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wheresmynaya · 3 years

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Hate to Date Ch.6 | Brittana

A/N - Exciting news, we're out of lockdown and I'm back to work. Not exciting news, I’m back to work LOL. As always, thanks for the reviews and those who have bought a coffee for me through ko-fi! Both instantly make my day & encourage me to keep up with these weekly updates so I really appreciate it!💙

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

It takes a whole ten seconds after Brittany closes the car door behind her before Puck’s hitting Santana with a barrage of questions. Santana does her best to ignore them because she knows Puck’s been dying to hear about their trip, but Brittany hasn’t even pulled her suitcase from the trunk yet and she can totally hear them still.

“Aren’t you going to help her or something?” Santana asks instead.

“Aren’t you? You’re her girlfriend.”

“You’re the guy. Isn’t lifting things meant to be your specialty?”

Puck narrows his eyes, “That’s not very girl power of you.”

Santana just huffs her way out of the car, but by the time she gets around Brittany’s already got her suitcase out. The blonde gives her a questioning look as Santana lingers by the trunk.

“I was coming to see if you needed help,” Santana explains.

Brittany chuckles, “Little late for that.”

Santana feels her face flush with embarrassment. Damn Puck making her look like an idiot.

“Besides, I’ve seen how you are around a suitcase,” Brittany smirks. “Probably best if I do the heavy lifting.”

“Nice one!” Puck calls out.

When Santana turns to flick him off, she finds that he’s halfway hanging out of the driver’s side window watching with interest. Brittany only laughs as she pulls the handle up on her luggage.

“You’re both dicks,” Santana grumbles as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I mean, she’s not wrong though?” Puck reasons.

Santana just cuts him with a steely glare and that shuts him up real quick.

“Anyway, it’s been fun. Thanks for the ride again, Puck,” Brittany says before turning to Santana. “And I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Santana nods, “Yeah. Same time, same place.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Brittany quips before waving goodbye and heading inside her apartment complex.

Puck’s still hanging out the driver’s side window looking back and forth between Santana and Brittany’s door with a slack jaw. Santana rolls her eyes at him as she pulls open the passenger door.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” He asks eagerly.

Santana sighs, “Can you just get in the car? You’re too damn big to be hanging out there like that.”

The reluctance to answer has Puck acting even more giddy. It’s a classic Santana tactic: deflect and insult. Puck listens anyway though and gets himself inside where Santana busies herself with buckling up.

“So what’s happening tomorrow?” Puck asks again.

“We’re working on that assignment together for Prof Martinez’s class,” Santana finally answers. “Because someone decided to fuck around with the teams now I have to actually spend time with her instead of lie about it.”

“Oh, boring,” Puck frowns and goes to start the car.

Santana looks back curiously, “What’d you think we were doing?”

Puck starts to smirk.

Santana scrunches her nose, “Actually, nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

“I’m just joking!” Puck laughs. “But seriously, will you tell me about your trip now? I was a little nervous that one of you wouldn’t be coming back.”

“What? Why?”

Puck shrugs, “I don’t know because you hate each other?”

Santana pauses, “I don’t know if hate’s the right word anymore.”

“You’d probably trick her into boarding the wrong plane or something. Is that not hate?”

Santana smirks, “Now that would’ve been funny.”

“See?”

Santana shakes her head, “I don’t know. She still frustrates the hell out of me and I find a lot of things she does super annoying, but to say I hate her doesn’t really fit anymore.”

Puck looks at her curiously, “You feeling okay? Did you finally get your heart back from Lima?”

Santana laughs, “You know Lima doesn’t have it.”

Puck chuckles along with her, “Well something big must’ve happened there if you’re changing your tune like this.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Santana replies. “I guess – I don’t know – I understand Brittany a little more? That doesn’t mean we’re going to braid each other’s hair anytime soon.”

“Right. What about your fam? How’d they feel about her?”

“We did what we were supposed to do. Mom likes her, Abuela not so much.”

“Shit,” Puck cringes.

“Yeah. It’ll work out though,” Santana answers. “This was a good start, we just need to put more time into it. I’m getting into that firm.”

“Hell yeah, you are!”

“In the meantime though, I’ve gotta up my game,” Santana says. “I can’t have people thinking Brittany’s a better girlfriend than me.”

Puck quirks his brow, “And how are you gonna do that?”

“Well after spending all this time with Brittany, I’ve learned me two things,” Santana smirks. “She’s a pushover and she’s a total sucker for the romantic shit, like the kind of shit that’s in movies. You know, real cliché stuff. Just look at the stuff she does for me.”

“Okay?”

“I just have to do it better than her,” Santana says simply, “I have to be thoughtful and sweet and take her by surprise. I’ve gotta be one step ahead at all times! And maybe I can embarrass the crap out of her in the process? It’s a win/win for me.”

Puck looks skeptic, but Santana’s already crafting her game plan.

Santana spends all night watching cheesy rom-coms just to get some inspiration, because as it turns out – she’s not really familiar with romantic gestures. She’s never really needed them because hooking up isn’t about romance and that’s how she likes it. But this fake relationship thing is really pushing her out of her comfort zone – good thing it’s all an act.

Puck joins Santana after getting back from weight training and together they make a list of all the possible ways Santana can fake-woo Brittany. Puck jots down a couple ideas for himself, lord knows he needs all the help he can get!

The only downside of a rom-com marathon is that most of the movies are predominately straight and Santana struggles to relate. Meanwhile, Puck’s trying to hide the fact that he’s tearing up during certain scenes.

Despite the string hetero content, Puck does end up getting his hands on a bootleg copy of Imagine Me and You. Now it’s Santana’s turn to pretend she’s not tearing up and Puck wastes no time in teasing her about it.

Santana decides she’s going start off slow with something simple; bringing Brittany snacks for when they study together later on. Where it lacks in romance, it makes up for in thoughtfulness so Santana’s sure it’ll be a winner.

She’s already stopped off somewhere on her way to cheer practice to get what she needs just incase she runs late again. At least if Coach Roz goes on another rant again, Santana will meet Brittany bearing gifts.

It’s a pretty perfect plan, but what Santana doesn’t expect is to find Brittany waiting outside of the gym for her. Apparently, the blonde had a similar idea in mind and has beaten Santana to the punch.

Not with snacks, but with something much more valuable.

“Uh hey,” Santana eyes her hesitantly. “What are you doing here?”

Brittany lifts the cup in her hand, “I got you this.”

“You got me a coffee?”

“Yeah, I was in the area and I knew you’d be coming here for practice.”

Santana’s brows furrow, “Did Puck put you up to this?”

Brittany frowns, “What?”

“Nevermind,” Santana shakes her head and moves closer to take the cup. She stares down at the lid and looks to Brittany, “What is it?”

“Coffee?” Brittany answers. “Strong and as black as your heart.”

“Just how I like it,” Santana lies as she masks her disappointment.

She braces herself for the bitter taste, hoping her facial expression doesn’t give her away. Surprisingly though, it tastes nothing like she expected it to – it’s sweet, just like she actually likes it.

Brittany starts to smirk, “Plus a box of sugar and bunch of milk.”

“How’d you know?” Santana asks. “I pay the barista extra to keep her mouth shut.”

“She did, but I’ve seen the inside of your purse,” Brittany chuckles. “It’s nothing but sugar packets and tiny creamers. Plus I’ve spent the last couple of mornings with you, I’ve noticed things.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Who knew this leather-jacket-wearing badass cheerleader secretly likes her coffee super sweet?”

“Exactly. It doesn’t fit the aesthetic,” Santana brushes off. “I can’t have that little detail about me getting out. What would people think?”

Brittany quirks a brow, “Do you really care that much about that?”

“Don’t you?” Santana says simply.

Brittany shrugs, “It’s just coffee. So what?”

Santana pauses. Sometimes Brittany can make the hardest things sound so simple and Santana can’t tell if it’s because Brittany’s naïve or Santana’s just so used to overcomplicating things. It doesn’t matter, she’s not getting into it right now.

“Thanks for this,” Santana replies. “I’ll see you after practice.”

Brittany bites her lip as she nods, “Yeah okay. See you later.”

Despite having a duffle bag full of all kinds of snacks, Santana holds off for the time being. It’s too close to Brittany’s little act of kindness and she can’t have the blonde thinking that she’s inspired Santana’s gesture.

So, she waits a few more days because timing is also important. Being surprised with snacks doesn’t mean a thing if you’ve just ate, so Santana keeps that in mind as she falls back into her usual routine of classes, cheer practice and studying.

The opportunity doesn’t arise until the following week.

Apparently one of Brittany’s classes has a test scheduled at the end of the week and it has the blonde stressed out more than usual. Santana only knows because Puck mentioned something about Brittany rescheduling a tutoring session which rarely happens.

So Santana thinks it’s finally her time to shine and really show off how thoughtful she can be!

As Santana makes her way inside the library with her bag full of goodies, there’s this big grin on her face because not only is she going to show Brittany she’s got some competition on the best girlfriend front there’s also quite the crowd around.

Again, it’s a win/win for Santana!

She finds Brittany in her usual spot at the back of the study area and makes her way over. Students studying at the various tables around watch as Santana saunters down the aisle in her cheer uniform. Santana can hear the whispers starting up and tries to keep from smirking at how good this is going to make her look.

“Hey,” Santana greets once she gets to Brittany’s table.

Brittany’s taken by complete surprise as she looks up. Santana can tell because the usual confidence is no where to be found, in it’s place is astonishment.

“Uh hi,” Brittany finally greets. “What are you doing here? Is it 3:30 already?”

“No. I was just in the neighborhood,” Santana shrugs as she takes a seat in front of Brittany. “Thought you might need a little afternoon snack break.”

Brittany looks questioningly until Santana starts pulling out various treats she knows Brittany loves. There’s a theater box of DOTS, a packet of Goldfish, a Mounds bar, and a few other goodies that are the healthier side.

“Awh, that’s so cute!” A girl from the table beside them coos before turning to her partner. “Where the hell are my snacks?”

The guy just frowns at Santana, “Thanks a lot.”

“Step your game up,” Santana tells him before turning back to Brittany. There’s a pleased smile on her face but she wants to hear it from Brittany herself, “You like?”

Brittany’s hesitant to answer but when she does, she can’t help but smile, “I like. I actually forgot my lunch today so this is perfect.”

Santana pumps her fist triumphantly before realizing people are still staring.

“You know, how long I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to give you all this stuff?” Santana admits. “I felt like a hoarder having to hide them in my room so Puck wouldn’t eat them.”

Brittany chuckles, “I don’t know how I’ll be able to top this.”

Santana smirks; that’s exactly what she likes to hear.

“Woah, who hit the jackpot?” Puck says, surprising the both of them as he comes up to the table.

“Jesus! Where’d you come from?” Santana gasps. “You know this is the library, right?”

“Yes,” Puck rolls his eyes. “I was studying with some guys from the team since Britt cancelled on me but I see why she did now.”

“Oh no, I didn’t know she was coming here,” Brittany explains quickly.

“It was a surprise,” Santana says proudly.

Pucks brows rise as he reaches for one of Brittany’s snacks, but Santana’s quick to swat at his hand.

“Paws off,” She tells him. “I got that for her, not you.”

“Damn chill,” Puck frowns as he holds his hand.

Brittany only chuckles at the pair, “Thanks for this. It’s been a much needed interruption but I do have to get back to studying.”

“Oh yeah, sure!” Santana nods as she goes to stand. She looks around to see if people are still watching and starts to grin when she finds that they are. “I’ll just be at practice, but let me know if you need anything else.”

“Okay,” Brittany smiles back.

“And I’ll just be over there,” Puck adds as he heads back to his table leaving Santana alone with Brittany.

“Thanks for the brain food,” Brittany mentions again. “Very sweet of you.”

Santana only shrugs although there’s a bashful smile on her face, “You know me, super thoughtful.”

“Uh-huh,” Brittany smirks before pulling her down gently for a kiss on the cheek. It takes Santana by surprise a little, but Brittany’s lips linger by Santana’s ear as she says. “I know you’re just trying to work the crowd. You’re not fooling me.”

Santana eyes go wide but she keeps a poker face, “Can’t have them thinking you’re the best girlfriend around.”

“Can’t help it if it’s true,” Brittany chuckles before letting Santana go. In a much louder voice she waves goodbye, “See you later, Fluffbottom!”

Santana pastes on a fake smile, but she can’t exit the building fast enough. The cringey terms of endearment are such a low blow!

With Brittany onto Santana’s little plan, the blonde starts to up her game too. Over the next couple of weeks, the two go back and forth just trying to one up the other in romantic gestures. They sort of make a game out of who can pull the biggest awh from the spectators that always flock the couple.

Currently, the score is pretty even but Brittany’s never too far behind.

Santana doesn’t get it, but she tries harder anyway.

The next time Brittany decides to show Santana that she’s always one step ahead of her, it’s during one of the basketball games Santana cheers for. At first, Santana didn’t even notice her in the crowd because when has Brittany ever come to a sporting event?

In fact, it’s probably the last place she’d ever expect to see Brittany.

And yet, there she is…waving eagerly with Puck by her side to get her attention.

“Awh! Santana, your girlfriend’s here to watch you cheer!” One of the girls on Santana’s squad coos. “That is so cute!”

“Yeah,” Santana answers as she keeps her eye narrowed on Brittany. “Real cute.”

It’s not until after the halftime performance that Santana’s able to make her way over to Brittany for the first time since spotting her. There’s this smug grin on the blonde’s face and Santana struggles to keep from rolling her eyes at the sight of it. She just knows Brittany’s mentally adding a point to their ongoing tally.

As Santana reaches the bottom of the bleachers, Brittany’s about halfway down the steps. Puck’s not too far behind, his entire face painted in white and Columbia blue for the occasion.

“Well this is a surprise,” Santana says once she’s close enough. “You never come to these things.”

“That’s because I’ve never dated a cheerleader before,” Brittany quips.

“I invited her,” Puck admits.

Santana looks between the two of them skeptically, “I get why Puck’s here, but you? Do you secretly like women’s basketball or something?”

Brittany shakes her head, “I don’t know a thing about it.”

“Then why are you here?” Santana questions.

“Like I said, you’re my reason.”

If anyone else was listening in, they might’ve found Brittany’s statement a little cute. Maybe if Brittany wasn’t Brittany, Santana might’ve found it cute too but she knows the blonde’s true motives. She knows she’s just trying to work the crowd so it rolls right over Santana’s head.

Instead, she looks from Brittany to Puck.

“I’m starting to question where your loyalties lie, Puckerman,” Santana tells him.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t think she’d actually say yes! I was just being nice.”

His hands are instantly thrown up in defense.

“Uh-huh.”

“He didn’t do anything. I was already thinking of coming,” Brittany interrupts with a sweet smile. “I figured I might as well add supportive girlfriend to the long list of things I’m great at and this was the perfect opportunity.”

Santana laughs off the jab, “Perfect girlfriend my ass.”

“I think it was pretty smart thinking on my part,” Brittany replies as she nods over to the entryway. “Did you know Eddie would be here?”

Santana glances in the coach’s direction and does her best to hide the fact that she forgot all about him possibly being around. “Duh. Of course he’d be here, he comes to most games.”

“Guess I should start coming to most games too then,” Brittany suggests. “Keep up appearances.”

Santana hates that Brittany’s got a point. Now’s about the time Santana would move on to the next girl and Eddie’s sure to be taking note so he can report back to Maribel. Damn Brittany and her quick thinking!

“Sure whatever,” Santana brushes off. “I need to get back. I hope you enjoy the rest of show.”

“I’ll try,” Brittany smirks before lifting the book in her hand. “I’ve got this just incase.”

“You brought a book to read at a game?” Santana tries not to laugh. “Can you at least try not being so nerdy? It’s hard to pretend to like you if you’re making it so easy for me to make fun of you.”

Brittany sighs through her smile, “It’s only a precaution incase I get bored.”

“Bored? Our performances aren’t boring,” Santana tells her. “What’s boring about a full twisted layout?”

Brittany only shrugs, “I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s a dope move that requires skill and talent.”

“So something you can’t do?” Brittany smirks.

Santana fakes a laugh, “You’re so funny.”

“What about the skirts? You like them, right?” Puck suddenly asks Brittany, still hung up on finding the games boring.

Santana nods along with him, “Everyone likes the skirts.”

Brittany’s eyes rake up Santana’s lithe frame slowly while Santana poses.

If there’s anything Santana’s more confident in, it’s her looks. She’s hot and she knows she’s hot, it’s not even about being conceited it’s pure fact. That combined with the power of a cheerleading uniform has never failed her, so it’s only a matter of time before Brittany’s admitting defeat.

When their eyes finally meet, there’s a smug grin on Santana’s face but Brittany is expressionless.

“It’s okay,” Brittany tells them with indifference.

Puck’s jaw drops, he’s practically besides himself with the news, while Santana only stares. She might not be able to read Brittany most of the time, but what she has become good at is noticing a blatant lie.

And it’s okay is one of them.

It’s like Santana’s finally found a weakness in Brittany’s front because why lie about it? If you think someone’s hot then say so, it’s no big deal – at least, to her it’s not. You don’t have to like people that you find attractive, clearly, so what’s Brittany’s deal?

Maybe it’s the lack of flirtatious banter or the build up of sex deprivation, but testing Brittany’s willpower sparks Santana’s interest and gets her thinking of a slightly better game.

“So this does nothing for you?” Santana asks again with a little shake of her hips.

In all of her years as a cheerleader, she’s never met anyone who could resist. Even without the uniform, Santana’s just got this confidence about her – this undeniable sexual magnetism – that kind of makes her irresistible.

Like she’s always said, she can’t help that she’s attractive. It truly is a gift.

Even Puck looks to Brittany for an answer. Funny thing though, Brittany doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she just maintains eye contact with Santana – unyielding and a little unnerving.

“Honey,” Brittany says sweetly. “If you’re looking for someone to drool over you keep looking.”

“Wow,” Santana laughs. “Some girlfriend you are!”

“I’m not that shallow,” Brittany quips. “I don’t care about what you wear. I’m more interested in your heart.”

“God,” Santana scrunches her nose. “Who knew you were such a cornball.”

“I thought you’d like that,” Brittany chuckles. “But seriously, you can’t distract me with a short skirt.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Santana challenges with a smirk.

Looks like Brittany’s a harder one to crack than she thought.

Thankfully though the odds are in still Santana’s favor because what holiday is only weeks away now?

Valentine’s Day.

And it’s never too early to start the scheming! Santana’s been going pretty soft in the weeks following the game Brittany surprised her at, but it was all for a purpose. She’s letting Brittany create a false sense of security, she’s letting her think she’s totally got this in the bag. And when Brittany least expects it, BAM! Santana will pull out all the stops!

That’ll definitely put an end to the Brittany’s so thoughtful, Santana you’re so lucky! The roles will totally be reversed and that’s the ultimate win – another she can add to her figurative trophy shelf!

And although Santana won’t be getting laid this year, which is so depressing, the thought of being dubbed the best girlfriend ever over Brittany is pretty up there.

So when Valentine’s week finally rolls around, Santana’s as eager as ever. She has the heart-shaped chocolates, she has the cute stuffed animal in it’s little red bowtie, but most importantly – she has the outfit.

And the outfit is everything.

“Woah,” Puck skids to a stop when he finds Santana in their kitchen dressed in her short candy striper dress. “Where are you going looking like that?”

Santana smirks as she finishes off her breakfast, “I’m going to see Brittany.”

“Dressed like that?”

“Yup.”

Puck tears his eyes away and looks at Santana like she’s crazy. “You know she’s in class, right? Not camped out a strip club.”

Santana brushes him off, “Obviously. It’s all apart of the plan.”

“What plan?” Puck laughs, “Give the girl a heart attack?”

“Sort of,” Santana starts grinning devilishly. “I’m gonna break her.”

Puck rolls his eyes, “This about the skirt thing again?”

“Yes!” Santana groans. “Don’t you think it’s weird that Brittany won’t admit that she finds me attractive?”

“Maybe she doesn’t.”

Santana eyes him like he’s lost his mind.

“Impossible,” She says.

Puck shakes his head, “This is trouble. You know that right?”

“It’s just a game between friends.”

“But you two aren’t friends,” Puck laughs as he makes a coffee.

“Shit. You’re right,” Santana pauses to think before shrugging. “Well then this is purely for my enjoyment. I haven’t had sex in like a month or made out with a hot stranger. I’m not allowed to flirt with anyone because technically I’m taken. The only joy I have left is being better than Brittany and or embarrassing the hell out of her so just let me have this.”

“Do whatever you want, Lopez.”

“Thank you,” Santana smiles angelically. She reaches for her basket of Valentine’s Day goodies, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go make some jaws drop.”

Puck only lifts his mug of coffee in salute as his best friend leaves.

So far, Santana’s outfit works like a charm. She kind of missed the way heads would roll for her whenever she walked by. She doesn’t really get that anymore with a girlfriend around and god, has she missed this attention! With Brittany, the compliments are all for show so it doesn’t really do anything for her but this – the helpless bystanders she leaves drooling in her wake?

There’s nothing fake about that.

Now when it comes to making her entrance, Santana’s a little merciful.

At first, she considered interrupting the class but she knows by now Brittany wouldn’t like that too much since she’s the biggest nerd she’s ever met and takes class super seriously. So instead, Santana waits in the hall until class finishes up. It’s an even better plan than the first because not only will she take Brittany by surprise, she’ll have an audience too without the threat of a professor telling her off for an interruption.

Santana counts the minutes, eagerly awaiting the class’s dismissal.

As the first few students start trickling out, Santana moves to stand taller – ready for showtime. There’s a sultry look on her face – one that’s been known to make knees go weak – as Brittany finally makes an appearance.

This time, Brittany’s the one taken by surprise; so much so that she does a double take when she sees Santana standing there.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Santana greets in a seductive tone.

It takes a second for Brittany to answer, her eyes struggling to stay on Santana’s. The brunette’s already taking this as a big win.

“It’s…not Valentine’s Day yet,” Brittany finally replies although she’s still visibly stunned.

“I figure I’d start early,” Santana flirts shamelessly with a soft touch to Brittany’s arm. “My girl should get a week’s worth of Valentine’s fun. Don’t you think?”

Brittany gulps, “Well…I was sort of waiting until the day to give you my gift.”

Santana smirks; she swears sweat is starting to bead around Brittany’s brow. The will power is definitely strong though, Santana can give her that!

“That’s okay,” Santana bites her lip seductively. “I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait.”

Brittany’s eyes flicker to Santana’s lips then back to meet her eyes. Something flashes in those dazzling blues and it’s like a trance has been broken. Brittany moves to stand a little straighter, her hands falling to Santana’s hips – strong and sure – as she begins to match Santana’s smirk.

“It’ll be so worth it,” Brittany flirts just as shamelessly which makes Santana falter. “Although, I don’t have anything like this is my wardrobe.”

“Only a select few have been able to pull it off,” Santana replies.

“I bet,” Brittany comments. “Looks like a lot of laces and buttons to get around.”

Santana falters again; she didn’t expect Brittany to take her words so literally but it kind of does something to her. It gives the slightest tug to something growing restless within her. But she shakes it off, keeps her eye on the prize.

“It’s quite time consuming. Have to be good with your hands,” Santana tells her.

Brittany cheeks go a little red at that and Santana quickly capitalizes on the moment.

“On top of the goodies I’ve brought, I also have these,” Santana says as she lifts her little basket. “Chocolates, every heart-shaped candy I could find, a teddy bear…”

“Looks like you’ve really outdone yourself,” Brittany notes with a peek into Santana’s basket. “How will I ever top this?”

There’s the slightest bit of sarcasm there, but Santana smirks anyway.

“You know…that’s the second time I’ve heard you say that. You might want to admit defeat while you still can.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Santana.”

“That’s the only kind of game I like to play.”

Brittany quirks her brow, “Okay.”

Santana wavers, “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Brittany chuckles.

“But – “

“I really have to get to my next class,” Brittany explains as she takes Santana’s basket while pressing a kiss to her cheek. “This was cute though.”

Cute? Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. Hell, some babies are kind of cute. But this? Santana wasn’t going for cute. She was aiming higher than that! Much, much higher!

“Wait,” Santana calls out just as Brittany’s take a few steps down the hall.

Brittany turns, looking back at her expectantly.

“You’re talking about the basket right?” Santana asks, “The basket is cute?”

Brittany sighs tiredly although the smile is still there. Her eyes dip down to Santana’s exposed legs, that short, ruffled skirt, the corset and the amazing things it does to her cleavage then back up again.

“The outfit’s not bad too,” Brittany tells her with a smirk before turning away.

Not bad, Santana thinks. It’s not the statement she would’ve gone with but it’s a step up from cute so she’ll take it. The expression on Brittany’s face when she first saw Santana was way better though.

Santana spends the rest of Valentine’s week doing cute little things here and there, but she kind of regrets starting off so strong with the outfit when the actual day comes.

It’s so typical of her to jump straight to the knockout punch instead of doing things slow and steady. She’s never had the patience for that and it’s biting her in the ass now, because all she has left up her sleeve is this giant heart-shaped balloon that she made Puck buy the night before and a bouquet of flowers.

She’s just hoping the simplicity of it is enough to get a good reaction out of the crowd, because walking towards their first class of the day together with a big ass balloon is already turning some heads. Not in the way heads turned for her on Monday, but hey – at least she has range.

When she finally does reach the lecture hall, it’s no surprise that Brittany’s already seated inside.

“Really Santana?” Professor Martinez sighs when Santana struggles to get the balloon through the door. “Don’t you think that’s a little distracting?”

“You know what else is distracting?” Santana quips as she sets her eyes on Brittany. “The adoration I have for my girlfriend.”

“Here we go,” Professor Martinez laughs. “I almost like it better when you two were constantly fighting.”

Santana brushes him off as she makes her way to Brittany, “This is for you.”

Brittany looks up at her reflection in the shiny red of the giant balloon, “Of course it is.”

“And also these,” Santana then presents Brittany with the bouquet. “I went with something a little out of the ordinary, you know, thinking outside of the box. I know how much you appreciate – “

“I’m allergic to sunflowers.”

Santana’s heart drops, “What?”

“Yeah,” Brittany leans back. “Deathly allergic.”

“Shit,” Santana instantly jolts away from her but Brittany starts to laugh. “Wait, seriously?”

“No, not seriously,” Brittany giggles as she accepts the gifts. “Who’s allergic to sunflowers?”

“Uh, I don’t know!” Santana frowns. “I’m sure someone out there is.”

Brittany quiets down, “Sorry. That was a little mean.”

Santana shakes her head as she takes the seat beside Brittany.

“And people say I’m mean,” She says.

Brittany leans over and kisses her cheek, “I don’t think anyone says that.”

Santana lets out a laugh, “You say that.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought,” Brittany shrugs. “Anyway, since we’re doing gifts already I can take you to part one of yours after class?”

“Part one?”

“Mhmm,” Brittany hums. “It should be ready by then. Part two needs a little more time.”

Santana gets to thinking what Brittany could possibly have planned, but Professor Martinez interrupts with the beginning of his lecture. Once again, Santana’s lack of patience has her completely distracted all class.

“It’s in the art wing?” Santana questions as she follows after Brittany who has been tight-lipped since the end of class.

“Looks that way,” Brittany chuckles. “You’ll find out soon enough if you just quit asking questions.”

“I can’t help that I’m impatient.”

“Sure you can.”

Santana sighs and continues following Brittany until they reach their destination just a few minutes later. It’s a narrow hallway with a line of wooden doors and they’re stopped at the very first one.

“It’s in there?” Santana asks.

“Yup,” Brittany grins. “I’ll have to blindfold you though.”

“Kinky,” Santana smirks.

Brittany blushes through an eye roll, “Just turn around so I can put this on you.”

Santana continues joking as she turns for her, “I should’ve known, the quiet ones are always the kinkiest.”

“I’m not quiet,” Brittany replies as she tightens the blindfold around Santana’s head.

“I mean,” Santana snickers, “Just wanky.”

“Can you see anything?”

“Obviously not.”

“Perfect,” Brittany says and takes Santana by the hand.

Santana can hear the door creak open and she’s instantly hit with the scent of flowers. The blindfold’s kind of pointless now because the floral aroma gives away the surprise almost instantly, but just as she’s about to say something – Brittany pushes her to sit down.

Now, Santana’s been blindfolded a handful of times in her life. Santana’s also been pushed to sit down a handful of times in her life too. The combination of the two - historically for her – has lead to some pretty steamy times.

Obviously that won’t be the case here, but God does she wish it were.

The thought makes her wonder if it would matter if the person on the other side of that blindfold was still Brittany, but she doesn’t get to come up with an answer as the blindfold is soon pulled off.

Santana blinks at the sudden bright light to find that she’s surrounded by flowers. Like, a ton of them! They’re in buckets, in pots, in glass vases and in…red solo cups?

“I ran out of space,” Brittany comments when she notices Santana looking confused.

“Right,” Santana breathes out and as she turns to admire the entire room she’s even more surprised by what else she sees – a bunch of people staring back at her through a glass window.

That’s when she realizes that Brittany’s led her to an art display case, a display case that nearly everyone in the entire building walks by on their way to and from class. Santana quickly plasters on a smile while she’s on display in front of the crowd as Brittany comes to wrap an arm around her.

“Didn’t think you were the only one with a few tricks up her sleeve, huh?” Brittany whispers through her smirk.

“How’d you even get access to this case?” Santana wonders. “Don’t you have to book them like three months in advance?”

“I know a guy,” Brittany teases. “Now wave to our audience. They’re all here to witness this, they’ve known about it all week.”

Santana fights the eyeroll and waves, “You know, just because you fill a room full of flowers doesn’t mean you win this.”

“They’re not just any flowers though. I did my research,” Brittany defends. “They’re the lesbians of flowers.”

Santana looks around the room and deadpans, “Oh wow.”

“Didn’t know that was a thing, did you?”

“I can’t say that I did, no.”

“Just wait until part two of your gift,” Brittany tells her.

Santana looks back at her hesitantly, “When’s that gonna be?”

Brittany begins to smirk, “When you least expect it.”

Yeah, Santana’s really regretting starting off the week strong now.

When you least expect it ends up meaning later that day during Santana’s cheer practice.

They’re out on the field for training because Coach Roz loves reminding everyone how much of a privilege it is to be able to practice in a heated gym. Apparently when she trained for the Olympics, their gym didn’t have heating so now once a month they train without heating too.

With it being the middle of February in New York, it’s fucking cold. Santana’s past complaining about her tits freezing off and is now just trying to get the hell out of there as fast as she can now that practice is finally over.

She almost gets away with it too, until all the lights in the stadium suddenly turn on causing everyone to stop and look around.

Santana’s been on edge ever since the whole Lesbians of Flowers incident took place earlier in the day, so she eyes her surroundings suspiciously – waiting for Brittany to fall from the sky dressed like cupid or something ridiculous and over the top.

What she doesn’t expect is to see the school’s Glee Club take the stands with Brittany leading them.

“Oh no,” Santana mumbles as microphone feedback echoes throughout the field. “She better not.”

“Attention all Lions,” Brittany’s voice booms over the loud speaker. “As a final Valentine’s Day treat, I’ve enlisted some friends to help me dedicate a little song to my favorite person ever.”

Santana’s face suddenly feels red hot. She barely feels the cold February air now as everyone turns to look at her. If there’s anything that embarrasses her more, it’s being serenaded in public – especially without any alcohol involved.

“This one’s for you, Sweet Cheeks!” Brittany says before the Glee Club starts up with their harmonizing.

As soon as they start singing Britney Spears’ (You Drive Me) Crazy, Santana doesn’t know whether to laugh or take offence. The song choice is actually kind of perfect for them in the literal sense as Santana gets to listening to the lyrics.

Obviously not every line is accurate, but Santana finds herself giggling as the performance goes on. Brittany’s totally feeling it though; dancing along with the Glee Clubbers in her own way although she looks so out of place next to their bland, choreographed steps.

She actually ends up dancing down the bleachers and Santana eagerly awaits a misstep, but it never happens. Leave it to Brittany to be able to dance down bleacher steps while other people usually struggle coming down the things normally.

Slightly out of breath, Brittany skips over to Santana with the smuggest grin yet.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” She says.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Santana replies.

“What’d you think about my part two?” Brittany nods over to the performance still going on.

“Definitely not what I had in mind,” Santana chuckles.

“I’ve paid them to repeat the performance until I give them a signal.”

“Give the signal now then,” Santana urges with a laugh.

“No way, I love this song!” Brittany starts to shimmy her shoulders, “Picked it out myself, you know. Britney’s kind of iconic.”

“Brittany likes Britney,” Santana quips. “Why am I not surprised?”

The blonde rolls her eyes, “You can go ahead admit defeat now.”

“I’ll be doing no such thing,” Santana crosses her arms. “Game’s not over until I say it is and since public humiliation is apparently on the table – “

“A sing-o-gram is hardly public humiliation,” Brittany argues.

“Maybe if they weren’t tone deaf losers then sure.”

Brittany puts a hand on her hip, “That was mean.”

“Just keeping it real,” Santana shrugs. “But seriously. Make them stop.”

Brittany sighs, “Fine.”

Suddenly, she takes Santana in her arms and dips her. A kiss lands on her cheek but to everyone else still watching them it looks as if it’s made contact with Santana’s lips. Santana hangs onto Brittany’s jacket for dear life, just hoping that the girl doesn’t drop her.

She doesn’t and soon Santana’s being stood upright again. The smug grin is back again as blue eyes sparkle with mischief.

“That was your signal?” Santana questions when she realizes the singing finally stopped.

Brittany shrugs, “Felt like it fit the moment.”

“Didn’t think it was a little dramatic?”

“My adoration for you is a little dramatic,” Brittany quips.

Santana just shakes her head and laughs. She knows just what to do to give Brittany a taste of her own medicine. Like the blonde, Santana just has to wait until she least expects it.

The moment happens to arise a couple weeks later when Puck mentions something about Brittany inviting him to some big Brainiacs’ match.

“I can’t go though,” Puck tells Santana. “Got a hot date.”

“Right,” Santana replies – the gears already turning.

“You busy?” He asks. “Maybe you can go instead?”

Santana smirks, “I’m one step ahead of you.”

It’s pretty short notice, but Santana acts fast in gathering her necessary supplies. The pure embarrassment she felt on Valentine’s Day fuels her as she breaks out the posterboard and markers. She even takes it a step further and scours Brittany’s social media for some headshots, anything that won’t go all pixelated on fabric. She narrows it down to a select few and gets to work. In all her years as a cheerleader, Santana’s become well acquainted with showing a little spirit and her decorating skills are on point!

When the night of the match finally comes, Santana arrives to the building in her freshly bedazzled t-shirt donning pictures of Brittany’s face along side a giant Number One Nerd as well as a poster decorated in a similar fashion. There’s no denying who Brittany’s number one fan truly is.

“Santana!” Tina greets her at the entrance. “Hi! This is a first. Oh wow, I love your shirt!”

“Just being a supportive girlfriend,” Santana grins – loving the publicity she’ll be sure to get with Tina around. “I never get a chance to go to Brittany’s matches with cheer practice. Thought I should go all out.”

“It’s a tough match tonight,” Tina tells her. “I’m sure you know that already. The Brainiacs will be grateful for the support.”

“Brittany will crush it,” Santana replies confidently.

When Santana gets inside, she quickly finds a spot near the front so Brittany won’t have any trouble spotting her in the crowd. Not like she could when Santana’s holding a bright blue poster.

She walks the narrow aisle like a tightrope and settles in an empty seat between two older couples. They’re probably here to support someone on either team or maybe just here because they lost a bet – who knows. Santana, however, is here on a mission and there’s nothing more exciting than the suspense in embarrassing the crap out of Brittany.

Once the match begins, an announcer strolls out to introduce the teams.

Santana doesn’t pay him any mind or the geeks that slowly start making their entrance until she hears Brittany’s name. She’s on her feet in an instant as she goes into full cheerleader mode.

“Go Brittany!” She calls out – her voice louder than the sound of applause – as she waves her poster excitedly. She can feel those around her staring, but she doesn’t care because the look of complete disbelief on Brittany’s face is even better.

Suddenly the couple next to her stands and starts to cheer, “Go Brittany!”

Santana eyes them curiously, wondering if she just started something or they’re just chiming in along with her. They’re just as loud, if not louder, but what’s even more curious is the way Brittany shies away from the attention.

Still though, Santana continues to wave as Brittany walks across the stage to her seat. It’s not until Brittany’s seated that Santana tops off her antics by blowing her a kiss then watches with a satisfied grin as she sees Brittany’s face go red.

Safe to say, Santana won this round.

Despite the fact that academic decathlon club is just a glorified way of saying trivia team, Santana’s kind of surprised by how well Brittany actually does. The girl hasn’t missed a question yet which is saying something because Santana hasn’t heard of half of the things these questions consist of.

Another thing that sticks out to Santana is the fact that Brittany’s the only girl on the team. She wonders what that must be like, especially considering most of the guys on Brittany’s team seem really…fucking pretentious.

Their team captain? An absolute dickhead, Santana’s sure of it judging by the way he didn’t clap for Brittany’s correct answer. Some team captain he is and the others just follow his lead.

And Santana doesn’t know why, but seeing the way they interact with Brittany just makes her want to cheer even louder. She doesn’t even care when the rest of Brittany’s team glare at her, she’ll probably never see them again after this.

“Go Brittany!” Santana yells when Brittany answers correctly again. This time she makes eye contact with the couple next to her and explains, “That’s my girlfriend.”

The woman blinks, strangely similarly to Brittany, “I didn’t know Brittany was dating anyone.”

“Brittany’s dating someone?” The man next to her asks. “What happened to Artie?”

Santana tilts her head to the side, “Who’s Artie?”

The couple share a look while Santana starts connecting the dots. The woman’s blonde hair and striking blue eyes, the man’s t-shirt donning Brittany’s name and face – which she didn’t realize until now.

Suddenly, it dawns on her.

“Wait. Are you,” Santana stammers. “Are you Brittany’s parents?”

The woman smiles as she nods, “I’m her mom, Whitney. This is Pierce, her dad.”

The man next to her waves, “Hi. I’m Pierce.”

“I just said that,” Whitney whispers to him.

“Did you? I didn’t hear.”

Santana’s stunned, unsure of what she’s meant to do. She already introduced herself as Brittany’s girlfriend but Brittany doesn’t need a fake girlfriend – does she? And who the hell is Artie?

She’s starting to panic a little as Brittany’s reaction earlier starts to make sense. All this time, Santana’s been sitting next to her parents and she couldn’t do a thing about it! And when it comes to parents, she’s not like Brittany. She’s never been the girl people take home to meet their parents!

This is unknown territory and she can’t believe she’s even thinking it but where’s Brittany when she needs her?

“And you are?” Whitney asks – breaking Santana out of her thoughts.

Santana blinks, “Sorry?”

“Your name, dear.”

“Oh!” Santana blushes, “Duh. Sorry, I’m Santana.”

“Pretty name,” Whitney compliments.

“Santana,” Pierce repeats the name like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

Santana nods, wondering if she should be giving them the well-rehearsed spiel about their relationship or if she should just wait for Brittany. She’s really at a loss here and keeps looking to Brittany for some type of signal, but the girl is too focused on the trivia.

“So you have classes together?” Whitney asks, “You and Brittany?”

Santana swallows dryly, “Yeah. We have a couple together.”

“That’s nice,” Whitney replies. “You know our Brittany is the first in the family to go to college? Technically she’s gone to two so that’s even better.”

Santana’s brows rise at the information, “I-I didn’t know that, no.”

“She’s really something special,” She tells Santana. “We try to go to as many of her matches as we can. She’s just so smart.”

“We don’t know where she gets it from,” Pierce jokes. “Definitely not me.”

Whitney sighs through her smile, “It did take us all by surprise.”

Santana briefly remembers her and Brittany’s conversation on their flight back to campus. There was something about Brittany being left behind, about people not seeing her potential and giving up. It makes her wonder if her parents were lumped into that group, although it’s hard to imagine such a nice couple doing something like that to Brittany.

When the match ends awhile later – another win for the Brainiacs – Santana anxiously awaits Brittany’s entrance. So far the conversation with Brittany’s parents never exceeded surface level stuff which is a relief but she can tell there are questions and she doesn’t think she can answer them on her own.

“Mom, dad,” Brittany greets. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“We thought we’d surprise you since we’ve missed your last couple of matches,” Whitney says.

Brittany nods and looks to Santana.

“We had similar ideas,” Santana explains. “Being that I’m a supportive girlfriend and all.”

“I see,” Brittany catches on and wraps her arm around Santana’s waist. “It was a great surprise.”

Whitney and Pete look between the two and start to smile.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were dating someone, Britt-Britt?” Pierce asks.

Santana’s brows rise at the nickname, “Yeah Britt-Britt. Wanna keep me a secret?”

Brittany forces a laugh as she subtly pinches Santana’s side.

“Kidding,” Santana amends.

“I was going to tell you this weekend,” Brittany explains to her parents. “I’ve been really focused on preparing for this match. It’s been a pretty busy week.”

“That’s okay, dear,” Whitney replies. “We just want to be kept in the loop.”

Brittany frowns, “Yeah sure. Well, we’ve got to get going.”

“What?” Santana quirks her brow.

Whitney and Pierce respond similarly, “You don’t want to go for dinner or ice cream or something? You know, like we used to?”

“Santana and I have plans already,” Brittany tells them. “Maybe tomorrow though if you’re still around.”

Whitney and Pierce exchange a look, “We were going to drive back tomorrow morning.”

“Right,” Brittany shrugs. “Well maybe next time then.”

Santana watches as Brittany begins saying her goodbyes to her parents. She can sense the awkward tension and it makes her feel weird for intruding, but it doesn’t last long as Brittany loops her arms with hers and drags her away.

“Uh, what was that about?” Santana questions when they’re outside. “You don’t want to hang out with your parents?”

Brittany ignores the questions as they get to walking, “Sorry if they were annoying or anything.”

Santana grows even more confused, “They weren’t. They just want to cheer you on. How's that annoying?”

“I forgot I was talking to the captain of the cheer squad,” Brittany deflects again with a smirk.

“I'm not captain.”

Brittany looks to her, “You're not?"

Santana shakes her head, “Nope. People suspect favoritism when your step dad is the football coach.”

Brittany scoffs, “What's he have to do with cheerleading?”

“Exactly,” Santana says before getting back on topic. “Anyway, your parents seem sweet.”

“I guess.”

Santana looks at her, “No?”

It takes Brittany a second to answer, “They just, they haven't always been there for me growing up. They had no problem handing me off when something more important came up, you know?”

Santana shakes her head, “What could be more important than their kid?”

“Beats me,” Brittany shrugs. “But I guess they're trying to make up for that now.”

Santana nods, noticing the forlorn look on Brittany’s face and how misplaced it looks. Her comment gets her thinking about her dad and how he wasn’t around that often either, but he never let her forget how proud he was of her accomplishments. Even if he wasn’t around a lot, Santana never doubted how he felt about her.

With Brittany, she doesn’t think she returns the sentiment.

“Well, that's pretty fucked up,” Santana admits. Brittany looks back at her questioningly but Santana only shrugs, “I'd totally be there for my kid especially if they were half as smart as you.”

Brittany starts to grin and that forlornness suddenly disappears and morphs into something Santana’s a lot more familiar with.

“Didn't know you knew how to give compliments,” Brittany quips.

Santana rolls her eyes, “And there you go making me regret it.”

#Hate to Date #Brittana #Brittana Fanfiction #Enemies to Lovers #Fake Dating AU

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vodkassassin · 3 years

Text

world state: refresh, chapter 1

Summary: Something goes wrong with the plant body contingency plan, and Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua both end up perishing. However, it appears that the System isn’t finished with them, yet. And with their new promotions, this life they find themselves in seems more like a well-deserved vacation. / Back in their previous world, the people who knew them are still in mourning. And some of them are not willing to let them go.

—

“Dude! I thought the plan was to not die!”

“I —!”

“All that work for nothing! And you didn’t just fuck up, you had to drag me down with you? I thought we were bros, man. I thought we were cool!”

Shen Yuan shrinks back, watching him with wide eyes. “Why are you yelling at me?”

“Am I yelling?” Shang Qinghua crosses his arms and turns away. “I am just so sick of dying, bro! I thought we had a contingency, so I wasn’t worried, but now! What the fuck was that?”

“I couldn’t just,” Shen Yuan reaches up and pulls at his hair in aggravation. “I couldn’t just let that happen to Binghe!”

It’s kind of weird seeing him with such a slight build and shorter hair and big eyes a bright blue, when Shang Qinghua has long since become used to the broader shoulders and taller build and long, pin-straight hair of Shen Qingqiu. Shen Yuan’s got some curl to his hair. His eyelashes go on for days.

This must be how his bro looked like back in the real world. Or, their first world. After all this, there’s no way in hell that Shang Qinghua can call the world they’d just left fake or pretend.

He wishes he could.

Shang Qinghua makes a face and squints at his friend. Should he even call him that? After all, he… “You literally committed suicide. And you took me with you. Without asking! Bro, we’re both dead!”

“It’s not my fault that the plant bodies didn’t work!” Shen Yuan wails, and Shang Qinghua jerks back, stunned. Well, it seems that the cool and collected poker face of Shen Qingqiu had been left behind with the body itself. “You told me it was ready! And I didn’t ask you to stand so close to me when I detonated!”

“How was I suppose to know that’s what you were going to do?!” Shang Qinghua shrieks. He points an accusing finger at the other man. “We had a plan, you jerk! I kinda expected that we’d, oh I don’t know, go by it? Just a little bit? Play our parts? You changed the script on me without even giving me a cue!”

“Stop talking about it like it’s a stupid movie!” Shen Yuan says, and oh man his eyes are round and tearful. That’s not fair. “Binghe was going nuclear on us, Airplane! What was I suppose to do, let him destroy the world? Because you and I both know that’s what was about to happen!”

Shang Qinghua flinches back. He ducks his head and hunches his shoulder, looking away with a glare.

Shen Yuan sighs. He clears his throat, and says, “... I’m sorry I took you with me. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I tried to wait until you were out of range, but….”

Shang Qinghua sniffs.

“The only person capable of surviving a blast like that would be the protagonist.” He sullenly admits.

The both of them are silent at that. Shang Qinghua glares down at the vast expanse of blackness that surrounds them, leaving nothing to be seen but each other, somehow untouched by the dark. It almost seems like it might be a dream, but Shang Qinghua already knows what death feels like, and that had been it.

Can he even call himself Shang Qinghua anymore, if he’d left the body of that identity behind?

“I hope it was enough to fix Xin Mo’s influence on him,” Shen Yuan murmurs worriedly. “We’re not around anymore to mitigate the damage or direct the plot. What’s going to happen now? What if our absence means that the canon plot takes over again? Was it all for nothing?”

Shang Qinghua — Airplane drops his shoulders, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly. He feels way too old for this. Why can’t death be the final rest it was suppose to be? Why does this keep happening?

“Where even are we?” He asks.

There’s a familiar ding that echoes endlessly in the void around them. Airplane shares a glance with Shen Yuan, both their expressions bearing the same look of dread and exasperation.

“Why?” Shen Yuan bemoans.

“We’re not done?” Shang Qinghua demands, feeling suddenly furious as a window, slightly too light against the inky blackness, pops up before them. “Are you kidding me?”

He turns away from the blinding brightness and covers his face, muttering furiously under his hitching breath. It’s not fair! What are they, slaves to the System? Airplane is so tired.

“What,” he hears Shen Yuan breathe out beside him.

There’s a tug on his sleeve — they’re both wearing the same robes they died in, resized to fit their new (or rather, their old) bodies but just as dirty — and he turns to glance at his friend, only to find Shen Yuan gaping at the System window in astonishment.

“Airplane,” his friend insists, eyes wide. “Airplane, read it.”

With a put upon sigh, Airplane turns back toward the window and squints at it.

Congratulations, Host 74 and Host 81! Due to your exemplary efforts to rewrite the plot of World-0690, both of you have been promoted!

“What,” Airplane gapes. “A promotion? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Keep reading,” Shen Yuan urges him, eyes still round in shock.

In compensation for your hard work and the troubles faced in World-0690, Hosts have been given the choice of their next assignments!

“I don’t want to,” Airplane whimpers. He turns away from the half-read window and throws himself at his friend.

Shen Yuan lets out a sound of surprise as he catches him, and a hand automatically goes up to pet at Airplane’s head as he buries his face into Shen Yuan’s neck.

“I — Airplane? What’s — ?”

“I don’t want to do it again,” he says, eyes stinging. Fuck, he’s crying. He squeezes his eyes shut and clings to his friend. “I don’t want to. I’m done. I don’t want to anymore. Shen Yuan, I don’t want to!”

“Shit,” his friend mutters. The hand in his hair is comforting, stroking back and forth in a heavy pet.

Airplane sucks in a deep breath, which is a mistake, because it immediately bursts back out of him in a jarring sob.

He’s just so, so done. He doesn’t want to! He isn’t sure what he does want, just that he doesn’t want this! Please, please don’t make him! Not again! Airplane is done!

Shen Yuan speaks again, louder this time. “Airplane, listen. It’ll be different this time, okay? It’s giving us a choice!”

“I don’t want to,” Airplane cries.

“Um… How about I read us the, uh… the options. Okay?”

He sniffles. It’s not like there’s a decline button, he checked before he even started reading the damn window. This isn’t fair. This is so goddamn unfair.

Shakily, he nods his head against Shen Yuan chest. “... Okay.”

“Alright. So, um… option one is to be reborn with a system in a new world that requires a rewrite. It’ll be like how we ended up in PIDW, but we’ll have to read the plot beforehand so we know what we’re going into.”

“No,” Airplane jerks back, glaring up at his friend fiercely from beneath his damp lashes. “I will not be born again. I’m not growing up for another time. My childhoods in both worlds were shitty, I’m not letting myself be a child again, Shen Yuan!”

Shen Yuan gives him a weak smile. “Third time’s the charm?”

Airplane just continues to glare at him. The other man drops the smile and sighs.

“Yeah, okay, it’s a definite no to option one. I don’t wanna go through infancy or, hell, puberty again, either. So, option two…”

Airplane is quiet as his friend gazes up at the window and rereads their options. He refuses to turn around and look at it. He doesn’t want to see it. He’s so sick of the fucking System.

[Host….]

Fuck.

Shut up.

[This system apologizes—]

Shut up, shut up, shut up! Aren’t we done with you? Haven’t I finished what you wanted? Our mission is over, right? I don’t want to talk to you! Leave me alone!

[....]

“Okay, option two,” Shen Yuan says, eyes fixed on the window. Airplane lets his forehead drop to rest against his friend’s shoulder. “We can transmigrate into already written lives, fully grown bodies. Our task in that case would be to help stop the end of the world.”

“Fuck that,” Airplane and Shen Yuan both scoff at the same time.

Airplane draws back from his friend’s embrace to share a grin with him.

“I’m sick of responsibilities. How many options are there?”

Shen Yuan glances back up to scan the window. “There’s a few pages worth… Hey, System?”

There’s a ding. Airplane directs his gaze determinedly on his friend’s face and doesn’t look behind him.

“Can you filter the options?” Another ding. “Okay, filter out all options that require us to play a prewritten character or save a world.”

Ding! Airplane watches avidly as Shen Yuan’s expression smooths out into something pleased. The other man glances back down at him, and then blinks when he realizes that Airplane has been staring at him the entire time. He coughs, and pink flushes over his cheeks.

Airplane feels a smirk crawl onto his face. “Aw, bro. You know, you’re pretty cute like this. Is this how you looked like back — uh, in our first lives?”

Shen Yuan’s blush deepens. “I — uh… yeah, I think so? I don’t have a mirror, so I can’t be one-hundred percent sure…”

Then, the other man smirks back at him, a teasing light entering his bright eyes. “You’re not too shabby yourself, bro. Actually, you’re freaking adorable. If I knew this was what Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky looked like, I’d have never even tried taking your papapa scenes seriously.”

“You never took them seriously anyway,” Airplane scoffs, fighting off his own blush. He stares into the inky blackness of the void instead. “Besides, no one should have taken them seriously.”

“Eh? Why?”

The smirk crawls back over Airplane’s face, and he glances up at Shen Yuan from beneath his eyelashes. “I’m ace.”

Shen Yuan pauses. He stares down at him, speechless for a few long moments. Airplane lifts one hand to hide how his smirk has transformed into a grin. His shoulders shake with amusement.

Finally, Shen Yuan’s face breaks into incredulousness.

“You —? Are you serious?” The man wheezes. He reaches out and slaps a hand against Airplane’s shoulder, and then does it a few more times. “Are you fucking serious? A joke! The entire thing was a joke this whole time? Airplane, I’m gonna fucking kill you, oh my god!”

Despite his words, the slaps are gentle. Shen Yuan still has one arm wrapped around him in a hug.

Airplane bursts into laughter.

“I mean,” he giggles. “The story itself wasn’t a joke? But the reader count skyrocketed after the first smut scene, and the subscriptions mirrored that. I was just a starving college student, bro. I hadn’t eaten in three days, I needed some cash.”

Shen Yuan’s hits cease, and a serious expression overcomes his outrage.

“Was it really that bad?” He quietly asks.

Airplane bites his lip and looks away. “It’s been worse than that, but… Yeah. It’s what helped me make the decision to lead PIDW into the stallion novel genre. I kept the actual story to myself and just focused on writing what the subscribers demanded. It was a huge blow to my integrity as an author, and there were a lot of times that I hated myself for it, but I was too hungry to care most of the time.”

“Shit,” Shen Yuan presses a hand over his mouth. Airplane looks away entirely before he can see the pity that’s likely to be in his friend’s expression. “That’s shitty, man. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” he shrugs. “After being born into it, though, there’s a lot of times I wish I’d just gone with my original draft. Starving would have been better than… a lot of what happened, back there as Shang Qinghua.”

Shen Yuan’s arm tightens around him. His hand finds its way back into Airplane’s hair.

“Hey,” he says, quietly. “What’s your name?”

Airplane snorts. “Shang Lei.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He buries his face into Shen Yuan’s chest and laughs. “No, that’s my name.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

He smacks Shen Yuan in the arm, grinning. “Yes, I’m serious.”

“You hack writer. You’re so original, I’m in awe.”

Airplane rolls his eyes and snuggles into his friend’s hug. “I’d offer to let you read the original PIDW, but I don’t have it with me, and I think it would hit differently now that we both uh, actually know most of the characters personally.”

Shen Yuan makes a face. “Man. I’d totally read it, too, if it wasn’t for that. And besides, the way you wrote Binghe... that’s not him. Not anymore.”

“Yeah. You raised him differently.”

There’s a quiet sound, like sniffling. “I … I don’t think I did such a good job,” Shen Yuan whispers, and his voice is thick.

Airplane closes his eyes.

“Anyway.” He says. “Our options?”

“... Right.” Shen Yuan coughs. He straightens up. His arm tightens around Airplane like one might clutch at a teddy bear. Airplane accepts it. “Um…. The filters have narrowed down the list quite a bit. How do you feel about being reborn as forest hermits in a farming simulation become reality?”

“Um. Pass. I’m not much for manual labor.”

Shen Yuan laughs. Airplane can feel the way his body trembles with it against him. He smiles and rests his head into the crook of his friend’s neck.

“Yeah, neither am I. Uh, there’s…. Demon Lords — nah, that’s R18. We know how that goes, and since you’re ace, no thanks. Um, there’s actually a lot of otome-type worlds. Weird. System, filter out those ones.”

Airplane yawns. He’s still feeling upset over all of this, but he’s come to a decision.

Whatever new world they end up in — and goddammit, it’ll be together — he’s not going to allow Shen Yuan convince him to let himself become attached to the characters this time. He’d done so well, in the first half of his life as Shang Qinghua, keeping himself distanced from his peers and enemies alike. Life went by quick and mostly painlessly, when you didn’t connect with anyone. The real pain came after Shen Yuan talked him into seeing the people of that world as actual people.

It was lonely before then, sure. He’s not sure the hurt that came after was worth it, though. Plus, this time he’ll have his bro at his side. That’s all he’ll need.

“Oh, hello.”

He pulls back from his friend’s comfy embrace to look up at him. “Find a good one?”

“I think so,” Shen Yuan tells him. He’s smiling up at the window, and he’s got one eyebrow raised. “This one is ‘Become Game Masters of an ARMMRPG.’”

“Eh?” Airplane frowns. “... Doesn’t it mean, uh, a VRMMORPG? Like in anime?”

“No. This one is Alternate Reality Massive Multiplayer Role Playing Game. Instead of being a virtual world, in this… story, I guess? In this story, the player characters are actually people capable of dimensional travel. Each ‘game’ is a different dimension, and the people can only die in their home dimension. From the description, it’s basically the same as the synopsis of your run of the mill VRMMORPG anime, except the virtual games are real worlds.”

“Sure, but if they’re real worlds, then what does being a Game Master mean?”

Shen Yuan grins down at him.

“Hey, Airplane,” he says. “How do you feel about being an actual god?”

—

Luo Binghe curls up on his throne like a child might sit in their mother’s lap, but there is no warmth to be found for him in this position. He clutches his knees to his chest and fights off another bout of these ceaseless tears. What’s a throne worth, what’s the seat of an emperor worth, what is all the power that he’s spent years accumulating worth, if Luo Binghe himself is actually useless regarding what truly matters?

He’s the king of an entire realm, territories a-plenty in the human one as well, but none of it matters anymore.

Nothing can matter, not now.

He launches himself off the throne, startling the line of servants that kneel on the gilded floor. He ignores their jolts and their gasps of surprise, turning on his heel to leave the room entirely. It’s only a few doors deep into the private wing behind his throne, a room in the center of his palace that is more secure than any place else in all the world.

He throws open the door, and catches it before it can slam shut. He closes it with barely a whisper.

It feels wrong, making too much noise in this room. Being too loud.

Shizun never liked it to be too noisy.

Luo Binghe’s eyes sting as he approaches the shrouded and still form that lies on the dias in the center of the room. He kneels before it, and then lowers himself further to press his forehead against the cold stone floor.

“Shizun,” he whimpers. “This lowly disciple is so sorry. This scum will repent for as long as it takes. Binghe will kneel for eternity if that is what it takes. But please, please. Come back.”

His voice cracks on the last word. It echoes quietly in the room, bouncing off the walls and reaching back to him until all the Luo Binghe is able to hear are the reverberations of his own useless please.

Just like every time before, the form he kowtows to is silent and unmoving. Cold. Dead.

Luo Binghe has made the worst mistakes, and there is no way to fix them.

[Read ch. 2]

#scum villain's self saving system #world state: refresh #cucumberplane #shen yuan #shang qinghua #vodkassassin fanfiction

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strayinvelvet · 3 years

Text

still at it

work is starting to pile and you kind of expected your boyfriend to support you, not annoy you

pairing: han jisung x reader

genre: fluff, implied enemies-to-lovers

wc: 1.3k

warning: swearing :(

a/n: happy hearts day, cuties! part of @districtninewriters dear skz, with love. this took so long mainly because of the recent news, yea. i’m so nervous about this i really hope i did the prompt and project some justice. phew (っ＾▿＾)💨. enjoyyy (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

“You’re insufferable.”

You rolled your eyes at the neon yellow post-it note placed on your office desk. It’s still early in the morning and you have a long eventful day ahead of you which is why you tried to get to work as early as possible.

The busy days have officially started for your company. Your partner company is planning to launch a new collection in their fast-growing fashion brand in Berlin and your company, being the most sought out marketing team in the industry, is tasked to implement the most appropriate marketing and advertising plan for the collection. Even the people working for you are already on their desks working on what they are assigned to do. Some are having coffee while some are already writing papers that are nearing their deadline. In conclusion, everybody looked busy and none of them looked suspicious enough to be part of this very eye catching note thing.

Rolling your eyes once again, you sat at your table and picked up the surprise note. Truthfully, even at first glance, you already know the person behind it. How could you forget this one of a kind handwriting, the one you so hated to see back when you were in high school. Han Jisung. That little shit is still going at it.

You folded it in half before placing it in between the pages of your planner. As if on cue, your secretary knocked on your office door asking for permission to enter. As soon as she entered your office, she immediately briefed you of your schedule for today. Meetings, briefings and scheduling of future meetings and partnerships. Exciting. You’re starting to regret all of your life choices.

“Oh and by the way, is this yours?” she showed another yellow note, “this was stuck on your office door.” You sighed. Just how many of these did he make? “Leave it on my table and then meet me at the meeting hall for the first meeting,” you gestured towards your table. “Will do.” with that, she left you to do your own stuff.

“And annoying.”

Yep, he’s one of the decisions you’re starting to regret (maybe not but you like exaggerating). You’re not gonna lie, at this time of the year, you expected little notes that would inspire you, make your heart sing love songs, or rush the blood to your cheeks. These notes, however, only made your blood boil. You swore that when you see him once you’re back from Berlin, he’s going to get it. You kept the note the same way you did to the previous ones. Goodness, if only he wasn’t a major player of your partner company.

You reached for your phone and dialed his phone number and true enough he answered just after two rings, “Are you fucking for real?”

You heard him laugh at the other line before asking your question, “Shouldn’t you be planning our marketing strategy?”

“I am and your lovely notes are helping me big time, seriously. And shouldn’t you be working on the collection’s designs instead of this bullshit?”

“Hey, I am currently approving those that are outstanding. I’m not like you who-”

You know he’s gonna bully you, you just know. So, you quickly ended the call before anymore bullshit comes out of his mouth. With your nth eye roll for the day, you stood up to attend your first agenda.

Hours passed and the series of formal business stuff is starting to get to you. Your butt is sore from sitting all day, plus your muscles are in dire need of a stretch. The last meeting of the day has just been adjourned minutes ago and you and your secretary are taking your time to breathe in your office. "Miss Y/n, your trip to Berlin is in two days. Have you packed?” well until your secretary went to business mode real quick.

“Kim, please, give me a minute,” you laughed but answered her question nonetheless, “Yes, I have and oh, can you try to squeeze in my schedule for the first four days so I could have the last two to myself?”

“That would drain you,” she answered confusingly. She’s not wrong, tho. You contemplated for a while but honestly, you wanted to explore Berlin too and you can’t do that by sitting in a meeting room for a week. “Better than seeing Berlin through a floor-to-ceiling window glass pane.”

Kim nodded, "I will update your schedule. Maybe you should bring your boyfriend over," she suggested which also suggests that she doesn’t know who the notes are from. “It’s a business trip, Kim. And I don’t know if i should agree or disagree with that.”

You both laughed lightly before Kim left you to fix your schedule per your request. You, on the other hand, are willing to give everything just to lay on your bed or have a warm shower. Whatever door is nearer to your entrance. So you left as fast as you arrived at this building just to feel the comfort of your home.

The apartment you were greeted with is not the same apartment you left. You left yours with unfolded clothes everywhere, full trash bin and sink and a disorganized living room. You tend to be messy when you’re ridiculously busy. But this, the place in front of you, is like a whole different scene. Every corner is squeaky clean from the shoe organizer to the kitchen. The apartment lights are also set to dim with candle lights and all but enough to see everything. Soon after, the smell of delicious food wafted through your nose.

The hints are giving you an idea of what is going on.

You went to the kitchen only to see a romantic dinner set up complete with those fancy utensils, fancy food, candles and wine, and of course, a yellow note.

“But i’m willing to suffer for you. Happy valentines, baby”

This dork, you thought while smiling like a goof (which you tried to hide).

“Han Jisung!” you called him. His head peeped through the doors of your bedroom with a big grin on his face. “Were you surprised?”

You couldn’t contain the smile anymore and so you let it out, “come here.” You gestured to him to come over with your arms hanging in the air as if waiting for him to come nearer so you could wrap it around his neck. He came out with a bouquet of fresh daisies in his hand which he had to place on top of the dining table in order to accept your cuddle invitation. Jisung kissed your forehead before securely wrapping his arms on your waist. “Did you like it?”

“Aside from being partly annoyed, yes actually,” you tightened your arms around his neck so you could pull him down to give him a proper kiss. This wasn’t part of your relaxation plan but you are glad to welcome him in your routine, as always. The kiss was starting to get heated when you pulled away from him and loosened your grip, making him look at you with a questioning gaze.

“Thank you for cleaning my apartment and all this.”

“Anything for you, my love,” he kissed your cheek, “and I also did almost half of your work in Berlin so you could relax a little,” then he kissed your other cheek. For some reason, he has to accompany each of his sentences with a kiss. But nevertheless, it still made you giggle. “I’m not thanking you for the notes, though- wait, am i really insufferable?” You looked at him like you’ve just been betrayed. Out of all people, he had the audacity to tell you you’re the insufferable one?

He smiled, “no baby,” he pecked your lips before continuing, “ you just annoy me sometimes.”

“So you just had to annoy me first?” you asked with a smirk forming on your lips.

He shrugged, “guess I’m still at it.” This time, he accompanied his replies with a brush to your stray hair with his fingers just so he could look at you properly. You squished his chubby cheeks together, forming a pout in his already adorable face.

“Yeah,” you pecked the pout you forced, “I guess we’re still at it.”

end.

yayyy omg this may or may not be from an e2l au that is currently sitting in my drafts hmm

#inkidz #districtninewriters #stray kids x reader #han x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids au #han jisung #stray kids scenarios #skz x you #skz x reader #skz au #skz scenario #stray kids

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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years

Text

Chapter 19

chapter list / previous / next

Tallpaw was crouched low in the long grass of the pastures. He wasn’t searching for any prey, instead he was just sitting alone in the empty fields, looking in the direction of the twoleg barn. It had only been a couple days since his disastrous attempt at tunneling, and his father had been making a point of avoiding him, giving him nothing more than a distant glare. By now, everyone in camp had heard about the incident. He didn’t know what Heatherstar had to say about it yet, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. No one brought it up but he always felt like they were watching him with pity, or worse, scorn. Tallpaw hadn’t been able to focus at all, and had slipped away from team hunting training with Shrewpaw after he’d missed his third catch. Shrewpaw had gotten fed up with him and growled in frustration “Just forget it, I’ll just catch something myself and say we caught it together!”

He felt terrible. He had no idea how to make the cats he cared about happy. Dawnstripe wanted him to focus on moor training, Sandstone wanted him to become a prodigy tunneler, he had no idea what his mother wanted at all.

He wasn’t sure he felt worthy to train as anything anymore, he wanted to curl up under a gorse bush and stay there, not have to ask any cat for anything ever again and have no cat ask anything of him. It was a cowardly wish. And it wasn't like him to desire hiding in the undergrowth. Maybe that was why he had found himself walking towards the northern treeline, and why he now crouched at the outskirts of the farm, the woodland strip behind him blocking the breeze. He hadn’t consciously intended to come this way, but this is where he was. Just somewhere far away where he couldn’t disappoint anyone, where the wind wouldn’t catch his scent and invite anyone to come after him.

Tallpaw shouldn’t be in the pastures, he kept telling himself that, but some part of him was so desperate for some respite from the anxious buzzing in every part of his body, he was willing to try anything. His tail flicked restlessly. I don’t even know where Jake is, this was a mouse-brained idea. But before he could get up and leave, a bright orange shock of fur bounced out of the grass, making Tallpaw jump.

“Tallpaw!” Jake cried, “You’re back already! I didn’t think you’d come out this far again. I saw your tail in the grass and knew it had to be you. I was practicing my stalking, did you hear me coming?”

Jake looked so happy to see him. Tallpaw managed to get out a purr, “I didn’t. You’re a fast learner.”

It certainly wasn’t a lie, but mostly because Tallpaw had been too busy arguing with himself to pay any attention to a kittypet sneaking up on him.

Jake studied him, his eyes narrowed in slight concern “You doin’ ok? You seem a little down.”

“I’m fine,” Tallpaw lied. It didn’t sound convincing even to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was confess what a mouse-hearted stunt he’d pulled before when he went into the tunnels, especially not when Jake had tried so hard to encourage him before.

“I won’t make you spit it out. I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle.” Jake said politely.

Tallpaw hummed quietly but he avoided Jake’s gaze “I really just wanted to make sure you were doing ok. How are you?”

Jake seemed happy enough to oblige Tallpaw’s push for a change of subject. He told him how he caught a tiny mouse after a kestrel dropped it, and was practicing swatting at birds, and how his twolegs had been extra nice to him that day. Tallpaw still had some doubts about that last part, but he wasn’t going to interject about it today. Although Jake didn’t mention the obvious tension Tallpaw held in his body again, there was more understanding in his deep green eyes then Tallpaw would have expected. He had thought of Jake as a bit of a flighty cat who didn’t pick up on emotional cues very often, but he got the feeling the kittypet was perhaps a lot more perceptive than Tallpaw had been giving him credit for. Maybe his friendly nature wasn’t a result of naivety, maybe he was just… like that by choice. He was just nice. Why was that surprising? He smiled softly to himself as Jake talked.

“You know,” Jake said, “I’ve been getting a feeling lately that somethings going to change for me soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it. I just feel it in my gut. I finally met some of those nicer cats you mentioned, Reena and Bess. I thought about what it would be like to travel the way they do, it sounds so fascinating. ”

“Are you...considering it? Leaving with the visitors?” Tallpaw wasn’t sure he could picture it. Though he had to admit Jake and Reena had a similar friendly disposition.

Jake shrugged. “Oh I don’t know about that, they seem nice but I barely know them. I’ve never been a stray before. I think I would miss my housefolk too much, you know? It upsets them when I disappear. They’ve been acting strange lately, moving stuff out of their den for days. I have a feeling they're getting ready to leave, and I think I may go with them.”

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea. Don’t you like it here? You can’t just let them take you! You don’t even know where they’re going to go!” Tallpaw said more quickly than he intended.

Jake flicked his tail casually. “Yeah I know, but I’m not that worried. The rest of my family went their separate ways like this, and honestly I never imagined I’d stay here my whole life. Just staying put in the same place? I always wanted to see somewhere new. I guess I’m just going to see where life takes me”

Jake seemed so chipper at the idea, but Tallpaw was surprised at how sad he suddenly felt at the idea of the kittypet leaving. He shouldn’t be here, he knew that, but...it was nice to have something to himself. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Tallpaw didn’t think about how stressed out he was in camp when he went to see Jake. He didn’t want to lose this, as selfish as it was. Well, he thought. My father wasn’t really wrong, was he? I’d rather do anything to run away from hardships. Of course this is where I’d end up.

“Well...good luck.” Tallpaw said quietly, “I should get going. Maybe it’s for the best. I’m breaking the rules coming here so often.” He turned very abruptly to leave, painfully aware it was probably rude.

“Oh! well...I’ll see you Tallpaw!” Jake called with some uncertainty.

Tallpaw wasn’t sure that he would, and felt a hollow pang in his chest at the thought. But he shouldn’t have run off and left Shrewpaw to do the assignment alone. But when he got back to the moor, instead of Shrewpaw, he was surprised to see Reena and Sparrow padding along the treeline. Tallpaw’s first instinct was to worry, but he remembered Sparrow apparently already knew he visited Jake sometimes. Reena waved her tail when she caught sight of him. She smiled in a friendly way, but the rest of her betrayed her worry. Sparrow wasn’t even looking at him. He kept staring down at his paws.

“Hello Tallpaw,” Reena said. “Have you seen Hen or Mole? They suddenly aren’t in camp and no one is sure where they’ve gone.”

“Hen? Not recently...I think I saw her just outside camp when I left early this morning.”

“Well she’s not here, so we should look somewhere else,” Sparrow hissed, already padding away.

Reena dipped her head to Tallpaw apologetically. “Well...if you see her or Mole...please tell them to return to your camp. Hen hasn’t been doing well, we’re worried about her.” With that, she turned and hurried after her companion.

***

Shrewpaw was waiting for him with a small rabbit and a disgruntled glare as Tallpaw tried not to look guilty. He was hoping he’d find the other apprentice soon enough to still be able to help.

Shrewpaw just gave an irritated flick of his tail. "Whatever. This gets us back to camp faster. I’m tired. You can owe me for it later.”

On the way back, Tallpaw scented the air carefully and kept his ears pricked for any sign of Hen. Such a frail old cat surely could not have gotten far alone, but he still didn’t see any sign of her or Mole. Hopefully they hadn’t gotten lost.

A very tired looking Briarpaw was the first cat to catch them.

“Hey Briarpaw,” Tallpaw called. “You haven’t seen Hen around have you? Reena said that she’s wandered off.”

Briarpaw looked grim. “I’m afraid we have.”

Tallpaw expected the worst judging by the look on his friends face, and his suspicions were quickly confirmed.

“She wanted to go on a walk with Mole. Apparently she needed to stop and rest while out on the moor, and she just...didn’t wake up again. Some of the warriors found Mole laying with her and had to carry her back. Hawkheart tells me she was already passed before they got her to camp. We’re not sure what the visitors will want done.”

Sure enough, when they walked into camp, there lay the still white shape of Hen, with Mole pressed close to her side. Tallpaw was a bit stunned. He had never actually seen a dead cat before. She had been alive just before he left, and had even spoken to him not long before that. And now here she lay, her fur messy and tangled with bits of thistle that Mole was attempting to lick out of her fur. Tallpaw felt a twinge of guilt then.

“She had to have gone at almost the same time as me…” He murmured to himself. “I was so distracted when I left to catch up with Shrewpaw. Perhaps if I’d paid more attention...They shouldn’t have been allowed to go walking around.”

Briarpaw pressed his nose to his shoulder softly. “A walk on the moor isn’t what killed her, her sickness was one beyond our powers to cure. She died with her mate at least. Cloudrunner and Brackenwing have gone out to find the rest of their friends.”

Tallpaw nodded solemnly, but he still felt bad. The visitors were so lively and kind--most of them anyway. He really had hoped they would be able to help.

Bess and Algernon returned shortly, approaching Mole with their heads bowed as they both in turn pressed their noses to their old companions' bodies. The clan stood back in quiet hesitation. There wasn’t a ceremony to perform for cats who weren’t clanmates, but no one wanted to step forward to offer condolences yet either, so they were silent. Do Sparrow and Reena know yet? Tallpaw thought. Sparrow had seemed so sure Hen would get better soon. However prickly and unapproachable the little loner could be, Tallpaw wouldn’t have wished this on him, or any cat. He didn’t envy whoever had to break the news to him. Who knew how he would react?

Unfortunately, they didn’t have to wait long to find out. Mole hadn’t moved from Hen’s side until he heard the two young cats’ return. Sparrow stood rigid at the top of the shallow slope leading into camp and Mole began to limp over to him, standing in front of him as if he wanted to block his view. Tallpaw was too far away to read Sparrow’s expression or make out Mole’s hushed words until eventually he heard Sparrow raise his voice, tight as he fought to keep it steady.

“Then why did we even come here!?” he snarled, “we only went so far out of the way because they were supposed to help us, and most of them didn’t even want to!”

Sparrow’s sharp gaze snapped towards Hawkheart and Briarpaw, who sat some distance away from the body of Hen. Hawkheart didn’t give much away but he narrowed his eyes at Sparrow’s accusing glare

“She didn’t get better at all! If anything she got worse, did they even try? They just wanted us to leave, the quicker she was gone, the quicker we were gone. Is that it?”

Tallpaw was afraid Hawkheart would turn on the little cat at the accusation, but he didn’t even ruffle his fur. “My orders were to treat her to the best of my ability, so that is what I did. My feelings played no part in it. There was a sickness forming from the mass inside her. It was already taking her life when she arrived here. All the herbs and remedies StarClan has gifted us could not remove what was already set fast.”

“Then why was it so fast?” Sparrow looked back at Mole. “She was alright not more than two moons ago, and she could still walk when we got here, why didn’t we have more time at least if their healers were good for anything?”

“Sparrow, please,” Bess’s voice was firm, but raspy in barely concealed grief. “This isn’t what Hen would want at her place of passing. It was her time.”

“I don’t want her to be here. She shouldn’t be here.” Sparrow's eyes darted around to the staring strangers surrounding him. He looked like he wanted to spit more insults but couldn't find the words for them as he dug his trembling claws into the soil. Mole stepped closer, but Sparrow backed away and was gone back through the entrance in a heartbeat.

Reena insisted on going after him to make sure he was ok, although Tallpaw couldn’t help suspecting he'd want to be alone, away from prying eyes idly observing his pain. It was hard to blame him for that.

Heatherstar eventually approached the small group and offered to keep vigil for her in the camp.

“Thank you for your kindness, Heatherstar,” Bess said quietly, “but we will find our own place. Wherever we bury her for her final sleep must be carefully chosen, and it can’t be here.”

They took several moments to rest before they attempted to carry her. Tallpaw spent a long while watching them silently grieve in their own way. Hen looked a bit like she was sleeping on her side, if it were not for the stiffness in her limbs, all the more noticeable when the visitors lifted her body between Algernon and Bess and slowly made their way out of camp. That unnerving scent he had smelled on her earlier came to him again. Unmistakably he knew it was the scent of death. Where would a cat go if they did not know their way to StarClan? Where was Hen now? Was she anywhere?

Tallpaw couldn't help the curiosity to look over the ridge around camp to see where the visitors were taking their friend. They were out of sight, but he did see Reena not too far off, looking around with her tail and ears drooping. Tallpaw felt an urge to approach her, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. She caught his gaze and offered a small friendly blink that he took as a sign it was alright to come closer.

Tallpaw dipped his head. “I’m... really sorry about Hen. I’m sorry we couldn’t help.” It didn’t really feel like much, but it was the best he could think to offer.

“I believe that you all did what you could. I’m just glad she was with Mole at the end…" she said.

“Did you find Sparrow?”

Reena let out a small sigh “No. I suspect I won’t. He is good at not being found when he doesn’t wish to be. I’m terribly sorry for his outburst, he’s really a good cat deep down, but...this will hurt for some time. He'll find us himself when he’s ready. We won’t lay her body to rest until he does. Now that we have no reason to hurry, we will probably travel back south to the housefolk town for the cold seasons, give ourselves time to recover. We have friends there that will make finding shelter and safety easier.”

“Will you continue on your travels as you did before?” Tallpaw asked meekly. He didn’t have time to wonder if that was inappropriate to ask after he’d said it. He wasn’t sure the right way to navigate around this topic.

To his relief, Reena gave him a small smile. “We will, eventually. There was only one thing Hen ever asked of us, and that was for us to continue telling her stories after she was gone. It all started because of her, and she wanted nothing more than for it to outlive her. You know, I really am grateful we got to perform that story to you all. It was one of her favorites. So...Thank you for giving us a chance to tell it with her one last time.”

Tallpaw walked along with her for a short ways. He hadn’t planned on it, but it felt like the right thing to do as Reena spoke.

“I think we all knew Hen’s time with us was running short, even if we didn’t want to admit it. We hoped we’d be able to get her to the sea first.” Reena trailed off with a little sigh. “She was so excited to take Sparrow there. This would have been his first time. She was so much happier when we found him as a kit. Those two were closer than anything...We’re confident she will still travel with us, and we’ll guide her spirit home to the sea come next newleaf. She always believed we all end up where we are meant to be sooner or later, in this world or the next.” She paused, looking ahead to the far woods. “I should join my family now. I hope your clanmates will forgive us being a bit distant for a little while after all your hospitality...Thank you for walking with me.”

Reena touched his nose briefly and padded away. Tallpaw could only wish the strange cats well. Even when he couldn’t see them anymore, the image of Hen’s body unnerved him and lodged in his mind like a burr.

He had a memory that was perhaps not quite real before this moment, of a still body no bigger than a mouse lying close at his side, stiff and covered in that distinct scent of death. Death shouldn’t unsettle him as much as it did, but it made him feel terribly lonely. He wished he took comfort in the ghosts that Reena’s family believed in. To him, StarClan still felt so quiet and far away, if anything more of a stern distant force staring over his shoulder to judge whether or not he was behaving as a worthy descendant of his clan. Ultimately, this sadness wasn’t meant for him. He wasn’t a visitor, and he could not afford to dwell on grief like them. Not for cats, or kits, he never really knew.

The life of a warrior meant living alongside death closely, an unforgiving force that could strike the life from a cat that he’d known and walked with just days before. He knew it was something he should accept, and feel no fear towards. But Tallpaw still hoped in vain that he would not have to meet it again.

chapter list / previous / next

#cw animal death #cw self loathing #FRU19 #chapter 19

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patchies · 3 years

Text

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not... Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: slight mentions of amnesia and returning memories

Word Count: 1.5+k

Author's Note: the story's a bit changed now and as you might notice, I deleted the third, fourth and fifth chapter, because I plan on adding more things into the story line that are behind their events. I hope it doesn't bother you, guys, but I promise there won't be anymore changing. Fingers crossed.

Wattpad link: here

story masterlist - main masterlist

previous ↣ current ↣ following

Chapter 3: The Art of War

You both decide that the best course of action is to take advantage of the daylight and get to work on fortifying your base with items you'd found beforehand. Nick proves to be lot of help as you dance around each other in sync and ask for assistance whenever it's needed. You didn't think that you'd be working as a unit even after knowing each other for barely twenty-four hours. The chemistry between you is uncommonly good, but it might be because of the events of last night.

You sometimes bump the other's arm, but Nick has an exceptional number of questions and requests thrown your way every time it happens.

Though, one of his requests seems unusual.

“Hey, mind handing me the paint brush from the shelf?”

Your gaze shifts from his figure and the aforementioned item quizzically, wondering what he'd need it for. Although your confusion seeks answers to your silent question, you slowly move towards the shelf, not daring to turn your back towards him as the neutral and almost bored look his face sports tells you he has something mischievous on his mind. Or strange.

The feel of the brush is surprisingly very familiar in your hand, light as a feather. It's as if it was speaking to you, tempting you. Foggy memories buzz around your mind space and as a spark flies through your head, you grimace uncomfortably. Nick gives you a worrying glance, but doesn't approach you further. Nor does he speak to you since he can see the slight pain going across your features.

With a noticeable shake of your head, you push the thought away, opting to focus on the matter at hand, “What exactly is it that you want to do with a brush that serves for painting the walls?”

“I was thinking–“

“That's dangerous for you,” you interrupt, “don't want your brain to fry, do we?”

“As I was saying, I was thinking,” he playfully glares at you, “that we could paint few signs with threats to ward the intruders off.”

“Nick–“

“Hold that thought,” he advances towards you with a grin, waving his hands to help himself articulate his plan better, “I know it sounds stupid, which I don't think it does, but let's go with that, you gotta trust me. How many people would decorate their outer walls with childish signs that warn them?”

“Exactly–“

“Nah-uh! It does sound dumb when I say it like that, but it's worth a shot, ain't it?”

You sigh loudly and, with the acceptance of loss, hand him the tool. He squeals a small 'yes!' in victory and pumps his fist into the air, doing a little dance. You huff out a laugh, finding the situation funny despite him asking for a small and unimportant thing.

“Indeed. Truly a child at the heart, aren't you?”

“I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

With his small victorious moment over, he bounds from your view and you can hear the ruckus of pans and pots banging in seconds, only imagining the man-child ransacking the whole kitchen for who-knows-what. You return to your assigned job and wait for him to come back, opting to busy yourself with work as he searches for what he supposedly needs for his plan.

• • •

After what feels like an hour, Nick returns with buckets of various colours. Three hanging of each arm as he stabilizes his body to prevent the disaster in the form of bright pink, purple and red along with their neon variables. He motions towards the buckets with his head, prompting you to help him get them down. You cross your arms across your chest, sassily pointing to the sofa you've moved to the corner of the room, “You can put it there, can't you?”

“Oh, damn. That's what I get for helping you?”

You roll your eyes, but go slip the heavy containers off of his arms, carefully putting them on their respective spots on the ground near the wooden boards, “Where did you even find these, Nick?”

He puts his finger to his mouth, shushing you in the process, “A magician never reveals his secret, does he now?”

“You're not a magician, dude.”

“Let a poor guy dream, will you?”

Rather than answering his rhetorical question, you squat down before flopping onto the floor on your bottom, beckoning him to do the same. Nick follows, unhooking another brush from his belt hoops and presents it to you with the handle pointing towards you.

“Why thank you for this beautiful stuff I can wield with exceptional power,” you take the tool from him and instantly bend forward to tap both his shoulders with the bristles, “I now pronounce you as the Majesty's guard.”

“Who's the child now?”

“Still not me,” you press the handle to your sternum proudly, mischief flashing across your eyes, “We better start painting or we'll never get anything done. How exactly do you imagine the finished product to look?”

“I don't know,” he shrugs, “Improvise.”

“The instructions I, oh so, craved,” you shake your head, dipping the brush into the bright red absentmindedly. Nick slides one board over to you and you apply the first stroke, paint gliding across the surface smoothly.

The same faint memory flickers in your mind.

This one is clearer and you can even distinguish an image forming.

Confusion etches onto your face unknowingly to you, but the man across you catches onto your expression when he lifts his head. His eyes observe your own clouded orbs and he gently sets his brush on the floor, cocking an eyebrow as yours furrow together. He watches for any signs of you returning back to the present despite him not knowing what's going through your head.

He'd very much like to know, but of course, he'll wait until you will be ready tell him what's up.

Before he knows it, you're shaking your head to get rid of the picture in your mind. Nick gives you a worrying glance, silently asking you if you're okay with a quick raise of his chin.

“I'm fine, don't worry.”

With your disorientation and slower reaction time, you hardly get to register his movement and it takes your brain a couple more minutes (having to cross your eyes to confirm his actions, too) to realize he's booped your nose.

With neon pink paint.

Neon.

Pink.

Paint.

Instead of an outburst like he seems to have expected, you let your face stay stoic.

Silence envelops you both, sitting there and waiting for the others' move.

Few of the birds you have around the neighbourhood happily chirp and only after a while does a sinister smile appear, “I see. A death wish.”

Nick scrambles to his feet as quickly as he can, but you're faster, curling your nimble fingers around his ankle and harshly pulling him back down to the floor.

He lets out a small 'oof!', eyes wide with fear when he gets a glimpse of you.

For a reason, might you add, as you swing your arm at his head with a bright red paint brush in your hand, striking the right side of his hair.

An offended look crosses his face, “You did not.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You'll pay.”

“Bring it,” you challenge and have just enough time to duck out of the way, barely missing his attack of purple. You crawl away from him on all fours, before standing up swiftly and booking it down the stairs, Nick's yells following you as he chases after you with a readied brush.

Though, just before you get to the stairs, he tackles you to the side and sits on your back to prevent you from running away. You feel the paint glide across the back of your thighs, “Another point for me.”

“We're doing points now?”

“You better catch up, slowpoke, or else I'm going to destroy you–”

The answer he gets to his call-up is a strike of red to his torso and a laugh as you dash down to hide, the signs left forgotten.

• • •

By the end of your small war, you come out with multiple colourful splotches on both the back and front of your thighs and few on your arms and face. You have basically come out unscratched compared to your human counterpart.

He's very close to being a living highlighter.

You have mainly struck him with neon colours and the occasional red that he rightfully deserved. His whole torso, chest and back now adore beautiful variants of pink and purple with some places being neon red.

His painted arms are actually not your doing, despite him throwing the blame at you in the heat of the moment. With how he had declared the war in the first place, you were surprised he was the one who called truce in the end.

After washing up (which, to be truthful, didn't do much), you went to tidy everything up and got back to building defences as the sun has not gone down yet.

At the end of the day, you've done quite a good amount of work on your base, but you can't take away the fun Nick made with the paint war you had. You can only hope it'll be enough to keep away the Shadows and not attract more attention than you can fight off.

You fall asleep quite easily, exhausted to the brim from the day's events.

#technoblade #dream #sapnap #apocalypse au #reader insert #mcyt x reader #mcyt #techno #dream team #dream x reader #dreamwastaken #l'manburg #shadows #??? x reader

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cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

immergo

a/n: i recently watched haikyuu and i’m absolutely hooked. to help get it out of my system in time for final papers and assignments, i’m procrastinating by writing this out. hope you enjoy!

featuring: oikawa tooru x fem!reader & some OC’s + iwaizumi

genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, fluff, slooow burn, some cliches to make people suffer

summary: tooru is as constant as the stars and as real as the earth beneath your feet, yet even for you, he still manages to slip away. and when it’s all too late, only then does he attempt to come back.

word count: 21.9k (this is a monster)

playlist: i wanted to try making one so here's a playlist on spotify: immergo

edit: now crossposted onto AO3 here!

You are five years old when you first meet him.

He’s got a terrible bowl cut and sand particles smudged on his cheek. A plastic, ocean blue shovel is dug deep into the sand before being lifted up with a load, then precariously dumped into a matching bucket. A teetering sandcastle threatens to fully collapse, yet somehow still sporting a little plastic yellow umbrella that some other kids might’ve left behind. You’re clutching your mother’s hand, a clenched fist brought up to your mouth to hide the trembling of your lips from the nervousness of approaching new people. The sandbox is a part of the playground, but you want to be there alone. You want to be in your own little world, too terrified to face the unknowns, but after the last two weeks of coming by, this boy is always in the sandbox.

Your mother somehow convinces you that you can make new friends. ‘But don’t boys have cooties?’ you ponder. There’s only a week left until kindergarten starts, and your mother thinks it would be nice to try to meet someone so you’ll at least have some semblance of familiarity. Just when you think you’re brave enough, you almost yelp in renewed fear when another boy comes into the scene and plops down next to the other boy, his own pair of a bucket and shovel dyed a bright, firetruck red, and is ready to start digging up sand. You watch him eye the falling castle, grumbling something to the other boy before attempting to patch it and stand it back up. The other boy stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth before morphing his face into a childish, happy grin. And immediately, you think, ‘Oh wow, I like his smile.’

Not only is it bright and wide, but there’s a certain feeling of gentleness. None of this is eloquently elaborated in your brain, but there’s a comfort that settles into your mind. That smile is what causes you to (though still hesitantly) let go of your mother’s hand and slowly wobble to the sand box, pause, before you step up and over the wooden border. The two boys have ceased their castle-building duties to stare at you, who’s now sitting in the sand and looking towards anything but them. Your head scrambles to remind yourself on how to say hello, and it must’ve done something correctly because before they can ask questions, you quietly ask, “Can I play with you guys?”

Both boys look toward each other, giving a look, before the boy with the red bucket shrugs and says, “Okay. As long as you don’t mess up my castle.”

Bowl-cut tyke flicks sand at him, causing him to splutter and yell in protest. “Don’t be so mean, Hajime!” Bowl-cut scolds before turning back to you with that earlier grin. “I’m Oikawa Tooru and he’s Iwaizumi Hajime. Wanna help me with my castle?”

And ever since you moved to this new city until now, your mother has never seen your eyes so bright.

You are ten years old when Oikawa, with a better hairstyle, receives his first love confession of sorts (because you’re ten).

It takes until fifth grade for you to be finally in a class with both him and Iwaizumi. Other years either had one or neither of them, but you were still able to reconvene during recess. The three of you are attached at the hips during those 30 minutes, either running around in a game of tag, swinging as fast as you could across the monkey bars, or seeing who could swing the highest.

On days when the swings are particularly busy, the three of you would take turns pushing each other, trading off once one of you had your fill. “Higher!” Oikawa would always yell happily, his voice blending in with the rest of the screams and laughs in the playground. With your own laughs leaving your lips as you attempt to push the swing, Iwaizumi would instead yell back at him, “Use your own legs, idiot! That’s what they’re for!” To which Oikawa would whine, but eyes would still crinkle in childish delight as he approached the sky.

But Oikawa notices a lot of things, more than the average fifth grader does. Then again, it isn’t hard to spot the group of giggling girls under a tree’s shade nearby, evidently gazing at him in wonder and affection. He feels his heart soar at the attention and in turn, pumps his legs even harder, almost reaching perpendicular height to the ground. Oikawa admits that he is a bit of a show-off, he wants to be the best, and without warning, releases his hands from the chains and jumps off from the swing.

Both you and Iwaizumi gape at him with a mixture of horror and awe. If you could put this moment in slow motion, you would see Oikawa suspended in mid-air, yet somehow seeming to soar like a bird. His jacket flows behind him as his arms lift up to give a sense of balance, legs stretching out to get ready to meet the ground. You wonder what the expression on his face is like, yet the terror manifests itself into your shriek of his name, pitch and tone overpowering a similar call from Iwaizumi. But Oikawa is Oikawa and he lands on both feet, knees bent and almost touching the ground before straightening back up. You’re about to start running towards him, feet already moving, until you stop because he’s twisting himself towards you and Iwaizumi, V-sign held up and that same, big grin he always has. The sun casts a halo around him and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your feet stay rooted on the mulch and you watch as Iwaizumi stomps over to punch Oikawa in the arm, yelling about how he could’ve broken his legs and who would he play volleyball with then, leaving you to spot the aforementioned fangirls huddled like they’re coming up with a grand plan.

At first, you think nothing of it. It isn’t until after school as the three of you are walking towards the entrance when you wish you were more perceptive like Oikawa. One of the girls from under the tree has gone up to him, quickly bowing while introducing herself, grabs one of his hands to slap a folded piece of paper into it, and almost sprints away. Oikawa doesn’t have a chance to say anything, but he can only give himself a few seconds to register what just happened and unfold the ripped notebook paper. Inside in pretty cursive is an email address (because none of you have cellphones yet), which causes Oikawa to put on a shit-eating grin. He just basically received a love note, a confession, and his ego has just been fed a meal fit for a king.

He brags and boasts the whole way home, causing a permanent frown to settle on Iwaizumi’s face from pure irritation, and you find yourself only able to stay quiet, pondering and contemplating what this small nasty feeling inside your chest could be.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are fourteen years old, nearly fifteen, when you receive your first love confession, which ends up being a little more refined than a hastily torn piece of notebook paper possessing an email address.

Their afternoons and early evenings are occupied by volleyball. While you had been at Lil Tykes from the ages of 6 to 10, mainly due to a massive fear of missing out and wanting to spend more time with your new best friends then, you didn’t have as much talent as those two and decided to pursue other interests. Iwaizumi and Oikawa had protested vehemently when you broke the news to them one evening over dinner at the setter's house, their mouths full of rice and chicken curry yet somehow still managing to speak over the food. Oikawa’s mother had seen you shrink further and further into your chair before slamming her hand on the table, causing the two boys to startle and cease their yelling.

“Respect (y/n)’s interests! I did not raise you,” she spoke pointedly, directing a finger at her now ashamed son, “to be so rude. If she doesn’t want to play volleyball anymore, then she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t need to keep doing something she doesn’t want to do just because you two said so. Now, both of you apologize to (y/n) and finish your dinner.”

“Yes, mother,” and “Yes, auntie,” both quietly left their lips. You wanted to hug the woman right then and there, tears nearly forming and spilling over at the fact that she was on your side. The two boys had put their spoons down and waited for a few seconds before Iwaizumi finally spoke.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you. We’re just gonna miss you a lot,” he apologized, tone sad and soft. Oikawa was still chewing on his bottom lip when Iwaizumi elbowed him to say something. “Apologize, you idiot,” he hissed.

“Ow! I know, geez. I’m sorry, too. Mom’s right, I should respect what you want to do. We’re gonna miss seeing you, like this meanie said,” Oikawa jabbing a thumb in the direction of his male best friend. Their eyes are still downcast until you let out a small giggle.

“Apologies accepted, you dummies.”

You still found time after your new art classes to go watch them play volleyball with either Iwazumi’s or Oikawa’s mother picking you all up and heading home. The three of you still lived near each other, and the two boys were happy that they could still see you somehow. Lil Tykes after school evolved into official middle school volleyball practice, yet you were still commonly found in the bleachers finishing homework or doodling in a sketchbook, patiently waiting for your two best friends to go home with you.

A teammate by the name of Wakeda had taken notice of you, had seen your interactions with the best players on their team. He had seen how nice you were with your classmates, yet still unafraid to give Oikawa and Iwaizumi shit for the smallest things. Your aura is pleasant and raw in a genuine sense, only fueling his budding, burning crush on you. He decided he wanted to be confident and bold, hoping that you would give him a chance.

The Friday afternoon starts off like any other -- Iwaizumi and Oikawa head off to volleyball practice with a greeting and a wave, receiving one from you in return as you make your way towards the math club. The art classes from late elementary school only served to show that you only possessed some mild talent for drawing and painting, but not enough for you to continue paying money for classes. The passion and drive didn’t exist for you there, not like it does with Iwaizumi and Oikawa in volleyball, and it only became something that you enjoyed in your leisure time. Instead, you eventually find yourself balancing math club and chess club -- math is on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons while chess is on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but they never run as late as volleyball practice.

As tiring as math club can be sometimes, you usually somehow still find the energy to finish the bulk of your homework before heading home. When you walk through the bleachers and settle into your normal seat, the team spots you and gives you a casual wave. You smile and wave back, setting your stuff down before you clamber towards the edge of the rail and look down to spot the manager. On time, she looks up and greets you with a matching smile, ones that you return. The team is coincidentally taking a quick water break, giving Oikawa and Iwaizumi enough time to quickly chat with you from below (and escape their coach for a hot second).

“How was math club?” Iwaizumi calls out. Oikawa subtly observes you as you shrug. To both him and Hajime, the mental exhaustion is evident on your face and figure, yet they always find themselves asking, waiting, watching.

“It was okay,” you respond, fighting back a yawn. “Practice competition round was a bit brutal. How’s practice?” You quickly digress, noticing Oikawa was about to jump in and ask for some details.

“This crappy guy over here keeps pushing himself too much. You know, the usual,” Iwaizumi speaks before, once again, Oikawa can say anything. The latter turns to him and lets out an indignant “Hey!” before quickly attempting to defend himself.

“Iwa-chan is being mean, I’m not--”

“All right, let’s get back to work! Everybody back on the court!” The coach yells and Oikawa can only drop his shoulders and sigh, slightly trudging back into the bounds of the court outline. You stare after him worriedly -- both he (mainly out of stubbornness) and Iwaizumi (mainly out of friendship and loyalty) had been pulling late extra practice sessions and the dark eye circles were starting to become more and more noticeable. As if he could tell what you were probably thinking, he turns back and gives a thumbs up with a grin, tongue slightly poking out. You can only roll your eyes at his antics, returning to your seat in the bleachers and pulling out your science homework.

The minutes tick by as the sun slowly begins to set, rays streaming through the windows of the gym in a harsh blood orange. The coach takes a look at his watch before blowing his whistle, signalling the end of practice. The sound of volleyballs hitting skin abruptly stops, except for one last jump-serve that Oikawa sneaks in. The coach berates him loudly, only causing Oikawa to sheepishly smile and rub the back of his neck. All the players bow and announce their thanks before moving to complete their respective clean-up duties. By this time, you gather your stuff and make your way towards the ground floor. Even if your best friends were going to do some extra practice, it’s better for you to sit at their level against the wall.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor increases in volume as you approach the court. But before you can make your way towards Iwaizumi and Oikawa on the other side of the net, Wakeda calls out your name. You turn towards the left to see him pick up a volleyball not far from you, and Wakeda is counting his lucky stars that he was provided with an excuse to be near you.

“Aoki-san,” you greet him by his last name. “How was practice?”

“It was good, but Coach really worked us to the bone today,” he nervously replies, hands subtly clenching the volleyball in his hands. “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a second? In private?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’ve never really had much interaction with him outside of volleyball practice, and even then it was very limited to pleasantries. Perhaps it’s about Iwaizumi and Oikawa running themselves to the ground, and nothing to do with you. “Sure,” you agree, looking around before gesturing towards the door of the gym. “We can talk out here, if you’d like.” Wakeda quickly nods and follows you. At this time, the other boys have retreated towards the locker room except for one. One who narrows his eyes at the retreating backs of two people making their way out of the gym.

He puts the last ball in the ball cart, ignoring his friend’s confused look as he jogs towards the entrance of the gym and leans against the wall out of sight. He knows it's wrong to eavesdrop, but he just has to know about what could be unfolding.

The two of you are only a few feet away from the open door and you can only look perplexed as Wakeda begins to look more and more bashful, stumbling over words and anxiously tossing the ball side to side between his hands.

“Is everything okay?” You ask worriedly, trying to maintain eye contact until you can because he’s looking straight down towards the ground. Your heart pounds in your chest as you start to fathom what might be happening.

“I’m sorry, I just -- I like you. I think you’re really nice and cool, and I would like it if I could take you out on a date.”

You’re stunned into silence. Never has anyone expressed any semblance of romantic interest in you, nor has anyone confessed. You’ve never been in this position and the first thing your brain starts to unravel is the puzzle of how to turn someone down. It’s not that going on a date with Wakeda would be terrible -- you just don’t know enough about him. You don’t want to bring his hopes up, but you don’t want to bring him down either.

On the other side of the wood, the boy’s eyebrows are furrowed. His arms are crossed and a foot is perched against the wall, legs making the shape of the number four. His eyes are burning holes into the window across from him and he can’t figure out why a feeling of protectiveness is washing over him. But what he can’t figure out even more is why his mind is instantly screaming, “Please say no please say no please say no don’t say yes don’t leave us don’t leave me--”

“I’m sorry,” he hears, ears straining to catch your voice as you softly apologize. You watch as Wakeda’s shoulders slump and the volleyball is finally kept still between his hands. You gently put a hand on his upper arm. “I can tell you’re a nice guy, but I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry.”

Wakeda lets out a long breath before mustering up his best smile for you. “It’s okay, I was kind of expecting it." A hand reaches up to run a hand through his hair in embarrassment and he’s trying to think of what to say next. Be bold, be confident, his inner self reminds him as he stands tall again. Wakeda puts up the cheekiest smile you’ve seen on him so far. “But I’ll be waiting, if you ever change your mind.”

The statement only makes you smile first and then chuckle. Wakeda basks in the sound for as long as he can before he shyly joins you. The laughter isn’t meant to demean him in any way, but it’s the only reaction you can feel yourself make. It’s all so foreign to you, but you’re glad that your first interaction like this is with someone as kind as him. You trust Oikawa’s teammates.

“Thank you though, it must’ve taken a lot of courage to do this. To be honest, this has never happened to me before and I just don’t know what to say,” you ramble a little, now wondering if you’ve said too much. Wakeda begins to look a little more comfortable before making his way back to the gym with you following.

“Would it be cheesy to say I’m glad I was the first?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I know now that I’m never changing my mind.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Wakeda exclaims, only causing you to laugh. “You gotta leave some room for chance so--”

“Oi, Wakeda,” you hear a familiar voice call out. Your eyes spot Oikawa slowly making his way from the other side of the gym, walking towards you two with a hand in a pocket and another hand in the air, waving. But it’s perplexing because his chest is heaving like he just sprinted his fastest around the court. “Is that the last ball?”

“Ah, yes, sorry senpai!” Wakeda apologizes before tossing the ball into Oikawa’s awaiting hand. It quickly gets thrown into the ball cart. When you two are standing right in front of him, your friend pats Wakeda on the shoulder. “Go ahead and clean up, you deserve a break,” he says before smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes or even match his eyes. His chestnut orbs have another emotion burning in them, far from the light they would usually glint when paired with a genuine grin. Wakeda quickly lets out a “see you around” and you wave back at him. Once the boy has disappeared into the locker room, you direct your attention back to Oikawa. That earlier fire in his eyes has dimmed a little, but you want to know what it is and why it’s there.

A word barely leaves your tongue when strong arms hug you to a sturdy chest. They intertwine around your shoulders, the squeeze becoming more and more constricting. Your chest tightens and you’re not sure if it’s your heartbeat or his that you’re feeling beat against your chest. In a movement of instinct, you hesitantly wrap your own arms around Oikawa, hand linking to hold onto your own wrist behind his back. Your face is pressed into his shoulder, your nose catching the lingering scent of his deodorant mixed with his sweat. His chin is perched over your shoulder momentarily before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, causing you to stiffen.

It’s not that Oikawa has never hugged you before. There have been plenty of hugs with the two boys over the last nine years, but something is different about this one. There’s an underlying intention hidden in the muscles of Oikawa’s arms, hidden in the way that he breathes in your scent. Something heavy is unspoken as a sense of intimacy falls over the two of you like a soft blanket. You can only gently grasp the back of his jersey, his grip somehow tightening even more, and finally find your voice to speak.

“Tooru,” you murmur, fighting the sensation of your heart caught in your throat. Very rarely do you ever say his name in that tone, one so gentle and full of friendly affection (but did he want it to be just friendly?), so caring and drowned in empathy. “Is everything okay?” You continue and ask. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to scream it through his mind, hoping it’ll somehow miraculously meet yours. But even he doesn’t understand what’s drawing him to do this. All he knows is that as soon as Wakeda was out of sight, he needed you here in his arms. The non-verbal pleas of worry and want from earlier have substantially settled, now morphing into thoughts of “It’s okay, she’s here, she isn’t leaving us, she isn’t leaving me--”. It must be the stress from wanting to become the best, from the stress of Kageyama Tobio’s looming ascent to the top, from the general stress of classes. It must be those. It couldn’t be anything else.

“Everything’s fine,” he replies into your neck, sound muffled but just as quiet as yours had been. You can only feel your heart sink at how strained those words came out. Everything was clearly not fine. Your hands unlink and move to his waist, putting some force into your palms to try to separate from him so you can see his face. But Oikawa quickly protests a soft “no”, once again pulling you as close to him as possible with an arm around your waist and the other soon joining. He can’t handle distance from you right now, some budding anxiety from your attempts at separation quickly subdued as you’re pressed fully against his chest again. “Just give me this moment,” he thinks and pleads to some unknown force.

“I’m just...stressed,” he says before letting out a long breath and disentangling himself from you. But he doesn’t move far, the tips of both of your sneakers just centimeters apart from touching. He straightens his back and lifts his head to momentarily look into your eyes, your own face slightly tilted upwards to meet his gaze. But before you can decipher the emotions in his eyes, his head tilts down to lean his forehead against yours. Though his eyes are closed, yours are still open in muted astonishment. If the hug wasn’t very new, then this action was definitely new. The tip of his nose barely grazes yours, causing your breath to hitch, once again feeling your heart stuck in your throat. You struggle to breathe, especially when his lips are so close to yours. Somehow your thoughts drift to thinking of what would happen if you elevated your feet just a little bit, what would it feel like if your lips softly met his--

“There’s a lot going on,” he interrupts your (silly, silly) thoughts. “I keep getting reminded of how I’m not good enough, and maybe I never will be. But I want to be the best, you know?” For how tall Oikawa is, you’ve never heard him sound so small before. Your eyes can’t help but flutter closed as you relish in the sound of his voice. You try to understand what he’s feeling, the frustration, the stress, the insecurity.

“I hate knowing there’s someone better out there. I hate that there’s someone out there, right here, who’s got the pure talent and prodigal level that I don’t have because I keep getting reminded of how I’m not the one who has it. It’s just not fair, (y/n), do you understand?”

“But I know you’re here for me. And Iwaizumi. I know you believe in me and in us. You're right here with us. You always are,” he continues before you can affirm and acknowledge him. His fingers ghost over your skin, up from your wrists, to your elbows, then your shoulders, lastly lingering at the sides of your neck. Goosebumps break out in the wake of his tender trail and you fight the urge to shiver. You so badly want to open your eyes and drink in this moment of vulnerability from Oikawa, but you’re afraid that you’ll do something rash, something you’ll regret. You’re then given all the more reason to keep your eyes shut when his hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs on your cheeks, the other fingers softly splayed down your neck. He inhales sharply, then daring to slant his head down just the slightest distance, your noses firmly touching now. Your heart is now thrashing wildly against your ribcage -- you have no grasp on what is happening.

“Promise me you’ll never leave us, (y/n),” he implores, raw desperation laced and building in his voice. You can’t help but recognize the tears uncontrollably forming behind your eyelids. Nothing else around you matters -- it’s only you and Oikawa in this impenetrable bubble that you two have created. You’re too far in now, sinking and drowning into this body of water that is him, entangled and rooted in this web that he’s so quickly and craftily woven. He could ask anything of you and you would do it in the blink of an eye. How he made you feel this way in just a few minutes, from the door of the gym to the embrace of his arms, is completely beyond you, but you can’t seem to find the complaints within you. ‘How cruel of him,’ you despondently think, still unable to find it in yourself to be mad. ‘How wicked of him.’

But then Oikawa deals the final blow with a shaky breath. He lays out his last trap, one that you can’t escape. It’s the final straw, the last pull into a heartbreaking world that you will never be able to escape from for as far into the future as you can see; desperation, yearning, beseeching.

“Promise that you’ll never leave me.”

Nothing, nothing, can stop you from whispering what he so deeply desires to hear, fall delicately off your tongue.

“I promise.”

And his lips crash onto yours.

You and Iwaizumi are fifteen years old when Oikawa falls to his lowest.

The kiss was a one-time thing. It had lasted no more than a few seconds when the sound of the locker room door swinging open had you two jumping apart and turning away from each other. Oikawa found it easier than you did to compose himself, though internally he was berating his actions. What was it that made him do such a thing? What was it that pushed him to cross the line he never thought he’d cross? What was it that made him want to spin back around and continue what he had started?

“Iwa-chan!” He had hollered across the building, waving over said male who had smartly refrained from changing his clothes. “Help with some tosses? Serves?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Iwaizumi had muttered under his breath, grunting his affirmation loud enough. But in his peripheral, he had spotted your figure hunched over your things on the bench, had squinted at the way you seemed to be shaking, shivering. He had noticed the look, almost a glare, that Oikawa had directed towards Wakeda before imperceptibly shaking his head to focus on the extra task.

And it wasn’t until weeks later that Oikawa breached the subject during a walk home, sans you because you had late night practice with the math club to prepare for some upcoming Olympiad competition. You were insistent through text that they didn't wait for you and that one of your teammates would help walk you home. Oikawa argued quite relentlessly against it until you threatened to block him from the group chat (though it wasn’t the first time you threatened such a thing) and Iwaizumi decided to take his phone away.

While much wasn’t being said, mainly both preoccupied with their popsicles that they had stopped at a convenience store for, Oikawa broke the silence.

“I kissed (y/n).”

Iwaizumi nearly choked on his popsicle, spluttering and struggling to find the right words to say. Yet the best he could come up with was, “So are you two...dating?”

“No.”

“What the fuck? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re best friends, Iwa-chan. I didn’t know when to tell you though, thought you’d get mad at me,” Oikawa said, pouting childishly.

“So...well, you can tell me what happened before it later. But what happened after? And when did this even happen?”

“Everything just went back to normal. We never spoke about it. And it happened a few weeks ago in the gym after practice.”

“But why?”

“Hmm…” Oikawa had pondered for a few seconds and then shrugged. “Not sure. I was just really stressed, and I was scared that she’d leave us.”

“Us? How am I included in this? And where’d you even come up with that thought?”

“Because it’s always been us three, and it’s always gonna be us. We can’t be apart.”

“We’re eventually going to be apart, you know. It’s not likely that we’re all going to end up in the same city.”

“No,” Oikawa spoke obstinately, hands harshly crushing the wrapper around the now empty popsicle stick. “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to stick together wherever we go. We’ll play for the national team and (y/n) will find a job in Tokyo. We’re always going to be near each other. That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Iwaizumi had nothing to say about that, except for, “We’ll see.”

In the month or so to the blossoming age of fifteen, things don’t change very much. Oikawa becomes more physically affectionate with you and Iwaizumi. You try not to notice how often and how casually Oikawa tends to sling an arm over your shoulders. He does the same with Iwaizumi, though the latter is more likely to shrug it off in mock annoyance and causes Oikawa to lament about lost friendships. But even if physical distance has shortened, Oikawa begins to dig a mental wall between you two. His face becomes more hardened during practice, rarely ever putting up an earnest smile with his teammates. The late-night practices run even later, each serve hitting harder, each toss against the wall getting stronger. The nights when you leave him on his own slowly increase in frequency, going back home with only Iwaizumi. The third leg of the triangle missing feels so adulterated, so wrong. Oikawa is digging himself towards a hell that he won’t be able to return from, but how can you lift him back up? How can you dig your heels into the earth and pull him back out?

“I’m trying my best,” Iwaizumi attempts to comfort you one night. He sees how often you turn back to look at Oikawa as the two of you reluctantly move to leave the gym. Practice had been rough on him, getting switched out with Kageyama Tobio. You had watched his defeated body collapse onto the bench, and there was nothing more that you wanted to do than to run down and snap him out of whatever mental spiral he had created. One serve after another slams into the ground, his figure hunched and panting yet pushing itself to the limits.

“He’s going to kill himself at this rate,” you whisper morosely, turning back to peer at the dark sky. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“You know there’s no one more stubborn than that idiot. He’d have to pass out for you to drag him out of here.”

“Please teach me how to serve!” A young male voice calls out. Both of you pivot on your feet to see the source, eyes focusing on the scene of Kageyama Tobio requesting a seemingly simple task from a senpai.

But you can only watch as Oikawa’s eyes lose any semblance of emotion, instead only darkening with what seems like rage entering his body. He begins to tremble, and Iwaizumi must’ve seen something shift because no sooner than that does he bolt at top speed towards the unsuspecting pair. You can only watch in horror, shell-shocked, as Oikawa begins to forcibly swing his right arm, the back of his hand aiming straight for Tobio’s right cheek.

A horrible screech unearths from your throat in the form of a piercing “NO!” and slices through the air, just as Iwaizumi is able to stop Oikawa’s assault on the poor unsuspecting underclassman. You’ve never seen him so uncontrolled, so ready to intentionally commit an act of violence against an innocent person. Your ears pulse with your heartbeat, barely registering Iwaizumi apologizing to Tobio and giving Oikawa the lecture of his life.

The latter is reminded of the purpose of having a team, is scolded for having been so selfish in his pursuit for excellence. You start sprinting over when Iwaizumi headbutts Oikawa in the nose for his insolence, tossing your bag down as it only decreases your speed. You don’t care for the trouble of cleaning out blood stains from towels when you begin to clean his face, his eyes still furious and full of anguish but somewhat softened when he sees your tears. He continues to let Iwaizumi teach him a lesson while you pinch the bridge of his nose and tilt his head back. Like handling a doll, you have to lift his arm so he can keep the towel in place himself. You then scurry off to find the first-aid kit, leaving Oikawa to fend for himself. Only a couple of minutes later, the three of you are sitting on the ground and you’re dabbing ointment on the emerging bruise right in the middle of Iwaizumi’s forehead. Iwaizumi is a little calmer now, though he’s still verbally punishing Oikawa for even thinking of purposefully hurting a teammate.

Oikawa thinks the three of you are all fine and okay. He’d be ridiculously thickheaded if he wasn’t able to catch onto how quiet you are on the walk home, how instead of walking between him and Iwaizumi, you’re now on the opposite end. There’s a tug at his heartstrings when he plays with the idea that you’re attempting to put distance between you and him, but he refuses to believe it. His actions were a momentary lapse in terrible, awful judgment, and you had forgiven him. Why else would you have tried to help with his nosebleed? There’s no way you’d let something like this drive a rift in the trio.

There’s just no way.

“You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

There are times when you forget that Iwaizumi can be just as perceptive as Oikawa. For the last two weeks, you would, more often than not, avoid them during lunch. You attempt to show up at their volleyball practice as late as possible, saying that your club activities went longer than usual to prepare for upcoming competitions. You still walk on the opposite side from Oikawa on the way home and only give the bare minimum answers to any of his questions, leaving very little room to continue conversation. The atmosphere is heavy and awkward, tension so thick that Iwaizumi would need a chainsaw to cut through it.

This time you’re on the roof of the school. It’s cliché, so cliché, but the weather was too hard to ignore. Mostly cloudy with a slight wind, the perfect temperature without feeling too hot or too cold. You loved being outside during these days, and you had weaved as fast as possible through the emerging crowd of third years, up the stairs, and onto your personal sanctuary. Your bento is half-eaten when Iwaizumi makes his presence known. You should’ve seen this coming.

“He’s worried about you, y’know?”

“I know.”

“He misses you.”

“I know.”

“...he wants to know if you’re avoiding him because of that incident.”

“...which one?”

“The kiss.”

You whip your head in his direction, giving Iwaizumi an incredulous and affronted look. Instinctively, Iwaizumi throws his hands up, signaling that you shouldn’t shoot the messenger. God, Oikawa could be such a clueless buffoon sometimes. You scoff and nearly snort. Iwaizumi looks about ready to tear his hair out.

“So the great king thinks that I’m avoiding him over something that we haven’t talked about that happened a few months ago?”

Iwaizumi can’t find the words when you slam your bento box down on the ground, chopsticks thrown haphazardly on top and almost rolling off the edges. Iwaizumi catches them as you stand up in anger and begin to pace in front of him.

“Who does he think he is? He’s got a decent following of fangirls to help stroke his ego, and I’m sure some of them are more than willing to worship the ground he walks on. His teammates practically idolize him -- sans you -- but he thinks I’m losing sleep over some kiss we had months ago? It would make much more sense if this had been a couple of weeks after that, but we’re talking months right now! How is it," you stop in your stride, bottom lip beginning to tremble as you look down at Iwaizumi. "How is it that he’s one of my best friends who’s known me for almost 10 years, a genius in his own way, but still can’t tell that I’m avoiding him because I’m scared of him?”

This time, Iwaizumi is confused.

“You’re scared of Oikawa?” He asks, trying to confirm what he just heard.

You let out a long breath, forcing yourself to simmer down and keep a cool head. Part of you feels guilty, yet another part feels justified for your actions. You were only protecting yourself; it was only natural.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” you begin, gingerly sitting back down next to him. The comfort of your best friend that you’ve been denying yourself of is granted as you rest your head on his shoulder. You link an arm around his as well as you begin to curl into a familiar position. Iwaizumi only naturally rests his head on top of yours, hands folded in his lap and legs stretched out.

“I’ve never seen him look so angry, even when that one kid in second grade tried to make fun of you. Or even when someone took the shit talking too far at an official game last year. But he was ready, Iwa-kun. He was ready to displace Tobio out of sheer anger and spite. I know he knows better now. I’ve seen how much better he meshes with you all on the court and attempts to bring the best out of everyone. But it’s hard to look at him sometimes and forget what he was then. What if he gets mad like that at us one day? What if he tries to hit you?”

What if he tries to hit me? is left unsaid, but they ring loud and clear in both of your heads.

“The idiot knows that I could take him down in a fight if it ever came to it. And since it’s apparently not obvious, I’m just letting you know that Shittykawa would rather throw himself off a cliff before ever laying a finger on you like that.”

“But how can you guarantee that?” You argue back, lifting your head up to look him square in the eyes. You want to see if the same hesitancy is reflected in his orbs, the same uncertainty that had been slowly building up in you as an ugly beast. Instead, his eyes are steady and full of promise, never straying from yours as he ends the debate.

“You can trust me. And if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll do anything to make up for it, though the chances are very, very low. They’re practically non-existent.”

And if Iwaizumi says so, well…then it probably is so.

“...I trust you then,” you comply, your head leaning down to rest on his shoulder again. “You better be right.”

“I know I am.”

Silence.

“If you’re not going to eat the rest of your bento, you should give it to him. He’d be happy to see you.”

A few sighs later, a couple of stretches, some steps down the stairs, you find yourself stuck at the door of their classroom. You can see him with his jacket on, head buried in his arms on his desk and turned towards the windows. Iwaizumi gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Somehow you find yourself demurely sitting in the empty desk chair in front of him, hands clutching your bento box and chopsticks. Iwaizumi stands by you and watches as you quietly gulp.

“Tooru, wake up.”

Oikawa thinks he’s dreaming. More often than not, you had plagued his visions in sleep, often ending with you attempting to wake him up, but it had been spoken by his mother. He would be disappointed that it wasn’t you by his bedside trying to goad him out from under the sheets.

“Tooru, wake up. I have food.”

This is different. His eyes are bleary and caked with exhaustion, vision catching the light that peaks from under his elbows. Her voice is so close -- he has to give in and just look. Oikawa lifts his head and stares in front of him. He blinks once, then twice, then multiple times, and you’re still there. This is not a dream, he concludes. This is too good to be a dream.

You watch him warily as he attempts to gather his bearings. In the meantime, you open your bento and grab the last onigiri. When Oikawa begins to form the sounds for your name, you quickly stuff the rice ball into his mouth, causing him to give a muffled protest and use one hand to prevent the food from dropping. You watch with muted delight as everything begins to hit him all at once: the food in his mouth, you in front of him with a close-lipped smile, Iwaizumi leaning on the desk next to you two, the sunlight beaming through the windows.

His eyes slightly water, choosing wisely to not say anything for now. Oikawa dutily finishes the rice ball before you place the bento in front of him with chopsticks neatly arranged to the right of it. His hands shoot out to cover yours before they leave the bento, squeezing gently as he looks at you with apologetic puppy eyes. You can’t stop your smile from widening, and only then does Oikawa happily let go, thank the food, and begin to chow down with a gusto that had been missing for the last week.

Things are going to be okay. Unless that group of fangirls seething at you over in the corner is an indication of something otherwise.

You turn sixteen when Oikawa gets his first, real girlfriend.

It’s your first year at Aoba Johsai and Oikawa has captured the hearts of many people from around the area, be it still from middle school, or even some of the upperclassmen. Those who are engrossed in school volleyball were surprised to hear that he didn’t matriculate into Shiratorizawa. And because Oikawa keeps most everyone at arm’s length, only very few people know the reason why. It wasn’t that he was good enough to get in, that’s for sure -- it had mainly been him refusing to “serve” Ushijima. The Herculean boy can criticize his choices all he wants, but Oikawa will never step down from his pedestal willingly.

What no one knows besides Oikawa himself is that Ushijima was only 70% of the reason. The other 30%? He was not going to be the one that separates the trio. What a hypocrite he would be if he had left after having so passionately convinced Iwaizumi that the three of you would always be with each other.

Little do the two boys know that you had seriously considered going to Shiratorizawa. They knew how smart you were as you consistently placed in the top 5 of your class throughout middle school. What they didn’t catch onto was also how well you did in math club and chess club -- to be fair, they knew you excelled, they just weren’t sure of the details. Inquiries about your competitions were always answered in team format: we did well or we placed pretty high. The same existed for chess competitions -- you weren’t a national champion by any means, but you were still somewhat recognized. But again, the same answers were given: we all did well. Math club and chess club never had the public presence that other clubs did. Very few cared, and much less was said.

Before Oikawa pointed out how disgusted he was by the idea of going to Shiratorizawa, you had studied for their entrance exams in your spare time. You didn’t play any sports, so those scholarships were out of the question. It’d all have to be based on merit and you were ready to prove yourself. You had gotten past the first two rounds of exams without them knowing, and your nights only became longer and longer as the material increased in difficulty. But then the two boys talked about going to Aoba Johsai together since they were invited anyways, and not long after, you found yourself at the entrance of the testing center with Oikawa and Iwaizumi on either side, putting Shiratorizawa to the back of your mind.

Things are more brutal in high school. Subjects are more difficult, classes take more time, after-school activities often extend past the sunset. There are physically not enough hours in a day to spend nearly the amount of time you used to have with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The fangirls increase, Iwaizumi’s irritation becomes more exaggerated, and Oikawa becomes too nice on the fan-service.

He’s the triple threat: smart, kind, an amazing volleyball player. You and Iwaizumi can only roll your eyes as he plasters on his fakest grin for the crowd of girls huddling around him, demanding his attention. A part of him is thankful that so many seem to admire him. As much as he won’t return the affection, he welcomes the non-stop stroking of his ego. It does wonders at keeping his insecurities at bay, even if he knows that everything is superficial and surface level. They think they know him, but only a handful of people truly understand his personality.

So when Oikawa announces on the train home that he’s taking a girl out on a date, you and Iwaizumi can only passively nod, thinking that nothing will come of it. Then the second date happens, the third, the fourth, and then the stamp of the label between the two.

“I have a girlfriend now, guys!”

“Like actually? Sounds fake to me,” Iwaizumi scoffs, Oikawa taking offense.

“You wound me, Iwa-chan! What do you take me for, a heartless player?”

“Somewhat,” you jokingly supply, eyes still trained on your notes from your biology class. You don’t need to physically see him to know that he’s pouting and threatening to stick his tongue out at you. “Who’s the poor girl?” You ask, not really expecting much.

“She’s in your class, actually. Tachi Misaki?”

Your eyes stop registering any of the text that you’ve written. How did you miss that? How did you miss the fact that the girl he’d been dating was sitting only two rows away from you?

“Well,” you reply, clearing your throat. “All I can say is that you’re shooting above your level.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad, plus she’s really smart and pretty. She seems kinda low maintenance, pretty chill. Makes pretty good cookies. You think I could get her to learn how to make milk bread? But only if she has time.”

A heavy sigh leaves you as you stick a pencil between the pages and snap the notebook shut. Iwaizumi looks deep in thought before asking, “You think you’ll be able to handle her?”

“I mean, I’ve been going out on dates with her up ‘til now. She seemed fine and said she knew how busy my training schedule was. Like I said, she’s chill. Doubt she’s ever going to be super clingy or anything like that.”

By this time, you’ve all arrived at Oikawa’s house. He waves goodbye as he enters the front door, leaving Iwaizumi to walk you home.

“I give it three months, max,” you tell him. It’s mean, but you know Oikawa. He’ll be the most caring boyfriend in the beginning, but then he’ll get too comfortable, too complacent. He’ll unknowingly rely on the other person to comply with his needs rather than continuing to compromise to meet theirs. It’s only a matter of time before Misaki realizes that.

“I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt...maybe he’ll finally wake up, y’know. He’ll have an excuse to stop putting in extra practice or do something other than watching Shiratorizawa matches ‘til 2AM.”

At that, you cast a disbelieving look at him, his eyes catching yours. It isn’t long until you’re both failing to keep your laughter in. Oikawa Tooru? Ditching the opportunity for extra practice? Over his dead body.

Your estimation comes to fruition when Oikawa lightly dunks his forehead to lay on top of yours during the train ride home. The three of you had been standing near a pole, your own arm linked around it for some balance as you review and scribble some extra things into your notes from class. Oikawa is hanging on by a handle while Iwaizumi is grasping the part of the pole above your head.

“Misaki-chan broke up with me,” he spoke, loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear as well.

“Did she say why?” You ask, unable to move your head as you stare at the flap of his jacket.

“Becauseimtooobsessedwithvolleyball,” he mutters quickly.

“Say that again? And louder?” Iwaizumi teases.

Sigh. Straighten. “Because I’m too obsessed with volleyball,” he repeats a little bit louder, looking slightly ashamed and embarrassed that he, the great king of the court, the sole subject of so many girls’ affection, was ultimately dumped. The other part of the embarrassment masked the guilt he felt inside, having taken advantage of Misaki’s affections for him. Your eyes meet Iwaizumi’s, knowing that the conversation from months ago wasn’t said for naught. The sad, inevitable truth was there, and someone had to say it.

“It’s okay, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi nagged, patting the bachelor’s back. “You gotta make compromises, too.”

“But she knew! And we went on dates. That’s compromises, right?” Oikawa bemoaned, stubborn and petulant as ever. “It’s not like she wasn’t warned…”

“How many times did you guys go on a date?” You ask, attempting to get him to see reason. You know that the truth is there. He’s just fighting against full acceptance.

“Mmm, three times. No, four.”

“Three times in three months? Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay okay, um, what’d you guys do on the dates?”

“(Y/n)-chan, are you jealous? You wanna go on a date with me?” He teases, a pointer finger poking your cheek. You squint at him before (gently) slapping the back of his head, causing him to rub the area out of mock pain.

“Ya, do you want to die?” You threaten. “I will throw you off this train if I have to.”

“Can I help?”

“Iwa-chan! Why are you on her side?? Shit, I need new friends.”

“Good riddance.”

“Stoooppp!”

From then on, Oikawa swears off girlfriends in high school. Everyone is too busy, and no one is going to understand him and be okay with what he does. Volleyball is his passion and dream, why is that so hard to get through people’s heads?

(But he knows that as much as he protests, he couldn’t give Misaki what she wanted. He wanted to make it work, he really did.)

The horde of fangirls only grows over the years. He’d rather hold a torch for no one than to try again. Nothing mattered more than a victory against Shiratorizawa and moving on to nationals. The fangirls’ affection would make up for any lack of a love life and Iwaizumi can only shake his head as a trail of hopeful hearts are left in the setter’s wake.

There are times when Oikawa is incredibly thankful for you, that at least he has some sort of close female companion that’s not his sister or mother. Even if you’re busier than ever, you still make time for him and Iwaizumi, whether it be attending their late practices or making sure that they finish their homework over the weekends. They can’t play if they’re failing classes.

(Y/n)’s personality is what he wants in a girlfriend, Oikawa realizes one night. Someone chill, someone understanding of his lifestyle, someone who goes out of their way to spend time with him. Someone he feels a connection with no matter the distance, someone he wouldn’t hesitate to go to if they needed him, someone who would always, always be there--

But he can’t possibly date you. Why risk losing you when he already has you within his grasp? There’s no need to worry about making time or planning for dates, no need to worry about coming up with a gift for White Day (as if he already doesn’t). There’s no need to worry about you leaving him now when his ugly, petty side manifests from time to time because you’ve seen it all. You would never leave him, he reaffirms to himself. You will always be by his side no matter where he is. He can always count on you to be in the bleachers during games, front and center, with the rest of the school cheer crowd. He can always count on you to lend him a shoulder, to pick up the phone at 4AM when he’s woken up anxious with thoughts going at a million a mile, to hand him two slices of milk bread on the weekends from their favorite bakery, to keep him in line with Iwaizumi.

Why risk voiding himself of all that, of so many memories, just to pursue the chance for some more intimacy?

And as Oikawa’s fingers hover over his lips, his mind reeling with flashbacks on how that kiss with you felt even two years later, the last thing he registers before succumbing to the nothingness of sleep is the painful tightening of his chest.

Oikawa is seventeen when he is reminded of how easy it is for him to lose you.

The three of you are sitting on a checkered blanket on top of a hill that overlooks the nearby area. A plastic bag holds a mix of canned beers and hard ciders, some empty and others waiting to be consumed. You’re taking it a little farther than you usually do, typically sipping one through the night. Yet you’re on your third and the two boys can only look at you with slight concern.

Your finals were particularly difficult -- part of you had still been recovering from the vicarious loss against Shiratorizawa, knowing how hard your two friends had taken it. It had only caused Oikawa and Iwaizumi to spend even more time in the gym after practice, a ferocity and drive in their muscles that you had never observed before. The amount of time and energy it took from you to forcibly change and drag them away from the court was substantial. Sleepless nights were dedicated to thinking of ways on how to lift them back up from whatever mental hell they created for themselves. In a sense, those nights paid off, but not without a price.

The alcohol tingles through your bloodstream and seems to slow everything down. You’re not drunk, but you don’t think you could appreciate the scenery before you as much as you are now if you were completely sober. Oikawa is going on about the constellations in the night sky, Iwaizumi teasing him relentlessly, and you can’t bother to fight the lazy smile that stretches across your face. Would you still have these nights with them if you had gone to Shiratorizawa?

“Did you know,” you softly interrupt them, unable to keep the secret any longer. It’s been two years, surely it couldn’t hurt. “Did you know...that I would’ve gone to Shiratorizawa if it hadn’t been for you two?”

The sound of cicadas has nothing on the sudden pounding of Oikawa’s heartbeat. Iwaizumi has an equally flabbergasted look on his face, searching your own as you pull up your knees and rest your chin on top of them. The lack of a verbal response only makes you chuckle, reaching down to grab your can and take another sip.

“Evidently it didn’t happen,” you drawl and then giggle. “Be-because I’m obviously at Seijou--”

“That’s not funny,” Oikawa interjects, voice hard and stern. “That’s not funny, you don’t get to say that and expect us to laugh it off. Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?”

“Why does it matter so much?” You mumble, suddenly desiring for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. “I clearly didn’t go, okay? Jesus--”

“No!” The setter yells, his face morphed by rage. “You were going to leave us? Why would that ever get into your brain, I mean, did we do something? Did we do something to push you to do something like that?”

“Hey, dude, calm down--”

“Don’t you get it, Iwa-chan? She was going to leave us and go to fucking Shiratorizawa of all places! She--”

“I thought you guys were going to accept their invite, okay?!” You interject, exasperated and frustrated. Evidently, you made a mistake in bringing this up now. “I didn’t realize how much you guys hated Ushijima’s guts and immediately changed plans once Aoba Johsai was on your agenda. So just stop, alright? It was two years ago and nothing’s gonna change.”

Oikawa pauses and attempts to reign in his anger. Why hadn’t you talked about it with them at the time? Why can’t he stop thinking about you donned in their maroon and white uniform, sitting casually in the bleachers of the gym, and instead of waiting for him and Iwaizumi, you’re waiting for Ushijima? Why can’t he stop thinking about how wrong that image looks, how much he’d like to be there and snatch you away because you’re his, you can’t abandon him--

“I’m sorry,” you apologize so mousily. Oikawa glances and sees the glisten of unshed tears, immediately relaxing and feeling guilty for being so hot-headed. It was the alcohol, for sure, he rationalizes before he turns to face you, scooching as close as possible to you. You’re still sitting in a fetal position as he slides one arm behind your waist and another wedges between your stomach and thighs. He buries his head into the crook of your neck. Your body welcomes the familiar heat and continues to relax as Iwaizumi lays his head on your shoulder. Instead of tears of sadness, you can only bask in the realization of how lucky you are two have these two doofuses in your life. The tears spill over as you sniffle, overcome with emotions that could only be so pronounced under the influence of alcohol.

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you guys,” you blubber. Oikawa’s grip tightens for a second as a tacit return of affection. “And I promised, didn’t I? I promised that I’d never leave you two, so you’re stuck with me. I wouldn’t wanna leave, even if you made me try.”

That’s right, Oikawa remembers. You promised -- and you would never go back on your word.

Oikawa is eighteen years old when he begins to truly understand the extent of your selflessness and how much of a selfish monster he can be when it comes to you.

It’s the night of their loss against Karasuno High, their last chance at defeating Shiratorizawa now gone and irreversible. Though tears had been shed towards his teammates, an overwhelming amount of gratitude and pride to have gone down fighting their hardest, the regret was eating at the two boys like nothing else.

Oikawa’s mother is working late -- you met them at the doorstep when they returned from the team dinner, saying nothing but holding up a bag of their favorite desserts. Minutes later, the three of you are a tangled and cuddled mess with the television quietly airing some old rerun of a child’s cartoon. It’s only when the boys’ cries have dwindled down into occasional sniffling do you dare to speak.

“I’m so proud of you two,” you begin but already feel yourself choke up again. “You did nothing but your best. I know how much this meant to you guys, but this isn’t the end. Time doesn’t stop here and you’re gonna go on to be even better players in uni. So don’t give up, okay?” You ask, hands squeezing whoever’s arm or arms you might be holding on to.

“Don’t give up when there’s so much left to fight for.”

They know you’re right. You’re always right in times like these.

Iwaizumi leaves about an hour later, eyes brighter and a small shit-eating grin on his face after about 13 brutal rounds of Uno. He won the majority of them, thankful that there was something to distract him for now. Oikawa promises to walk you home soon since it’s so late, earning a glare that could only mean “You fucking better, you shithead” and waving him off. Such a worry-wart. But when the front door clicks closed, the silence takes over once again.

Oikawa stands from the couch and stretches, gives a few twists before turning to look back at you. You’re curled up with your phone in hand, probably scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. “Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds out a hand. Don’t do this, he tells himself. “There’s something in my room that I need to return to you. Come with me?” Only delight fills his veins when you nod and set your phone down on the couch before sliding your hand into his. They stay linked as he leads you to his room, only separating when he lets go and you take refuge on this edge of his neatly-made bed.

As childish as he can be, you forget how tidy Oikawa is with his room. The books on his shelf are meticulously arranged by last name, photo frames strategically and aesthetically placed in empty spaces. His writing utensils are carefully arranged in a row on the side of his desk, and his drawer looks much of the same. Stapler, tape, sticky notes and tabs are all methodically placed, somehow speaking true to his leadership abilities.

Your observations are cut short when Oikawa sits down next to you with a book in hand, one that you had lent him months ago. To be honest, you completely forgot that he had it and you make it known to him.

“But did you like it?”

He nods with a small smile, yet his eyes are staring at the wall with a faraway look. He’s contemplating something, drawing plans in his brain, and after a couple of glances towards you, Oikawa gives in.

Much like that Friday afternoon four years ago, he leans his forehead on yours. A wave of deja-vu crashes over you as you’re once again plummeted into the dark ocean of his eyes. He keeps his gaze steady, searching for any kind of resistance. He needs something that only you can give him.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he whispers. You can feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the heaviness in his voice. “But I don’t know who else to ask. I don’t know why I can’t think of anyone but you.

“So can I please kiss you?”

What?

“But why?” You ask, the confusion so obvious in two words. Oikawa can only sigh to himself before carefully maneuvering you to straddle him, facing no objection from you. It’s just a kiss, he thinks to himself. It’s just a kiss that he wants with no strings attached to help with the emotional turmoil that only you could begin to understand. Your heartbeat feels like you’ve been swimming against the current for hours, your body betraying you as you let him bring one of your hands to his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and he languidly nuzzles into your palm, lips placing the softest, most intimate kiss there.

“I don’t know,” he breathes. Your heart aches and aches. “I swear that all I do know is that it can only be you. Please, please let me have this.”

And you can’t help but nod.

Unlike last time, Oikawa doesn’t surge forward. He instead bides his time, lips only barely ghosting over yours as he holds onto your waist. The contact becomes progressively fuller, more purposeful, as he completely slants his mouth over yours. In response, your fingers tangle themselves in the strands at the base of his neck and he finds himself drawing you closer to him, arms now completely wound around your waist.

This is a sin, he has to remind himself. This is a sin that only benefits him -- he is taking, he is stealing, he is feeding on an elixir at the cost of your soul. But his desires only overpower his guilt because as devilish as he may be, the sin feels like heaven. A paradise made by you created solely for him.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth before gently sucking, eliciting the most delicate moan from your throat. The sound only flips a switch in his head as he applies more pressure, desperate to hear it again. Mine, he thinks as he begins to litter kisses down your neck, teeth catching skin to leave marks on you. Mine, he screams to himself as his hands peek under the edge of your shirt, skin on skin.

“Tooru--” you pant, trying to lean back and gather your thoughts. This is too much to handle. If you’re not careful, you’ll unlock the only thing that you swore you’d take to your grave, the three words that could ruin everything.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps before diving in for another quick kiss. “I’m not asking for sex. I just need you,” he confesses, pecks littered between his words. Oh, how you wish this were under different circumstances. How you wish that you could utter those three words without a care in the world and know that they’ll be reciprocated. Your lips meet his again and it feels like the earth has stopped on its axis.

Both of you are unaware of the amount of time that passes. Fervent kisses slowly diminish to a languid pace until it comes to a complete stop. Oikawa can only lean his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and chest heaving with you in a similar state. Neither of you have enough energy to find the right words. His arms only draw you into his chest and he can’t help but marvel at how perfect of a fit you are for him.

“I should probably head home,” you whisper. Being the man-child that he is, he shakes his head vehemently and momentarily refuses to let you escape his embrace.

“Do you have to?” He tiredly grumbles, reluctantly loosening his grip with a sigh as you slide off his lap. You nod and bend forward to give him one last kiss, the separation causing him to whine. You make your way towards his body-length mirror, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles and fix your hair. Oikawa hugs you from behind, his limbs wrapping around your shoulders.

“We’re okay, right?”

You nod. Don’t we have to be?

And that’s when Oikawa Tooru begins to slip through your fingers.

It’s a combined effort, really. Everybody’s trying to wrap things up, all the big competitions are jam packed into the last remaining weekends, and making room for last-minute college entrance exams. If people weren’t already at their wit’s end, then you can barely fathom the amount of anxiety and stress coursing through the halls of the school.

You use this to your advantage, finding yourself unable to go home with the boys, unable to visit them on the weekends, unable to respond to text messages frequently. You begin to learn to look past Oikawa rather than at him, not bothering to spare a second glance when he’s caught in the hallways by a group of infatuated admirers. You fail to see the way his eyes follow your passing figure or how he slows his pace when walking by your classroom, hoping to get a glimpse of you. You fail to see the disappointment on his face when your spot in the bleachers is empty. So he falters, redirects, and lets the distance increase.

The only time you reconvene with the two is after the graduation ceremony. Your mother would kill you if you left without a picture of you and your best friends, and clearly their mothers are thinking the same thing. Outside in the courtyard, the women spot each other, your mother almost dragging you behind her. They’re trying to find their respective sons, though it doesn’t take long because the sudden clambering and screaming of girls can only serve a few purposes. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are craning their heads before they’re able to finally spot the frantic waving from their mothers.

Soon, they’re in front of you, both individually giving a hug. “Congratulations,” you tell them with as much happiness as possible. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see them -- you’re all attending the same university. They thank you and return the festivities. It’s hard to miss how your hug with Oikawa lasts a little bit longer than normal, even more so when his hands trail down your arms before slyly slipping a small object into your hand. As you unfurl your fist, a shiny circular object is gleaning back at you. You spot a stray thread from his jacket and it hits you -- the devilish fox has given you his second button. You’d like to pretend to be unaffected, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“And if I don’t accept?” You challenge. For a second, Oikawa is genuinely taken aback. It’s obvious he didn’t expect you to consider rejecting the button and stumbles over his attempts to come up with a comeback. When he spots you fighting to contain your laughter, his embarrassment only pushes him to lightly shove your shoulder.

“For being my best female friend,” he elaborates. You deserve an award for containing the pain and bearing through it, pretending that his words don’t faze you in any ways. Iwaizumi only shakes his head at his friend’s idiocy -- what is he thinking?

“Oh I’m sorry,” you apologize in a mocking tone, pretending to bow. “Should I be groveling at your feet now like the other girls back there? Oh great king?”

“Why yes, I am indeed the great king--”

Smack. “You’re such an idiot,” Iwaizumi reprimands. The recipient of the hit pretends to bawl, resuming his childish antics once again.

That’s how high school ends, with two aching hearts and three families of laughter, all making way for the start of university.

Oikawa somehow makes it possible to balance his love life, volleyball, and his business major. Both he and Iwaizumi blend in nicely with the university team as your words from before ring in their brains. They could and are becoming better players -- high school suddenly seems so casual compared to the stakes at the university level. Teammates are constantly being scouted and the two begin to strive for the national team. Despite the fact that they barely see you anymore, Oikawa still dreams of his ideal future: he and Iwaizumi playing for Japan in Tokyo, with you having a job there and supporting them in the stands.

Sometimes he’s able to spot you on campus -- the building for the pharmacy program that you’re enrolled in is relatively far from the business building. Most times you’re walking with your classmates, giggling at something or engaged in a heated discussion. He thinks about how beautiful you look in your white coat with your hair tied back, your face donned with some makeup for the natural look and a pair of dainty earrings. Part of him boils in jealousy whenever there’s a male acting particularly close with you, but he knows he has no right to think that way. The thoughts only fuel him during volleyball practice, which seems to satisfy his coach.

It’s easy for him to like someone, he figures out two years in. It’s easy for him to get to know someone and pick up on their quirks. As a social butterfly, it’s not difficult for him to get along with his partner, but when it comes to developing deeper feelings...it just doesn’t happen. He wants so badly to reciprocate, especially considering how much effort some of his past partners have put in. But something stops him every time -- unwillingly, he’s become a master at letting people down easy, that he’s truly sorry he can’t reciprocate their love. On the other hand, Iwaizumi is pretty successful in his current relationship, going strong for the last year and a half. Oikawa seeks his advice at the club one night, keeping an eye out to see if there’s anyone he'd be willing to take home (not that he ever does).

At this point, Iwaizumi wonders how he’s still friends with him. Yes, he’s fiercely loyal and has been by Oikawa’s side since the beginning, but if the guy was going to do nothing but continue his descent into idiocy, there was very little he could do for him. (Y/n) had the same problem as Oikawa except you figured it out much, much faster.

“You idiot, you’re in love with another person.”

“...say what now?”

“That’s all it is. You’re in love with someone else. That’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.”

“If I was in love with someone else, wouldn’t I know?”

Yeah. Oikawa Tooru is a big, bumbling, messy pile of denial.

“You know what,” Iwaizumi sighs, setting his drink down before paying the tab. “You’re right. You’re in love with yourself.” Oikawa knows that he’s joking. Nothing could be farther from the truth -- he’s always dedicated himself to the happiness of others. That’s the role of him as a setter and captain: to bring out the best of his teammates’ abilities, but he can only do that if he’s at his best as well. His eyes cast another look into the dancing crowd. He downs his drink as someone catches his attention, also moving to pay his tab.

“Tell your girlfriend I said hi!”

Iwaizumi only gives him a lazy wave as he makes his way to the entrance. Oikawa is sliding his way onto the dance floor and when Iwaizumi spots who he’s wormed next to, he hopes that one day, Oikawa will really open his eyes.

Because he’s always going for girls who look wildly similar to you.

It’s hard to have an undefeated season. Some losses are harder than others and during the first two years, you, sweet, sweet (y/n), always managed to find him.

He needed you most on those rare days. Even after weeks of limited texting and quick passings on campus, there was a level of comfort that solely existed by being with you. He would attempt to joke and tease with you to put up a facade, but when you would lead him to his couch and leave your arms open, the veil would drop as he cried into your shoulder. He would then pick up his terrible, terrible habit of giving into sin (as long as he wasn’t dating anyone), selfishly knowing that you would never say no. He’ll ask you if this is okay, and you always say yes. The two of you never cross the line of anything more than making out, yet the kisses become less lust-ridden and more tender over time, laced with something much more meaningful.

(And with each time, it becomes harder and harder to refrain yourself from confessing.)

Oikawa reveled in being able to sigh against your lips, stealing your breaths from your lungs and even convincing you to stay the night. There were mornings when he truly felt that there was nothing better than waking up with his arm around your waist. He could squeeze you to his chest and wish for this all day. Sometimes, you woke up earlier than him and silently admired how peaceful he looked compared to the haggardness just hours before. With his hair so delicately splayed across his forehead, the ends curling up to defy gravity, a tiny scar dusting his right cheek, you would be painfully reminded of just how much you love him.

The last time you woke up next to him, you thought to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

In the beginning of the third year, you fight every cell in your body to not go to him. Instead, you call him up and ask how he’s doing -- he doesn’t question it, doesn’t demand that you come see him. If there’s something preventing you from visiting him, he won’t ask about it. Even only a call brings him the warmth that he usually craved from you, though he knows nothing can satisfy him like your physical presence. The routine continues, volleyball practice becomes longer, and Oikawa thinks he’s finally getting used to this. This is the farthest you’ll distance yourself from him. There’s no way that you’d ever be more than a train ride away.

“are you guys free for coffee this weekend?” The text reads in the group chat. (Y/n) knows they don’t have a game, one of the rare breaks they get. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have the same schedules, so when Iwaizumi texts back “yh, where at?”, it’s for both of them.

“our favorite cafe restaurant by the bookstore okay? 1pm? my treat?”

“sounds good. see you then.”

“see you guys xx”

They think nothing of it -- it’s just a rare moment that everyone is free and able to catch up. Both dress up in their best casual streetwear, Oikawa even donning the glasses that you like so much. He’s nearly buzzing with excitement at finally being able to talk with you and have you within arm’s distance. Everything is normal when they walk into the cafe, spotting you in the corner booth. You’re quick to match their grins and give them both hugs, watching in delight as their eyes take in the milk bread, agedashi tofu, and a few other shareable dishes. They’re starting to think this is a bit of an apology meal for not having seen them in forever. It’s nice that whenever the three of you are together, there’s no awkwardness and everything seems to be back to normal.

Like how it’s supposed to be. But all good things must come to an end, right?

“It’s so nice being here with you two,” you laugh as you lean back against the vinyl leather. “I’m glad we could do this.”

“We need to do this more often,” Iwaizumi agrees. “We don’t have as many classes since we’re juniors now. Practice is still always the same so we should have more time to meet up. What about you?”

“Same here. Actually,” you pause, hesitant and scrambling for words. You’ve even rehearsed what you’re about to tell them, yet everything has been forgotten.

“I’m...I’m applying to doctoral programs in America.”

The boys look like two deer caught in the headlights. Oikawa is immediately filled with a sense of dread and fear -- his worst nightmare is slowly transforming into reality, unearthing its ugly head. A train ride is one thing, but a 13 hour plane ride? Time differences? A whole different country on the other side of the world?

“That’s...wow. That’s um,” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “That’s a big move. Why did you decide on America? I thought you wanted to start working after?”

“I’m enjoying pharmaceutical research more than I ever thought I would. We just actually got back from an international conference a few weeks ago -- there were so many interesting topics and studies being done. And...I thought it’d be nice to travel somewhere, you know. Have a change of pace.”

And you’re not completely lying. You’ve never really been outside of Japan before. Part of you wants to travel and see more of the world, especially after the conference in Berlin. Famous structures and streets that had been mere images on your computer or phone screen were suddenly physically before your eyes. You wanted to gain a better grasp of what it could offer and what you’ve been missing out on.

The other part of you felt stuck here. You needed an excuse to end the never-ending cycle that was Oikawa. It was an infinite loop of running to him, falling into his arms, attempting to put an obstacle on the bridge between you two, but then crossing over it to fall back into his arms again. You were never close to being free of him, not that you wanted to, but you wanted to know who you could be almost nearly without him. You wouldn’t be you if you were completely void of Oikawa Tooru. He would always have a part of your heart and be a part of your soul, no matter what.

“When would you leave?” Oikawa timidly asks, his gaze directed towards the crumbs on his plate.

“I’m actually on track to graduate by the end of this academic year. If I find a research group that wants me and is willing to provide me with adequate funding...I’d probably leave pretty soon after graduation. Y’know, get settled, meet my group, and...yeah.”

Silence ensues as the two boys figure out what to say. Your leg is bouncing restlessly beneath the table, fingers quietly tapping the side of your cup. Iwaizumi seems to be taking it pretty well, but Oikawa...you can’t tell.

All emotion is wiped from his face. He’s choosing to pierce holes in the wall by your head and his arms are crossed in front of his chest. He’s trying so hard to be mature about this and be happy for you, yet all he can register is the fact that you’re leaving. You’re leaving them, you’re leaving him, you’ll be gone forever and you’ll never come back, you’re going to find new friends, a new partner, a new bed that belongs to someone else to fall asleep in, oh how wretched--

“We’re gonna miss you,” Oikawa says, voice barely any louder than the tranquil music playing over the speakers. You feel like you’ve been transported back to when you were ten and breaking the news of quitting volleyball, hearing the same four words spoken in a very similar manner. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of their hands in each of yours. Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to give a friendly squeeze while Oikawa’s grip is only limp at best. But after a few seconds, it tightens and tightens until you understand the message: please don’t go.

“We’ve spent our whole lives together. I’ve told you two this before and I’ll say it again -- I’m so lucky that I have you guys. Part of me is able to do this because I know you’ve always got my back and I know that’s not going to change, even when I’m halfway across the world. So keep in touch? Please?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi reaffirms and Oikawa nods. You express your thanks and retract your hands, trying to ignore the way that Oikawa’s fingers linger for as long as they can without being too obvious. The three of you eventually leave, bidding goodbye to your waitress and cashier, and continue to amble down the streets. Time always flies when you’re with them, conversation never truly ending. Eventually Iwaizumi has to leave to meet his girlfriend for dinner and Oikawa, being the gentleman that he always is, ensures that he’ll bring you home safe and sound. As the two of you wave goodbye and watch him disappear into the crowd, Oikawa offers his arm to you. He sees the pleasant surprise on your face and can’t help the smile on his own as you wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow.

The two of you continue to chat -- you fill him in on all the little details of your life that he had missed. In return, he does the same, eliciting so many different emotions from you. The pain in your heart increases when you realize just exactly how far away you’ve been from him. You choose to ignore that he’s taking the long way to your apartment, relishing in this rare time you have with him. Oikawa is the only person to make you feel like there truly wasn’t enough time in the world to spend with the one you love.

This must be what it’s like to date you, he realizes. Your hand is still wrapped around his arm, even when the limb became tired and settled for tucking his hand into his jacket pockets. He drinks in every laugh, every scoff, every grin, every gasp of surprise. Very few things bring him greater satisfaction than the way your eyes sparkle when he buys one of your favorite snacks off a food cart or when he points out something that reminds him of you. He never wants you to let go -- all he wants now is to collapse into your bed and wake up with his arm around your waist once again.

Before he knows it, they’re in front of your door, fiddling with your keys. He leans against the wall by your door as you locate the right one, but you hesitate.

“This was really fun. Thanks for basically spending your whole day with me.”

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he replies, unable to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out like this.”

“Yeah, it has been.”

Silence.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” He asks with eyes full of hope. You’d have to be blind to not notice them, yet you would still be able to tell by the tone of his voice.

“Of course,” you reply with a small smile. “Until you get sick of me.”

Oikawa scoffs, but puts on a sincere face as he quips back, “Never.”

In all the years that you’ve been friends with him, nothing has ever sent blood rushing to your cheeks so fast. Your heartbeat quickens at an alarming rate and it doesn’t help as he begins to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face.

At the last second, he dips his head to the right and places a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. Before you can blink twice, he’s already walking backwards with the cheekiest grin on his face, a cute little wave towards you. He then turns on his heels and makes his way to the elevator with a bit of a skip in his step.

You don’t even remember unlocking your door and toeing off your shoes. Your entire body feels like lead, yet also buzzing with excitement. And as you’re collapsed on your bed, staring at the ceiling, all your brain can comprehend and tell you is that Oikawa Tooru is truly the bane of your existence.

Oikawa does his best to stay true to his word.

Even with fewer classes, there’s always something that he needs to finish: that project, this homework assignment, extra practice -- sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t been in uni. Or at least picked a different major. When he can, he tries to visit you on nights, sometimes sheepishly empty-handed, other times holding a bag of your favorite pastries. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” You joke one night before biting into your favorite flavor of macaron. “More to hold and hug,” he teases back, causing you to give him a light whack on his arm.

He’s there when you nervously submit all your applications. He’s there when you receive offers to interview. He’s there when you get your first official acceptance. And of course, he’s there when you make your final decision. There’s no hesitation when you jump into his arms after submitting your confirmation of acceptance to University of California – San Francisco, though he wishes you could be there forever. Weeks begin to roll by, much quicker than he’d like. The usual cheery and joyful chattiness of when he usually visits evolves into comfortable silence, both of you settling for watching some space documentary on Netflix most nights. Oikawa hates how the inevitable is slowly creeping up his spine and more often than not, he’s torn between wanting to either just rip the Bandaid off or try to stop time.

The approaching reality of you physically leaving him starts to take its true form when you ask him to tag along on the hunt for suitcases. You want to get at least one of those large suitcases that have to be checked in to try to bring as much stuff as possible. The whole time, Oikawa is half numb, though he tries his best to give his honest opinions on the suitcases you consider. He knows what a big step this is as he watches you eagerly pay for your final selection. However, nothing hits him harder than when he comes into your apartment a week before your graduation and there’s a wide array of empty, mismatched cardboard boxes in every room.

To drive the stake in even further, the recently purchased suitcase lies wide open in your bedroom with some stray objects already neatly tucked in. Yet the one that catches his eye is a picture frame placed in a bubble wrap sleeve. It holds the physical memory of you, him, and Iwaizumi at your high school graduation, each person with their own bouquet of congratulatory flowers. There’s a reason you have this specific shot framed out of all the ones between the parents combined; reason being the fact that Oikawa isn’t looking at the camera lens, but rather looking at you.

His eyes glinted with pride and care in that picture, a certain softness in his posture. The picture has always sat demurely in a back corner of your desk. However, some friends or recent classmates that have been in your room have taken note of it, excitedly asking you, “Is this your boyfriend??” It’s more painful when you have to tell them he’s not, only just a very close childhood friend. A very close childhood friend that you’ve kissed multiple times and will always give your heart to, but you leave that part unsaid. .

Oikawa spends the night with you, taking much longer than usual to fall asleep. You’ve already passed out next to him, mouth slightly agape and hands curled up near your face. Quietly, he adjusts his weight onto his elbow, leaning his cheek into his hand. His other hand gently tucks the strands of hair that have fallen over your face behind your ear. To him, you look nothing short of angelic. He hates that he’s only able to spend time like this with you as the clock is ticking -- he wishes that he made more of an effort to meet and see you during your first two years. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so anxious at the thought of you leaving. Perhaps the two of you would’ve established something that would guarantee your return.

At this thought, Iwaizumi’s words ring in his head.

You’re in love with someone else, that’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.

They continue to ring as he finally falls asleep. They ring as he only wakes up hours later, settling on trying to quickly whip up breakfast for you. They’re loudest when you quietly pad up to him and rest your chin over his shoulder, nearly scaring the shit out of him. Even then, his body can’t help but relax from the feeling of your body pressed against his back.

Even as he prepares for his finals, you’re in love with someone else.

Even in the midst of presenting a final project for class, you’re in love with someone else.

All the way up until he’s parked in a seat, arms cradling a bouquet of your favorite flowers, tucked between Iwaizumi and your mother at your graduation ceremony, you’re in love with someone else.

And when he’s cheering his loudest for you as you cross the stage, pausing to shake the university’s president’s hand and receive your diploma, his heart finally settles on the unshakeable truth that he probably knew all along.

I’m so fucking in love with (y/n).

“I’m so fucked,” he mutters to himself, but not quiet enough because Iwaizumi catches it.

“What’d you do, shithead?” He leans in to ask so your mother doesn’t hear. Oikawa only shakes his head, his leg subconsciously beginning to bounce anxiously. Iwaizumi takes a look at the leg, then a look at his face, and when he catches how Oikawa’s eyes follow you happily ambling off the stage, the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. After years and years of living in pure oblivion, Oikawa has finally understood just how much he loves you.

“God, you have such shit timing, you dickhead,” Iwaizumi groans, fingers pinching and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“What did he do?” His girlfriend on his other side asks. He leans over to briefly kiss her cheek, murmuring a “I’ll tell you later,” in her ear before turning back to his best friend.

Oikawa feels like a nervous schoolboy with the way his face is construed, his hands grasping the flower stems like it’s his lifeline. He begins to think about how he should confess to you – should it be during a candlelit dinner? On the roof of your apartment under the stars? Should he take you to a park or by the beach? A million more scenarios run through his head as the rest of the graduation ceremony proceeds. He stands in a daze as the students begin to file out, the families in the stands soon following suit. His body stiffly stands to follow your family and creaks like a rusty robot, absolutely unprepared to face you with his new revelation. The only thing that brings him out of his head is when Iwaizumi yanks him back by the collar of his shirt, practically choking him in the process. His throat coughs and fights for oxygen as he rubs at his neck, watching your mother disappear into the crows before turning to Iwaizumi with a pitiful and defeated look.

“What the hell was that for, Iwa-chan? Why—”

“You are not telling her right now, you hear me?” Iwaizumi threatens in a hushed voice.

“But—”

“She’s leaving. In a week. To America. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Can’t that be for her to decide? She can turn me down, but I need to tell her!” Oikawa cries out as the three of them do their best to stay out of other people’s way, pressing themselves to their seats as much as possible. People are casting them either curious or nasty looks for being obstacles in an increasingly heated argument, but they could also care less.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him, then stabs a finger to his chest. “What you want, what you need…it’s always been that way for you when it comes to her. Have you ever stopped to consider what she wants?”

“Of course I have, what do you take me for?!”

“What do I take you for?! I take you for an idiot who spent years taking advantage of her!” Iwaizumi drives his point by jabbing the finger on his chest again. “I take you for an idiot who knew that she could never say no to you and you still used her whenever it was convenient! You think you’ve been such a martyr—”

“I didn’t do that! I—”

“Then prove it,” Iwaizumi hisses. “Prove to us that you genuinely care about what she needs. You know what she needs right now? She needs us, her friends, to go out there, find her, and congratulate her with flowers. Then, we’re gonna go to our favorite place with her family and celebrate her. Today’s about her and her achievements. We’re gonna be happy for her because that’s what she needs today. That’s what she deserves.”

Most of the crowd have trickled towards the lobby by now, leaving the three of them with a few student workers running around to pick up trash and stray programs in preparation for the next ceremony. Iwaizumi sighs, seeking comfort in the way that his girlfriend slides her hand into his. Everything that he had been holding in is now out in the open.

“You think you can do that, Tooru?” He asks in a calmer voice.

“…yeah.”

Oikawa tries his best to keep his feelings at bay. They threaten to spill when your eyes drink in the bouquet he’s brought for you, a pure smile of delight as you lean in to catch a whiff of your favorite flowers. It’s even harder when you give him a friendly peck on the cheek, quickly moving to give Iwaizumi and his girlfriend hugs. He can’t stop sneaking glances your way during lunch, watching how happy you seem to be as you verbally recall the last three years. His mind does its best to stay involved in the conversation, yet it doesn’t cease to drift towards Iwaizumi’s words. It’s heart-wrenching because everything he said was true – he had knowingly taken advantage of your lack of resistance, had knowingly acknowledged that he was committing a certain sin in life, driven by greed and desire. He knew years ago that he could never get enough of you and would never be able to.

“…your plans after this?” He hears your mother ask you, her voice reminding him to be an active participant in this chat.

“I kind of just want to go home and get out of this dress, probably start up my packing again. I had to put that on hold with finals and everything.”

“We can come help you if you want.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I might even take a nap first.”

“You can take a nap while I help you pack,” Oikawa interjects without a thought. He just wants more time with you. You look skeptical and he puts on an affronted expression. “I’m a really neat and organized packer, thank you very much. You think I’m some poor slob who can’t properly fold a shirt?”

“It’s exactly what I think.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean! I’ll prove it.”

“Fine,” you say with a smirk widening. “But I’m kicking you out if it isn’t up to my standards.”

“Yes ma’am!” He replies like a soldier, comically saluting with two fingers. Iwaizumi shoots him his best warning glare as the table resumes chatting.

About an hour later, the two of you are walking side-by-side in the direction of your apartment. The pace is slow with your heels on, especially as they become more and more painful. Eventually, you let out a big huff and stop in your path to slip off your heels, picking them up by the straps and letting them hang off your fingers. Your gown, stole, and chords are draped over your other arm, the other hand holding onto the cap and flowers. Oikawa watches as you sigh happily and wiggle your toes before you continue the trek barefoot. He’s terrified that you’ll get a staph infection and stops you.

Without saying anything, he takes the graduation gown from your arm and fits it over you, thankful that the bottom of it nearly reaches your ankles. Your arms have a mind of their own as they slip into the sleeves. He crouches for bit and fiddles a little bit before pulling your zipper up, then takes your cap and fits it onto your head. Before you can question his actions, he sweeps around to lift you up in his arms bridal style, causing you to yelp at the sudden motion. One of your arms is already swung around his neck, the other just trying to make sure your heels, chords, and stole don’t drop. Oikawa adjusts his grip a little, then looks down at you.

“You okay?”

You’re incredibly flustered, saying nothing but giving a few nods. He gently smiles before bringing you closer to his chest. Eventually, you place everything into your lap, leaving your other arm free to lie over the flowers on your stomach. You have an internal battle with yourself on whether you should link your free limb around his neck or not – do you want to come off as clingy? Would Oikawa mind? Would it make him uncomfortable? You soon decide, fuck it. You just graduated, you deserve to be pampered a little bit, even if it means treating yourself to indulging in one of your longtime fantasies with the man you secretly love.

Even though your face is already pretty close to his, by wrapping both arms around him, you’re practically nuzzling into the side of his neck. He smells faintly of the cologne that you gifted him last year for his birthday. It brings you fond memories of your life with him so far, how even through all the pain of unrequited love, every second has been absolutely worth it.

“Thank you,” you murmur and tighten your grasp. “For everything. For being my best friend, for always being there for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, silly,” he replies affectionately. “You know we love you, right?”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure that you knew how much I appreciate it, that’s all.”

“…I’m so proud of you, (y/n). Look at you, finishing in 3 years and going to California for your PhD. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to convince you to stay in Japan, but I know you wouldn’t have been as happy. Is it too late to still try to persuade you?”

You unwind an arm to smack his chest lightly, playfully scolding him as you fully hold onto him again.

“Don’t even think about it. Of course it’s too late.”

“Well, then there’s no harm in still trying, right?”

“Tooru!”

“Okay, okay, fine~.”

Once you’re home, you grab random articles of clothing from your closet before heading into the bathroom to change. Oikawa offers to find a vase for the bouquet during this time, your ears hearing the clinking of glass and the snipping of stems. You didn’t realize you had grabbed Oikawa’s spare jersey he had given you the summer before your first year of university, only noticing after you begin to fit it over your head. The flush in your cheeks is subtle as you slip on a pair of pajama shorts, a giddy feeling filling your chest.

When you step out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen, Oikawa’s back is facing you as he continues to arrange the flowers. Something about the scene feels comfortably domestic, as if Oikawa just returned home from work and decided to surprise you with a little gift, insisting that he put it together for you. You’re almost expecting him to give you a kiss on the cheek before saying, “I’m home, dear.”

In the midst of your thoughts, Oikawa is satisfied with his work, grabbing the vase and turning with the intent to let you see his work. He startles when he sees you leaning against the wall and staring at him, yet his heart fails to calm once he realizes you’re in his jersey. Part of you suddenly feels shy with the way he can’t stop admiring you, yet another part is filled with newfound confidence. Your feet softly pad towards him, relishing in the fact that you can render the great Oikawa Tooru speechless. He lets you take the vase from him, still frozen in his spot as you gently place a kiss on the corner of his lips. If he were more composed and more cognizant of his actions, he would have taken you up in his arms and kissed you for real. You take the vase from his fingers and place it on your dining table, appreciating the delicate hue of the petals. It’s a shame that you’ll have to get rid of them soon since you’re leaving in a week.

“Come on, Tooru. Time for you to show me how good your shirt-folding skills are!”

Progress in packing is slow as the two of you talk and laugh, the sound of The Good Place quietly playing on Netflix from the small TV in your room softly filling the room. Eventually, Oikawa refuses any of your help, practically ordering you to stay in your bed and leave it to him. In the familiar warmth of your comforter, you fight to stay awake as exhaustion from the morning events creeps through your body. Before long, you’re taking a last look at Oikawa’s side profile sitting on your floor next to a pile of unfolded clothes and falling asleep soon after. It takes a few minutes for him to realize that you haven’t said anything in a while, only chuckling to himself when he sees you slipped away to the dreamworld.

For the next hour or so, he folds and packs your clothes in silence. The pile dwindles and shrinks until there’s none left, though there’s still some in your closet that you’ll be wearing over the next week. You’re still asleep on your side – he can’t find it in himself to wake you, instead doing his best to climb over you and sit on the empty side of the bed without jostling you. Just as he finds a comfortable half-lying, half-sitting position against a pillow and the headboard, you unconsciously do a full 180-degree turn and snuggle closer to him. One of your legs twists around his, your arm slinging over his waist.

Oikawa’s heart almost wants to fly out of his chest. Had it really been over a little more than a year since you last slept next to him? Was this going to be the last time that he’d experience this?

Was this going to be his last chance?

He must’ve nodded off in the end. Your voice speaks to him in his subconscious, softly calling out his name. His body is curled up on the side where you were sleeping, arms stretched out as he finally wills his eyes to open. His vision is blurry and heavily veiled with sleep, needing a few blinks to register that you’re bent over with your face very close to his. He wants to be wakened like this every day, to the sound of your voice rather than an obnoxious alarm tone from his phone. With all the strength he can muster, his arm reaches out to grab one of your wrists and gingerly pulls you towards him. You giggle as you snuggle into the little space you have, his arms hugging you tightly to ensure you don’t fall over the edge.

“Five more minutes,” he pleads, nuzzling into your hair. “Or we can go back to sleep, I don’t mind…”

“Tooru, we need to eat dinner though.”

“But I have you,” he mumbles without thought, clearly saying whatever first comes to his mind.

“That doesn’t make any sense though.”

“It makes all the sense in the world, silly (y/n)…come on, let’s sleep some more…”

“Even if there’s fresh omurice waiting to be eaten?”

“Mmm…did you make it?”

“Yes, I did.”

Oikawa sighs again before moving his hand from your back to rub his eyes. “Well, we can’t let your hard work go to waste then, right?”

“Not at all.”

You disentangle yourself and ignore how your body aches to lay with him again. Your hands take one of his own in your grasp, pulling him from the bed and towards the dining table where a fresh plate of omurice awaits them. Oikawa doesn’t forget his manners, pulling out a chair and indicating for you to sit in it. Like a true gentleman, he’s cognizant of how he pushes the chair back in to meet your sitting position, ensuring that you’re comfortable before moving to his own seat. The two of you say your thanks quickly before digging in.

Dinner is a quiet ordeal besides the occasional laughter. He tries to play footsies with you underneath the table, having full advantage with his longer legs. You threaten to flick rice at him if he keeps at it, but as time passes by, it’s clear your words hold no weight. Light banter continues when you bring the plates to the sink, refusing any offers of help from him. He settles for having an arm around your shoulders, leaning some of his body weight onto you. His eyes watch you with love and fascination as he berates himself for not figuring it out earlier. Things would have been different, and life would have been much better.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, tone solemn and heavy as you begin to dry off the dishes.

“I know. But I’ll be back in a few years, you know?”

“A few years sounds like forever though.”

“It’ll be over before you know it, Tooru.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

He’s still searching for words when you’ve put the last plate in the drying rack, folding the towel neatly on the counter. You turn to face him directly, causing his arm to slide off your shoulders. He delicately grasps your hands with his and plays with your fingers, eyes focused on them and unable to meet your own. Iwaizumi’s warning voice blares through his head – why, why did he always have to be so selfish when it comes to you? Why did he always give in?

“Tooru, what—”

“I love you, (y/n).”

He’s gone and done it now. His eyes are ablaze with passion as they attempt to convey the depth of his feelings, boring straight into your own shocked gaze. He means it more than anything right now. You have to understand that he’s serious, that he doesn’t mean this in a platonic sense. Without a doubt, he would do anything for you. Could you see that in him?

He begins to panic when you slowly detach your hands, your expression hardening before you turn to occupy yourself with something else. You search for something before heading towards your living room and start packing the decorations into a cardboard box that’s cradled against your hip.

“(Y/n), please—”

“You don’t mean it,” you bite out and somewhat harshly smack a book into the box. “You’re only saying it because—”

“I’m not saying it just because you’re leaving, I swear,” he vows, following you as you pack away more things. “Just look at me—”

“How could you?!” You say accusingly, slamming your box onto the floor and whipping around to look at him. Oikawa isn’t entirely surprised by the tears streaming down your face, yet his heart still breaks at the sight.

“(Y/n), I—”

“What were you expecting?” You ask hoarsely, throat choked with tears. “Did you expect me to just accept it and run into your arms?! We’re going to be on opposite sides of the world for at least four years, and you wanted to start something with me a week before I leave?”

“I can’t lose you!” Oikawa cries out. He watches you collapse into your couch, head buried in your hands to control your sobs. He follows and sits as close as possible in front of you on the floor, reaching up to remove your hands from your face. “I can’t lose you more than I already have,” he whispers dismally, thumbs wiping tears from your cheeks. Out of fatigue, he places his cheek on your knees, eyes closing as you lay your hand on top of his head.

“Tooru, you—”

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he interrupts, striving to get you to see how much this is for him. “I never knew what it was until recently, but you have to know by now that I would do anything for you. You can call me up at 4 in the morning, ask me for my umbrella even when I’m 20 minutes away. You could even ask me to drop volleyball, and I’d do it. Just to make you happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you depressingly chastise as your fingers give in and demurely run through his hair. “I would never ask you to give up volleyball, and even if I did, you’d resent me til the day we die. Hell, you’d resent me in your grave for all I know.”

“You’d still be my everything.”

At his words, you choke out another sob. This had been everything you were dreaming of, except Oikawa’s timing was just so off. You would have to spend the first four years of your relationship without him, and long distance wouldn’t be easy. Even though he would do everything to make it work, you’d worry about burdening him when he has so much he wants to live for. Wouldn’t it affect his playing? His studies? Would he eventually get tired of waiting for you and leave?

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” You sniffle.

“The chance of a lifetime, that’s what I’m getting into,” he quickly replies. He turns to rest his chin where his cheek originally on, facing you with eyes of zero hesitation. His expression softens when he senses the doubt in your face and reaches up to remove your hands from his hair, grasping them softly and placing them on your thighs. “I’ve already wasted years not being with you, and I don’t intend to lose another second. So please, please give me this chance.”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. You need to think this out before diving in, no matter how much you want to comply right now.

“Let me think about it, ok?” You weakly propose. “This has happened all so fast and I just need some time to think it over. This is really big for us, and I just wanna make sure we’re doing the right thing.”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” he agrees, then ghosting his lips over your knuckles.

“You can’t see me until we’re at the airport though,” you add in, causing him to whine in objection. “I’ll give you my answer then. It’s just a week.”

“Can I still call you?”

“Of course, you big wuss,” you tease.

“Hey, I just confessed my feelings here, cut me some slack!” He cries, pouting afterwards. You somehow still have the energy to giggle at his antics, happy that some things never change.

“You need to leave soon, Tooru.”

“No,” he objects and wraps his arms around your legs. “I don’t wanna.”

“Tooru—”

“Only if you kiss me before I leave.”

You let out a sigh, yet still smiling. “Deal.”

He removes himself and gets out of the way, stretching as he stands when you push yourself off the couch. Even for the short distance from the living room to the door, Oikawa insists on holding your hand. He grabs every second he can with you, still holding on when he’s slipping his shoes on.

“I’m waiting for my kiss,” he says with a lilt in his voice. His eyes are shining and expectant, causing you to roll your own playfully. For the first time in 21 years, you’ll be kissing Oikawa with no feelings hidden, no motives unsaid.

He meets you halfway, softly cradling your cheek with his free hand. His lips against yours bring a wave of nostalgia – god, how you both missed this, the feeling of being able to lose yourself in another person. How you both missed forming that bubble again where nothing mattered but the two of you being there together. You can’t help but think about how much you’re going to miss this in America, how it’ll be months, years, before you can ever fall into Oikawa’s arms again.

Oikawa wants nothing more than to toe his shoes off and have you jump into his arms. He wants nothing more than to carry you to your room and show exactly how much he loves you, but it’s not in your wishes. Don’t be selfish, he reminds himself. You asked for time and space to think about your future with him – if he wants to make this work, thinking of solely his own desires needs to stop here. He must prove to you that it’ll be worth it, that there’s no reason to lose any more time than you’ve already lost.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” he apologizes quietly.

“It’s okay. But consider this week as punishment, if you’d like.”

He pouts. “I really can’t come see you?”

You give a small grin, a pointer finger moving to tap his nose. “Nope.”

With that, he sighs begins to walk out the door, but not before stealing another peck. The action only makes you laugh and playfully push him over the door threshold, waving as he walks backwards with a pout. You don’t close the door until he’s turned the corner, nearly collapsing against it once the deadbolt is locked in place. Everything hits you all at once again, leaving you reeling and almost gasping for air. Your heart won’t cease its rapid pace, though it seems to come to a full halt when your phone chimes with a text message from him.

“Good night, (y/n). I love you.”

Yes, it’s amazing how lucky you are.

Without fail, Oikawa texts and calls you every day. He never fails to remind you that he loves you. Twice, he orders delivery to your door because he knows you need to pack your kitchen. A man who buys you food as a surprise and seems to always know what you’re in the mood for? It’s as if the universe is telling you to hurry up and marry this guy.

And Oikawa, trying to be the responsible person that he is, doesn’t see you until they’re sending you off at the airport. Your parents had offered to pick him and Iwaizumi up from his place, especially since it was a little early in the morning. A taxi drops you and your suitcases off at the gate. You hadn’t spotted them when you got in and made a move to go ahead and check your bags in. After you had finished dropping them off, you had turned around to wait outside of the check-in area and spotted the four of them chatting while waiting for you. Even with it being so early in the morning, you can’t help but break out into a smile at seeing them, speeding up your pace as much as you can with the carry-on suitcase lugging behind you.

“Thank you, guys, for coming all this way,” you express your gratitude while embracing Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“What kind of shitty friends would we be if we didn’t?” Iwaizumi asks as you move to hug your parents. Your mother keeps an arm around you at the end, already fighting her tears.

“Mom…”

“Do you have everything you need?” She interjects, voice choking up. “Phone? Wallet? Passport? Boarding pass? New SIM card? Emergency cash?”

“They’re all here,” you say, pointing to the locations of each item. “I’m gonna be okay, mom.”

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything, ok?” Your father reminds you. “We’re only a call or text away.”

“I know. I’ll try to make it home on the holidays or something, but if not, I’ll be back in a few years at least.”

“What if you end up meeting someone and want to stay in America with them?” Your mother sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“Well,” you hesitate, casting a quick look towards Oikawa. When his gaze meets yours, you begin to feel more confident about the answer that you settled on yesterday. You know he’s anxious to find out what you’ve decided. “I’m sure that’s not going to happen. Can I have a minute with Tooru please? Alone?”

Your mother’s eyes widen in realization before she’s quick to shoo off your father and Iwaizumi. Once they’re out of earshot, Oikawa looks at you expectantly.

“Do I get my answer today?” He inquires, removing his hand from his jacket pocket to hold one of yours. You take the initiative to interlace your fingers with his, giving a tight squeeze.

“Mmm,” you hum while fishing out your phone with your free hand. Oikawa watches anxiously as you tap and scroll through something, breath baited as your eyes seem to light up at finding what you need. You turn the screen to him and ask, “Does that answer your question?”

At first, he’s confused. Oikawa sees a contact page open and automatically notices it’s his number. It’s not until his vision drifts back to the top of the page where his name usually was. In the past, it had been “crappykawa” with a smiling emoji, but to his delight, it now reads “the boyfriendTM”.

His excitement prompts him to lift you from the waist and spin you around in a few circles. You shriek and shake with laughter as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck to hold on, your eyes closed tightly until he puts you down. Even then, he doesn’t detach himself from you and leans down to kiss you sweetly, never wanting to let up. It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving him in the next few minutes – he’d rather have this than nothing at all.

Minutes later and after more teary goodbyes, you walk through the line towards security. The four of them watch as you exchange pleasantries and answer questions by the guard checking your boarding pass and passport. Once you’ve been cleared, you turn around once more to give a final wave, before disappearing behind the gray walls. After you pass security and find somewhere to eat a quick breakfast, you check your phone. There’s a Snapchat from Oikawa that you immediately move to open. It’s a selfie taken at an angle where his phone would’ve been in his lap. He has his characteristic pout on his face and the caption reads, “i already miss you, my love.”

And at that moment, you know, you can feel it with every ounce of your being, that everything is going to be okay.

(epilogue)

Months after you moved to California, Oikawa received his invite to play for a professional volleyball team in Argentina. He consulted his closest friend, you, his coaches, and they all agreed on one thing: he’d be stupid to turn it down.

It wasn’t the Japan national team, but it was definitely an opportunity of a lifetime. He greatly admired the national Argentine team as a child, and that admiration never wavered. On the plus side, it would make the long-distance relationship easier with you, as the time difference would be cut significantly.

The relationship experienced its ups and downs. Some main recurring themes of contention involved his tendency to overwork himself and your frequent late nights in the lab, as well as your disregard for your physical and mental health during times of high stress. They were issues born out of love and care, and they were worked on to help each other improve. You’d always livestream his volleyball matches and he would attempt to stay up with you on a video call if you were in the lab or up late studying, reminding you to drink water and eat something nutritious.

Oikawa found time to visit you during rare extended breaks in the off-season. He’d always make sure that you two would video call Iwaizumi together, wearing a shit-eating grin when Iwaizumi would pick up the call and roll his eyes. In return, you saved up and visited him in Argentina, though only able to stay up to a week at most. The new life was a little difficult and strange, but he made it work. He loved his teammates, he loved you, he loved volleyball, and he couldn’t ask for more.

You finished your doctorate in four years, just as you had predicted. You already had a job lined up before graduation at an academic hospital in Tokyo, allowing you to practice pharmacy and continue research. Not only that, Iwaizumi also earned a position in the top volleyball team in Japan, leaving Oikawa to be ecstatic. His personal dream from so many years ago was finally coming together – the three of you together in the same city, and him and Iwaizumi on the same superior team, even if it meant playing with Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi. But he’d get used to it eventually.

When you first returned to Tokyo, you were happy to see that not much had changed. Oikawa had another couple of years in Argentina before he would return to Japan and join Iwaizumi on the team. A few weeks in, you were already enjoying your job immensely – the only thing missing was your boyfriend.

A year has passed, and you are currently sitting at home in front of the TV with a mug in your hands. You’re dressed down in your comfiest sweatpants and Tooru’s jersey from university days. A white gold chain holding a simple silver ring hangs daintily around your neck as a token and symbol of a promise. You check your phone and frown a little – Tooru hadn’t texted or called you all day, though he did mention he would be busy with preparing for an upcoming practice match. You’re now worried that Tooru’s overworking himself again, holding the device now to send a quick text reminder to take breaks and stretch afterwards.

You toss your phone to the side and try to focus on the humorous game show, picking up on how ridiculous some of the antics were. American game shows had nothing on the ones here in Japan.

Someone rings your doorbell. At first, you think it’s the postman dropping off a package you had been expecting and make no move towards the door. But the doorbell is rung once again, leaving you to hesitantly approach the entrance. You peek through the spyhole and spot a young man outside, hat slipped on backwards, glasses perched on his nose, and hands stuffed into his pants pockets. He’s looking away from you and has suitcases around him, but you can recognize that side profile from anywhere. Could it be?

You fumble with the lock and throw open the door as your heart threatens to beat out of its chest. The young man finally looks up at you and you gasp as tears spring forward to your eyes.

Oikawa Tooru is standing right in front of you with the most beautiful smile on his face that you have ever seen.

He’s ready to catch you when you squeal and run into his arms, dissolving into laughter as you blubber into his neck and attempt to make sense of what’s happening. Tooru spins you around a few times for good measure, relishing in the comfort of your body against his. It had been too long since he last held you, and luckily, he’d never have to wait that long ever again.

His invite came as a phone call not too long ago, personally from the coach of the team that Iwaizumi had joined. They were willing to wait for him if he wanted another year in Argentina as he had originally planned, but Tooru decided that it was time to come back. He had buzzed with excitement as he planned out his great return, wanting so badly to surprise you. It’d go down in the book as one of the best reveals of a major life change for the two of you, and he wanted it to be perfect.

“How—what—when—I have so many questions!” You stammer, hands reaching for his face to make sure that this is real. Tooru leans into your palm, eyes catching the glisten of the promise ring that he had gifted you two years ago. He was a little worried that it wouldn’t be noticeable enough (“I need people out there to understand that you’re spoken for!” “What are you, a prince of the medieval days?”), but he did appreciate how beautiful it looked when you wore it as such. The happiness he feels right now is more than he could have ever imagined, especially now when he can finally look into your eyes and say the words that he’s been yearning to speak for years to you —

”I’m home, (y/n).”

fin.

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multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer · 3 years

Text

Bet On It Part 2 (Draco x Reader)

Author’s Note: And it’s finally up! This is a part two to Bet On It, but it honestly only kinda mentions it once near the end so it can also be read stand alone. I hope this doesn’t seem rushed, but I had an idea and ran with it so I hope all of you like it as much as Bet On It. As always, feedback is appreciated and I can’t wait to continue writing! Requests are open, have a great day <3

Summary: You’ve been doing fine with your life so far. Draco’s your fiancé and you’re good at your job. But what happens when there’s a transfer into your division at the ministry that wants to shake things up?

Bet On It Part 2

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: reg warnings - angst, fluff, a curse word maybe?, etc. // TW!! - unwanted advances & mentions of rape, please don’t read if that will hurt you in any way mentally or otherwise. I’ve included a warning section before the trigger material happens so you can skip over that if you want, or you can just skip this story. I want you guys to stay safe <3

“Draco! Come on, we’re going to be late!” You chastise your fiancé as you grab your wand and coat.

“Darling, you say that as if we can’t just teleport to work. Come on, I’ll apparate us there.” Draco smirks at you, grabbing your waist and pulling you to his chest. You’re about to reach up and give him a sweet kiss when all of the sudden you’re no longer in your apartment. You look around, slightly disoriented, at your new surroundings outside the Ministry of Magic.

You let out a huff and break away from him, wrapping your scarf around your neck that you had been carrying. It’s wintertime, and you are not one keen on freezing to death outside of your work.

“You could have told me,” You mumble, burrowing in your coat and scarf. Draco chuckles.

“Oh, come on. It was kind of funny.” He softly grabs your wrist and pulls you back into him, planting a sweet kiss on your nose. You giggle and pull him back for a real kiss to which he accepts instantly, wrapping his arms around your waist as your arms snake around his neck.

“We should probably go to work,” You whisper, your lips brushing against his. He groans.

“Do we have to?” He grumbles, kissing you again. You laugh

“Yes, Draco, we’re already here. They don’t pay us to kiss all day.” You pull away from him just slightly, looking at him with such adoration that it would take a fool to not see that you’re utterly in love with him.

“We’re lucky they’re letting us stay together, I suppose.” He sighs, releasing you from his grasp.

“We were a previously established couple, Draco. They can’t break us up because we’re not breaking department rules by ‘dating co-workers.’” You roll your eyes, stepping away from him and starting into the building. Draco follows closely behind.

“Whatever you say, darling. I’ve got a meeting this morning but we’ll grab lunch later, okay? I love you.” He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek before walking swiftly away to his office. You smile to yourself and sit down at your desk.

Yes, Draco is slightly higher-up in the auror business here. It doesn’t bother you, though, because everyone in this office (including Draco) knows you’ve got just as much skill as him, just not the Malfoy name attached to you. Yet, that is. That will be different a few months from now.

“(Y/n), did you hear that someone’s transferring into the office today? They’ll work beside Draco, filling Lawrence’s old position.” Your friend and co-worker, who sits conveniently at the desk beside you, gossips.

“Oh, really? I didn’t think they’d get a transfer for his position, I heard that they were going to promote someone instead.” Your heart sinks a little bit. You were hoping for that promotion so you’d get an office like Draco, and a title that matches. The two of you are an unstoppable duo, and it’s a pity that the department can’t see past your relationship to make their division work as efficiently as possible. Oh, well. You’ll get promoted one day, and you’re determined to work as hard as you must to get there.

“I hear he’s dreamy, though. Too bad we can’t date co-workers,” She sighs next to you, momentarily forgetting about work. You chuckle.

“I’m lucky I don’t have to worry about that rule. I’m not sure I’d be working here anymore if I did.” You smile lightly, looking at the criminal documents before you that you had left to sign. You internally sigh, dreading this part of the job. You just wanted to get back on the field, but unfortunately, there is only one case out right now and it wasn’t assigned to you.

About an hour of paperwork drones on before you hear your name get called.

“(Y/n), may I speak with you?” Draco calls out, and you look up to see him standing in the doorway of his office. You smile and nod, standing up from your desk.

“Ooh, some alone time with the fiancé, hm?” Your friend teases you. You roll your eyes but the smile stays on your face as you push your chair in and step into Draco’s office.

“Yes, Draco?” You hum, leaning your hands on the chair in front of you. He motions for you to close the door behind you and you do so. You grin at him from the door and make your way to him. You wrap your arms around his torso and kiss the underside of his jaw.

“As much as I’d love to just hold you, (Y/n), this is unfortunately work-related.” He sighs, still wrapping his arms around you and setting his head atop yours. You pout below him, letting out a small ‘humph’ of disapproval. He chuckles and you feel the vibration in his chest, letting a smile work its way back on your face at that small triumph.

“What’s the work, then?” You hum, pulling away from his embrace to turn and look at the files in his hands. He sets them on the desk and opens them.

“I was tasked to find this former death-eater and they let me choose my partner this time, surprisingly. There is a small catch, though.” He looks up at you, a small but sympathetic smile on his face.

“What?” You ask.

“I’ll also be on the case,” A new man walks in, about your age, and extends his hand to you, “nice to meet you, I’m Oscar. I just transferred in from the other division.”

You shake his hand apprehensively before he moves to shake Draco’s hand next.

“Nice to meet you, Oscar. This is...our co-worker, Miss (y/l/n). She’s the best in the division and she’ll be joining us on the case today.” Draco introduces you. You internally groan. This must be the transfer that your friend was talking about earlier.

“Pleasure to meet you, Oscar.” You try your best to be polite, giving him a small smile.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss (Y/l/n), believe me.” He flashes you a blindingly toothy grin. Draco’s brows furrow for a moment, but it’s gone before you can ask him about it.

“Well, let’s get on with the case. We’ve got to look at all of the evidence in the briefing room first.” Draco leads the two of you down the hall and to the briefing room. You try to ignore how close Oscar seems to be walking next to you, brushing it off as him just being confident.

~+~

A few hours later, you’re officially off work. You smile and stop by Draco’s office, seeing him stressed over a pile of paperwork on his desk. You had caught the death-eater in record time, as he was surprisingly hiding out in the same place as he had always been, so now the process paperwork was on Draco’s plate. You knock on the doorframe softly, causing his head to shoot up.

“Hey, Draco, it’s time to go home. You can worry about the rest of that tomorrow,” You coo, walking over to his desk and laying a hand on his shoulder. His hand comes up and covers yours, squeezing tightly. He smiles and gets up, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.

“Sounds perfect. I’m dying to get home anyway.” He presses his hand to the small of your back, edging you forward to go first out of the door. You do as you’re told and walk to your desk, gathering your stuff before walking out of the building with Draco. You don’t notice Oscar leering behind the two of you.

~+~

It starts off small at first. Little things that Oscar does for you that make him seem just slightly nicer. Things that you brush off because maybe he’s just a nice guy. Maybe he just cares. There are good men in the world, you’re about to be married to the best, so what if Oscar’s just a good guy? Sure, he picks up your pen when you drop it. He gets you extra paper for your desk when you run out without you having to ask him to. They’re no big deal.

Then things started increasing. He’d start getting you coffee in the mornings, setting it on your desk before you even get to work. He’d ask you to lunch a few times, promising to pay for the meal. You always felt obliged since he is technically your superior, so you thought nothing of it. You usually discussed business at the lunches, anyway. This went on for a few weeks.

What you didn’t see were the hungry glances he’d send your way. He always seemed to be watching you. If he wasn’t watching you, he was talking to you. And while you didn’t seem to notice this, Draco did. And it made him furious.

“(Y/n), what’s going on with you and Oscar?” Draco asks one day when the two of you get home.

“What do you mean, Draco?” You ask, concern filling your gaze that rests upon your soon-to-be husband.

“I mean...he’s into you, or something. Do you not see it? And you… you’re flirting back, aren’t you? Or am I missing something?” He asks, running a hand through his hair. He seems more sad than angry, you note.

You look at him quizzically.

“Draco, I’m not flirting with Oscar. First of all, I’m engaged to you and I love you. Secondly, how daft would I have to be in order to flirt with him right in front of you?” You scoff softly, going to cup his face in your hands. He lets you, lifting his gaze to meet yours as your hands envelop his face.

“But you always say yes to his lunch dates. You’re always so sweet to him. You...you look happy with him.” He frowns, eyes searching your face for any sign of misinformation. You chuckle softly.

“I’m happy with you, Draco. If you could see the way I look at you, there would be no doubt in your mind of where my affections lie. I go to lunch with him occasionally to discuss business, but I can stop that if you’d like. I love you. I’m just trying to be nice to the new guy, I promise you that’s it.” You murmur, stroking your thumb across his cheek. He nods, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Okay. I love you. I trust you.” He buries his head into the crook of your neck, pulling you flush to him. You smile and rest your head against his chest. There was truly no place you’d rather be than his arms right now. You wish you could convey that so much better to him.

~+~

A couple of weeks later, you’ve tried to abide by your soon-to-be husband’s desires. You no longer go to lunch with Oscar, and you’ve been a little less sweet in your conversations. You know Draco’s not being possessive, he’s just trying to share his feelings. You know he’s struggled with that in his past, so you’re being accommodating. Plus, you’re not the biggest fan of Oscar anyway.

“Hey, (Y/n)!” Speak of the devil.

“Hi, Oscar.” You smile tightly, turning your chair to see Oscar walking to your desk with a coffee mug in hand.

“I got this for you. Your usual.” He sets the mug down on your desk, a wide smile on his face. You grimace slightly but turn it into a small apologetic smile.

“Oscar, I’ve told you that you don’t need to get me coffee in the mornings. It can’t be doing good things for your bank account.” You chuckle slightly forced, drawing the mug to the corner of the desk instead of right by you.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You can make it up to me some other time.” He laughs. You stop slightly in your tracks for a split second before resuming what you were doing, hoping that you didn’t cause suspicion. You do not want to know the connotations of that phrase.

“Well, I should get back to my paperwork.” You chuckle, brushing off the small innuendo that you’re not sure he meant to make or not. You turn back to your desk.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime? Just the two of us?” He asks suddenly, drawing your attention back to him. You keep yourself from making a face.

“Like...a date?” You choke out, unsure of what else to say.

“Yes, exactly.” He smiles at you.

“I’m sorry, I’m already with someone. Draco’s my fiancé.” You deadpan. You immediately regret apologizing at the beginning of your sentence, you have nothing to be sorry for.

“Oh, my apologies, I had no idea! I’m so sorry, that must have been odd. Forget it ever happened.” He laughs, brushing it off. You smile nervously, knowing you won’t be able to just forget it, but you’re grateful that he at least took the rejection well.

“Well, I should get back to our current case…” You trail off, looking back to your work laying on your desk.

“Oh, about that. I’ve got some information about the case that I need to discuss with you later today. Come to my office after work?” He asks, taking a sip from his own coffee mug. You tense up slightly, but force yourself to relax.

“Of course. To discuss the case, right? Won’t...Mr. Malfoy also need to be present?” You press, not entirely comfortable with the idea of being alone with him after work.

“Oh, yes he’ll be there, too. So I can expect you?” He asks, tracing his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. You force a smile onto your face.

“I’ll be there.” Your smile drops and you turn back to your desk. Oscar seems to not have noticed because he walks back to his office and shuts the door. You roll your shoulders to relax some of the tension in them. You already rejected him, and he took it well, so everything’s fine. Plus, if Draco’s there after work, then nothing can go wrong, right?

~+~

Wrong. It’s time for you to meet with Oscar after work and Draco’s nowhere in sight. You’re sitting at your desk, eyes wildly searching for Draco to walk in with you, but no one is anywhere near. You see Oscar step out of his office and his eyes immediately land on you.

“(Y/n)! What are you waiting for? Come on, Draco said he’s running a tad late. We can chat in here until he’s back.” Oscar waves you over. There are a million alarms ringing in your head, but you stand up and walk over to his office. You don’t feel like you can just say no, as that might look bad to your authorities.

~TW: unwanted advances ahead! Please don’t read if this will trigger you. There will be another cut that shows when the TW ends~

“Hey, Oscar.” You try to stay casual as you sit down in his office. He strides in after you but keeps the door open. That eases your nerves slightly.

“How’ve you been, (Y/n)?” He asks, sitting on his desk in front of you. You scoot the chair back slightly, not liking the close proximity. You pray for Draco to walk in any moment now.

“I’ve been...fine. Thank you for asking.” You uncomfortably shift in your chair, waiting.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to go on that date later?” He asks, a dark chuckle in his voice that sends chills down your spine. Not the good kind.

“No, I’ve already told you that Draco is my fiancé.” You push your chair back, standing up. You’ve had quite enough, and he’s crossed the line now.

“Oh, come on. I was just playing around.” He chuckles, standing up as well.

“I came here under the notion that we would be talking business about the case, Oscar. This is not what is happening.” You state, setting your jaw and clenching your fists.

“Don’t be like that, darling. You know we have to wait until Draco’s here until we can discuss the case. He won’t be here for a minute or two...we can do whatever we want in the meantime.” In a breeze, he’s behind you and holding your upper arms.

“Get off of me.” You sneer, ripping your arms from his grasp and turning around to face him. You step back a few steps to lengthen the space between the two of you.

“Don’t fight it. I know you like me. You’ve said it all along with that pretty little gaze and flirtations of yours. Don’t deny it.” He keeps stepping forward as you keep stepping back until you run into the desk. He traps you against the desk, pinning your legs down and grabbing your shoulders. You whimper, fear filling your body with dread as he stares down at you hungrily. At this moment, you wish you had listened to Draco all those weeks ago and just stopped talking to Oscar altogether.

“Let go of me.” You try weakly as he leans down and stares deeply into your eyes.

“Make me.” He whispers harshly, not letting you get the last word in before he presses his lips to yours roughly. Your eyes widen and you resist, bringing your hands up to punch his chest repeatedly. He grabs your wrists with an iron grip, continuing to move his mouth against yours and work against your will. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you evaluate your options. Your wand is in your pocket, but how do you reach it?

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know you would have company--” You hear a voice from the doorway. Oscar breaks the kiss and turns around, seeming shocked. You look around him to see Draco standing there, slightly surprised until his gaze lands on you. Then you see his body language go slack.

“Draco?” You whimper, squeezing out from behind Oscar and running to your fiancé. You throw your arms around his shoulders and sob into his chest, your words coming out broken as you try to explain the situation but fail.

You feel his body stay tense under your touch, causing you to step away and look up at him. He doesn’t even look at you, just stares ahead as his face contorts in anger and hurt.

“Don’t bother coming home tonight, I’m sure you can stay at Oscar’s. Have fun.” He steps out of your grasp, turning on his heel and walking away. You try to reach for him, but Oscar grabs your wrist before you can make it.

“Not so fast, darling. We both know he won’t listen to you right now. Why not stay and enjoy the fun while you can? Besides, you heard it from him yourself. Why don’t you stay at my place tonight?” The devilish grin on Oscar’s face tells you all that you need to know.

“You set this up, didn’t you? You knew he was going to be here slightly later, so you made it look like I was cheating on him! You bastard!” You scream, ripping your wrist from his grasp with newfound adrenaline.

“I may have invited your fiancé for the discussion on the...urgent news of the case, but I accidentally told him the wrong time… it was a shame he walked in on us like that. Oh well.” Oscar tsks.

“You’re sick! Once higher-ups find out about this, you won’t have a job anymore!” You sneer.

“And what are you going to do? Tell on me? Please, I’m in a higher position than you. They won’t listen to a word you say...especially because you’re a woman.” He laughs in your face.

“You’re a monster!”

“No, I hunt monsters. I’m just a man with needs.”

“And I’m feeling the need to kick your ass.”

“As if you could do that. You’re weak, (y/n). I could take you in a heartbeat.” He growls.

“I guess we’ll see about that. Expelliarmus!” You grab the wand out of your coat pocket at the same time as him, but luckily you’re just slightly better at dueling than him.

“Stupefy!” You say, aiming your wand directly at him. He’s hit and down within a second, lying unconscious on the floor. You go over and pick up his wand, giving his ribs an extra good kick to bruise whenever he wakes up.

You take some of the handcuffs from your desk and handcuff Oscar to his own desk, knowing that someone will find him in the morning and you can explain the situation later.

~TW over~

Finally feeling the effects of everything that just happened, you wrap your arms around your torso and sob, curling into yourself. You realize what could have happened to you had you not taken action. Would he have gone so far? What would have happened if Draco didn’t walk in at that time?

Draco.

You find a little resolve left and stand up from your desk, wiping the tears from your eyes as you make your way to the door. You apparate back to your apartment.

You open the door and walk in quietly, seeing him laying on the couch, staring emptily at the ceiling.

“Draco?” You murmur, coming in and shutting the door behind you.

“I told you not to bother.” He mumbles, not even looking at you. Your heart aches.

“I can’t just walk away from this knowing that you’re believing a lie.” You walk toward the couch, seeing him sit up as you approach.

“Excuse me? Believing a lie? I literally walked in on you snogging him--”

“He forced me into it!” You defend yourself.

“You didn’t seem to be stopping him!”

“Are you kidding me? I couldn’t! He’s strong!”

“Oh, so you like him for his muscles, huh? I thought we had put the past behind us, (Y/n),” Draco scoffs.

“What are you talking about?” You cock your head to the side, a deep pain settling in your chest as you try to work through this. If you could just get him to trust you again...

“What is this? Revenge? Or are you just reverting to our Hogwarts days?”

“What? Draco you’re not making any sense.”

“Are you cheating on me to get back at me for what I did at Hogwarts? For when I broke your heart? It’s been over two years! I thought we were over it! I won back your trust, your heart, and this is how you repay me? You must be really dedicated to payback because you’ve shown that more loyalty than you’ve shown me.” Draco spits at you, venom laced in his voice as he accuses you. Your heart breaks. Is that really what he thinks of you?

“Why would I wait two years to exact my revenge? What do I gain from that at this point, Draco? I love you! Why would I lose all of that?” You ask him, slightly defensive but slightly just...hurt.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re just reverting to your ways of being a player. Maybe I’m getting played.” He hangs his head in his hands. You feel tears prick at your eyes again.

“Are you...are you kidding me? Now you’re just grasping at straws- I’m telling you the truth. He forced me into a kiss and made sure that you were going to walk in right as it happened. I swear it. I’ll do anything to make you believe. I didn’t do this for stupid revenge, I’m not a slut, and I’m not lying. I’m...kind of hurt that you don’t believe me.” You answer honestly, hoping that he’ll look up at you and know that you’re telling him the truth.

“It’s...really hard to believe you when I walked in on you kissing another man. It’s hard to unsee.” He murmurs.

“What do you want me to do, drink veritaserum so you can test me?” You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air out of frustration. The only thing he can do is take your word for it. If he doesn’t trust you, then what can you do?

“There’s no way to access that, you know it’s controlled by the ministry.” Draco shakes his head, still hung in his hands.

“Holy crap you actually...” your heart pangs in your chest, “you actually don’t believe me enough that you’d have me take a truth potion?” You mutter, feeling a few tears roll down your cheek. You never thought it would reach this point. You thought he would believe you. You’re not sure what to do anymore if he’s willing to take it this far.

“No. we’re agents trained in ways to avoid the truth serum in case we’re captured. It would never work.” He thinks through in his head. You scoff, the tears choking your voice slightly.

~TW: alluding to rape!~

“Forget it. Forget this. Send me an owl when you’ve learned some common sense, but I’m done with this right now. You….you can’t seriously believe that I’d want to be with that...that jerk. That slime ball of a human being,” more tears stream down your cheeks until you’re almost out-right sobbing, “I was...so scared of what he was going to do. I didn’t know you were headed that way, I….I thought he was going to take advantage of me...further than he did. I was terrified...but then you walked in and I thought I was saved….I thought…” You trail off, tears streaming down your face as the trauma of what almost happened sinks in. You never thought you’d be faced with this in your work before, but why are you surprised when it happens to women all the time.

~TW over~

Suddenly, there’s a strong pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulling you into Draco’s chest. You sob into him, unable to control the tears anymore. Draco strokes your hair, whispering sweet nothings to you. You pull back after a moment and look at him, seeing the concern and love swimming in his expression.

“Did he hurt you at all?” Draco’s voice is soft but fierce. The amount of genuine concern and fear written on his face tells you that he’s serious at this moment and that he’s putting your previous argument aside for now. For you and your wellbeing.

“N-no...but I hurt him pretty badly. He’s probably still passed out in his office…” you try for a small forced chuckle, thinking about how you paid him back for what he did. Draco breaks into the smallest of smiles, pulling you back against his chest.

“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry.” You think you hear him sniffle.

“For what?” You ask. You know exactly what he should be sorry for, but you want to hear it.

“For not believing you. I...I was the one caught up in the past, not you. I was so caught up in my jealousy and guilt from that guy and what happened two years ago that I couldn’t see past what I wanted to see. I’m so sorry. For just now, for two years ago, for everything. You deserve so much better.” He murmurs into your hair. You hug him tight.

“You apologizing so quickly...realizing your mistakes...Draco, that’s what solidifies in me that we do deserve each other. We’ve both made mistakes. I should have realized what was happening with him, and I should have told you and kept you informed...and you were blinded by jealousy and guilt. But we’ve realized this and we’ll move past it. I love you, Draco. You’re the perfect man for me.”

“(Y/n)...I couldn’t ask for a better woman to be my fiancée. And as for him...I would like to be informed next time, but you couldn’t have known what was going to happen. Don’t blame yourself for this, it isn’t your fault. It’s entirely on him and his choices, and I will see to it that he gets severely punished for what he did.”

You smile at him.

“I love you.” You murmur, burying your face into his chest.

“I love you too, (Y/n). So much more than you can ever imagine.” He sets his head atop yours, running his fingers up and down your spine. You’re not sure what’s going to happen now, but you know that Draco and you have made up. Mistakes were realized, and he prioritized your needs above his own and saw past his distrust to hear you out.

“Should we tell the ministry?” You ask.

“Yes, we’ll tell them tomorrow morning. And I’ll back you up the entire time, I promise. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I took it too far… I didn’t know what to think. But I should’ve believed you the entire time, I’m so sorry.” He utters quietly, pressing a long kiss to your hair. You close your eyes and relish his presence, his embrace, just him.

“It’s okay, Draco. I love you. I know.” You squeeze him just slightly tighter. You’ll need to save your strength for your next battle tomorrow.

~+~

A few days later, you’re packing up the stuff on your desk, a small smile escaping you as you remember all the good times you’ve had here. You were going to miss this little desk. You’ll miss your co-worker gossiping next to you all day. You’ll miss a lot of things about this little office space.

“Are you leaving, (Y/n)?” Your co-worker asks you, a small frown appearing on her face.

“Yeah, I am. I won’t be here anymore. The ministry didn’t quite believe me when I told them about Oscar’s offenses.” You frown, looking at your little box of stuff from your desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What are you going to do now?” She asks, casting a forlorn look to your previous desk-space.

“Well...I’ll be moving into Oscar’s office because I got Draco to speak up on my behalf. I may not have had much pull in this ministry, but my fiancé certainly does, and you can’t get away with hurting a future Malfoy. And trust me, I certainly have some pull here now.” You smile at her. Her frown transforms into a grin.

“Congrats, that’s so exciting! We’ll miss you out here, but congrats on the new promotion and office. You deserved it.” She hugs you, almost knocking your box out of your hands. You laugh as she pulls away.

You turn to see Oscar walking out of his office with a similar box in his hands, except with termination papers sitting atop the items. You send him a smirk and a small mocking wave as he leaves the building.

Excited, you turn back to your new office and start setting everything up. There’s a soft knock on your doorway and you look up to see Draco looking at you. You grin at him.

“We did it!” You giggle, throwing your arms around him as he walks up to you.

“I didn’t doubt you for one second. I knew you’d win the argument against the ministry.” He laughs, closing the door behind him for a private moment.

“Well, having the Malfoy name to back me up certainly did wonders. I should be thanking you.”

“You would’ve won either way, the other way just would have taken longer. Trust me, (Y/n) (Y/l/n)...soon to be (Y/n) Malfoy...is a force to be reckoned with.” He wraps his arms around your waist and leans down to kiss you. You accept the kiss with eager anticipation and throw your arms around his neck.

You pull away and rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes and basking in the moment. This perfect moment. You got the promotion, you got payback on Oscar, and you kept your love.

“I love you, (Y/n) Malfoy.”

“And I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

67 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 71 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Fun fact: this rewrite is now the second-longest fic in the Drace Race RPF section of AO3. (Second only to the original story, lol.) So if you’re looking for a lot of content…we’ve got you. ;) Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet revealed her estranged relationship with her family to Sutan, and Courtney struggled to live up to Miss Fame’s demands.

This Chapter: Some uncharacteristic vulnerability from Violet, Met Gala meetings and morning television.

***

“Do you want more marshmallows?”

“I always want more marshmallows.”

Katya grinned as she got up from the kitchen table, grabbing Trixie’s mug to top them both up. They were decorating gingerbread men, Katya pulling them from the oven last night. Trixie was doing clothes, drawing in the lines and putting details on them, one of his favorite jobs.

It was a tradition of theirs, spending the Sunday before Christmas in their pajamas, preparing cookies and watching Home Alone, the leftover icing always ending up in the bedroom for some sticky afternoon fun.

***

“Aaaand release...”

“Oh god,” Sutan groaned, rolling onto his back and spreading out like a starfish. “I’m dead.”

When he had jokingly asked if he could join Violet for her yoga session, he hadn’t figured she’d say yes, and he definitely hadn’t expected that it’d be this hard, those last few breaths of extended child’s pose essentially torture where he could feel his bones bend and creak.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Violet grinned, his girlfriend sitting back on her knee, the leg with her cast spread out to the side. “We only did 40 minutes.”

“You’re not even sweating.” Sutan looked at her, Violet’s hair in a high ponytail, the Sunday look of one of his shirts and a sports bra quickly becoming a fave.

“Some of us remember to do more than weights and cardio, Mr. Amrull.”

“I’m texting my trainer right now,” Sutan reached over his head, grabbing his phone that he had left on the floor next to their mats, Violet giggling as she laid down next to him, putting her head on his shoulder.

“There,” Sutan pressed send, his trainer probably falling off of his chair when he read the message, Sutan always attempting to get away with the bare minimum when it came to exercise, but he refused to be humiliated by being unable to reach his toes.

He was just about to put his phone down, when Violet reached up and tapped the screen, his front camera opening up, both of them in frame as they were lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture?” Violet smiled, her sarcastic tone never wavering. “To document the moment.”

Sutan looked at the screen. It was so incredibly tempting to say yes, to keep this moment in the private password protected collection that had steadily grown since Thanksgiving, Violet really and truly trying to let him take pictures, but he couldn’t say yes, not when he knew why she was so confident.

“And can I post it?”

“Post it?” Violet raised an eyebrow, sitting up on her elbows. “Why? Isn’t your hair...?”

“A mess?” Sutan didn’t want to smile, but it was impossible not to, Violet knowing him way too well if she had already figured out that he was sometimes embarrassingly vain about his hairstyle, the mess on his head looking like he had been fucking for an hour. “Yes, but I still want to post it.”

“I-” Violet had pulled away completely now, not a single trace of the sweetness left. “No.”

“Violet,” Sutan sat up as well, putting his phone down, “I know you hate social media, but you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t think what I ask for is unreasonable-”

“Sutan. Please” Violet grabbed her mat and rolled it together in an attempt to avoid him. “I said no.”

“And I’m pushing because I don’t understand.” Sutan could feel the annoyance build, the hurt and the rejection. It stung every single time Violet denied him, hurt every time she neglected what they had.

“I’m not saying we have to announce it with a workout selfie,” Sutan hated that they were fighting, but he couldn’t help himself, “but I want to tell the world that we’re together.”

“And I don’t-” Violet looked at him, her brown eyes filled with hurt. “If the world knows, they know, and I don’t want them to know where I am or what I’m doing.”

There it was. The they, the them, the family from Atlanta that was haunting his girlfriend's life like a shadow that had slowly started to creep into his too.

“Violet, I hate to be the one to tell you,” Sutan didn’t touch her, simply putting his hand down on the floor next to hers, telling her that he was there. “But the internet exists. If they have your name, they can find you, no matter what you do to hide.”

“Have you taken a moment to consider that they might not have that?”

Sutan paused, Violet’s words like a bomb.

“... What?”

Did her family not have her name? It was true that Violet Chachki barely got any hits on google, that it was Parson’s assignments and internships that popped up, the Galactica employee directory right at the top, but Sutan had never considered that possibility, had never even toyed with it.

“This wasn’t how I planned on telling you. Actually, I probably wasn’t counting on telling you at all, but I’m not…” Violet was fiddling with the tiniest hole in her yoga mat, her fingers tugging on the foam. “I wasn’t born Violet. Wasn’t even born a Chachki. Hasn’t it ever seemed weird to you that my last name literally means trinket?”

“It does?”

“Mmh,” Violet smiled, the same heavy sadness he had seen in the hospital in her eyes. “I needed to not be… Blair anymore.”

“Blair?”

“Yes,” Violet nodded. “Blair Dardo. It was my birth name. I never liked it, and I changed it the moment I turned 18, left it behind the second I could. That’s why I can’t,” Violet gestured vaguely to Sutan’s phone. “Changing it meant that they can’t, that they can’t find me, and I-”

Sutan didn’t know what to say, but it felt like he had just been given another puzzle piece in the mystery that was his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry.”

Violet’s head snapped to attention, her eyes widening in confusion. “...What?”

“I’m sorry.” Sutan said it again, making sure he put his genuine emotion behind the words. “I should have realized that you weren’t saying no to be difficult, and yet I kept pushing.”

“Sutan-” Violet still looked confused and a little suspicious, like she didn’t really understand what he was doing. “You don’t have to-”

“No but I do.” Sutan smiled. “I get it now, and I’m sorry, but next time you have a deep dark secret, maybe you could just tell me instead of this charade-”

Sutan was cut off as Violet threw herself in his arms, knocking him down on the floor and kissing him like her life depended on it, gratitude rolling off of her in waves.

***

“Raja?”

Alyssa held out the plate of croissants, Raja waving it away since she didn’t want one. The entire senior management team was gathered in the conference room, Fame for some ungodly reason always insisting on a full breakfast spread for their Monday meetings, even though only a fraction of them ever actually ate any of it.

“So,” Fame looked around, a gold fountain pen in her hand, a black moleskin notebook open in front of her. “Any updates?”

The theme of today's meeting was the 2015 Met Gala, Raja barely hiding a groan when Courtney had sent out the meeting agenda.

It wasn’t that she disliked the Met Gala, the first Monday in May a spectacular party, but it was such a hassle getting there, the gala the fashion world's version of the Oscars.

“Yes,” Pearl smiled, turning around in her chair. She was weirdly chipper, her blonde hair collected in a clip, her signature leather jacket exchanged with a cropped black fur. “We have the final confirmation from Jessica Chastain’s team. She’s in.”

“Good,” Fame nodded, making a note in her moleskin, the fact that Fame was actually writing herself more than enough to cement the severity of the situation. Courtney was standing against the wall, Ivy sitting at the table with her computer open, typing away, but when it came to the Met, Fame left nothing up to chance.

“She’s looking forward to working with us, and she says she’s honored-”

“Yada yada yada,” Fame made a hand puppet, and Raja had to hide a smile, Pearl leaning back in her chair with a roll of her eyes, mouthing at everyone else that she’d send a follow up email.

It was Fame who had requested Jessica, in her own roundabout way, her friend casually mentioning to Raja that she had a good smile, which was more than enough for Raja to make Pearl offer her up as Galactica’s celebrity face.

It wasn’t every house who did it, but the big ones always had a celebrity at the gala, wearing their clothes and repping the brand.

“Does anyone know if they’ve moved away from the terrible theme yet?”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Alaska offered up, the promotional material the Met had sent out at the start of the fall in the middle of the table thanks to Ivy’s forthsight. “It’s December, and since we haven’t heard anything, they’re sticking with China's influence on western fashion.”

“Good god, I was really hoping they had come to their senses.” Fame breathed out through her nose, and Raja had to agree with her. Sure, ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’ made sense as an art exhibition, but there was really no way to convert it to fashion without being culturally insensitive at best and offensively appropriative at worst.

Besides, Galactica had never been a brand that sought inspiration from the east in their designs and aesthetics, which made the entire situation quite the predicament.

“I’m sure we can work with it,” Trixie gave a small smile, the stack of papers by his elbow indicating that he had probably already put his senior designers to work coming up with concepts.

“And how,” Fame turned, looking directly at Trixie. “Are we supposed to work with it? Raja’s the only one who could possibly get away with being theme appropriate.”

Usually, Fame and Raja were the ones who walked the carpet together with their celebrity, Fame a nervous wreck for weeks before the gala because of all the strangers, while Raja enjoyed it because of her modeling days, seeing old acquaintances without the stresses of fashion week, a delightful yearly treat.

“I’m Indonesian.” Raja knew Fame didn’t mean anything by it, and she wasn’t that concerned about being politically correct herself, but everyone knew what it could mean for a fashion house to misstep, Dolce and Gabbana somehow walking directly from one scandal and into another one. “Not Chinese.”

“See?” Fame sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s a controversial time bomb. Either, we stay on theme, which I refuse since I look terrible in Chinese red, ”

“So we’re going off theme?” Trixie had picked up his papers, sorting through them, and Raja felt a moment of gratitude for their head of design, Trixie of course coming prepared with off-theme suggestions as well.

“Unless they get a grip and change it? Yes. Yes we are.”

“There!” Everyone held their breath as Maxwell pointed at Violet’s screen, an email from Ivy just ticking in, the Met Gala meeting still in full swing.

“Open it, Chachki!” Blu was practically biting her nails, hopping from one foot to the other, her red hair in a braid over her shoulder.

“Alright, alright-“ Violet clicked on the email, Bob standing right behind her, his eyes flying over the screen before he called out.

“It’s Jessica!”

A collective sigh of relief went through the floor, a loud ‘yes’ coming from Kiara who was clapping her hands together, the group breaking up, chatter filling the air.

“Thank god,” Maxwell groaned, putting a hand on Violet’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I knew having you here would be worth it Chachki.”

“Right.” Violet raised an eyebrow, looking up at him, clearly not understanding why no one had thought to simply ask Ivy for updates before, the suggestion just casually slipping from her during morning coffee, the entire department running with it instantly. “But I still don’t-“

“Get it?” They turned to look over at Jovan who was sitting at his own desk, the man one of the few who hadn’t gathered around Violet’s computer.

“Yes.” Violet nodded. “If you needed information all this time, you could have just asked-”

“Like we could have just asked you?” Bob said, cutting her off and Violet opened her mouth, only to close it again. “Exactly.” Bob grinned. “You would have told us to fuck off.”

“I see your point.” Violet tapped her fingers on her desk, a small smile on her lips since everyone knew she would have said those exact words directly to their faces when she had been in Fame’s front office. “But, why is it such a big deal if a celeb is confirmed or not? The gala isn’t until May, that’s 4 months away and it’s three outfits. A whole collection is usually done in that time.”

“A collection doesn’t have to be approved by the celebrity,” Maxwell counted on his fingers, “the celebrity’s stylist, Vogue and Anna Wintour personally on top of Trixie, Raja and Fame. Alexis usually starts producing concepts in October.”

“As soon as they reveal the theme girl!” Alexis yelled over her shoulder, already pulling her sketches from their shelf, the confirmation meaning that she’d be in a meeting with Trixie for the rest of the day, working out the details of the first round of negotiations with the celebrity.

“Huh…” Violet looked around, the puzzled expression still on her face. “And what about-“

“Fame and Raja?”

Violet nodded.

“You’d think Fame would be the difficult one-“ Maxwell smiled.

“But make something gorgeous and custom in ivory and she’s on board,” Jovan grinned, putting the pen he was using behind his ear as he turned around in his chair. “Every year, she pretends like she’ll follow the theme, and then never does.”

“Exactly.” Maxwell nodded. “Fame is demanding, but consistent. Trixie has an entire drawer of Fame-appropriate outfits that we all contribute to whenever we have an idea.”

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Violet looked mildly impressed, and if any of the rumors Maxwell had heard about how she had managed Fame’s front office, that approach wasn’t too far off from how Violet herself had attempted to tame the beast.

“Rule one of surviving at Galactica: Never disappoint Miss Fame. For once, however, Fame isn’t the problem.” Maxwell sighed, taking a seat on the edge of Violet’s desk. “Raja is.”

“Raja?” Violet looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“Yes really.” Maxwell crossed his arms. “Every year, she tells us that she’s chill, that she’ll wear whatever goes with the spring collection or the theme-“

“And every single year, she changes her mind at least four times.” Bob chimed in, the drama loving smirks on his lip. “More if you’re lucky.”

“Which is why,” Maxwell nudged Bob’s side with his elbow. “We’ve unanimously decided that you have the honor of dressing Raja for this year's Met Gala.”

“Me?” Violet’s eyes widened. “What? Why?” Violet looked at them, confusion painted on her face. “I’m the most junior member of staff.”

“True, but you’re also sucking her brother's dick,” Maxwell grinned, “so we figured she can’t kill you during the process, unlike the rest of us mere mortals.”

***

It should have been one of the most exciting mornings since Courtney started at Galactica--Miss Fame and Raja were being interviewed on a talk show, and so she got to go to the famous 30 Rockefeller Plaza building, and be on the set of a real television show. Unfortunately, it was such a whirlwind of activity and Miss Fame was in such a demanding mood that she didn’t have a second to enjoy it.

She felt like a chicken with its head cut off, running around in a hectic scramble to meet every request. Today was the last day before their holiday break, and even though Courtney knew that spending her break with Bianca would be incredible, she also knew that she had about a billion things to do before that could even start. Today was supposed to be a half day, but with how packed the schedule was, she’d be lucky to leave by 5.

She entered Miss Fame’s green room, silently handing her the coffee she’d asked for and then leaning on the wall to catch her breath. Miss Fame took a sip and then immediately spit the coffee back out.

“What is this?” she asked, holding the cup out like it was a bag of dog shit.

“It’s your usual-”

“This is not my usual. This is weak, and not hot enough, and-did you just roll your eyes?”

“No, Miss!” Courtney insisted, praying that she was telling the truth. She was tired, having arrived at the office at 6 am to drop off her stuff for Bianca’s, and there was a teeny tiny chance that she may have (accidentally) rolled her eyes. “Would you like a new-”

“Let me tell you something, Courtney. This may be the last day before a vacation, but I expect you to be fully present and accounted for. We have too many important things going on and I will not accept anything less than your absolute very best. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Now. Please go find me some decent coffee before I get a migraine.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“And after you come back, I need you to go to the dry cleaners. I’ve decided to wear my ivory Valentino suit to meet the investors later.”

“Yes, Miss, will do.”

“That’s all,” Miss Fame said, waving her hand, and Courtney took off back down the labyrinthine hallways of 30 Rock to hunt down a coffee that would meet her standards.

***

“Good morning! Welcome back to Coast to Coast. I’m Nina West, and today we are positively blessed to have with us the icons of fashion, Miss Fame and Raja Gemini of Galactica, here to talk to us about dressing to impress in the new year, and their exciting new business ventures. Thank you so much for being here, ladies!”

“Thank you, we’re thrilled to be here,” Fame smiled, the lie easily falling out of her red painted lips.

Raja could see the way her hands were clenched in her lap, her wedding ring turned inward and digging into her palm, and knew that she was at her tensest.

Raja had long ago gotten used to giving live interviews. She had a laid-back attitude and while she always wanted to represent the company in the most flattering light, she tended to relax and let the conversation flow naturally.

Fame, however, had never quite gotten the hang of it in the same way. She was just so brand-conscious, almost to a debilitating degree, written interviews so much more her speed.

She always looked impeccable, very much the ice goddess she was so often called, but Fame had never gotten the same confidence in her speaking skills as Raja, who had been dragged through developing them in her modeling career.

Even though Fame hated being on live TV, they occasionally got an offer they couldn’t turn down, and between the makeup line being released in January and the overhaul of their website and online store, they had a lot to plug.

The whole thing was so stressful Fame had asked Raja four times to check her pits for sweat stains, her papers with facts from the makeup department and pointers from Pearl not leaving her hand until they literally had to go on.

Raja leaned forward, giving Fame’s shoulder a reassuring pat, and added, “This is our favorite show, we never miss it!”

“Aww, thank you!” said Nina, grinning. “Now, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you have an exciting announcement.”

“Yes, and we’re so happy to be able to share the news with your viewers first-”

“An exclusive!” Nina exclaimed, eyes comically wide and mouth open as if this was news to her.

“Yes, exactly. Early this year, we released a limited makeup line, and it’s been doing just wonderfully. So in 2015, we’re going to be rolling out a full line of makeup and skincare, with special edition palettes and colors all throughout the spring.”

“All natural, vegan, cruelty free...I always want the very best for my own skin and I wouldn’t offer our customers anything less,” Fame cut in, and Raja felt a surge of pride at how natural she sounded. All their rehearsing had clearly paid off.

“If you use it, I’ll use it!” Nina said with a chuckle. “You both have the most gorgeous skin I’ve ever seen.”

“We expect the first batch to sell out quickly,” Raja said, “So go straight to our website, Galactica dot com, and sign up to be part of the mailing list to receive alerts on all new product launches and where they’ll show up in stores.”

“I’m doing that, the second we go to commercials,” Nina said. “But first, I heard that there’s more news about your spring line...”

***

Patrick reached for the remote, turning off the TV as Nina West rounded out the segment with Fame and Raja.

He was sitting in his office, wrapping up the last details before the firm could close down for the holiday break.

Fame had done a great job, the nerves he knew she had felt not showing on her beautiful face. Patrick picked up his phone, a smile on his lips as he started to type out a text.

Fame would probably not read it until she left work for the day, but he was proud of her, and he hoped that she was proud of herself too.

***

Fame collapsed onto her dressing room sofa, completely emotionally drained, the crystals she had stuffed in her bra digging against her skin.

Being on camera for live television always took up every drop of energy, and left her with nothing to spare. Unfortunately, she knew that she didn’t have much time to rest, since she was due at the Russian Tea Room to meet her potential investors in less than an hour. The makeup artist they’d hired was standing by for touch-ups, and her ivory Valentino suit hung in its dry cleaning bag on the clothing rack. But first, she knew that her blood sugar was dangerously low, so she needed…

She looked around. Where on earth was Courtney? Fame had never met someone with such a tendency to be underfoot at the worst times and completely MIA when her presence was required. She walked to the doorway, spotting Courtney having a casual chat with a girl in a headset, carefree as anything.

“Courtney!” she snapped, and Courtney looked up, surprised, even though she was literally here for the sole purpose of taking care of Fame’s needs. “Come!”

Fame turned and walked back into her dressing room, irritated, the rapid click of Courtney’s heels as she ran over grating on her nerves.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I need to eat.”

“Oh…” Courtney’s gaze shifted to the table, where a fruit basket sat amongst assorted pastries and other snack food.

“Not that sugary garbage,” Fame explained. “Violet always had- Don’t you have any protein bars?”

“Oh, of course!” Courtney exclaimed, rummaging through her purse.

Fame rolled her eyes, sighing. That girl truly was useless. What Bianca saw in her, Fame would never understand. She took one of the protein bars that Courtney had carefully lined up on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“I think you’d better head back to the office and prepare the conference room for the investor presentation.”

“Oh, but did you need anything el-”

“No, I’m much more concerned with the meeting,” Fame said. “Everything needs to be perfect. These people will be paying attention to every little detail.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Oh, and take this back with you…” Fame handed over a large manila envelope. “It’s some sketches I’ve been working on.”

“Sure.” Courtney began to put the envelope into her bag, and Fame’s eyes widened with alarm.

“Don’t bend them! For god’s sake…”

“Sorry Miss,” Courtney said, biting her lip, holding the envelope at her side. “Is there anything else you need before I-”

“No. That’s all.”

***

Courtney sat in the back of a cab, eyes squeezed tightly shut, using the time in traffic to center herself and go over her massive to do list. She had to make sure that all the presentations for the meeting were set up, work with IT to test it, messenger out the holiday gifts that Miss Fame added at the last minute, make sure the schedule for January was in order, set up her out of office reply…

Plus, the meeting with the investors wouldn’t begin until they were back from the restaurant, so the “half day” was looking more and more like a full day. At this point, settling in at Bianca’s felt like it was a million years away--and traffic crawling at a standstill didn’t help anything.

She pulled out her phone. Maybe she could set up some of the gift deliveries now, while she was stuck in the cab.

When they were finally in sight of the Galactica building, her phone started buzzing. She looked at the screen. Miss Fame. That couldn’t be anything good.

Courtney took a deep breath and answered, stomach tightening.

“Hello?”

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s voice was sharp, sharper than usual. “Do you ever use your head? Or do you just go through life without a shred of critical thinking?”

It was fairly obvious that it was a rhetorical question, so Courtney kept her mouth shut, wondering what had gone wrong, what mess she’d have to clean up now.

9 notes · View notes

kookoosbunnynose · 4 years

Text

Ch.1 || Ch.2

Pairing: Neighbor!Jungkook/FWB!Jungkook x Artist!Reader

Genre: Slowburn, Smut, Angst, Humor

Word Count: 11.4k

Summary: You’re an art student in need of a partner for your new collaboration piece, who is there to help you but your new neighbor, Jeon Jungkook. You two paint together but leave with much more than a colorful canvas.

A/N: Hello! I know! Dumb bitch finally updated the fic lmao. but i’m really excited about this part and even more excited for the rest of the fic. If you haven’t read chapter 1 yet go read it!

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

Thankfully, even though you didn’t get to bed by the time you wanted last night, after the whole ‘y/n is a dumbass and got locked out’ debacle, you woke up with enough time to take it slow this morning. Mornings like these were your favorite, no rush. Just you sitting at your vanity getting ready for your day, jamming along to whatever song comes on your shuffle, using various items as a makeshift microphone.

You’re in the heat of Colors by Halsey when there’s a knock at your door, you abruptly cut off your poorly tuned melody, feeling caught. You quickly finish the eyebrow you’re working on as you don’t want the person at the door to see you with the one and a half you’re currently sporting. Good enough.

You rush to your front door, careful not to let your fluffy socks make you slip on the linoleum. When you open the door only to be greeted by your fluffy haired neighbor. He looks good in the morning too? Well that’s just fucking peachy. You’re making this difficult Jeon.

“Good morning.” You smile trying to hide how distraught you are.

“Good morning, sorry to bug you” he smiles sheepishly. “I was just hoping I could steal an egg from you? We’re out.” He asks hopeful.

“Oh, yeah of course. Just a second.” You turn on your heels to grab an egg from the kitchen. When your face is hidden by the fridge door you take a second to take a deep breath before making your way back to him. “Just one?” You ask when you hand it to him.

“Yeah one’s good, thank you y/n.” He gives you a small bow and opens his door. “See you later.”

---

“Hello gorgeous.” Yoongi says as your trio approaches the counter.

“Morning handsome.” Jimin smirks and steps in front of you.

“I was talking to y/n.”

“Her?” He looks over his shoulder at you. “While I’m here? That doesn’t sound right.” He scrunches his nose as if he’s doing mental math.

“I’ll just get your usual started.” He says leaning to the side so he can see your face.

“Thank you.” You laugh at them swipe your card and take the blueberry muffin he slides your way. You step to the side and wait for your boys to order their drinks.

“Remind me why we still come here.” Joon asks the two of you as you make your way to the pick-up end of the counter.

“Because we’ve been doing it since we started uni. We’re old and stuck in our ways, Joonie. There’s no backing out now.” You reply woefully.

“What are we? Boomers? We can go to a different coffee shop.” Namjoon furrows his brows.

“Order for Sweets!” A now familiar boxy smiled boy behind the counter says.

“Oh no we can’t. Not anymore.” Jimin says his attention caught by Tae.

“Look who wants to fuck the neighbors now!” You whisper yell at them before stepping toward the counter.

“Ha! You admit it!- Wait, neighbor?” You hear Jimin behind you.

“Hi Tae! Thank you.”

“Hello y/n!” He smiles and leans in to make his voice hushed. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you and Yoongi a thing? He covers like half your bill and calls you pet names everyday.” He lists off the, admittedly odd, circumstances of your relationship.

“Oh, no we’re not. We just flirt back and forth. I think if he had any real intention behind it he would’ve asked me out by now, in my experience he’s pretty straight forward.” You chuckle.

“Ah okay. Would you want him to ask you out?”

“I did in the beginning but it��s been well over a year. As far as he goes, I’m sated with just the flirting.”

“Ah, I see.” He turns away to grab the next two cups. “Orders for Jimin and Namjoon!” He calls over.

“Why do you ask?”

He pauses for a second. “I was just curious, he’s kinda like that with a couple girls but you seem to be his favorite.”

“Well it’s been a while, seniority I guess.” You shrug and your counterparts join you at the counter. “Oh how rude of me, these are my roommates. This is Taehyung.”

“Ah, nice to meet you, I’ll probably be seeing you guys a lot. I’m across the hall pretty often.” You all chuckle. “I wish I could talk longer but I don’t want to hold up the line, see you!” He smiles.

The three of you give various forms of a goodbye as you leave to find your usual table.

“Okay, is no one gonna say it?” Jimin says once you’re seated and safely out of ear shot.

“Say what?” Namjoon asks scrunching his face at his hot coffee.

“What do you mean ‘say what?’” Jimin says blinking slowly at your brother. “What is in those boys’ cheerios?”

“Fiber?”

“No! You fucking tree!”

“Y/n really? Now he’s calling me that, too?” You shrug.

---

You take a breath in as you walk into the art studio, the smell of paint and pencil lead tickling your nose. You take your usual seat at a large table and check your phone for your list of assignments. The professor sends you a large list of all the assignments at the beginning of the semester. Giving students the freedom to choose what order they do them in, the only stipulation is that you must have half turned in by midterms and the other half by the end of the semester. A much more doable lesson plan than a lot of your past professors. Being forced to be creative is draining and doesn’t get you far.

You scan down the list of possibilities until you find one that catches your eye. Monochromatic self portrait (any color)? No. Pretend you have synesthesia and illustrate your favorite song? Eh, not today. Collaboration piece? Ugh, I can’t even if I wanted to. I need to find someone to work with. Create 5 random custom colors and paint a landscape using only those colors (5”x5”)? Sounds like I could get that done before I leave. Perfect.

You pop in your earbuds and get to work. Deciding acrylic would be best for a quick painting, you grab a pallet and a sizable glob of each of the primary colors along with black and white. A little red here, a little yellow there, and some white for this one. You continue putting in different combinations until you have five colors you’re happy with not worrying if they’ll make sense for scenery. Fuck it. Who says trees can’t be purple?

As you dip your brush into your small selection of paints and watch the way the colors glide onto the canvas, it makes a sense of ease wash over you. Breathing life into a piece no matter how simple creates a new little reality in it’s own right. Expands our universe one brush stroke at a time. In the least cringy art kid way possible, of course.

You continue your work, mouthing along to your music as you go. Rust tinted grass and a peachy sky coming together in a way that definitely isn’t realism but ends up having a sunset feel due to the warm hues you chose. Just a few touch ups here and there and you’re done.

You pack up your things and head home with your new little creation to dry completely overnight. It’s already mostly dry but the textured parts still have a way to go.

---

“I really need to go grocery shopping. Thank you again, y/n.” Bunny teeth shining as he leaves your apartment with a mug of tea in place of the hot water he showed up with.

Today is day… eight? Of a new routine has developed over the course of the week. Everyday without fail, whether it be morning or evening, an egg or a cup of milk. Jungkook comes over and asks for a small food item, thanks you, and returns home. No big deal, but it’s apparent that those idiots really need to restock their fridge. It’s like having a stray cat that comes around every night after you feed it once. A really big stray cat… with pretty hair, and a cute lip mole, that always smells like fresh laundry and citrus… anyway-

Time to officially start the day and pretend that little mental tangent didn’t just happen. Go team!

You finish doing some light makeup and throw on some ripped mom jeans and a black hoodie. Enough effort to look like you care, but still comfy. You throw your bag over your shoulder, slip your boots on and head out the door.

Finding parking on campus at this time of day is a nightmare and usually takes longer than just walking since you live just off school grounds. So you make your short walk and stop by the cafe by yourself. You usually go alone only once a week; there’s only one day where you’re the only one of your roomies to have a morning class.

You order, give Tae his morning hello and make your way to class.

Classes pass with relative ease. You listen and take notes; taking notes more so meaning doodling along the margins of your notebook than anything else. Really putting those scholarships to good use.

Art history, meeting with the theater department about painting props, studio, home.

You enter your apartment and are met with Jimin and Namjoon sitting on the couch about to start the obligatory bi-monthy screening of Your Name.

“Hey! Were you gonna start the movie without me?” You kick off your shoes and take a running leap onto your spot on the couch.

“No! We were waiting for you, we’re not monsters.” Namjoon retorts in defense.

“That’s exactly what someone who wasn’t waiting for me would say.” You narrow your eyes at your little brother at the other end of the couch.

“Would you two stop bickering for two seconds. It’s starting.” Jimin puts a hand over both your mouths from his spot between you.

“Sheesh, grumpy pants.” You grumble when he lowers his arms.

The movie is filled with the same sobs and ‘awe’s that it always is, always ending in tears for at least one of you. Breathtaking animation coupled with a heart wrenching story, no matter how many times you watch it, it never fails to amaze. As much as you would’ve loved more closure at the end of the movie, the ambiguous ending couldn’t be more poetic.

“Joonie, what would you do if we switched bodies?” You turn to your brother as the credits roll.

“Probably get a discounted coffee.” He deadpans.

“Oh, you’re no fun!”

“More money in my bank account sounds very fun.”

Your retort cut off by a knock at the door from your neighbor for his daily snack, so you settle for throwing the pillow sitting in your lap in his direction as you stand. Which he tries to swat away only to end up with a faceful of cushion. Ha, get got bitch.

“Do you need an egg?” You say as you open the door.

“Uh- No I’m good? Thank you for asking.” Tae chuckles, you freeze your eyes widening.

“Oh my god, I thought you were Jungkook.” You let out a stiff laugh and shuffle your feet in embarrassment. “Anyway, what brings you all this way?” You joke, attempting to alleviate a bit of the blush on your cheeks.

“I just wanted to see if you’d wanna chill with us tonight? We had a lot of fun last time. Nothing special, but I wanted to see if you were up for it.” He smiles. “You guys are more than welcome to join too if you’d like!” He shouts over your shoulder at the boys sitting on the couch when he notices them sitting there.

“Nah we’re good Jimin and I have a test in the morning, and if I don’t force him to study with me he’ll fail.” Namjoon says from the couch

“I would not!” Jimin turns to him offended.

“Okay, I’ll study alone then.”

“No, please help me.” He deflates.

“See.” Joon smirks. “Thank you for the offer though!” He calls over to Tae.

“No problem, next time?”

“Next time.” He echoes.

“I’ll hold you to it.” He points a slender finger in your brother’s direction. “What about you, y/n? Are you down?” He directs his attention back to you.

“Right now?”

“If that works for you, Kook will be back from work shortly, it’ll just be Hobi and I for a little bit.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.” You smile. “Just let me go grab a couple things real quick and then I’m good to go!”

You scurry to your bedroom and take a look at yourself in the mirror, evaluating the damage the day has done to your makeup. Not bad. You give the apples of your cheeks a quick squeeze to bring back a little color, scramble to find your tinted lip balm, and fluff up your hair a little. There we go. Cute. Now to find something to bring with me so this little panicked face check isn’t a complete lie. Phone charger is good.

With your phone charger in hand and a revived complexion you head back out.

“Thanks for waiting.” Tae gives you a nod and you smile while you give your boys a wave as you walk out the door.

You walk into the boys apartment and are immediately greeted by a wagging Bread who you kneel to give a plethora of loves, giggling when he hops up and tries to kiss your face.

“Hey y/n!”

“Hey Hobi!” You say as you follow Tae over to the couch with Bread right on your heels.

“Glad you decided to join us. Kook will be here soon, he left work not long ago.”

“I gave her the run down before we came over.” Tae smiles.

“How have classes and shit been?” You ask them

“Not ideal. I pulled a muscle in my leg.” Hobi rubs his calf. “With a big performance coming up on friday, but the show must go on, you know.” He shrugs.

“Oh shit dude, will you be okay?”

“He does this at least once a semester.” Tae says waving it off, used to his friend pushing through his injuries.

“Yeah, it sucks for a bit but I’ll have some wiggle room to rest after this test.” He reassures.

“Okay good, just don’t die.” You chuckle.

“I’ll try not to.” He laughs.

“I’ve been doing a few surveys for my psych classes, would you mind if I get some data from you?” Tae looks to you, taking full advantage of the small lull in conversation.

“Tae no.” Hobi’s face falls and he rubs his temples.

“Do you find Chuck E. Cheese fuckable?” He asks, a genuine question mark in his eyes.

You blink. “What the hell kind of psych classes are you taking?”

“Just answer the question, y/n.”

You look at Hobi for some sort of answer, though you’re not even sure what your question is. “You’re gonna have to just answer him, he’s been on about it all day.”

“Fucking of course not. Why on earth would I want to fuck a rat? And even if I did, why would I want to fuck a robotic rat roughly the size of an entire kindergarden class?”

“First of all, he’s a mouse.” Tae corrects. “Second of all, THANK YOU!” He throws his arms up and flops against the back of the couch. “One kid in my class started this somehow and the room was surprising split. About forty percent of the people in that room said ‘Charles Entertainment Cheese’ was sexy! It got pretty heated, people were yelling that the opposing side that we ‘just couldn't handle his raw sexual power.’” He says exasperated with overdone air quotes. “So I’ve been asking everyone all day because I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I suppose I can see how that would plague your mind.” You laugh.

“Anyway!” Hobi interjects, clearly tired of the subject. “How are your things going, y/n?”

You chuckle at his wide eyes. “They’ve been good. I’ve been spending more time in the studio with midterms coming up. But I need to find someone to work with me on a collab piece. I wanna have it in by midterms so I don’t have to worry about it during finals.” you sigh at the thought.

“Awh, I would help with that but I already did that assignment and I’m not sure if they’d let me do it again with someone else?” Tae says with a small frown.

“I’d offer but the only thing I am versed in is drawing stick figures and arguably anatomically incorrect dicks.” Hobi chuckles.

“Thanks you guys.” You smile. “It’s alright though, I might just ask Jimin to get drunk and throw some paint at a canvas with me.”

“Hey! This reminds me, a couple days ago when you got coffee you promised you’d show me some of your work when we hung out next.” Tae looks at you sternly, arms tight across his chest. “The time has come Miss y/n.”

“Ah, I suppose I did.” You say as you grab your phone to show him your album of a bunch of your work. “Okay, but I’m no Van Gogh. Go easy on me.” You warn before you hand over your device to him; you always get a little nervous when you show people your art for the first time.

“Hey hey! None of that nonsense! If the way you talk about art is any consolation, then I’m sure the passion alone is enough to make it beautiful.” Tae gives you a stern look followed by a reassuring smile.

“Do you want me to cry? Because this is how you make me cry.” You chuckle and relent your collection of work over to him for them to inspect.

They open the first photo and you’re met with a mixture of a ‘holy shit’ from Hobi and a ‘wow’ from Tae, their reactions make you smile and your face heat up.

“These are amazing y/n!” Hobi says as Tae swipes through.

“Thank you guys so much, really.” You say blushing and all but clutching your chest.

You watch their faces intently as they go through, Tae stopping every so often to zoom in and inspect a certain brushstroke that catches his eye. They get toward the end of the photoset when you hear a key in the front door. You’re the only one to turn your head to see Jungkook walk into the apartment. He sets his keys down on the table next to the entrance and his feet stutter a little when he sees you on the couch with his friends.

“Hey Kook! Y/n was just showing us some of her art, dude she’s so talented!” Hobi calls over his shoulder.

“It’s really good, you should come take a look.” Tae adds, and you laugh nervously.

“That’s so awesome, I will.” He says looking at you with a smile. “I just need to talk to Tae, for a quick second.” He says turning his gaze toward him and tilting his head toward the hall.

“Oh, is it about that thing?” Tae grits his teeth and sucks in sharp breath.

“Yes, exactly, the thing.” He confirms vaguely, looking relieved.

“Is everything okay?” You furrow your brows and look at each of them.

“He just has a rash, no worries.” Tae tells you in a hushed tone as he stands up. All you can do is blink in response. Jungkook lets out an exaggerated laugh as they disappear into the dark hallway and out of sight.

Once they are safely in the other room Jungkook flicks Tae in the forehead.

“Ow!” Tae gasps.

“What the fuck was that for?!” Jungkook whisper yells at his idiot of a best friend.

“I was covering for you!”

“You could’ve said literally anything else! I don’t even have a rash!”

“She doesn’t know that!”

“Exactly, you fuck!” Jungkook whispers flicking him again. “Why is she here?! You didn’t warn me!”

“This is what I get for trying to help you?” Tae says rubbing his forehead with a pout.

“Hey! I was handling it just fine on my own!”

“Oh yeah, your plan to slowly raid the entire contents of her fridge was going so great!”

“I just thought!... I thought we would eventually talk or... something?” Jungkook says realizing maybe it wasn’t the best plan in the world. “That’s how my parents used to get to know our neighbors, they’d borrow each others sugar and shit.”

“It’d be easier to talk to her if you just hung out with her and I invited her over for you. You’re welcome! And your parents weren’t trying to fuck your neighbors, were they! Different goal calls for different strategy.”

“Dude gross, I hope not.” Jungkook scrunches his nose. “And I don’t… just wanna fuck her.”

“Aww, does Googie have a bigger crush than we thought he did.” Tae teases pinching his cheek.

“Fuck you. But thanks I guess… just warn me next time, will you?” Jungkook relents.

“You got it.” Tae says patting him on the shoulder. “I’m only kinda sorry though!” He whispers as he slips out the door. Jungkook follows him to join all of you in the living room.

“Sorry about that.” Jungkook smiles at you as he and Tae take their places next to you on the couch.

“No worries.” You assure.

“Kook you should take a look at her work, I think you’d like it.” Hobi says passing your phone over to him and your face heats up a little. “I was just telling y/n how you were really artsy in high school.”

“Oh, it was nothing.” Jungkook waves him off as he starts to look through the photos and stopping a little longer on ones that catch his eye.

“It wasn’t nothing.” Tae interjects. “Actually y/n, you mentioned needing a partner for that collab piece? Since I can’t assist, I’m sure Jungkook could help you out.” Tae gestures to the two of you.

“Oh no, I couldn’t ask him to do that for me.” You shake your head, looking at both their faces.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side for a second. “I wouldn’t mind at all, it would be fun. I might be a little rusty though.” He says with worried eyes.

“Really? you wouldn’t mind?” You light up. “That would help me out a ton. I’ve been stressing over that piece for weeks.”

“I’d be happy to.” He smiles bright. “I’m off on Saturday, we could work on it then. If that works for you, of course.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” You reach out to shake his hand, effectively sealing the deal. “Thank you so much.” you say and squeeze his hand a little.

“So Kook, I’m collecting data for my psych class-” Tae takes this opportunity to stain your moment of gratitude.

“I already told you, I’m not fuckin’ rats!” Jungkook cuts him off.

“He’s not a rat!”

“Which side are you on?!”

---

“Did I call it? Or did I call it?” Jin looks at you with his stupid smug ass face.

“Listen! It’s nothing!” You throw that damp rag you’re wiping down a table with in his direction.

“It’s not nothing! I can smell your pent up sexual frustration for him from here. You guys are gonna be alone for several hours making art together? What is he, Swayze?”

“Men and women can be platonic friends! You’re not thinking very progressively here, old man.”

“Of course, men and women can be platonic friends.” He says gesturing at the air between you. “But you and what’s his fuck, Junglebook, you said? You two, cannot.”

“Your lack of faith in me is astounding.”

“I wouldn’t call it a lack of faith in you, more of an educated assumption… And a lack of faith in both of you.” He smirks. Asshole.

“Fuck you.” You deadpan.

“You know you love me y/nie.” He blows you a kiss.

“You’re lucky I do.”

---

You: I can bring the supplies over whenever you’re ready, just lemme know! Thank you for letting me come over there, it would be hard for creative juices flowing with Joon hovering over us all night. Trying to figure out a deep psychological reason for me painting a flower yellow lmao

You: Oh! And wear clothes you don’t mind getting paint on, stains are inevitable :)

And send.

Okay listen to me you dumb bitch. You can do this. We got this. For fuck sake why are you so nervous? Pull yourself together! Just enough to prove Jin and Jimin wrong. Do it just to rub it in their faces! Fuck. What are you 12? We can hang out alone with him. This is stupid. I’m stupid. It’s fine. Everything is fine! Shut up.

Tight Buns McCute-Dog: You can come over now, I’m just gonna change real quick, the door is unlocked! (:

After receiving that reply, instead of him just cancelling, you were relieved he was still willing to help you. However it didn’t help the whole sweating from your ass cheeks with nerves, thing. So overall about the same. Great.

Doing an abstract painting in these mental conditions will result in accidentally painting several phallic shapes. A Freudian Slip of the wrist if you will.

After a couple deep breaths, effectively shoving half your feelings deep into the crevices of your mind, and changing his contact name, just for good measure. You grab all the supplies you’ll need and walk across the hall.

You struggle to open your door while balancing your small box of acrylics, easel and canvas in your arms. Deciding to abandon your easel in the hall for a second while you knock on your neighbor’s door a couple times before you turn the knob.

Bread is already eager and yipping at you for attention while you attempt to bring everything in and set it up to the side of the living room adjacent to the kitchen.

---

Jungkook opens your texts and mouths a small ‘oh shit’ not wanting to keep you waiting, but quickly regretting his decision to work out right before he saw you. He wanted to look a little extra muscley but didn’t consider that he’d be a sweaty mess after doing so.

He settles for telling you he’s changing and hopes you take a few minutes to gather your things so he can blow dry his hair a little.

Your presence in his apartment is made known when he hears his dog barking and scuttling around. He gives his hair a quick tousel, throws on one of his many black hoodies and a little spritz of cologne.

Jungkook emerges from his bedroom to find you fumbling with your easel. Cute.

“Do you need help?” he asks through a giggle.

“Nope! Got everything a hundred percent under control over here.” Your sentence punctuated by your canvas falling to the floor. “Shit.”

“Allow me.” he says handing you the canvas.

“Thank you.” you breath and run a hand through your hair.

“So what’s the plan? I hope you’re not expecting any Sistine Chapel level work from me.” he chuckles.

“A bunch of naked babies and a priest with the ears of an ass? I appreciate that you don’t bring that to the table.” you raise your brows.

“Point taken.”

“The plan is no plan. I mean I wanted to go for something abstract because it’s fun and doesn’t require a lot of brain power. Just put the brush where you think it should go.” you mime a couple brush strokes in the air.

“Sounds easy enough, paint from the heart.” he confirms, patting his chest for emphasis.

“Oh, I did think one of us could be in charge of warm colors and tints, and the other could do cool colors and shades, and see where that takes us.” you look up expectantly, hoping he likes your almost-plan.

“Sounds interesting.” He looks at the empty canvas, eyes scanning for possibilities. “Which do you want?”

“I’m partial to cool colors, myself.”

“Then today, I’m partial to warm.” he smirks. “So are we just feeling what we feel in the moment or is there an emotion we’re trying to convey?” He turns to you, eyes expectant.

You pause for a second, unsure if you should abandon the theme you were pondering for this piece before you knew Jungkook would be your partner in creation. “Is it too cliche if the theme was ‘love’?” You ask him hesitantly. Immediately regretting not just saying ‘nah man, just throw paint at that bitch.’

But much to your surprise.

“Not at all, it’s a ‘cliche’ for a reason.” He states nonchalantly. “Love is powerful. Whether it’s the painful bit or the part that makes you feel untouchable.”

A certain fondness hits his eyes that tells you he’s speaking from experience but you don’t pry.

“I’m glad you like the idea.” you smile, relief filling you after he doesn’t exhibit any signs of being uncomfortable.

He claps his large palms together. “Shall we get started, Miss y/n?” His gaze once directed at the blank canvas, now fully on you.

“Choose your weapon, Mr. Jungkook.” You feign a serious tone, giving him a small handful of various brushes. Keeping a few of your favorites for yourself.

You push your box paints toward him indicating he can grab what he likes. Normally you’re a bit protective over your art supplies, seeing as not only are they stupid expensive, but you care for your tools a lot. You wouldn’t let your klutzy brother within a ten foot radius of your things when you were growing up and even now your blood boils if he’s anywhere near your expertly sorted colored pencils. But Jungkook is always gentle and seeing the way he meticulously places small globs of white, reds, and yellows onto his palette, you know you’ve made a good choice in trusting him.

He steps slightly back letting you put the first ceremonial brush stroke of charcoal black diagonally across the upper most half of your canvas. He joins shortly after deciding to start with white in contrast with your black, laying down some bases for shapes and choosing to run his brush through to disturb the various lines you’ve made, dragging the two tones into a fading grey.

As your mind wanders towards the way his slender tattooed fingers wrap delicately around the paint brush you quickly come to the conclusion that it’s time to play some background music. Absentmindedly sticking the handle of the brush between your teeth to grab your phone and open your music library.

“What kind of music do you like?” You turn to him, the thin strip of wood in your mouth giving you a slight lisp.

“I’m not picky, play whatever you want.” he says warmly but his brow still furrowed with concentration while he finishes up his base layer.

As his answer didn’t do much in the way of helping your quest, you opted for the safety of one of those throwback playlists spotify procures for their listeners, the 90’s one to be exact. Everybody loves some good nostalgia, and it may aid in the sincerity of your painting. Past emotions and whatnot.

The first song that comes on after you hit shuffle is Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana and you hum in content. Jungkook on the other hand is pleasantly taken aback by your song choice.

“Oh shit yeah! I love Nirvana!” He smiles brightly, taking his crinkling eyes off his work for the first time since you started.

“Everybody loves Nirvana.” you tease him and roll your eyes at the possibility of him being one of those frat boys that ‘misses Kurt Cobain so much’ but can only name Smells Like Teen Spirit and maybe Aneurysm if you’re lucky.

Jungkook, sensing your tone, smirks and runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “You think so, huh?” he bemuses, rolling up his sleeve to uncover this inked skin. Across his forearm is a quote reading ‘rather be dead than cool,’ a lyric from their song Stay Away. He watches you with a quirked brow.

“I stand corrected.” you hold your hands up in defense. Trying not to let the way his inked skin hugs his veins increases your heart rate become too apparent on your features. “You do indeed love Nirvana.” your emphasis on the word being placed differently this time.

“Never doubt me again y/n.” He eyes you suspiciously. “I’ll get more tattoos just to spite you.” He narrows his eyes to add validity to his semi-empty threat.

“I will never doubt you again, scouts honor.” you say playfully saluting him.

“Now start the song over. Your lack of faith in me, made me miss half the song.” he points a finger at your phone.

“I can’t, I don’t have premium.” you let out a heavy sigh.

“What?! That’s dumb. You suffer through those god awful ads?” He screws his face up in disgust.

“Eh, I don’t mind too much.” You shrug. “I don’t wanna spend the extra money every month.”

“Okay, I guess that’s fair.” He squints at you as you pick up your brush again. “Why don’t you just use my account? I’ll text you my login.” He says fishing for his phone in his pocket.

“That’s completely unnecessary.” You laugh, and wave for him to stop. “You’re already helping me out so much with this.” you gesture to the now less blank canvas in front of you.

“I really don’t mind. What’s the worst that could happen? We expand our music libraries? Oh no!” he pretends to gasp and you roll your eyes. “And besides, I’ll sleep better at night knowing I saved a soul from those creepy ass vitamin water commercials.” He chuckles.

“You really don’t have to.” Your eyes softening at his seemingly endless stream of kindness.

“Already sent you the login, too late.” he says, sucking in a breath as if to say ‘what a shame.’

“Thank you, Jungkook.” you say as you gently grab his forearm and run your thumb over it.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles. “Back to work now!” he declares, sticking his paint brush, that at some point in your conversation tucked it’s way behind his ear, into his small mountain of yellow.

You work like this together for a while. Humming along to your music, that is now playing off Jungkook’s phone after he insisted he didn’t wanna hear ‘Colonel Suck-My-Ass’ sing about his chicken deals one more time. The two of you working together seamlessly; the way you blend your colors and make textures complimenting each other nicely. Switching sides of the canvas every so often so it remains balanced.

After about an hour of being immersed in your work Jungkook turns to you. “Noodle break?” He asks you frowning at his empty tummy.

Your brush stutters on the canvas at his words, your stomach not realizing it’s been hours since you’ve eaten until he mentions food. “That sounds wonderful, actually.”

“One or two packets?” he asks making his way into the kitchen.

“Just one is good.” you smile, setting your brush into your cup of water. You follow him into the kitchen. “Where do you store your liquid?” you ask standing between the pantry and the fridge, looking lost.

“Fridge.” he answers giving his approval to let you grab the two of you some drinks.

“I see you guys finally went grocery shopping.” you chuckle at the butter and cartons of eggs in his fridge.

“What?- oh right, yeah. Finally dragged Hobi out earlier today.” His smile not quite meeting his eyes while he opens up three packets of ramen, and waits for the water to boil.

“Can I steal a soda?”

“Yeah, just not the sprite. Hobi can and will throw a fit.” his tone far more serious than the situation calls for.

“Well damn, okay.” you say and grab a coke for both of you.

“Thank you.” He smiles and your fingertips brush perhaps a little too long when you hand him his drink.

He pulls the tab, puts the cold metal to his lips and you watch the way his throat bobs up and down with every swig. When you feel yourself staring your ears heat up, and turn your gaze to the water starting to roll in the pot.

As Jungkook is finishing up cooking the ramen, the song changes to Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls, you let out a small gasp and start to sing along. He smiles at your apparent love for the song and starts to harmonize with you to encourage you to keep going. Which, much to his dismay, did the exact opposite.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you scold. “I didn’t know you had such a beautiful voice!”

“It’s alright, I guess.” He breathes out and rubs the back of his neck a little embarrassed. “You’re not too bad yourself.” He looks at you with those big doe eyes. And you swear you’ll only look at them for a couple more seconds, as not to fall under their spell. A half hearted oath at best.

But you start to sing again, you tell yourself it’s to make the most of the song while it’s on but really, you just want to hear honeyed voice hit your ears again. And it does, eyes closed tightly and mouth wide to control his sound. You can’t hold a tune to save your life but the way he carries your sounds with his, it doesn’t matter. Your song is beautiful.

After your musical interruption, you take your bowls to the table and slurp away at your noodles. All the while Bread is at your heels begging ever so sweetly, which Jungkook scolds but ultimately ends up throwing him a noodle when his bowl is just about gone.

You take your bowl to the sink but when you start rinsing Jungkook comes over to push you out of the way so he can take care of it himself. You stand your ground for a minute but lose the silent argument due to his advantage of stature. You mutter a small ‘fuck you’ before you return to the canvas, and he smiles contently to himself.

Jungkook joins you back at your station, stepping back for a moment to assess where the two of you left off and what he’d like to add. He lets his eyes run over the varying sized lines and the way they come together but also fight one another in some spots. Some colors as bright as the sun and others look like the depths of the ocean. All coming together in a way that only really makes sense to the two of you.

You finished what was left of your drink and picked up your brush, dipping straight into your black paint for the second time since you started like you were on a mission. You drew a fluid line near the center curving over a few existing splotches, near the end of your brush stroke it became jagged and split off into several directions. A pessimist would call it a shatter, an optimist would call it several opportune paths, and a realist would probably just call it a painting. But Jungkook did none of those things.

“Y/n, have you ever been in love?” He asked as if he had only asked what time it was. He started swirling some colors together while he waited for an answer.

You blinked, trying not to show how much that question shocked you. “I suppose…” you breathed, actually struggling to come up with a real answer. “I mean, last time I was in a serious relationship was in highschool.” You trailed off. “I don’t know if I can say I’ve been in love but I’ve loved someone before… I feel like being in love sticks with you in a different way. More of a life experience than a life lesson.” You scrunched up your face a little, hoping he’d be satisfied with your answer even though you yourself weren’t.

He nodded, taking in your words. “I think being in love can be just as much a life lesson as ‘lesser relationships,’ if not more so.” He adds putting air quotes as not to come across the wrong way. “But hopefully you end up with more positive lessons than not.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Like learning how you love and need to be loved. What you deserve and what you won’t put up with. Learn to let yourself be loved-” You stop your word vomit after that last comment, feeling a bit vulnerable. “Those kinds of things?” you let out a little laugh.

“Exactly.”

“Is it fair to assume that you have?” You question, hesitating slightly.

“That I have what?”

“Been in love, dummy.” You laugh, strategically placing a light green around the canvas.

He pauses slightly. “Yeah, I have.” The same fondness that found his eyes earlier that day sets in again. Not in a painful or bitter way, you noted. But in the way you’d regard your favorite childhood memory.

“I didn’t rub salt in a wound, did I?” you tensed slightly incase you read him wrong.

“No no, you’re fine!” He reassures. “It was a long time ago. Don’t get me wrong, it hurt like a bitch in the moment, but as they say, time heals all wounds.” he shrugs.

“Can I ask what happened?” You prompted, feeling a little braver this time.

“Well you know, same old story with high school sweethearts.” He paused to fix a spot he didn’t like. “She was a year older than me. She left for university. We tried long distance and after a few months we decided it was too hard. Nothing particularly spectacular.” He tells the story, for what you can tell is at least the thousandth time. “What about you and Mr. Not-Quite-In-Love?”

“Nothing, super special either. Unfortunately, the lessons I learned from him were less than positive. After the initial honeymoon phase, he didn’t treat me the best. Looking back I learned to know the level of respect I deserve, but in the moment his lack of just made me desperate to ‘earn’ it. It was a vicious cycle for about a year but things ended and I grew up. And like you said, ‘time heals all wounds.’” Jungkook looked at you with furrowed brows, not sure if he wants to hug you or the seventeen year old girl you used to be who would see herself as anything less than what she was. But he settled for the former.

He wrapped his arms around you, taking you by surprise. But you accept his embrace and smile against his shoulder. “I’m okay now Jungkook.” You giggle. “It was a long time ago and I learned from it.”

He pulls away. “I know, I’m just sorry it took that dickbag for you to know your worth.” he gives you a sheepish smile, and a fire in his eyes dulls when he looks at you.

“Thank you, you’re very sweet.” you pat his arm before you both turn back to your respective parts of the canvas.

“Hey, just cause I’m not a complete asshole, doesn’t mean I’m sweet.”

“I’m holding firm at you’re sweet, and you can’t change my mind.” You both laugh and return your full attention back to your work.

Your rhythm returns to where it was before you ate. Both of you humming along to whatever song is playing at the moment, using your paint brushes as microphones if a particularly good song came on. Exchanging a few words here and there. Each admiring the small things the other chooses to add to the work of art. You noticed Jungkook has a habit of biting his lips when he’s concentrating. Cute.

Now here you finally are after another hour of blending, layering, and tweaking. Both of you put down your brushes down and stepped back slightly to admire what you’ve created. Letting out a sigh at your hard work, taking in the finalized piece. The way the colors run together or bump into one another. The juxtaposition of fluid lines being interrupted by jagged edges. The way the soberness of the colors you put down calm and soothe the firey and vibrant ones he laid down for you.

Ordinarily, when you finish a painting, you never quite feel done. There’s always one more thing you could fix, one more stroke you could add. But not this time. It’s finished. Breathtaking in a simple way. You’ve never felt such a sense of completeness when you set your brush down, and you can’t help but feel you have Jungkook to thank for it. The way his colors and brush work complemented yours was… for lack of a better term, a work of art.

---

Jungkook puts down his brush, watching you lay down your final touches. Truth be told he’d been watching you out of the corner of his eye the entire time. Checking in on you every so often when you’d put down your tool and furrow your brows in concentration. Smiling when you’d absentmindedly mumble to yourself about what you’re doing. He was in awe of how much of yourself you put down on the canvas, not entirely sure what wordless stories you were telling meant. Though that didn’t stop him from taking the puzzle pieces you laid down and arranging them into a y/n shaped jigsaw in his mind. Perhaps your fondness of calming colors was to tame the wild fire he could see within you.

And just as quickly as you’d started, you were done, setting your brush down and smiling at what you saw in front of you.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook.” You breathe still taking in the painting. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is.” He says just above a whisper, never taking his eyes off your beaming profile.

“Hm?” You turn to him. He looks into your eyes, once filled with fire are now a calm ocean. His gaze shifts to your lips after they form a confused pout at his silence, his body leading his brain when he leans toward you.

It’s now or never.

He leans in further looking into your eyes for any sign of apprehension before he cups your jaw in his paint stained hand. Finally taking the leap all at once when you lean into his touch.

His lips are even softer than you imagined when they meld against yours. He pulls away slightly to look at you a question mark across his features. You put your hands flush against his hard chest and answer his question by reconnecting your lips with his with fervor and you feel him smile against you. He deepens the kiss, putting his free hand on your hip to pull you closer to his warm body.

He swipes his tongue along your bottom lip, testing the waters further. You mirror his action, noting that his lips taste faintly of strawberries. You slide your hands into his soft hair and curl your fingers into fists against his scalp making him groan into your mouth.

His hand that held its feather like touch against your face leaves it’s place to join his other around your waist. His hands squeezing harshly at your hips, his fingers digging into the strip of skin your shirt rode up to expose, making you shiver against him despite your rising temperature.

He pulls away to place sloppy kisses along your jaw, nudging your jaw with his nose gently to gain access to your neck. You suck in a breath when you pull him closer causing his teeth to graze your pulse point as his swollen lips leave rosey marks in their wake. He sucks harshly at the soft spot below your ear causing your nerves to flare and a moan to escape your lips. He groans in satisfaction at the way his actions affect you, running his hot tongue over your skin to soothe the marks he made.

His hands move higher on your abdomen slipping just under the hem of your shirt, making you tense slightly under his calloused palms, he feels your shift and rubs his thumbs below your ribcage to relax your tensed muscles. His gentle fingers vastly opposing his flushed cheeks when he brings his face up to yours again, his hair already messy and his eyes dazed as he looks at your lips like they’re the first glass of water he’s seen in days. He crashes his lips back into yours hungrily causing you to squeak at his desperation. You disconnect your lips leaving almost no distance between you.

“Bedroom?” you ask lowley against his lips, your vocal chords betraying you making the word come out far more shaky and less sexy than you wanted. His shoulders flex under your hands at his request.

Jungkook slides his hands down your ass to squeeze the flesh in his hands when his finger tips graze the back of your thighs.

“Up.” he says firmly, offering you free transport to his bed. You hop up, his strong arms hold you and you wrap your legs tightly around his narrow waist. He starts the small walk to his bedroom, and you try to ignore the way his stomach pressed against your clothed clit is providing the smallest amount of friction with each of his steps, instead deciding to direct your attention to him instead. You give a gentle open mouthed kiss to the small mole on the side of his neck, you make a small path sucking where his jaw meets his neck, and he hums deeply making his chest rumble against yours in response.

When you reach his room, the smell of his fabric softener fills your lungs as he presses your back against his now closed door. His hands trail from your ass, trusting you to hold yourself up around him, up your sides, he slides your arms from around his neck and to the wall until your hands are effectively pinned above your head. The air between you is heavy for a moment as his dark eyes take in how you look like this, your eyes starry as your chest rises and falls in anticipation of his next move.

He kisses you again, slower this time. You whimper into his mouth when his hips grind his hard dick into your clit. His thighs flexing under yours as he grinds up again harder, swallowing as many of your beautiful sounds as you’ll give him.

He stops his hips and tucks his arms under you again to set you on his bed.

You reach your shirt to pull it over your head but he stops you.

“Let me.” He says half a statement, half a question.

You smile and say nothing but grant him permission by raising your arms above your head. He hooks his fingers into the hem of your shirt grazing your skin making goosebumps blossom on your flesh as he pulls it up and over your head. He reaches for the clasp of your bra slowly and gently like you might break, as if he wasn’t just shoving you against his door with his cock.

“Fuck.” He breathes out harshly when your hardened nipples are finally released to the cool air of his room.

He quickly strips off his hoodie revealing that he’s been painting without a shirt underneath the whole night. Your breath hitches as all the times you’d touched his arm or chest the hours prior, not knowing there was only a thin barrier between your fingers and his skin. You run your eyes over his bare chest and hard stomach, you knew he worked out but hot damn, those baggy clothes he wears does no justice to what’s under them. However he doesn’t give you much time to marvel before he reconnects his lips with yours leaning into you until your back is on his duvet, you spread your legs to make room for him to settle in between.

His hot skin drags softly against your nipples as he descends down your frame to pepper kisses along the valley of your breasts. He licks his fingers to roll one of your nipples between his wet digits while he attaches his mouth the other, swirling his tongue in intoxicating circles. You sigh at the small relief his mouth is bringing you and tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging roughly when his teeth bite down onto your sensitive bud. You feel the bed bow slightly below you as his hips stutter at your action. He quickly tends to the small sting with his tongue. Giving a gentle kiss to your nipple as he pulls away.

He sits up and hooks his fingers into your pants, but stops before tugging them down. “Is this okay?” He asks sincerely.

“Very.” You say, your heart clenching at his concern and help him slide your pants to your ankles, eager to have his soft skin on yours again.

He brings his lips to your neck again and you wrap your legs around his waist rocking your hips up to rub your neglected clit against his rigid cock that he has yet to spring free. The wet spot on your panties rubbing off onto his sweats. You moan into his ear at the small relief you’re able to bring yourself, arching your back further in attempt to get more friction and he chuckles against your skin.

“Patience, sweetheart.” He smirks down at you and your feeble attempt to feel his cock.

“Don’t wanna be patient. Want you to fuck me.” You say trying your best not to whine, as you reach for the waistband of his pants.

He runs his tongue along his lip and leans down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, don’t worry beautiful, I will.” He moves your hands and rolls his hips into yours once to punctuate his sentence. “But I wanna taste you first.” He says and quickly sits back on his knees to slip your underwear down your legs, tossing them behind him not worrying about where they land.

He settles his shoulders under the back of your thighs and makes a path of open mouth kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right before your sex and inhaling deeply as he sucks a bruise into your skin, your face heats up and your hips shake in excitement.

“You smell fucking delicious, sweetheart.” he looks up at you with soft doe eyes that completely contradict his filthy words. He lingers just a whisper away from where you want him and you roll your hips to meet his lips. He smirks again at your frustration moving his lips to your other knee to make a wet path up your other leg with his mouth, seeing how long he can push you. Stopping midthigh to speak again into your skin.

“I wanna take my time with you sweets. Greedy little girls don’t get to cum on my tongue.” His eyes darken when they look up at you, his words sending electricity through your nerves and arousal dripping onto his sheets.

You opt for silently nodding as the only thing you could muster at the moment is a whine that you want to keep at bay.

“Are you gonna take what I give you, sweetheart?” He says rubbing circles into your hip.

“Yes, Sir.” You breathe trying your best not to roll your hips into his touch and get scolded again.

“Good girl.” He smiles at your compliance and finally gives you what you want.

He licks a long flat stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue and swirling it around your throbbing clit. Your thighs tighten around his head and he groans against you.

“Taste even sweeter than I imagined.” He all but moans into your folds. He swears he could get off just like this, with his tongue buried in your cunt and his hips rocking his cock into his mattress.

You reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you. He obliges you and wraps his lips around your clit sucking harshly, crude slurping noises filling the room but both of you are too lost in the sensation to care. Your hips start rocking against his mouth again, this time your body fully taking a mind of its own, your climax being the only thing you can think about.

“That’s my good girl, use my tongue to get off.” You moan louder at his words and speed up your movements, balling his hair into fists. As he looks up at you with lidded eyes, he gets lost, lost in your taste, lost in the way your sweaty chest heaves with your heavy breaths, lost in the way his name falls from your lips with your eyes screwed shut.

“I’m s-so fucking close!” your voice comes out in a strained moan cracking at the end of your sentence.

“Cum for me beautiful, wanna taste your cum.” He says wrapping his lips around your clit again to pull your orgasm from you. He may have called you greedy, but he couldn’t get enough of the way your thighs shook around him.

“Holy shit! Jungkook!” your orgasm hits you like a wave starting in your stomach and sending fire through your veins. Your hips stutter and Jungkook licks you languidly through your high. All the while your mouth mutters his name in an incoherent mantra.

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and climbs over you leaning on his forearms, and captures your lips in his. You taste yourself on them and smile against his mouth.

“You look so beautiful when you cum.” He says placing soft kisses along your jaw. And you’re glad he can’t see the way your cheeks flare at his comment. “Think you can still take my cock?” he says squeezing himself at the base through his pants.

“God yes.” You say perhaps a little too enthusiastically and he chuckles at you.

“You really are a greedy one, aren’t you sweetheart?” He says teasingly. “Let me get you ready first.” He says rubbing his thumb in small circles on your clit, your sensitivity makes you jump a little.

He looks down to watch the way your velvet walls swallow his fingers, but he stops his movement, realizing his hands are still covered in paint.

“Shit.” He mutters almost silently. “I’ll be right back.” He says with a smile pecking your lips before he slips out his door. Closing it behind him just in case, as not to let Hobi unknowingly come home early only to find you spread eagle on his roommates bed.

What the hell is he doing? Your eyebrows furrow, worried he’s gonna get some sort of convoluted sex toy. Which while you wouldn’t normally object, that’s a tad presumptuous on his part.

Your mental ramble cut short and worries put to rest when he reenters the room with clean hands. He strips his sweats from his hips and climbs back over you.

“Sorry, I didn’t want you to get some sort of paint-chemical related rash on your… lady bits.” He says hesitantly breathing out a laugh against your cheek.

“While that’s incredibly considerate of you. That sentence didn’t do much for my ‘lady bits’.” you know what his venom filled tongue is capable of, so his childish use of words makes you giggle.

He rolls his eyes at you and cups your face, pulling you in for another deep kiss. His hand snakes down between your legs and when his thumb connects with your clit you squeak and break the kiss.

“Your hands are freezing.” you say with more of a pout than you’re willing to admit. You presume he didn’t wanna make you wait too long so he washed his hands in cold water.

“Why don’t you warm them up for me?” he quirks a brow and smirks. Bringing his hand up to your mouth and sticking his middle and ring finger between your lips. You happily wrap your lips around his digits; licking, sucking, and humming in content around them.

Jungkook’s cock twitches in his boxers as he watches your cheeks hollow slightly around his slender fingers, resisting from pushing them deeper in your mouth and seeing how pretty you look when you gag for him.

He removes his hand from your mouth, marveling at the string of saliva that follows it. He reaches down to tease your entrance letting your spit and arousal get you ready for his stretch. He slips his fingers into your dripping core and has to hold back from moaning at how well you hug him.

“Your pussy is so tight, sweetheart.” He breathes. “Your sweet cunt is gonna squeeze me real well won’t it?” He says catching your bottom lip between his teeth. You can’t help but clench around his fingers. “That’s my good girl.” He says, his eyes darkening and he curls into your sweet spot, you moan at how quickly he seems to be learning your body. Like he could figure out exactly what makes you tick if you stayed in his bed for just a while longer.

He removes his fingers making you whimper. He slips his boxers down a little and uses your arousal and his precum to wet his dick. Your mouth waters and you clench around nothing at how beautiful he looks slowly pumping himself with furrowed brows, until now he’s done a good job of not showing how badly his body demands to be touched just as much as yours does.

He lines himself with your entrance and teases your clit with the tip of his cock, fighting the urge to slam himself into you to the hilt.

“Do you want me to grab a condom?” he says mere millimeters away from slipping into you.

“I’m on the pill.” you reassure and gasp at how close he is to giving you everything you wanted since he crashed his lips into yours at the easel. Or possibly before that.

That’s all he needed to hear before he pushed his cock past your entrance and into your wet pussy, the stretch he’s giving you making you thank him silently for insisting on warming you up first.

“Fuck.” You both moan at how well you squeeze around him. He goes slow, inching in to give you time to adjust. You wrap your legs around his waist to encourage him deeper. He continues his slow pace breathing hot and thick against your neck.

He sits up to watch how he disappears inside you. “Look how well you take my cock, sweetheart.” He says picking up some speed in his thrusts. You moan at how well he hits every spot in you that’s been left untouched tonight, his dirty words only further building the pressure in your pelvis.

His thrusts become harder and you reach up you brace yourself on his biceps, his muscles flexing while he supports his weight above you. He angles his hips up slightly hitting your sweet spot perfectly, and you nearly yelp at the sensation, digging your nails into his arms making him hiss.

“Right there? Is that how your little pussy likes it?” He feigns a subtle innocence in his voice. Like he can’t see with his own eyes how well he’s fucking you.

“Yes, fuck! Please don’t stop.” you beg, mostly to get him to do just that, but also because of the sweaty fog his delicious cock has worked into your mind isn’t exactly allowing you to form the most intelligent of sentences.

He sits back on his knees and pushes one of your legs to your chest, his dick hitting deeper than you thought possible making your eyes roll back and your jaw slack. Your moans become uncontrollable and the words you’re attempting to say just come out in broken sounds.

“Such a good slut for me, look at you falling apart on my cock.” his voice almost a growl. “You gonna cum soon, sweetheart?” He says with a voice like silk to mask how close he is himself.

You can’t do more than nod fractically at his words in fear your voice will betray you. He rubs your clit with his thumb to earn your second climax from you.

And you do, your walls tighten around his cock but his pace doesn’t falter. Your legs shake and your eyes roll back. You cover your mouth to muffle a scream. Your orgasm ripping through you so hard you feel like you might burst.

Jungkook hisses at how hard you’re squeezing him and fucks you through your high. He reaches to his headboard to fuck into you harder, being selfish for the first time tonight, using you to chase his own high.

“Where do you want it?” He says in a stifled whine.

“Cum inside Jungkook. I want you to fill me up.” You say pressing your nails into his chest. The overstimulation you feel in your core is worth every thrust when he finally lets go and fills you with his cum. His cock twitching as he slowly rides out his climax.

He collapses on top of you, breathing heavily into your neck. Then rolls over to the other side of the bed, to allow both of you some cool air on your skin.

“I hope I didn’t go too hard at the end there, are you okay?” He looks over at you with worried eyes.

“No. No it’s okay, I liked it.” you smile, your lungs and heart rate working hard to steady themselves.

After he’s caught his breath a little he reaches into his bedside table to get a small rag to wipe up some of his cum leaking out of you, and you suddenly feel very vulnerable at his thoughtful gesture.

The post sex clarity hitting your mind, not quite in the way you hoped. As you lay there the height of what you two just did sending your mind go into overdrive.

Oh fuck. You run through the events of the night starting to panic a little. He’s my friend, how did this even happen? I wasn’t gonna do this. I wasn’t gonna let this get more complicated than my attraction to him already was. Shit, I’m an idiot. I mean he did kiss me, but… I can’t let this happen again. I don’t want this to end badly and have to move just because I think with my idiot vagina. It makes things too complicated. Okay, I have to end whatever that was now before things get even more complicated. He won’t mind right? He’s a college dude, he’s probably fine with just hittin’ it and quittin’ it. Yeah, everything is good. Friends can fuck once and then be good, it happens all the time.

You sit up from his bed and run your hands through your hair a couple times in an attempt to tame it and start to pick up your clothes.

“Are you okay?” He says, watching you as you attempt to find your underwear.

“Yeah, I’m good, just have an early class in the morning and I should probably get going.” you force a smile.

“Oh, uh okay.” He says not quite convinced. Though you weren’t lying about that, you really did have a class in about seven hours.

“Hey um,” you hesitate, sliding your pants on just choosing to abandon your underwear. “This was just a one time thing, right?” you ask him, hating the way you said that.

He senses your tone and feels a little twinge in his chest, but he ignores it, putting on a smile instead. “Yeah, definitely. Why do you ask?”

“Okay, good.” Another twinge. “I just don’t want things to be too complicated, with us being neighbors and all…” You trail off, trying not to cringe at yourself.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” He pauses, realizing for the first time that this could have negative consequences. “No worries, it’s forgotten. Just friends.” He reassures pulling his pants on.

“Just friends.” You smile and extend your hand to him. You shake on it.

You pull your shirt over your head.

“See you later, neighbor.” You say attempting to bring back the way things were just an hour ago. And you slip out his door.

He doesn’t walk you home like he normally does, and honestly you’re thankful. You just want to be back in your apartment where you can pretend that didn’t just happen. Even if that was one of the best fucks you've ever had, you're certainly not going to think about it. What is there to think about? Nothing happened.

You slip out his door, and into yours, met with Jimin munching in your kitchen, presumably after a party and your feet halt in their tracks.

“Damn babe, you look positively wrecked.” He says with a knowing smirk.

“Jimin, I am so not in the mood for whatever you’re about to say.” you say exasperated.

“Oh, so I should save the ‘I told you so’? Would you rather get it in the morning?” He asks innocently, though he’s anything but.

“Preferably never.” You quip and slip into your bedroom.

Yeah, never is good, we’re just gonna pretend none of that happened.

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

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