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softukiyos · 3 years

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the enemies to lovers project | lee minho

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵; 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 -- 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~18𝘬+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺!!! 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘩𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 >.< 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥!

prologue.

“You know I despise you, right?”

“Oh, despise. Such a big word, baby,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, “If it's any consolation, I abhor your presence as well.”

“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here?”

Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars to put up with you is a tempting offer.”

You couldn't help but laugh, and you glanced over at the camera pointed at you and Minho, with your mutual friend, Han Jisung, directing the operation. Right, both you and Minho would receive a hundred dollars if you participated in his little social experiment about love. Of course, he'd wanted the two of you to do it for free, but neither of you would budge unless there was at least a little bit of monetary incentive. You loved Jisung, you really did, but you weren't going to willingly spend time with Minho unless there was something else to gain.

“Alright, let's get started before the two of you claw at each other's throats like a pair of angry cats,” Jisung clapped his hands together as he stepped out from behind the camera, “I assume the two of you have a basic idea of the experiment?”

“Of course not, Sungie. It's not like you ran through your proposal to me through FaceTime twenty thousand times before presenting it to your professors,” Minho replied with a pleasant smile.

“And it's not like I read through your written proposal double that amount before you had the courage to hand it in,” you supplied with a similarly saccharine expression.

Jisung sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, “Why are the two of you genuinely the nicest people I’ve ever met but somehow turn into demons when you’re together?” He muttered, mostly to himself.

“It’s not too late to get rid of us and find some other test subjects, Sungie,” you called out with a smile, “We know we’re hard to handle.”

“No way. The two of you are perfect for this project, and I’m not going to let either of you slip out of my fingers after I worked so hard to get you two here,” Jisung refused your offer. Clearing his throat, he decided to begin, not wanting to give either of you more time to get hostile.

“Alright, so you’re both familiar with the basics. The experiment will take about one month, and the data will be recorded in these notebooks,” he said, the camera behind him recording his verbal instructions as he walked forward and handed both you and Minho a small, leather bound notebook, “These will serve as your diaries for the duration of the test.”

Minho perused through the empty lined pages with a snort, “What are we supposed to do, write our undying confessions on these pages?”

“You’re going to write your honest feelings about each other. And by honest, I mean really do mean honest. Neither of you are ever going to read what the other person writes about you, so you don’t have to worry about your reputation or whatever,” Jisung explained, “I’ll be extrapolating information from your entries and your entries only.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at Minho as he closed the book and and leaned back in his seat, “So that’s it, right? We date for a month and write down whether we still hate each other after every encounter?”

Jisung threw a weary glare at him, “Theoretically, yes. The purpose of this experiment is to see if the actions of love will foster any actual feelings of love to appear even if there weren’t any in the first place. The two of you will go on dates, leave each other cute notes, anything that you would do with your significant other. And after each of these, you will write down a diary entry about how you feel about that person. At the end of the month, I’ll collect the two notebooks to write my thesis. Any questions?”

You glanced at Minho, who raised a questioning eyebrow at you as if waiting for you to speak first. After a long moment of palpable silence, your lips curved into a smile, “A bold move of you to find the two people least likely to develop feelings for each other, Sungie.”

Jisung dropped his psychology major professionalism for a moment and smirked, “You know I never half-ass anything. So no questions?”

Minho raised his hand obnoxiously, speaking before Jisung even bothered to call on him, “What happens if one of us falls for the other? Do we win something?”

“No, you competitive little shit. No one is winning or losing anything. This experiment is just to document the progression of romantic feelings or lack thereof,” Jisung glared at his best friend, “You’re not trying to prevent yourself from changing your feelings about the person one way or the other, got it?”

But Minho was no longer paying attention to him, his annoyingly beautiful smile now aimed at you across the table, “You’re going to fall in love with me so quickly, Sungie’s little experiment will be over in a week.”

Your competitive edged roared to life at the provocation, and you smirked, flipping the pen around your fingers, “Your diary is going to be filled with love letters to me once I’m through with you.”

“Oh dear,” Jisung groaned to himself as he walked over to shut off the camera, a weary expression visible on his face.

This was going to be a very long month.

You never once thought there would come a day that you would walk out of your apartment to see Minho waiting for you, nonchalantly leaning against his blood red accented motorcycle and his famous leather jacket.

“What is this?” You asked suspiciously, as if poking at his intentions with a ten foot pole.

Minho rolled his eyes, “I'm taking you to class? Why else would I have dragged myself out of bed at ass o’clock in the morning?”

“You're taking me to class on this?” You gestured toward the motorcycle with a hint of disdain, but Minho saw right through you, his lips curling in a smug smile.

“There's no need to be scared, baby,” he sauntered towards you and patted your head, “I'll always protect you.”

Scowling, you swatted his hand away, “Don't do that. It's so weird,” you huffed, fixing your hair.

“You know that's the point of this whole damn thing, right?” Minho said with a hint of annoyance as he felt churlishly irritated by your constant resistance. Did you really hate him that much?

“No, the point is to do these actions in a genuine and heartfelt manner. Everything you say is fake,” you said plainly, looking him straight in the eye.

Minho couldn't help but scoff, “How is it supposed to be genuine when I don't feel anything for you?”

“You start off with basic friendship. That's not as hard, right?” You said as you reached into your large bag and pulled out a container of milk bread, “Here. This is my Day 1 gift for you.”

Minho’s face went slack as he took the container gingerly, treating it like a live explosive, “You made this?”

“Yeah, made two loaves last night,” you answered, surprised by the sudden softness in his tone. Okay, this was awkward, and you couldn't help but cringe as you extended your hand, “If you don't like it, I can take it back—”

“Hell no,” Minho yanked his arms away from yours and pulled the plastic container to his chest defensively, “You gave it to me, so it's mine!”

You blinked in surprise, your hand falling to your side, “I see,” you said before shifting on your heels and nodding, “Okay, I'll see you later, whenever that is,” you took the chance for a quick escape, turning and beginning to walk to class.

“Wait.”

A gasp left your lips as Minho grabbed your wrist, making you turn back around to face him, “I have a helmet for you, okay? And I'll drive slower,” he muttered, his eyes trained on the floor and darting around anxiously, “I won't get you hurt, I promise."

You studied him carefully, his tone of voice, his posture, anything that would give away some hidden agenda, but there was none. Looking down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you relented, "Alright, I'll go with you."

Minho nodded, leading you over to his motorcycle and grabbing the extra helmet from behind. Before you could take it from him, he moved it out of your grasp, "Have you ever even used a motorcycle helmet before? If you put it on wrong, it's not going to do you any good," he said snappishly as he adjusted a few of the straps and fitted it onto your head.

Unconsciously, you held your breath as he leaned towards you, slipping a finger between the strap and your chin before snapping it shut, "It's not too tight, yeah?" he asked as he pulled away, and you could only shake your head mutely, "Good."

Swinging a leg over, he climbed onto his motorcycle, easily putting his own helmet on before turning to look at you as he pushed up the visor, "Here. Climb on behind me."

You eyed the motorcycle with a hint of disdain as you approached it, “And what am I supposed to hold onto so I don’t fall to my untimely death?” You asked dryly.

Unfortunately, that was the wrong question to ask, and the gleam apparent in Minho’s eyes told you that, despite his surprising show of kindness, Lee Minho was still Lee Minho, and Lee Minho was a fucking asshole.

“Why, you hold onto me, of course,” he said pleasantly, “Unless, you’d rather fall off the bike and shatter your bones. The other option is to walk, but seeing that it’s almost 8:30 already, you’d probably end up being late.”

Clenching your jaw so hard you were sure it was going to be sore for days, you stalked over to the motorcycle and swung your leg over it, climbing on haphazardly. You’ve seen the movies; you knew how you were supposed to ride a motorcycle from behind, and your arms tentatively wrapped around Minho’s midriff, avoiding as much bodily contact as possible.

Minho snorted, “You know, if you hold on like that, you’re gonna fall off anyways.”

“Mind your own business--fuck!” A squeak left your lips as Minho suddenly revved the engine and the motorcycle lurched forward. Out of pure instinct, your arms tightened around him, and you buried your face in his back. The time could not have been more perfect, and you felt a rush of anger as you realized that he was just messing with you, “Don’t fucking do that!”

The asshole just laughed, “Aw, come on, I wouldn’t have done it for real. But you seriously need to hold on, okay?”

You huffed, scowling underneath the helmet as you kept your arms locked around his waist, begrudgingly learning your lesson, “Just drive.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Minho revved the engine again and started the journey, albeit with a much smoother start as the two of you began to speed down the street and towards the literature building.

When you arrived at your destination with Minho pulling up right to the front of the building, you were practically squeezing him like a life-sized plushie, your eyes squeezed shut and your face smushed into his leather jacket.

“You can let go now, darling,” he chuckled as he used his foot to push out the kickstand. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you detached from him like two magnets of the same pole, getting off the motorcycle.

“I am--” you gasped for breath as you yanked off your helmet, “never doing that again.”

Minho laughed as he took the helmet from you and put it in the container at the back of his bike, “Hey, you’re here with five minutes to spare! If anything, you should be thanking me, sweetheart.”

Your glare was frightening as you finally relented with a huff, “I’m grateful for the ride here, but next time, no motorcycle, please.”

“Next time? Who said anything about a next time?” The boy positively giggled as you realized your mistake. Minho never said anything about a next time! What were you thinking? Now, he probably thought you wanted him to take you to school every morning, which was absolutely not the case!

“Oh, whatever!” You snapped, utterly fed up as you threw up your hands in total exasperation and marched up the staircase without so much as a goodbye.

Minho’s smug laughter echoed in your ears as you stepped into the building, “Love you too, sweetheart!”

(name): day 1

action(s): drive to school

notes: utterly infuriating. an arrogant, smug, flirtatious little shit that thinks he’s the king of the world. he brought his motorcycle out of the blue to pick me up when he knows i flipped out the last time i rode one with jisung (yes, sungie, i am still mad).

i did get to class early though, because of him, and that’s rare for me. silver linings, i guess.

lee minho: day 1

action(s): drive to school

notes: a stuck up little princess as always, whining and complaining about every little thing that doesn’t go her way. shouldn’t she be happy enough that i came to take her to her class? nope, she just kicked up a fuss about it being a motorcycle. did she think i was going to remember when she had a meltdown riding it last time? (it was funny, sungie, don’t mind her.) i barely got so much of a thank you when i got her to the lit building, early, no less.

the milk bread was good, though. maybe i’ll try to convince her to make me another loaf.

ii.

First dates were always weird. First dates were even weirder when you were about to go out with your fake-social-experiment boyfriend that you didn’t even like.

What were you supposed to even wear? Were you supposed to dress to impress (not that Minho would ever be impressed with anything you do)? Or were you supposed to dress like you just rolled out of bed? In the end, you opted for something in between the two extremes, hoping that you weren’t going to face the embarrassment of being over or underdressed.

Luckily, Minho didn’t change his daily look too much for the date, opting for a pair of ripped black jeans, a loose t-shirt, and--of course--the leather jacket he never left home without. At this point, you were honestly convinced that Minho was having some sort of romantic relationship with that jacket.

But what was out of the ordinary was the small bouquet of vibrant carnations that he held in one hand as he browsed his phone with the other. They looked wildly out of place in comparison to the rest of his get up, and the contrast was so amusing to you that you couldn’t help but smile as you walked over to him.

“Are those flowers for me?” You asked sweetly, clicking your heels. Minho glanced up from his phone, his eyes darting up and down, and you knew he was assessing your outfit the way you had assessed his.

“No, these are for my other social experiment girlfriend,” he said with a dry smile, handing them to you, “I heard from Jisung that you hate flowers, so of course I had to get you a bouquet for our special day.”

“Carnations are actually my favorite type of flower, so thank you very much,” you replied, sniffing at the bouquet before glancing around, “Where’s your motorcycle again? In maintenance?”

Minho’s face twitched for a split second before he nodded, “Yeah, I scratched it up real bad. We can just take the bus again.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, but you said nothing more about the topic as the two of you walked to the nearest bus stations. After the first day, you had never seen Minho’s motorcycle again despite the fact that he walks you to your class almost every other day (he skips the days when he has work). What was even more suspicious was that he always had an excuse for not bringing it: he crashed it and it needs maintenance, he forgot to fill the gas tank, Jisung was borrowing it, etc.

They weren’t bad excuses, but it’s been almost a week, and you were beginning to suspect that there was more to the missing motorcycle than he was telling you.

“Who recommended this place?” Minho asked as you took the seat at the station and he leaned against the wall.

“Jisung did, actually,” you laughed a little, pulling out your phone and clicking into the link of the restaurant Jisung had sent you, showing it to Minho.

The boy scrunched his nose with distaste as he glanced at the restaurant images, “Did you really think it was wise to leave our first date in the hands of the man who’s never actually had one successful date before?”

“He said it was a control variable or whatever,” you said, placing your phone back in your purse, “Besides, I checked the reviews, and most of them only had good things to say. Why? Is this not your ideal first date?”

Minho scoffed, lips curling into a smirk, “I don’t really do first dates, sweetheart.”

“Oh? So what do you do?” You asked with a hint of annoyance clear in your tone, “One night stands?”

The boy shrugged, “Mostly. Why put the effort to try and create something concrete when it’ll fall apart soon enough anyway?”

You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at his words, once again being hit with the realization that you and Minho were as different as people came, “That’s a rather morbid way of looking at things.”

“It’s realistic and it’s safe. That’s all I really need at this moment,” Minho said shortly as his eyes darted down the street, and he pushed himself off the wall, “The bus is here. Let’s go.”

Without stopping to wait for you, he walked to the edge of the sidewalk as the bus pulled up to greet him. There was nothing you could do but silently follow him, wondering what Minho had gone through to adopt such a cynical mindset about love.

“What about you?” Minho asked rather suddenly when the two of you had arrived at the restaurant, settled into your table, and were already waiting for your food to arrive. There had been such a long interval of time between the previous conversation and the current one that you didn’t even process the intention of his question for a long moment.

“I’m sorry?”

Minho bit his lip, and he looked like he was regretting the fact that he couldn’t contain his curiosity, “What are your experiences with first dates?” He asked, resting his elbows on the table, “You have had a few, right?”

With a questioning eyebrow, you swirled the small amount of red wine in your glass, “I’m not quite sure whether your question is a genuine one or just another insult.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Minho asked innocently.

Rolling your eyes, you sipped at your wine before answering, "I've had a few first dates, fewer seconds, and no thirds."

Minho considered your words, "What went wrong? Clashing personalities? Scheduling conflicts?"

You scowled, placing down your glass as you grit your teeth, "You're a nosy little shit, aren't you?"

“Hey,” Minho raised his arms in mock surrender, “if I'm about to be your social experiment boyfriend for a month, I should know what I'm getting into, for my sake and yours.”

Leveling a withered glare at him, you couldn't help but begrudgingly admit that Minho had a point. If the two of you couldn't be honest with each other, this experiment wouldn't work. Like the mastermind had said early on, honesty was a key part of the project. Damn you, Han Jisung.

“Eventually, every man gets annoyed by the fact that they'll always be second in importance,” you finally spoke as you swirl the wine again, “They say they understand, but in the end, they'll never settle for a woman who puts their passions over their relationships. They want attentiveness, constant coddling, constant affection. They want to be nagged, they want me to be the one that messages first, and I'm just not the type.”

For the first time, Minho’s gaze upon you was devoid of arrogance and that giant defensive wall he’d always had up. His expression had turned almost thoughtful in a way, as if he was really looking at you, really trying to see you for who you were, and you couldn’t help but cringe slightly under his stare, smiling bitterly, “Did I scare you off, too?”

Minho seemed to jolt out of whatever daze he was in, a laugh leaving his lips, “Nah, princess, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he chuckled, putting down his wine glass as he spoke again, “It’s not your fault that they felt inferior dating someone that was more driven than them. It’s their loss, honestly.”

“Really?” You failed to hide your surprise, not expecting to find support in someone that was so different from you.

“A relationship isn’t supposed to hinder you from doing the things you love. You’re supposed to do them in tandem and support each other during the process,” Minho said, and as you searched for the punchline, for the part of the conversation where Minho would bark out a scathing laugh and point at your disappointed face, you realized there was none. You suddenly had a strange revelation that you may have misjudged the man sitting across from you.

“If you have such a wise impression about love, why do you never try it out?” You asked softly, studying his expression like always, but you stopped searching for something malicious about him, since the search had been fruitless so far. Now, you were simply curious, slowly trying to learn more about him.

Minho shrugged with a wry smile, “Just because the solution exists in theory doesn't mean it truly exists.”

"You don't think you'll ever find someone like that?" You asked.

"Well, if they're out there somewhere, they haven't shown up in my life yet, so..." Minho trailed off, his expression rather nonchalant at first glance, but you were slowly getting better at reading him. He felt wronged, probably by someone in the past that didn't support his endeavors.

You let the conversation drop as your food finally arrived, and the seriousness of the evening seemed to dissipate as the food took precedence. When the bill was finally paid (the two of you split it after a long discussion), you walked out with your arm looped around Minho's, and despite yourself, you didn't hate it all that much.

“So, we're gonna beat the shit out of Jisung for forcing us to go to such an expensive restaurant, right?” Minho hummed as the two of you walked back to your apartment. You tried not to focus on the fact that Minho hadn't pulled his arm away, keeping you snug against his side.

“I like the way you think,” you laughed, your heels clicking against the ground, “Tell you what, how about the next date, you pick somewhere you normally go to in your free time, and I’ll do the same for the date after. That way, we don’t have to spend an atrocious amount of money unless we want to.”

Minho stopped short, and for a minute, you wondered if you’d overstepped his boundaries. Then, he turned to look at you, a surprised, almost soft, smile on his face.

“You want to see me that much?”

It would’ve been so easy to dismiss his words as sarcastic teasing, like the rest of your conversations have been for the past year that you’ve known each other. But his tone, his expression, it felt almost genuine, like he was pleasantly surprised that you were willingly offering up your own time to spend it with him.

And at that notion, your cheeks felt unnaturally hot as you averted your eyes, “Well, the experiment is supposed to last a month,” you mumbled, finding a very interesting divot in the ground, “What type of social experiment girlfriend would I be if we only went on one date?”

Unbeknownst to you, Minho’s smile dimmed ever so slightly at the mention of the experiment, but he still felt that weird, fluttery feeling nonetheless. He knew you were probably just too shy to admit anything truthful to his question, and he didn’t fault you for it. It wasn’t like he was being very honest either.

“Well, I rather enjoy our little escapades, so I suppose I can spare a little effort to plan the next date,” Minho said with faux weariness, making you elbow his side playfully.

“I swear, if you drag me to another horror house like you did when we went out with Jisung--”

Minho let out a laugh at the memory, “Didn’t you punch the zombie that jumped out near the end?”

“Not a word.”

“And I think you screamed at one of the ghosts, too?”

You frowned, reaching up and messing up his perfectly styled hair, “Not a word!”

Minho didn’t take any of your threats to heart, teasing you relentlessly about that incident all the way back to your apartment, but to be totally honest, you didn’t mind it all that much.

(name): day 6

action(s): first date (control)

notes: the date wasn’t bad except for the ridiculous pricing. we actually had rather interesting conversations about our interests, outlooks on life, and had a rather heated argument about whether prisoner of azkaban or the order of the phoenix was the best harry potter book.

minho’s nice. i know you’re probably laughing at me as you read this, future jisung. but he’s nice. the flowers he got were really pretty. he’s a good listener, too, and he doesn’t give false comforts. he tells it to me as it is, whether it’s good or bad. i like that about him. he also looked really good for the date, but that’s rather surface level, right? whatever. i hope this is even minutely useful to your project, jisung, bcs it doesn’t feel like it’ll be much help.

lee minho: day 6

action(s): first date

notes: han jisung. the meal was $150 and we both ordered the cheapest things on the menu. fucc you.

the date was alright, though. (name) actually got dressed up for the date, so i felt a little bad. she’s putting more effort into this project than i thought she would, and i don’t know whether its because she genuinely wants to know me better, or if its bcs it’s your project, jisung. (i know she used to like you, it was obvious). whatever. she’s easy to talk to when we’re not at each other’s throats like usual. she makes me feel understood, which is a good feeling i guess.

this absolutely does not mean anything special. it just means that she’s not as stuck up as i thought she was. the bar is still incredibly low.

i wonder where i should take her for our next date. the horror house is tempting, but she’s probably going to get sued if she shows her face there ever again. oh well, i’ll figure it out.

iii.

“Why are we heading towards the direction of the horror house?”

“I promise you, sweetheart, it’s not the horror house,” Minho said for the umpteenth time as the two of you walked down the busy downtown streets together.

You remained suspicious, and as a chill blew towards you, the winter wind seeping into your bones and making your teeth chatter, you brought your hands to your mouth, blowing on them in an attempt to get them warm.

Minho let out a dramatic sigh at the sound of your silence, “Do you have any faith in me at all?” He asked, taking one of your hands and lacing your fingers together before shoving it in his coat pocket without faltering for a moment.

He seemed unfazed, oblivious even as the two of you stopped at a crosswalk, but you...your poor heart did a feeble stutter that certainly wasn’t the product of any social experiment. You knew the feeling well enough from your past experiences, and the fact that it emerged right at this moment made you worry.

“What?” Minho’s voice invaded your thoughts as he followed your line of sight to his coat pocket, where your hand was snugly fitted inside his.

You tried your best to salvage what was left of your pride, “Aren’t my hands cold?” You asked weakly, “You don’t have to hold them.”

“Yes, your hands are like fucking ice, that’s why I’m trying to warm one of them up, dummy,” Minho rolled his eyes at your lame question before turning to check on the light to make sure it was still on red, “We’re almost there. The place is cozy, I promise.”

Nodding, you slowly felt your composure return to you, “As long as we get out of this cold, I'd consider it a successful date.”

“Oh dear, you've just ruined my plans for a picnic up in the mountains,” Minho said with a deadpan expression just as the light turned green.

“You're ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes, but there wasn't any bite behind your words anymore, and Minho’s jabs at you had slowly lost that hard edge to them. Could it be possible that the two of you were really warming up to each other?

It was true that the two of you were getting along better, and in tandem, you began to be more present in each other’s lives. Minho still walked you to school on the days that he didn't have work. In return, it's become a normal routine for you to make two loaves of milk bread every other day since Minho always devoured his portion ridiculous quickly.

Not in a romantic way, absolutely not. Both of you would cringe at the very idea. But as tolerant friends, maybe.

“Ah! Here we are,” Minho said pleasantly as he guided you off the busy street into a smaller, quieter alleyway filled with various cafes and antique shops.

“A cafe date?” You smiled, “I didn't know that was your style.”

Minho stopped short at a particular cafe, taking his hand and yours out of his pocket as he reached forward to open the door, “Well, it's not just any cafe.”

You quickly realized exactly what he meant as you walked in, your eyes lighting up with pure elation and joy as you squealed, “It’s a cat cafe!”

Unbeknownst to you, Minho’s eyes lit up from behind you as he shut the door, keeping the winter cold out of the cozy establishment, “You like cats?” He never knew that about you.

“Like cats? I love them!” You practically gushed as you shrugged off your large coat and Minho signaled for a party of two, greeting a few of the waiters with a suspicious familiarity.

“Do you come here often?” You asked curiously as the two of you found a nice little corner to sit down in, complete with beanbags, blankets, and little wooden surfaces that were meant to serve as tables.

Minho almost didn't need to answer your question, since the moment he sat down, four cats passed over towards him, the sound of gentle meows filling your ears. You didn't think you'd be able to hear anything more sweet, until you were proven wrong when Minho let out a soft giggle, his expression unbelievably fond as he stretched out his hand, petting their heads and scratching their ears.

When had you ever heard Minho giggle? No, not that psychotic little witch giggle he did when he was feeling diabolical. This childish, almost innocent giggle that burst from his lips.

“I come here at least twice a week,” he said as one of the kittens clambered into his lap, “I have three cats back at home with my family, and when I miss them, I come here.”

You nodded, surprised that he was divulging information about him without being prompted, but you didn’t mind it one bit, “That’s nice. I’m sure they miss you, too,” you said, smiling as one of the more curious cats went over to you, sniffing at your hand before pressing their head against your palm.

“I’m sure they do. I was basically their servant,” Minho laughed before turning to you, “Do you have pets?”

“Oh, I wish,” your voice was forlorn and wistful as you began to rub the cat’s belly, feeling a rush of pride as they laid on their side. It was rare for any cat to do such a thing, and you treasured the moment dearly, “I had a kitten when I was very, very young, but they died only a few months after we got them. I haven’t been able to muster the courage to adopt another pet since.”

Minho pouted at the way your voice trailed off, your expression faraway, and he suddenly felt an urge to gift you a kitten right then and there just to make you smile. He was long used to seeing you angry, he was getting used to seeing you when you were at peace and smiling, but he’d never actually seen you look so wistfully sad before.

“Well, you’re always welcome to use my membership card here if you need a break from school,” he offered rather awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the cats so he wouldn’t have to feel the brunt of your expression, which was probably weirded out.

“You’d let me?” You sounded hopeful, giggling to yourself as a cat jumped into your lap, curling up and burrowing against your stomach.

Minho smiled, turning his head to see the way you were coddling the little kitten, stroking her fur with utmost delicacy and with nothing but pure adoration in your eyes. He was suddenly hit with the realization that you were incredibly beautiful, and his brain almost immediately imploded.

Wait, what? Lee Minho?! Who the fuck are you turning into?!

Unaware of his current struggle, you glanced at him when you didn’t receive an answer, and he scrambled to clear his throat, “O-of course,” he said, “You’d get a 15% discount on drinks. Super handy.”

If you noticed his strange behavior, you didn't comment or make a face, only gazing down at the kitten in your lap as you asked teasingly,, “Does this girlfriend benefit only last the month?”

It was a joke, not at all different from the ones both of you made on a daily basis, making jabs at your rather intriguing situation, this one seemed to really hit Minho. What was going to happen when the month ends? Will the two of you go back to hating each other and fighting every moment of the day? Will all these little acts of love, the way you would occasionally drop off a bento box at his dance studio and the way he’d pick you up after your late night classes so he could make sure you were safe, would that all disappear like a dream?

“Hello? Earth to Minho?”

Minho blinked out of his daydream, tilting his head towards you to see you already looking at him with a concerned smile, “Are you alright? You seemed pretty faraway.”

“Nah, I’m good. I just remembered that I have a coding assignment due tonight,” he lied, a light tinge of rouge on his cheeks.

“What?!” you yelped, scaring the cat in your lap as they meowed in discontent, jumping off you, “We should get going then--”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Minho grabbed your arm as you stood up, and with your balance tilted, you fell back onto the beanbag couch, although this time, you were much closer to Minho than you originally were. To stabilize yourself, your hand jutted out to press against his chest, and his breath hitched in his throat.

What sort of black magic was Han Jisung doing to him with this experiment?

“Sorry!” You squeaked out, your embarrassment clearly visible as you tried to push away from him, but Minho kept you close until the two of you were almost cuddling on the beanbag couch.

Minho only hummed, feigning nonchalance even as his heart was doing strange backflips in his chest, “It’s fine. You’re still cold, right? I saw you shivering a bit. You can just sit here,” he said, shrugging off his coat and placing it over your legs.

“I guess...thank you,” you said rather quietly, not trusting your voice to hide the emotions that were raging in your heart: the confusion, the giddiness, the childlike excitement, and the fear, “But what about your assignment--”

“Don’t worry,” he patted your head lightly, “It’s just a simple one. Won’t take more than an hour. I’ll just do it when I get home.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Minho emphasized the last word with a teasing smile, his heart slowly coming to terms with these new, tingling emotions that he was feeling, “I never knew I’d ever experience you babying me.”

Your cheeks grew warm as you smacked his arm, “Shut up!” You complained, bringing his coat up to your face and shielding yourself, “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t flunk out of school!”

“Don’t lie, you’ve fallen in love with me, haven’t you?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief only to receive another angry smack on the arm.

“You wish. I don’t fall in love with jerks like you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I am honored by the attention,” he said with a teasing smile as he nudged your shoulder.

Another kitten came to your position, rubbing against your thigh as you petted their little head, “You better be,” you muttered almost to yourself, “After all the bentos I’ve made for you this last week.”

Minho let out a yawn, stretching out his arms and very cautiously wrapping one around your shoulders. To his luck or misfortune, you were too enamored by the kitten to notice, and you curled into his side without much consideration. The poor boy wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to notice and confront him about it, or whether he should be allowed to feel a sense of fondness knowing that you were dropping the defensive walls around your heart with him.

He won’t tell you, but he was truly honored to be cared by you, to experience your worry, your encouragement, and your little acts of love. It came so naturally to you that you probably didn’t even hold any of those actions to any significance, but to him, the one who was always the lone wolf, the one who was always defined by his looks before his personality, it was nice to be truly seen by someone.

Even if it wasn’t going to last.

iv.

Lee Minho was late, and you were going to kick his ass if you didn't happen to be frozen by the time he arrived.

You stood outside of the computer science building awkwardly, trying not to focus on the weird glances from the students walking in and out, all of whom were obviously wondering what a literature freak was doing at the center hub of the sciences. It was absolutely mortifying, and you briefly wondered if Minho ever got such stares while he waited for you outside of your building. If he did, well, you felt slightly more grateful than you did previously.

“Hey! (name), right?”

You looked up with panic in your eyes as you quickly tracked the sound of the voice to one familiar stranger, a particular boy on campus that you never actually ever thought you'd have the opportunity to speak to.

“That's me, and I assume you're Hyunjin,” you said, getting straight past formalities. After all, you weren't really in the mood for chitter-chatter. You were just in the mood for a nice hot chocolate to warm your body.

But unfortunately for you, Hyunjin’s disarming smile was a clear indicator that there were no escape routes plausible, “Wow, no wonder Minho snatched you up quick.”

If you had a tail, it would've bristled at this very moment, “Excuse me?” You asked, keeping your tone decidedly cordial.

Hyunjin’s smile only widened, “What is he like as a boyfriend? Does he treat you well? Or are you just another piece of disposable garbage for him like every other girl he’s fucked?”

The final question shouldn't have fazed you, but it did. Why did the idea of such a thing send your heart into cardiac arrest? Why did it scare you so much, when you knew none of this was real? Wasn't it all just manufactured by the conditions of the experiment?

Your face must've given away more than you thought, because Hyunjin’s cheshire-like grin only widened as he took your vulnerability as a chance, “You don't have to be with him, you know. Don't you think we'd get along a little better—”

“Really fucking low of you to be trying to hit on your friend’s girl,” a hand suddenly snaked around your waist from behind, making you gasp as you felt your back pulled against someone's firm chest.

“Especially my girl,” Minho’s eyes showed not a hint of amusement or politeness as he rested his chin on your shoulder almost protectively, as if daring Hyunjin to try again.

Hyunjin regarded the two of you with cautious intrigue, his eyes darting from Minho’s hand on your waist to his face now nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and he lifted his hands up in mock surrender.

“Just wanted to make sure you know how lucky you are,” he smiled at Minho pleasantly, leaning forwards as his eyes sparkled when they met yours. Now, you may dislike Hyunjin, but you couldn't deny his beauty, and at such a distance, you couldn't help but feel a bit flustered as he purred, “And how easily that luck can be taken away from you.”

Minho bared his lips in a threatening snarl from behind you, making Hyunjin scoff as he turned away from the two of you without another word. A moment of tense silence screamed in the air before you cleared your throat awkwardly. This was definitely not a good way to start off a date.

“Well, that was weird,” you laughed, detangling yourself from Minho’s hold so you could face him, “I never thought I’d see the day where Hwang Hyunjin would flirt with me while he’s sober.”

“He’s such a fucking asshole,” Minho suddenly spit out with a surprising amount of vitriol in his tone, enough to fluster you for a moment, “Going after someone who’s obviously dating, he just doesn’t have any shame anymore! Plus, I was literally walking behind you. He definitely saw me before he made a move.”

Finding his behavior utterly bizarre, you stared at him for a long moment before you could even speak, “Are you...pretending to be jealous?”

“What?” Minho blinked, as if suddenly realizing that you were still there witnessing the extent of his ranting. And then, your question hit him like a ton of bricks, “What the fuck? I’m not pretending to be jealous, I--”

He stopped himself before he could do any more verbal damage to his own reputation, but inside, his head in shambles.

I’m not pretending to be jealous, I am jealous.

What was happening to him?

From the look on your face, Minho could tell you were a mixture of confused and suspicious, but you didn’t press him for more details or to finish his sentence. That was one thing he really appreciated about you. If he didn’t elaborate on his words, you trusted that he didn't say more because it simply didn't need to be said.

"Well, we should probably get going," you said, slipping your arm around his, "I was freezing my ass out here waiting for you."

"Then, perish."

"You're the worst social experiment boyfriend I've ever had!" You complained, your pout clear from the sound of your voice as Minho let you lead him to whatever date surprise you had in mind.

“I’m the only social experiment boyfriend you’ve ever had,” he pointed out reasonably, resting his head on yours while you waited for the traffic light to change.

You let out a huff, trying to push him off you, but it was rather fruitless to make Minho do anything, really, “You’re still the worst,” you said, trying to tickle your way out of the situation.

Minho only chuckled. Two could play at this game, he thought smugly as your attacks failed and he wrapped his arms around you from the side, pulling you snug against him so he could nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, tickling your skin with his hair and making you shriek.

“Lee Minho, I swear to God!” Despite the slurry of curse words that left your mouth, you were laughing and made no genuine attempts to pull away from him. You’ve noticed over the last few weeks that Minho was never one for blatant physical affection, but he was being abnormally clinging today.

“Admit it, kitten,” he teased, peeking up at your expression as he smiled, “I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

The world around you seemed to freeze as the weight of that question fully sunk in. Was Minho the best boyfriend you’ve ever had? You thought back to every awkward first date, every time the guy looked strangely disappointed when you said you wanted to head home by yourself, every time one of them awkwardly mentioned that they wanted you to cheer them on at the expense of your own passions. You thought through all of those memories before you realized oh my god Minho was the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

“Hmm? Oh, come on, I was kidding,” Minho seemed oblivious to your plight as he took your silence as a rejection, beginning to let go.

“You are.”

The words slipped out of your lips before you even realized what you had said. Minho’s eyes widened rather comically as he tried to make sure he was making the right mental connections in his head.

“I am?” He repeated slowly.

“You are...the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you muttered the last half, your face burning as if you’d eaten a whole bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos.

Minho blinked, his entire system short-circuiting.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said, awkwardly shuffling on the heels of your feet before you found your escape, “Oh, green light! Let's get moving!” Your voice was bright and overly cheery as if you didn't just drop a bombshell of a revelation on both Minho and yourself.

Minho practically stumbled over his own feet to catch up to you, “H-hey!” He grabbed your hand before you could pass the halfway point of the large intersection, where the light was manually turned red by one of the buses.

You glanced down at your intertwined hands and back up at his face before answering softly, “Thanks.”

He nodded in response, trying not to put too much attention to the way your fingers curled around his, trying not to put too much attention to the way your hand fit in his, and asked, “So, where are we going?”

“Well, you brought me to the place you like to go to destress, so I figured I would do the same,” you answered, reaching into your back pocket and pulling out a key that looked suspiciously like Jisung’s access card to the music building.

“Tell me you didn't steal Jisung's access card.”

“It's not stealing if I'm returning it before he knows what happened,” you shrugged.

“Um, yes it is.”

You glanced up at him with a playful smile, “You gonna rat me out, darling?”

That name of endearment shouldn't have affected him so much, but it did, and he physically had to restrain himself from holding your hand tighter as he scoffed, “I'm no snitch, especially not when it comes to my beautiful social experiment girlfriend.”

You let out a laugh, “You’re definitely the king of heart fluttering pet names.”

The rest of the walk to the music building was filled with idle chatter as the two of you slowly got back into the rhythm of your usual banter. At some moments, it was even easy to forget about the way you’d hug his arm to your chest as if shielding yourself from the cold. It was even easy to forget about the way his hand would gently squeeze yours if he felt you shiver too violently beside him, a silent check up on you. It was far too easy to call all of these little actions as normal, as if he was actually your boyfriend.

“Are you sure we're not going to get caught?” Minho asked as the two of you walked to the side door of the music building. Although, he didn't sound very concerned about potentially getting in trouble, only slightly curious.

You slid Jisung’s card into the reader and the door unlocked with a click, “I've done this for years. Even if people do check the rooms, there's lot of places to hide.”

The boy only chuckled, holding the door open so the two of you could walk in and escape from the biting winter cold. After wiping off your shoes using the doormat, you gingerly took his hand again and lead him up the stairs to the end of the hall where you pulled him into a dark room.

“Kitten, if you wanted to find a private little place for us to have some fun, we didn’t need to go all the way to the music room,” Minho said, amused, “I know plenty of lockable closets around the campus—”

“That’s so gross,” you said as you turned on the light, revealing that the two of you were in one of the group music rooms, with a piano sitting at the center of the room and a couple of instruments stored on the sides.

Minho placed a hand on his heart, “Mean,” he huffed accusingly at you. He was mostly kidding, of course, but a part of him felt a genuine despair at the fact that you didn't seem to be remotely flustered or enticed by the idea of being with him in that way, with such intimacy.

“Don't worry, Min. There will be plenty of fish out there desperate to jump into your arms soon enough,” you flashed him a wry smile as you grabbed one of the guitar cases and brought it to the carpet near the piano.

“Min?” He repeated, the nickname making him feel slightly better even as your words dampened his spirits. Did you really think he would be that eager to go back to his normal “no-strings-attached” routine after this month?

For the first time, you looked a little flustered as you sat down on the soft carpet, opening the guitar case with a few clicks of the locks, “Sorry. Do you hate it?” You asked sheepishly, “I just figured that you give me so many petnames, I should try to give you one, too. But if Min isn't good—”

“It is!” The boy interrupted a little too eagerly. Catching your surprised expression, he immediately controlled himself, clearing his throat awkwardly as he sat down across from you, “Yeah, Min is fine. Min is good. It's just...new.”

“No one's ever called you Min before?” You asked with a curious expression while you pulled out the guitar with what Minho noticed was practiced ease.

He shrugged, “I don't think anyone’s ever given me a nickname before.”

I don't think anyone’s ever reached that level of closeness with me, was the unspoken follow-up to his statement. After all, what type of one-night stand would ever result in names of endearment or genuine emotional attachment?

“Hmm...maybe I should take it up a notch and call you Minmin,” you said absently, testing the tension of the strings and being totally unaware of the spiral you just send Minho down on.

Minmin? Minmin? The poor man was turning into a pile of mush before you and you didn’t even know what you did. Minho was sure that if you ever called him Minmin, he’d throw away everything to do as you asked.

“If you want,” he said, shuffling awkwardly as he sat across.

You glanced up at him, giggling as you finished tuning up the instrument, “So this is my de-stress room,” you said, “I like occasionally coming here to write songs or just play the instruments here.”

“You play instruments other than guitar?” Minho asked, sounding rather impressed.

“I used to play piano as a kid, actually,” you explained with a smile as you checked the A string, “Jisung taught me how to play guitar in our first year here.”

Minho bit his lip, struggling to keep control over his expressions, “Right.”

Never before in his life did Minho ever think that he’d be sitting across from you and feeling jealous about Han Jisung’s relationship with you. It wasn’t secret knowledge; he knew you used to like his friend, and you used to like him very much. It wasn’t like Minho minded; you were the one of the decent ones and you genuinely liked Jisung for who he was. Something must’ve happened in the middle of the second year, because you gradually seemed to pull away from Jisung at least in a romantic manner. Minho never thought much of it. But now, he was beginning to fully realize how close you and Jisung actually were, and how much that was beginning to bother him.

Did you still like Jisung? That was the question that always haunted his mind. Were you doing all of this for the boy in your past when Minho was here falling harder every single day?

“Hey, Min?”

Your voice broke into his thoughts as his ears perked up, “Yeah?” He answered with an uncharacteristically gentle voice. There was something about the way you spoke that felt hesitant and uncertain, rather unlike you, and he wanted to make sure that you felt comfortable being here with him.

“D-do—“ you swallowed nervously, “do you want to hear one of my songs?”

Minho’s eyes widened. As a friend of Jisung and the other two famous producers on campus, he was no stranger to hearing music that they produced. But because of that, he knew how much these songs meant to the people who wrote them. How personal they can be, and how terrifying it could be to share them with others. And the fact that you were willing to bare that part of your soul to him was a gesture of trust that he’d never expected.

“Do you want me to listen?” He asked with caution, “You really don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I do!” You blurted out before your cheeks grew warm, “You shared a big part of yourself with me when you took me to that cat cafe, so I wanted to do the same.”

Minho felt a little speechless, so all he could do was nod and give you an encouraging smile. Taking his gesture as acceptance, you cleared your throat softly and began to strumming out a simple chord progression.

The poor man was immediately entranced. There wasn’t any hope for him anymore. The moment you opened your mouth to sing, Minho fell into silent awe as he let your soft, soothing voice flow through his body. There was something so present about your voice, about the lyrics you sang. Everything just felt so raw that all he could really do was watch and listen with a gentle smile on his face.

When you finished, you opened your eyes and hesitantly turned to face him, “Well?” You prodded, a hint of nervousness slipping out of your lips.

It took Minho a few moments to put his thoughts together, and even then, they weren’t totally coherent. Nothing like the smooth-tongued, cheeky persona he always embodied, “That was--wow,” he stumbled over his words.

To his luck, you didn’t seem bothered by his failure to string his words together, but only smiled encouragingly, “A good wow, I hope?” You asked.

“Definitely a good wow. The best wow,” he nodded fervently as you laughed, waiting for him to continue, “Did you ever take classes like Jisung and Chan?”

“Oh, no. I definitely don’t have the extra money for that,” you said, resting your arms on your guitar, “But I’ve always loved to sing, and I’ve always loved hearing other people sing, too. My first childhood crush was this really cute busker who sang Hey There Delilah once near my city’s shopping street.”

Minho’s lips quirked up in a smirk. This was much more comfortable territory for him, especially when it means teasing you, which is honestly all he ever did, “A childhood crush, huh?” He drawled, stretching out his legs, “So you have a thing for people with good voices?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded, “If anyone has a good singing voice, I’m at least 40% more inclined to fall in love with them.”

“Wow,” he let out a laugh, “That is an incredibly significant statistic. I’m almost worried about how shallow you are.”

You let out a noise of indignation as Minho only laughed harder, fending away your useless attacks, “I am not shallow!” You snapped, your cheeks feeling warm, “Having a good singing voice is just an added bonus!”

“Sure, sure,” he teased, even going so far as to pinch your cheek playfully, “Is that why you fell in love with Jisungie?”

“I’m not in love with Jisung--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you aren’t now,” Minho waved his hand dismissively, even though deep in his heart, he didn’t actually know and that was why he approached the topic in the first place, “But you were in love with him back then, right?”

The withering glare you gave him was weak at best, and you sighed, hugging your guitar to your chest as if it was your own personal shield, “Yes, I was. But that was years ago and we agreed to be just friends. It was awkward in the beginning, but I’m content with the relationship we have now.”

“You are?” Minho asked, trying to sound casual as he picked a piece of lint off his pants.

You nodded surely enough for him to see that you were being genuine, “I am. Jisung is just a friend, nothing more.”

Why Minho seemed so interested in the topic that he’d ask not one, but two follow-up questions about Jisung, you didn’t know. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was jealousy or a way of making sure that you were emotionally available, but you did know better, and you knew that Lee Minho wasn’t that type of person.

Trying to bridge what was becoming an awkward silence, you cleared your throat and asked, “Do you have a favorite karaoke song? We could do a jam session here if you’re comfortable with singing.”

“You want me to sing after hearing how good you sound?” Minho scoffed in disbelief.

You visibly pouted, and Minho’s defenses immediately weakened, “Aww, I promise I won’t judge! And besides, Jisung said that you sounded good the last time you two went to the karaoke bar. It’s just the two of us, Min,” you smiled encouragingly, “We’re just here to have fun!”

Fuck everything. Fuck you and your gentle words, your soft smiles, your teasing eyes. Everything about you just made Minho want to lower all his walls and embrace all that you want to do. Letting out a sigh, he relented, “Fine. Do you know Congratulations by Day6?”

“Uh, I think the question is who doesn’t know Congratulations by Day6.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Minho scowled as you laughed, shifting the capo slightly higher on the neck of the guitar to the right tuning. Giving you time to get ready, Minho pulled up the lyrics on his phone to make sure he didn’t mess up unnecessarily in front of you. It shouldn’t matter, of course, but there was a weird fluttering in his stomach that made him almost believe that he was nervous.

When the two of you were finished fiddling around, you glanced up at him, smiling, “Ready? I’ll give a four count,” Minho nodded, and after you rapped your knuckles against the body of the guitar four times, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

His voice and your playing blended together almost magically, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared as he continued to sing, disregarding his phone since he seemed to know the lyrics by heart. All you had to do was follow along with your gentle strumming, listening and keeping up to the natural inflections of his voice. The room felt cozier, the sterile fluorescent lights felt warmer, and you were getting lost in the ethereal picture of Minho when--

“Why are the lights on in the hallway?”

The two of you immediately stopped as you glanced at each other, eyes comically wide. It seemed like, much to your luck, the security guard happened to choose that very day to make his rounds, despite skipping every other day during the week.

“Put the guitar away! I’ll turn off the lights!” Minho hissed at you as he bolted to the wall of the room and you went to place the guitar back in its case as quickly and carefully as possible. Luckily, the music room didn't have any windows on the door, and the guard couldn’t see what was happening inside unless he actually entered the room.

The two of you just managed to put the guitar back in its original state and turn off the lights just as his footsteps neared the door. In a split second, Minho grabbed your arms and yanked you into one of the bass storage compartments, closing the closet door right before the guard opened the door to the music room, looking around curiously.

Neither of you could even breathe in the crammed space of the closet as you tentatively waited for the guard to check the room. The storage compartment left almost no wiggle room, and Minho’s arm stayed wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest so the two of you could fit.

Oh god, this was too much for you. The thumping of his heart against yours, the tickling of his hair against your ear as he had to dip down to avoid thumping his head against the top, the grip he had on your waist as his thumb rubbed your side, an instinctive attempt to calm your nerves.

The silence screamed in the room, and the two of you held your breaths before the footsteps exited the room, and the door clicked closed. Even still, both of you stayed totally quiet for a few moments longer before Minho let out a soft chuckle.

“This is definitely a closet I haven't explored.”

You swatted at his arm, “Now is not the time to make dirty jokes!” You scolded, but Minho accepted your angry hands, happily holding you snug against his chest as he laughed.

“If not now, then when?”

“How about never?” You rolled your eyes as you lifted your head to glare up at him, but your intentions seemed to die out the moment you realized just how close the two of you were. Minho’s face was not inches, but centimeters away from yours, your noses almost brushing and your foreheads so close that you could practically count his eyelashes.

Minho gulped, staring down at you in panic and awe as he struggled to maintain his composure. There was so much he could do, so much he’s done before; this position shouldn’t be all that shocking for him. As he’d said before, he has had his fair share of sloppy closet makeouts and even a little more than that. Cramming into a storage closet with his arms around you shouldn’t be enough to send his mind and heart into overdrive.

But they were, because he’s never met anyone that set his heart alight like you did. His eyes trailed obviously to your lips, the way that yours eyes did to his, but he couldn’t find it in himself to make the first move. There was something holding him back, an irrational fear that prevented him from moving too quickly, a fear that he might scare you away.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly, your hands finding their home on his chest as neither of you made moves to pull away.

“About how this date took a rather strange turn,” he answered instead, his eyes glittering with amusement.

To his surprise, you look flustered and a bit ashamed at his words, “Ah, I am sorry,” you apologized, “I didn’t think it was going to turn out like this. They never check the rooms, and I just wanted to show you a place where I--”

A gasp fell out of your lips as Minho pulled you forward until your body collided with his chest. He engulfed you in a tight hug, his face buried in your hair as he mumbled with what you could discern was a hint of trepidation and shyness, “Don’t be sorry. Thank you for showing me this side of you.”

Your hands stilled behind him, your eyes widening as you felt him hold you tighter. You could feel the beat of his heart, the trembling in his breath, and the remainder of the walls around your heart all but collapsed as you snaked your arms around his midriff, snuggling your face into his shoulder and marveling at how perfectly you fit against him.

“Thank you for giving me the chance,” you murmured, your voice muffled by his familiar leather jacket as you smiled, “You know…”

“Hmm?” Minho answered absently, holding you close.

“I like this better than fighting.”

Minho couldn’t help but giggle at the sheer simplicity of your statement, and he couldn’t help but feel inclined to agree with you.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Fuck!”

Minho let out a trail of belligerent curses as he ran to the nearest bus station, holding his leather jacket over both of your heads to shield the two of you from the sudden and pouring rain. As the two of you were walking in the middle of the flower garden right before the weather took a sharp turn for the worse, both of you were soaked to the bone by the time you found shelter.

As you clutched at your chest, gasping for breath, you huffed grumpily at the boy beside you, who looked way too dashing for someone who was doused like a wet dog, “Weren't you supposed to check the weather?”

“Well, if we went to the arcade like I'd suggested instead of the park, we wouldn't be in this predicament, would we?” Minho retorted, running a hand through his damp locks.

“It’s a Friday night. The arcade would’ve been packed to the brim and you still would’ve been all pissy.”

“It’s better than being soaked to the bone and freezing our asses off at some random bus station.”

The two of you maintained your angry tense glares for only a moment longer before you caved, rolling your eyes as a smile crept on your face, “It seems like nothing has changed, even on our last date.”

“We're destined enemies. The universe has decreed it long ago, sweetheart,” Minho chuckled.

The most humorous thing about both of those statements were how utterly false they were, and how aware both of you were about that fact. Anything and everything that existed between the two of you had changed during the course of the month, and both of you knew it. Minho had changed from a necessary annoyance to an irreplaceable pillar in your life, a source of honesty and comfort that you've grown to relish. Even though the two of you still bickered like cats and dogs, there was something good-natured about it now.

“Well, our garden date is fucked and we can't exactly go to the arcade like this, so what do you suppose we do?” You asked with a grimace as you wrung the excess water out of your hair, “This is the last day before our project ends.”

Minho sighed, shaking the droplets of water off his jacket as he bit his lip, turning his gaze to your side profile. You were happily oblivious to his stare, continuing to twist the water out of your hair as you stared out at the rainy street, humming softly to yourself. He could tell immediately that you were cold and doing your best to keep yourself from shivering.

It was definitely a pet peeve of his that he’d grown more and more annoyed over as he spent the month by your side. You never liked to wear jackets or bring them along, despite the fact that you were literally cold-blooded and tended to match the temperature of whatever weather was going on around you. It got so bad at times that Minho had already developed a habit of bringing you an extra jacket or scarf so you at least didn’t catch a fucking cold while you were spending on dates with him.

Unfortunately, the forecast had predicted clear skies and warm weather for the whole day, and Minho didn’t think about bringing that extra jacket around this time, so all you could do was perish in your cold, soaked clothes.

“You could come over and hang out at my place.”

The words tumbled out of Minho's mouth before he could really consider the consequences, and all he could do after that was look as nonchalant as possible.

As expected, you gawked at him as if he'd grown a second head, “You want me to hang out at your apartment?”

“Don't make me repeat myself,” he grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot, “We could dry up there and maybe watch some Netflix or something."

You let out a scandalized gasp, dramatically covering your chest with your arms, and Minho's face burned as he gave you a hard shove, "Not like that, oh my god!" He sputtered in total embarrassment, fully beginning to process the implications of his words.

As the poor man dissolved in his own misery, you cackled, relishing his suffering as you ran a hand through your wet locks, "I'm kidding, genius!" You said with a laugh, "Gosh, who knew you were actually such a prude on the inside."

If you took Minho seriously at all, his glare would have sent you six feet under. Unfortunately for him, one month of fake dating taught you that the man was a lot more bark than bite. You were basically Minho-immune at this point.

“You know what?” He closed his eyes, grabbing at whatever supernatural patience he had not to just shut you up with his lips smashing against yours, “Offers’ off. Walk home yourself.”

“Aw, alright I’m sorry!” You laughed, ruffling his messed up hair as you walked out of the bus stop and into the pouring rain, “Come on, please? I promise I won’t make fun of you anymore.”

You promising not to make fun of him sounded about as genuine as Jisung saying that he’d stop procrastinating on his homework, but what was Minho going to do? Make you walk home by yourself in this type of weather? It wasn’t that he was giving you any special treatment; this was just what any good samaritan would do.

With a roll of his eyes, he stomped over to you and flung his leather jacket over your head, “Let’s go,” he muttered. Smiling playfully, you followed him home, using his jacket to shield you from the rain as you stared at his back with a hint of bittersweetness.

The jacket still smelled like him, you thought absently as you walked in his shadow. As much as you’d tried to deny it to yourself, Minho smelled good. He smelled like Febreeze and citrus. You were going to miss the warmth of his jacket very soon, when he’d no longer be obligated to take care of you or make sure that you won’t catch a cold.

“Did you die back there, sweetheart?” Minho called behind him, “You’ve gone all quiet.”

“If I died, how exactly was I supposed to answer you?”

“Oh, my bad. I was really only asking out of courtesy,” he smirked, throwing his head back as his eyes sparkled with a mischief you’ve grown out of hating. Seeing the few feet of distance between the two of you, he extended his hand, chuckling, “Seriously, what are you doing all the way back there? Come on.”

You felt yourself grow quiet, taking a few large strides forward before you let go of the jacket and slipped your hand into his. Minho’s fingers laced with yours as he continued on his way, leading you down a couple streets before you made it to the familiar apartment complex.

Now, you’ve been to Minho’s place a couple times, so you didn’t feel too overwhelmed as the two of you rushed into the lobby area sopping wet and trying your best to dry off your shoes on the mat. However, it was always just a quick stop, like standing in the lobby area while he went up to grab something, or meeting with him downstairs before going on a date. You’d never actually been into his apartment before, and as the two of you stood in the elevator in a deafening silence, you couldn’t stop your heart from racing a little faster than normal.

“Alright, now I’m worried,” he said as the numbers on the elevator screen went up slowly, “You’re being abnormally quiet. What’s up?”

You blinked in momentary surprise, not expecting him to pry, since he wasn’t ever the type, “Oh. I’m just wondering what your place looks like,” you said, smiling.

Minho didn’t buy it for one second, but he only gave you a strange glance as the elevator doors opened, “I see. Well, it’s nothing special. It’s just like any other dumpy frumpy apartment.”

“I didn’t mean like whether it looks expensive or not,” you said with a soft laugh as the two of you walked down the hallway towards the door to the left, “I’m just wondering whether it would be clean or messy, if you like to keep it warm or cold. Those sorts of things.”

“Oh,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck, and for the first time, he felt a little nervous about twisting his key and opening the door. What if you had higher expectations about it than he could actually meet? Wait, did he pick up those boxers off the floor before he left that morning? He did, right?

“What are you waiting for?” You asked in amusement, watching as Minho seemed to have gone very still after he pushed his key into the keyhole. When he didn’t budge, you moved forward to turn it yourself, only for him to angle his body in front of the door.

“Uh, maybe this isn’t the best idea,” he said with a pleasant, saccharine smile.

You blinked, “Minho, we’re literally at your door,” you said just as a loud boom of thunder sounded in the distance, “And it’s thundering. Your room can’t be that horrid, right?”

“It might be a bit messy,” he argued.

“We’ve both spent game nights in Jisung’s hell hole. I think I can handle however messy your apartment is.”

That was a fair point. Minho couldn’t really find an argument against that attack. Lowering his head, he sighed, “Let me head in to tidy some things first.”

With a raised eyebrow, you crossed your arms, “No problem, but I seriously don’t care, if that’s what your worried about.”

Minho could only nod suddenly before he turned the key, unlocked the door and slipped in faster than a ghost before slamming the door shut. Just like he’d predicted, his boxers were lying nonchalantly on his bedroom floor, and he shoved them in his hamper before cleaning--more like hiding--the rest of his junk in record time.

You were beginning to think that Minho had just locked you out of his apartment when the door opened once more, and he walked out with a towel in hand, “Did you hide whatever dirty toy you needed to hide?” You asked with a smirk.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” he retorted, throwing the towel at you and leading you inside.

The apartment wasn’t far from your expectations. Clean, but not meticulously so, a little bit on the chilly side, and a sense of homeliness with the warm lights and lamps that he chose from the living area. You found yourself growing fonder and fonder of it by the minute.

“It’s cute,” you smiled, wrapping the towel around your neck.

Minho tried to ignore the way his cheeks warmed at the simple, but genuine compliment that fell out of your lips, “Thanks. I laid out a change of clothes for you in the bathroom. You can also take a shower if you feel like you need to warm up.”

“What a gentleman,” you said teasingly as you placed your handbag down on the floor as you headed to where Minho had gestured to the bathroom, “Do you have people over often?” It was an easy question, not even close to brushing the real question that sat in the back of your mind.

Is what we have special? Do I mean something different to you the way you mean something different to me?

“Actually, besides Jisung, you’re probably the first,” Minho answered, grabbing a towel to dry off his own hair as he walked towards you, “I don’t really like strangers or acquaintances in my space.”

“Oh, I should be honored, then,” you said, trying to contain your surprise as turned to face him, studying the way his damp hair framed his face and the way his eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that you could never read. You could never tell what that gaze wanted, what that gaze meant, but you knew what it did to you and your foolish little heart.

Minho’s head tilted ever so slightly as the silence hung in the air. Then, he smiled, brushing the tip of his finger under your chin, “Well, being my social experiment girlfriend has to have its perks.”

The trance shattered, and whatever moment of tension and unexplainable attraction you felt disappeared into the air as you marched towards the bathroom, “I’m glad I got to make use of it before my membership expires tomorrow,” you said, your voice tinged with sarcasm as you shut the door.

A laugh left Minho’s lips as he shook his head, walking into his bedroom and quickly getting into a change of clothes before flopping onto his couch. This experiment has proved to be one of the most difficult experiences in his life. All this time, he always knew what he wanted, and he always knew how to get it. If he wanted someone, he got them. If he wanted to pursue something, he found himself being able to achieve it with just a bit of hard work on his part.

But with you, he didn’t know what he wanted, nor did he know how to obtain it. When he met you as Jisung’s other best friend, he never once imagined that the two of you would form such a strange yet irreplaceable relationship in such a short amount of time. He liked you, he liked you a lot. But as he found himself falling further and further, he realized that the reason this was so difficult was because he cared about you. His way of living with no strings attached wasn’t going to cut it anymore, especially since he was beginning to notice that many of his strings were tightly wrapped around your fingers.

And despite this, the two of you were going to have to cut them all off when the morning came.

“Fuck you, Jisung. You probably knew this was going to happen, you little shit,” Minho sighed, lying down on the couch and closing his eyes. Whatever, he didn’t want to think about the goodbye. He’d deal with it when it came.

“Uh, Minmin?”

“Hmm?” Minho answered you absently, his eyes still closed.

“You can shower if you’d like,” you offered, the couch dipping under your weight as you sat beside him.

“Nah, I’ll just shower tomorrow morning,” Minho said, opening his eyes and physically having to fight back a blush as he saw you, his hoodie practically engulfing you whole and his sweats going past your feet. Oh fuck, did he even think things through when he picked out a spare set of clothes for you?

You caught his stunned gaze, your cheeks immediately reddening, “L-look, they’re just a little big on me!” You said defensively as you grabbed one of the pillows and shoved it in his face, “Can’t you stop staring?”

Minho laughed, fending off your relentless pillow attacks with his arms, “Sweetheart, I swear! You actually look really cute!”

“Shut up!” You shrieked, swinging your arms relentlessly as Minho finally had enough letting you win. Lashing out with his hands, he grabbed both of your wrists, stopping their movement and forcing you to drop the pillow as he yanked you forward. With all your momentum going in one direction, your body had no choice but to follow, and when you opened your eyes, you were sprawled on top of him on the couch, his hands still locking your wrists in place.

“Um,” you looked around, further procession the rather awkward position the two of you had taken, “did you mean for this to happen?”

Minho didn’t, but he was nothing if not an opportunist, “You can think whatever you wanna think,” he shrugged, letting go of your wrists as he wrapped a casual arm around your waist, “What? Not comfortable?”

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that the position was actually quite comfortable. Minho was always built like a personal heater and whatever chill you felt from running around in the rain just seemed to melt away as he held you.

Stop it, the little voice in your mind whispered as you tried not to focus on the fact that your face was inches from his. This date was for you to say your goodbyes, not fall farther into the black hole.

“Comfortable? Hardly,” you scoffed as best you could, pushing yourself up with your hands and curling up on the couch beside his stretched out figure, “You’re all muscle from dancing so much. It’s like sleeping on a rock.”

“Ah, these abs are hard as rock,” Minho nodded very seriously.

“I wasn’t talking about your abs.”

“Then what else can be hard?” He blinked for a moment before his smile turned unbelievably devilish, “My, my, (name)...I didn’t know you were so--”

You grabbed the pillow you’d previously discarded and shoved it into his chest, “Can we watch something?” You interrupted him pleasantly, pretending not to have even heard the beginning of his less than appropriate joke.

Minho huffed, throwing the stupid pillow to the floor as he scooted next to you, “Sure, want popcorn?” He asked, handing you the remote after turning on his TV, “Just find something on Netflix.”

“Anything you don’t like to watch?” You asked, browsing through the selections.

“Nothing horror related,” he answered as he pushed himself off the couch, heading to the kitchen.

His reply felt strange to you, and you frowned, turning around to look at him, “But don’t you love horror movies?” You asked, remembering very clearly that Minho and Jisung had first met because they both went to the same viewing of a new horror movie that you refused to go to.

“Yeah, but you don’t, right?” Minho pointed out before shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly and disappearing into the kitchen area as you were left reeling at his almost blasé answer, struck by how much he’d grown to learn about you and how much he'd grown to take your feelings into account.

Now that you thought about it, you realized how much Minho's personality had changed and affected the way you did things, not in a controlling way, but in a way that you found yourself thinking about him when making decisions. When you made your weekly batch of bread, you tended to lean towards milk bread because it was Minho’s favorite. When you went out for dinner together, you thought about what he enjoyed before picking a cuisine. When you browsed for cute accessories, your taste gravitated to cats because they reminded you of him.

Holy fuck, how deep in were you?

“You didn't pick anything yet,” Minho noticed as he poked his head out from the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn to finish.

“O-oh right,” you fumbled with the remote in your hands as you scrolled through the selections.

Minho hummed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, “Hmm…? What were you thinking about, kitten?”

“Nothing, stop being nosy,” you answered with an annoyed edge as you found something that piqued your interest, “Hey, wanna watch Bridgerton? I heard some good things about it from my friends.”

"I heard it's a bit of a shitshow," Minho commented as the microwave beeped and the smell of buttered popcorn filled the room. Grabbing the bowl and taking a few pieces for himself, he returned to the living room, jumping over the couch and plopping down beside you.

You tried to ignore how casual it felt for him to just throw an arm around your shoulders to pull you close, focusing on the TV, “Wanna check it out to see which review is accurate?”

“Sure, whatever you want, kitten.”

As the two of you powered through episode after episode, it became clear that both reviews had some merit, as the series was a bit of a shitshow, but one that you wouldn't be able to stop watching. Minho and you found yourselves rather invested in the story and the characters, letting out a huge “finally” when the two leads confessed their genuine love for one another.

“Another episode?” You asked after a short bathroom break, falling into his arms even more so than before and practically snuggling into his warm chest now.

“Go for it, sweetheart. I have all night.”

“So do I,” you chuckled, and pressed the play button.

However, things started to take a weird turn after you reached the middle mark of the series. Bouts of contained love had been released, and there were beginning to be many scenes that weren't quite appropriate for general audiences. You quickly realized that this was probably not the show you should've picked to watch through straight-faced with your lovely social experiment boyfriend.

You held your tongue for most of them, just wanting and wishing for them to be over as soon as possible, but when positions started to turn towards an even more peculiar direction, you couldn't help but make one rather underhanded comment.

“Ugh, forget the literal fanfic fake dating trope they had going on. This is probably the most unrealistic part of the whole show,” you said with mild disgust as you watched the female lead gripping on the rails of the staircase.

“Oh?” Minho perked up at your comment almost too eagerly. Like you, he had also been suffering from the tragic case of watching a dirty scene with his totally-fake-but-also-somehow-real girlfriend, and felt a crash of relief when you spoke up about something, “And why is that, kitten?”

A noise of disbelief choked out of your throat as you gestured at the scene before your eyes, “I mean, look at them! Can you possibly expect me to believe that she feels comfortable in that position, much less enjoy it?”

Minho shrugged, “You’d be surprised how much you can ignore when you’re in the moment.”

“I don’t believe it,” you scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn, “At least, I’ve never had such an experience before.”

The conversation was dropped then and there, and the show continued without further criticism. But halfway through the next episode, you began to feel that you were being watched, and sure enough, Minho was gazing at you with an unreadable expression, deep in thought.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, chuckling awkwardly, “Do I have something on my...Min?”

Your eyes widened comically as Minho suddenly shifted on the couch, leaning impossibly closer to you and gently cupping your jaw with his hand. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck fuck fuck. Had he lost his mind?!

Minho seemed to answer your silent question as he stopped right before his lips could brush yours, and his eyes searched for any fear or hesitation in your expression, “Is it true?” He asked hoarsely, his words no louder than a faint whisper.

“What true?” You murmured back, looking up at him through your lashes.

The man gulped, trying to hold onto whatever semblance of control he had left in his body, “What you said earlier...about never having such an experience before.”

Oh, your cheeks reddened as bright as apples, “Why do you have to bring it up again, idiot?!” You felt your voice fail you as Minho tightened his hold on you.

“So it’s true?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, “Yes, it’s true! What does it have to do with you, asshole?”

Minho sucked in a breath, studying your face as his eyes shone with gentle adoration and tenderness that you didn’t even know he could possess, “Can I kiss you, (name)?”

Your name. It was your name. Not sweetheart. Not kitten. Not any other petname he could give anyone that he pleased. He uttered your name. He was asking for your permission. And like a sailor drawn in by the siren’s song, you had no hope of escaping now.

“Yes.”

Closing the gap, your lips met as the two of you finally succumbed to the growing tension that festered with every meeting, every touch of your hands, every quip thrown both ways. Minho caressed your cheek as your hands slid to his shoulders, reveling in the kiss that was such a long time coming.

When he finally pulled away to let both of you catch your breaths, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes blown wide as he stared at you underneath him. Swallowing, he brushed the hair away from your face, his heart warming with unrestrained affection as you leaned into his touch instead of pulling away, “Can I give you that experience you’ve been lacking?” He asked, a coil of anxiety rolling in his stomach as he studied your face for every miniscule reaction.

Any inkling that you didn’t want to, any inkling that you were only going to along to please him, he’d end it all. Minho knew very well that he was walking on a tightrope of maybe losing you forever.

But to his surprise, you didn’t look fearful or uncomfortable, only a bit uncertain, “T-this is our last night though, a-as…” you trailed off, not wanting to make those thoughts a reality, just like Minho had been actively avoiding the topic as well.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, stroking your cheek absently with his thumb, “Maybe...we can think of this as a goodbye.”

You smiled, “It’s one hell of a goodbye,” you teased, making him chuckle. It was definitely one hell of a goodbye.

“Do you want it?” Minho whispered, hovering over you, “You say the word, and I’ll back off. Promise.”

Sucking in a breath, you decided not to live by your head anymore. With Lee Minho holding you close, kissing you silly, what was there to refuse?

“I want it,” you murmured, “I want you.”

This was the right choice, you told yourself as Minho carried you to his bedroom, treating you with a delicacy and gentleness that you’ve never experienced before. It was the culmination of your feelings for him. Maybe, when the morning comes, these feelings would wash away with your bouts of pleasure. Maybe, when the morning comes, you wouldn’t be as deeply in love with him as you were now.

Right?

epilogue.

When you woke in the morning, the rays of sunlight spilling in through Minho’s dark curtains, you were almost stunned by how very wrong you were. As you turned your head, finding yourself face to face with Minho, fast asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, you knew that you were not only still in love with Minho, but you were more in love with him than you were the night before.

And boy, did that terrify you to your very core.

Fuck! This wasn’t supposed to happen. The experiment was over, right? There wasn’t a purpose that pulled you two together anymore. There wasn’t a purpose for Minho to feel any sort of attraction to you anymore.

Too terrified to face the love of your life when he woke, you did the only thing you knew how to do.

And you ran.

Detangling yourself from Minho as gently as possible, you slipped out of his bed, grabbing your clothes from where they’d been haphazardly discarded around the room. You changed in record time, anxious to avoid making sound or staying around until Minho woke. It was only 8:30 in the morning, though, and you knew that Minho naturally didn’t like to wake before 9:00, so you had a bit of time.

You wanted to leave as soon as you finished changing, but your guilty conscience wouldn’t let you disappear without some form of gratitude. For the night before or for the way he’d treated you the whole month, you didn’t know. But either way, you grabbed a couple of ingredients that he had in his refrigerator and fixed him a hearty breakfast before heading to the door. You only looked back once before officially steeling yourself to disappear from Lee Minho’s life, at least until you’d be able to resolve these naive and yet deep-seated feelings you had for him.

For the rest of the week, life went on as normal for you, as if your one unforgettable month with Minho had all but faded into the wind as you had hoped that night. You finished your final entry in the diary and handed it back to Jisung the day after the experiment ended. If he had questions as to why you’d disregarded the original plan to hand yours over along with Minho’s at the same time, he didn’t bring them up.

“Did you at least have fun, (name)?” Jisung asked before you could turn around to leave.

You hesitated, quickly realizing that the fact that you couldn’t answer the question immediately gave away your uncertainty. After a long moment of thought, you nodded.

“Yeah, I did.”

You really did, though. There was no point lying to yourself about that when you were already having such a hard time pretending that your very real feelings for Minho don’t exist.

Speaking of Minho, you spent much of the week trying to cut him out of your life as much as possible, which was proven to be rather difficult since the two of you had such a close friend in common. You could tell that Jisung was getting a little sick of seesawing between his two best friends without knowing why the two of you were acting this way. Even back when the two of you were basically the worst of enemies, neither of you ever actively tried to avoid seeing the other.

But now, you were avoiding Minho like the plague. You avoided his school building entirely, and if you happened to see him walking down the street by some unlucky miracle, you’d bolt in a random direction and hide in a store until you were sure he was gone.

It was a lot of effort, and you weren’t even sure if it was working, since your feelings for him seemed to grow even stronger the more you were away from him.

There was just worry that festered within your heart, this genuine concern you had over his wellbeing now that you weren’t able to check on him every day. Was he eating well? Was he skipping breakfast now that you stopped giving him your milk bread? Did he pass that exam he was worried about?

It seemed your feelings for Minho were going to need a little more than distance to disappear.

After two weeks of moping and frustratingly obvious heart sickness on both sides, Han Jisung finally had enough with his idiotic best friends.

You opened your door in surprise as Jisung stood at the entrance of your apartment, an unusually angry expression on his face, “U-uh, Sungie? You good?”

“Do I look good?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “How the fuck do you expect me to be good when I’ve been fucking tiptoeing between you and Minho for the past two weeks?!”

You flinched at the very mention of his name, “I’m sorry. I promise everything will go back to normal soon.”

“With the way you’re doing things, I don’t think that’s going to happen, (name),” Jisung rubbed his eyes tiredly, and you finally noticed the deep eyebags he had, indicating several all nighters, “I finished writing my thesis paper.”

“Oh, congrats.”

It was easier to muster up a smile at that statement, since you were genuinely proud of Jisung for such a daring project.

“I also read both of your notebooks.”

Fuck. That was a necessary part of writing that paper.

You nodded, trying to keep your cool, “Okay? Did they not have enough information?”

“Forget the stupid project for one fucking moment, please,” Jisung interrupted before sighing, “At first, I thought the awkwardness came from the fact that you still hate each other, but it turns out it’s just the opposite.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jisung threw you a long look, as if silently weighing several options in his head. You could practically see his thoughts running a mile a minute, and all you could do was stand there as he finally reached into his bag and pulled out a familiar notebook.

“This--” Your eyes widened as you gazed down at the name written in Sharpie, a name that decidedly wasn’t yours, “Jisung, you can’t--”

“Yes, I know that as the operator of this experiment, giving out information that I’d originally stated was confidential is absolutely against everything that science stands for,” he said wearily, “But as your friend and Minho’s friend, this is the right thing to do.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Read it, dummy. I could tell you what’s inside, but I don’t think you’d believe me unless you saw it yourself.”

Jisung grabbed your wrist and pressed the little notebook into the palm of your hand, “I think you’ll know what to do after,” he smiled gently, his eyes filled with earnest care as he gave you a quick hug and made his way down the hall, leaving you to stand at your door holding Minho’s grey project notebook.

With nothing else to do, you entered your apartment again and plopped down on the couch, notebook in hand. Did you even want to see it, Minho’s unadulterated truth? A part of you wasn't, but curiosity always killed the cat, and you found yourself gingerly opening the first page.

Nothing was far from what you expected at first, since it matched quite well to your own experiences. First blatant dislike, then grudging respect, and finally, a growing fondness. You found yourself smiling as you read about how much Minho actually adored the bentos you made, even though he never made his thoughts on it entirely clear to you.

Then, you finally made it to the last page: Day 31. You found yourself stopping short, your heart beginning to race again as your eyes scanned the first few words.

lee minho: day 31 + 2 days

action(s): last date

notes: yeah, i know this entry is late, but i just needed some time to collect myself.

she left in the morning before i could wake up. i can’t say i was surprised, since i told her the night could be our goodbye, but i’d hoped in some part of me that she’d stay, that we’d just carry on with the rest of the month like the ending date didn’t exist. she made me breakfast, though, so at least i know she wasn’t disappointed or upset with me about how far things went. at least i hope.

fuck, jisung, i can’t stop thinking about her. it’s been two days already and nothing i do can make me forget her. the last night just made things infinitely worse. i played with fire and im getting burned for it. i can’t get the way she felt out of my head, the way she would also look into my eyes and see me for what i am inside, not just what i look like. i miss her milk bread, i miss seeing her outside the dance studio.

jisung, i think i love her. no fuck it, i do love her, and there’s nothing i can do anymore. she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me based on how she’d been avoiding me like the plague whenever i see her on the street. and now, i don't even know how much of what she felt, how much of what she did for me was real. did she put in so much effort because she wanted you to be happy? or was the way she hugged me, the way she spoke to me, was it all real?

it doesnt matter now.

By the time you made it to the end of the page, your eyes were filled with tears and your vision blurred over. Minho...he loved you? Had you been so absorbed with wallowing in your own misery that you failed to realize that your actions were hurting him?

Panic filled your very being, and as Jisung had predicted, you knew exactly what you had to do. You had to make amends, apologize for your actions, and at the very least, express your own feelings to him directly, even if it was too little too late.

With the notebook clutched tightly in your hand, you grabbed your purse and rushed out the door, still putting on your boots as you hopped to the elevator. Which bus did you have to take to get to his apartment? First the #2 and then transfer over to #13...right.

You bolted out of the lobby, feeling the rush of cold air seep through your bones, but you hardly found it in yourself to care. You ran to the bus station, anxiously shuffling on either feet as you waited for the next #2 line bus to arrive. When the bus finally arrived, you were already standing at the edge of the sidewalk, too jittery to sit. The doors slid open, and before you could barge inside, your jaw went slack as a familiar figure stepped out of the bus, his own eyes widened as they caught yours.

What was most interesting, however, was the familiar grey notebook that he clutched in his hand, one that was painfully identical to the one you were holding.

The two of you stood in an awed silence as Minho got off the steps, and the bus drove away. Immediately, you felt a wave of concern as you looked him over from a distance. Did he lose weight? Was he getting enough sleep?

In the end, Minho was the one who spoke first, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Judging by the notebook in your hand, I’m assuming that Jisung fucked us both over?”

“Y-yeah, sort of,” you answered, surprised that your voice didn’t completely fail you in such an important moment.

Minho seemed to wait for you to continue, but when you didn’t, he spoke again, “Um, I read it. Your diary entries.”

That wasn’t a surprise, of course, see that you read his, but you couldn’t stop the wave of flushed embarrassment from washing over you as you thought about all the embarrassing things you wrote about him, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking sheepish, “Do you really think I sound like an angel when I sing?”

Oh, if you could hide yourself six feet under, you would have. But you could nod shamefully, “Yeah.”

“Do you really like it when I cuddle with you and pull you onto my lap?”

Was this your punishment for not being honest upfront? “Y-yes! Now can you please shut up--”

“Do you really love me?”

The wind was knocked out of your lungs as you finally looked up to stare at Minho, whose face was unreadable as always. He held up the notebook and repeated his question when you couldn’t find it in yourself to muster up an answer, “You said in your final entry that you were in love with me, that you loved every part of me inside and out, and that our final night together just made everything so much more real. Is it true?”

Your eyes filled with pain as you choked out softly, “What will you do…if it is?”

Minho’s expression didn’t seem to change, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes seemed to return to their usual sparkle just a little bit, “If it is true, then I’d call you an idiot for ghosting me.”

“R-right--”

“And then I’d walk over to where you’re standing. I’d wrap my arms around your waist like the way you love, and I’d kiss you silly. I’d tell you that I’m totally and completely in love with you, as you probably already know from my diary entires, and I’d ask you to be my real girlfriend,” Minho spoke, his voice filled with meaning as his grip on your notebook tightened, “Now tell me, is it true?”

You couldn’t even remember how to breathe as you stared at him, the cold winter wind making his cheeks so delightfully rosy that all you wanted to do was to kiss them gently and warm them up with your mittens. And as he gazed at you, the sincerity pouring out of his posture, his words, and his eyes, there was no way you could continue lying to yourself.

“It is true,” you said, your eyes filling with unshed tears as you gripped at his notebook, “I’m in love with you, Lee Minho, and it’s tearing me apart just like it’s tearing you apart. I want to love you for real, I want to date you for real, I want us to be real.”

Minho took three large steps forward before he was right in front of you and his lips crashed against yours in a breathtaking kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist like he’d promised, and yours cupped his cheek as he kissed you with unrestrained fervor.

Wow, he really did kiss you silly.

“No more rules, no more of this social experiment bullshit,” he murmured against your lips as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “Do you want to be my real girlfriend, (name)?”

What was there to refuse?

the enemies to lovers project: [success]

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x y/n #skz x reader #lee minho imagines #lee minho scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids x reader #dream type: oneshot

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srjlvr · 2 years

Text

We Got Married | TWENTY TWO - ah okay, enjoy ig

Sunghoon was sipping his coffee nervously, he arrived a bit earlier than he was supposed to out of anxiety feelings. Ever since Heeseung told him about Taehyun’s crush, sunghoon has been afraid that Taehyun might come up and tell him that by himself.

He hoped Taehyun meant to meet up with him for something else and tried to distract himself by buying himself coffee in the meantime, moreover, he was thinking about ways to talk with you as well and explain what exactly happened.

He was staring blankly at the passing by people until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Taehyun with a big soft smile, how can you not like someone as cute and kind as him?

“Did you wait long? I’m sorry we just finished a practice” He sat on a chair in front of Sunghoon, sipping his coffee. “No no it’s okay, i was having some time to myself”

“Look sunghoon, i love being friends with you and you’re a fun person to talk with, i only have like one question,” He paused a bit, hesitating and suddenly doubting his question, “Do you have feelings for YN?”

Sunghoon froze, he should’ve known it was coming. Taehyun is smart and he’s aware of that, as for his question, Sunghoon was left speechless, he don’t know his own answer. He had fun with you in that little amount of time that you two actually hang out, he cares about you, more than he thought he would, he’s definitely having something for you but still haven’t figured this weird feeling.

“I’ll take that as a yes? I just wanted to share my feelings with you,” His smile never fell off his face, “I like YN, more than i thought i would, ever since i first met her my feelings for her started, I really hope you’d understand me being selfish,” Before continuing, he looked down, chuckling a bit, “i know i don’t really have a chance but i’m still going to try, you need to figure your feelings as well, before it’ll be too late”

“Now with that being said, i’ll get going now, see you around” He pat Sunghoon’s shoulder and went on his way. Sunghoon looked down, ashamed of his behavior and acts, he has no idea how he was going to fix everything but he was definitely desperate to try.

— NOTES !

naur cuz im starting to hate yn a bit oopsies i mean…WHY IS SHE SO DUMB??

— TAGLIST !

@abdiitcryy @stopeatread @astra-line @deafeningballoonnacho @diestheticu @harperwasstaken1 @nishmrriki @ahnneyong @rrinsluvr @yaesflorist @wonyoluvie @icywhatim @lost-leopard-beanie @nyfwyeonjun @axartia @c9tnoos @ilovechanhee @jiawji @evilateez @enhacolor @kisseulgi @aurumness @rjsmochii @thisisnotjacinta (if your tag is bold, means i wasn’t able to tag you im sorry): )

Synopsis: In which two idols get married for the sake of their company without having any feelings for each other.

previous — m.list — next

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bloodorangesoup · 3 years

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Ice Cream and Bad TV | B.B.

Request: Late night thoughts : The only porn bucky watches are the ones that come on tv at like 2 or 3 in the mornings. Imagine cuddling up with him on his living room floor, aimlessly clicking around until you stumble upon the channel & he gets flustered & shy about it & you fuck him while porn plays in the background. Like I think it’s so romantic🥺🥺 riding him while the soft glow of the tv illuminates his face. His moans & grunting blending in with the actors 😫😫

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble but I cannot for the life of me control myself)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ | cuddle fucking, unprotected sex(pretend ur on birth control for a sec)(still wrap it b4 your tap it), flustered Bucky, porn talk, the tiniest bit of sub!Bucky for like half a second, fluffy smut, you get the gist

My Masterlist

Notes: I did this in one sitting so sorry if it’s repetitive or has any mistakes. I think I have a major soft sport for flustered Bucky. I also had to think of a realistic name for a TV porn channel so bear with me. This is my first time writing smut in non-headcanon form so let me know how I did! Happy reading!

It was 2am on a Thursday night when your phone rang with your boyfriend's caller I.D. This wasn't the first time that Bucky had called you for this instance, it became a routine for you to talk him down after a nightmare and you prepared to do so when you picked up. Usually the first thing you would hear was his heavy breaths, the anxious buzz in his body making him fumble his words as he tried to focus on talking to you, so you were surprised to be met with still breathing and his typical deep, steady voice.

"Doll? You there?"

"Yeah, Buck, I'm here," you replied with a yawn, trying to sound as awake as possible. Bucky could hear the airiness of your voice and let out a sigh.

"Sorry, baby, I woke you up."

"You say that every time, I don't mind waking up for you. Besides, I don't have work tomorrow so I don't exactly need my beauty rest."

There was a pause. You could still hear static from the other side of the call but Bucky didn't say a word.

"Buck? You okay?" As if you snapped him out of a daydream, his hurried words rushed through the phone.

"Yeah yeah, sorry. I'm kind of out of it right now, I had another bad dream."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" You had expected his usual answer of yes, then you would listen to his thoughts and comfort him through the horrific reality that were his nightmares.

"You said you don't have work tomorrow? Do you think you could come over right now? Actually never mind, I don't know what I'm saying, it's 2am." You could practically see Bucky shaking his head as he took back his question.

"I'll be there in twenty, James. You better have some blankets and pillows ready for me because we're taking over your couch."

Bucky let out a breath over the line, "See you soon, y/n, love you."

"Love you more," you said quickly before hanging up, not letting him get in the last 'I love you.'

Forty minutes later you found yourself on Bucky's lap on his living room floor. You two had abandoned the idea of the couch and chose to make a small fort with the couch as your scaffolding. There was a surprising amount of pillows and blankets surrounding the two of you, you had no idea Bucky even owned them all.

He sat with his back against the couch, your legs laid over his and your arms were around his neck, bringing his head down to your chest. He talked about his nightmare, sparing you the gruesome details, and once he was done he closed his eyes and leaned further into your chest, breathing in your scent. You gave the crown of his head a kiss and rested your head atop his. Comfortable silence washed over the two of you before you spoke up.

“You know what always makes me feel better?” you asked, lifting your head just enough to look down at him.

“What?” he mumbled into your chest. A soft smile graced your face at his cuteness.

“Ice cream and bad TV!” you announced excitedly before wiggling out of his grasp.

You did a little jog to his kitchen and reached down into the freezer to grab a small pint of ice cream you knew Bucky always kept stashed for you whenever you came around. Picking up two spoons and turning off all the lights in the apartment on your way, you quickly made your way back into the living room, lifting Bucky’s arms to situate yourself back into your position on his lap. You popped the lid of the small tub and handed it to Bucky along with a spoon. With your hands now free, you felt around in the dark for the remote and turned on the TV.

Waiting for the TV to completely turn on, you ate a spoonful of ice cream. You hummed at the taste of the cold sweetness coating your tongue. You gasped as you opened your eyes, finding Bucky scooping out some ice cream and lowering it to your mouth.

“Oh wait, let me make this cuter!” you squealed with your eyes wide.

Copying Bucky’s actions, you took a spoonful and lifted it to his lips, the both of you opening wide and feeding each other. You giggled at the cliché moment and Bucky couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at how adorable you were.

You turned back to the TV, lifting the remote in your hands to change the channel to anything but the news that was already playing on the screen. As you flipped through sports recaps, music channels, infomercials, and movies that were already almost over, you sighed.

“Ugh, there’s nothing good on. Maybe if I start from the end of the list there’ll be better stuff,” you huffed.

Before Bucky could register what you said you had already typed in the biggest number you could enter and began flipping down through channels. Surfing through the empty screens, you landed on one called HotNet and suddenly the screen was completely taken over by a pair of boobs which then cut to a woman on her back and a man on top of her, rutting into her at a slow pace, while her moans echoed throughout the apartment. You quickly shuffled with the remote, trying to turn the volume down from it’s loud setting, spooked at the loud, obscene noise coming from the speaker.

“Oh my gosh, I wasn’t expecting that,” you laughed into Bucky’s chest, “God, I hope your neighbors didn’t hear that.”

Bucky stared at the screen with wide eyes, hoping you would change the channel before noticing that the channel was in the On Demand section. You gasped through your laugh, collecting yourself before turning back to the TV and shaking your head.

“Jeez, I didn’t even know they still had porn like this on public television.” You looked back down at the remote, clicking the Guide button. Bucky’s heart stopped as the description took over the screen, the video still playing in the top right corner. In bold letters the words On Demand titled the card. Even worse, the bottom of the screen displayed a small box containing the information,

$19.99

purchased with debit card xxxx-9758

You furrowed your brows in confusion, realization slowly softening them, before a mischievous smirk took over your face. You lifted your head to look at Bucky, his face looked down at your lap, refusing to meet your eyes. You tapped the bottom of his chin with the remote, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“Did you order TV porn, Jamie?” He could hear the teasing tone in your voice, and you only ever used that nickname when joking around, yet Bucky still felt extremely embarrassed. He felt as if he just got walked in on while touching himself. It didn’t help that it was you that saw it, he wanted to crawl in a hole and never look back.

“Ah, you’re blushing,” you squealed as you took his cheeks in your hands, “oh come on, it’s not that embarrassing Bucky.”

“Ugh, can we please pretend you didn’t just see that,” Bucky groaned, closing his eyes to escape your stare. He set down the ice cream next to him and lifted his forearm over his eyes.

You let out a breathy laugh, grabbing his shoulders to stabilize yourself and pushing up to swing your leg under you to the other side of his lap, you straddled him.

“Hey, it’s really not that bad. I mean we’ve had sex before Buck, I think you’d rather have me find this than Sam or someone else.” He let out another groan and lowered his head to lean against your neck.

“Angel, please don’t talk about Sam while you’re on top of me and there’s porn playing on the TV.”

You laughed and ran your hands down his arms, letting one of your hands run up behind his neck and weaving your fingers into his hair. You gripped the back of his head and gently tugged him back up to face you.

“Why,” you sang, deciding to have some fun with him in his flustered state, “is this turning you on?” you whispered the last part.

Before he could respond you leaned down and kissed him. You didn’t bother to start off slow as you usually would, Bucky could taste the hunger from every parting of your lips. His hands gripped your waist, you rocked your weight forwards to rub against him. Bucky’s head clouded, his senses felt overloaded in the best way possible, your movements mixed with the sounds of the moaning coming from the TV were getting him hot. You pulled back before getting too carried away, a smile on your swollen lips.

“So, baby, tell me about it.” You said. It was Bucky’s turn to furrow his brows and he cocked his head to the side in question, mind still foggy from the feeling of you grinding on him.

“What kind of porn do you watch?” you clarified, looking at him like you just asked what his favorite color was.

“Uhm, you want to know about that stuff?” Bucky looked at you with caution, feeling out if he should listen to you or not.

“Well, yeah. I mean I don’t know how it was back then, but most people nowadays watch porn. It’s not super taboo to talk about it,” you explained. You weren’t going to force him to talk about it if he really didn’t want to, but your desire to hear what Bucky was into was strong.

He hesitated for a moment, looking in your eyes and seeing curiosity clouded with lust. He cleared his throat.

“Well, pretty much this stuff,” he gestured with his hand to the TV before putting it back on your waist, “there’s this girl on there, she kinda looks like you, so I buy the videos with her.” He closed his eyes and internally groaned at his words, he didn’t mean to come off so perverted. God, you had already found his porn, the last thing he needed was for you to be thinking he was a creep.

“Y’know that’s actually kinda sweet,” you giggled, “what do you like about those videos?”

Feeling a bit more comfortable knowing you weren’t grossed out, Bucky continued.

“I like the ones where it’s dark and slow. It’s usually quiet and there’s candles and stuff,” he explained shyly. Of all the surprises that came with dating Bucky, you had to admit finding out he was into romantic porn was one of the biggest ones.

Bucky cleared his throat again before questioning you, “Do you watch porn?” He felt almost wrong asking that. He knew that women in this age were more sexually liberated, but the words still felt sticky in his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, of course I do.” Bucky seemed surprised at how casually you answered. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking you to go on.

“Well specifically, I actually really like the videos that are like this,” you said, your head looking down at you straddling him, he followed your gaze, taking in how nice you felt on his lap. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest. Your faces were so close your noses were almost touching. You could feel his rapid heart beat under your palm and the quick rise and fall of his chest. “Do you ever watch the ones that look like this, Bucky?” He looked up at you and nodded with wide eyes, his pupils were blown and his mouth was open like he was searching for the words to respond.

You grasped his jaw in your hand, your thumb on his chin, and looked him in the eyes. You wanted nothing more than to jump his bones, but with the newfound knowledge you had, you took your time with your actions. Within the last five minutes, Bucky had revealed to you not only that he liked soft, romantic porn, but that he also watched a specific actress because she looks like you. The one goal in your head was to fulfill his fantasy the best you could at the moment.

With his head still in your hand, you held your eye contact as you let your knees move out, grinding yourself against his growing erection. He let out an involuntary whimper. That was the last straw. You pulled his face to yours, joining him in a hard, yet loving kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pushing your chest against his, trying to get as close as possible.

Bucky’s dick was painfully hard. He couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of you on top of him. His body felt like it was on fire, he was insatiably horny and couldn’t control the way his hips bucked up to grind with you. He felt like a horny teenager the way his mind was filled only with images of you naked, imagining you like that on top of him like you were now.

You slipped your tongue past his lips, keeping your pace slow as you glided it across and bit at his lower lip. A moan made its way out of your mouth and into his as you felt him buck up against you.

You slid your hands down his chest, fumbling with the hem of his shirt before his arms raised, giving you access to peel it off him, throwing it up on the couch. Bucky kissed down your neck, licking over the shell of your ear, and sucking at the center of your throat. He reached down and slipped his hands under your shirt, sliding up and down your waist before gliding up and lifting your shirt over your head, discarding it with his.

Bucky wasted no time reaching around you and unclipping your bra and dragging it down your shoulders. He cupped your breasts, squeezing them with his large hands before bringing you into another tender kiss. Despite your frantic movements, there was a spark of passion cracking through the air, the both of you desperate to feel each other closer.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavily and resting your forehead against his.

“I wanna make love to you, y/n, please, let me make love to you,” he groaned with a slight whine in his voice. He sounded like he was about to crack.

“Please, Bucky.”

You leaned back on your hands and lifted your hips, giving Bucky the room to pull down your shorts and panties in a few swift tugs. He quickly got up on his knees and pulled down his sweats and boxers, sitting back down and tugging them off his legs. You reached your arms forward, Bucky grabbing a hold of your wrists and pulling you back to straddle him again. You gasped at the feeling of his cock under your bare pussy, your wetness from all the grinding and kissing making you slide over him.

You leaned forwards, capturing his lips between yours and raising yourself up on your knees. Reaching under yourself, you gripped his cock, wet with your arousal, and lined him up with your cunt. Bucky gripped your hips as you sank down on him, using every ounce of self control to stop himself from rutting up into you. You stayed like that for a second, adjusting to the way he filled you. Seeing the remote lying on the floor, you grabbed it and slightly turned up the volume, only enough so that you and Bucky could hear the actress in the video being ravished by her co-star.

Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you began to slowly move up and down over him, riding him just as you had told him you liked to watch. His hands moved up from your waist, squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples in between his fingers. You let out a hiss as he rolled them between his fore finger and his thumb, tugging on and rubbing his thumbs over them. He reached around to grab your ass, squeezing and rubbing your cheeks and you used him to pleasure yourself.

You were a moaning mess over him and he wasn’t much different. The room was filled with the sounds of the porn playing on the TV mixed with the sounds of your own cries of pleasure. If the neighbors hadn’t been woken up by the TV, they sure were by you two.

Bucky sat back on his knees, his hands slid down to your thighs, moving your legs from under them and wrapping your legs around his back. His arms worked their way back up to wrap around your waist, bringing you ever so close. The new angle pushed him even deeper up into you. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, giving you access to all the sweet, desperate sounds falling from his lips.

You were now pushing up with your feet behind him, rolling your hips over his. The new technique made your clit rub over his pelvis, the sensation making you throw your head back and let out a deep moan. He took the opportunity to continue kissing your neck, going lower with every lick and bite. He sucked at your collarbone, leaving a deep purple mark in its place.

Suddenly, he was using his arms to lift you up, not pulling out of you, and laying you down on the blanket-covered floor. You instinctively locked your ankles together, pulling him closer as he thrusted into you. Bucky had his metal arm holding himself up while his flesh one squeezed your breasts, feeling them move with his thrusts. He lowered his head to your chest and licked one of your nipples, grazing his teeth over it before taking it in between his lips and sucking. Your hands flew to the back of his head, singing praises as you wove your fingers into his hair. He continued to alternate between your breasts, leaving love bites around them and sucking on their sensitive peaks.

You could feel your body buzz with anticipation, you were so close. The moans escaping your mouth were lewd and uncontrolled. Bucky wrapped his flesh hand around your waist, lifting your chest flush against his.

You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up to kiss him. Nothing felt better than making love with Bucky felt. This was definitely not the first time you two had been intimate, but none of those previous times had ever been like this. You could feel the passion flowing through his body into yours. You looked up at his form over you, how beautiful he looked with the light of the TV screen glistening against the beads of sweat on his forehead. There was absolutely nothing in the world compared to having him, in all his beauty, to yourself like this.

Bucky’s heart was exploding in his chest. What had started out as an embarrassing, nightmare-fueled night had turned into the most intimate experience he ever had in his life. Love was already established in your relationship, but Bucky had never truly made love to you. He looked down in awe at your disheveled state, at the way your hair was sticking to your forehead, at the way the only light in the room gave you an angelic glow. He wanted nothing more than to give himself completely to you, to make you come all over him.

He leaned his forehead against yours, pushing his face forward once every few seconds to kiss you. He was close, and he wanted you to come with him. He leaned into you even more, his cheek pressed against yours, his lips next to your ear.

“I love you so much, y/n, God, you feel so good. I love you, I love you,” Bucky’s voice was deep and strained, his words being emphasized by each push into your wet pussy. You let out another loud moan.

“I love you, James,” you whined as he hit your sweet spot, “I love you so much.”

Bucky’s hand wedged itself in between the two of you, his fingers finding your clit and gently rubbing it. You were completely overwhelmed, this is what it felt like to make love to someone. Your body began to shake and your breathing became erratic. Bucky thrusted harder, working to push you over the edge.

“I want you to come in me, Bucky,” you gasped as his thrusts got faster and lost their rhythm.

Your mouth turned open in a silent scream as you came. Bucky felt your walls clench around him, squeezing the life out of him. He let out a shaky groan as he fell over the edge. His eyes shut tight and his body tensed as he spilled into you.

Wrapping his metal arm around your back and securing your body to his, he rolled on his flesh shoulder onto his back. You went limp against him, laying your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat slow down. He was still buried within you, connected to you. Letting your eyelids fall shut, you savored the feeling of being full of him and his love.

You lifted your head to kiss his jaw.

“I’m glad you called me, Bucky. I love you.”

“I am too, doll. I love you more.”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluffy smut #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

Amethyst you so much

Summary: Spencer has had a crush on Y/N since she started working at the bau. She only ever works the night shift after a case, handling all the aftermath gracefully. one night, Spencer stays back and they strike up a conversation about rocks, causing their feelings to dig a little deeper.

Warnings: pure fluff, weed mention, hurt/comfort, grief and mourning

Word Count: 6.4K

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Late nights at the office had become his thing since Gideon left.

He couldn’t bring himself to go home some nights without a game of chess, a cup of coffee, and the ambiance of the post case staff working. He would’ve had no idea about what goes on after they close a case if he didn’t stay behind most nights.

The phone rings almost every 10 minutes, and it’s always answered by the sweetest voice. The fax machine never turns off, and the most beautiful girl in the world is always running around placing papers in different places.

He’s been smitten with her since she started here, 2 years ago. Never seeing much of her since she was switched to the night shift, always wanting to just watch her from afar, never speaking to her unless he needed to.

“Yes, again we are so sorry for the door,” he can hear her voice from the back corner of the room. “Agent Morgan will be paying for that out of his paycheck, don’t worry, Mr. Kennings. We’ll be sure to remember your hotel when we’re in the area again. The FBI has a very generous budget for overnight cases. Of course, you have a good night too.”

She hung the phone up harshly and let out a deep sigh. He turned around to see her face in her arms, resting against the desk. She looked done, completely fed up. He would be too.

She looked up then, noticing that he was making eye contact with her. She awkwardly smiled and waved at him, “sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Spencer replied. “We asked for the key, I should have stopped him from kicking it in.”

She laughed then, walking over to his desk so she didn’t have to yell across the room. She sat on the corner of his desk lightly, “why do you stay every night?”

“Oh, um,” he wasn’t prepared for this. She had never talked to him before. She was barely able to even look at him when she used to place papers on his desk 2 years ago, now she was on his desk.

“I don’t like to bring the work home with me, it’s better to destress here before I go to my apartment,” he answered, half honestly.

She nodded slightly, “I get it. Luckily I go home in the mornings so the sun helps me feel better.”

“Going home in the dark isn’t fun,” she lightly smiled up at her.

“Do you want a coffee or anything?” She asked softly, “seeing as I am still your assistant as long as you’re here?”

He laughed lightly, “I would, but I’d like to join you in the staff room for it?”

“Okay,” she stood, straightening out her shirt as he stood as well.

He held the doors open for her, letting her walk out first, still smiling as she waited in the hall for him. Never being anything less than 1 foot from him for some reason, and he didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Do you like your job?” He asked lightly.

“Oh yeah,” she laughed. “It’s like customer service on crack. Have you ever had to explain to someone why you can’t pay for the cracked foundation after Agent Morgan’s ransacked a place?”

“I honestly never thought of who has to deal with the aftermath,” he awkwardly admitted to her. “I’m so sorry.”

She couldn’t stop laughing as they entered the kitchen, “it’s fine. I never have to apologize on your behalf, it’s everyone else who seems to be reckless. Sometimes I feel like it would be better if I came along to babysit.”

“That would be helpful,” he smiled softly as she entered the staff room.

He watched as she took a new coffee filter out of the cupboard. Emptying the coffee pot with ease, rinsing everything before adding the water and scooping in the grounds. He was mesmerized by how fast she was able to do it, then again it was sort of her job.

“What mug would you like?” She turned to him with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

“Um, the purple one, if it’s there?”

“You really like purple, huh?” She teased him, standing on her tippy-toes to reach the mug for him.

She placed it on the counter before grabbing a white mug, it had a bumblebee on it, “bee happy” written along the top. It was perfect for her.

“Purple is a stress-reducing colour,” she explained. “When I was a kid my parents painted my room purple so that I’d sleep better.”

“I’ve always been drawn to it.”

She leaned against the counter while the coffee pot started to percolate, “Probably because of your anxiety, coffee doesn’t help that.”

“It’s in my DNA to be like this,” he tried to joke, knowing he succeeded when her smile crept back onto her face.

He was on a mission to keep seeing it.

“For someone who spends a lot of time with dead bodies, creepy places and bad people, you sure are a mousy little thing aren’t you?” She teased him.

“I also love Halloween, go figure.” He’s not sure where the confidence came from, being able to make light-hearted jokes like this was only easy with the team.

Which she technically was a part of. He’s seen her almost every single day for 3 years, slowly being able to get comfortable enough for this very moment.

“What else are you into, outside of here?” She asked honestly, making his heart swell as no one else had ever asked him before.

“Lots of things,” he sighed. “I love to read, I’ll read anything. But mostly I enjoy far-off worlds. Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, Doctor Who, Sherlock mostly.”

“No supernatural?” She gasped. “Sacrilege, honestly. What kind of nerd are you if you don't support supperwholock?”

“That's the show with the monster hunting brothers right?” He tried to recall it to his mind.

She nodded with a pressed-lipped smile, “it’s bad but in a way where I can’t stop watching every Thursday, they just introduced an angel who is pretty gay. Star Trek is cool too, I guess, I was raised by Trekkies.”

“My mom was into Doctor Who.”

“Mamma’s boy,” she teased him slightly, returning her focus to the coffee as she poured the now finished brew into their mugs. “She was nice when she came in that one time, I made her a very sweet coffee just like yours.”

He reached for the sugar then, poring a generous amount into his mug with a grin, “how much do you like?”

“the same amount,” she couldn’t help but laugh. “I hate the taste of coffee, but it keeps me awake.”

He poured the sugar into her mug as she places a spoon in each. Allowing him to stir his own before picking it up finally. Holding the warm ceramic in his hands, it was almost as warm as the feeling in his chest when he looked at her.

He’s felt it for a long time. He’s been caught staring at her by Derek, JJ even tried to get him to give her his number. Which she already had for when she calls him into work in the middle of the night. They knew he had a crush, he did too. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

“Come to my desk, I want to show you something?” She asked softly, avoiding eye contact as she walked towards the door.

He followed, like a lost puppy, all the way back to her desk. It was always neat, he always looked at it when he made his way up the stairs to the briefing room. He could even see it from where he sat at the table sometimes. Always wanting to see her leave in the mornings.

She had a collection of rocks that always changed, he loved the blue one the most but it wasn’t there currently. She had all new ones since the last time he looked.

“Here,” she hands him one. It’s brown and gold, the colours moving and shifting as he turns it with his fingers. The gold running through it like a beautiful wave.

“what’s this for?”

“It’s a Tiger’s eye, for good luck and happiness,” she smiled. “Keep it at your desk and maybe it’ll be easier for you to relax when you come back?”

The butterflies in his chest were swirling then as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. Wanting him to take it, wanting him to feel better. Caring for him.

“Thank you,” he barely whispers, clearing his throat softly. “It’s very nice of you.”

“You’re always nice to me, so,” she shrugged.

They sat down then, he dragged his chair from his desk over to hers. Sitting in close as she explained all the meanings to her rocks. He listened carefully, getting to examine each one as she spoke.

“This one is Jade, it’s for balancing emotions and allowing compassion so I don’t scream at everyone on the phone,” she laughed as she placed one in his hands. Her fingers brushing his palm softly.

It was a beautiful green stone with a thin white line running through it, separating into 3 directions as he flipped it over, “it’s beautiful.”

“I know some people don’t believe in this stuff,” she started to get embarrassed as she placed them all back on the shelf. “But I’ve always thought; if the moon, which is just a rock, can control the water, and humans are 70% water, then who’s to tell me the moon cycles don’t control my emotions and these smaller rocks can’t help problem areas?”

“You’re not wrong,” he shook his head softly as he thought her words over. “People depended on the stars and planets for guidance originally, as well as rocks and herbs for healing, just because it’s outdated doesn’t mean it doesn’t work?”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “No one has ever agreed with me that easily.”

“Anytime you want to talk, I’ll just be over there,” he pointed at his desk. “And I’m a phone call away?” He swallowed sharply at his boldness, trying to stay calm as he awaited her answer.

“I do have your number,” she smiled, reaching out to place her hand on his. “But you should go home, I’m sure you’re chilled out now.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, staring at her hand as they touched. He lightly wrapped his hand around hers, holding it slightly, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“And every day after,” she whispered, tilting her head as she smiled at him.

This was going to be interesting.

—

Penelope was always dragging him out. She would take him shopping, to dinner, to the movies. She was like his big sister, dedicated to making sure he wasn’t always cooped up or trying to retreat into a fantasy life.

She kept him busy.

She had 4 bags in her hands as they walked down the street, peering into the store windows to see what else she could possibly be interested in taking home for someone. That’s when they passed the natural health store.

He stopped in his tracks, seeing all the different rocks on the wall accompanies by little cards that described how they could help. He opened the door and rushed inside before Penelope even noticed he stopped following her.

“Good afternoon!” The shop owner called out to him. “How can I assist you today?”

“Um, the girl I like has a rock collection,” he says softly, knowing Penelope is behind him listening. “Crystals more specifically, I’d like to get her some?”

“Well, you came to the right place,” the man beams, escorting him to the wall of rocks. “What is she like?”

“Wonderful,” the words are carried out of his mouth on a sigh as he thinks about her. “She’s confident and nice, and caring. She’s always positive and just so lovely.”

“I’ve got you,” the man starts picking rocks off the wall and placing them in his hands.

Spencer follows him to the desk where he lays down a handful of rocks, Penelope is shockingly quiet as she stands beside him, staring at the collection. She’ll be full of questions later, all of which he is terrified of.

“This is a rose quartz, pretty basic love, beauty, anti-depression stone,” he pushes the pink and a green rock towards him. “Serpentine is for new adventures, observation and insight. I have a feeling you’re up for an adventure with her?”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, “I like that one. It would be better to get her some rare ones, some that have to do with friendship, new beginnings, or opportunities?” He tried to explain his feelings as best as he could. Not knowing if he sounded dumb for a change.

The man smiled wide, “here,” he dipped below the counter and dug out a box. “Chrysocolla is literally for new beginnings, love and opportunity.”

He hands Spencer a vitreous, raw blue stone with small green marks running all through it, it’s beautiful like her. “This is perfect.”

“I’ll throw in a Kiwi Jasper as well, it’s for being by someone's side, support and trust. As well as a Ruby in Zoisite it symbolizes finding the joy in life with someone,” he hands Spencer two equally beautiful stones, prepping a bag and wrappings for all of them.

Spencer lays out the 5 stones he picked out, watching him wrap them with care before placing them in a bag. He rings everything up, Spencer pays and before he’s even out the door Penelope is pouncing on him for answers.

“Who?!”

He can't help but blush and stutter, trying to brush past her and continue walking down the street. “You can’t hide forever Spencer, who is she?”

“How do you know it’s a she?”

“You literally said so?” She looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Come on? I won't tell anyone!”

“Y/N.”

The gears are turning in Penelope's head as she tries to place a face to the name, knowing she’s seen her somewhere, “From the office?”

He nods softly, “the one Derek bullies me for staring at?” He clues her in more as they walk.

“He also bullies her for staring at you,” she adds with a smile. “She’s going to love those, when are you going to give them to her?”

“I was thinking about just leaving one on her desk every day? Maybe with a note for why I picked it?” He really wants to woo her, she’s too special to just flirt with.

“She’s going to love that.”

—

Sure enough, he walked into work every day for the next week, placing a rock on a sticky note on her desk. He was never around when she was able to see it, only knowing she got it when he'd arrive at work the next morning with a note reading 'thank you ♥︎ ' on top of his files.

He thinks about her all weekend, planning how he'll give her the last rock as he takes the elevator up that morning. Only to see her sitting at her desk, phone pressed to her ear as she tried to talk someone out of suing the FBI, she looked absolutely miserable. Just a casual Monday morning for her, almost at the end of her shift.

He rushed over to his desk, putting all his stuff down to dig one of the rocks from his satchel. Picking the Kiwi Jasper for today, he grabbed a pen and a sticky note and wrote her a little note.

“Always here if you need to talk, -Spencer ♥︎”

He walked over to her desk, she was still talking so she didn’t notice him until he was right there, she looked up at him with a thankful smile.

“Yes sir,” she answered the person talking to her. “Can I call you back after I speak to the chief? thanks.” She hung up on him, turning all her attention to Spencer.

“I know you know it's been me leaving these, but I brought you in another one,” he says softly, placing the rock in her hand and sticking the note to the shelf where it would end up.

“oh my gosh, Spencer?” She placed her free hand on her heart as she looked at the rock.

“You looked upset?”

She stands and pulls him into a hug, he can feel all the eyes on him as he holds her back, letting his chin rest on her shoulder as she squeezes him.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she pulled back, awkwardly smiling at him as she also noticed everyone staring.

“Always,” he smiled back, hand still resting on her arm. “Um, I have a case I need to get to.”

“Of course, good luck,” she smiled.

He pulls the tiger's eye out of his shirt pocket, showing her that he still had it, “kinda hard not to have good luck with this.”

She bit back a smile, her eyes gleaming as she took a deep breath through her nose. Releasing the same feelings he was keeping inside, allowing both their butterflies to swarm out together.

—

He loved when they had cases in Virginia. Being able to stay in the bullpen and work was relaxing, it was easier to think where he felt safe.

He was working on the geo profile all alone, a huge map stretched across a clear case board as he laid a yardstick across it. Drawing a thick red line with marker over it, in his own little world as he worked away.

He doesn’t realize she’s standing there too until she’s lightly pressing her hand on his back.

“Hey,” she whispers softly. “It’s 10 pm, thought you’d like a coffee?” She places the purple mug on his desk with her purse, turning her attention back to what he’s doing.

“Thank you, I’m almost done here,” he says softly, finishing the red triangle he was making on the map.

“I’ve always found it fascinating how you do this,” she complimented him. “You’re so careful.”

“Like baking, it’s an exact science,” he smiled softly.

It made her giggle slightly, placing her hand back on his back as she moved in closer to look. He wanted her to stay there forever, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus. He tried his best to steady his hand as he finished the line.

Putting the yardstick back down and turning to her, she doesn’t move her hand, instead, softly moving to rest on his arm as she stands close to him. “How are you?”

He feels nervous for some reason, it’s not like she hasn’t been this close to him before. It’s just that she’s close and she smells wonderful and he wonders if her lips would be a better wake-up call than the coffee she brought.

He realizes he’s staring at her lips when he licks his own, “I’m good,” he furrows his brow and clears his throat with a nod.

She smirks at him, “how come you’re the only one still here? Hotch said it could wait till tomorrow?”

“I was waiting for you,” he admits, “but I got carried away setting this up, I never heard you come in?”

“Cause I didn’t,” she scrunches her nose slightly as she straightens her stance. “I saw you working hard and went right to get you a coffee.”

“You’re wonderful,” he blushes as the words slip out, trying his best to keep eye contact when all he wants to do is kiss her.

She pats his arm slightly as she backs up a little, grabbing her bag from where she set it on his desk. “I’m going to set up for the night, come talk to me before you leave?”

“Of course,” he says as she walks away, letting out a small sigh as he realizes just how badly he wants her.

He never gets to talk to her before he leaves, she’s on the phone when hotch comes storming in. Saying something about another body and making Reid leave with him. He’s busy for 3 days straight, thinking about her with every free thought he’s able to squeeze in.

He carries the rock from her in his pocket everywhere he goes; in his pants beside his keys, in his bag with his books, in his breast pocket, over his heart, behind a bulletproof vest. Feeling it press against his chest, a part of her keeping him safe where ever he went.

They finish the case with minimal damage, Spencer specifically making sure that Derek leaves all the doors on the hinges for Y/N’s sake, cleaning up any messes they make so she won’t have to hear about it over the phone. They all notice that he’s doing it for her, quietly appreciating the fact that Spencer is happy for a change, that there’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes again.

He arrives back at Quantico 30 minutes before her shift starts. Everyone else is packing up for the day while he sits at his desk, reading to occupy the time before she comes in.

Only she doesn’t.

30 minutes pass and she’s nowhere to be seen, it’s only 9:02 by the time he starts to panic. Wondering if she’s okay, hoping she’s just in the elevator or grabbing a coffee that’s actually good, somewhere outside of the office.

“Reid,” he hears Hotch calling him from his office door. “She just called in, her grandmother passed away last night so she won't be in.”

“Oh,” he furrows his brow, looking at him with confusion. “How did you know?”

“Penelope,” he smiles. “She’s still here too, and she knows where Y/N lives.”

“It wouldn’t be weird to go see if she’s okay?”

Hotch just smiles at him again, “go see her, Reid.”

Getting her address from Penelope felt a little weird, but she writes it on a sticky note for him and he’s out the door before she can even pry into what he’s going to say. Which is good, because he doesn’t know yet.

It’s late, but he stops by the little rock store on his way to her house. Seeing the lights still on and the same man from before behind the counter.

“Welcome back,” he’s overly cheerful for it being so late. “How did she like them?”

“She likes the ones I’ve given her so far,” he smiles, looking over the wall himself this time for the right one.

Scanning past every emotion and affirmation known to man as he looked around, picking out a beautiful pink Rhodonite for healing grief, supposedly acting as a hug from emotional troubles. And a Rainbow Moonstone for inner peace, harmony and strength.

“She’s lost someone recently?” He asks as Spencer places them on the counter.

“Her grandmother,” he says softly. “These are good, right?”

“They’ll be perfect, we also have amethyst bracelets, they’re good for healing and drawing in positive energy,” he points towards the small display of bracelets. Small purple stones separated with small gold beads.

He picks up 2 of them, placing them on the counter as well.

“Is she still just a crush?”

Spencer laughs lightly, “unfortunately.”

“She might be more after this,” he smirks, ringing him up. “I’ll give you a 2 for one deal on everything, I have a feeling you’ll be in a lot.”

Spencer thanks him as he pays, picking out a small purple bag for the rocks and bracelet. Placing one on his own wrist before leaving. Also picking up some cookie dough ice cream and a card at the corner store just beside her apartment. Remembering all the times Penelope, JJ or Emily has mentioned it being the best ice cream for crying.

He takes a very deep breath before knocking on her door, hoping to every god out there that she doesn’t find this incredibly inappropriate and weird.

“Spencer?” He hears her voice before she even opens the door, looking out the peephole at him.

She whips the door open, eyes puffy and swollen as she looks at him in shock. She’s in a big sweater and shorts, tears dripping down her cheeks as she shakes her head at him.

“I thought you could use some cheering up?” He awkwardly smiles, holding the ice cream up for her to see.

She wraps her arms around his middle, burying her face against his coat. Still crying as she holds him, he holds her with his free hand, shushing her as he presses his cheek to her head.

She pulls back with a sniffle, “come in,” she offers with an arm out, ushering him inside the small room as she closes the door.

He takes his shoes off, handing her the ice cream so he can take off his coat and satchel too. “This isn’t weird right?”

“Not at all,” she laughs slightly through the awkwardness. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you care this much.”

“I brought something for you,” he says as he struggles to dig everything out of his pocket.

He hands her the card and the little purple bag, seeing the overwhelming glance grow on her face. Her eyes grew wide as he mouth opened, speechless.

She opened the card first, reading the passage about grief that was already provided. Dealing with grief was something Spencer knew too well, adding something a little special to the bottom of the card.

“To live in hearts we left behind is not to die,” -Thomas Campbell. As long as you remember her, with a smile on your face and love in your heart, she will always be with you ♥︎ Spencer

She wipes her tears with her forearm, placing the card on the counter beside the ice cream before she opens the bag. She pulls out the bracelet first, absolute shock on her face.

“Spencer?” Is all she can say, in a high squeak as she shakes her head at him.

“I didn’t want you to be sad,” he says softly, stepping into her space and placing a hand on her arm. “I love seeing you smile, and I thought this could help.

He takes the bracelet from her grasp and places it over her hand. Resting it on her wrist softly, straightening it out against her sweater as she notices the matching on over his shirt sleeve.

“Oh this is so cute,” she swoons. “thank you, really Spencer.”

“And there are some rocks for grief healing in there too, one is supposedly like an emotional hug which should heal the grief and sorrow, and the other is more for inner peace and harmony,” he rambles away, not wanting her to miss anything.

She pours the rocks from the bag, into her hand, looking them over silently with a smile, “they’ll look great on my desk.”

“The purple looks nice on you too,” he compliments her, watching her eyes drift up to him.

She places the rocks on the counter before wrapping her arms around him once more. This time he’s able to actually hold her back, tight as possible as he rubs his hand over her back.

She smells like home, clean laundry and happiness. She’s soft and warm, he holds her perfectly against his chest, like she was a missing puzzle piece that someone finally found under the table, she fits into his life like she was supposed to be there.

She kisses his cheek softly before she pulls back, causing him to pull her into a real kiss on impulse. Connecting their lips as she sighs into the contact, melting into his grasp as she kisses him back.

Her lips are soft, fitting between his own gently as she breathes him in. Her hands reach up to grip his cheeks, kissing him again and again, placing pecks to his lips and cheeks with her eyes closed as he giggles.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his lips, “for everything.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers back, kissing her one last time before she pulls away.

“I was actually about to smoke some weed on the fire escape and probably cry some more,” she laughs lightly. “would you like to join me?”

“I’ll stick with a bowl of ice cream,” he smiled awkwardly.

“Nice one,” she laughs as she opens the ice cream.

“What?”

“Oh, you didn’t even get the reference you made,” she laughs lightly, “to get high you smoke a bowl, so…”

It makes him smile, “I'm a comedian part-time.”

He makes her laugh again, loving the sound of her giggle replacing the tears. “Why aren’t you this funny at work?”

He thinks about it for a little, watching her scoop the ice cream into two bowls, “it’s a little hard to make jokes when people's lives are on the line, I know everyone else does but I get too focused.”

“They probably wouldn’t appreciate your jokes even if you did make them,” she says as she handed him a bowl with a spoon. “They’re kind of mean to you, in a family way but it still sucks sometimes to overhear.”

She walks into the living area then, grabbing a few blankets and opening the window to the fire escape. Crawling out to sit on the ledge, waiting for him.

“I don’t mind it,” he says as he finally sits down beside her.

She places the blanket over their laps, both of them sitting criss-cross applesauce as they ate.

“Do you like your job?” She asks him, just like he once asked her.

“Most of the time,” he nodded as he got brain freeze. The cold air, the cold ice cream, everything that was catching up to him as he scrunched his face up at the feeling.

She laughs at him only a bit before she’s also attacked by the brain freeze, holding the vein in her neck as she chokes out another laugh, trying to warm up the blood going to her head so the pain would stop.

They’re both just a mess of giggles together, unable to say any words as they let it all out. She leans her head on his shoulder lightly as they calm down to just soft chuckles. He presses his cheek against her head.

“Thank you, Spencer,” it sounds like she’s crying a bit. “My grandma was a lovely woman, she’d be glad I’m laughing right now.”

He reached out a hand for her to hold over the blanket. She interlocked their fingers softly, both cold from holding their ice cream bowls.

“If she was anything like you, I’m sure she was the most wonderful woman,” he says softly, not intending to make her cry but having a feeling he might.

“Would you be interested in holding me on the couch while I cry?” She asked softly, tears in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

—

He’s late for work the next morning.

Waking up to the smell of coffee, opening his eyes to a strange view. He’s on a couch he doesn’t recognize in a room he doesn’t know too well.

Then he remembers, they ended up cuddled up on the couch. He wakes up to the memory of her on his chest, crying softly as they listened to some music, he ran his hand over her back while she went through it all, blessed to have his support.

He fell asleep under her at some point, waking up alone with a blanket laid over him. He sat up to see her in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a travel mug.

“Good, you’re awake,” she smiles at him. “Coffee is ready, I uh, I have this button-up shirt from a guy friend, if you wanted to wear that to work today? So they don’t think you stayed here?”

“That’s smart,” he replies as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Getting up, he uses the bathroom, changes and takes that coffee from her. He’s not expecting her to kiss him on the lips at the door, but she sends him off to work like an old housewife.

He doesn’t want to pull away from her, keeping her pressed against him as he leans in for 4 more kisses before she finally pushes him out into the hallway with a laugh, “get to work!”

“Fine,” he sighs, “are you going to be in tonight?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “funeral is in West Virginia next week, so I’ll be in until then.”

“I’ll see you later?”

She nods slightly with a soft smile, “you’ll be seeing a lot of me soon, Spencer.”

“Good,” he winks at her before heading down the hallway and towards the street entrance.

He sighs as he walks outside, resting his back against the apartment complex door, taking a moment to think about everything that just happened, the night of company and the wonderful send-off.

It was something he could get used to.

He rushes into the briefing room when he arrives at Quantico, sitting down with his coffee and pretending he wasn’t late. Listening carefully to JJ’s presentation of the case as he flips through everything he missed already.

“Wheels up in 30,” he heard Hotch say as he zoned back in. “Nice of you to join us, Reid.”

“I know that travel mug from somewhere,” Derek said as he stared at Spencer, who was taking a sip to avoid the awkwardness.

“Hmm?” He played dumb.

“That’s Y/N’s. She washes it every morning when she leaves to go home, I see her do it every morning,” his eyes open wide. “Holy shit.”

“Isn’t that the same tie and slacks from yesterday?” Emily teased him as well.

“Her grandma died, I brought her ice cream and slept on the couch okay?” He all but yelled, flailing his arms slightly so they’d all back off.

Derek reached his fist out for him to pound it, “good man.”

Then Penelope noticed the bracelet, “did she get you that?”

He sunk his hand into his pocket then, “no.”

“What?” Emily and JJ asked in unison, straining their necks to try and get a good look at what she was talking about.

He nervously held his arm out for them, showing them the purple bracelet resting over the sleeve of his shirt. “I got one for her too, it’s for healing and peace. It’s what she needs right now.”

“Oh, so you love her,” Derek smiles as he teases him. Making everyone else in the room swoon slightly.

“Okay and?”

“Oh my god!” Most of them shout at him, embarrassing him to no end. He was so glad she wasn’t at work this morning or else she would be able to hear this from her desk.

“Did you kiss her?” Rossi pries, asking what everyone else was thinking.

He scrunches his face, pushing his glasses up slightly as he clears his throat, “a few times.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” JJ kept the questions coming.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “Kinda weird to walk into her apartment while she cries to say ‘hey sorry about the death in your family, want to date me?’”

“Yeah,” Emily agrees, shrugging lightly. “At least she knows you like her now, it’s been what? 2 years?”

“2 years, 3 months, 17 days and 43 minutes,” he confirms with a small nod and pressed lips.

“Gross,” Derek teases him.

“The plane is leaving in 10 minutes,” Hotch cut into their fun.

Making them all gather their things and continue the interrogation in the elevator, and eventually on the plane, and in the police precinct. Even Penelope called him in the middle of everything to bug him about her.

The questions were never-ending, everyone wanted to know how they even started talking, who made the first move, how he plans to ask her out. They were relentless, he almost regretted admitting to anything.

They bug him all throughout the day, all the way until they’re arriving back at the BAU late that same night. He almost doesn’t want to go back to the bullpen and see her with all of them, knowing they were going to follow and say something.

She’s waiting in the hall when the elevator doors open, a pressed-lipped smile on her face, “bad news.”

“Another one?” Hotch sighs, “have Garcia send us the info. Be at the table in 10.” He pushes his way out of the elevator, passed them all as they stare at Y/N.

“Hi?” She awkwardly waves at them all, showing off the bracelet on her wrist.

“See ya, Spence,” JJ and Emily say as they matt his shoulder, dragging Derek and Rossi towards the bullpen doors.

“Sorry,” he apologizes for them softly, stepping into her space.

She wraps him up in a quick hug, keeping one arm around his waist as she guides him towards the bullpen, “it’s fine, they’re going to have to get used to us being together.”

“Together?” He repeats her words.

“I only cry on my boyfriend's shoulders, if you're up for the title?” She teases him softly, pinching his side as they walk towards the doors.

“Can I frame “Dr. Spencer Reid, Y/N’s boyfriend” beside my Ph.D.’s?” He keeps his hand on her shoulder, holding each other slightly as they walk towards her desk. He felt like one of those kids who wouldn’t let go of their girlfriend's hand in the school hallway, attached to her at the hip.

“I’ll make one for you while you’re gone,” she laughs lightly.

They stop at her desk where he sees all rocks he got her collecting on the shelf, as well as a cup of coffee and his favourite kind of donut.

“Thought you deserved something nice too,” she says as she nudges his side.

He kisses her on the cheek as a thank you, “you’re welcome,” she smiles to herself. A feeling of pride growing in both their chests.

“See you later?” He asks as he picks up the coffee and donut, walking away slowly as she smiles at him.

“Come home to me safely, Doctor Reid,” her voice is just loud enough for everyone in the briefing room, where everyone is waiting at the window, watching them, deciding to put on a show in return.

He stops on the steps to look at her softly, “I’d fight a thousand unsubs to come home to you.”

“I’ll leave the light on,” she blows a kiss at him, making him blush a deep red.

He waves, making his way up the steps and into the briefing room. A smile on his face, heart thumping in his chest, all the support in the world swarming around him as everyone patted him on the back.

That tiger’s eye really did bring him good luck and happiness, and her name was Y/N.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #one shot #fluff

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alreadyblondenow · 3 years

Text

Hold it all together

“Hey uhm what do you think about me being your sister’s boyfriend?”

Pairing: Johnny x female!reader, childhood best friends to lovers

Genre: SMUT, FLUFF

WC: 1,970k

Warnings: mentions of exchanging nudes, a lot kissing, unorotected sex, mentions of condoms, its just soft sex guys hahha mentiins of dreamies being the reader’s brothers.

A/N: NOT PROOFREAD. I’ll fix it once I have time. To the

Happy, excited, and sleepless. Today is the first day of Johnny’s spring break and he has been waiting for this day, the moment freshman year started... because this is the only time he can go home and finally see you again.

Johnny has been your childhood best friend and you two are basically inseparable. Well, except when he needed to leave for college. Of course you’re devastated the whole summer just before Johnny leaves. And it was that season, you both admitted your feelings for each other. Feelings that has been bottled up for too long finally and suddenly bursted out during a friendly kiss that turned into a passionate one which led to a slow and intimate sex the night before he left.

It has been almost half a year when that fateful night happened, but everything feels so fresh for him still. After what happened between you and Johnny, your relationship with each other did not progressed to something even more serious. Although you exchange nudes from time to time, FaceTime until the morning and say ‘i miss you’ to each other together with other sweet words.

And that is why Johnny is driving his way home to you with a bouquet of flowers on the front seat of his car, fighting through his sleepiness and keeping himself awake until he reaches your house to surprise you.

When he finally arrived first thing in the morning, he met your mom first and told you that he’s here to surprise you. “She’s still sleeping, but you can wake her up if you want to. She misses you so bad,” your mom said to Johnny. He then made this way to your room with the flowers in his hand and entered quietly, careful not to disturb your sleep. He placed the flowers on your bedside table near a photo he took for you and smiled in awe because you always cherish everything he gave you.

Feeling so sleepy and tired from the long drive, he removed his shoes and joined you under the covers. Slinging his arm around your waist and finally waking you up with soft kiss on your cheek. “I’m home,” he whispered softly. You rolled to face him, surprised but you’re both so sleepy to show it so you returned his hug and hugged him tightly. The moment you laid eyes on him, his eyes were already closed, comfortable and more than happy that he can feel your presence.

And as you both sleep together in your small bed, well, small because Johnny is a big person, you bask in his warmth and meet him in your dreams. Not wasting any second without each other.

“You must be really tired” you said when he finally woke up, raking his soft hair away from his face.

He nodded and smiled at you. Finally. He thought. “What time is it?”

“Almost afternoon. But no one cares,” you said and came closer to him, finally kissing those lips you missed so much. He rolled on top of you, putting his whole weight on you while kissing you breathlessly on the lips, neck and chest. His hands were perfectly placed on your waist, his thumb is drawing small circles on your skin and as if he’s asking permission to lift your shirt and see you without your clothes on.

He pulled away to remove his thick hoodie and plain white shirt, leaving him only with his denim pants. You noticed his body changed a lot, sure the nude photos he sends were great and it makes you miss him more, but seeing Johnny again in between your legs without a shirt on and looking hot as fuck just makes you crave for him. “This is so much better than the photos you send me,”

He let out a satisfied smile and started to unbutton his denim pants and remove it in front of you. You on the other hand, removed your pajama and welcomed him in your arms again. Kissing him deeper than ever and making him touch your boobs and squeeze them, which makes you automatically part your lips and want for more.

“Have you been fucking different girls from different sororities?” You joked in between kissing him and palming his clothed cock.

“Wouldn’t even dare. How can I even think of fucking other girls, knowing that this pussy is waiting for me?” he knew you were only joking and put his thumb on your clothed pussy. Teasing you with the right amount of pressure, careful not to make you cum so early.

“How about you? Have you been seeing other guys?” you smiled and removed your shirt, throwing it somewhere and finally exposing yourself to him. He then kissed every inch of you, hands freely roam around your body, and even tickling you from time to time.

“How can I even try seeing other guys, when I already have who I want?”

You didn’t see but Johnny smiled because of your answer while he’s placing butterfly kisses all the way down your body. Kissing you lovingly and showing you how much he misses you.

After the innocent kisses, you feel him reach for your panties and hook his fingers on the garter, slowly pulling it down while he kisses your inner thighs. Preparing you to what comes next and spreading your legs a little too harsh than expected that you yelped and your body was dragged on the mattress.

“Oops. Sorry, got carried away,” he sweetly apologized to you, kissing you on the cheek before he proceeds again.

That sudden harsh movement was the real Johnny in bed. You’ve only had sex with him once, now is only the second time. But word is, Johnny fucks hard in bed. Everyone knows that because he slept with a handful of girls during high school and you’re just this supportive friend that listens to him talk about a great night or a great fuck the other night.

“Hey,” Johnny snapped his fingers and went on top of you again, intertwining his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles before he makes you embrace him. “What’s the matter?”

“N-nothing. I’m just swimming in my thoughts. Uhm, what did you said again?”

“I asked if you want to use a condom”

“Uh. I don’t have one... do you-“

“Nope,” he said with a smirk. You suddenly remember that he loves fucking raw but what you don’t know is, you’re the first person he ever fucked raw. “Just tell me if it hurts. Again. Okay?”

He said, and you nod. Lining his cock on your entrance while he kisses your neck and kissing your boobs as he pushes in slowly. Tighter and tighter, your grip on his shoulders becomes. The familiar stretch of Johnny’s cock just makes your eyes shut and take him whole. Savouring every thrust he gives you, feeling every inch of cock inside you. It’s so big, you tell to yourself.

“Sorry, it’s bigger now because I’m so horny and I haven’t had sex since our last” he explained with ragged breaths near your ear.

“It’s okay,” is all you can manage to say.

He fucked you slow and deep or fast and sloppy. Either way it felt good and it surprised you how long you lasted this time.

Then suddenly he pulled away, spreading your legs wider as he changes his position. Having a better view of your bouncing boobs and fucked expression that never fails to turn him on. “Fuck Y/n,” he whined and reached for your boobs as he moves slower. Matching your moans and groans because he’s so close too. He then closes the space between you two and kissed you on the lips again like you’re about to disappear any second. Holding on to your body so tight that you’re sure it’s going to leave marks. Then suddenly your eyes rolled back and you’re breathing heavily and moaning a little too loud but no one will hear. Your orgasm completely washed you away and its all thanks to Johnny.

You smiled at him and reached for kisses to calm both of you down. “Was it a good one?” He was talking about the orgasm.

“The. Best.” You said in between kissing. “Did you come inside me?” He shook his head no. “Good. I’m not on the pill,”

“Kind of made a mess tho,” he looked to the direction of where he shoot his cum and it was on your lower abdomen and bed sheets. It was thick. His cum was so thick and many, that he was already embarrassed.

“Is it obvious that i missed you?” He asked. Kissing you on your forehead sincerely before he proceeds to clean his mess up.

“I think I need to shower,” you said.

“Okay, I’ll cover for you,”

While you were busy cleaning yourself, Johnny made himself decent again and decided to go downstairs to greet Mark and Jeno, your brothers. And eventually have breakfast with them.

“Hey uhm what do you think about me being your sister’s boyfriend?” He casually asked them and stuffed sausage in his mouth.

“Heck yeah that’s what I’m talking about man! Yo, just dont hurt her” Mark exclaimed in excitement thens suddenly turned serious.

“I won’t,” Johnny answered.

“And don’t make her miss you too much because you know we cant trust long distance relationship these days,” Jeno added.

Johnny agrees and said, “I will visit her every month”

“Don’t get her pregnant. I mean yet- get her pregnant when it’s the righ time- you get what i mean” Mark awkwardly added.

“O...kay. I’ll use condoms from now on. Anything else?”

“Dude just make her happy like you always do,”

“I will” Johnny said with a proud smile.

“Aren’t you boys should be cleaning the pool?” And the two boys immediately scrammed and quickly did their chores. Leaving you and Johnny in the kitchen with the food. Pinching Johnny’s cheek because now that you can see him clearly, you see a lot of changes.

“Only you can do that to me” he said then caught your hand and intertwined it with yours, he has become bold you notice. He pulled you closer to him while he finishes his juice, but the atmosphere is hetting a little stuffy and awkward so you tried having a conversation.

“Do you want to shower? I still have some of your clothes” you offered.

“Mhmm. Keep those, I have stuff in my car”

You nod and suddenly it was silent.

“Hey y/n, I was thinking of making it official between us. I mean if you want to. I just think that we’ve been flirting with each other for some time now and wed make a pretty good team,”

“ I thought you’d never ask. Took you longer than expected tho,” you put another sausage in his mouth ”The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love, and be loved in return.”

“Im just scared to fuck it up,” he sighed in relief “thank you for loving me back. I promise to take care of you 5000 more times than before”

“I’ll do the same... and wow you just asked me to be your girlfriend in the middle of our kitchen. How romantic.” He smiled handsomely then suddenly remembered one last thing.

“Oh by the way we uhm we need to start using condoms. I promised mark,”

“What-“

“I know right. Fucking you raw is good but your brother said to not get you pregnant”

“Ugh mark...” you moved your chair and hugged him tightly feeling him kiss the top of your head and cheek nonstop while you continue to eat.

The day may have started filthily, but it ended with a decently soft kiss on your temple from your best friend now boyfriend.

#nct-writers #neosmutcollective #cznnet #neowritingsnet #kpopscape #nct smut #johnny smut #nct Johnny #nct Johnny smut #nct 127 #johnny suh x reader #johnny x reader #nct johnny x reader #nct #johnny fluff

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uselesssomebody · 3 years

Text

𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕒𝕥 - bucky barnes x reader

complete masterlist | mcu masterlist | bucky barnes masterlist

words || 𝟜.𝟜𝕜

summary || in which the winter soldier takes a liking to his one of his evaluators

a/n || ok guys i lied this was supposed to be out like 2 weeks ago but i wanna post until now. but: here it is! if you're skimming through this note, look for the orange text. ➵ this is the backstory to the therapist!reader drabbles + oneshot collection that i will be writing. the reader is not expressly a therapist, but works with bucky as one - which is why it is denoted as such. ➵ there is some writing in russian. the text in russian will be written in bold and the text will be translated into english and put into brackets next to the russian text. - вот так, по сути (like this, essentially) - i have used google translate, so apologies for incorrect russian. ➵ a large chunk of the text is in italics; this refers to the reader's memories and flashbacks. - all of bucky's/the winter soldier's lines are underlined. ➵ the collection already has a couple parts (both how I + how II belong to this collection) - and you can find everything i write for this collection in my new, specific masterlist only for bucky. - i have a ton of other collections i wanna write - and they're all listed there. if anyone has any requests for possible pieces in a collection (or even an idea for a completely different collection), just let me know. ➵ finally, apologies if the beginning/ending are a bit rushed. hope you enjoy!

warnings || angst/fluff

my two degrees were most definitely the reason why i ended up in this situation.

after years of toiling over psychology and behavioural analysis textbooks, i set out with the hopes of working in the field. with every piece of my hard work (and a little bit of luck) i’d secured a position working for a small p.i. organization.

of course, the pay was a little shit. you can’t win everything. every day i’d spend with my face buried in paperwork and videotapes, and every night, i’d fall into a restless slumber, my thoughts plagued with concerns of my growing debts.

and that was exactly the opening they needed.

what people don’t understand is that hydra was massive. not just globally important, not just working in tandem with world-wide superpowers - but the scale. bigger than anyone could have imagined. the amount of vulnerable individuals that were brought in - as subjects or workers - was unbelievable.

i was approached by, what i assumed at the time to be, an independent organization. they spoke to me for nearly an hour straight: praises and congratulations on my career and abilities, and talks of the great work they were doing at this organization - with a special focus on just how splendid the pay was.

that was about enough to convince me. with every passing day, bills had been piling and causing me misery. i accepted the position before the offer was even verbally extracted.

for the first couple of months, they kept me totally in the dark about everything except the ‘patients’ i’d be working with. they told me that these individuals were troubled, and that they just needed to understand in what areas they needed help. they wanted to know exactly what made each disobedient action occur - later, i realized, to quell it.

after the first couple months, they must have realized that they had to explain each subject’s situation more clearly and more truthfully, in order to allow me to give them more accurate answers to the questions they were asking.

of course, as soon as they did, i immediately stated my discontent, horrified by what i was hearing. they started by trying to convince me of a more subtle story - the patients had amnesia, they’d sold their bodies to science, they were volunteers, and a whole bout of nonsense. they must have realized that, after i continued trying to leave, that i wasn’t buying a word they told me, and that’s when they decided to bring out their trump card.

a couple minutes of silence between my employer and myself - as his assistant ran off to retrieve something. a file was quickly splayed on the table between us - the out-of-breath assistant excusing himself and leaving the room.

the file contained a chronology of my life - including in-depth information about any person i’d ever been close to. suddenly, it wasn’t just my job on the table - i remember thinking, scared out of my mind - but also my family, friends, old lovers and my own life. i was a prisoner to them, and i realized it’d be impossible to get out.

once they’d pulled out all the stops, they realized there was no point in stalling any further. they introduced me to my newest patient - one that i’d be working with individually for as long as they wanted me to. i remember being grateful - knowing that my work may have only been ruining one life, instead of dozens. i had shuddered at the morbid nature of the thought.

the only name i called him - for the years i worked with him - was ‘soldat’. soldier. the memory of our first session is still burned into my brain.

“two rules: do not go within 2 meters of him at any time, and do not do anything to agitate him.” the man giving me instruction wore a pristine lab coat, and his ruffled hair hid spectacle-clad brown eyes. i nodded in understanding, gulping at how serious his voice sounded. none of my previous patients had been insane - nor were they prone to any sort of violence. i’d heard whispers of the man i was about to meet, and all them were causing me to grind my teeth in anticipation. “we’ll be right outside, so there’s no inherent threat but…” his voice trailed off, leaving me both more and less fearful - somehow at the same time.

i was led to a solid metal door, all gray - hard to notice as it blended with the similar gray walls of the room. the sound of it opening was accompanied with the sound of gas hissing - pressure being released.

i was nudged inside, the small of my back jolting forward upon the man’s contact with it. i shuffled inside, and the door closed behind me. i’d been so focused on the state of the dimly-lit, sterile room, that it took me a moment to notice the figure in front of me.

he was sitting, shoulders forward with his back to me, on a chair that looked much too small for his broad stature. he wore matted tactical pants. the black fabric had several small traces of crumbling dirt. his back was bare - the pale skin contrasting with the color of his trousers. patches of black, blue and purple, along with stripes of red, graced his torso. they all seemed a little faded, but the number of them was shocking. i couldn’t see his hands - he’d placed them in front of him, but i could see his shoulders. broad, drooping, one completely gray. the metal was fit into his body - like a puzzle. it would have looked smoother, of course, with the absence of the smaller, pinker scars that littered the site of connection. they looked too small to have been created by a blade.

inhaling sharply, i walked in front of him. there was another chair, placed a bit away from him and, remembering the man in the lab coat’s instructions, i walked around him at a distance a little farther than what would be considered natural. i pulled the seat back, placing my body down slowly. i felt worried that any sudden movements would trigger an unwanted reaction. as if he were feral.

his long hair was hanging in front of his head and he looked down, towards the floor. clumps of it stuck to his face. his chest was expanding and contracting slowly, his nose flaring along with his torso's movements. his eyes were closed.

“soldat?” my voice quavered a little - and i screwed my eyes shut quickly. i knew i had to commandeer some level of authority over my patients - to show them that i knew what i was doing. that i could help them understand what they didn’t at that time. but i didn’t know how i was supposed to hold that same position with this man.

for a moment there was silence.

“hmm?” his response was non-verbal, but audible. deciding that he was listening, i quickly glanced at the clipboard clutched in my fingers.

i slowly started asking him the questions that had been given to me. he didn’t answer some of them - and the others he gave very short responses. some were in english, and others were in scattered languages. i had picked up a weird amalgamation of eastern european languages, as it was my only way of communicating with some of my previous patients, so i understood a little of what he said. i thought it be best to get as much information as possible, and then go over unanswered questions with different approaches until he answered them.

we were nearing the end of the clipboard, so i decided to focus on getting an actual, genuine answer out of him. picking a question at random, i reread it to him. similar to the first time, he kept his jaw clenched and his lips shut. i tried again, rephrasing the question to be a bit more vague. still nothing. so i rephrased, making it more situation specific. this time he let out a sigh, and i felt a glimmer of hope.

“don’t.” his voice was deeper than when he’d answered any of the other questions. my thoughts of success and my determined drive kept me going. i asked him once more, this time trying to answer the question personally to encourage him to also share his own side. midway through my explanation, he rose up from the chair in one quick motion. it stopped me mid-sentence, and i looked up at him with wide eyes.

“i said stop.” his breathing became heavier, and he finally met my eyes. they were an icy shade of blue, completely piercing. he started taking long strides towards me. i quickly scrambled to my feet, dropping the clipboard. with every step he took towards me, i tried to take one back. as my back hit the wall, he reached my seat. he pushed it to the side, the metal clinking against the floor sharply. he picked up the clipboard on the floor, and snapped the thing as if it were a pencil. he threw the pieces to the side with the chair, and quickly grabbed one of my arms. his metal hand encompassed the diameter of my forearm, the cold sensation making me wince. “ты должен был остановиться (you should’ve stopped).” i nodded furiously, praying to every single god out there to let me survive this.

at that moment, the sound of gas hissing caused both of us to whip our heads towards the door. the man with the lab coat walked in, with a man in a uniform who had a gun clutched in his hands. the soldat’s grip loosened, but his hand still kept me from moving.

“soldat.” the man with the lab coat brandished a small red book - like a diary. it seemed useless compared to the gun the other man was holding, but, when i looked at the soldat, his eyes were wide and his breathing ragged.

“no. пожалуйста, нет (please, no).” the man opened the book, and started reading out a couple words in russian. the soldat’s grip immediately left mine, and i fell to the the ground. i hadn’t realized how much he was supporting my weight. hurridly, i half-crawled to the door. the man with the gun pushed me out and quickly closed the door, leaving the three of them in the room. i was quickly grabbed by another person in a lab coat, this time a woman. she pushed a bottle of water into my hands. after a few moments of silence - the soundproof nature of the room being almost unbelievable - we were joined by the two men from earlier. the soldat, i assumed, had remained in the room. the man with the gun - who hadn’t spoken once thus far - waited right outside the door of the room, while the other walked towards us.

“what a disaster.” the man stated, his hair more ruffled than before and his glasses askew on his nose. he quickly fixed up his appearance.

“what are you talking about?” the woman spoke from beside me, her voice sounding almost giddy. i looked up at her, and she had a bright smile on her face - as if we were discussing something much more exciting and casual, like her favorite song.

“what am i-? damn girl nearly got killed, разве ты не смотрел (weren’t you watching)?”

“разве ты не был (weren’t you)? that’s the most we’ve ever gotten out of him. она идеальна (she’s perfect).” the mix of russian and english made my head reel as i struggled to keep up. due to my limited vocabulary, i couldn’t understand the last word she said. the man seemed to grow silent - thinking. then he looked at me.

“you.” his eyes narrowed, “you’re hired.” he chuckled at his own comment, before motioning to the man with a gun, “отведи ее в ее комнату (take her to her room).”

most of the individuals hydra picked up found their way underground after proving useless in the long-term. some days, i deeply wished i would have been one of them. instead, i just had to get him to talk on that first day.

we had sessions anytime between when he was frozen and when he had missions. within the first couple months, i realized this wasn’t some deranged murderer with anger issues. of course, my fear had clouded my initial judgement of him. he talked more and more every session, becoming less and less brooding while we spoke. and every time, i’d leave with a heavy heart, knowing any amount of vulnerability he’d succeeded in showing would be taken as a threat, and stamped out quickly and efficiently.

the worst was the day when he happened to tell me a little about his past. he still barely remembered anything - just names, really.

“steve.”

“rebecca.”

“winnifred.”

“sarah.”

he had barely any idea who they were - he knew rebecca and winnifred were family members, but not what type of relationship he had. he said the name ‘steve’ the most out of all of them, but he, for the life of him, couldn’t remember anything about who the man was.

that day, i remember watching him be escorted out of the room alongside me. however, i was sent up to the humble abode which they called my room, while he was sent elsewhere. they didn’t tell me, but late that night, every person in the building knew exactly where he’d gone.

from the basement of the building, screams of pure pain shook the walls, bypassing any of the measure that must have been taken to keep him down there. i remember dropping the shirt i was holding and gasping out loud. the noises were so clear, it was almost as if he was in just the next room. as images of what they could have done to him flashed through my mind, i felt a chill run through my back.

that was the first night i cried. the white pillow underneath my head grew damp in minutes, and i could feel myself silently gasping for air as i sobbed.

i knew that what i did never ended particularly well for him, but this was the first time i realized the scope of what i was doing. i felt my eyes grow more wet, my vision more blurry as i realized that there was simply no way out. if i tried to stop hurting him, they’d simply find someone else to take my place. beyond that, i had the constant reminder of the lives of all the people i held dear also being affected by any rash decisions i made.

my headache persisted as my eyes grew tired, shutting fully and allowing me to succumb to a sorrowful slumber.

i remember the day we all knew hydra would fall. with the valiant efforts of captain america being spoken about like passing gossip, no one followed routine. an overwhelming air of panic held over each and every person working that day. my own consisted of me sitting, unbothered, in my room. i slept through the day - or at least, tried to. my eyes remained shut, the brightness of the sun, that had been so prevalent due to the window adjacent to the bed, dwindling as dusk came. once the sky darkened, there was an eerie silence across the building. i remained in my position, except i now turned to face myself away from the window.

i don’t remember what i thought about as i lay. i knew there were thoughts of hope, but also feelings of immense worry. would i be thrown in prison for the things i’d done? did i deserve to be?

as my mind did stop racing, however, and i prepared myself for falling dead asleep, i felt a cold object press up against my mouth.

my eyes shot open, and i involuntarily squeaked. i attempted to push my body up to be in a standing position, but i was quickly pushed back down. for as suffocating the object was, the push was relatively gentle.

“no.” the voice was calm, and oh-so-very familiar. i craned my neck to face my assailant. his blue eyes met mine, and i felt a surge of adrenaline rush over me. i struggled against his iron grip more, wriggling hopelessly, as his eyes clouded in worry. he attempted to use one hand to still me, and his metal hand over my mouth. “stop it. i don’t want to hurt you.” i quickly realized his tone was more pleading than threatening, but i decided to not take my chances. i stopped my movements, and he took the opportunity as a means of helping me to my feet. his hand now served more as a shield over my mouth, as opposed to a vacuum over. “don’t speak. no sounds.” i nod frantically, and he cautiously takes his hand away. deciding against facing his wrath, i keep my promise and stayed quiet.

“what’re you doing?” my voice was quieter than a whisper. his proximity to me broke one of the two rules from the start of our sessions. he’d only ever broken it during our first session. then, he’d been about an arm’s length away. now, however, his nose could have brushed against mine should he have leaned in only a couple centimeters. i found it hard to maintain eye contact, his stare exceedingly overwhelming. instead i studied the strands of hair over his face, the stubble present on his jawbone, his frowning lips.

“we have to leave.” he moved away from me quickly and, for just a moment, i missed the contact.

“we?”

“everything’s coming down. you can’t stay.”

“coming down? i don’t-”

“pierce is dead.” i widen my eyes in shock. i’d only directly met the man once, but tales of his power and political reach were constant topics of conversation among the building. he always gave off an aura of invincibility. i guess it was the wrong impression. “i have to get you out of here.” one of my eyebrows quirked involuntarily.

“under whose orders?” i wondered who on earth thought i was one of the few people to focus on keeping safe - or, at least, in a monitored place. the soldat faltered, his answer stopping in his throat.

“i- uh, here.” he had thrust a couple loose bits of clothing, along with some other necessities, into a bag i kept to carry notes across the building. it was small - meant to carry a book or two at most - so it was almost bursting at the seams. he pushed it into my hands. “we have to go.” the urgency in his voice made me forget my previous question. i was about to walk to the door, when i heard his footsteps going back towards to my window. that was when i realized he’d not only effortlessly, but also silently, twisted the metal bars blocking me from previous hope of escape. the space allowed his to step over the thing onto a small outer ledge. gracefully, he landed on the grassy floor, still barely making a sound. my room was situated on the second floor, so the jump wasn’t impossible - just risky.

i looked at him, the top half of my body similarly peeking through the bars. his eyes met mine once more, watching me expectantly. quickly following his lead, i awkwardly swung my legs over the ledge. i threw the rucksack down at him, and he caught it, his metal hand glistening in the moonlight as he raised it. holding on to the remaining bars of my window, i clutched for dear life as i stood on the small ledge. taking a deep breath, i sighed. i remember thinking something about then being now or never. i jumped, trying to keep my body from tipping any direction as much as possible.

my feet found the ground, and my knees and hands would have followed had he not caught me from splaying on the floor. my already heavy breathing only accelerated.

“okay?” i nod before answering.

“yeah- yeah, let’s go.” he nods, before slinging my bag over his shoulder, the tiny thing looking almost comical against his large frame.

for as secretive as the organization was, the building wasn’t very far from a main road. after only a short while of trudging through somewhat dense foliage, we had made it to a residential area. sure, it wasn’t rows of apartment buildings, but a couple small houses dotted the area.

“shall we ask for help?” the walk had been silent, so my voice cut through the cold night air.

“no.” we kept walking.

at about the third house we were going to pass, he decided to, instead, walk up the driveway. for a moment, i wondered if he’d finally decided to follow my advice, but when he started messing with the driver’s side door of the car parked there, i widened my eyes.

“what are you doing?” i hissed quickly, scurrying to catch up with him.

“getting a car. you want to walk?” i rolled my eyes.

“of course not, but you can’t steal a car.” he turned to face me, a hint of panic present in his pupils.

“quiet.” he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me so we were both crouching behind the car. a light shone around the vehicle, and i winced as another voice started speaking.

“hon, you said someone’s out here?” it was a gruff male voice - the hoarseness of it indicating that he smoked.

“c’mon paul, i heard someone talking. and i’m - like - 95% sure i saw someone.” a much younger female voice replied from a little farther, likely still in the house.

“i don’t see anyone. besides, no need to worry - y’got me to protect you.” the woman giggled.

“‘course i do, c’mon back in. i’m sure it’s just the night playing tricks on me.” i heard the door click shut, and the soldat peered over the hood. satisfied, he went back to fidgeting with the car. after a moment of two of scraping and breathing, the thing popped open with a small noise. humming at his success, he clambered in - his arm reaching over to open the passenger side door. i quickly followed him, and the noise of the engine starting caused my panic to surge. luckily, no one noticed the noises, and he backed out onto the road - stepping on the gas as soon as he turned the car to face forward.

for the first month, we moved between motel and motel across the area. i had almost become more accustomed to the baseball cap he used to mask his appearance than i did his actual features.

he’d been more transparent with me the moment we found a place to spend that first night. he’d given me several opportunities to leave - stating that he knew he’d be wanted and how dangerous it may be to stay with him. every time he said it, a nervous giggle would leave me - i’d remind him of the sheer amount of posters and news coverage - his face was plastered at every rest stop or store we’d go to. he sorta needed me. then i’d reminded him that i was simply returning a favor.

after a while, i asked the question i had meant to ask back in my room.

“whose orders were it to get me out?” his face a hardened slightly, and i worried and wondered about what could possible be so detestable about the question.

he had explained that there weren’t necessarily orders he was following when he went back for me - instead, he knew the fate of any hydra operative and hoped to exclude me from the ordeal. i remember mulling over his words as i tried to sleep. i knew he had a basic sense of empathy under whatever hold hydra had placed him, but going back to the one place he’d be least safe? that wasn’t just a human side of him - that was almost suicide. did he plan on going back and getting more out? what made him come back for me? did he know about the harm that my actions had caused - especially towards him?

i fell into another night of fitful sleep.

we’d stuck together since then - managing to make it all the way into europe after meeting 2 dozen shady individuals in order to acquire fake passports. he remained somewhat closed off - similar to how he’d been while he was held captive - but i could tell that this wasn’t the same person i’d been talking to previously.

the soldat was cold. he had an almost constant aura of menace. he had eyes full of a lust for blood - no doubt fueled by the experiments done on him. he was human - but barely.

this new version of the man - while similarly quiet - didn’t carry that aura with him. while still huge - big enough to easily snap anyone in half - he didn’t want to anymore. he was softer - the look in his eyes, the way he spoke, even his appearance seemed less rough around the edges.

beyond that, of course, was the flashes of memory that he was now experiencing. it’d happen sometimes when he was awake - he’d managed to finally remember what the name ‘sarah’ meant to him over breakfast one morning - but most of occurred while he slept. while he dreamt, he’d speak, parroting out loud the little morsels of memory his mind was feeding to him.

he had bolted me awake, in the middle of the night, when i heard him yell. instead of it being one of terror or pain - it was one of triumph. he spoke animatedly as soon as i tried to ask him what was going on. through the ramble, i realized what he’d managed to remember.

his name. he’d managed to remember a conversation with steve in which he was referred to as ‘bucky’. his excitement was quickly surpassed by my own - ecstatic that he’d slowly managed to understand more about is identity.

that was the first night he’d smiled.

#mcu imagine #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #the winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #winter soldier angst #therapist!reader x bucky barnes #therapist!reader x winter soldier #the soldat #sebastian stan

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seriouslysnape · 3 years

Text

Moonlight Dip

Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Sexual content (super brief).

Word Count: 2,588

“We’re going swimming.”

Hogwarts was always desolate and quiet at this time of night. The only person who was supposed to be stirring was Filch, Mrs. Norris, and possibly Professor Snape keeping an eye out for any students who had grown bold enough to break curfew. Most students didn’t bother trying to sneak around the castle at night. Not because they were afraid of getting caught, but because if they DID get caught, they’d have to deal with Filch’s overly strict behavior. Honestly, that was a punishment in and of itself.

Which was why Neville just couldn’t seem to figure out why you were leading him through the dark corridors, moving like a woman on a mission. You had crept into his dorm around midnight or so, pouncing on his bed and shaking him from his gentle slumber. You barely waited for him to wake up before you were whisper-shouting at him that you had somewhere for the two of you to go. He never minded a surprise visit from you, but he also wasn’t very keen on attempting to slip out undetected. Still, his curiosity won out.

“Hey, uh, flower?” He whispered, not knowing where Filch might’ve been.

“Yes, Neville?” You whispered back, peering your head around the corner to check for anyone coming.

“Where are we going exactly? And why are you in your robes?” He questioned, feeling a bubble of nervousness in his chest.

Truth be told, Neville felt a little underdressed. He was clad in his pajamas bottoms and an old t-shirt that he only used to sleep in. You looked back at him with a smile, his heart leaping at how beautiful you looked under the illumination of the Lumos you had uttered from your wand. Neville had learned to be more spontaneous after he had begun dating you. You were as sweet and respectful as anyone, but you definitely had a wild side that sometimes shaved some years off of Neville’s life. He wasn’t sure what to think of it at first, but over time he found that he loved all of your silly shenanigans. Even the ones that had gotten you both in hot water before.

“I told you, Nev. It’s a surprise!” You answered, squeezing his hand that was interlaced in yours, “It won’t be a surprise anymore if I tell you.”

Neville made a puzzled, yet thoughtful look as he racked his brain of possible ideas. He thought that maybe that you were daring to venture to Hogsmeade for a late night snack. Every now and again, you’d convince Neville to help you with sneaking into Honeydukes after hours to snag a few treats (don’t worry, you always left the right amount of money on the counter to pay for it).

However, his theory was proven wrong when he realized that you were taking him past the courtyard and in the general direction of the Quidditch field. He was glad that it was well into spring now, and the nights were warm with the days. You didn’t play Quidditch though, and neither did he. So he couldn’t fathom why you were headed that way.

“The Quidditch fields are always dark this time of night. There’s no way we’ll be able to see.” Neville pointed out, mumbling under his breath when he almost tripped on a loose rock.

You turned to look at him again, another smile plastering on your face.

“Then it’s a good thing that we aren’t going there.” You replied.

Sure enough, you kept walking towards your desired locating, keeping your antsy boyfriend in tow. About the time that Neville had given up on trying to figure out where you were taking him, his question was answered. The lake was always so pretty at night, and tonight was no exception. The moon was only a phase away from being full, but still offering enough light to where the two of you could somewhat see. The reflection bounced beautifully off of the dark lake, creating glittering ripples in the water when it was agitated from it’s still position.

You let go of Neville’s hand once you were standing on the bank, crouching down to untie your shoelaces. Neville stood still, his arms at his side rather awkwardly. He wasn’t picking up on your plan just yet.

“I didn’t know that you like to fish.” Neville said aloud, not bothering to whisper anymore since there was no chance that anyone would be out here.

“I don’t.” You giggled, removing your shoes and socks.

Neville’s eyebrows raised, still oblivious even as your fingertips worked at untying the cord around your robes. Well, he WAS oblivious, until it was literally right in front of his face.

“Then why are we- oh my God, what are you doing?” He cut himself off when your robes fell to the grass, revealing your bra and knickers underneath.

Neville was glad that it was mainly dark outside, because his sudden deep blush would’ve been painfully obvious otherwise. You smirked at the bashful boy who was frozen in place, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

“We’re going swimming.” You announced, reaching for his hand again.

Except he didn’t take your hand. He wasn’t on board with this idea at all.

“Oh no. No, no, no. I draw the line at swimming naked!” He rattled off, taking a step away from you.

You weren’t offended in the slightest, and you were even rather amused at his skittish behavior. This was nothing new to you.

“I’m technically not naked.” You reminded him calmly.

“You’re in your knickers!” He hissed back, his eyes widening as he actually took a second to look at the lacy material.

“Exactly. Which equals not naked.” You returned, fighting the urge to burst into laughter.

“Nope!” He protested, sitting down on the grass instead, “I’ve defended us for getting caught sneaking off for Chocolate Frogs and breaking into the library at 3 o’clock in the morning. But I will not try to explain why we were in the lake naked.”

Neville seemed adamant about staying put where he was. He was tempted to get up and leave, but there was no shot in hell that he was going to leave you out here by yourself. He was perfectly fine with sitting off to the side and observing from a safe distance.

“You see me in my underwear all the time, Nevy,” You said, not really believing that the lack of clothes was what he was timid about, “Is it the ‘nakedness’ or the critters that sometimes live in the lake?”

Neville was frightened of a lot of things, and while he tended to love animals, aquatic animals were an exception. Fish and water-based bugs freaked him out for some reason that even you didn’t quite understand. The only animals that lived in and around water that he liked were frogs and toads. The only aspect of the lake that he might enjoy (aside from seeing you wet and half-naked) were the plants that were undoubtedly growing below the surface.

“Maybe both...” He murmured, resting his forearms on top of his knees that were pulled into his chest, “Regardless, I’m staying right here.”

You shrugged your shoulders, believing your intuition that said that he’d be in the water with you in less than fifteen minutes.

“Suit yourself.” You told him before making a graceful entrance splash into the water.

He watched as you plunged in, your entire frame disappearing under the water that looked black due to the inky color of the sky. Neville felt his nerves get fired up when you went under, a slight anxiety in his gut that you might not come back up. The lake wasn’t super deep by any means, only coming up to just below your hip. Neville knew that it was possible to drown in any depth of water, which was why he became a bit on edge.

Thankfully, though, you emerged from below the water before he could get too worked up. He watched with interest when your hands swept your wet hair backwards, slicking it on your head.

Neville had always found you pretty. He thought you were the most beautiful girl on the planet. While he always thought that you looked stunning, there were still times where it was much more clear to him. For instance, early in the morning when you’ve just woken up is one of his favorites. Or right before a Gryffindor party on Friday nights when you’ve taken extra time to get spiffied up. Seeing you always made his heart beat with a little more purpose. It reminded him of how much he cared for and loved you.

And this moment now really had him swooning.

His eyes studied as water droplets dripped from your frame, soaking into your underwear and gliding down your beautiful skin. It created a shiny gleam over you, bringing out all of his favorite parts of you. He must’ve fallen into a lusty daze, because he felt himself snap back into reality when you called to him.

“You sure you don’t want to get in?” You spoke, letting your fingertips trail over the surface of the lake.

Neville shook his head in response.

“I’m good here, tulip. Promise.” He said, still not sure if this was something he wanted to do.

You never pressured Neville into doing things he didn’t want to do. You never wanted him to be uncomfortable around you or associate discomfort with spending time with you. However, you knew that Neville was a worrier. He was an avid overthinker and sometimes just let his nerves get the best of him. You encouraged him to live a little more, without thinking about every single possible outcome of a situation. It’s great to be cautious and aware, but life without taking some risks could be...boring. You just didn’t want Neville to grow old with you and wish he hadn’t let his head get the best of him.

You swam out towards the middle of the lake, but not so far that you couldn’t see or hear Neville. You floated on your back and played with things that you found on the mushy, sandy floor of the lake. Neville maintained a conversation with you, but found himself feeling tempted to join you. It was just swimming. It wasn’t like the two of you were trying to blow up the lake or anything.

“How does...how does it feel?” Neville asked, stifling a giggle at how you were bouncing on your feet with your head lolled to the side to get water out of your ear.

“It’s nice. It’s not warm by any means, but it feels good.” You told him, wringing the excess water from your hair, “Changed your mind?”

Neville chewed the inside of his cheek, but he was warming up to the idea.

“I don’t even have a pair of swim trunks with me.” He argued.

You motioned towards your own body with a look of hilarity.

“Oh, and I’m wearing my swimsuit? It doesn’t matter, love. Just take off what you have on.” You instructed, getting hopeful that he was actually going to do it.

Neville stood from where he sat, stripping down to his boxers at a snail’s pace. He folded his clothes neatly, setting them next to your robes that he had also folded previously. He dipped his foot into the water, expecting it to be much colder than it actually was. It was a lukewarm temperature, something that would be refreshing on a hot summer day, but far too freezing for a frigid winter day. For his moderate spring night, it was perfect.

Neville didn’t love how the bottom of the lake felt on his feet. It was a mix of a squishy, gelatinous feeling. You reached for his hands excitedly, taking them as he waded out to where you were standing.

“So, what do you think?” You wondered, careful not to freak him out too much,

“It feels...nice. I don’t think I’ve ever been in this lake,” He admitted, “How did you even come up with this?”

“Well, you told me once that your Gran used to have a little pond behind her house that you liked to swim in during the summer. You said you enjoyed it and I thought maybe this would be something you’d like too,” You explained to him, suddenly feeling insecure about this whole thing, “I know it’s probably not the same or as fun.”

Now things really started to make sense. Neville felt the cage of butterflies flutter all into his belly whenever you did something sweet for him. Especially when it was something with sentimental value.

Neville had undeniably fallen in love with you. Not because of your witty personality or the random adventures you liked to take him on. Those things were plenty great, and he cherished those things with everything he had. But that wasn’t what made him decide that you were his future.

It was the pureness of your heart.

He fell for you more and more each time you did something for him. Whether it was as small as you combing your fingers through his hair when he was asleep on your chest in the common room, or as big as the time you devised a plan to throw a surprise birthday party for him at his Gran’s house. No matter what it was, you never hesitated to spend your energy, time, and love on making him happy.

“I did always like that pond, flower. But...you want to know something?” He said smoothly, with just the faintest hint of shakiness in his tone, “This is a lot better.”

He pulled you in close at the sight of your brightening eyes, bringing you down with him as he sank down to his knees under the top of the water.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” You pressed on.

“Because you’re here.” He mewled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

His descent of kisses trailed down to your nose, to your cheeks, to your lips. His kisses were never rushed in moments like this. They weren’t ever in a rush to get to the point or so rough that he didn’t have a chance to feel it. He liked to take his time with you. He liked to savor you.

“I love you, Nev. I really do.” You professed once he pulled away from you.

“I love you, petal,” He returned, going to kiss you again, but stopped when he took a big swash of lake water to the face.

He let out a startled gasp at how he was totally soaked now. It dripped from his hair, droplets rolling to the tip of his nose before falling off back into the lake. He caught your mischievous expression, your cheeks puffed out as you fought your laughter.

“Really funny, doll.” He sputtered, nonchalantly reaching around to your back and unclasping your bra with one hand. He managed to whip it off of you with ease, leaving you completely naked on top.

“Neville!” You squealed, “Give it back! That’s my favorite one!”

Neville teased you as he held your bra high in the air above his head, chuckling as you struggled (and failed) to get it back.

“Don’t worry, love bug. I’ll take good care of it. But if you want it...” Neville paused, shimmying past you and waddling further out into the lake with a sneaky, yet innocent sneer on his face;

“You’ve got to come and get it.”

*****

Tags: @lupinsslut @writingscape @msmimimerton @thefilmcity

#neville longbottom #neville longbottom x y/n #neville longbottom x you #neville longbottom x female reader #neville longbottom x fem! reader #neville longbottom fluff #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom oneshot #seriouslysnape

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kassandras-one-braincell · 3 years

Text

Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies – the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. “Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

“Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.” The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie’. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #female eivor #tattoo parlor au #modern au #ac valhalla

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generation-of-kuroko-and-kagami · 3 years

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Midorima Shintarō: How Strong Is He?

So, I’m making this post in response to a couple asks I got (one by @taigaakagami and another anonymous one) asking some questions about Midorima:

Do I think Midorima is underrated in the GoM? This question includes Midorima being unable to go into the Zone/analysis on if he even needs the Zone.

What would it would be like if Midorima did enter the Zone? I’ll also talk about why Midorima hasn’t entered the Zone/if he even can enter the Zone.

Do I think Midorima is the best shooting guard in the series, despite the fact that characters like Hyuuga, Tatsuya, and Mibuchi are also strong shooting guards?

I don’t know that this post will be super long, but I’m going to try and answer these questions thoroughly. I’ll say upfront that I do think Midorima is the weakest of all the GoM members, excluding Kuroko. I’ve said this before in my posts, and the reasoning goes beyond the fact that Midorima is the only member of the GoM starters that hasn’t gone into the Zone. Let’s break down Midorima’s skills first, and then we can get into the comparisons.

TL;DR in bold

P.S. For the sake of argument, just know that when I say “GoM members” in this specific post, I never mean to include Kuroko. No offense to Kuroko, but on his own, he isn’t in the same league as the GoM starters.

Midorima’s Abilities & Weaknesses

Midorima’s basic abilities include his shooting accuracy, his defense, his intelligence, and his physical strength. He also improved his endurance over the course of the series to enhance his ability to shoot physically draining shots for longer periods of time. Of course, Kuroko no Basket is famous for naming every advanced ability a player has, so Midorima also has a few of those. His Super Three Point Shot allows him to shoot accurate three-pointers from the half-court and full-court lines, and the Sky-Direct Three Point Shot is a combination shot with Takao where Takao will pass the ball to Midorima’s hands--as he’s already in a shooting form--and Midorima makes the shot. This prevents any opponents from blocking the shot as Midorima can throw it off before the opposing team realizes what’s happened. Unless it’s Akashi, but we don’t need to get into that.

Though Midorima’s endurance isn’t a weakness for him anymore, like it was at the beginning of the series, he is still weak when it comes to the physicality of his GoM skills. Yes, he can make incredible shots that no one else can make, but it will definitely tear up his body in the process. If he’s able to make it to adulthood without seriously injuring his joints and muscles, he’ll be unstoppable, but until then, Midorima has to put limiters on his ability to remain healthy. Additionally, he can’t enter the Zone. Whether he needs to enter it or not is something we’re about to get into, but for now, it’s considered a weakness.

Is Midorima Underrated?

Asking if Midorima is underrated is kind of a subjective question, so really, this answer is up to whoever is reading this, but if I’m trying to be as objective as possible, I’m going to look at the comparisons between him and the other GoM members. How do fans of KnB react to Midorima in comparison to the other members? Do they generally think his abilities are weaker? Are his abilities weaker?

Here’s the thing: from what I know of the fandom surrounding KnB, it seems that people simply find Midorima’s abilities boring. Yes, everyone loves the Sky-Direct Three, but that’s because it’s a Midorima/Takao thing. It’s an awesome skill because it needs both of them. I think the mystique that comes with Akashi, the overwhelming awe that comes with Murasakibara, the amazement that comes with Aomine, and the surprises that come with Kise are too difficult to compete with. Midorima doesn’t have the same wow factor that they do. So, to that end, I don’t think Midorima is underrated because he is what he is. Some people really love him as a character and a player, and some people probably dislike him. But I don’t think people are underestimating his abilities. I think it’s perfectly clear to most people that his abilities are the most vanilla, if you will, despite potentially being the most useful. Plus, there’s the fact that he can’t enter the Zone. So, you’d be forgiven if you thought Midorima was the weakest based on that since the other members have all gone into the Zone.

Does Midorima Need the Zone?

Is Midorima underrated on the grounds that people think he’s weak for not being able to go into the Zone, despite him not even needing the Zone to being with? That is a possibility, yeah. I’ll talk about what a Midorima-in-the-Zone playstyle would look like in a minute, but I’ll agree with the notion that Midorima probably doesn’t need the Zone at all.

When players enter the Zone, you’re basically looking at the enhancement of all basic abilities. You’re faster, your more accurate, you’ve got more power. The downside to the Zone is that it drains the stamina of the player significantly. The requirements for entering are vast amounts of talent and passion for basketball.

The way I see it is that Midorima may actually be hindered by going into the Zone. The endurance training he completed to be able to use his abilities for an entire game would be wasted by draining his stamina in the Zone. Also, Midorima isn’t a very mobile player. He can be swift, and he does use power on defense, but his position as a shooting guard means constant movement isn’t necessary. Aomine, for example, needs to be able to drive and jump and dodge and pivot, so an increase in his physical abilities would only make those things more precise. Akashi needs to outmaneuver his opponents at the top of the key and make the correct passes to get the ball through, so being more agile benefits him. For Midorima, though, those improvements would go to waste.

What if Midorima did enter the Zone?

What would it look like for Midorima to be in the Zone? Why can’t he enter it already? Let’s answer that second question first. If Midorima meets both of the requirements for being in the Zone, why hasn’t he entered the Zone? Is it because he doesn’t have the talent? Well, no, because he’s a GoM member. And we know he loves basketball. So, what is it that keeps him away? I don’t think there’s a clear answer to this, but if I had to reach for one, it would be that Midorima doesn’t go one-on-one with people enough for him to focus in the way you need to if you’re gonna get into the Zone. I know that Midorima did go one-on-one with Kagami, but that showdown never had the same high-energy, high-movement feel that the Kagami/Aomine showdown did, or the Kagami/Kise one did.

As a shooting guard, Midorima is basically getting the ball to throw it off right away. He’s not in a position that favors one-on-one moments. I mean, of course, there’s always going to be some moments like that because shooting guards still have defenders, but it’s nothing like a power forward trying to make it past a center or a point guard trying to shake his defender so he can drive. It’s mostly just a.) the shooting guard gets the ball and b.) the defender tries to block it or knock it out of their opponent’s hands. Without the sense of rivalry being enhanced with one-on-one play, Midorima never really focuses hard enough to enter the Zone.

There is also the possibility that he can’t enter the Zone because he relies on his team more than the other GoM members. Which would also explain why Kuroko can’t go into the Zone. All of the GoM members rely on their teammates--well, Aomine is a work in progress, but he’s open to it, so we’ll leave that there--but Midorima is dependent on his team to perform at his best. Before meeting Takao, this wasn’t the case, but his skills elevated with the Sky-Direct Three, so his best now includes that. Meaning, he needs someone else to achieve it. Maybe that’s a stretch, but nonetheless. Look at it this way: Midorima is the only GoM member that hasn’t done the whole, “No offense to my team, but this moment is just about me” thing. Like, even Kise, who is super pro-teamwork, expressed his immaturity during his match with Seirin because he wanted to carry the burden of winning on his own. Midorima doesn’t do that, though, so maybe his lack of selfishness is why he can’t enter the Zone.

But what if he did?

I honestly don’t know that I can imagine a Midorima-in-the-Zone playstyle. It’s not like his accuracy can increase in the Zone if his accuracy is always 100%, right? I really think the only thing that would be different about Midorima in the Zone would be his speed. Which would, essentially, equate to him being able to throw shots off faster. I guess, potentially, he may step out of his traditional role as a shooting guard if he were in the Zone. Like, maybe he’d steal the ball back after a turnover or something. Takao definitely wouldn’t be able to keep up with him in the Zone, though, so I’m sure a game with Midorima in the Zone would end up like any other GoM-in-the-Zone game: Midorima running the whole thing by himself. I really don’t think it would look much different than the games we’ve already seen with Midorima, though. He’d just be sharper. I guess that’s why he was never written to go into the Zone because his abilities don’t really lend themselves to superhuman improvement. Probably because they’re already pretty superhuman.

Is Midorima the Best Shooting Guard in KnB?

Can I answer this with a short answer? Yes, he is. I’m not gonna front and say that the other incredible shooting guards in the series wouldn’t give Midorima a good fight. Tatsuya and Mibuchi, especially, but Hyuuga has also proven that he’s a worthy opponent for him. But it really comes down to accuracy. Midorima could be tricked by Tatsuya shots or foul off of Mibuchi’s, but they can miss. Midorima can’t. Actually, if it came down to a battle of accuracy, Hyuuga is probably the one I’d pick to go up against Midorima. And we’re talking individual abilities here, okay, not a team verses Midorima. One-on-one, Midorima’s basic abilities as a shooting guard outweigh anything else. That’s what they were designed to do when Midorima was written as a character, so I think it’s accurate to say that Midorima would win against any other shooting guard in the series 9 times out of 10. Now, that tenth time may be an interesting discussion to have, but that’s another post for another time.

Well, sorry this took so long to post. I meant to post it about a month ago, but hectic lives don’t leave room for KnB blogs. Anyway, please let me know your thoughts on this topic as I’m sure there are some of you reading that think Midorima is the strongest GoM player or that he’s so weak, any other shooting guard could beat him. I will try to make time for the pile of asks in my inbox in the future, so please bear with me and keep an eye out for what’s to come!

#kuroko no basket #Kuroko's Basketball #knb #Midorima Shintarou #Generation of Miracles #Hyuuga Junpei #tatsuya himuro #Reo Mibuchi #Kuroko Tetsuya #Kise Ryouta #Aomine Daiki #akashi seijuro #Murasakibara Atsushi

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uvobreakmylegs · 4 years

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Floor 200

I’m still working on part two of vampire!Hisoka but here’s a different, shorter piece with him

Warnings: threats of noncon, implied death, implications of smut

You yelped a bit as you moved out of the way of the two young boys who burst out from the elevator, barely managing to avoid them plowing you down as they sprinted past you.

The boy wearing green at least had the decency to call back a “sorry!” to you as they ran, and the rather messy-looking man with glasses that followed behind them also offered you a quick apology before going on his way. Just as quickly as those three had come, they were gone, leaving through a side entrance of Heaven's Arena while your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest at how sudden and unexpected all of that had been.

The encounter was more confusing than anything. With the amount of dangerous characters that lived in the tower, it certainly wasn't a place for children to be running around like that. Some of the people here really didn't give a shit, and if those two ran into someone who was actually dangerous and bloodthirsty, you feared what the end result of that would be.

The elevator doors sliding shut brought you back to reality, and you pushed your arm against one door to hold it open as you slipped inside, pushing the button for the 200th floor.

Thinking about those boys again brought back memories of your own childhood, of running around and playing with your friends and getting into trouble. You sighed a little bit, thinking of the things you used to do and wondering where all that energy had gone now that you'd grown up.

….. Dear God, had you really gotten to the point in your life where you'd be reminiscing about your childhood and the fact that you'd grown up to be as miserable as everybody else? It wasn't like you were that old.

You didn't want to focus on that slightly depressing thought, so you turned your attention to the bags of groceries you held and the meal you planned to make. Tonight was special. After finishing up a few jobs and going through his Hunter exam, Hisoka was actually back and planned to stick around for a while. So to celebrate both his success and return you were planning on cooking dinner for the two of you. You couldn't help feeling a little bit of excitement at the thought of it. It was such a small thing to eat dinner together, but it had been a while since you had seen him last, and you wanted to make the most of it.

The downside of living on the 200th floor of the arena meant that the elevator rides were terribly long, so you usually let your mind wander as the car made its way up the numerous floors. At least the long ride helped you to calm down from that little bit of shock earlier.

The ding of the elevator and the sound of the doors sliding open alerted you when you reached your destination. You left the elevator car and veered to the right towards the hallway that lead to Hisoka's room.

“Hey you- Oh.”

A voice sounded from behind, and you turned around to see who had spoken, finding three men that you knew better than you wanted to. Though for the life of you, you could never remember their names. You only knew them as the one in the wheelchair, the freaky-looking one missing an arm, and the other freaky-looking one in red. Gido.... That one was named Gido. You were about 90% sure that was correct.

“Can I help you?” you asked them.

They all avoided your gaze.

“We were waiting for someone else,” the one without an arm said, “thought you were these two kids that made it to the floor.”

“Do I look like two kids?”

None of them responded to your question. It was clear that they wanted you to leave, but after the last time you had been confronted in these hallways, they knew better than to even say anything out of line.

Hisoka had been pushing you to move in with him, and while you weren't really sure you wanted to live at the tower full-time, you couldn't deny that the room he had on the 200th floor was nice. A lot nicer than anything you could afford in that city. And since there weren't any rent or utilities that needed to be paid, it would be a good opportunity to save up some cash. So you agreed, much to Hisoka's delight.

The incident occurred when you had been moving in; Hisoka had gone on ahead of you, carrying a few boxes while you were bringing up a few bags full of clothes. On the way to Hisoka's room, those three had stopped you, along with a fourth man, one who was covered in burn scars and missing an eye. It was obvious you weren't a nen user, so they'd demanded to know what you were doing up there.

“My boyfriend lives here; I'm moving in with him,” you told them.

“Boyfriend, huh?” the one with the scars asked, “what, you cozied up to one of the fighters here so you could live in luxury without working for it?”

“I don't have to explain myself to you,” you answered.

“No, but you'll do it anyway.”

“Fuck off.”

At that he grabbed you by the throat and slammed you into the wall, the other three laughing behind him as he held you in place.

“It just isn't good for the arena's image if any random slut off the street can be living up on this level alongside the quality fighters,” he said, “so beat it, you stupid bitch. You don't belong here.”

“And a bunch of losers who barely survived their initiations do?”

Your words seemed to hit a nerve for all four of them, and the air around you grew deadly as the grip on your throat became that much tighter. But as he did so, the one with the scars smirked as a thought came to his mind.

“I've got an idea,” he said, “why doesn't your boyfriend make a wager with me? If he fights me and wins, you can stay. But if I win, my buddies and I get to have you for the night, and then you get the fuck outta here.”

“You want to fuck me? I thought I was a slut,” you spat, “is this about humiliating me or are you four just that desperate because no one is stupid enough to willingly get in bed with you?”

He reached with his other hand to grab your jaw and force your mouth closed. Egging him on really was so stupid, but the familiar figure you had noticed from the corner of your eye made you feel a bit more bold.

“You've got a mouth on you. But I've got a few ideas on how to shut you up and put that little smartass mouth to better use.”

The other three had grown quiet, but the one holding you didn't notice.

“So how 'bout it? Will you ask your boyfriend about that wager, or should I?”

It was hard to speak with how he was holding you, but you responded as you pointed to your right.

“I think.... He already heard.”

The scarred man's eyes followed where you were pointing, and when he saw Hisoka standing within earshot, you swore that man's soul just about left his body.

The other three had already noticed him, and were actively trying to distance themselves from their fourth.

Hisoka was smiling, but the second the man laid eyes on him bloodlust he had been holding back oozed from him, filling up the hallway and consuming all four.

The man who had been on your case backed away from you, holding up his hands in surrender.

“I-I-I d-didn't know,” he sputtered.

Hisoka didn't answer at first. He casually walked up to you two and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. With how Hisoka's nails dug into your hip, you could tell that Hisoka was well and truly pissed off. The man had stayed where he was, the murderous aura keeping him in place.

Hisoka looked to him.

“I accept your wager.”

The fight between them was one of the most gruesome things you had ever witnessed, and it went down as one of the bloodiest matches in the tower's history. The remaining trio didn't go anywhere near Hisoka after that, and they did everything they could to avoid you as well.

Whatever they were waiting for must have been important to them, seeing as they weren't turning around and leaving at the sight of you. They had mentioned kids, and you wondered if they were referring to the two boys who had come from the elevator.

But ultimately, it wasn't any of your business, and you motioned to the hallway you had been headed for as you asked “do you need me for something? I've got stuff I need to do.”

They shook their heads, their eyes still averted, and you continued on your way. The petty side of you wanted to throw back a quip of some kind, but you decided against it. They already didn't like you; there was no point in making things worse and have them resent you further.

Though it was probably hard for them to start shit when they remembered the way their old buddy was cut to pieces.

When you entered that hallway, to your surprise, you found Hisoka sitting on the floor at the other end. His eyes widened and he grinned when he saw you, flicking the card he was holding and throwing it into the wall. Reaching the end of the hallway, you found several playing cards that had been sliced into the wall at various angles. What the hell was he doing?

“.... What'd the wall do to you?” you finally asked.

Hisoka paused, a new card he was about to throw still between his fingers as he looked over to you.

“After we've been apart for so long, that's the first thing you say to me?” he responded, his eyebrow raised. Though he still had that teasing grin.

“You're making a nuisance of yourself,” you answered, “who exactly is going to clean this up once you're done here?”

“Who knows. It's not my problem.”

“I used to work in jobs like these, Hisoka. Trust me, cleaning up something like this won’t be fun.”

“The people who will clean this up aren't you, so I don't care,” he responded.

You sighed. You wouldn't be getting anywhere with this argument; better to just let it go.

“Is there a reason you're sitting on the floor out here?” you tried instead.

“I'm waiting for someone.”

“Hm. I'm guessing it's not me.”

“Afraid not.”

“Who then?”

“Two promising little fighters who've caught my eye,” Hisoka mused, “but they aren't quite ready to be up on this level just yet. And unless they can get past me, they won't be advancing any further.”

“So this is some kind of initiation thing?” you asked.

“In a way.”

“And how long is this going to take?”

“They need to be back before midnight, so possibly until then.”

Your eyes narrowed at that bit of information.

“Oh? Is something wrong?” Hisoka asked, tilting his head as he looked at you.

“Haven't you forgotten something, Hisoka?”

Seconds passed by as he looked up at you, and you couldn't tell if he was just bullshitting you or if he had genuinely forgotten your plans for the evening.

“Oh!” he exclaimed after a moment, “we were planning on dinner, weren't we?”

“It seriously took you that long to remember?” you asked dryly.

“You'll have to forgive me, pet. I simply got caught up in the moment. You know how I get sometimes.”

“Unfortunately, yeah, I do,” you sighed, “so you're just going to blow me off tonight?”

“It isn't anything personal. This is just something I need to see through,” he explained.

“Oh, of course. At least I know how high I am on your list of priorities,” you responded sarcastically.

Hisoka frowned at that, and as he threw the card he had been holding into the wall, he said “you know I don't like it when you say things like that, even as a joke.”

'Just like you know I don't like it when you cancel last-minute,' was what you wanted to say to him. But as disappointed as you were, you didn't want to get into an argument immediately after seeing him again. And it was easy enough to reschedule a dinner.

“Whatever. We can move dinner to tomorrow,” you shrugging as you conceded.

“I appreciate it,” he said, smiling.

“I guess if I'm not awake by the time you get back, I'll see you in the morning.”

Hisoka nodded, and you began to walk forward, passing him and heading to your room.

A thought occurred to you then, and you turned back.

“When was the last time you ate, Hisoka?”

He seemed caught slightly off-guard by the question, and he looked to the side as his brain tried to recall the last time he had done something as basic as making sure he ate.

“You can't even remember, can you?” you asked him.

“I'll have something when I get back,” he said, shrugging.

You sighed again. Adjusting the bags so you held both on one arm, you rummaged through as you walked back to him. Hisoka looked at you curiously as you held out an apple for him.

“Eat something, idiot.”

Hisoka chuckled.

“If you insist,” he replied, taking the apple.

“I always appreciate the way you take care of me, pet.”

“Yeah, but maybe one of these days you could start to take care of yourself. Kinda sad you need me to remind you to eat, of all things.”

“I can't help it. I like it when you dote on me.”

“Idiot.”

A slight blur of movement from the end of the hallway caught your attention. Someone was listening in, it seemed. Based off the slight bit of red you had seen, it was safe to assume it was Gido. Why he was listening to you and Hisoka you weren't sure. And it didn't seem that Hisoka had seemed to care; if you had noticed him, than Hisoka definitely knew he was there.

“Something wrong? I wouldn't want to keep you out here as well,” Hisoka said.

“... No, everything's fine. I just need to do one last thing.”

“Oh?”

“Since you're blowing me off for dinner, I want something from you.”

You knelt down on your knees and set the bags to the side before you moved in to place a kiss on Hisoka's lips, resting your hands on his chest. He had seemed rather surprised at first and didn't move. But when you began to pull away he reacted, his hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pressing you harder against his lips. When you felt his tongue trying to force its way in you relented, opening your mouth and allowing him access. You weren't able to stop the groan that came out of you at the sensation of his tongue moving against your own, and to you it sounded like the noise echoed slightly in the empty hallway. Hisoka always made his kisses intense, and you were always left with flushed cheeks by the end of it.

When you pulled away again, he allowed it. His finger twirled a strand of your hair as he breathed “if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were using me to keep certain pests off your back.”

“Well, you have to be good for something, right?”

“Cheeky thing.”

You hummed as you stood back up, Hisoka trailing his hand down your arm as you did so, the sensation of his nails running along your skin giving you goosebumps. One glance back down that hallway and you could sense that there wasn't anyone there. Probably too awkward for even Gido to keep watching you two. Hisoka had already pulled out another playing card as you picked up the rest of the groceries.

“See you later, Hisoka.”

You began to walk away again, but when Hisoka called out your name, you paused and turned your head. There was a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Don't think you can rile me up and then get away with no consequences,” he told you.

“I don't know what you mean,” you said, feigning ignorance.

“Then I'll have to show you what I mean when I come back tonight.”

“It might have to wait until tomorrow; if you're coming back after midnight I'm going to be asleep. I'm not waiting up for you.”

“Trust me, pet,” he purred as he flung another card at the wall, “you won't be getting much sleep tonight.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the way he said it. It was hardly even that dirty, and he had certainly said much dirtier things to you before. But in a way that only he was able, Hisoka managed to leave you flustered and incapable of keeping eye contact with him. Turning your head away from him just made it worse, as he chuckled at your embarrassment.

“We'll see,” was all you could say.

It was a pretty weak response, and you were quick to head back to the room, trying not to walk away too quickly and show him how much of a hurry you were in to get out of that situation.

Despite all that, you couldn't help the slight feeling of anticipation from what he promised.

You'd probably end up waiting up for him after all.

#hisoka x reader #Hisoka #hxh hisoka #reader insert #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hxh #hisoka morow #yandere hunter x hunter

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lilsocksiswriting · 3 years

Text

Osamu(s)

Fandom: Haikyuu

Paring: Osamu X fem!reader X Future!Osamu

Summary: On a stormy night, your boyfriend shows up at your door with his future self in two.

Warnings: No beta, Post time skip spoilers, minors DNI

Tags: dirty talk, masturbation, thigh fucking, voyeurism, overstimulation, crempires

Word Count: 4366

There was just something about tonight that made things feel amiss. it was smack dab in the middle of midterms week. Everyone was either studying, out at the bats drinking aways their dread, or like you trying to finish midterm papers. This makes the apartment complex you lived in quieter than usual which you don't mind at all. You can hear the heavy downpour of rain more clearly because of it too. You look up from the screen of your laptop to outside the window and at the street lamps below. the rain dampens the street lights, limiting their reach, and making them seem more like fairly glowing orbs. They add to the mysterious ambiance of the night.

A ding draws your attention back to your phone's screen has lit up with a banner of Osamu's name surrounded by grey hearts and stars

Osamu: babe?

Y/N: Hey bubs

Osamu: something weird happened

Y/N: Are you ok?

Osamu: yea. I was just getting in my head again.

Y/N: Oh no

Osamu: I know I'm sorry.

Y/N: you don't have to apologize. I'm not mad, it happens. I'm happy that you aren't keeping it to yourself this time.

Osamu: right, well as I was thinking was when the weird thing happened.

Y/N: and what is this weird thing?

Osamu: we're coming over

Y/N: what?

Osamu: is are coming over?

Y/N: what? Osamu what are you trying to say?

since Osamu only lived a floor above you in a studio apartment much like your own it didn't take long after his text for you to hear a knock on your door. When you open it you realize that 'is' wasn't a typo at all. 'is' was Osamu's attempt at making a plural of I.

Standing in the doorway was the Osamu who knew and loved. Board look slumped shoulders with hands stuffed in the pocket of the sweats he taken to wearing more often. Beside him was another man, more specifically another him. This Osamu was smirking in the same way Osamu still did from time to time, smug and relaxed, and stood a little straighter. Maybe even a little taller? He dressed in black sort and jeans, like a uniform of some sort, that is close not his broads body.

"Well, aren't ya goin' to invite in sweetheart?" the other Osamu asks and you move aside.

When the door clicks shut it also clicks for you who exactly this Osamu is. who he has to be. You follow behind the present Osama down the small hallway that opens up into the rest of your apartment. Older Osamu makes a b-line to your window to close the blinds while the other plops himself down on your couch making himself right at home leaning back and spreading his legs. if this was any other situation would have taken that as an open invitation to crawl onto his lap. Taking notice of the you-sized spot between his legs you also notice how the pair of sweats he wore were looking quite dingy. You wonder if he was heading into one of those weeks again where he barely slept, barely took care of himself, and stressed ate all your snacks. mid-terms week was definitely the kind of week where it would happen.

You give him that soft look but don't ask if he's been taking care of himself instead you ask, "He's for the future isn't he?"

Osamu nods seeming to not catch on the look or choosing to ignore it. "That's the weird thing that happened. He just sort of appeared."

The amazement that time travel existed and proof of that had now walk back over to stand in front of you right in front of you didn't cross your mind at first. What was crossing your mind was a series of questions. It takes the rest of your body a minute to catch up to these racing questions and actually speak one out.

"We're still together right?"

Older Osamu's laugh answers your question but he tells you anyway," I wouldn't be here if we weren't."

"And how exactly do we get you to from here back to where you belong, in the future."

"Tryin' to get rid of me already?" he cocks his head to the side teasing you. You look between present and future Osamu and find that neither seems bothered by the timeline consequences the older being here has. but hey guess that's anxiety for you.

"No, but why are you here? How are you here? How do we get you back so we don't fuck up the timeline?" you blurt out one question after the other to older Osamu and he just stands in front of you, thick arms crossing over his broad chest letting you get them all out.

The fact that neither of them seems to fully grasp the gravity of the situation infuriates you. "How are you two not freaking out about this?"

"Because one way or another he goes back after what happens tonight.”

you give the present version a questionable look. They definitely knew something that you didn't and weren't talking about it yet. "you two know something. What happens tonight?"

Instead of the present Osamu explaining, his older self tells you. "I don't really know how I get back but I do because he's still here," he points to himself," and I'm still for the future, a better version because of what happens tonight."

You don't miss the way his voice drops or how you notice him towering over you. You just try to focus on what they aren't telling you.

"What happens tonight?" you repeat the question.

"I show my past self how much better he can be," The older Osamu explains but it still leaves out the answer you looking for.

The order Osamu goes on," You know I was at a pretty low point at this time in my life. I didn't think that I was ever goin' to amount to anything. I would always be a stick in my twin's shadow, I'd be the less attractive twin, I'd always be dealin' with some bad patch of acne or my clothes were never goin' fit right, I'd always be sad like this. I never deserve you-"

"Ok," you cut him off. "Ok, I get it."

"He's not wrong ya know," you look over at the couch.

"I know... it's just hard to hear," you admit feeling guilty and ashamed for doing so. You want to be here for Osamu. You knew what he was going through since his twin got scouted for a pro team and you knew that you \ but that didn't make hearing how Osamu thought about himself anymore easy to hear. You were human. You loved Osamu. And sometimes it was hard to hear about problems of his that you didn't know how to make better.

"But that changes tonight. After tonight I get help, start seein’ a therapist. I start plannin’ for a future instead of being convinced that I don’t have one. I start to rub the amazing relationship I have with you in my twin's face. I start to learn to stop hatin’ my body for changing," The order supplies.

you frown. "But what happens tonight?"

Older Osamu leaned in closer to you, very close. So close that you can feel his breath rolls off your skin as he tells you, "Tonight I show my younger self how good he's gonna be able to fuck you in the near future ."

Well, damn. You weren’t expecting that. Mabey something a little closer to a heartfelt talk that would help Osamu out at this point of his life. This wasn’t to say that you were opposed to the idea. In fact, taking another look at the older version of your boyfriend, you were very ok with letting him rail you while the other watched. But someone about it felt wrong? More specifically it made you feel like it was something wrong.

The way the idea settles in your gut makes you turn your head slightly to look at the present version who’s still seated at the couch but sitting up a little straighter now. Anxiously and hopefully waiting for your answer.

“Are you sure?”

He nods then adds, “But only if you want to.”

You very much want to, it’s just….” Would this even count as cheating or like being with someone else?”

The older Osamu chuckles putting his knuckles under your chin and guiding your face back to his. “Darlin’ we’re the same person.”

That seems to settle your nerves and you nod. “Ok then. Show us.”

A smile breaks out across the order’s face. His other arms loops around your waist pulling you fully into his broad frame. “That’s my girl.”

The older Osamu tastes just the same as the present. The only difference is that he’s a lot less shy about using his tongue. Hell, he’s a lot less shy about using his whole body, and you honestly love it. The more that older Osamu explores your mouth with his, the harder you can feel him getting in his pants. Pulled so tightly against him means that you can feel every little twitch his cock gives in reaction to every little noise you’re able to make. Eventually, you two have to pull away for air. Dizzy with lips swollen you rest your cheek against the order’s heaving chest and look at to the younger who is staring at you like he’s start stuck. It’s cute.

“See,” The older tells his younger self. “Look how dizzy you can make her when you aren’t second-guessing everything.”

If the older was going to be bold, then so were you. You smooth a hand down his stomach, past his belt buckle and grip and the budge below it. All the while not taking your eyes off the present version of your boyfriend. This earns you a sharp intake of air from the older that comes out on a pleased exhale. “And don’t think for a minute that she doesn’t want all of you. Right darlin'? Look at you already tryin' to get at my cock.”

“You’re already hard.”

He nods. “And all for you. All’ve ya done is be your pretty little self and I’m already achin’ for ya.”

You squeeze your thighs together. You love to be dotted on by Osamu. You had realized early on that you definitely had a praise kink but only when it came to Osamu. With gentle hands, Osamu turns to the body so that you’re facing the present version. A firm hold on your arms holds you in place as a hot mouth leaves sloppy kisses along your neck in just the right spots to keep you feeling light-headed. Those hands eventually move. Snaking up too to grope at your titis through your sweatshirt. You go to squeeze your thighs together again, but suddenly there’s one less hand on your breast and a hand forcing your thighs apart.

“When she does that, squeeze her thighs together like that, it means she’s getting riled up,” The older explains while pressing fingers into your clothes clit and rubbing at it causing you to squirm slightly. “Why don’t we show him how wet you are darlin’?”

You simply nod because you want to see too. You can feel how arousal that's collected between your folds, but you've never gotten wet so fast before. Osamu gives you a little kiss on the cheek and helps you slip out of your legging and underwear leaving you bare from the waist down. You shiver both from your heated skin being exposed to the cool air of your apartment and the way that Osamu is staring from his spot on the couch/ The intensity of that look never fails to go straight to your groin.

One of older Osamu's hands dips between your spread thigh pushing through your folds. His fingers are a little rougher and that small difference feels so good. His fingers rub back and forth a few times, collecting your wetness as they go, before pulling them easy much to your dismay.

The older Osamu holds them up so that both you and his present self can see the strings of slick at connecting one digital to the other.

"Fuck," You both breathe.

Beyond the fingers, you can see Osamu relaxing into the couch and palming the crotch of his sweats

"'Samu, "You wine at both the older for him to touch you more and at the sight of the present touching himself.

"Aww, you want me to keep touching you down there darlin'?" the older coos into your year.

"Please," You ask nicely not feeling the least bit ashamed since both you and the present Osamu seem to want exactly that.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head darlin'," you feel warm hands slip up your sweatshirt. "I'm gonna touch you plenty. I can barely keep my hands off ya as is, but I wanna give my younger self a good view of how we make your body feel. So come off with the sweatshirt."

You do exactly as you told and strip out of your sweatshirt. You'd do anything to feel his fingers again. Osamu goes back to massaging your tits again, this time playfully rubbing your perk nippled between his fingers. Either Osamu wasn't telling you now you or at some point in the future, he loves playing with your boobs. You're only complaint was that he wasn't paying enough attention to the rest, more needing, parts of your body.

"Osamu, please~" you beg.

"See how easy it is to get her so needy?'

"Yea," the present Osamu nods his head stuffing a hand down his sweats.

"She just loves our touch that much. Right now if you were to ask she'd beg you to touch her, to fuck her, to do anything really, as long as it's us doing it," The older Osamu nudged your cheek with his nose making you crane your neck so that your lips are almost touching. " She's such a slutty little girl, " he says lower, "but she's our slutty girl, and we fucking love it."

Osamu's mouth is on yours again and there are fingers that aren't just rubbing your clit but now slipping inside. You moan into the older's mouth and buck your hips grinding against his hands. You hear a low curse from the present Osamu.

"Well, shit you look like your dick's about to explode there. You're about to cum but you're trying to make it last because you can't last very long after the first time can't ya."

A frustrated groan escapes the present Osamu's lips. He has the waistband of his sweats pulled down past his hips and his hand gripping the base of his flushed cock. He looked just about as lost in pleasure as you but had retained some sense of himself to pay attention so that he can learn how to make you feel this good in the future.

"Don't fret though because you're going to be able to go for rounds. Y/N can barely keep up in the future. I usually leave her so fucked out by the end of the night, but I make sure to take good care of her. Treat her to a nice bath and some home-cooked food in bed after I wreck her cunt. "

"O-Osamu," the name tumbles out as your breath quickens, everything that hen man was doing and describing to his younger self was so fucking hot and heavenly sounding.

"Holy fuck."

"Right? See what you can do when you start the impossible is possible? " he then addresses you. "You want more darlin'?"

"Please~"

"holy fuck Y/N," the present Osamu moans slowly stroking himself, "you sound so fucking good right now darlin'."

"That's what we love to hear," the older Osamu purrs. His hands leave your body but only for a moment to he unbuckles his pants and pull his dick free giving it a few pumps. Then they're on you again, grabbing your hips and lifting you up just enough that you stand on your tippy-toes.

"Now I'm gonna need to you stay just like that and keep squeezing those pretty thighs together. Can ya do that for us, darlin'?"

when he uses that nickname in that pitch of voice? It was a power that the present Osamu didn't realize he had yet, and god helps you the day that he did because you would do just about anything when he say's 'darlin' like that. you nod your yea with a little 'yes' and you feel the older's hands move to a firm grip on your elbows.

When he roughly pulls you into him your eyes go wild. This was new. The older Osamu's thick cock slips in and out from between your thigh, each thrust making your whole body jolt. Each time his hips meet the blunt head of his dick slips slang you slit and bumps against your slit making you see stars. All the while the present Osamu watches completely enthralled by the sight of his older self fucking your thighs. The way you titis are bouncing with every thrust, the way his older self is handing you like some treasured fuck toy, and those breathless moans you don't hold back, that's what he wants. He wants to be able to fuck you like that. He wants to be the only one to be able to make you feel the way you feeling right now. He just never thought he could until now.

"Does it feel good darlin'? The tip of my fat cock rubbing you like this?"

"y-yes!", answer as he paces quickens.

"Are you gonna cum like this? From me fucking your thighs while my younger self watches?"

you nod vigorously, the feeling of orgasm quickly building in your gut each time the tip of his dick meets your clit. You squeeze your thighs tighter your head lulls back when it finally washes over you.

"Shit," Osamu curses in your ear as his hips sputter and he spills his cum between your thighs, "Shit, that's it darlin' keep squeezin' round me like that. Don't she look so cute?"

"You haven't even fucked her yet," the present Osamu comments making the older chuckles

"You ready to watch that?”

"God yes," Osamu breaths out looking so desperate to watch you get railed by his older self that it's downright adorable.

The older Osamu chuckles. He handles you like you don't weigh a thing to him lifting you up and laying you back down at the end of the bed. The way the couch is facing the present Osamu has a perfect side view of the two of you. You set yourself up on your elbows when the older steps away. He doesn't bother stripping, he simply pulled his tee-shirt over his head and pushed his jeans down a little more.

"Oh god," You moan because holy fuck you have never wanted Osamu as bad as you wanted him now. He stands to at the foot of your had hands on his hips and a lopsided smirk letting you admire him in what wasn't even his full glory.

This thing that really gets you is how much Osamu hasn't, or in this cane won't change. His body was mostly the same. There's some muscles mass you could see in his forearm, chest, and the way that he manhandles you. His tits are still nice and supple, just begging for you to leave hickies on, and a faint patch of hair grows along his sternum. Your eyes roam across his soft tummy that has the faintest outline of abs the closer you look. Following his thicker trail of hair below his navel leads to his erect cock standing tall and as proud as he is that’s glistening under the soft light in your wetness.

"See," he glances at his younger self and his voice softens. "She really does love us and our body. Every last bit of it. Even on the day when we don't."

He then turns back to you," Now are you ready for me to fuck you darlin'?"

"Yes," you answer and spread your legs that are dangling off the foot of your bed a little wider to accommodate him.

When Osamu pushes into you there's a familiar burn of yourself stretching around him. The older takes things slowly so that you feel every inch of him entering you. Once he's bottom out in you Osamu takes your legs and wraps that around his waist.

Osamu's pace starts out slow and deep but doesn't stay this way for long. Soon your small apparent is filled with all sorts of lewd sounds. The loudest of which was the dull slaps of skin and squelching every time he thrusts back into you. They barely cover your breathless moans and high pitch whimpers. Both Osamu's are also being quite vocal. The present Osamu is cursing again as he bucks his hip and cums into his closed fist. Meanwhile, the older Osamu is grunting, jacking hammering into you. You can barely keep up with the brutal pace the older's set. All that you can really do at this point is grab and claw at his shoulders for something to hang on to for dear life too.

"Oh fuck. Oh, fuck Dalrin' you're gonna make me cum. Yer just suckin' me in a like that- shit! cummin'! I'm cummin' Y/N," Osamu moans burying himself as deep as he can inside you and flooding you with his release.

Feeling yourself being filled with Osamu's cum pushes you over the edge. Your walls flutters around his dick and thighs shake around his hips as you cum.

The order barely gives you time to catch your breath before he's calling for his younger self to switch places with him. The present Osamu is on his feet in an instant stripping out of his clothes on his way to you. The other Osamu moves aside, setting down on the couch and relaxing his arms across the back of it. He doesn't even bother to tuck his flaccid cock back into his jeans or fix his shirt. He smiles at the scene before him.

Osamu is hunched over you so you can wrap your arms around his neck and pull him that much closer to you as he fucks you. Like his older self, the pace is fast and deep. You can try and buck your hips but they aren't in sync with his thrusts. The mess, the disorganized movements of the two of you make things hotter, more intense. You're cumming again with a pleasured sob and Osamu continues to fuck you through it reaching his own high.

And he doesn't stop. Your present boyfriend keeps his feet planted on the floor and keeps fucking into even when his cum is being to seep out of your stuffed hole. He pulls away just enough so that he can see your flushed and sweaty face that he cups in his hands.

"One more yea"

your jaw trembles and the only words you can get out are incoherent so you nod.

A tired smile breaks out across his face. "That's my girl. Gonna make you f-feel so good. I'm going to make sure you always feel this good. gonna stuff you so full of my cum~"

You cum right along with Osamu, letting out a silent scream to fucked to do anything else. You can feel his whole body shudder as he pulls out of you. You immediately feel a mixture of you, him, and maybe even his future self leak out of your spent cunt. You feel him move you up the bed so that you can catch your breath while fully laying in your own bed with Osamu cuddled up next to you.

"Darlin'."

"Hmmm?" you hum eyes still closed.

"He's gone."

You peak an eye open and sure enough, the couch was empty now. You were too tired to really think about where the older Osamsua had gone but somewhere in your mind was the assumption that he went back to his own timeline in the future.

"Too tired and icky to care."

You feel fingers thread themself through you and massage your scalp. you lean into Osamu's touch and you're fully content to just lay here in the mess the two of them had made of you for the rest of the night.

"How about I run you a nice bath and we get cleaned up hmm? We can go back to my place and worry about your sheets tomorrow. "

"Will you cook for me?"

"Whatever ya want darlin'."

A few years down the road Osamu bursts into the apartment that you two share scaring the living hell out of you. "Fuck! Don't burst in like that."

"Sorry," he apologizes kicking off his shoes. "But it happened It finally happened."

"What happened?"

He strides over to the couch where you had been working on to laptop but set it aside and pulls you into his lap. He nuzzles his face into your neck and you can feel his wide smile on your skin. "That night during Junior year."

"We had lots of nights Junior. Give me more than that." you request already thinking of your favorite nights spent with Osamu rather it was making an all-night drive just to watch the sunrise, nights where you went out in a group of friends and went home wearing his shoes or being carried on his back, nights spent in eating his cooking, nights spent with his dick plugged into you...

"I made love to you while I watch."

"Ah that night," you smile, "The details are a little fuzzy, Mabey you can help job my memory after dinner with the team tonight?"

His arms tightened around your waist, "Oh, gladly darlin'."

more my Haijyuu fics can be found here: Haikyuu collection

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #osamu miya #osamu x y/n #haikyuu osamu #osamu scenarios #privet stacks

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detectivehannibal · 4 years

Text

Baking Pleasures

Hannibal Lecter x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of sexual content.

Word Count: 1,207

“Baking isn’t so bad. Is it, Dr. Lecter?”

You didn’t have the beg Hannibal for much. More often than not, all you had to do was ask and he was all over it. Over the years, you had stretched and experimented to see just how far you could go to get what you wanted (within reason, of course). As far as your current request was concerned, it should’ve been no problem at all. That’s why you were so surprised at how adamant he was being about NOT doing it.

Hannibal was a culinary master...depending on who you asked. He put careful thought, time, and precision into his cooking. If it wasn’t picture perfect, then he didn’t serve it. Every element of his dishes were intentional and methodical. His courses were planned to delicate perfection. Cooking was likely his biggest passion. Which is why you were just so confused that he wouldn’t do this for you.

“Come on, please? I don’t understand what the problem is.” You asked for the thousandth time.

“There simply isn’t a problem. I just don’t have the desire to do it.” He replied, not looking up from the book in his hand.

You huffed at that. The man had done so much for you in your time together and this is where he drew the line? It was a little pathetic if you were being honest.

“I thought you’d love the idea of it! It’s almost Christmas, you know. I think it’s only fitting to get into the spirit.” You argued back.

He looked at you briefly with one of you most unamused expressions you had ever seen, before silently returning his attention to his selected reading. Who would’ve thought that getting Hannibal Lecter to bake gingerbread cookies would be like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like you were asking him to give you a kidney or anything. You stared at him for the next following moments, his sigh was heavy as he closed the book.

“I don’t bake.” He stated plainly.

“Yes, you do. I’ve seen you do it!” You screeched.

He shook his head;

“I bake exquisite dishes. That is well beyond my wheelhouse.” He bantered.

Your eyes squinted and you shook your head in disbelief. Surely he wasn’t denying this because he didn’t know how to. You knew he had to have a recipe somewhere in his array of culinary directions. He wasn’t lying when he said that this wasn’t something that he would normally do. The thought of it just seemed menial and rather pointless. Hannibal didn’t even really do much for Christmas. He never even decorated until you moved in. Even then he didn’t really get that involved with it. So gingerbread cookies weren’t in his best interest. Honestly, you just thought that this would’ve been something fun for the two of you to do.

“Hanni, this isn’t going to diminish your reputation as a chef or anything,” You explained; “I wasn’t trying to invalidate your skills.”

He felt a little twinge in his chest. He was a prideful man, even if he didn’t show it most of the time. He didn’t cherish the thought of doing anything that would be considered out of character. Something as commercial and something so childish (in his opinion) just wasn’t him. However, doing things for your benefit and your entertainment was definitely not out of character for him. He genuinely loved doing things for you. Perhaps his love language was acts of service. If nothing else, maybe he could score some extra boyfriend points if he did this. After all, he found it hard to say no to you.

“Of course not, darling. I never thought you were,” He said, turning to face you; “If you will, go set up the kitchen. I’ll be there shortly.”

Giddy with excitement, you leapt from the sofa and made a mad dash for his culinary wonderland. He only smiled and offered the lightest laugh at your behavior. Just what had he gotten himself into?

Sure enough, Hannibal had a recipe stashed away in his cabinet. It was fairly simple as far as ingredients go. All-purpose flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, sugar. It was pretty straightforward. You sat across from him, watching intently as his hands worked their magic. You were rather talkative in the kitchen, which he didn’t mind. He liked when you asked questions or displayed your curiosity. He loved hearing the sound of your voice.

“Baking isn’t so bad. Is it, Dr. Lecter?” You asked with a charmed smirk.

He had to admit. He was having the time of his life. He never thought that doing something so basic and commercialized would bring him such joy. Maybe he wasn’t such a stranger to common life after all.

“I must admit that it is rather pleasurable. Especially when it’s for my wife.” He said, flashing a smile.

He rolled out the chestnut colored dough onto his vast countertop, noting to himself that he didn’t really have any way to shape them. Nonetheless, he was very steady with his hands and he could carve them out on his own. He pulled a slender knife from one of his drawers, leaning down closely to accurately trace gingerbread men-like shapes. You leaned forward on your elbows watching the way his focus zeroed in on the current task at hand. Eventually, he was able to sculpt out 12 cookies, which were just about as flawless as he could’ve gotten them.

20 minutes in the oven (and a love making quickie on the counter) later, Hannibal presented to you the most gorgeous cookies you had ever seen. They were seriously like something out of a holiday card. You were over the moon with how they turned out, but even then they were still missing the best part. You had always loved decorating cookies ever since you were a little kid. You felt as if you didn’t need to pain Hannibal further, so you took it upon yourself. Now with the roles reversed, he watched as you filled the whipped up icing into a piping bag, ready to go. He observed the way your fingers gently guided the correct amount of icing onto each cookie, your arm steadily moving the direction of how the icing flowed around the edges of each individual cookie.

“I think they’re finished!” You exclaimed after a few moments later.

Hannibal approached next to you, looking down at your work. It was pretty nifty, he had to admit. He selected one and held to your lips. You took a generous bite, the flavor like a sweet wave over your taste buds.

“So, what’s the verdict?” He questioned jokingly.

Your eyelashes fluttered as a satisfied grin appeared on your face;

“Amazing as always.” You complimented.

He took a bite himself from the same one, he was also content with your conjoined work.

“That makes two of you.” He spoke.

You felt your cheeks get hot, but fired off at him;

“Forward today, aren’t we? You make gingerbread cookies once and now you’re suddenly bold.”

He hummed, gripping your hips and pulling you to him. His voice was like silk in your ear, and it was enough to make you forget all about the cookies at hand.

“You just don’t know how bold I can get.”

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #Hannibal TV #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal imagine #hannibal lecter imagines #detectivehannibal

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softukiyos · 3 years

Text

[teaser] the enemies to lovers project | lee minho

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~14𝘬+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬!

𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚: 𝙢𝙖𝙮 1𝙨𝙩.

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄 -

“You know I despise you, right?”

“Oh, despise. Such a big word, sweetheart,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, “If it's any consolation, I utterly abhor your presence as well.”

“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here, sitting across from me?”

Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars just for putting up with you was a tempting offer I couldn’t bear to refuse.”

You couldn't help but laugh, and you glanced over at the camera pointed at you and Minho, with your mutual friend, Han Jisung, directing the operation. Right, both you and Minho would receive a hundred dollars if you participated in his little social experiment about love. Of course, he had wanted the two of you to do it for free, but neither of you would budge unless there was at least a little bit of monetary incentive. You loved Jisung, you really did, but you weren't going to willingly spend time with Minho unless there was something else to gain.

“Alright, let's get this started before the two of you claw out each other's throats like a pair of angry cats,” Jisung clapped his hands together as he stepped out from behind the camera, “I assume the two of you have a basic idea of the experiment?”

“Of course not, Sungie. It's not like you ran through your proposal to me through FaceTime twenty thousand times before presenting it to your professors,” Minho replied with a pleasant smile.

“And it's not like I read through your written proposal double that amount before you had the courage to hand it in,” you supplied with a similarly saccharine expression.

“It’s not too late to get rid of us and find some other test subjects, Sungie,” you called out with a smile, “We know we’re hard to handle.”

Minho perused through the empty lined pages with a snort, “What are we supposed to do, write our undying confessions on these pages?”

“You’re going to write your honest feelings about each other. And by honest, I mean honest, okay? Neither of you are ever going to read what the other person writes about you, so you don’t have to worry about your reputation or whatever,” Jisung explained, “I’ll be extrapolating information from your entries and your entries only.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at Minho as he closed the book and and leaned back in his seat, “So that’s it, right? We date for a month and right down whether we still hate each other after every encounter?”

Jisung dropped his psychology major professionalism for a moment and smirked, “You know I never half-ass anything. So no questions?”

Minho raised his hand obnoxiously, speaking before Jisung even bothered to call on him, “What happens if one of us falls for the other? Do we win something?”

“Oh dear,” Jisung groaned to himself as he walked over to shut off the camera, a weary expression visible on his face.

This was going to be a very long month. And who knew if either of you were going to come out of it alive.

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘤! 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦!

#stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids reactions #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x y/n #skz x reader #lee minho scenarios #lee minho imagines #lee know imagines

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kissypoets · 4 years

Text

Liability (Reprise)

In which Harry panics about getting mobbed while out for dinner with you and tries to make up for his mistake.

a/n: hihihi omg... this is my first time posting my work on here [ or anywhere, actually ] so please be kind. this was inspired by the song liability (reprise) by lorde!!! was listening to it and this idea just came to me and I really loved how it turned out and really wanted to share. I hope you enjoy :] !!

Word Count: 6, 543

Harry unbuttons his sheer dress shirt, blowing out a puff of air as his chest and stomach relaxes due to being released from the tight space. He folds the sleeves up to his forearms, inked skin being exposed to the cool air in his quiet bedroom, the dimmed iridescent light making his tattoos vivid and clearer than ever before on his tan skin. All the jogging Harry has done at the beach has certainly paid off. His skin was glowing in golden hue, highlighted parts burnt and sunkissed to perfection, leaving a darkened red tone that made him even more captivating. This has always managed to strengthen Harry’s external confidence, finding extra comfort in his tattoos becoming more visible knowing that they covered a part of him he couldn’t imagine exposing bare and blank.

Silence surrounds him as he tears his eyes away from his arm, sitting down on the edge of his bed and letting out another large exhale.

It hasn’t been a great night for him and the fact that he has to come home in a massive space that was filled with nothing but eerie silence certainly makes it worse. He was hoping to stay out all night with you but the moment people got a hold of his whereabouts, he knew better than to sit still and wait for the chaos to slap him in the face. Instead, he rushed both of you outside the restaurant and worry has taken over him completely to the point where taking you home seemed like the best idea to keep you away from the hysteria. You had hoped he was thinking of a more secluded place to bring you to, but when he said you should go, you swallowed the thickening lump in your throat and just nodded your head, trying your best to be understanding of the situation.

He felt beyond stupid thinking about it now. Enraged, dismay and dejected doesn’t even cover the feeling in his gut. Harry was disappointed in himself more than anything, feeling like he’d let you down just within months of being together.

Settling his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, his fingers rubbed his temples due to the pain that was starting to flourish in his dome. He could have done so many things in order to prolong the night and make an effort in your guys' relationship, yet he let the intense fret win him over, causing panic in his brain and feeling like he had no choice but to take you home.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters under his breath as he clasps his hands and pressed it hard against his forehead, “you could have taken her here and cooked a lovely dinner, you dimwit.”

Harry also knew he could’ve been the one to keep you safe tonight. If he was going to cause mayhem in your life, the least he could do was bring you some sort of consolation and protect you from all of it.

He feels so beyond disappointed in himself that the ache in his head has started to squeeze his cranium, agonizing pain rushing through every vein in his body. He was so tired of this continuously happening to everyone important in his life. Even though he loves what he does and feels such vigorous happiness and triumph from it, he still looks at it as a miniscule disadvantage for all his friends, family and partner. If Harry kept tabs on how many times the media and a large crowd has hurt the most important people in his life, then he’ll have an endless stack of it collecting dust in a separate room in his large residence.

Harry takes a few more deep breaths until his shaking ceases, doing what he was instructed by his therapist when needing to calm his anxiety and getting rid of the trepidation forming in the pit of his stomach and on the deep end of his throat. He swallows thickly and straightens his back, inhaling and exhaling one last time.

Calling you to explain himself and checking in on how you were doing was the right thing to do right now. He reaches in his pockets, pulling out his phone and instantly putting you on dial. He has your number memorized and favorited in his contacts, the bold font of his nickname for you listed first on the section.

The phone rang once, twice, then four more times before it went straight to voicemail. It didn’t even vex him, he just stayed on the line and listened to your sweet voice echo through his ear drums, savoring every syllable that left your mouth. You sounded like how it felt to touch velvet, or the feeling of bliss that rushes through him whenever he finishes a song. You felt good, you sounded good.

A wave of calmness hits his body, the frustration and disappointment in him halting for a second as he focuses on your saccharine voice, “hey! So sorry for not being able to pick up your call. Chances are I’m sleeping or completely engulfed by a book. I promise to get back to you as soon as possible. Hope you’re well, bye!’

When the line cuts off, Harry looks at his phone screen, enthralled by the brief message. He wasted no time dialing your number again, standing up to pace around the room when worry creeps back in his abdomen. Hands settled on his hip, he bites his lip as he waits in vehement anticipation for you to greet him through the phone. But after several rings, it leads to your voicemail again and he’s left even more concerned.

“Fuck,” he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, shoving one of his hand inside his pants to bring some comfort in his physique, “one more call.”

The airconditioning in the room roared loudly, coming to life and blowing soft, cool air from the ceiling. Harry’s forgotten that he still had his dress shirt on, opened wide on the center and exposing his abdominal muscles and the large butterfly inked on the center of it looking glorious and fresh. The ventilation blew air right on his skin and he can feel the hair rising due to the coldness, not helping the nervousness that was already swallowing the entirety of his stomach.

He continued pacing as the line rings, his breathing in sync with each pause. He wasn’t entirely sure anymore if you’d pick up at all, but when the ringing stopped and there were seconds of silence, he looked at his screen and noticed the time stamp going.

He stopped in the middle of his bedroom and pressed the phone back to his ears, certain you’ve picked up. The knot on his stomach tightened and his chest started beating rapidly, palms sweating inside the pockets of his slacks. He wanted you to pick up but after already failing to hear from you twice, he wasn’t expecting it on the third call.

“Baby?” Harry calls. There was some groaning.

“No idea who the fuck this is, but some of us are trying to sleep, mate,” a deep voice rings through his drums, tiredness and sleepiness evident. Harry’s stomach drops as he stares at the wall in front of him. A male?

Harry’s head starts racing and he swallows a thick ball of swelling anxiety in his throat. He can feel his breathing becoming uneven. He checks the screen of his phone again, making sure that he called the right person. After seeing your nickname still typed out neatly and boldly on the front, he feels a quarter of relief. He shouldn’t think the absolute worst because it could be anyone. Harry has earned multiple different titles under the category of being overly jealous and he admits that it turns him into an arrogant son of a bitch, but he just really couldn’t help it. He wants to be the only one.

“Hellooooo?” the voice on the other end startles him out of his thoughts and he focuses back on the call. The man sighs when Harry doesn't answer. “Look, you’ve called three times on her phone while she was passed out on the couch. She’s in the shower now and I’ll let her know that a--hang on--” he looks at his screen, “that a Harry rang, cool?”

Whoever answered your phone didn’t even bother to wait for Harry to agree, he just hung up and did as he said.

The grip on Harry’s phone tightened without control, his eyes starting to water due to the intense stare he gave his wall. Shower? Why were you so tired beforehand? Who was that? Why, why, why… Multiple questions raced through his brain and he rushed to sit at the end of his bed. You’re too good and you’d never do anything to hurt him like this, he knows that. Or does he? His jealousy is getting the best of him and he senses it. He does his breathing exercises again as he waits patiently to hear from you this time.

The airconditioning starts to die down, the noise it was making starting to decrease and heat starts to radiate throughout Harry’s body. He wasted no time ripping his dress shirt off, fully exposing his toned thorax, muscles flexing due to his nervous breathing and brood.

You’ve mentioned Effy to him multiple times before, considering the amount of interesting stories you’ve told him about your drunken nights together and spontaneous trips; stories he’s certainly loved hearing and continues to anticipate whenever you’re together. He knew that she was your only roommate, that she’s enthralled by women and that you haven’t mentioned any guy friends yet. He even remembers correctly that you’re the only child, your family living across the globe and that the closest thing you have to a relative here in Los Angeles is Effy, no brother and no cousins.

Harry tries not to continue overthinking but he’s really shit in that department. It’s one of the many traits that he despises the most in himself, knowing that his past relationships had gone wrong because of it and he refuses to let that happen again.

Thank god his thoughts were cut off when his phone starts to ring and vibrate on his hand, the same nickname you’ve become accustomed to shining brightly on his phone screen. He stands up from his bed and quickly answers, “hello? Hi. I’m--”

“Harry,” you sigh in relief at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t know that you’ve been expecting a call for over two hours now since he dropped you home, “hi, baby. Are you okay? Finn said--”

“Finn. Is he-- who is he, exactly?” You notice a tint of vulnerability in his voice.

Harry looks down at his feet that were covered in baby pink socks, a hand on his hip while he waits for you to answer. He hopes he didn’t sound pathetic asking that. He felt ridiculous enough as it is and absolutely stupid for not asking about your wellbeing first. He was about to retract and take it back but you’ve managed to chuckle through the phone before answering and Harry bites his lip.

“Effy’s brother. He’s got a research trip down in San Diego so he’s here for a visit. Sorry for however he acted over the phone. I promise he’s a great guy,” you say, “how are you? I so badly wanted to call but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk especially because of what happened at Perch.”

You were always so honest and straightforward with your thoughts. Harry loves that so much about you. Somehow, it boosts his confidence even more whenever he’s around you and he’s never afraid to speak his mind and act however he wants. What he lacks in being able to communicate properly with his partners you make up for in the relationship and he was more than grateful.

“I’m fine. I’m,” Harry pauses for a second before exhaling and changing his words, “I’m not fine actually. I miss you and I’m so terribly sorry for dismissing you. It wasn’t your fault, I swear, I’m just an arse.”

He continues before you can disagree, “I got nervous. That was the first time that’s ever happened while I was with you and I didn’t want it to change anything between us. I didn’t want you to feel differently. I want you now. I mean… I want you to come over now. I want to cook dinner for you and make up for what happened.”

Harry’s heart starts to beat even faster against his chest as he admits his feelings in accurate words. He’s aware how late it is already and you probably have classes tomorrow but he’s hoping you’ll agree anyway so he can fix a wasted and ravaged night. He also thinks he can persuade you into wanting to stay, the need to hold and kiss you intensifying the more he thinks about it. He wants to show you just how sorry he is. He wants you to forgive him and let him show you just how important you are to him. He wants to make you his favorite homemade meal and demonstrate his outrageous skills in bed, which you have been pining for and missing so much.

You were about to answer but he cuts you off once more. You smile slightly as you listen to him speak, “fuck. How are you? How are you feeling? Sorry.”

“Deep breaths, please? You sound really nervous and you have no reason to be, it’s just me,” you have no idea how nervous you make him and how much he worries about you, but he refrains from saying it out loud, not wanting to speak over you again. “I’m bummed about what happened because I really wanted to have a lovely dinner with you but I also understand. I understand and I feel better now that I’m hearing your voice. You have nothing to apologize for, Harry.”

“I do,” he mutters and toys with his belt, eyes still on the floor, “if it weren’t for me, no crowd would have showed up and we would still be sitting on that rooftop with a nice glass of extremely expensive wine. They’ll have no choice but to kick us out.”

You giggle and the sound makes Harry’s anxiety melt away. The tension in his muscles starts to soften and his heart starts to slow down, instantly feeling healed.

Harry looks up and his lips finally curl on its sides, dimples popping out on both of his cheeks and he feels more than relieved. He had no doubts about you understanding the unfortunate circumstance but he was one to always need validation and he feels undeniably reassured by your simple words, and even just the sound of your laugh.

At times, strange happenings like that would commence an argument with his exes. Looking back at it now, it was very odd to him considering he had no control over it. Plus he trusts his fans enough and knows that they wouldn’t do anything to put him and his loved ones in danger. Though mobs happen, he’s aware that they will never cross a line that damages his respect for them.

But you discepher and accept it, without him having to beg you to or explain to you. Another reason why he’s so enamored by you. You just know.

“Yeah, that would have been lovely. But we can always go another time. I saw you today and it was enough for me,” you replied. Harry’s cheeks tightens as he smiles wider, dimples deepening and crinklers appearing beside his eyes. He feels himself flush because of your words and he crunches his nose to calm himself.

“We can try again tonight,” he brings his suggestion back into the conversation, “so, will you come? I can pick you up, I don’t mind.”

You frown. “I’d love to but, it’s almost eleven, classes tomorrow and Effy--”

“Please, darling?” Harry begs, sitting down on his bed again. He hears you inhale upon hearing the sudden word of endearment and he grins. He knows how much you love it when he calls you random pet names, but mostly the sweetest ones that will have you turning into goo.

“God, you’re good,” you admit and tilt your head back, laughing quietly. Harry’s grin grows, “fine. But I can drive myself.”

“No,” he butts in. “I can pick you up. It’s just a twenty minute drive.”

It was a tactic. Harry figured that if you didn’t have your vehicle with you then you will be more likely to stay. But he knows that he’ll cave in on driving you back anyway if you really wanted to go home for the night.

“Harry,”

“Honey,” he throws in another nickname. You inhale. He smiles.

“Fine,” you say in defeat.

Harry’s heart almost leaps out of his chest in triumph and excitement; the fact that he’s seeing you again tonight lit up something in him. He’s grateful that you can’t see the idiotic smile he’s sporting right now, otherwise his body will flush in humiliation and you’ll tease him about it all night. Little does he know, you’ve got the same look on your beautiful face, also thankful that he couldn’t see you. You’re both a mirrorball to each other’s life, lighting one another up in a way that you’ve both always craved.

“See you then, baby,” he says.

___

Due to the lack of traffic, Harry was able to make it in your apartment complex in just under 15 minutes. Mulholland Drive was packed as usual but it still didn’t prevent him from arriving too late. Dressed in black joggers and a black hoodie, curls tied up in a black scrunchie and pushed back in a red bandana, he looked absolutely cozy and at ease.

The brief conversation between the two of you over the phone has brought him slight serenity. He’s still hoping to somehow bring it up tonight and apologize once more knowing what he said through the phone wouldn’t be enough. And he also wants to put his compelling abilities in bed to good use as a way to show you how sorry he was, if you’ll let him.

He adjusts the cool air that left his car’s ventilation, making sure it wasn’t too warm nor too cold once you get in the car. He stares at the open space of your building, waiting for you to come down through the stairs while exhilaration rushes through every vein in his body.

Harry feels absolutely nonsensical because of how much he misses you despite seeing you hours ago. A minute, hour, day or weeks even, will never be enough time and he’s fully aware of that. But thinking about everything he wants to do with you just brings back the same intolerable thoughts; getting mobbed, harassed and surrounded by hundreds of people even if you’re just having dinner in a public restaurant together. He suddenly starts to feel unsettled, desperately needing you to show up within his sight already so he can forget about everything and just focus on you and taking care of you, which is what he has started to love doing most.

Just in time, before Harry’s thoughts can get darker and deeper, he catches you walking carefully down the stairs looking irresistible as always. Your hair was in a low bun, bits of hair falling loose around your face while you sported a lovely white frock dress and matching fluffy slippers.

His whole face lights up in jubilation, mouth almost hurting due to how big his smile was and the wild elation in him sharpens. Harry chuckles as soon as you get in the car, more than delighted to see you. Your scent engulfs him in a wild wave, the air conditioning circulating it throughout his car and he didn’t mind it one bit. He hopes that it would stay in there forever, surrounding him to bring a sense of tranquility.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he greets you, wasting no time and leaning forward to catch your soft lips with his. He feels you take a deep breath and you can feel his smile against you, his hands coming up to stroke your cheeks. Your shock is evident when you laugh quietly while his lips continue to tackle yours, cupping his jaw as you kiss him back and Harry slowly melts due to the feeling. His body slumps from where he sat, savoring your taste and marking you with his.

You pull back, pecking him lightly once more before greeting him back, “hi, handsome.”

His body heats up as he leans back in his seat and starts driving, “cool enough in here for you?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you answer, putting your seatbelt on. “How was the drive?”

“It was fine, no traffic so we’ll be home in no time,” he says, catching a quick glance at you while you fixate your eyes on the road, “you look beautiful, by the way. Love the dress.”

Your breathing changed for a second upon hearing the word home, but you chose to ignore it. Instead, you smile lovingly at him, your hands reaching out to lightly massage the back of his head. He hums at the soothing feeling.

“Thank you, baby,” you reply, a tint of blush creeping up your cheeks. “I missed you.”

Harry feels his body heat up at your confession. He has no idea why you have this much of an effect on him but he loves it. He feels utterly loved and happy, which is something he hasn’t felt in awhile and always wanted to have. Instead of saying it back, he teases you, “sod off, you just saw me hours ago. Clingy much?”

You look over at him in slight surprise, not missing the humor behind his words. He glances at you sideways, lips tilted up in a smirk and his eyebrow lifted jokingly. You pull your hand away and cross your arms over your chest, “you know what, yes, absolutely. I can’t get enough of you.”

Harry didn’t expect you to say that so when you notice his face getting flushed and serious, you couldn’t help but giggle. His whole body went rigid for a couple of seconds, eyes still focused on the road. Instead of answering, his hand reaches towards your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze to show his appreciation. His thumb brushes against your skin a couple of times and he feels it get bumpy, hairs rising because of how good it was making you feel. Harry grins to himself, perceiving the effect he had on you and completely enjoying it.

You put your hands on top of his, feeling the warm veins against your palm and you look out the window, watching the bright lights pass by.

Harry loves going on drives with you as much as you do with him. He hates it that his radio was old and wouldn’t work, but he also refuses to get it fixed. He finds comfort in the silence within the confined space and also enjoys the way the noise outside surrounds him. He loves it even more when you’re on the passenger seat experiencing the therapeutic moment with him. Knowing that he can be with you in comfortable silence gave him a lot of hope in your relationship.

Minutes pass by and only a couple of miles are left until you reach his beautiful Malibu home. Harry remembers the elephant in the room, his chest tightening upon the thoughts of what brought you two in this situation in the first place. Should he address it now or wait until you both get to his house? There’s never really a right time and he knows that. He wasn’t even sure if it was something you want to talk about or if you wanted to ignore the whole thing and instead continue on to have a peaceful time together.

But, you were just patiently waiting for him to address it. You knew that if you brought it up, it’ll make him uncomfortable and he’ll start blaming himself. It was an admission in his part that you certainly want to avoid. The thought of him feeling like he puts you in a dangerous environment squeezes your heart so disturbingly that you can feel it all the way up your brain. You’ll get upset and he might assume the worst; when really, you just want him to understand that you know he can’t control it and that despite everything, you adore him and will never leave, unless, for unbeknown reasons and god forbid, he wants you to.

“Almost there, love,” he cuts his own thoughts off, including yours, clueless about how in sync they were. You look over at him the same time he took a quick glance at you. He looks back at the road and whispers something about how pretty you are but it was so quiet you could barely hear it.

Instead of acknowledging it, you put your hand back where it was on his hair and softly massage his scalp. You feel him lean back a tad, clearly finding peace in your touch. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying those three words you didn’t know he wanted to say too, both of you too scared to admit and profess it out loud.

_____

“Is there anything I should be doing?” you ask Harry from where you sat in his kitchen, a glass of extremely expensive red wine in your hand. He wanted to open a bottle of Ichiro’s Malt, hoping that it’ll make up for the ones you both could’ve had at Perch.

He twists his body slightly to look at you, answering in the sweetest tone, “nope. Sit there and look pretty, that’s all. I’m making this for you.”

Harry looks absolutely handsome, striking and sexy from where he stood, chopping a bunch of vegetables like it was his professionalism. He’s changed to a plain black shirt, the material hugging his toned body perfectly and emphasizing the muscles on his arm, back and stomach. He even had a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, adding to the whole look. You sipped your wine as you continued to stare, noticing the way his body is flexing as he moves and his tattoos moving along on his skin. You sighed, feeling so lucky.

You decided to walk over to him to catch a glimpse of what he was doing. Harry has certainly mastered the art of cooking; having been able to experience life in Italy, he had acquired the new skill flawlessly. It’s something he’s always wanted to be better at, considering the only thing he knew how to make was his grandfather’s special sandwich recipe and god only knows how tired people are of eating it.

Harry feels your presence beside him as you lean back against the smooth counter, sipping your wine. He looks over at you as he cuts the food, holding an admirable smile on his face. He loves having you here. He loves being this close to you, knowing that you’re within his sight and he was able to be unapologetically affectionate without the judgemental eyes and words of the public.

He speaks when you look back at him with a shine in your eyes, “how’s the wine?”

“Hm, tastes like money,” you say jokingly. He laughs at your answer and you smiled so wide at the sight of his head slightly thrown back, white and perfectly aligned teeth showing with his nose scrunched up.

“I have no doubt about that,” he says, looking back down at the cutting board.

The bottle costs roughly around twenty thousand dollars, more if you count it in pounds. But he chooses not to say it. Instead he asks about your day, as he usually would every single time he sees you or talks to you over the phone, “how was your day? Any progress in your thesis?”

Your ears perk up at the question about your dissertation. Harry has always been interested in it and you fail to understand the fascination. You’ve asked why before and he always admits that it was something that matters to him too, but you feel like that isn’t a good enough reason to be rapted in a boring essay by a grad student.

He tremendously admires the fact that you’ve continued your studies to get a masters in English. He envies it and he wishes he had taken your footsteps. But Harry is so beyond proud of you and just the thought of you becoming a famous novelist like you’ve always wanted makes him feel over the moon. You deserve nothing but good things and he can’t wait until you finish uni and finally build your self publishing pursuit.

“A lot of progress which I’m so relieved about. Remember when we read Course of Love together? I annotated it in the process and a lot of the quotes really came in handy for my essay,” you tell him, “I’ve reached probably eighty-nine pages and we only needed to write a hundred, but I’m aiming for one-fifty, max.”

“Always pushing yourself to work harder than you need to,” Harry says with a soft smile on his face. He starts to mix his ingredients together in the pan on the stove and you watch him work his magic cautiously, “but that’s really good, love. I’m proud of you. I know you’re gonna kick ass and everyone else's thesis will suck.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” you nod teasingly. You’re actually really nervous about it and he knows that. But you’ve mentioned before that talking about it doesn’t really help calm you so Harry doesn’t take the conversation further than that, “what about you? How was your day? Wrote anything new?”

Harry shakes his head and looks over at you as he starts to shake the pan to mix whatever was on it, “you haven’t even told me how your day was, babe.”

“Crap, sorry,” you have a habit of completely disregarding certain parts of a conversation. He found it adorable most of the time but when it came to arguments or discussions between the two of you about serious topics, it vexed him to no end. He remembers you missing the whole point of your conversations sometimes and he loathed it then, “one of my professors ditched today so I only had one class. Took a lot of naps after lunch which was nice then-- then whatever happened at Perch. My day was alright.”

You try to soften a part of your answer with the last statement but it was very clear Harry didn’t miss it. He looks over at you for a quick second and you sipped your wine to avoid eye contact.

You didn’t mean anything by it. It happened today and he was asking about today so you decided to slip it in there in honor of your promises to always be honest, free-spoken and up front with one another. It didn’t necessarily ruin your day, it was just simply dejecting and unlike anything you’ve had to deal with before. But you’re with him now and he’s cooking you something that already smelled absolutely delicious so you were willing to look past it. But Harry couldn’t and you knew that.

He lowers the heat on the stove to keep the food sizzling but not to the point where it’ll burn. He wipes his hands with the towel on his shoulder before approaching you with an unreadable expression on his face. You lean back further against the counter as his hand guides your arms to wrap around his neck, putting his hands on your waist and squeezing affectionately. He stares deep into your eyes and you wondered how he was so good with that; how it didn’t make him look nervous despite being the shyest person that you know.

Softly, he speaks, “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry about that. I’m a dick.”

Mirth creeps into your eyes at his last word and your lips unintentionally curls on its side. He has no idea why you started smiling but he did too. He feels you interlock your fingers against his skin as you answer him, “the way you say dick is really amusing. But you aren’t and you have nothing to apologize for. You have no control over it.”

You’re so humorous and he loves it so much. He loves you. “I am a dick and I will apologize because even if I can’t control it, I’m still the reason why it happens. The way I acted afterwards was very irrational too. Just admit it, I’m a dick.”

“If I agree, will you stop apologizing and calling yourself that?”

“Yes,”

“Fine, you’re a dick,”

“I know and I’m sorry,” he smiles at you.

You squint your eyes as his whole face beams, your hands squeezing his face and squishing his skin, “cheeky.”

He laughs and pulls you closer to him, “come here, baby.”

Your noses touch as he leans down to get closer to your face, his lips barely touching yours. Whenever he inhales, your engrossing scent engulfs his nostrils and it brings him great comfort. Your hands cup his jaw, thumb caressing his cheeks as he opens his mouth once more, “I mean it. I regret taking you home and acting the way I did. I should’ve apologized right there and then. I should’ve taken you here and found a way to make the night better but I’m trying to make up for it now. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me in a really fucking long time and I don’t want things to change because you finally got a glimpse into another part of my life. I won’t let anything happen to you, please know that, but it will get worse. Mobs happen and it’s horrifying at times.”

It’s something that really worries Harry and you see it take over his whole figure. His face shows vivid perturb and his body has become slightly tensed from his words. It’s true; it will get worse and when you witness it, you will be horrified. It’s something Harry has always had to worry about before making the decision to fully commit to someone. It’s affected his past relationships abdominably and he doesn’t want the same thing happening between the two of you. Like he said, you’re far too important to him and for something as riotous as this to come in between that will be heart shattering and utterly painful. This was his life, it will always be like this and if you can’t accept nor understand that, then who will? He only wants you.

You have no idea what to say, eyes boring straight into his pale irises, clear brood written all over it. Your thumb continues to massage his skin which slightly soothes Harry’s tensed muscles and he’s worried about what will come out of your mouth. He leans back a little to read your face but your mind is so empty that the only thing you can utter really was, “I love you and I’m here for as long as you want me to, okay?”

Your words made Harry lean back further out of reflex, a sharp intake of air filling his lungs upon hearing your revelation. The sudden realization of what you just blurted out forced your eyes shut, hands covering your face in slight embarrassment. You weren’t ashamed that you said it, you were just scared whether or not he felt the same way. You hear Harry laugh and you peak out of your fingers, making him laugh harder. You take your hands off to playfully scold him, your skin saturated with redness, “oh god! Will you stop? I love you and I’m not scared to say it. Nothing’s funny about that.”

Harry chuckles some more, making his way forward to you again and takes your hand in his. He wraps it back around his neck, leaning down to take a good look at you.

His heart is beating so fast in his chest and he was so happy that he didn’t even care if you could hear it. He’s been wanting to say the same three words to you every single time he’s with you; even when he’s just admiring you while you read a book or watching a movie, or when the two of you are simply hanging out and talking. He catches the obvious adoration in your bearing and always notices the twinkle in your eyes when you look at him. He hopes he’s been showing it as well because there’s no better feeling than loving you and he wants you to know that.

You shy away from his stare and he titters. He tilts your chin up, teeth on full display on his face while his cheeks deepen into dimples, “you love me?”

“Yes,” your noses touch and you sigh. “I’ve said it like twice already and you, zero times.” You poke his chest in a light hearted manner.

“Actually, you just couldn’t take the hint before,” he teases you. “I thought it was very clear that I love you.”

You bite your lip to keep your smile from widening and you close your eyes momentarily before locking eyes with him again. He scrunches his nose to keep himself from becoming too joyful because of the exchange between the two of you. You tease him back, “you’re just doing a shit job at showing it, that’s all.”

Harry gasps at your comeback and wraps both of his arms around you without hesitancy, squeezing you as tight as he can and lifting you gently off of the floor. You laugh so loud that his ears perked up at the sound, making his heart beat rapidly and somehow faster than it has ever done before.

He loves you. And you love him back. There wasn’t any doubt about it between the two of you, it was just a matter of finding the right moment to admit it at last to each other. And what better moment is there than this one in the kitchen, where the food on the stove is at its edge of burning without the two of you even noticing.

Harry puts you back down on the floor and both of you catch your breath. You took the lead this time and grabbed his face, smashing your lips against his. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he grasps the back of your neck with one hand and the other softly cupping your jaw. He smiles against you and you feel it, butterflies forming in your stomach as you tangle your fingers in his soft curls. He kisses you so deep, hard, full of love and savors your taste like there was no tomorrow. You feel his hand start to crawl up to grip bits of your hair but before you can let it get further than that, you pull back and you both inhale so loud it erupted an echoing chuckle.

“Food’s gonna burn, babe,” you tell him, breathing hard.

“I’m so in love with you,” he simply says back.

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