

—

“brittney, are you sure about this?” you nervously ask your roommate.

owen had asked you to go, but you figured he probably told everyone to go to his games. brittney jumped at the chance to go when you mentioned it, swearing it would be fun. you knew she had alex turcotte in her management class though and wanted to see him as much as you wanted to see owen.

“it’ll be fine. you need to stop worrying so much. he’s your study buddy, not a random dude,” she shook her head, going into the kohl center without a worry at all.

you’d got to the rink earlier than expected so the boys were still warming up. you pull the sleeves of your wisconsin crewneck over your hands, crossing your arms as you watch them move around quickly.

you find owen easily as they skate around and a little smile makes its way onto your face. brittney’s telling you some story about alex in class and you’re half listening, but also wondering if the guys ever looked around at the people watching them.

you get your answer when a puck smacks the glass in front of you, making you jump and look back at the ice. you see owen laughing and stick handling another puck before tossing it into the glass again in the same spot.

you shake your head at him, but you’re not even mad. you imagine he’d be teasing you about it come tuesday but that was okay.

brittney looks over at you, asking, “what’s going on with you two? are you sure you’re just study buddies?”

you blush furiously, scoffing a little, “yeah, there’s nothing else going on with us. the last thing i need is to try and get with some college athlete just to end up embarrassed and heart broken.”

“okay that’s so dramatic. he obviously thinks you’re pretty cool if he invited you to the game tonight. it means he doesn’t mind being seen in public with you,” she pokes, knowing you were too shy to talk about him much.

“let’s just go sit down. i need food before i have to watch this,” you mumble, shoving the topic to the side.

you ended up with surprisingly good seats and the boys ended up winning, which was awesome. owen may have gotten a pretty decent assist and you know you’ll have to congratulate him on that later. you’re halfway down the street from the arena after the game when a text from owen shows up.

‘wait after for us’

you stop and look over at brittney, showing her the screen. her jaw drops and she slaps your arm, heading right back for the building you’d just walked out of.

“well we have to wait for him. also, find out who this ‘us’ is. tell him to bring alex,” she says, marching you both into the lobby.

you send owen a message to tell him where you were, getting more and more nervous as time ticked on. he didn’t send another text back and you frowned at the screen.

“what’s taking them so long? you don’t think he said that just to make me look dumb, do you?” you ask, checking your phone yet again to see if he messaged you.

she looks up to respond but a funny look takes over her face, like she’s trying to hide her smile. it fails horribly and you realize she’s looking over your shoulder.

before you can turn around to look two arms wrap around your shoulders from behind and hug you tight back into someone. you grab onto the arms, jumping when it happens, and see the suit coat that covers them. you know immediately that it’s owen.

you laugh, relaxing then, and looking up at him as your head rests back on his chest. the smile he gives you makes your heart strings tug and he surprisingly doesn’t pull away.

“that’s the second time i scared you tonight, huh?” he laughs.

you blush and nod a little, “yeah, thanks for that earlier. you had everyone around me laughing, too.”

“so how was the game?” he asks, rocking you both side to side.

“it was a lot of fun actually. your assist was pretty awesome,” you say, trying to keep your cool.

you look over, feeling bad that you’d forgot to introduce brittney to him but she was already fully immersed in a conversation with alex that had her finding an excuse to touch his tie. you know exactly what’s going on there so you look back up at owen.

“well, that’s my roommate. she has class with alex actually so it’s a good thing he came with you,” you laugh, still leaning into owen.

he nods, “yeah when i shot that puck at you earlier he looked over and said he knew her. guess he thinks she’s pretty hot or something.”

you laugh, knowing she’ll love to hear that one later. you’re not sure what to do next, but owen finally steps away, coming to stand next to you. he gets alex’s attention, mentioning something about getting to ‘the house’ before it got too late.

“you guys can come if you want,” alex says, giving you a little wave as he finally pulls his attention away from your roommate.

you return his wave but get nervous right away, not really ready for that part of things. you’d heard they partied a lot but you weren’t exactly prepared for that. brittney recognizes it and shakes her head.

“maybe next time. we’ve got stuff to do pretty early tomorrow,” she explains, saving you from looking like a big baby.

the boys don’t seem to think twice about it and walk outside with you both as you get ready to go two different ways. alex and brittney get in their own world again as owen turns towards you. god he looks so good in his suit, and you know you’re staring, but you can’t help it.

“i’ll see you in class monday, okay?” he asks quietly, pulling you into a hug.

it takes you a little off guard, but you hug him back tight. he’s so big and warm that you get lost in it for a second. as he pulls back his hand trails down your arm, grabbing your hand for a second. he gives you a quick wink before he and alex walk away, but of course brittney caught it.

“excuse me, what was that?” she tries to whisper but fails completely.

“i don’t know! he’s never done that!” you blush, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“he likes you,” she nods, laughing at your expression.

you shake your head, “no way. he can get any girl he wants. i’m just his study buddy.”

—

owen asks to hang out more often after that. in fact he texts you the day after his game and the day after that as well. when he shows up to class monday morning he brings you a coffee and your heart melts a little.

you knew to be weary of hockey players. you’d been around enough of them in high school to know how they acted, but owen seemed to be different. he leans over during the lecture to whisper in your ear at one point, which is thoroughly distracting.

“you wanna go hang in my room after this?” he asks, his voice deeper than you expected.

“yeah, i’m done with classes after this,” you nod, biting your lip as you look at him.

the smirk he gives you back lets you know you’re in trouble now with him. he weaseled his way in and you hardly had the chance to stop him.

the class passes by horribly slow after that, but the walk to owen's room is luckily pretty short. you’d been over once or twice, but not since the game. not since he came up behind you and hugged you.

you look around this time, not as worried about studying. the late october air is cool in his room and you noticed the window was cracked open a little. the view from his room is amazing and you get lost in it for a second.

owen comes up behind you, leaning his hand on the wall next to the window. you can all but feel him pressed against you but you don’t move.

“this is amazing, o,” you say softly, taking in all the fall colors on campus.

“yeah i really can’t complain,” he says, but you look back to find him looking down at you.

you clear your throat, blushing hard as you look away. he must have noticed the effect he had on you because he laughs a little and steps away.

“what do you say to watching a movie?” he asks, heading over to grab his laptop.

you turn around, sitting next to him on his bed, “sounds like a great idea to me.”

you might be guilty of leaning into him a few times that night, but really it’s his fault. he’s the one that puts his arm around you and lets you lay your head on his chest.

—

you decide to stay in that friday night but when a handful of texts from brittney come flying in to your phone you immediately panic a little.

‘dude owens at state street’

‘he’s with some girl??’

‘they’re standing CLOSE?!?’

‘wait she looks kissed. pissed. fuck.’

‘she left. omg alex is here i gotta go’

the whole thing makes your heart hurt and your head spin a little. of course owen was out with a girl. who were you to think you were more than just a study buddy? but he’d been so different lately. you really hoped this was some rude joke being played on you and owen wasn’t how you knew some guys to be.

you’d tried to keep that night off your mind as much as possible, but you’re not very successful. you can’t text him and ask, but that standing tuesday study date seems to come so much faster than you expected.

the weekend had blurred by and you found yourself at owen’s door, the agreed upon study location for that week. you suddenly think it might have been better to fake an emergency so you don’t have to go through with this considering he’d been awfully friendly the last time you were in his room for movie night.

you knock on the door quickly, wanting to get studying over with. you hear a groan that makes you frown and when owen opens the door you’re shocked.

the room is pitch black, he’s in pajamas with his glasses on, and his hair is a mess. he looks rough, like he wasn’t feeling well and it immediately makes your concern grow.

“o, what’s up? are you okay?” you ask softly.

he sighs, looking so defeated, “i caught something yesterday i think. or maybe this weekend. i’ve been sleeping so much and i can’t eat. i hate being sick.”

you can’t worry about who that girl was now even though that’s all you wanted to ask him about. instead you shuffle him back into his room, dropping your bag by the door.

you reach up to check his forehead considering how rosy his cheeks are, “owen, you’re burning up. have you eaten anything today?”

“eating and keeping it down have been two different things,” he mumbles, leaning into your hand.

you frown and reach for him, pushing him towards his bed. he easily complies, crawling back under the covers, but pushing them away.

“no, you need to cover up and sweat this fever out. i’ll run and get you some medicine and food that might be easier to keep down,” you tell him, looking for his keys.

“i’ll be right here,” he tries to joke, but he’s already falling back asleep as he says it.

you sigh, pushing a bit of his hair off his forehead. when did you turn into such a sucker for this kid? he had you all wrapped around his finger.

medicine and food were decently easy to locate and owen is still passed out when you get back to his room. you set everything on his desk, walking over to sit on the edge of his bed.

“hey, wake up. i need you to take some medicine,” you say, rubbing his back.

he groans again and peaks up at you, “i’m so tired still.”

“i know. maybe you shouldn’t have stayed out all night friday,” you joke before you realize what you said. you both freeze a little and look at each other.

“wait, how do you know i was out friday?” he asks, moving to sit up on the bed.

“uh, i didn’t. i don’t. i mean,” you stutter, not being quick enough to pull yourself out of it.

he shakes his head a little, “you didn’t know. brittney told you, didn’t she?”

you nod, not being able to look at him then. he probably thought you were keeping tabs on him or something. you’re lost in your own world when he reaches out, putting a finger under your chin to make you look at him.

“she saw the girl, right? and then texted you about it?” he asks softly.

you nod again, not trusting your words. you had already said the wrong thing once to get you to this spot.

he smiles though, relaxing suddenly, “she’s no one to worry about. well not anymore. we used to like talk and hook up, but a few weeks ago i started to really like someone so i told her we had to call it off.”

“oh,” is all you can manage to say. you can’t look at him. absolutely not. you couldn’t let him see how upset you were about it.

“well,” you say after a second, “medicine is in the bag and so is some food. i don’t think we want both of us sick so i should probably get going now.”

you’re up and moving towards the door before he can even protest, grabbing your backpack and tossing a goodbye over your shoulder.

you pull your phone out with shaky hands and shoot a quick text to brittney.

‘he used to hook up with that girl he was with friday. but he “called it off” bc he likes someone else’

you make your way back to your dorm quickly, trying to think of all the ways you’d be able to get out of your study buddy sessions for the rest of the semester. it couldn’t be over soon enough.

—

“are you sure you don’t want to come out with us?” alex asks, waiting for brittney to finish getting ready.

“no thanks. i have a paper i need to finish up so that i have study time next week,” you say, looking back at him and smiling.

you really should do the paper. it needed to get done, but your mind kept wandering. you’d avoided owen for the better part of two weeks, finding a couple good excuses to miss studying. but you’d run out now and this coming week would mean you’d see him again.

alex and brittney head out for the night, leaving you to yourself. you sigh, turning back to face your computer. you get a couple paragraphs written up when there’s a sudden sharp knock on your door.

you jump, getting up to go see if maybe brittney had forgot her keys or something. instead the peephole shows you owen standing there. not what you expected. you lean your forehead against the wooden door, taking a deep breath.

“what, owen?” you ask through it.

“will you please let me in? i think we both know we need to talk,” he says, sounding so close to the door.

you hesitate for a second but open it up. he waits for you to open it all the way, giving you a soft smile.

“well there she is. i thought she transferred schools or something with how absent she’s been,” owen jokes, stepping into the room.

you give him a little smile and follow him but he stops abruptly, causing you to run into him.

“shit, i’m sorry,” he turns around quickly, his hands coming up to hold your arms.

“i’m fine, really,” you say, trying to gently shrug him off.

he looks hurt, pulling his hands away from you, “hey, what’s going on? did i do something?”

you sigh, not even sure how to say this or where to start. he deserved an explanation, but you also didn’t want to get hurt and at this rate it was almost inevitable.

“i guess i was just hoping you were different from other guys i’ve known in the past,” you mumble.

he frowns, “what are you talking about? what happened?”

you look up at him, “i guess i just hoped you liked me for some reason. i know it’s dumb, but we were hanging out a lot so i just thought maybe it was different for you like it was for me. it’s fine if you don’t, i can’t force you to. it just sucks.”

he doesn’t respond immediately and it makes you start to get nervous. you glance back up at him and catch a half smile on his face.

“what!” you snap, feeling ready to breakdown about it all.

“you’re really cute when you’re all worked up,” he says and- wait, what?

“i’m what?” you ask, thinking you heard him wrong.

“you’re really cute when you’re all worked up like this,” he repeats.

“that’s all you have to say after what i just told you?” you scoff.

he laughs and nudges your shoulder, “i like you! have i not made that clear?”

you look up at him with wide eyes. you had to be imagining this. he wasn’t actually saying this right now.

“what?”

“not very clear then,” he mumbles almost to himself, “i invited you to my game. i even made sure to keep an arm around you so other people saw. we hang out more than we study anymore. we text all the time. you’re the only person i have a snap streak with.”

it all clicks into place a little better and you feel like an idiot. how did you miss all of this? you were so worried he’d found someone else to talk to that you didn’t even see how things had gone for the two of you.

“owen, are you serious?” you ask.

he nods, leaning in closer, “you really think i was hooking up with some other girl when i’ve got you?”

you blush, leaning against him as well, “i don’t know. i guess i just figured you wanted options.”

owen laughs, shaking his head a little, “no and the i needed to talk to you but you kept avoiding me. but i like you so i had to let you know, too. you kind of beat me to it though.”

“i like you too, o,” you smile, ignoring the small dig he made.

he leans down, kissing you suddenly. you press back immediately, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. he pulls back slowly, his thumb rubbing gently on your cheek.

“i think i could get used to that,” you mumble.

he nods, giving you one more quick kiss, “be my girlfriend and you can do it whenever you want.”

you know your face is red now and it feels all hot. you nod though, leaning up to kiss him. you pull back and smile down at him, one hand carding through his hair. he hums and closes his eyes for a few seconds.

“you’re not gonna avoid me for two more weeks now, right?” he jokes.

“no, you’re stuck with me now,” you laugh, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

he opens his eyes again and smiles at you, “movie before bed? i brought an extra shirt you can sleep in if you wanted. i’ll text alex for them to go sleep at our place tonight.”

“that sounds perfect,” you agree.

and yeah, things with him did seem pretty much perfect.

#owen lindmark #wisconsin hockey #mine #my writing #hockey fic #college hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey writing

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thewayshedreamed · 4 years

Text

Under the Weather

Nessian AU

I really liked this prompt, so thank you to whomever submitted it! Hope y’all enjoy a little soft Nessian this afternoon 💕

Nessian prompt: Nesta is sick and Cassian takes care of her and then Nesta is surprised and Cassian realizes that Nesta hasn’t had ppl take care of her since her mom died ♥️♥️♥️

acotar masterlist

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Nesta was so sick and tired of being sick and tired. She had made it through the acceptance phase, which was impressive considering it was often the hardest for her. Today made day three, and she was officially in the resentment phase of her illness. She was taking a mental inventory of all the others who had attended the small gathering of friends from her senior thesis class, noting how most of them remained well despite their less than stellar hand hygiene that night. She, on the other hand, was a meticulous hand washer. By her very nature, she wasn’t the type to remain in super close proximity with others’ needlessly, either. How she was the one who fell sick (thanks to Claire) was beyond her.

So, here she was, a senior at Prythian University and mere months from graduation, sick as a dog and banned from the research lab until she went 48 hours without fever. She tried not to think about that fact too often as to spare herself the mild panic it occasioned. She repeated her current mantra for the umpteenth time that day.

You have plenty of time. You have plenty of time. You have plenty of time.

The only way she found comfort from the chills and fever-induced cold was on the couch, surrounded by cushions, and wrapped as tightly as possible in her mother’s quilt. At this point she thought herself to be a glorified burrito, but unfortunately, she was far more infectious.

She was finally starting to doze as she heard a polite, yet firm, rapping on her apartment door. Her eyes flew open as she scanned her brain frantically for several things: the day of the week, the time of day, and who, based on that information, could possibly be here to disrupt her rest.

Just before she decided to close her eyes again and ignore them, she heard a deep, friendly voice through the door. They weren’t speaking to her directly, but the voice was no less familiar.

“Hey, man. Yeah, doing good. You too!”

Even though she didn’t hear the other party’s end of the conversation, she knew Cassian was engaging in pleasant small talk with one of her neighbors. It could have been any one of them; he seemed to have more rapport with most of them than she managed after years of renting her place. He ran into any one of them at random on Wednesday afternoons when he met Nesta to work on their thesis together.

She launched herself from the couch, wincing at the aches that wracked through her body in the process. Dehydration had her vision blurring; dark spots working their way into her visual field. She steadied herself on the arm of the couch, cursing herself for forgetting to cancel this week’s thesis session with him.

He knocked again, this time a little louder. She glared at the door as if he could see her, hobbling toward him with her arms wrapped tightly around her body as she moved. She cracked the door open enough to peak out at him, and she felt a sudden rush of guilt at wasting his time. He was standing there with a small smile on his face, thumbs hooked through the bottom of his backpack straps.

“Hi,” she croaked.

His smile faltered immediately, his face morphing into an expression of genuine concern.

“Nesta? Are you okay?” He pressed gently on the door to get a better look at her, but he made no attempt to cross the threshold without her invitation.

“So sick. Got it from Claire. I forgot to tell you.” Her voice was raspy from disuse, and she only had the energy for short statements or sentence fragments.

He didn’t look the least bIt offended at her forgetfulness as he scanned her for signs of the severity of her symptoms.

“Don’t mention it. I’m fine. Who’s here looking after you? Ask them if they need me to run and pick up anything.”

The widespread aching applied to her facial features as well, as proven by the sensations she felt as her face slid into a look of confusion.

“It’s just me, Cassian. You know I live alone.”

He scratched the back of his neck, showing his discomfort.

“Yeah, I know. I just figured...” he trailed off, a new thought flashing across his handsome face. “Can I come in? I’ll get you settled before I head home. It’s the least I could do since I’m already here.”

Nesta didn’t have it in her to respond vocally. She simply walked away, door ajar, and made her way back to her couch. Had she been feeling even a fraction better, she may have refused him, but she knew Cassian well enough to know his stubbornness rivaled her own.

She flopped down into the cushions, pulling her pillow close to her chest. She reached blindly down her body in search of her quilt as shivers ran through her, letting out a small whimper when she couldn’t reach them. She grimaced at such an outward expression of vulnerability in front of another person.

A quiet chuckle sounded from above her as she felt her quilt being pulled over her legs and body.

“Oh, she’s pitiful, I see.” Mirth danced through each and every word.

She opened one eye, glaring at him through the side of it. He laughed openly at that as he lifted her feet to tuck the quilt beneath him. Only her mother had ever done that for her before today. She felt a pang of longing rush through her chest, but she took a deep breath and pushed it away.

“I’m going to do a quick inventory of supplies. Where’s your medicine cabinet?”

Her eyes were already squeezed shut again, sleep sinking its claws into her consciousness.

“Bathroom,” she muttered into her pillow, before sleep took her once more.

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She awoke to the jingling of keys in her lock, followed by heavy footsteps and the unmistakable crinkling of plastic bags. Her body tensed, forgetting for a few seconds who was entering her apartment. A deep voice was muttering under its breath, cursing the loudness of the bags as he deposited things on the coffee table.

Lifting her head from her pillow, she glanced over to see Cassian’s massive form hunched over the coffee table as he attempted to quietly unload his haul. He noticed her attention within seconds and greeted her with a broad, friendly smile. Somehow, Nesta didn’t think it was the fever warming her cheeks this time.

“Hey sweetheart,” he whispered, totally unaffected by the glare she shot at him for the nickname. He raised his voice slightly, comparable to a murmur, and she felt herself flush all over again as he kneeled next to her. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took your house key off the hook when I went out. I didn’t want to leave it unlocked while I was at the pharmacy, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

She nodded, letting him know she couldn’t give a shit less in her current state. He continued.

“You had some ibuprofen in your cabinet, but that’s about it. I got you some cold & flu meds to help with your other symptoms. It’s acetaminophen-based, so the pharmacist said you can alternate ibuprofen with it to help out with the aches and stuff if you need to.” His eyes scanned her face, making sure he had her attention. She witnessed a faint blush across his tan cheeks, her heart warming at the care he’d taken in selecting medicine for her.

“I also picked up some tissues and cough drops. Oh, and some menthol rub in case you get congested while you sleep. Have you been drinking much water?”

It took her several seconds to realize he was asking a question and that her participation was necessary. All she could offer him was a pathetic shake of her head.

“I figured as much. I got some of this hydration drink to help you rehydrate. I know it’s technically for kids, but I made do with the options I had,” he explained.

“Cassian. You didn’t have to do that,” she started. She watched as something similar to hurt flashed across his features, and she realized her tone hadn’t expressed a shred of gratitude to her lab partner. He was going far beyond the call of duty as her thesis co-investigator, and she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t appreciative.

“That came out wrong. Sorry, I’m all fuzzy. Thank you. You’re a lifesaver,” she supplied.

A small smile graced his face again. “It’s not a problem, Nes. Really,” he replied, as he rested his large hand on her upper arm. His eyes widened suddenly, locking onto her own in alarm.

“You’re burning up,” he stated as he pulled the blanket away from her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, feeling assaulted by the chill that gripped her.

“Your fever feels higher than I thought.” He rested the back of his hand on her forehead. Unsatisfied, he brushed the baby hair away from her face, leaned forward, and pressed his plush lips to the spot his hand had just vacated.

She flinched, not out of offense, but because it was something her mother used to do anytime her, Elain, or Feyre was sick. She claimed it was easiest to tell if the girls were running a fever that way, the lips being far more sensitive than her hands. Nesta wasn’t aware that others grew up doing the same.

Realizing what he’d done and the flinch that immediately followed, Cassian bolted upright with a guilty expression.

“I’m sorry,” he lamented, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just my mom... she used to check my fever like that when I was little. I wasn’t thinking.” He started to move away from her, but her small hand gripped his forearm. His hazel eyes locked on hers, and she watched as he noticed the tears streaming down her face.

“Nes,” he whispered, his brows pulled together in worry.

“No. It’s okay,” she assured him. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It’s just that no one’s done that since... since my mom passed away. Any of this, really.” She gestured to the medicines and other items on her table. “I usually just fend for myself. I think I got a little overwhelmed is all. It’s actually really, really nice to be cared for. Thank you.”

She originally thought her small whimper was as much vulnerability as she was willing to show today. She’d been very wrong, apparently. She blamed it on her fever.

The tension in his shoulders practically melted away from him, his face relaxing back into the friend she knew. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, as he stood to go find her thermometer. He returned with it in hand, looking at her with raised brows as if to say “open.”

She obliged, her eyes crossing as she attempted to read the digital number on the tiny screen. He huffed a laugh at her expense, but he was interrupted by the loud beeping of the thermometer.

“102 degrees. Sorry, Nes, but the blanket has to come off for a little bit. You’re basically cooking in there.”

He pushed a glass of bland electrolytes into her hand, urging her to drink. She took a few small sips and set it softly on the coffee table. She flopped back onto her pillow, pulling her arms tightly around the quilt and hoping to absorb any remaining warmth from it that she could.

Cassian pulled the blanket away from her body but chose wisely not to fight her grip from around it.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he began, as he eased himself to a sitting position on the carpet. “You get some more rest while those meds kick in, and we’ll reassess the fever when you wake up. If it breaks, I’ll give all quilt privileges back.”

He leaned back on the couch cushion near her body, his shoulder blades almost grazing her own as she snuggled into her pillow. She was facing away from him and toward the back of the couch to shield her face from any and all light.

“How am I supposed to get rest when I’m freezing?” she whined pitifully. She couldn’t bring herself to care that she sounded much like a petulant toddler.

At her words, he leaned farther back into the cushion so that their shoulder blades were flush. She felt his laugh rumble through him as a result of their proximity, but more importantly, she felt his body heat seeping into her.

“Does this help at all?” he asked.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, “but you can’t just sit there forever.”

“I can do what I want, Archeron,” he teased. “Plus, I’m here to work on thesis. I’ve been working on a formula that will populate all of our data entry into their respective graphs without us having to do it manually. I was going to blow your mind with it today, but I’ll settle for fine tuning until you’re coherent next week.” She could hear the smile in his voice and imagined his laptop perched on his long, jean-clad legs as he worked.

Contentment settled through her bones, and she slipped into oblivion once again.

——————————————————————————

Nesta rejoined the land of the living several hours later, she assumed, feeling almost entirely human again. She was still clutching the blanket, thanking her lucky stars for the deep breaths she was able to take in the absence of congestion. Even more noteworthy was the refreshing scent that surrounded her— something like smoky sandalwood and fresh air.

She eased her eyes open, feeling completely mortified at the shift in her position. At some point during her nap, she had rolled toward Cassian and was now wrapped around his shoulders. Her knees were tucked close to his right arm, her torso against his broad back, and most embarrassingly, her face was tucked tightly into the side of his left arm.

She didn’t dare move, hoping she could pretend to be asleep long enough to shift away from him. Delayed by her foggy state, she became aware of a comforting weight resting against her waist. Her eyes moved over his shoulder, glancing down her body. They fell on Cassian’s dozing face, head rested back and angled toward her, as if he’d fallen asleep while checking on her.

Nesta was incredibly aware of their closeness, especially upon realizing his face was less than a foot away from her own. She studied his face, softened by sleep, and let a small grin spread across her face. Cassian had cared for her all afternoon, working on their joint project, and deserved every ounce of sleep he was capturing at the moment. At least, that’s how she justified staying tucked close, afraid to disturb him.

To her horror, his eyes fluttered open, catching her in the act of admiration. Rather than looking off-put or creeped out, he offered her a small smile in return and angled his head even more toward her.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.

“Like a new person, actually.”

He learned forward, repeating his action from earlier in the afternoon. Warmth coursed through her at the feeling of his lips against her temple, noting that they lingered just a bit longer than necessary before he lifted his head.

“I think your fever broke, Nes,” he supplied, twisting his body to rest his arm across her waist as he spoke.

“Good news all around, I guess,” she murmured, her smile still in its rightful place.

He cleared his throat, looking almost sheepish now. It was the most adorable thing Nesta had ever seen.

“I got you some soup earlier. I could heat that up if you want—“ He made to stand as he spoke, but she interrupted by grabbing his forearm.

“Wait. Stay?” She was just as surprised as he was when the words left her. “I don’t think I’m hungry yet.”

His face softened, eyes scanning her for any apprehension at all. Finding none, he smiled down at her in response.

“Of course.”

Before he could settle back onto the carpet fully, she tugged his forearm in a silent request to join her on the couch. He eased behind her, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist to tug her closer to his body. She relaxed back into him as he nuzzled his nose into her messy braid, just behind her ear.

She couldn’t remember a time where she’d been so comfortable, and she felt another rush of gratitude at being cared for in a way she hadn’t been since her mother died. The feeling wasn’t something she could properly articulate, but it meant the world to her. It almost felt like... love.

Cassian huffed a laugh into her hair, mirth returning to his tone. “I was wondering if I’d get a turn to be big spoon,” he teased. She should have known he wasn’t going to let her pretend she hadn’t wrapped herself around him only a handful of minutes ago.

She chuckled in return, finding that she wasn’t embarrassed by his teasing as she’d originally thought possible.

“I guess it’s only fair,” she joked, as she settled into him just a little more.

He gripped her a fraction tighter, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin behind her ear. She groaned as his arm left her waist, but she stopped it quickly when she realized what he was doing. He was covering her up again, true to his word, and tucking her in tightly. His arm assumed its original position, and a contented sigh left her of its own accord.

“Thank you, again, Cassian. For everything,” she whispered.

His only response was a tight squeeze around her middle before they both eased back into a deep, peaceful sleep.

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If you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics, please send me an ask, a message, leave a comment, or reblog! I’ll be happy to add you!

[And, if I’ve left you off my list unintentionally, please don’t hesitate to remind me! No offense taken!]

Tags (masterlist + Nessian):

@polireader // @justgiu12 // @hizqueen4life // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @b00kworm // @bookstantrash // @gisellefigue08 // @maastrash // @superspiritfestival // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @sayosdreams// @ladywitchling // @keshavomit // @over300books // @sleeping-and-books // @welcometothespeaknowworldtour // @drielecarla // @perseusannabeth // @my-fan-side

#nessian #nessian au #nessian fanfic #domestic nessian #nessian fluff #acotar fanfic #twsd writes #twsd fics

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itskateak · 3 years

Text

Mint Ice Cream & Bubblegum Kisses - Chapter Six

(Bucky Barnes x Single Dad!Reader)

Chapter Summary: Bucky offers to help Y/N take Peter Parker and Angelica out for the day since they've been causing chaos and getting into trouble. The hiking trail behind the compound seems like the perfect place.

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Some Language (Sam and Bucky were military men shh), Sam Wilson being a great friend and actual character instead of a 2D support, Anxiety attack, Mentions of time-correct homophobia, Fluff, Sam and Bucky being Bros, Sam Wilson being an Ally

A/N: For those who don't know, my best friend is in the hospital and I had to take a break from being online and writing for a bit. He's doing great right now and is getting much better :) - also, I know I have a thing for Bucky and that log crossing a river. Okay just let it happen. It's cute.

And as a final side note, I really hope I’m putting more character into Sam Wilson. I wanted to expand on Bucky and Sam’s friendship more in this chapter and to build Sam as an actual character. I’ve read countless stories where he’s just a prop to get Bucky and the reader together or to just be Best Friend to Bucky and go along with anything. Sam Wilson is his own person and I really, really hope that he’s got some life in him in this one. Feedback on that would be nice if anyone wants to give it :)

Taglist is open! PM me, send an ask, or @ me on a chapter to let me know you’d like to be tagged! Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, but I will send you a message with a link to the new chapter when I update. :)

Masterlist

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Y/N checked his messages quickly, head tilted as he waited for it to update. Over weekends, he decided to work three hours each day to make sure nothing important and time-sensitive came in. He was close to the end of those three hours, which wasn't eventful at any point. Just low-level information relating to other movements that he'd already taken note of earlier that week.

He watched the few messages come in and glanced over them. Nothing seemed to be important other than Gamora saying that they would be stopping by to drop off Peter Quill for a recovery period. Something about an injury he gained through his own stupidity. He responded with a confirmation and said that Monday afternoon would be best since the landing strip would be clear.

"Do you have a minute?" Bucky called from the doorway. He smiled, but it looked a little forced. His posture was closed off and he looked physically tense.

"Always. What's up?" Y/N pushed away from his desk and closed the programs on his screen since he didn't need them anymore.

"Uh...I'm kind of...having an anxiety attack or something." Bucky said though it sounded more like he was questioning himself. He ducked his head sheepishly for a moment. "And Steve and Sam are not here and I dunno what to do."

"Oh. Okay." Y/N was taken by surprise for a moment. "Uh, come on in. Let's see if we can calm you down."

Bucky nodded and sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, his arms wrapping around his stomach. His fingers bunched up the fabric of his shirt and he gasped suddenly. He cracked a slight smile and snorted. "Didn't realize I was holding my breath."

"Breathing's important, Bucky. Do you know what set this off?" Y/N asked, pulling his chair up to the side of his desk and giving his full attention to Bucky.

"Loud noise. Not even sure what it was. It took me off-guard and...then I fell off the obstacle course." Bucky grimaced and took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment. "I...have a fear of fallin'. Ever since I fell off the train."

"Is it the height or the feeling of falling itself?"

"The feel. I hate it." Bucky wrinkled his nose up in disgust. "I can still remember the feeling of my stomach in my throat."

"Hey, don't think about that. No need to get yourself even more worked up." Y/N paused, trying to find a random question to distract him with for a little bit. Maybe taking his mind off the things causing him anxiety would help calm him down. "Tell me about something Steve did in school. Did he ever get into big trouble?"

"Oh, yeah. This one time - it was like sixth grade, I think - he nearly got us suspended for a week. Johnny Sarsburg, a boy in our class who picked on Stevie for being short, was this tall and burly kid. Real jerk of a guy." Bucky moved his arms and laced his hands together. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "One day, Steve got fed up with all the nicknames. Shorty Stevie, Munchkin Man...they went on and on. So, Stevie stood up to him. Thank God I was there, though."

"Don't tell me he tried to kick this kid's ass."

"He tried to kick the kid's ass." Bucky nodded with a tone full of disappointed frustration.

"Oh, no." Y/N snickered behind his hand.

"So, it was recess and Johnny came up to us. Stevie tried to hide behind me for a second, but I shoved him away. Johnny started picking at him and picking at him. Steve straightened up and clenched his fists, looked Johnny in the eye, and said: I may be short, but I'll always be a bigger man than you." Bucky laughed, breaking out into a smile for the first time. He ran a hand through his hair.

"He didn't!" Y/N could see Steve Rogers, the man who had no regard for his own personal safety and hated bullies, doing something so ridiculous but just so...Steve.

"He did! Johnny didn't like that so much, so he cocked back his fist and came at Steve. Stevie tried to fight back, but he really wasn't a fighter back then. Just looking at a running track could make him break into an asthma attack and thinking about lifting a book could've snapped his spine."

Y/N snickered, shaking his head. Bucky was looking far more relaxed than he did when he came in. His shoulders weren't rigid and he wasn't gasping for breath. Though, it looked like his hands were slightly trembling still. "So, how'd it turn out?"

"At some point, I grabbed Steve around the waist and tried to haul him away. But Johnny didn't like that either, so he went after me. Now, I was a bit of a troublemaker so I knew how to fight. I wasn't lookin' to get into trouble, but Stevie had dragged me into a mess. Had to clean it up, like I do now." Bucky winked and chuckled. "The teachers had to come break it up and we had to explain what happened. Johnny was suspended for a week and our parents said they'd punish us at home, so we got off easy."

"Even at home?"

"Oh, no. My dad was pissed and Stevie's mother almost hung him out with the laundry. But at least we weren't suspended like Johnny was." He leaned back against the couch and sighed. "Did you just distract me?"

"Maaaaybe. How're you feeling?" Y/N laughed and checked the clock. His time was up which meant the rest of the day was his to do whatever he wanted.

"Better. Not like I'm choking on my own air, at least. I'm still wired, though." Bucky held his right hand up to show how it was still shaking a bit.

"Wanda told me about a hiking trail behind the compound. We could go check that out and get Peter and Angelica outside for a bit. If you're up for that, of course." Y/N offered. He secretly hoped Bucky would take him up on the offer. He wanted the chance to talk to him more when they were both completely sober.

"That sounds...great, actually. Besides, I don't think you could wrangle both of them on your own." He said with a teasing lilt and stood. "I'll find Peter and meet you downstairs."

"I need to shut my computers down first." Y/N pushed his chair back and moved his mouse to wake his monitors. "If you find my kid before I do, send her my way."

"Roger that."

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Peter was walking a few feet ahead with Angelica on his back, bouncing her every so often to make her squeal and laugh. There was a light breeze rustling through the branches of the trees, which were providing the right amount of shade from the late autumn sun. The weather was that perfect balance of warm and cool. Just right for a light jacket. The trail wasn't well used, evidence provided by the undergrowth creeping along the edges of the path, threatening to overtake it.

Y/N and Bucky were casually talking as they followed the kids. The conversation flowed easily between them like they'd been friends for years.

"So, she's how old, again?" Bucky asked, hitching his chin toward Angelica.

"Eight. Nine next Wednesday." Y/N smiled wistfully, watching his daughter shoot a bright smile at him over her shoulder. He'd been so afraid that this move would've negatively affected her and caused her to be miserable. But she had never looked happier or carefree. She'd always been a solemn little girl with many worries on her shoulders.

"She's growin' fast, huh?" Bucky smiled, too, shaking his head as another loud squeal floated back to them.

"Too fast. She's always gonna be my little girl, though." Y/N glanced up as a couple of birds flitted from one tree to the next. "I'm glad she's happy here and finding her place. She doesn't say it, but I know she feels like an outsider sometimes."

"Why's that?" Bucky asked, sinking his hands into his pockets.

"I know she feels out of place among friends a lot. The fact her mother isn't around and she doesn't have a second parent...some kids can be really mean about that." He sighed. "And it's not like that's her fault. But she feels that way and I don't know how to help her."

"Why would she think it's her fault?" Bucky stepped closer as if he knew the topic needed to be kept quieter to not disturb the girl a few feet ahead.

"I don't know where she got the idea, honestly. Her mother did leave a note when she left and part of the reason she left...well, Angelica wasn't exactly planned." Y/N muttered the last part to make sure it didn't reach his kid. He loved her, he really did. At first, he'd been terrified at the prospect of being a father when he wasn't ready. But the moment he held that little girl in his arms, he was smitten. "And her mother said some...nasty things in the letter about her."

"I can't imagine how that would've been for you." Bucky gave a sympathetic grimace. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"No, it's okay. I don't talk about it much because it's in the past and we're doing great without that woman." He shrugged and smiled. "I kept the letter, though, as precautionary measures in case she ever decides to come back and fight for custody. I doubt that would happen, really, but the court system is so messed up and might not rule in favor of me despite the fact I've raised her."

"If a court of law can see how much you love that kid and how much she loves you and is happy with you and still not let her stay with you, then I might have to return to my vigilante days." Bucky joked, though he sounded and looked serious.

"Bucky, no."

"I'd do it."

"I know, but no." Y/N laughed and shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but I think an appeal would work better."

"Okay, you have a point," Bucky said. "So, I've never asked but what got you on the team? Steve didn't tell me and Stark won't because he's still mad about game night five months ago."

"I caught four embezzlers in the compound by hacking into the hidden servers that keep backups of pretty much everything, even if it's been wiped from the main servers. I would've gotten away with it if I hadn't tripped the single silent alarm monitored by FRIDAY. Tony promoted me shortly after I handed the information over to Grace Stevens in accounting." Y/N explained with a smile. "I thought I was fired or being thrown in jail. Those were the most terrifying few minutes of my life."

Bucky whistled. "That's impressive. Even Nat couldn't get through Stark's security lines to retrieve deleted footage of him drunkenly singing karaoke in his lab."

"I might have to go digging for that to earn a favor from Nat." Y/N took his phone out and made a reminder, causing Bucky to start laughing. His eyes crinkled up at the corners with his bright smile. "Oh, Pete, be careful! That might be slippery!"

Peter was halfway across the large fallen tree trunk over the moderately moving river. He turned his head to listen to Y/N and nodded, shifting his grip on Angelica. He moved slower then, watching his footing to make sure they didn't fall.

"So, we're gonna cross that?" Bucky asked, eyeing the log warily. Falling. He hates falling. That's right, Y/N thought. Of course, he'd be uncomfortable with something like this because he might fall.

"I guess. Wanda said there's lakeside access across the river and down the path." Y/N stopped at the tree, watching to make sure the kids made it across safely. He trusted Peter, considering the kid was a literal superhero and gymnast, but he was also a dad and his Dad Instincts were kicking in. "You gonna be okay with crossing?"

"If I don't fall, I will," Bucky forced a smile, but Y/N could see the anxiety behind it.

"Here, take my hand. We'll cross together and we'll go slow. I'll make sure you won't fall." Y/N held his hand out to Bucky and tried his best to ignore the small jolt of electricity that shot through his veins when Bucky accepted it. "Come on."

"If I fall, I'm dragging you with me," Bucky said with a joking tone, but there was a shake to his voice as he stepped onto the log after the man holding his hand.

"Valid." Y/N snorted before focusing on where he was putting his feet. He couldn't slip and risk giving Bucky a heart attack. He was trusting him to get him across this river safely. "If you need to stop at any point, just tell me and we can."

"Nope. Just keep moving even if I start to freeze up because if I stop, I won't move again." Bucky was able to flash a quick lopsided smile even though he was doing something that ultimately terrified him.

"You got this, Bucky!" Angelica shouted from the other side, bouncing on her feet like a highly-caffeinated bouncy ball. "You're almost there!"

Y/N grinned to himself. Leave it to his kid to become a cheerleader for them without even knowing that Bucky really needed that encouragement. He swore his daughter had supernatural abilities of knowing what someone needed when they needed it. When she was much younger, there had been nights where he was stressed about making ends meet and she would crawl into his lap and hug him tightly until he forgot what was bothering him.

Lost in thought for just the brief moment spelled ruin for him. His foot slipped on a wet spot and he lost his balance.

Bucky grabbed his arm and pulled him back, keeping him steady until he regained his footing. He chuckled. "Jeez, Y/N. I thought you'd be saving me from falling and not the other way around."

"You're lucky I'm nice 'cause I would've just shoved you off this log and let you wash down the river." Y/N retorted though he couldn't keep his expression stern and a smile broke out. "So, that spot's slippery. Be careful."

"Oh, I was just planning to plant my foot on it and run the rest of the way." Bucky teased, appearing way more at ease than Y/N expected he would. Maybe that's what happens when someone has to save their non-fearful friend from falling.

Once they were on the other side and on solid ground, there was a pause of silence between everyone before they all burst into laughter.

"Mr. Barnes, your face when Mr. L/N slipped! You were so surprised!" Peter bent over, trying to catch his breath.

"Y/N, I thought you were a goner for a moment. And if I hadn't already had a hand on you, I probably would've just let you fall." Bucky was barely able to speak through his laughter, smile so wide his eyes were crinkled up.

"Oh, I see how it is!" Y/N acted offended. "See if I ever team with you on game nights again."

"Ooh, he's serious." Angelica giggled, wiping tears from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Y/N but I was not risking falling just to save you if I hadn't already had your hand." Bucky took deep breaths, also wiping his face with his jacket sleeve.

"What happened to till the end of the line?" Peter asked, taking deep breaths.

"That's a me and Steve thing. And even then, I'd just let his dumbass fall." Bucky winced. "Sorry, language."

Angelica grinned broadly with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, don't worry. Papa swears a lot more than you might think. He thinks I don't hear him mutter things under his breath, but I do."

"You little snitch!" Y/N exclaimed. "I can't believe you!"

"Oh no...Angelica, we gotta go!" Peter scooped Angelica up and dashed down the trail. Y/N started to give chase but slowed down as they turned the bend.

Bucky followed at a slower pace, shaking his head in amusement. He caught up to the father who was straightening his jacket. "You're not going after them?"

"Nah. I just made them think there was an actual threat. They'll probably get all the way to the lake before they realize I'm not actually chasing them." Y/N grinned. "So, want to tell me about that game night five months ago?"

"It started when Nat brought vodka back from a mission in Russia and decided not to tell us it was hundred-proof..."

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

"Hey, Buck. How's your day?" Sam asked as he entered the training room with a towel around his neck and a water bottle in hand. "Sorry that Steve and I dipped on you."

"Don't worry about it. It's alright," Bucky grunted before setting down the set of weights he'd been lifting. "My day was pretty good. Except when Stark accidentally set off an explosion in the lab while I was running the obstacle course. Scared the hell out of me and then I fell off."

"Shit, man. You okay?" Sam placed his water bottle and towel on a bench near Bucky. "I know you don't like falling and loud noises so that just seems brutal."

"My adrenaline kept it low but I still started to freak out after I cleaned up." He admitted before taking a drink of his own water and using his shirt to wipe some of the sweat from his forehead. "Y/N helped me out with that."

"You went to Y/N? Why not Bruce or Wanda? Hell, even Nat?" Sam arched his brow and there was a hint of something behind his eyes.

"Dunno. He's nice, ya know? I figured he'd have some experience with that kind of stuff. Having a kid would teach you how to calm someone down when they're freaking out and I've seen him chill Angelica out faster than she could even process why she was upset." Bucky said, sitting down on a bench to give himself a break. He'd been in the training room for an hour already and it was about time to take a breather. "After that, we took Angelica and Pete out on that hiking trail Wanda found just to get them outside since they were causing trouble and everyone needed a break."

"Hey, as long as you found a way to calm down and not have a panic attack, I won't knock it. Happy for you, man. You're doing really good recently." Sam started to set up the machine he liked to use. Can't have a tree without the trunk, you know what I'm saying? Sometimes Bucky really didn't like Sam, but he was a great friend and great company when he wasn't being an annoying shit. But then again, he could be an annoying shit when he wanted to be. "Proud of you, man. Long road, but you're sticking with us."

"Yeah, yeah. Save the sappy shit, would you?" Bucky leaned his head back against the wall, taking deep breaths. "The hike was nice. Though Y/N almost fell off the log when we were crossing the river. I caught him before he did, but if he hadn't been holding my hand, I would've let him fall."

"You told him about your issue with falling?" Sam straddled the bench and rested his forearms on his thighs. "Dude, it took you like eight months to tell me about that and he's been here four months."

"Don't take it personally, Wilson." Bucky shrugged with a smile. "He's just got that calming feel to him. He's easy to trust and he's just really nice."

"And you were tellin' me to quit with the sappy shit? Do you hear yourself?" Sam cracked a smile as well. "I like Y/N, too. He's a good fit for the team."

Bucky nodded, agreeing. There had been something missing in the team dynamic for a while that no one could quite name or place, but Y/N and his kid had certainly brought it. The game night had really shown some of Y/N's full personality away from his daughter, though Bucky liked having Angelica around a lot. She was bubbly and sweet and brought a little bit of light on his bad days.

But Y/N...Y/N was just so thoughtful and selfless. It was obvious when he'd walked into his office that Y/N had no idea how to help him and was taken aback, but he'd helped him anyway. He showed genuine interest in the story Bucky had been telling him and even invited him along to an outing. They hadn't exactly hung out outside of the team nights and work hours. It was nice and he liked the idea of getting to see Y/N more often out of that stuff.

"Wait, don't tell me...Barnes, do you have a crush on Y/N?" Sam asked with a cocky grin.

"What? No!" Bucky said far too quickly, his face starting to flush. He was lucky he was already a little red from training, but Sam knew otherwise. His grin widened.

"You totally do!"

Bucky went to defend himself again but he sighed and turned his head away while Sam started to snicker. "Fine. Maybe I do a little."

"Man, I didn't take you for one to like guys," Sam said.

"Is...that an issue?" Bucky asked warily, his heart starting to flutter in his chest. For most of his life, he'd shoved that part of him aside and hidden it. Sure, he fooled around with a couple of guys in the forties but it never went very far. And war made people do desperate things. But he was worried that even now, he'd have to keep that part of him tucked away and ignore it.

"Hell, no. My best friend in college was the most flamboyant gay guy I've ever met. Smart as a whip and a beautiful musician. I don't give a shit, but I don't wanna hear about all the details. And that goes for women, too. That stays private, man." Sam wrinkled his nose up and it made Bucky chuckle. "I don't know how it was back then, but people are a lot more accepting now than they were. They legalized same-sex marriage a few years back. And if anyone gives you shit about it, I'll kick their asses."

"Thanks, Sam. That means a lot." Bucky smiled. "But if you tell anyone that I have a thing for Y/N, I'll kick you off the helicarrier again."

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Taglist: @shadowolf993 @supernaturalwintersoldier @booty-ass-hoe @fightmemacbeth @pastel-boy-sungjae @unsure-username @myybebe (it works!! ^-^)

#mint ice cream & bubblegum kisses #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x male reader #bucky barnes x male!reader #bucky barnes x single dad!reader #james buchanan barnes #sam wilson #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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kookiebunnii · 4 years

Text

pairing: mark(got7) x reader

genre: fluff for the birthday boy 🥳

word count: 4.3k

warnings: mature language

When Mark had been dating your roommate, you barely spared him a second glance.

Being a college undergraduate meant that you had plenty of exams and coursework to worry about without having to keep track of who Ingrid was “dating” this month. The two of you got along as well as two individuals who kept to themselves could get along. She was rarely home, and when she was, she’d spare you the awkward introduction to her new fling by quickly ushering him into her room. You always told yourself that your living situation could’ve been way worse, so you let Ingrid’s business proceed without much of a complaint.

You couldn’t even remember how long the two lasted, given the amount of fuckboys that had walked through her door. It was a wonder that you could even recall his name, to be frank. Perhaps he left some semblance of an impression because of the way he never walked around like he owned the place like most of Ingrid’s conquests. There were times you’d find an unknown shirt hanging haphazardly across the couch or one of your pudding cups gone missing from the fridge. Despite these occurrences, you disliked confrontation, so you chose to endure rather than address your grievances. While Ingrid had been with Mark, you remember being considerably more comfortable in your own residence.

If someone had told you that you’d be head over heels in love with Mark Tuan only a month after your roommate ended things with him, you’d probably have a good laugh. You were more invested in the comebacks of the boy groups you loved than some boy your roommate, of all people, had once been with. Besides, you were a commitment-seeking gal, and anyone that pursued your roommate was definitely not expecting anything long-term.

The suggestion that you would grow attracted to such a guy would have seemed ludicrous. Yet maybe this is why the saying “not everything is as it seems” exists.

The whole ordeal began relatively innocuously. You were waiting on your hazelnut latte at the university’s central coffee shop, preparing to head to the library for some much-needed studying. Midterms were around the corner, and you had spent one too many days dozing off in lectures to feel prepared. It seemed that most of the student population had the same idea as you, since the café was bustling for a Wednesday afternoon. You tried your best to stay out of everyone’s way, focusing instead on checking the time on your cell phone and planning out your schedule for the rest of the day.

When you finally have your order in your hands, you take a small sip before heading for the exit. Right when that happens, a form in your periphery suddenly rushes in and knocks the hot coffee out of your grasp. Thankfully, or as much thanks as you could offer in such a tragedy, most of the drink cascades on the tiled floor. Only a little of your latte scalds your hand and paints your white sweater with brown polka dots. The disappointment you feel about losing your drink is quickly overshadowed by embarrassment when people start staring and the painful burning blossoms across the back of your hand.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Your offender rushes to grab some napkins, immediately going to work on wiping the floor. As his head is lowered, you try to think of a smart response. Just as you were about to give the rude kid a piece of your mind, he looks up and the words dry up on your tongue.

“Y/N?”

“Mark?” you finally manage, surprised he even remembered who you were.

He quickly hands you a napkin, looking even more apologetic before responding, “Here, for your hand and sweater…I’m so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine,” you quickly reassure, doing your best to clean yourself up. The coffee will likely stain your sweater at this rate, so you decide to simply study at your apartment instead so you can change into new clothes.

This certainly puts a wrench into your plans, doesn’t it?

“Let me buy you another coffee. A new sweater too, it looks like,” he gives you a timidly awkward smile, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do so.

You offer him a quick rise of the corners of your lips, but not much else. It still felt a little shocking and disappointing to be in such a predicament, and you sure as hell didn’t want Ingrid’s ex to be owing you any favors.

“As I said, it’s fine. Really. This was an old sweater anyways,” you grab the hem as you speak, before trying to dodge around him to leave.

When he quickly blocks your attempt to escape, you realize the guy’s reflexes are quite remarkable. However, you wanted to be rid of this awkward situation as soon as possible, so his actions made you purse your lips together in discontent.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. This really wasn’t the way I’d imagine bumping into you again. Literally I guess,” he shyly runs his hand through his hair, which is now surprisingly dyed blonde. You knew something about him was different, but now you pinpoint it as his hair. He used to wear his natural dark brown locks when he was with Ingrid, so the change catches you off guard. It suits him well though, the way it easily brightens his whole demeanor.

“Don’t worry about it, it happens,” you tuck your hand into your pocket and continue, “Look I’ve really gotta go, I have midterms to study for.”

He promises you that he’ll pay you back as you rush out the door.

It seems that Mark is a man of his word, because the next day, you find a mysterious package addressed to you waiting outside the door. With no shipping label and your name scrawled on the top of the box, your survival instincts tell you that opening it on the living room floor was probably the last thing you should’ve done. However, that happened to be exactly what you did.

The first thing you notice was a small note laying atop a variety of items that were wrapped up with layers of navy-colored tissue paper. Reading through the note causes a bright flush to dash across your cheekbones, as you realize that the suspicious package was from Mark.

Ingrid’s Mark.

You began to slowly examine the rest of the contents with less zeal, hoping that your roommate wouldn’t pop out of a corner and accuse you of having something with her old flame. The neatly-folded white sweater you discovered inside was very similar to what you previously wore before the coffee incident. However, the material was definitely a lot nicer and you spent a good two minutes just stroking the material with your fingers. His attention to detail regarding what you had worn was crazy good, leaving you more than a little impressed.

Moving forward, you found a package of instant coffee—hazelnut-flavored to be exact. You grinned, realizing that Mark’s attention to detail really was impeccable. Perhaps anyone could’ve identified the hazelnut syrup in your drink if they spent five minutes wiping it off the floor, but he had gone out of his way to identify the same flavor for you.

It was kinda cute, actually.

As soon as the thought appears, you quickly shake it out of your head. Mark couldn’t be cute. He couldn’t be anything more than somebody you knew, someone who was paying you back for an inconvenience. He was doing these things because he owed you—even if he wasn’t exactly obligated to go through such lengths.

Before you could try to evaluate your feelings about the matter, you decide to boil some hot water for the coffee you’ve just received. It seems as if the universe is conspiring against you however, as Ingrid emerges from her room right on cue. She gives the box on the floor a quick glance before asking, “Did you order something?”

You tuck the thin pack of instant coffee in your pocket next to Mark’s note. Your fingers tighten across the slip of paper, crushing it into a condensed ball as you spoke.

“Yeah. Just some random stuff.”

“Sweater’s cute,” she remarks, grabbing your gift and running her hands through the material in the same way you had previously. You felt something twist in your heart at her ministrations, as if her touch were contaminating and wearing away what that article of clothing had meant to you.

When she finally leaves after dropping the sweater back in the box, you take the entire box to your room and dump it in a corner of your closet with a slam so you wouldn’t have to see it anymore.

It just so happens that that package from a boy with golden locks would signal the start of a series of frequent disruptions within your day-to-day lifestyle.

Fate probably thought it would be funny to let Mark Tuan slip into your life little by little, for a few seconds each day, just to tease you. You were starting to wonder if the boy was stalking you, given how often you would see him at unpredictable intervals. If you went to the library to study, he’d be there borrowing a textbook from the front desk. If you wanted to buy a coffee and a pastry for breakfast, he’d already be at the cashier paying for his own. If you were rushing to class, slightly late because you’d overslept, you’d almost crash into him in front of your building.

He’d always give you that cute smile with a little wave of his hand to accompany it.

Your life was a grade A joke at this point.

Midterms had long been over by the time you finally took him up on his offer to hang out one-on-one. You had spent a lot of time and effort into putting him off, making excuses for why not a single day of the week would work for you. When November rolled around, all Mark had to do was raise his lower lip slightly in a pout for you to forget why you were trying so hard to avoid him in the first place. You’d never seen the boy purposefully act in such a cute way to get something, but it definitely made your heart leap in your chest.

Even when he took you to a nice minimalistic café to pay for a drink and slice of strawberry cake, he couldn’t stop apologizing for bumping into you during midterms season. You had honestly forgotten about it, but the way he talked about how foolish he felt after the whole ordeal made you smile unconsciously. The consideration he had put into making it up to you stressed him out greatly. He couldn’t stop wondering whether or not you even liked the sweater. Did it fit you alright? Did you actually like hazelnut lattes, or were you just trying something new out that day?

At this point you couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a minute detail, something he really didn’t have to worry this much over, but he had worried nonetheless. It was really silly of him, but also showed that maybe he was more than just trying to play with your feelings. You’re about to tell him how you appreciate the thought he put into his apology gift when you realize he’s staring at you.

“W-What is it? Is there something on my face?”

He shakes out of his reverie and reassures, “No you’re fine. It’s just, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh like that.”

You blink in confusion before playing with your napkin in embarrassment, “Oh uh…I’m not laughing at you. I promise. I just think it’s amusing that you cared so much since I never held anything against you in the first place.”

Looking back into his soft brown eyes is a mistake, because as soon as you do, your heart starts racing again. He gives you a grin of his own in response, brushing his honey-colored hair back to briefly reveal his forehead. It’s stupid how much that simple gesture makes you want to jump his bones.

“I’d say it was a worth it, considering we’re basically friends now,” he says, happily taking a sip of his iced americano.

The assertion makes you hesitate briefly as you ask yourself whether or not the two of you were “friends”. You didn’t know him all that well yet, but a part of you looked forward to doing so. If anything, the only thing holding you back was that he was Ingrid’s ex. She’d probably laugh at you if she found out about your interest in him, and it also meant that you couldn’t be sure who Mark really was. Ingrid was notorious for having her pick among fuckboys, and maybe Mark was just one of them who was really good at hiding it.

It seems that he notices your lack of agreement in his earlier sentiment, so he says, “What will it take for me to be your friend Y/N?”

Using your fork to play with the cream left from your cake slice earlier, you reply, “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t push you further, sensing that your answer probably meant something deeper than what you were able to convey. You feel thankful that he lets the matter go and goes back to giving you an excited puppy-dog look.

“Come on, there’s something I wanna show you.”

Turns out “something” means the ice cream parlor down the street. As he walks you back to your apartment, you can’t help but notice the way he goes to town on that poor cookies n’ cream ice cream cone.

“Are you trying to fatten me up with sweets today?” you muse, enjoying your second pastry of the day courtesy to Mark.

“As if. You look perfect Y/N—nothing a cheat day could do to you.”

It’s like the guy’s a professional sweet talker too, since he barely bats an eye at the compliment. Not something you’re used to, you try your best to not blush obviously at his statement.

God, everything about Mark Tuan was too much for you. He was the epitome of a honey boy.

The walk is fairly interesting, as Mark turned out to be simultaneously a good listener and a good conversation carrier. He’d ask you some questions that you were comfortable answering, listening intently as you shared some details about your studies, your childhood, the things you liked and the things you didn’t. You knew he was paying attention because he’d always laugh along with you, as you recollected some embarrassing things that had happened to you in the week prior.

By the time you reach your apartment door, you’ve forgotten exactly who Mark was supposed to be to you. In his large, tan hoodie with his hands in his pockets, he felt like a nervous boy walking you to your door at the end of a first date.

But could you really expect life to do you any favors just when things started to look up?

The door swings open just as you fumble for your keys, and out steps the last person you wanted to see. Ingrid takes one look at Mark and another at you before a smirk blooms across her bright red lips. Her makeup told you that she was heading to another one of her parties where she’d definitely bring a boy or two home.

“Long time no see,” she addresses Mark first, giving him one of those smiles that probably instigated all those hook-ups she partakes in.

You can’t help but feel overshadowed and uncomfortable. It would hurt you beyond measure to see the two flirt with each other right in front of your eyes. You had half the mind to just push past Ingrid and call it a day, but Mark’s words stop you in your thoughts.

“Sure.”

It’s curt and simple, lacking the flirtatious tone that Ingrid had injected into her words earlier. If you didn’t know any better, it honestly sounded downright bored—as if the speaker couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

Not giving her much to work with, Ingrid turns towards you instead. “Didn’t know you’d go for my sloppy seconds Y/N.”

Your throat feels dry and you refuse to let yourself expect anything different than the reaction your roommate just gave you. Of course, you expected her to make fun of you. It made sense that she would think of you and Mark being outside the apartment as you picking up a boy she left behind.

But why did it fill you with shame anyways?

“As if anyone would. I wouldn’t get involved with one of your boy toys,” the words leave you mouth with disgust, a tone you couldn’t help given the way you were trying so desperately to hide your true feelings. Liking Mark was dangerous and it would mean that Ingrid was right. You weren’t involved with him. You couldn’t be.

As soon as your statement pierces the air, you sense Mark’s form stiffen next to you. Immediately, you’re filled with regret. Did you need to word things that harshly? Even if you could never get to know him beyond being an acquaintance, he had shown you nothing but kindness. He never tried to get in your pants or act like a certified sleazeball like you were insinuating.

When Mark turns around and leaves the two of you standing in the hallway, it’s almost like you’re stuck in a wall of honey. The figurative sticky syrup prevents your limbs from making a move after the blonde-haired boy, as you’re stuck watching him go—watching him hurt over your words. Your throat tightens painfully with the way you try not to cry, fearing that you really ended up harming a boy that didn’t deserve the way you just portrayed him.

For the next 11 days according to your count, you don’t see Mark again. You were used to finding him leaning around the corner, listening to music on his airpods as he waited for a friend’s class to end so they could go play basketball. You had just started to adjust to his daily presence by entertaining the idea that you could start spending time with him. Props to your big mouth and careless words for shattering the prospect to pieces. The sense of guilt you carried was far heavier that the notebooks you lugged to class, and you were hoping—no, praying that you would see that bright smile of his to unexpectedly bump into you again.

Maybe meeting him again was the most luck you were fated to have.

As you doodle in the margins of your notebook, wearing the sweater he bought you all those weeks ago, you formulate an apology plan. If you showed him you were sorry, actually really sorry, maybe he’d forgive you. It wasn’t like you deserved it but seeing him again would sure beat the dreary days you were currently victim to.

Wracking your thoughts for comments Mark had made to you regarding things he liked, you realized he hadn’t talked much about himself beyond seemingly having an affinity of cookies n’ cream ice cream. He did mention wanting to have a puppy if his apartment landlord would allow it though. If it were possible for you to be more depressed, you realized belatedly that he had spent a good amount of time learning more about you than you did about him.

After your classes, you head out to find something for him. It wasn’t like you could afford getting him a puppy, especially since he literally told you he wasn’t allowed to have one, so you searched for the next best thing. It took you a few hours of searching to find something that satisfied your expectations, and you set out to spend the rest of the day preparing it for when you would confront Mark yourself.

Standing outside of his apartment at 9 PM on a Friday night was probably one of the dumbest decisions you ever made, and you made a lot of those. He probably didn’t even know that you knew he lived here. Ingrid had made you pick her up once from a party one of his roommates hosted when she was still with him, and your trusty sense of direction never really allowed you to forget how to get from one place to another. Even if you wanted to turn around and run home straight away in fear, you forced yourself to knock on the door with three quick thumps.

Praying that it was Mark and not one of his rambunctious roommates who opened the door, your wish actually comes true and you’re greeted with the sleepy frame of the honey boy you missed so much over the last two weeks. He’s wearing a thin white tee with grey sweats, as he rubs his eyes as if he can’t believe he’s actually seeing you at his door.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” he quickly runs a hand through his hair, as if trying to hide the fact that you probably just woke him up.

Did Mark always look this good? It’s actually unfair how pretty he is.

Clearing your throat, you gather up as much courage as you could muster before saying, “Yep it’s me. I’m here to beg for forgiveness.”

“What for?” he tilts his head slightly in question before mumbling, “Come inside, it’s cold.”

He gently rests his hand on your shoulder before urging you inside, and the way he touches you sends a shiver down your spine. Trying not to let any surprised noises escape you, you hurry on into the warmth of the apartment. You look around as you take your shoes off, noticing how surprisingly clean it is despite five boys living here. Perhaps your preconceptions need to be changed.

You shyly trail behind his large figure as he leads you into what appears to be his room. Taking note of the light-up rainbow keyboard and gamer chair with scarlet red highlights, you realize that Mark is one of those boys. You almost laughed aloud imagining him as one of those kids that whined “Mom I’m busy!” while playing Call of Duty.

He collapses on his bed unceremoniously with a groan, looking like he was ready to pass out again. Wondering who in their right mind took naps at 9 in the evening, you awkwardly stood in front of him while playing with the ribbon of the gift in your hands.

Opening one eye to look at you, he sits up and pats the corner of the bed closest to him. Wide eyed, you point to yourself before pointing to the same bed corner. He chuckles, and the deep sound sends another shudder through your body.

“Yes, I’m talking to you silly,” he grins, as if he had already forgiven you.

Hurriedly, you plop your butt down on the bedsheets and push your apology gift into his hands. He seems confused at first, messing with the sides of the wrapping paper as he examines what you just gave him.

“I got this for you because…I’m sorry for the things I said,” you relax, shrinking down in sadness before continuing, “You’re my friend.”

He looks at you through your entire confession, hanging onto each word that slips out of your lips. When you stop and slowly look back at him to gauge his response, he gives you a small smile. But it’s only when he grabs your nervous hand in his own do you finally let the small sigh hiding inside your chest escape you.

“I’m more than just someone Ingrid messed with. You know that, don’t you?”

Nodding quickly, he laughs as if admiring the great bobblehead impression you were giving. Your hand in his grasp starts to become unbearably warm, as you bite your lip to keep your dangerous thoughts at bay.

“I thought I knew everything that happened. But I don’t, and I shouldn’t hold that against you,” you admit, slightly losing your train of thought when he begins to gently rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Don’t hold that against yourself either.”

You allow yourself to meet his gaze again, and the amount of warmth and comfort you find there almost breaks you down instantly. Perhaps he knew more than he let on regarding the inner turmoil you struggled with by only thinking of Mark as someone Ingrid once had. But from the first time he ruined your study plans to the moment he bought you various sweets until you verbally forgave him, he was slowly disproving those preconceptions. The amount of understanding he offered you made you feel even worse for referring to him the way you did all those days ago.

All along you thought that Mark was bad for you. Perhaps it was you that truly didn’t deserve him.

Momentarily pulling away from your fingers, he begins unwrapping the package you brought along with you. Suddenly nervous, you fiddle with the hem of your petticoat as he slowly pulls out the adorable puppy hat you purchased for him from the mall yesterday. Mark stares down at the hat in his hands, and it’s only when he bursts out in laughter do you finally let your cheeks warm in embarrassment.

“What are you laughing at? I-It’s cute!” You stutter, furiously crossing your arms.

When he finally stops his fit of laughter, he sets the hat on his head in triumph as if he were wearing a crown of honor. Seeing it on him makes you giggle too, knowing that it was somehow possible for the boy you liked to get even cuter than he already was.

“Here, press the paws and the ears move,” you hand him the paws that dangled from the side of the hat and experimentally press one of them to demonstrate.

Mark spends the next few minutes pressing the ears at varying intervals and laughing at his reflection in the mirror.

“You know, maybe I should get upset more often. You’re great with gifts.”

Rolling your eyes, you retort, “Sure thing, honey.”

-----

#got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 mark #mark tuan #mark x reader #mark tuan x reader #mark tuan x you #mark x y/n #mark x you #mark fluff #mark tuan fluff #got7 oneshot #mark ff #got7 ff #happy birthday mark #i love you

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hisunshiine · 3 years

Text

Escape ✈︎ Chapter 4

✈︎ chapter 4: you have been cordially invited... |✈︎ Escape Series—18+, Mature

✈︎ genre: fluff, future smut

✈︎ word count: 2,736 words

✈︎ pairing: jungkook x [redacted] (at the very end)

✈︎ warnings: alcohol consumption

✈︎ summary: A look into what it's like arriving to Bangtania...

Everyday, since the very beginning when it was announced, you have sat at your computer or been on your phone in order to participate in the giveaway for a chance to go to Bangtania Island. Every week, one lucky person has a chance to win an exclusive invitation from the girls who organized it, all expenses paid for them to relocate out there.

Friday couldn’t have come soon enough; your job was draining. A typical 9-5, doing office work was monotonous and you slogged through the week waiting for your weekends to come. Despite the wish to find something else, nobody was hiring in your city. Not for anything you wanted to do, anyways. Deep in your gut you felt the need for something more, instead of the repetitious clacking of your fingers against the keyboard, answering the phones, and feeling like a machine.

Fortunately, it’s the weekend, so you decide to stop and grab a bottle of wine and make your way home. You’re ready to unwind with some youtube videos and spend time browsing your social media for anything interesting. You pour a glass of wine and relax on the sofa, open your laptop and log in to twitter. You have a few notifications, including an update from the giveaway page, they had posted there was another winner chosen and that the winner would receive an email shortly.

“That was 30 minutes ago!?” You squeal to yourself, an unexplainable feeling creeping over you.

Just then your phone chimes, and you unlock the screen to check your notifications. You have multiple email notifications, so you check your email app as you sip your wine. Scrolling through them, it’s mainly junk mail, you see one that catches your eye.

Sender Name: Bangtania Island Mayor

Subject: You have been cordially invited…

Y/N,

Congratulations! You have been selected as the next lucky winner to be invited to Bangtania Island. In order to accept this invitation, please click on the link and fill out the application. Documents you may need to gather prior to completing the forms in the link are:

Driver’s License

Social Security Card

Passport

Please make sure to include the earliest date for you to travel, and please have your physical completed prior to boarding the plane. All documents needed are attached to the email. Please make sure to electronically sign them and reply to this email with the completed documents. If you have any questions in regards to the forms, please do not hesitate to reach out. Upon completion of all required documents per your reply email, you will receive your e-ticket for travel.

The following are the guidelines and stipulations for traveling to Bangtania Island:

You will receive a one-way ticket, free of cost. You will be picked up from the airport and transported to the boat, which will bring you to the island. You will be given a limited amount of time to decide if you would like to stay as a permanent resident of Bangtania, approximately 2 weeks. Prior to you being granted full access to the island, you will meet with the Deputy Mayor who will greet you at the dock, completing a brief in-person interview. If you decide to leave or prove unfit for the island at that time, a complimentary ticket home will be provided to you up until the 2-week window.

Thank you,

Vanessa

Deputy Mayor of the Mayor’s Office, Bangtania Island

You couldn’t stop yourself from spilling some wine as you low-key panicked. You knew there was a very good possibility of being chosen; some of your mutuals on twitter had already left to go there, and while you had seen them briefly on the TL, it was never for long and they didn’t say anything other than that they were enjoying themselves immensely and to share the sweepstakes link.

You set down what was left of your wine that hadn’t spilt into your lap, and ran around your room, pulling clothes off of their hangers and out of your dresser drawers before you remembered you hadn’t even clicked the link to complete the forms.

Pausing in the middle of your bedroom, arms filled with random clothes, you took 7 deep breaths to try and calm down before dropping your handful of clothes into your pen and waiting suitcase. Sitting back down, you calmly clicked the link and once transported to the secure website, you filled in the information needed so that your flight could be purchased for you as well as any other accommodations you may need could be handled by the ones in charge.

You printed out the forms needed for the physical, jotted down some notes to go to the doctor on Monday to complete the form, and decided that the earliest you would be able to fly out was Wednesday. That gives you enough time to go to your job, request use of your vacation hours for the next 2 weeks, and turn in your two week notice. You didn’t ever want to come back to that shit hole.

You celebrated the news by turning up your bluetooth speaker and blasting your favorite upbeat BTS songs while you packed up everything you would need. Hasta La Vista!

Catching your flight was easier than you thought it would be, as you had an upgraded flight in first class. You were given star treatment, access to a separate waiting area with complimentary food and drinks, less people to deal with, comfortable seats, the works. You couldn’t believe that ARMY was able to provide all of this for you, but who were you to complain?

The boat ride was also nice, more like taking a large yacht across the water to the island, you stood at the bough of the boat for most of the trip, enjoying the view as you became farther and farther away from everything that was shitty about your life and closer to everything you wanted. An escape into a world that was full of other people who were like you, liked the same music, had the same mindset, and you got to do it all on a paradise island? Hell fucking yeah.

After docking, you rolled your luggage behind you as you disembarked from the ramp, and saw a girl waiting for you. She was short but cute, a friendly smile and aura of being in charge. Her cheeks were slightly sunburnt, but you were envious of the way she looked refreshed, skin glowing. You couldn’t wait for that to be you; sunkissed and relaxed from the ocean breeze and too many margaritas.

“Y/n?” She asked, and you nodded.

“Welcome! I’m Vanessa, I hope that your trip went well?”

“Oh yea, it was awesome, thank you!”

“No problem, congratulations on winning! So before we go off to the fun stuff, we have a brief interview and a few more things to go over, and then I’ll give you a tour of the island and show you to your place. If you’ll follow me?”

Vanessa led the way to a golf cart and you climbed on, your luggage secured in the back seat of the cart. She turned the key, and you were speeding off towards a large house. It was painted white with accents of brick, and green ivy climbing lattices. The windows were large and beautiful, and you felt like you had seen them somewhere before. Like they were in a magazine or some type of professional photos or something. You shrugged off the feeling of deja vu, and followed Vanessa into the house.

The windows were open and provided a good amount of sunlight into the entryway, and you tried to take in as much as you could see as Vanessa walked past a staircase and led you towards the back of the house and into a side room. It was an office, with bright white walls and a large sturdy desk. A bookshelf was the entire wall behind the desk, where she now sat at.

She gestured to the plush chair in front of her desk and you sat down, suddenly nervous. For such a large house, it was pretty quiet, and you wondered where all the other people were. Was this actually all an elaborate trick to sell you into sex trafficking and you were brought here to die?!

You calmed your thoughts once you heard laughter from somewhere above you, and music playing lightly from another area of the house.

“So, once again, welcome! I am the deputy mayor here, and basically in charge of getting you all settled. We are a formal nation, Bangtania, with a president, a whole government system, and we’re working on expanding the businesses here. Before I can reveal anything more to you, I do need to have you sign the Non-Disclosure Agreement here in person. I know that I sent it to you via email for you to read and electronically sign, but I like to cover all of my bases.”

Like clockwork, another woman walked into the open office door, carrying a glass of wine and some papers. She took a sip and handed the papers to Vanessa, who thanked her as she headed back out of the room. The woman blew a kiss and disappeared around the corner.

“That’s my best friend, Talia, and definitely the reason that all of this was even put into motion,” Vanessa said as she shuffled the papers before straightening them gently by tapping the edges on the desk. She stapled the corner, binding the papers together, and passed it over to you.

“I know you read over most of this, but I want to reiterate a few points anyways. From the moment you leave this office, you are not to share with anyone about the other people on this island. When you first applied to the giveaway sweepstakes, you gave us your social media handles. While we won’t take away social media from you, your posts will be monitored for identifying certain people who wish to remain anonymous while here. Please always ask anyone before posting and triple check photos as well.”

She points to a section and you initial, stating you understand.

“You have a two week period here to see how you like it. You don’t have to stay if you do not want to. After that time, you will be issued a passport for Bangtania, a resident ID, and be included in our census. You will have dual citizenship for here and for your home country as well.”

“If you choose to leave within the 2 week window, it’s no charge. If you choose to leave after, you will have to fund your flight home yourself. We will pay for your boat ride back to the mainland, and from there you can negotiate work or if you have money saved just in case, you can fly out. Also, if you choose to stay, you can always fly out to visit friends and family, just remember the NDA is always in affect.”

You initialed again.

Vanessa led you through a few more sections of the contract, and you learned that a few of the girls on the island were nurses and so if you were sick or needed minor medical attention, they would help you. Everything else was pretty much provided to you, and all they asked was that they could use your skills in return.

You weren’t surprised they knew you had skills with computers and answering phones, which made you a perfect candidate to work in the main house under Vanessa doing secretarial work for her best friend, Talia. It wouldn’t be a lot of work, you would have plenty of time to enjoy the beach and rest, and the work would be related to the giveaway, running the island, and other fun BTS related things, so you were excited.

Signing your last signature on the bottom of the last page, Vanessa took the document, notarized it, and put it away in a locked filing cabinet next to her desk.

“Now, if you’re ready, I’d love to give you a tour of the island and show you where you’ll be staying.”

After seeing the main areas that people hung out at, you went towards what looked like a restaurant, which was good because you were hungry. Vanessa parked the golf cart next to a few others, and she held the door open for you.

You almost fainted. Seated at the table right when you walked in was none other than the 7 boys that were the reason you lived. BTS. Namjoon, Jimin, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jungkook were sat at the table, and as you looked around, you saw that in between them sat other girls, including mutuals you knew were living here. Hobi appeared from swinging doors that led to what you assumed was the kitchen, delivering plates of food from a platter as a few girls followed him as well with drinks.

“C’mon Y/N, don’t be shy. Isn’t this what you wanted?” Vanessa laughed, taking in your shocked expression.

After eating, and sharing some conversation with Jin and Yoongi, you were ready for a nap. Jin was an exceptional cook, and you were full to the brim. Vanessa waved bye to everyone, a lingering hand on a certain male’s shoulder as she walked away, leading you back outside. As you sat back on the leather seat of the cart, she checked in with you.

“I’m definitely still in shock, but now I understand the NDA a lot more.” You chuckled as she drove you towards another house. It was just as big as the main house, as you heard several people call it, but the style was more relaxed and upon entering it, you realized it was because it was lived in. It was two stories, with a large open concept downstairs with a living room and kitchen, and rooms upstairs. You dragged your suitcase up the flight and Vanessa unlocked a room for you with a key before handing it to you.

“This is our newcomer guest room. We will have a room ready for you after your 2 weeks are up, if you decide to stay. For now, most people have said staying with me and Talia has been helpful if they had questions or needed anything, but any of the girls will help you, everyone is super nice.”

You looked around the room; it was spacious with a nice big bay window that allowed a decent amount of sunlight in.

“I’ll leave you to get settled in. Feel free to explore some more, and tomorrow we will have our weekly game night so you can meet everyone in a more relaxed setting and have fun. It’s our way of welcoming you to Bangtania.”

Vanessa let herself out of the room, closing the door softly. You wanted to explore, but at the moment the bed was calling to you. You lay down in the spot where the sun was pooling, curling yourself into the warmth and passed out. Jet Lag was a bitch.

When you finally rejoined the waking world, it was definitely not waking hours. The sun had set, and you shiver, the ocean breeze now too cool in your bedroom. You get up, throwing a MOTS tour hoodie on, and climb back in the bed, attempting to go back to sleep. Tossing and turning for about 15 minutes, sleep evades you. You must have caught up on all of your missing sleep with that ‘nap’ you took. Like you said, Jet lag is a bitch. Not wanting to continue to lay there restless, you slip out of the room and down the stairs.

You walk along the road, past other houses, finding yourself walking into sand. Sitting on the beach, enjoying the sound of the waves, you finally begin to feel tired. Rather than fall asleep on the beach, you make your way back to the house.

You head up the stairs and start down the hall, being as quiet as possible since it’s late and everyone is asleep. At least you assume they are all asleep, until you hear a very familiar voice coming from Vanessa’s room.

“Come here Princess, why are you acting this way?” You step closer to the door that is slightly ajar. You can’t believe what you are seeing, but you can’t stop watching either.

#hisunshiine #hisunshiine writings #hisunshiinewritings #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts story #bangtansorciere #bangtanuniversity #bangtanwhq #bangtaninn #mrsparkjimin18 #Escape Series #Escape #Escape BTS #BTS Escape Series #ot7 x reader

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multi-fxndom446 · 4 years

Text

You’re somebody else pt2

Atsumu Miya X Reader

Warning: none really

Summary: Osamu is a good twin brother.

Let me know what you all think of this pt 2

You’re Somebody Else

Atsumu shielded his eyes from the blinding light of the gym. It took him a few moments to adjust to it all and when he did he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

There were cameras and spectators everywhere all focused on him and his team. “This is pro.” He whispered out as he looked around. His first instinct was to look towards the crowd to find you, only when he did you were no where in sight.

His smile dropped instantly. He took a closer look around at the people and to his shock none of them had faces. He looked for his team but he couldn’t see any of them, they were all like shadows.

Atsumus eyes opened softly. He looked up at his ceiling, not ready to get out of bed yet. He should’ve expected that nightmare. He’s been having those kinds of nightmares since the night he left your house. None of them the same but always with you not there. Sometimes the nightmares feel like dreams just because sometimes he’d see you there but then it would be like someone threw ice water at him when he saw his brother smiling down at you with his arm around you.

He knew Osamu would never do that to him but it still felt so real and every time those ones came up he felt his heart break all over again. He was tired. It had been a few months since what happened and he still couldn’t seem to move on.

He had seen you around the school and you seemed fine and that hurt him even more. It hurt him so much so that he started avoiding your path just so he didn’t have to see you.

“Atsumu come on! We’ll be late!” Osamu called, knocking on his door. When he didn’t answer Osamu swiftly opened his door to see his brother still in bed. “Tsumu! Get up!”

Osamu walked up to his brother and yanked his sheets off of him. Sighing, Atsumu got up from his bed and passed his brother to get to his closet. “Is this gonna be your mood all day?” He asked but Atsumu just stayed quiet as he went through his closet. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“When has this not been my mood?” He grumbled to himself not expecting his brother to hear but when he heard Osamu sigh he knew that he did.

Osamu left his room without another word. He was also tired. This had been going on for way to long. You were hurting, he could see it. Atsumu might have been fooled by your smile but he wasn’t. He could see it in your eyes. Before Atsumu started to avoid you he saw the way your eyes unconsciously looked toward him and even when he did start avoiding you Osamu would see you in the halls. He often found you searching the halls for someone but always came up empty handed.

Atsumu had changed but not in the way Osamu was hoping. His brother became quiet, reserved even. It was like his heart was breaking every day and his head was like a broken record, re-playing the fight he had with you over and over. Osamu wasn’t the only one to notice the change, Kita and the others became aware almost immediately when one day at practice Atsumu didn’t say a word to anyone even when he got a good spike and everyone praised him for it.

The fight first stayed between you and Atsumu and eventually you both had told your friends but those were the only people who knew but of course privacy is to much to ask for because one day one of the fans of Atsumu became aware of the distance between you two and then it didn’t take her long to figure out what happened or a version of what she thought happened and from there the news spread like wildfire.

The fangirls had been ruthless after they found out. They all would come to you upset, yelling at you for making there dear senpai sad. They wouldn’t let up, it took your friends and then some just to ward them off. It got to the point that Osamu had to step in and after that they seemed to calm down.

They were no better to Atsumu. Although they never insulted him they were always around offering there love. None of them dared to even mention you in a bad way because the last time one did Atsumu got so angry that he insulted her and kicked her out of the gym during there practices.

When the twins got to school Atsumu was ready to start his day of avoiding you but Osamu stopped him before he could even leave his side. “Osamu-?”

“I’m tired of this Tsumu. You’re walking with me to class. She’s probably in the class anyways.” Atsumu almost declined but then he saw the look his brother was giving him and he realized he didn’t have a choice. So, reluctantly, Atsumu followed Osamu inside. He knew Osamu was probably right anyways because he shared the class with you so he trusted his brother was right.

And just when he thought he would be in the clear and get to his class safely, he saw you. He stopped walking, causing Osamu to stop as well and look towards you and immediately he felt bad. You were talking to some other guy, Osamu recognized him. He was in the same class as the two of you. But that’s not what caught Atsumus attention what caught his attention was your smile.

It was like something clicked in his head. That was your smile, your real and true smile. The beautiful smile you used to show Atsumu. The smile he fell in love with long ago. The one you now were giving this guy.

Osamu was about to apologize when he saw his brothers face and then he stopped and waited for Atsumu to finally decide what he wanted to do.

“What do I need to do?” He suddenly asked, after you were out of sight and in your classroom. He turned to his brother and Osamu couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on his face. Atsumu needed you back and now he was ready to fight for you.

This changed everything.

“Did you hear about Atsumu-senpai?” You heard a girl ask her friend quietly. Your attention was peaked although you didn’t turn to the two girls. “He’s been different this week.”

“Well what’d he do now?” Her friend asked even though she didn’t sound at all like she cared.

“He ran into this poor first year, instead of getting mad and insulting her he apologized.” Your eyebrows furrowed, you had been hearing more about Atsumu this past week then you had in awhile. What confused you was why he all of a sudden was being nice to others. “I’m worried he’s sick.”

“I think you’re overreacting.” Your eyes glanced towards Osamu who sat a row next to you and two seats in front. It seemed he was listening to because his eyes were already glancing back at you for your reaction.

His brother had been trying harder then he ever had in his entire life to be nice. All because you continued to talk to some random kid from class.

“Alright everyone sit down.” The teacher called out as she set her stuff down on her desk. Everyone quietly shuffled to there seats while she got situated. “Alright first things first, next Friday we will be having a test. That gives you all weekend and next week to prepare.”

Groans were heard all around the class but the teacher just ignored it and got on with the lesson. Osamu glanced back at you, you were paying attention to your notes.

The day went by painfully slow and when the final bell rang everyone was quick to pack up and leave. You were taking your time as was Osamu, he needed to talk to you. So when he saw the same kid about to walk up to you, he cut him off and made it to you first. “Hey y/n.”

You gave him a small, almost confused, smile. You and Osamu hadn’t really talked since everything happened. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’ll walk you out?” He motioned towards the door and you didn’t seem to realize what he was doing so you just nodded and left with him. When you were in the hallway he finally turned to you, “so this test next week, will you help me study?”

“Sure, when are you free?”

You already knew what days he didn’t have practice and both of you already knew that but for the sake of it Osamu just smiled. “Wednesday work for you?” You nodded and he let out a sigh of relief. “Great, I’ll see you then?”

You nodded one last time, watching him go down the hall leading to the gym. Atsumu was watching the whole interaction with a frown firmly on his face. “What was that?” He asked after Osamu got closer.

“She’s helping me study for a test.” Osamu shrugged, walking past his brother to the gym. Atsumu eyed him suspiciously. He knew damn well Osamu didn’t need any help with that test.

You and Osamu were sitting in your room almost completely silent the next Wednesday. The only sound in your room was you flipping through pages of your textbook and Osamus pencil tapping against the table.

It had been an hour since he got to your house and he couldn’t seem to concentrate. He knew his purpose in coming here but now that he was here he wasn’t sure how he should bring it up.

His eyes scanned around your room for the tenth time that hour and they landed on the same picture every time. He was a little surprised when he first saw it but now he was going to use it as his excuse.

“I’m surprised you still have that out.” You looked up at him before you turned to where he was pointing. It was the picture of you and Atsumu that you have had in your room ever since you got it framed. “He still has his too.”

You were silent after that, your eyes moving from the photo to your textbook. “Did you finish your work?” You asked him but he just set his pencil down and turned to fully face you.

“Are you ever gonna forgive him?” He asked and you looked over at him with a sigh.

“Osamu-San, you didn’t really need my help did you?” Your eyes glanced at his paper to see it was already completed.

“Y/n,” he watched you get to your feet and walk over to the picture. “I want to show you something.”

You set the photo face down on your side table and looked over at him. He had his phone out waiting for you to come back and so you did. You sat back in your spot so he scooted closer to you so you could see his phone.

You squinted your eyes at the video that hasn’t played yet but you could see it was of Atsumu. “What is this?” You ask him but he just hit play

It was serveral videos of Atsumu, of him being nice. Some of him helping some girls to there class and some of him actually talking to people without being cocky.

“Are you stalking your brother now?” You asked Osamu but he just shushed you and pointed to his phone. This video stood out the most to you, it was atsumus old group of friends. They were harassing some poor girls and Atsumu came and told them off while he helped the girls away. “So again, are you stalking Atsumu?”

“Is it really stalking if I’m always with him?” You opened your mouth to respond “anyways I need some sort of proof to show my future kids that there uncle isn’t an ass.”

You laughed lightly before you both went quiet. Osamu glanced at you as if debating what he should say next, “so that guy you’ve been talking to, the one in our class. Do you like him?” Your eyes widened at his question before you shook your head.

“No no, he’s just a friend.”

You seemed to zone out after you said that, like you were thinking of something else. He saw your eyes glance to where the photo was again and he knew. “So, what will it take?” You looked down at your hands trying to find an answer. You already knew what he was asking you.

Finally your eyes met his.

“So did you talk about me?” Was the first thing Atsumu asked when his brother got home that night. Osamu just pushed past him to get to his room but his twin was trailing right behind him.

“We did.” Was his only response. Atsumu waited for more but when Osamu didn’t open his mouth again he knew he had to push further

“What did she say? Will she forgive me?” Osamu just ignored him and continued to set his stuff down and go take a shower when Atsumu grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving.

Osamu turned to look at his brother and he saw the pleading look in his eyes. “Fine, yes we talked about you. She acknowledged the fact that you’re trying.” Atsumus eyebrows furrowed in confusion

“So what does that mean? Will she forgive me now?” Osamu shook his head and pushed past Atsumu who just continued to follow after him.

“Shes waiting for something. For you to tell her something.”

“And she told you?” Osamu nodded “then tell me!”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?!”

“Tsumu just the fact you don’t know what she wants to hear means you’re not ready for her to come back.” Before he could argue anymore Osamu closed the door to the bathroom.

“Just need to tell her something?” He questioned himself as he walked back to his room. His eyes glanced at the photo on his shelf before he groaned in frustration. “Do I need to tell her I’m sorry?”

“Osamu please!” This had been going on the rest of the week. Atsumu would follow his brother around begging him to tell him what you said. Osamu would just ignore him and continue on with his day.

It didn’t help that Atsumu had seen you talk to that kid multiple times and he was becoming restless. He couldn’t lose you to him, he needed you back. “Tsumu I already told you.” Osamu narrowed his eyes at him. “Figure it out by yourself.”

They were walking home after practice. It was Friday so Osamu knew his brother would be bugging him about it all weekend as well. “Just a hint!”

“No.”

“Come on you’re my brother just help me out!” Osamu stopped walking suddenly and turned to him with a slight glare.

“This is your chance to figure out if you really want her back. Figure it out.” Osamu so badly just wanted to tell him just to get Atsumu to leave him alone but he promised you that he wouldn’t.

“Do I just need to apologize again?” Atsumu asked and Osamu shook his head as he walked away from him. “Hey!”

“That guy from our class they seem like they would make a cute couple.” Osamu teased and Atsumu almost growled in anger at the mention of the kid. “I heard he liked her.”

Atsumus eyes suddenly widened at that. “Does she-“ he had to stop himself for a moment, “does she like him?”

“Don’t know, could be something you ask her if she ever forgives you.” Osamu was practically begging him in his head at this point. Atsumu was silent, he was racking his brain for anything he could say that would make you forgive him. Osamu couldn’t help but feel a little bad for his idiot of a brother. The answer was so obvious.

They were home by now and Atsumu was still trying to think of something. Osamu went to leave him but stopped when his brother called out to him. “Please! I need her back! Please tell me what she said.” His voice unwillingly cracked at the end.

“I can’t-“

“Why not?!” He yelled and Osamu was quick to turn to him.

“Why do you want her back?!” He yelled back. He could see atsumus eyes gloss over in frustration “why?! You must have a reason so what exactly-“

Atsumu clenched his jaw, his hands curled into fists as he listened to his brother yell at him before finally he cut him off. “Because I love her! And I-“ he paused, his eyes widening in realization as he thought over his words. “I love her.”

Osamu smiled a little, the tension in his shoulder fading when he saw his brothers realization. “Looks like you figured it out.”

Atsumu eyes looked to his brother, who had a small smirk on his face. Atsumu took a deep breathe before Osamu motioned towards the front door and that was all he needed before he was out the door and running to your house.

He ran faster then he had ever run in his life just to get to you. He stopped just outside your house, breathing deeply. The only noise he could hear was the pounding of his own heart as he took the steps to your front door.

Your parents were working late so it was just you and he didn’t know if that made it better or worse. When he got to your door he went to knock but stopped. His fist hovered over your door before he let out a sigh and knocked.

He could hear you walking around inside before you started walking to your door. The closer you got the harder his heart was pounding and then you opened the door and he thought his heart would stop beating when he finally saw your face up close.

“Atsumu-“ he held his hand up to stop you, it wasn’t to be rude but he knew if you continued talking he’d back out of what he was about to do. Your mouth closed as you took in his appearance, noting how he was practically shaking.

“Please, just let me say this.” He waited for you to say something but you just nodded slightly and he sighed in relief before he continued. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you for the last few years, I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for fucking with your feelings because I couldn’t confront my own and I’m so so sorry I couldn’t come to terms with my feelings sooner. But I am completely and utterly in love with you and I have been for as long as I can remember and that is the one thing I won’t apologize for. I don’t need you to say you love me back but I need to hear you say you forgive me.”

You were stunned to silence, your mouth agape as you took in everything he just said to you. “Please say something.” He almost begged you.

You took a step forward hesitantly before you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down to you, connecting your lips. Atsumus eyes widened before they closed and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as he could.

He groaned slightly when he felt your nails lightly scratch his scalp while you moved your hands further into his hair. It was softer then some people probably expected and you loved it.

He took your bottom lip between his teeth before he finally pulled away, but only far enough to let you both catch your breathes. His eyes scanned your now swollen lips and he couldn’t help but grin and look back to your eyes.

“I forgive you.” You said softly, “and I love you too.”

Atsumu was quick to pull you into another kiss, pushing into your house while he closed the front door shut.

Bonus

The lights were so bright in the stadium that Atsumu found himself shielding his eyes. It took him a moment to adjust and when he did, he smiled. He looked towards his team and his smile brightened when he could see there faces.

Even if he knew this was real he was terrified to look out in the crowd and not see you there like this was all just another nightmare. He eventually forced himself to look, the people had faces but he didn’t see you.

His heart almost dropped before he heard your voice calling out to him and his eyes dropped. He saw you waving your hands around trying to gain his attention and immediately when your eyes connected he felt relief wash over him.

You were standing beside Osamu, who had a smirk on his face. You were wearing a black jackals t-shirt to support him and his already big smile grew bigger. He ran over to the side lines motioning for you to come closer.

You looked to Osamu in confusion but he just pushed you forward and you quickly ran to your boyfriend the only thing between the two of you being the barrier to keep others off the court.

“This is real?” He asked softly while his hand cupped your cheek. You smiled at him and nodded. He moved closer and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips before pulling away, leaning his forehead against yours.

Your hands came up to softly stroke his cheek, “I knew you would make it.”

#haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu!!#haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#atsumu miya imagine #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader

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plaidbooks · 4 years

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Everyone Deserves Love chapter 4

A/N: He’s here! Now done with the prologue, Barba has finally made it to the story haha. This is a long chapter, but it’s also a lot of exposition since it takes place 3 years after chapter 3. That’s right, this chapter takes place in season 15, right after Cragen retires. Gonna say now that I tried to keep the timeline of the show as close as I could, but I have taken some liberties (for example, Cragen leaving to Lewis dying is apparently 4 months, which is insanely short). Also, yes, Amaro should be on desk duty at this time, but with a threat on Olivia’s life, she’s not gonna be left alone.

Also, now that this story is in the “present” tense, and with both Devon and Barba, the narrative will switch between the two’s pov. It’s mostly Devon’s, but you do get Barba’s insight, as well

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: mentions of rape, mentions of trafficking, alcohol/drinking, knives, guns

Words: 12k+

Courthouse

Wednesday, January 26th. 4:36pm

“We find the defendant guilty,” the juror said before taking their seat. The judge thanked the jury for their services and dismissed the court. On the outside, Rafael Barba showed no emotions aside from a small smirk—ever the smug counselor—and simply gathered his papers, put them in his case, and latched it. On the inside, however, he was many things; relieved, happy, and yes, maybe a little smug. Yet a nagging part of his mind was nervous, if not a little afraid; something he wasn’t quite used to feeling, especially after securing a guilty verdict. Sure, he got the conviction on a top-ranking gang member—one Jorge Ramirez--who was just sent to jail for the rest of his mortal life for trafficking, rape, and murder. But Barba knew that this may put a target on his back in retaliation from Ramirez’s gang…not that he hadn’t dealt with some sort of threats in the past. But this time, his instinct was telling him something was off. He pushed the feeling down, grabbed his case while receiving a very nasty glare from Ramirez as he was pulled away, then turned to see Sergeant Benson and all of the other SVU detectives giving him broad grins or congratulations.

“Guilty on all counts. Nice, Rafael,” Liv said with a pat on his shoulder.

“Let’s hope we can round up the rest of his posse,” Barba replied. “Drinks?”

Flanagan’s Bar

Wednesday, January 26th. 5:06pm

They all agreed that a celebration drink was in order—this had been a rough case all around--and made their way from the courthouse to the cop bar down the street. None of the party were particularly heavy drinkers, but Barba knew that he wanted to leave his mind for a little bit tonight; this wasn’t his first hard case that he had dealt with recently. That being said, Fin only stayed for one drink, saying he had other things to do tonight. Rollins had a couple drinks, then bowed out herself. Amaro mentioned something about facetiming his daughter before she went to bed and headed out shortly after, leaving Liv and Barba alone. They moved from the big, party table to the stools at the bar, chatting idly about the case, then about life; the norm when they were alone together. Barba never admitted it aloud, but he loved their friendship; Liv was smart, strong, and, most importantly, put up with his shit. What they had wasn’t romantic by any standard; it was fully platonic, and they both knew it, regardless of what rumors flew about. But they both cared for each other in a way that was…different from anyone else. These types of relationships seemed to flock to Liv, seeing as she had a team that she worked with daily and trusted with her life. But Barba? Well, he had a couple childhood friends that he’d see around town, though after the business with Muñoz, those friends were fewer and farther in between. Then there was his secretary, Carmen, and a few acquaintances at work—none of these people were actual friends he saw outside of work, besides at the occasional suit and tie benefit dinners his office forced him to attend. Sure, he was friendly…sometimes…with them, and with the SVU detectives, but nothing that was substantial outside of Liv.

“You need a ride home tonight, Rafa?” Olivia asked after she finished her glass of wine. Barba took a look at his scotch; it wasn’t low enough to shoot it back quite yet. And he didn’t want to make Liv wait for him.

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I can catch a cab tonight,” he replied with a half-smile. Olivia gave him a look like she knew exactly what he was thinking, feeling. But she decided not to comment on it. She knew he could take care of himself.

“Good night, then. Good win today,” she smiled at him as she stood, putting her jacket on.

“Sleep well,” he replied, returning her smile, before taking a sip of his drink.

Liv grinned. “Oh, I will, knowing that we finally put Ramirez behind bars.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, gave him a light squeeze, then headed out into the cold evening. Barba sighed and checked his watch, 9:07pm, later than he thought. He was usually in bed pretty early after a big win, since he normally had to stay up late the previous week preparing. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he couldn’t stop the picture of his quiet loft from flashing across his mind, nor the sudden feeling of loneliness—something that he hasn’t felt in a while. Sure, he has been alone for a long time now, but that never bothered him…much. The truth is, he was usually too busy to really dwell on the fact that his bed, his home, his life, has been empty outside of himself. Plus, the scandal with Alex, Eddy, and Yelina happened only a few, short months ago. And Barba still couldn’t understand how Alex could be doing things like…that…when he got to come home to Yelina at night. YELINA. She was smart, attractive, strong…. Oh, the alcohol was definitely affecting his mood. He’d finish this drink, then head home, end this self-pity spree.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” a soft voice asked to his left.

Barba jumped; sucked into his thoughts, he didn’t hear anyone approaching him. “N-no, uh, help yourself,” he replied, turning his head slightly, but not really looking at the person. He heard the stool pull out and the person—a woman, he realized—sat down next to him.

“Whiskey and coke, please,” she ordered. The bartender nodded and went off to make her drink. There was silence, but Barba could feel her gaze on him. His heart was still racing from her surprise appearance, but now he felt his face heating slightly from her stare. “My name’s Devon, by the way.”

“Rafael.” This time, he turned and gave her a somewhat forced smile. He felt his face turn fully red as he looked her up and down, too dumbstruck to even try and hide it. Devon was, well, beautiful. She had long, brown hair cascading down her back in waves, a plain, black v-neck that hugged her curves, navy jeans, and a heavy black trench coat that she had opened once inside the heat of the bar. The simplicity of her outfit did nothing to diminish her natural beauty, and Barba didn’t really care that he was caught staring. She smiled back at him playfully, knowing full well that she had him on the ropes. Now, Barba knew that the alcohol was definitely guiding his thoughts. Maybe his bed wouldn’t be so lonely with her in it. He squashed down the thought as quickly as it appeared; he was not that type of guy. He did not just pick up random women in a bar. No more scotch for a while.

“You alright there, Rafael?” she asked slowly, letting his name dance across her tongue. His attention snapped back to the bar; at some point, the bartender had given her her drink, and he realized that he had been staring at her, mouth slightly open.

“Yeah, sorry. Just had a long day at work,” he replied, taking a sip from his drink. It was low enough now that he could easily pound it and leave if things got any more awkward. He was heavily debating it, debating just getting the hell out of there before either of them made a move.

She nodded, taking a long pull off of her drink, killing half of it in one sip. She swallowed hard, then said, “I know all about long days.” She sat for a second, eyes unfocused, staring at something only she could see. She shook herself, smiling a bit at whatever thought she had before focusing her brown eyes back on his green ones. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Barba thought for what seemed like a long time, at least to him. On one hand, it would be nice to unload some stress onto a stranger. But on the other hand, he was a pretty private man; he didn’t like discussing cases or work with others, especially such a nasty one. Ramirez was one of the worst he’d seen and…wait a minute. It hit him then and he gave the woman a sideways glance; who was this woman? Why did she suddenly appear when he was alone, drinking, and asking him personal questions? Did…did she possibly work for Ramirez? Was she here to threaten him, hurt him…kill him?

Barba pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the blank screen. “Actually,” he started, slamming his drink, “I just got a call I have to take. It was nice meeting you.” He reached into his wallet, grabbed more than enough for his drinks, and dropped the money onto the counter. He didn’t carry any weapons, and he wasn’t much of a fighter. So, he kept his phone in his hand as he gathered his things. He had Liv’s number pulled up so that he could call her if anything happened; it was the only plan he could think of. He gave Devon—if that was her real name—a tight smile before turning and rushing to the door. Just find a cab, just find a cab, he thought. He figured that if there wasn’t one right outside the bar, then he only had to make it the two blocks to the courthouse to find one. There were always taxis on the main roads, and he was hoping that he could outrun the woman, even in his expensive court suit and dress shoes.

He made it outside and took a deep breath. The cold air stung his lungs, but he was used to New York’s frigid nights; it brought his mind back, sobering him up. There were no taxis in sight, so he quickly started to make his way to the main road. He thought he heard footsteps behind him, but he waved it off as being paranoid; no one was after him, surely. This was all an illusion, brought on by stress and adrenaline. But as he passed a dimly lit alley, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was spun around, then felt a hard hit to his cheek. It all happened so fast, he didn’t even catch a glimpse of who hit him, let alone know what hit him. He stumbled backwards towards the alley, dropping his case and his phone. Pure fear rushed through him, and he threw up his arms in a defensive position.

Flanagan’s Bar

Wednesday, January 26th. 9:45pm

Devon waited to make sure that she was right. She watched the man—Rafael—make his hasty exit, then looked over at the two men who were sitting a little way away from her. Just as she thought, they got up, and started to follow Rafael out. She let out a sigh.

As soon as she had come into the bar, she noticed the tension in the room. Those two men, both Hispanic and wearing similar outfits, had been watching Rafael with such disdain that she knew they were there for him. By the look of the two, they were probably apart of the same gang. And by the look of the suit and the scotch that the man at the bar was drinking, he probably worked for the government. Seeing as this was a notorious cop bar, and that two gang members decided to actually stake someone out in it, Devon put her money on police commissioner, or lawyer. Of course, this happens the first night out after a three-year stint in undercover. And of course, there were no cops in sight. In a fucking cop bar. She just wanted to decompress, have a drink and just relax; she may have been back for a week, but she was just finally feeling up for hitting the town again. Though, she did enjoy the short conversation she had with the flustered, yet handsome, man at the bar. If the circumstances were just a little different, a little simpler, maybe they could have helped each other relax. Oh well. Still a chance for that, Devon thought, ignoring the fact that he seemed to freak out, citing a fake phone call to leave abruptly.

She waited for the two men to stand and head towards the door before she, too, stood, pulling out some crumpled bills and paid for her half-drunk drink. By the time she left the bar, the two men were hot on Rafael’s heels, though he didn’t seem to notice—there was a thin layer of snow on the ground that muffled their footsteps slightly. She realized that there was no time to warn him, so she took off after them instead, careful to not slip on the icy ground, silently thankful that she wore her snow boots. She opened her mouth to yell a warning anyways but was too late; the taller of the men grabbed Rafael by the shoulder, turned him, and punched him in the face. Rafael stumbled to the side, into a dark alley, dropping his attaché and phone as he struggled to stay on his feet.

What is this, a tv show? Devon thought. The two men had followed him into the alley by the time Devon caught up with them. Rafael had his arms up in a mock defense position—in reality, he wouldn’t stop a toddler from punching him--and the two men were descending upon him quickly.

“Hey, mind if I join in?” Devon called in a loud voice. Look at me, she practically screamed. The two men whipped around; the one who had not hit Rafael had a pocketknife gripped in his hand. Seeing as he had a weapon, and was closest to Devon, she set her attention on him. He lunged sloppily towards her with the knife—has this guy even held a knife before?—which she easily blocked. She grabbed his wrist and slammed it against one of the brick alley walls, forcing him to drop the knife. She then brought her knee up into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Using his forward momentum, she punched him in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. He fell onto his back, gasping for air. The other man looked to his prone buddy at his feet, then back to Devon, but it was too late; he had left himself open by hesitating. She kicked him in his ribs, sending him into a wall. Then she grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall, not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that he wasn’t getting back up.

Rafael stood in disbelief, mouth hanging open, dropping his arms to his sides, and looked at the bodies around him, then at Devon. “You alright?” she asked, pulling her coat tightly around her in the cold.

“Y-yeah,” he replied. “Just…just a long day.”

Devon chuckled, then led him out of the alleyway and over to his fallen attaché and phone. She picked them up and handed them to him. “I’m serious, though. Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Or call someone for you?” She grabbed his chin, examining his cheek in the light of the streetlamp.

“No, no, I’m fine.” He pulled out of her grip, cheeks red not entirely from the cold, and looked back to the alley. He ignored the jolt of electricity he felt from the soft touch of her skin. “Should we call an ambulance for them, though? You went a little hard on them.”

“Hard on them? They attacked you, screw them,” she replied, then saw the alarm in his eyes. Right, most people would call for help, even if they attacked him first. “Oh, they’ll be fine. If anything, I should call the cops and have them arrested.” When Rafael didn’t respond, she asked, “why were those guys after you, anyways?”

Devon could see him thinking through his answer carefully. “I think it may be work related,” he finally said.

She didn’t push it; she doubted he’d elaborate anyways. “At least let me walk you to somewhere safer than here.” Rafael didn’t want to voice his objections from the bar, especially after the display in the alley, and so they made their way to the main street, Devon walking a little too close to him. To protect him, she told herself, ignoring the side of her that remarked how attractive this man was. Her heart was still beating fast, though from the fight or from examining his face in the light, she wasn’t sure. She thought about giving him her card with her number on it…for protection…but realized she hadn’t restocked her pockets with them since coming back to New York. Oh well…. Once on the main street, Rafael hailed a cab, and Devon didn’t leave until he had gotten in, thanked her awkwardly, and then disappeared down the street. God, I missed this city, Devon thought. Wish I got in that cab with him, though. Now alone, she headed back to that alley to see if she couldn’t get some answers from the two hitmen. Though, by the time she made it back to the alley, the men were gone, the only sign of them was their footprints all over each other in their scramble to run.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Wednesday, January 26th. 10:37pm

“I’m telling you, they were working for Ramirez. Probably some low-level Aces,” Barba said into his phone. He made it into his loft, had locked the door, and instantly called Olivia. Even though he couldn’t see her, he knew the expression Liv had; worry, concern, and yet hard determination, her Sergeant side taking over.

“I’ll put an unmarked on your block tonight. We may be stretched a little thin here, but I can give you Amaro or Rollins tomorrow morning, then have them switch shifts at lunch,” Liv replied.

“I’ll take the car tonight, though I doubt they will strike again so soon. And I should be safe at the office and courthouse; too many witnesses.” Barba moved to his freezer, taking an ice pack out. His cheek was killing him, and he winced when he put the cold plastic on it. He slowly made his way to the hallway bathroom to examine himself. I can’t believe I got sucker punched….

“I can have a detective escort you to and from work, keep the uni’s there at night.”

Liv always had an answer for everything. But Barba was never a man to live in fear; he figured that he could simply carry pepper spray or a stun gun and be fine. Now that he knew the Aces were after him, he wouldn’t get jumped again. Plus, Olivia was going to have every precinct after this gang; they’d be rounded up in no time. “I’ll be fine, Liv.”

He could hear her winding up for an argument, one he was determined not to lose. Perhaps sensing this, Liv blew out a long breath. “I’ll have Amaro there, first thing in the morning. Please, for my sake, take the ride.”

Barba sighed. “Fine, but I don’t need a babysitter while at work.” She reluctantly agreed—he had a point about too many witnesses--then said her goodbyes before hanging up. Barba looked into the mirror in his bathroom, gently fingering the bruised skin under his right eye. There was no covering it—he didn’t know how anyways—so that would be some awkward conversations tomorrow. Hopefully he could glare hard enough that no one would ask. He put the icepack back on the spot, wincing again at the pain. He had no idea how he was going to sleep tonight. Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, especially after recounting the event to Liv. He also wished that he had thanked Devon more—she may not have realized it, but she most likely just saved his life. But one question kept coming back, swimming through the thoughts racing through his mind: who was that woman?

Apartment of Devon Motely

Thursday, January 27th. 7:08am

Devon woke up after a much-needed deep sleep, one she hadn’t had for years. There was nothing quite like sleeping in your own bed to make you feel refreshed. She had been out-of-state for three years, in the life of a made-up woman, in a house that was not hers, talking to people she didn’t know. And while the FBI had people come in a day before she was home, to clean all the dust off the furniture and wash the sheets, it was still weird to be somewhere “new.” There was a peacefulness she gained from being in her home—not just an apartment, but home—but it was still a little jarring coming back to reality. Not to mention the three-hour time difference between here in New York, and where she had been in California. Her sleep schedule in California wasn’t normal, but it made NYC seem a little better; waking up at 7am meant she was a go-getter…just ignore the fact that a week ago, that was 4am. She has spent the whole week home attempting to stay awake later, but it wasn’t happening; she slept when it was dark out, and with the city’s tall buildings, nighttime was earlier than that of the sunny West Coast.

Devon had already spent a couple months with the Fed’s shrink, both in the California branch and her home doctor, and was cleared to work. But her boss knew better, giving her three more months to decompress and return to normal. Not that she was complaining; she had never been undercover for that long before, and it took a bigger toll on her than she thought it would. The hardest part about getting back to normal was picking up her gym routine again; the first day was hell. She wasn’t out-of-shape, but she was definitely out of gym shape. And at first, she was happy when the first day was over, the burn a reminder of where she could grow. That happiness disappeared on the second day of gym. After this week, though, Devon was glad to find her body getting back into the motion of things.

After a long shower, she made her way to her closet. Even after a week of being back, she was still excited to put on some of her own clothes again; her last alias had a decent sense of style but was definitely not her. The college student’s style was oversized hoodies, too-tight shirts, and skinny jeans, while the Madam’s style was skimpy dresses and heavy makeup. Devon’s style, however, was practical; you never know when you may have to kick some ass—as evident with the events from the night before--or deal with a hostage situation. She almost always wore loose-fitting jeans, strong but mobile, and plain, scoop-neck shirts that fit perfectly; low enough to show a hint of cleavage--if only she had a dollar for every perp that hesitated from such a small distraction as a hint of skin--but comfortable enough to run, jump, climb, or whatever else her job required of her. She knew that she fit society’s standards of beauty, but as long as that was true, then it was a weapon she could use to her advantage.

While happy for her own home and clothes, nothing made her more excited than having her personal phone back. She couldn’t risk taking it with her last case—she was given a cell phone for her cover--so she had left it behind. But when she had come back from her trip, she found that couldn’t turn it back on. After a day of fidgeting with it, she had no other choice than to ask for help. Because it had sensitive information on it, she could only ask the FBI techs to fix it for her, something that was not high on the list of priorities for them. She only picked it up last night, after the bar fight—alley fight?—and was too tired to bother with it. Now, she held the power button, smiling as the screen turned on. It wasn’t like she was expecting much in terms of texts or calls; she only had a couple friends, friends who had known she was going undercover, but she wanted to meet up with them immediately to catch up, maybe even warn them about the man who was jumped last night. Even though her boss, Assistant Director Thomas Jenkins, gave her time off, she knew that 1) her boredom would quickly take over and 2) she’d get dragged into something anyways. She always did, especially with her friends being SVU detectives.

Her phone finally loaded, and she noticed that she had two unread texts. Curious, she clicked on them. They were both from the same person; Detective Olivia Benson. She opened them, read them, then sat for a moment, trying to figure out her emotions.

Happy Birthday! sent January 1, 2011 12:00am

I know you’re undercover and won’t see this until much later, but I wish you were here right now. I really need to talk to you. Elliot is gone. sent August 26, 2011 3:08am

The first text pulled on Devon’s heartstrings; she had forgotten how a simple birthday message could make her feel cared about—it was a rare enough occurrence. But that second message made her feel such a heavy amount of confusion, guilt, and sadness. She wasn’t here for her best friend when she needed her most, whether undercover or not. If she had known, she would have called instantly. And what did she mean Elliot is gone? Did he retire? Did he finally transfer out of SVU? Or was it worse; was he killed on the job? Devon clicked the dial button, determined to talk to Liv.

The phone only rang once. “Dev? Is that really you?” was Olivia’s greeting, her voice surprised and hopeful.

“Hey Olivia. Yeah, it’s me. I’m back in town. Can we meet up?” Devon thought it better to talk in person about this, seeing as the text was from over two years ago, barely a year into her UC case.

“Of course. Why don’t you come down to the precinct?”

“I’ll be there in 10,” Devon replied. She hung up and looked around her room. She had a grip that she tended to keep stocked with clothes and essentials, just in case. After waffling about it, she decided to take it with her—if Stabler really was killed, she’d make sure the bastard paid, if Liv hadn’t beaten her to it. She had packed it the day after arriving home, so it was ready to go except for one thing. She grabbed her work laptop and charger, and threw them in the grip before zipping it closed. Last but not least, she grabbed her badge, gun, and her throwing knife that she strapped to the outside of her left thigh—ol’ reliable, as she liked to call it.

SVU Department

Thursday, January 27th. 9:30am

As predicted, it took Devon 9 minutes to get to the 16th precinct, and another minute to make it to SVU. The officers gave her alarmed looks when they saw her with her bulging grip thrown over her shoulder. She flashed her badge but was still shocked when no one attempted to apprehend her; she didn’t recognize any of the officers, but maybe Olivia gave them a head’s up. She took a breath once in the SVU precinct, her shoulders relaxing—a second home when she was in New York. She looked to Liv’s desk, but noticed a man with dark hair sitting there. Noticing her stare, he looked up.

“May I help you?” he asked. Instead of answering, Devon looked at the desk that should’ve been Stabler’s, but saw that it was empty, leaving a heaviness in the pit of her stomach. Now feeling unsettled, she looked to Munch’s desk but saw a blonde woman giving Devon an equally confused look. She vaguely noticed the man reaching for his gun.

“Holy shit, Devon?” a familiar voice said. Devon turned to see Fin coming from the coffeemaker, cup in hand.

Devon felt the tension melt away. “Wow, Fin. I leave for three years and you guys change the whole force?”

He pulled her in for an awkward, half-hug, shocking the other detectives, and said, “it is good to see you, Dev. I thought we may have lost another one.”

By this time, the not-Stabler and not-Munch came over. “Uh, I’m Detective Nick Amaro, and this is Detective Amanda Rollins,” the man said, extending his hand.

Devon shook both of their hands. “I’m Senior Special Agent Devon Motely,”—she saw Fin’s eyebrows raise at the new title—"and as fun as it is to catch up and meet new people, I’m actually here to see Detective Benson.”

“You mean Sergeant Benson,” Fin corrected.

“Sergeant? Now this I gotta see,” Devon said, smiling broadly.

As if on cue, Olivia Benson came out of the captain’s office. “Devon Motely. It is so good to see you.”

Devon pulled away from the other detectives and made her way to Olivia. She gave her a big hug, saying “it’s good to see you, too. Can we talk in private?” Devon could still feel the other detective’s gazes on her back, hear their murmuring.

“Of course,” Liv said. But instead of going to one of the interrogation rooms, as per usual, she led Devon into the office. Devon saw that the décor had changed since the last time she was there, but the biggest change was that the plaque on the desk didn’t say Captain Cragen, but instead read Sgt. Olivia Benson.

“Cragen is gone, too? This is your office?” Devon blurted out. Olivia closed the door behind her, then went to sit behind the desk, motioning Devon to sit across from her.

“Cragen is gone,” she confirmed. “And Munch, and Elliot, too.” She then spent the next hour detailing everything that had happened to the three officers. Devon was relieved to hear that all were still alive, just retired. Again, she felt a pang of guilt and wished that she was there to help them through all the craziness that Olivia outlined. Though she was an FBI agent, Devon had a soft spot for the SVU team; she helped them whenever she could with things that were too…much for the four detectives and captain. Then, Liv started on what she had been going through, recounting her troubles with William Lewis, her relationship with detective Cassidy, their bad luck with ADA’s—“though, we have a good one, now. Hopefully he stays on”—and ended on a short, but informative, description of both of the new detectives.

Devon listened intently, and once she was done talking, she sat in silence for a moment, taking everything in. Her guilt was mounting new heights; while she was fucking around in California, her best friend was going through some of the worst experiences of her life. Then, she asked in a low voice, “do you want me to deal with Lewis?”

Olivia caught her meaning, shaking her head. “No, no, it’s fine. He’s not an issue anymore; he’ll be in jail for life.”

Devon nodded. “That just makes it easier to get rid of him. If you ever want me to, I want to be your first call.”

Ignoring what Devon just implied, Liv changed the subject. “So, tell me about your adventures in San Francisco.” Devon’s demeanor changed from plotting murder to one of exhaustion. She let out a sigh, then recounted her three-year UC case in California. She had been posing as a college student by day, and a Madam at night. She worked her way through parties meeting girls, then pimps, then finally, the pimp’s bosses. She felt terrible about the things she had to do; selling girls, drugs, and much worse. She was happy to be back here, where she didn’t have to fake having an interest in those types of things, where she could just arrest the bastards instead of joining them.

“So, when I turned on my phone today, I saw your text. I know that it was from a while ago, and that you are probably over it by now, but I thought I’d still check in on you,” Devon concluded. In her retelling of the last three years, she had completely forgotten about the attractive man in a suit at the bar the night before.

A wave of emotions flashed through Olivia’s eyes, though she kept her face mostly neutral. “You know, I felt terrible about sending that text to you. I knew you didn’t have your phone, and in a moment of—of emotional weakness, I sent it. And it’s not fair to you that I did that. But at the time, I thought that maybe, just maybe, you were able to see it and talk to me, to help me through that time. To let me vent and talk, even if you couldn’t reply, but just to have someone listen.” Olivia had tears in her eyes, which she quickly blinked away. “I also meant to text you again, but any time I opened our conversation, I would see that last message I sent. And I’d feel the guilt all over again.”

Feeling emotional herself, Devon replied, “I’m not mad or upset; I get it Liv, I really do.” Devon put her hands on the desk, palms up. Olivia placed her hands gently into Devon’s, and the agent started rubbing comforting circles into the back of Liv’s hands with her thumbs. “And I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me most. It must have been so, so hard for you to lose Stabler after so long. Do you keep in touch with him at all?”

Liv shook her head. “No, no. In the beginning, I thought about it. At night, when I couldn’t sleep, or when a nightmare would rip me awake before dawn. But I knew that it was for the best, for both of us, to just…cut all ties to him.”

Devon let the silence drag on for a little, continuing to rub little circles in the Sergeant’s skin, letting the conversation rest. “Well, I’m back for the foreseeable future. And I got promoted. And my boss even gave me three months off, if you can believe that!” she let out a laugh, trying to break the tension. They released each other’s hands, the moment over. “Plus, look at you! A Sergeant, and in the big boss’s office, no less.”

Liv smiled and opened her mouth to answer, when her phone lit up, vibrating on her desk. “Benson,” she answered, holding up a finger to Devon. Devon waited patiently while whoever was on the other line talked her ear off. “What? When?” Liv waited a second, “okay, I’ll be right there. I think I have someone that you should meet,” her eyes locked with Devon’s, “just stay there.” With that, she hung up, rubbed her temples for a moment, then got up and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair.

Devon stood up quickly. “What happened? Everything okay?”

“Uh, about that time off that your boss gave you—”

Devon cut her off, “what do you need me for?” Devon was nothing if not loyal.

Olivia smirked. “How about a 24/7 protection detail, overseeing a sarcastic, pain-in-the-ass that we lovingly call our ADA?”

Devon had a rush of thoughts in the matter of seconds—spending 24/7 with someone she didn’t know, on alert at all waking hours, her exhaustion since just getting home, plus Olivia’s description of the victim—but she still said, “whatever you need.” She was glad to help Liv, especially to make up for the past three years, whether Liv thought Devon needed to make up for lost time or not. And with the sudden rush of adrenaline, she could feel her exhaustion ebbing away. Plus, what else were friends for?

“Thank you so much. Come on, I’ll explain everything on the way.”

Courthouse

Thursday, January 27th. 11:16am

As Olivia, Devon, and Detective Amaro, who was grabbed on the way out, pulled up to the courthouse, Devon summarized the conversation of the car ride. “So, let me get this straight; you and Rollins took down a gang leader, with this ADA Barba, pushing him into jail for life, and now the gang has a target on all of your backs? No offense, but why not just let me take down the gang instead of posting me up with an attorney?” She grabbed her grip out of the trunk and followed Liv and Amaro to the stairs.

Liv scoffed. “Because Barba was attacked in a crowded courthouse, with unis posted at every door, and yet someone was able to sneak in, armed with a pistol, and take aim at our ADA.” Liv saw that Devon was gearing up to argue more, but she cut her off, “look, we’re all covered at SVU; we already have leads on some of the big hitters in the Aces. And it would really help if I had someone that I could trust watching Barba so that I, or any of the other detectives, don’t have to.” She had a point, so Devon kept her mouth shut. Olivia wasn’t one to suggest things of importance without a reason.

They made their way up the stairs, past the cops that were mulling around, talking about whatever they were talking about, and into the courthouse. The crime scene wasn’t hard to find; it was roped off with caution tape and there were cops everywhere. Devon looked at the wall next to where they were congregating and saw two bullet holes in the concrete. She noticed a couple things at once; no blood, no EMTs, no CSU, which all adds up to no victim. Good, the perp missed his target—no doubt this ADA Barba that Liv was having Devon watch. Devon knew that he was alive—Olivia wouldn’t have brought her to watch him if he wasn’t here—but no one else was injured, either.

“What happened here?” Amaro asked an officer. He gave him a rundown of the facts; a young, white man walked towards Barba while he was on his way to court. He reached into his pocket; unis saw him as he raised the gun. One cop yelled a warning, tackling Barba out of the way, while the other cop on the door took down the man. He got two shots off but missed his mark, striking the wall. The cops arrested him and escorted Barba to his office down the street to await Liv’s arrival after he was cleared from EMTs; no injuries besides a bruised ego.

Gaining all the information they needed, Devon followed the sergeant and detective out, then down the street to 1 Hogan Place. Once inside the DA’s building, they made their way to the elevator. As the doors closed, Devon asked Liv, “hey, are you and Rollins safe? Are you sure there’s not a hit out on you, too?”

“Neither of us have been alone since Barba was attacked earlier. We’re not taking any chances on this one. This is why I need someone I can trust watching Barba; I can’t spare any manpower on it, and god knows we don’t need the Feds tied up in this.” Well, that explained Amaro hovering over Liv’s shoulder, like a bodyguard.

Devon sighed, “yeah, I hear you. But I want to be kept in the loop; names, faces, tattoos, anything and everything. I want to be able to pick out one of these jerks before they have a shot at Barba.”

“Of course,” Liv replied. The elevator doors opened, and they briskly walked to Barba’s office. There were four cops posted outside the door, which was shut. Liv nodded first to the frazzled-looking paralegal seated at her desk, then to the officers, and they moved to allow the three of them in.

“Barba, are you alright?” Liv asked when she saw him, pacing in front of his desk restlessly.

“I’m fine. But I want that bastard arraigned today, and then I have a case that I’m late for already, but these idiots aren’t letting me leave. I need to—” Barba’s outburst was cut short when he saw Devon, who also froze.

Following his line of sight, Liv said, “right, ADA Rafael Barba, this is Senior Special Agent Devon Motely. Devon, this is Barba.”

Barba swallowed past the lump in his throat, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we’ve met before,” he said, eyes never leaving Devon’s.

It was Amaro’s turn to speak. He grinned in disbelief, “what? When?”

“Last night. In a dingy bar and then again in a dark alley,” Devon answered, making Amaro’s eyebrows raise. If she wasn’t still in such shock, she would’ve shot him a glare.

Liv’s eyes widened. “You’re the one that stopped those men from assaulting Barba? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“One, I didn’t know that was the ‘earlier attack’ you mentioned until just now. And two, he introduced himself as Rafael. I didn’t know his last name or his profession,” Devon explained, before muttering, “glad to see I was already doing this job before I knew it.”

Barba took this time to mentally collect himself, finally ripping his eyes away from the agent and furrowing his brow at Olivia. “Job, what job?”

Liv looked back to him. “Look Barba, I know that last night, you denied having protection. But after this, you need to have someone watching your back.”

“No, I don’t need a babysitter watching me, especially FBI. Why are the Feds even getting involved—”

“Barba look around! You were almost shot outside of a courtroom. You got lucky that he missed. You are going to have protection until this is over,” Olivia ordered.

Barba scoffed. “Over? Do you think that this is just going to go away in a day or two? That if you arrest one or two of these bastards that they’ll back off? I’m not living in fear, Olivia.”

“I know, I know,” Liv adopted her calm, quiet voice that she used with victims, “but I’m not letting you get killed over this. Devon is good; she’s willing to stay for the long haul.”

“Can you not talk about me like I’m not here, please?” Devon piped in. Barba rolled his eyes and plopped down behind his desk, running his hands through his hair roughly, while Liv huffed out a heavy sigh and Amaro stood to the side awkwardly, watching this all play out. “Look, I may just be the ‘babysitter,’ but I’m not working as FBI for this. This is a favor for Liv. Besides, I’ve done this before. Barba, you have nothing to worry about; I’ll be a shadow. You don’t need to talk to me, you don’t need to look at me, you don’t even need to acknowledge that I’m there. I’ll just be your bodyguard.”

“I. Don’t. Need. A bodyguard,” he said through gritted teeth. He slammed his hands down on his desk in frustration, exhaling through flared nostrils.

Liv and Devon exchanged a look. Liv nodded. Perfect, play hardball, Devon’s favorite.

“Fine, I’ll say this in terms you will understand, counselor. As Sergeant Benson said, I am good; you saw that last night. So, whether you like it or not, you will be under my protection until Sergeant Benson says otherwise. You may try, but you will not be able to lose me. I’m going to stay on you, make sure you are protected from all attacks, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Barba opened his mouth, but Devon pressed on, “now, you can make this easier on yourself. Allow me to do my job, allow me to help you, and I will be as I said before, a shadow. Or fight me on this, and I’ll be the biggest thorn in your side. It’s up to you, Mr. Barba.”

Barba gave an impressive glare, aimed at Liv before turning those bright green eyes onto Devon. He seemed to be working through his thoughts, debating on if this fight was worth it. Apparently, it wasn’t, because he huffed angrily and spat out, “fine. But as soon as this is over, I better never see you again.”

“Deal,” Devon said, smirking.

Liv grinned, looking slightly amused, glancing at the both of them. “Well, I’m glad that’s taken care of. Keep me updated.” Still sporting matching smirks, Amaro and Olivia turned to leave, the latter shooting Devon an apologetic smile. Thanks, Liv, she thought ruefully, wondering if she bit off more than she could chew this time.

Once alone, Devon looked at Barba, who had his head in his hands. “Would you like me to sit across from you, or against the wall behind you?”

Barba didn’t even look up from his desk that he was currently staring a hole through. “I thought I didn’t have to talk to you?”

“And I thought you had a court appointment?” She shot back, shrugging out of her jacket easily, tossing it to the couch, making herself at home.

Barba looked up then. He looked at Devon, really looked, as if he hadn’t seen her yet. She was just as beautiful as she was last night; she was tall, fit, well dressed. In the light of day, he could see the corded muscle in her arms and neck. But her image was tainted in his mind now; he didn’t want someone having to watch his back, even if it was a logical move, something he wouldn’t admit. He knew that Liv had his best interests in mind, and he did feel slightly safer having an FBI agent assigned to him, not that he would admit it out loud. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this woman had somehow betrayed him. Even if she had saved him the night before, these attacks didn’t happen until she showed up into his life. Which wasn’t fair to her—it was because of the Aces and Ramirez, Barba knew—but he couldn’t separate the events in his mind.

“I got a text from the judge during your…speech. It got pushed to tomorrow, 9am.”

Devon thought for a moment before asking, “do you have any more court appearances today? Or any meetings?”

“No. I plan on being here in my office the rest of the day, prepping the four cases I now have tomorrow.” With that, Barba pulled out some paperwork and a couple of law books. Taking the hint that the conversation was over, Devon pulled one of the chairs from in front of his desk and pushed it to the side of his desk, enough space between it and the desk that she’d be directly in Barba’s blind spot. Before sitting, however, she walked over to the windows and pulled down the blinds, making the office a bit darker, but making it so no one could look in—even though they weren’t on the ground level, Devon didn’t want any unwanted attention from surrounding buildings. She looked at the closed door, seeing that the unis from earlier were still posted outside; four of them, two on each side. She wondered how long they’d stay before they made excuses to leave. Satisfied, she walked back to the chair she had moved and took a seat.

Devon looked sideways at Barba, trying to figure him out; he seemed like just a normal dude last night, albeit a little awkward, flustered even. A normal dude in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. He had an explosive anger—though that was a pretty normal reaction that people had when they had a bodyguard forced onto them, let alone a couple attempts on their life—but going by the fight, or lack thereof, he was all bark and no bite. But she couldn’t be sure of that, either. She had met previous ADAs that worked with SVU. And while Devon wouldn’t exactly call them fighters in the physical sense, they did know their way around a courtroom. And if Olivia liked him, then she was sure that Barba probably wasn’t that bad of a guy…and he also probably knew how to win convictions as well.

Devon then wondered how she had gotten here. Two weeks ago, she was in California; she was working as a madam, working her way through the ranks up a huge sex trafficking ring. Two weeks ago, she was pinning down a high-ranking trafficker, one in charge of bringing in all the girls for eight different brothels. Two weeks ago, the madam was arrested, as was almost everyone involved in the trafficking and brothels, and Devon was snuck out of the state.

Last week, she was in therapy, spilling everything that had happened, and her feelings on the matter, to a therapist, who actually deemed her as “mentally sound” after only four days. And then, she was back in New York. She had done her normal prep after getting home; she had a debrief with her boss, a check in with the shrink here, she unpacked and repacked her two-week grip, she dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled her guns—her normal glock and her drop gun--and she sharpened her knives. She went to get a drink, something that was denied to her for over three years, and something that she needed so that she could simply relax for the first time since she left. Then that man, sitting right in front of her, was at the bar. He was trouble; she knew from the moment she walked in and saw those two men—Aces—targeting him. But just how much trouble, she had no idea. She got into a fight, if you can call it that, and then heard how her best friend’s entire life had basically completely changed. And now, she was ripped out of her life before it even got a chance to be normal again.

“If you have a question, just ask, instead of staring at me the whole time you’re here,” Barba said dryly.

Devon started; she didn’t even notice she was staring. She cleared her throat. “I do have a question, actually.” Barba stopped scribbling, putting his pen down and looked at her, mildly annoyed. “Has your home been compromised?”

He sighed, picking his pen back up and looking at the notepad once more, clearly not taking her seriously. “Not as far as I’m aware.”

“Okay, that’s good. Even so, we should think about it as if it has been. There’re three options; one, we stay at your place with some extra precautions. Two, I set up a third-party place, like a hotel; don’t worry about cost, I’ll cover it. Or three, we stay at my place.” Barba raised an eyebrow. “Keep your mind out of the gutter; I have a guest room and two bathrooms. I also have extra security on my doors and windows that I had installed.”

“I’d rather stay in my own home, thank you,” he replied, not catching the fact that she had said ‘we.’ He continued writing, clearly done with the conversation. Smiling to herself, Devon pulled her laptop out of her grip and opened it. This ADA was headstrong, like most ADAs assigned to SVU, but she already liked him for some reason. She wasn’t sure why quite yet, but she learned to trust the instinct. Once connected to the internet, she got started on her own work.

Office of Rafael Barba

1 Hogan Place

Thursday, January 27th. 9:15pm

By the time Barba had finished for the night, well, as much as he was going to do, it was dark outside. He looked at the clock, sighing at the late time; he always tried to be out of the office by 7 at the latest, but time had gotten away from him, especially since his mind was rattled. It was harder to focus on the cases after everything that had happened the past two days, plus the extra day he was granted for the case that was pushed just made him more stressed. He sighed again, feeling the pressure that tomorrow would be. Then, he cleared his desk, pushing papers into his briefcase in an order that only he understood. He stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. He heard the sound of a laptop closing and jumped, startled.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Devon said, placing her laptop in her bag and zipping it up. How did he forget that she was there?

“Sorry, I forgot you were checking Facebook all day,” he replied, rolling his eyes, trying to slow his racing heart. It was only a laptop closing. Get a grip on yourself, he thought, chiding himself. Devon slung her grip over her shoulder but said nothing, a small smile on her lips. Barba put on his jacket and walked to the door. Devon was there instantly; she gently put her hand on his stomach and nudged him away from the door. Barba rolled his eyes again, annoyed at the theatrics, as she opened the door, checking every direction for anything out of the ordinary. The unis that were posted had long since left, as had Carmen; the building was empty, silent. Devon had her gun drawn and motioned for Barba to follow her.

“Is this all necessary?” he asked sardonically. Even with his tone, however, he stuck close to her.

“Honestly? Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful,” she replied. They made their way quickly through the DA’s building, Devon checking every corner and hallway, Barba thinking it ridiculous, over-the-top. “Did you drive here, by the way? Or should I order a rideshare?”

“I was dropped off by Detective Amaro this morning,” Barba said. “Seems Olivia doesn’t want me to be alone since last night.”

“I’d ask why Amaro didn’t stay with you, but if your outburst from earlier is any indication, I think I know the answer.”

Barba bristled, but said nothing. They both made it in and out of the elevator, then to the double doors leading outside. Devon stopped him, opened the door a smidge, and examined outside. After a moment, she opened the door wider, slipping out, but still motioning for Barba to stay put. Huffing, he opened the other door and walked out into the brisk night air, making his way to the street.

“Fucking really?” Devon asked, hurrying to catch up to him. There were no immediate dangers around, just a few stragglers walking down the darken streets, so Devon pointed her gun to the ground, more discreet this way.

“Come on Motely, you’ve seen how unorganized the Aces’ have been in their attempts on my life. I highly doubt there would be one waiting outside the DA’s building, especially this late. Probably got too bored waiting for me to come out.”

Devon made it to the curb, hailing a cab, thinking it safer and faster than waiting for a rideshare. As one pulled over to admit them, she said, “they’ve failed twice now, attacking you while you were at a bar and while you were in the courthouse. Honestly, they may be getting angrier or worse, desperate. So yes, I will expect them outside your place of work, along with at your home, the grocery store you shop at, and any other place you may frequent, no matter what time it is.” They both got in, Devon forcing Barba to sit behind the taxi driver—harder for the driver to attack directly behind himself—while she took the other backseat. “Besides, I’d rather be safe than sorry. And I think Liv may actually kill me if you were to get hurt on my watch.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that I agree with,” he smirked. Barba knew he was being difficult, and he wasn’t entirely sure why; there had been two attempts on his life in two days, one that left an angry red mark on his face that everyone was too smart, or scared, to ask about, and another that still makes his heart beat faster when he thinks of it, the sound of the gunshots still echoing in his mind. Now that he had time to sit and think about it, he thought that his anger was a mix of stress from his job—he was doing four cases at once, two of which were tough cases to begin with—and a fear that someone actually took a hit out on him. He’d been an ADA for over a decade; he’s gotten multiple threats, everything from violence to him and/or his family to death threats. But this was the first time someone had actually tried to follow through with it. He sighed, deciding to not take his emotional outrage out on Motely; it wasn’t her fault that she got lumped into this. He had to check his rage, especially now when any mistake could be the difference between living his life and being six feet under.

“Can you give me a quick layout of your place?” Devon asked, jolting Barba out of his thoughts. He agreed, spending the rest of the drive filling in the broad details of his loft; it was smaller than he would like, to be honest, but it was cheaper and close to the courthouse. He had a full floor to himself; a living room, kitchen, two bathrooms—though one was a master bathroom connected to the master bedroom—and two bedrooms. There were only windows in the living room and the master bedroom, the fire escape outside the bedroom window.

The cab pulled to the curb; Devon paid the driver, then followed Barba up the couple steps to the glass door of the building. He opened it, and she followed him in, to the elevator, then down the short hallway to the front door of his loft. She allowed him to unlock the door and walk into the living room before stopping him. She took off her grip and placed it on a couch—there was only a loveseat and an armchair around a coffee table--locked the front door, then unholstered her gun once more.

“Anything out of place?” she asked, not looking at him but rather looking down the hallway to the master bedroom, watching the dark doors lining the walls. There wasn’t much to check in the living room; besides the couch, chair, and table, Barba had a simple TV stand with a TV on it, two bookshelves side-by-side, filled mostly with law books and other scholarly literature he kept from college, and a few, minimalistic wall art hangings. He wasn’t a home designer, and he was hardly home as it was, so he never felt the need to decorate. Once he declined, Devon said, “okay good. Now, place your whole hand on my back, and do not remove it until I say so.” Barba opened his mouth to ask, decided against it, and did as she asked.

Once Devon felt his strong hand lay hesitantly between her shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin sinking through the fabric of her shirt, she started to move through the loft. Barba missed a step, not expecting her to move. He then followed, hand staying on her muscular back. She checked every room, gun aimed at chest height, looking in the closets and under the bed, before ending in the master bedroom, announcing that the home was cleared and reholstering her gun.

“You can have your hand back,” she said while checking the locks on the windows.

“May I ask why I did that?” he asked, dropping his hand to his side. He could still feel the pull of her muscles moving under her shirt, even though he was no longer touching her. He stripped his suit jacket and tie, placed them on a hanger, and hung them on his closet door. Normally, he took it off by the front door and threw it over a chair, but something about having a guest over, especially one he didn’t know, made him want to not look like a total disaster. Though, he noticed with a hint of embarrassment, Devon did go through the guest bedroom, if you could call it that, during her sweep. That room had become a second office to Barba; it was a mess of files, papers, books, and other miscellaneous things that made no sense to anyone except Barba, though he wasn’t even sure what some of it was. There was no bed, no dressers, nothing that actually made it a bedroom. Only a small desk and a lonely desk lamp.

Devon gave him a look that said, just do what you’re told, before explaining. “Because I’ve found that it’s the easiest way to protect someone while also scanning a home. If you go in front of me, you have a chance of being assaulted if there is someone here. Likewise, if I abandoned you by the door, someone could blitz you while I’m back in the master room. It just makes sense to have you touching me, so I know you’re safe while I’m also a human shield.”

Barba didn’t want to know how many times she had failed to protect someone to have found out this method of protection. Seemingly approving of the locks on the bedroom windows, Devon moved to other rooms in the house, checking for ways to break in. Thankfully, his loft was on the 5th floor, so besides the fire escape, there wasn’t a real way to break in—unless he had some very, very determined hitman after him. After checking all the windows, she went to the front door. Unlocking it, she checked the hallway quickly before looking at the locking mechanism in the door; it had a normal deadbolt and a chain near eyelevel. There was also a peephole; otherwise, it was a normal door. She huffed when she noticed the screws holding the hinges on.

“Did you honestly move in here without changing at least the screws in the door?” she admonished.

Barba never thought about it before. “Uh, yes?” Devon shook her head.

“You should install some thicker, longer screws; makes it harder to kick your door down.” Devon then rummaged through her grip, pulling out a doorstop.

“A doorstop? Really? That will protect us if someone kicks the door down?”

Devon rolled her eyes. “Of course not. This is a screaming doorstop; once armed, if this door moves at all, that alarm will wake up the whole damn building.”

Barba looked impressed. “Why the hell do you even know about a device like that?”’

Devon laughed, “I may be an FBI agent, but I’m still a woman. Damsel in Defense is a god-send for living as a woman in the city.”

Grabbing the doorstop, she flipped a switch on it, then wedged it under the door. She then glanced at the clock on her phone, noticing it was getting close to 10pm. “Hey, it’s getting kinda late; what time do you normally go to bed?” she asked, realizing that neither of them had had dinner.

Barba looked at his watch, seemingly also unaware of the passage of time. He had to be in court at 9, which meant he had to be in his office at 7 tomorrow morning and now he was faced with the decision that he had almost every night; stay awake and work on his upcoming cases or get a decent night of sleep. He almost always chose the former, he’d just get a strong coffee or three before court tomorrow. But another part of him was desperate to be alone with his thoughts, to really absorbed the events happening in his life right now. Maybe he’d work for a little bit, then figure out a polite way to kick Motely out for the night, something he very much knew he’d fail at.

“It varies, but it’ll probably be around midnight for me tonight…hopefully,” he debated for a moment before saying, “I’m not planning on leaving at all tonight if you wanted to go sleep for a little. I’m leaving here at six tomorrow morning.”

Completely missing the hint, Devon replied, “ah, no worries. I normally go to sleep around that time, too. You won’t be bothering me at all.” To prove her point, she pulled out her laptop, plugged it in to the wall, and sat down in the armchair with it. Feeling like that was a failure to dislodge her, but unwilling to try again at this moment, Barba sighed. He pulled out the paperwork he was doing in his office, and spread it over the coffee table, taking a seat on the couch.

They worked silently for a couple hours before Barba spoke without looking up. “What are you even doing on that laptop?” As focused as he had been on his casework, the constant clicking of keys as Devon typed crept into his brain.

Devon gave him a wicked grin before she replied, “Facebook, remember?” When Barba shot back a glare, she huffed out a laugh. “I’m looking through the FBI’s database on the Aces. I want to know everything I can about them, seeing as I may have to deal with a couple of them in the coming months.”

“What have you found?” he asked, his paperwork completely forgotten. He got up, came over to the armchair, and sat on an arm, leaning in so that he could see the screen. Devon had the leader—Jorge Ramirez—on the screen, with a quick summation of his profile. She also had the two men from the alley and the man that took a shot at Barba today, whose name was Jake Peterson. He couldn’t help but notice that the two men from the alley, Jose and Rogelio Olivera, both had AT LARGE written in their profiles.

“Well, it’s a relatively small gang based in Manhattan; only 65 members, at least on file. Most are Hispanic, drug dealers, and traffickers...seems like their leader, Ramirez, was the bad one. Probably why he was the leader. Though, they do have a couple of white men hired on as frontmen; they’re the ones that sell drugs to the wealthy businessmen because, and I quote, ‘white men are more trustworthy to the rich bastards.’” They looked at each other, “hey, don’t look at me, I didn’t write it. But it makes sense; most capitalist pigs are deeply racist.”

“65 members, though? You’re right, that is small, but it will still take the cops time to catch them all,” the unsaid words hung in the air, tangible, but not claimed, it’s going to take a while for life to go back to normal.

“So far, only two are incarcerated, Jorge Ramirez and Jake Peterson. Looking through the profiles that I can pull up, it seems like only a few of them have actually murdered before, but not as an active profession. Not to get too cocky, but I think that’s a good sign for you; I should be able to take on anyone who threatens you. Unless, of course, you decide that you want to go wherever you want instead of listening to me.”

Barba flinched inwardly at the slight venom in her voice. He had to work on controlling that spite of his. “You’re right,” he said begrudgingly. “From now on, I’ll follow your lead.” He looked down at her, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

She looked up at him, returning the smile. “That’s all I can ask of you. I know it’s not an ideal situation, but I am here to help.” They sat there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Maybe protecting the ADA wouldn’t be too bad, maybe this wouldn’t drive a wedge between her’s and Liv’s friendship. And maybe, just maybe, they’d both get out alive at the end of this.

Barba looked into her eyes, lit by her laptop’s screen. He could listen to her, follow orders, like the good lapdog people wished he would be. He knew, deep down, that she was there to protect him; even if it was a ‘favor’ from Olivia, he could tell that Devon’s job meant a lot to her, that she was taking this seriously. He’d have to remember to thank Liv later, if he survived this. He suddenly realized that he didn’t want Devon to leave tonight; he felt safe here, in her presences.

They both seemed to notice at the same time how they were sitting; Barba had been leaning down closer to her face, and she was leaning closer to his leg, cheek almost brushing against his pantleg. He stood up, hiding the blush that spread across his cheeks as he noticed how close to his crotch she had been, how inappropriate it was. She sat up a little straighter and seemed to find her screen very interesting all of a sudden.

“Well, I think it’s about time I went to bed,” Barba said, stretching. He packed up all the papers into appropriate folders and placed them in his briefcase, so that he wouldn’t forget them in the morning.

“That’s probably a good idea. What time do you get up? Do you eat breakfast, have coffee? Anything I can help with?”

Barba was surprised by the questions. “Uh, around 5:00, no, no, and no.” Once he collected his thoughts a little, he explained, “I get up, I shower, I dress. Then I leave.”

“Simple, I like it. See you in the morning,” Devon trilled.

Confused, Barba didn’t move as Devon closed her laptop and put it on the table. She then stretched herself out on the loveseat, as much as she could since it was shorter than she was, putting her head on one of the pillows he kept on it.

“I—I take it you’re staying here tonight?” Barba asked, incredulous at her brazenness.

“Uh, yeah? You heard Sergeant Benson, I’m sure; ‘24/7 protection.’ That includes overnights, Barba.”

He felt the weight of those words; he was seriously going to be with this stranger all day, every day, for who knew how long. “I just…I didn’t expect—”

“It always catches people off guard the first night. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to me. And besides, our deal is that after the Aces are gone, you never have to see me again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change out of these clothes.”

Barba’s face went bright red as he hurried to his room. He could swear he heard Devon chuckling as he went. After a couple moments, he heard the guest bathroom door close. Suddenly remembering his hospitality, he went to his closet, grabbing one of his extra blankets, and made his way back out to the living room. He moved quickly, suddenly embarrassed about seeing Devon in pajamas, huffing out a goodnight as he passed by the bathroom as he retreated back to his room before she had a chance to emerge. Again, he could’ve sworn he heard her laughing as he hurried by. Why was he so embarrassed?

He faintly remembered the night before, how lonely he had felt in the bar. Now that he had a roommate thrust upon him, he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Not like there was much he could do about it now. And with that thought from the night before, the other memories came back, how pretty he thought she was, how he had entertained the idea of bringing her back here, even if only for a moment—

No, he wouldn’t, couldn’t think about that, especially with her right on the other side of his bedroom door, stretched out on his couch, sleeping under his blanket. God, what was happening to him? He still didn’t even really know this woman! He had to be more careful, reign in his emotions; she was an FBI agent, assigned to him to make sure he lived through this threat on his life. Nothing more, nothing less. Though, he had to admit that she was probably going to be around for a while. Might as well get to know her, he thought ruefully. He tried not to get too excited about the thought.

#everyone deserves love #edl #everyone deserves love chapter 4 #edl ch 4 #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #barba x oc #rafael barba x oc #fanfic #my writing #this is not a sponsored ad for damsel in defense #but it is a good source of cool stuff

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real-espanadrid · 4 years

Text

Please Call Me Again

Pairings: wangxian, background xuanli, xiyao, chengqing

Tags: modern setting, college au, fluff, silly, mutual pining, no courtesy names, single dad/physics student wwx, music/literature student lwj

Summary: Lan Zhan prank calls Wei Ying pretending to be a scam caller. It’s supposed to be a one-time thing. (Spoiler alert: it isn’t.)

Author’s Note: i decided on a whim to delve into the world of cql fic-writing...here’s my first attempt! enjoy!

Lan Zhan glares at the figures of Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan blatantly laughing at him as he lifts his phone to his ear, furiously contemplating the pros and cons of committing homicide against the two people who he grudgingly accepts as his friends. While he waits for the person on the other end to pick up, he asks himself why he keeps accompanying his brother to these Lan-Jin-Nie family get-togethers when he knows Nie Huaisang always has some ridiculous scheme planned that both he and Jin Zixuan always, without fail, end up getting roped into.

This time, Nie Huaisang has apparently decided that today is a good day for prank calls. Jin Zixuan has already been dared to call Jiang Yanli using Jin Guangyao’s work phone, which Nie Huaisang had stolen while Jin Guangyao was greeting Lan Huan with the usual single-minded focus that characterizes all his interactions with Lan Zhan’s brother.

The task had been to pretend to be a volunteer with a generic charity organization, but Jiang Yanli, in a twist that wasn’t really a twist at all, considering the enormous crush she has on the man, had recognized Jin Zixuan’s voice immediately. Lan Zhan had been forced to watch Jin Zixuan stutter his way through an explanation while Jiang Yanli’s gentle laughter filtered through the phone’s speaker and Nie Huaisang smiled knowingly behind his ever-present hand-painted fan.

The intention behind the dare is obvious, in Jin Zixuan’s case, because he’s been pining after Jiang Yanli for months now and hasn’t done a thing about it, despite her equally evident interest in him. It does, however, make Lan Zhan a little concerned about whose phone number Nie Huaisang has made him dial, because for him, the end goal is less clear.

Lan Zhan isn’t given the chance to fully mull over his apprehension, though, because the phone finally stops ringing as someone picks up.

“Hello?” It’s the voice of a man, fairly young-sounding. He seems totally unfazed.

“Hello,” Lan Zhan says stiffly. “How are you today?”

“I’m great!” says the man brightly.

Lan Zhan blinks, taken aback by the unexpected enthusiasm of the reply. “...Good,” he says, unsure of what an appropriate response to that would be. “I am calling because – your IP address has been compromised.” Making up dialogue on the spot is horrible, he discovers. He fixes Nie Huaisang with a look that he hopes will haunt his friend’s dreams for the next few nights. “I will need you to – get in front of your computer so we can fix your account.” It feels unlikely, but maybe the man on the other end hasn’t noticed Lan Zhan’s hesitation as he fabricates a reason for his call.

“Okay!” the man agrees, still unsettlingly excited. Lan Zhan wonders who this man is and why Nie Huaisang thought Lan Zhan, of all people, should prank call him. “There’s one thing I’m wondering, though.”

“What?” Lan Zhan finds that he actually is somewhat curious.

The man laughs a bit. It’s a distractingly pleasant sound. “You really couldn’t think of a better lie? Like, my ‘IP address has been compromised.’ How, exactly, does an IP address become ‘compromised?’”

There’s a long pause following the question. Maybe the man is waiting for Lan Zhan to reply. If he is, he’s going to be disappointed, because Lan Zhan has no idea what to say to this. He suddenly feels a pang of sympathy for any real scam callers who have called this number before.

The man seems to realize he isn’t going to get a response because he cheerfully continues talking. “I was just wondering, that’s all!”

This is a logical point in the call to hang up. Lan Zhan has technically already carried out Nie Huaisang’s stupid dare – he’s impersonated a scam caller and spoken to this man for long enough. But for whatever reason, he hears himself speak again. “Why did you answer?”

It’s the man’s turn to fall silent. Lan Zhan lets himself feel a little smug at being able to leave this man speechless for a few moments. “What?” the man finally asks.

“If you knew this was not a legitimate call, then why did you answer?” Lan Zhan presses. He wants to know the answer, he realizes. He’s intrigued by this man, wants to know why he’s still talking to Lan Zhan despite believing he has possibly malicious intentions.

“Oh!” the man says, and he sounds a little awkward now. “I just thought I would, uh, you know, have some fun at your expense!”

Lan Zhan frowns in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan watching him with poorly-hidden amusement. “What expense? Talking is no expense to me.”

The man lets out a hum. “Well, you’re currently not accomplishing your goal.”

“My goal?” Lan Zhan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Your goal of scamming Granny,” the man says matter-of-factly, like Lan Zhan should have already been aware that the number he called is not, in fact, the man’s number – and Lan Zhan is decidedly not disappointed about that – but his grandmother’s. “You’re not accomplishing that! I’d call that an expense.”

Lan Zhan can’t help himself – he improvises a new question. “Well, can I scam you?” Jin Zixuan’s eyes widen in surprise, and Nie Huaisang looks faintly impressed.

The man is silent once again. “Did you –” he breaks off, sounding bewildered, which for some reason feels like a victory.“Did you just ask if you can scam me?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan confirms, and then just to be clear, he asks again. “Can I scam you?”

“Uh – um, sure, you can try,” the man says, and for the first time in this call, he sounds a little flustered.

Lan Zhan can’t believe that worked. He quickly cycles back to the start of the conversation and his original request. “You need to be in front of your computer.”

The man lets out a huff of laughter. “Yeah, that’s still a problem. I didn’t sleep last night and I’m eating tater tots right now and I don’t really feel like getting up.”

“Okay,” Lan Zhan says, and he isn’t sure what makes him do it, but he continues, “I will call you tomorrow morning, then.” Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang’s jaws both drop at that.

“I...I might not answer,” the man says after a moment of hesitation. Lan Zhan wonders if he came on a little too strong. “Granny definitely won’t.”

“You answered today,” Lan Zhan points out.

“Ahaha,” the man says, his laughter coming across as slightly nervous. “Touché?”

Lan Zhan nods, before he remembers the man can’t see him. “Mn. I will call you tomorrow. Get some sleep tonight. Have a good day.” He hangs up before he can hear the man’s response.

“Lan Zhan,” Nie Huaisang says the second Lan Zhan pockets his phone. “That was insane.”

“I completed the dare as you asked,” Lan Zhan says, perfectly aware that he went way beyond what was necessary, and that both Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan know it too.

“You are way too good at scam calling,” Jin Zixuan says in a vaguely accusatory way. “Who were you even talking to, anyway?”

At that, Nie Huaisang’s smile becomes a little more amused. “Well, since Lan Zhan is going to be calling him again tomorrow morning, why doesn’t he just ask then?”

“I do not intend to call him,” Lan Zhan says, even though lying is forbidden.

Nie Huaisang gives him a look that’s somehow both sympathetic and condescending. “Sure you don’t.”

Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan eventually get back at Nie Huaisang later in the day by “accidentally” revealing to Jin Guangyao that they know where his work phone has disappeared to, but Lan Zhan doesn’t get his usual momentary satisfaction from watching Nie Huaisang unsuccessfully try to convince Nie Mingjue that he doesn’t know anything about the missing phone. Instead, his mind is stuck on a bright, cheerful voice and the sound of sweet laughter.

~~~

Wei Ying has been having a weird couple of days. On Wednesday, he experienced the high of finishing his solar spectroscopy lab two days early, which has never happened before in this entire semester. On Thursday, things quickly deteriorated when Wei Yuan threw a tantrum because he wanted to spend an extra ten minutes watching TV instead of going for his bath, and then got even worse when Wei Ying realized that in his eagerness to finish the lab early, he forgot to do his Quantum Field Theory problem set for the week and had to pull an emergency all-nighter.

Then yesterday, in his sleep-deprived state, he had a bizarre conversation with the strangest scam caller he’s ever interacted with – not that he’s interacted with many to begin with, but still – and now, here he is again, picking up Granny’s landline because somehow, the scam caller has made good on his promise to call again.

“Hello,” Mr. Scam Caller says, and his deep, calm voice is somehow even more attractive than it was yesterday.

“Mr. Scam Caller!” Wei Ying says happily, and he’s a little surprised by how genuine the emotion in his own voice is. “You called again! I wasn’t expecting you to actually do it.”

Mr. Scam Caller doesn’t say anything for a few moments. “I said I would,” he finally says.

Wei Ying can’t help laughing at that. “I guess you did.” Mr. Scam Caller is silent again, but that’s fine with Wei Ying – he can do enough talking for both of them. “I’m Wei Ying, by the way. Since you were good enough to call me back, I think you deserve my name, even though you’re trying to scam me.”

“You should not give out your name to random people,” Mr. Scam Caller says, like he doesn’t collect sensitive information from people for a living. “Especially scam callers.”

“Ah, but you’re not just any scam caller,” Wei Ying says. “You’re my scam caller. You even told me to get some sleep last night, and I did! I slept for almost five hours, aren’t you proud of me?” He wants the answer to be yes, he realizes as he asks, but he isn’t quite sure why.

“Mn,” Mr. Scam Caller says. There isn’t much inflection in his tone, but it’s clearly supposed to be a noise of agreement, and Wei Ying flushes.

“Ahahaha, Mr. Scam Caller,” he says, trying not to sound too affected by this very basic form of praise. “Don’t you think you should share your name with me too? It’s only fair since you already know mine, after all.”

Mr. Scam Caller is silent for so long that Wei Ying is about to take it back and laugh the request off, but then he speaks again. “Lan Zhan.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying repeats, testing out the name. It sounds familiar, somehow, but he can’t figure out why that is. “Lan Zhan! What a good name! I could say your name all day, Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying is not prepared for hearing his name coming out of Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Do not joke.”

“I’m not joking, Lan Zhan, I promise!” Wei Ying says intently, holding up three fingers before remembering that Lan Zhan can’t see him. “Lan Zhan is a great name.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. This ”Mn,” is different from the one before, Wei Ying thinks, more noncommittal, like he’s neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and Wei Ying is suddenly desperate to keep it going. “So, Lan Zhan,” he says. “How are you going to try to scam me today?”

“You need to be in front of your computer,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying is startled by the brief flash of disappointment he feels that Lan Zhan didn’t just call simply to talk to him again. He brushes the thought away a second later – of course Lan Zhan only called because he’s a scam caller and it’s his job.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I can’t,” Wei Ying says. “A-Yuan is using it to play games right now. How can I disturb him when he’s so clearly enjoying himself?”

“A-Yuan?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying grins. “My son!” he says, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice as he talks about the little boy who stole his heart the moment they met.

Lan Zhan is quiet for several long moments. “I see,” he finally says, sounding more stiff than he had before. “I will stop imposing on you, then.”

“Huh?” Wei Ying says, his smile vanishing. “What do you mean?”

“I have been disturbing you and your family,” Lan Zhan says, his voice still cold compared to how it had sounded previously. “I apologize for intruding on your time. Goodbye, Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, wait!” Wei Ying blurts out. He holds his breath, straining his ears to hear whether Lan Zhan is still on the other end. When he hears the steady sound of breathing, he exhales shakily. “You aren’t intruding, Lan Zhan,” he explains in a rush. “You’ve been really great all two times I’ve talked to you, you know? And you didn’t have to look out for my sleep schedule but you did, and now you’re trying to protect me and my son from yourself, and I know you’re a scam caller, but I – I mean, talking to you is...nice?”

Lan Zhan stays quiet for a long time, and Wei Ying worries that he’s scared him off. “It is nice speaking to you as well, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says after several long moments that feel like forever to Wei Ying.

“Good,” Wei Ying says, and he truly has no idea why he’s so overwhelmingly relieved. “Good, then don’t hang up on me yet, Lan Zhan. You haven’t even tried to get any sensitive information from me!”

“Do you want me to try to get sensitive information from you?” Lan Zhan asks, which is an incredibly baffling question to hear from a scammer.

“Yes,” Wei Ying says, before he considers the question more carefully. “No? I don’t know, Lan Zhan, now you’re confusing me! What kind of scam caller makes their customer confused by asking odd questions instead of going on with their scamming?”

“I apologize,” Lan Zhan says. “I will refrain from asking confusing questions and focus on scamming you in the future.”

Wei Ying bursts into laughter. “Lan Zhan!” he says delightedly. “Has anyone ever told you how funny you are?”

“No,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying can’t see his face but he imagines that Lan Zhan looks a bit puzzled, which is adorable. “People generally tell me I am not particularly funny.”

“They’re all wrong,” Wei Ying declares confidently. “You’re very funny, Lan Zhan! And a great conversation partner. Even while you’re in the middle of scamming someone.” Though, he belatedly notices, there have been very few attempts on Lan Zhan’s part to actually commit any kind of scam. “You’ll have to call me every day from now on, so you can have someone to remind you how funny you are!”

It sounds like Lan Zhan says something along the lines of “Mark your words,” but Wei Yuan suddenly runs into the living room, distracting Wei Ying. “Baba, Baba!” he says, practically vibrating with enthusiasm as he launches himself into Wei Ying’s arms.

Wei Ying manages to tuck the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he sweeps Wei Yuan onto his lap. “What’s the matter, kiddo?”

Lan Zhan makes an inquisitorial noise on the other end of the phone as Wei Yuan beams up at Wei Ying proudly. “I got the best, most highest score!” Wei Yuan reveals. “All by myself!”

“The best, most highest score?” Wei Ying repeats, grinning down at Wei Yuan. “That’s extremely impressive!” He’s speaking into the phone before he can think better of it. “Lan Zhan, did you hear? A-Yuan got the best, most highest score on his game all by himself, he must be even better than me now!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. “Congratulations, A-Yuan. You did well.” He says it so solemnly that Wei Ying can’t help laughing again.

“Lan Zhan, you’re so serious,” he says playfully, before addressing Wei Yuan again. “A-Yuan, Lan Zhan said you did well.”

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Yuan asks, peering up at Wei Ying curiously. “Who?”

Wei Ying is on the verge of offering the phone to Wei Yuan when he belatedly realizes that Wen Qing probably wouldn’t be too thrilled if he let the son he adopted from her family speak to a scam caller, no matter how sweet and pleasant to talk to said scam caller is. “He’s my, uh, my phone call buddy,” Wei Ying explains hastily.

Wei Yuan nods. “Thank you, Phone Call-gege!” he says with a toothy smile.

“You made him smile, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, clutching his heart with the arm that isn’t keeping Wei Yuan in place on his lap. “How can you be so good? Even before meeting him, you already won him over.”

“I am glad I could make him happy,” Lan Zhan says in that unaffected voice of his. It makes Wei Ying want to do something to make him lose his composure.

“Do you want to make me happy too?” Wei Ying asks, and even though Wei Yuan is in the room, he lowers his voice enough for it to unmistakably be an attempt at flirting. “I can think of a few ways you could do that.”

Lan Zhan audibly inhales sharply, and Wei Ying mentally celebrates. “I...must go,” Lan Zhan says a second later, and Wei Ying’s mental celebration is halted in its tracks.

“Will you call tomorrow?” Wei Ying asks quickly, trying to stall him, trying to do anything he can to ensure he can talk to this strange, fascinating scam caller again. “After all, you didn’t manage to scam me yet.”

There’s a beat, before Lan Zhan speaks. “Mn,” he says, and Wei Ying can’t stop smiling. “I will call you tomorrow. Goodbye to you and A-Yuan.”

Like he did yesterday, Lan Zhan hangs up before Wei Ying has the chance to reply, but Wei Ying doesn’t care too much. He pulls Wei Yuan into a hug and sighs happily.

Wei Yuan looks at Wei Ying. “Baba is happy that Phone Call-gege will call him tomorrow?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Wei Ying says, patting Wei Yuan’s back contentedly. “I am happy.”

~~~

Lan Zhan isn’t sure how things got to this point. He had called Wei Ying back the day after his prank call with the intention of explaining the truth – that he is not, in fact, a scam caller but simply a fourth-year music and literature student – but the conversation had gotten away from him and he missed his chance.

Now, a month later, having called Wei Ying every day since then, Lan Zhan wonders why, in all that time, he still hasn’t tried to correct Wei Ying’s perception of him. Maybe, he thinks, it has something to do with the fact that when he’s talking to Wei Ying, he’s helpless to do anything but go along with whatever conversation Wei Ying feels like having. He now knows that Wei Ying’s son, Wei Yuan, was adopted a year ago, and that Wei Ying lives with Wei Yuan’s grandmother and two cousins. He knows all about Wei Ying’s perfect sister – coincidentally, she turns out to be none other than Jiang Yanli – and his angry brother. And over the course of a month, Lan Zhan has somehow become Wei Ying’s scam caller, and the highlight of his day is always making that call.

Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixuan, traitors that they are, had decided that it would be a good idea to inform Lan Huan of Lan Zhan’s daily conversations with Wei Ying. Predictably, Lan Huan had been delighted to hear about Lan Zhan’s first real display of interest in another person, which is why Lan Zhan is currently in a coffee shop, listening to Lan Huan try to convince him for at least the tenth time to arrange a meeting in person with Wei Ying.

“Didi, you clearly like this Wei Ying quite a lot,” Lan Huan says reasonably. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to try meeting him in person. Imagine if I hadn’t gone to meet A-Yao when Mingjue-ge mentioned him for the first time.”

Lan Zhan graciously does not point out that, had Lan Huan not met Jin Guangyao, Lan Zhan would not have to wake up at odd hours to strange noises coming from the other bedroom in their shared apartment. “He has an obligation to his son,” he says instead, just like he always does every time they have this conversation. “I do not wish to pull him away from that duty by imposing my feelings.”

“You know Huaisang is friends with him,” Lan Huan points out. “Surely he would have told you by now if Wei Ying is not interested in pursuing any relationships.”

There’s nothing “sure” about anything when it comes to Nie Huaisang, Lan Zhan thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud, not wanting to be rude to his brother who, ultimately, is only pushing the matter because he has Lan Zhan’s best interests at heart. “Regardless,” Lan Zhan says, “it is unnecessary to meet Wei Ying in person.”

The barista calls out their order, and Lan Zhan gets up to retrieve their drinks before Lan Huan can say anything else. As he’s making his way back to the table, though, drinks in hand, he’s stopped in his tracks by the appearance of a small weight clinging tightly to his leg. “Gege!” says the weight. It is, Lan Zhan finds when he looks down, a small boy, no older than three or four.

“Hello,” Lan Zhan says, trying not to let his panic show. As a rule, he tries to avoid interacting with children he doesn't know when their guardians aren’t present. “Where is your caretaker?”

“Baba is sitting over there with Auntie Qing and Angry Uncle!” the boy says, pointing to a table in the far corner of the shop.

Lan Zhan looks in the direction the boy is pointing and blinks a few times. Sitting at the table are two men Lan Zhan recognizes from Nie Huaisang's alternate friend group, the one he spends time with outside of Lan-Jin-Nie gatherings, and an unfamiliar woman who bears a slight resemblance to the boy still holding Lan Zhan's leg. “You must go back to your Baba,” Lan Zhan says carefully. “He will wonder where you went, otherwise.”

“But,” the boy says, a pout forming on his face, “Baba said that you were a very pretty gege and he wished he could talk to you.”

Lan Zhan wonders what kind of parent lets their child go off to talk to random strangers they find attractive. The last thing Lan Zhan wants is for this boy to start crying, though, so he nods. “I will accompany you back to your table. You should not worry your Baba by leaving him to talk to unknown people.”

The boy’s unhappy expression vanishes instantaneously, replaced by a bright smile. “Okay, Pretty-gege!” he agrees. “Come meet my Baba!”

Lan Zhan belatedly realizes he’s still holding the two cups of tea, but it’s too late to do anything about it, because he and the boy have already reached their destination.

“Baba!” the boy exclaims happily, climbing into the lap of the man who, presumably, is his father.

“A-Yuan!” the man says, sounding equally excited, and Lan Zhan freezes, both at the voice and the name. “Where did you run off to, huh, kiddo?”

“I found Pretty-gege for Baba,” A-Yuan says seriously, and his father looks at Lan Zhan for the first time. “Now Baba can talk to him.” Then, apparently deciding that his work is finished, A-Yuan promptly unlocks his father’s phone and starts playing a game.

Lan Zhan is still unable to move as he stares into the man’s sparkling grey eyes. “Wei Ying,” he says, because it feels like the only thing he can say.

The man – Wei Ying, Lan Zhan is certain it has to be him – gapes at him, his eyes widening in shock and what can only be recognition. “Lan Zhan?” Somehow, the sound of his own name rolling off Wei Ying’s tongue is even more appealing to Lan Zhan in person than it is over the phone. “You’re Huaisang’s gorgeous friend that I’ve been begging him to introduce me to for literally years? Huaisang is friends with a scam caller?”

The man sitting next to Wei Ying slams his hand against the table. “This is your stupid scam caller boyfriend?” he demands. “You haven’t shut up about wanting to meet him for weeks, and he was easily accessible in person this entire time?”

“A-Cheng,” the woman at the table reprimands, rolling her eyes as she lays a hand on the man’s arm. She shoots a pointed look at Wei Ying as she continues, “Relax. We already knew Wei Ying is an idiot.”

“He is not,” Lan Zhan says reflexively, somewhat irritated that these people are insulting Wei Ying for no discernible reason. “Wei Ying is very intelligent.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, it’s okay,” Wei Ying says with a laugh, though his cheeks have turned a soft shade of pink. “Jiang Cheng and Qing-jie are just like that. I always say they’re the grumpiest couple in the world. It’s like they really were made for each other!”

“Shut the hell up,” Jiang Cheng says, making an aborted movement towards Wei Ying before apparently remembering the child in Wei Ying’s lap and settling for clenching his hand in a fist instead.

“Language,” Wei Ying says with a sunny smile. “A-Yuan is a growing little boy who doesn’t need to hear words like that.” He turns to Lan Zhan and his smile somehow grows even bigger. Lan Zhan is torn between looking away to avoid being blinded by its intensity and being absolutely transfixed by how lovely it looks on Wei Ying’s face. “But enough of that. Lan Zhan, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you, and it turns out you’re actually the same person I wanted to get to know anyway!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. “I recognized you as well, from Nie Huaisang’s friend group.”

Wei Ying looks momentarily annoyed. “I’ve been asking him to introduce you to me for so long.” The displeasure seems to pass a moment later, when Wei Ying beams up at Lan Zhan again, and Lan Zhan has to remember how to breathe. “Of course, I should have guessed that Lan Zhan would find a way to introduce himself to me first!”

“Wei Ying was the first to introduce himself,” Lan Zhan reminds him, recalling their second phone call.

“You have such a good memory, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says with an almost dreamy sigh, his eyes shining. “I bet you remember all our phone calls.”

“He’s a scam caller,” the woman Wei Ying had addressed as Qing-jie – which means she must be Wen Qing, one of Wei Yuan’s cousins – interrupts. “It’s unlikely that he remembers everyone he calls, let alone what he says when he calls them.” She narrows her eyes at Lan Zhan. “So why, exactly, have you continued to call our home?”

“I am not a scam caller,” Lan Zhan says firmly, relieved to be telling the truth at last. “I am a student of music and literature.”

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, shaking his head. “What do you mean you’re not a scam caller? The first time you called the house, you were trying to scam Granny.”

“I was not,” Lan Zhan says. “I was dared to make a prank call, and you made assumptions.”

Everyone is silent for a moment, and the only sounds come from the background chatter in the cafe. Lan Zhan is reminded of his brother, who’s still waiting for his tea, and sends a silent apology to him in his mind. “A...prank call?” Wei Ying finally asks. “So you were never really trying to steal our sensitive information?”

Lan Zhan nods. “Mn. Nie Huaisang provided the dare and the number.”

“Of course it was him,” Wei Ying mutters, seemingly to himself. “When I get my hands on him...” He trails off, before a new thought appears to strike him. “But Lan Zhan, that means he did kind of introduce us to each other after all! If it weren’t for him, then who knows if we ever would have met each other?” He pauses, his head cocked to the side. “You know, I always thought you didn’t try very hard to scam me. I thought maybe it was because we were so close, but now it all makes sense!”

“We are close,” Lan Zhan feels the need to clarify. “If I were truly a scam caller, I would not have tried to scam you after speaking with you as we have been.”

Wei Ying’s entire face flushes as Jiang Cheng snorts and Wen Qing looks simultaneously exasperated and amused. “Lan Zhan! How can you say something like that so easily?”

“Lying is forbidden,” Lan Zhan says matter-of-factly, which doesn’t quite answer the question, but reveals enough of his reasoning to have Wei Ying burying his face in his hands with a moan.

The noise must distract Wei Yuan from his game, because he looks up at Wei Ying and asks, “Baba, okay?”

“Yeah, kiddo, I’m okay,” Wei Ying says, smiling reassuringly at the boy. “Lan-gege here was just saying some very sweet things.” It’s Lan Zhan’s turn to get flustered by the sudden nickname, his ears heating up as Wei Ying grins innocently at him.

“Pretty-gege is Phone Call-gege?” Wei Yuan asks, and Lan Zhan is mildly impressed that such a young child was able to piece together a conversation he was only half listening to. He nods, and Wei Yuan claps his hands happily. “Good! Baba likes Phone Call-gege and Pretty-gege and it would be hard to pick but now those geges are the same!” He looks at Lan Zhan intently. “Gege will stay with us?”

“A-Yuan,” Wei Ying says hurriedly, “you shouldn’t – ahaha, Lan Zhan, don’t take him too seriously, I’ll explain to him later –”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan cuts him off pointedly. “A-Yuan. I must return to my brother for now.” Both father and son look visibly deflated, so Lan Zhan takes a deep breath and continues. “But I would like to see you again.”

“O-oh,” Wei Ying says, looking both hopeful and more stunned than he really should. Really, how could he possibly think that Lan Zhan wouldn’t want to see him again? “Well, of course you can see us again! Just give us a call any time, you already have our number, after all.”

“I would like your cell phone number,” Lan Zhan says before he can chicken out. “For convenience.”

“Yes, of course!” We Ying squeaks. Lan Zhan can relate – he had no idea he had it in him to be so bold. Wei Ying holds out his phone with the “New Contact” screen open, and Lan Zhan saves his name as “My Scam Caller” before sending a text to himself. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says breathlessly when he takes his phone back and sees the contact name. He stares at Lan Zhan with starry eyes. “You’re so funny. I like you so much.”

“I like you so much too,” Lan Zhan says automatically, and the corners of his mouth pull upward into a soft smile. Wei Ying gasps and smiles so radiantly that Lan Zhan doesn’t even care that they aren’t alone, that at least four sets of eyes are fixed on them right now – he’s under no illusion that his brother hasn’t been watching him this whole time.

They reluctantly say goodbye after Lan Zhan promises that he’ll meet Wei Ying and Wei Yuan tomorrow after his classes end. Lan Zhan feels light as he returns to his brother’s table, the tea in his hands completely cold by now.

Lan Huan smiles knowingly at him as he sits down. “So,” he says, “you were saying that meeting Wei Ying in person was unnecessary?”

Lan Zhan takes a sip of cold tea to avoid speaking, but he doesn’t need to – he knows that to his brother, his happiness level is at the point where he might as well be fully grinning. But he’s allowed to be this elated, he thinks. He’s allowed to not care about Nie Huaisang’s meddling or Lan Huan’s amused expression or Jiang Cheng’s attitude.

After all, he has Wei Ying’s number in his phone, a date planned for tomorrow, and a whole future together, just waiting for him to reach out and take it.

#wangxian #the untamed #writing

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