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jeogiyall · 3 years

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Growing Pains; Song Mingi

Word count; 21.5k

Genre; Mingi X Reader, Hongjoong X Reader, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, College AU, Angst, Fluff but Barely

Request: “ hey can I please request a college au with #11 and #17 with mingi from ateez! can it also be long and really angsty but with a comforting ending?? love your work by the way ❤ “

Additional; Featured Ateez, Rebound Hongjoong

Warnings; General Angst, Depicts Depression, Honestly Just Really Sad lol

A/N; this took me so freaking long to write, i’m really sorry to whoever requested it dhkdsfsdaf!! i hope you enjoy it! i haven’t been to college yet so this is all based off of books i’ve read or stories that i’ve been told. if anything is inaccurate i’m sorry, i’ll be learning about really soon lol. if you you like this fic please leave a like or some kind words! love you all, happy reading!

It was a summer day when the local neighborhood bullies pushed you off of your barbie themed bike for the umpteenth time. You remember scraping your knee, dropping your strawberry ice cream cone, then seeing the older boys approach you with malicious grins. But before they could fully reach you there was someone else, someone with limbs that were a bit too long and knees that were raw like yours. Any other day you would’ve found it unbelievably embarrassing that this bozo thinks he can handle this situation any better than you. As if you haven’t been handling this for years.

But with him it was different. He somehow scared off the crude boys, then offered his hand to hoist you from the pavement while looking sadly at your discarded ice cream cone.

“I’m sorry about your ice cream.” You remember his voice being creaky, like it was always about to break (which it did, frequently,) “I’ll make you some whenever it snows! Th-that’s the only way that I know how to make it, but it’s really good I promise!” He was excited, almost like a puppy. Some part of you thought that it was cute, the bigger part knew he was probably just pitying you. Pitying you the same way that everyone does when you tell them of your constant bullying, only to forget about it in a week and leave you to the wolves.

“Oh it’s okay, um…”

“Mingi.”

“Mingi!” You repeated the syllables, allowing their taste to form on your tongue. It’s sweet, like an orange soda and going to bed too late, “It’s okay Mingi, you don’t have to pretend like it matters.” Where you thought that his features would fade into relief they pull taught with sadness. He almost looked offended.

“You’re (Y/n,) right?” You nod shortly, eyes welling with tears for no apparent reason, “I-I’m not pretending. It matters.” Something about the way he gazes at you makes you think he’s been wanting to say that for a long time.

“N-not really, they’re just mean sometimes. Besides, even if it did matter no one can stop it. No one’s ever stopped it.” It felt like you’d crossed a line. Cut the cake before you were supposed to, put out words you were meant to swallow down. Tears were really about to start falling, until Mingi took your skinned palms into his own larger ones. The clench of familiarity in your chest is enough to snuff out the stinging.

“I’ll stop it. I’ll do everything in my power to stop it.” He rubbed his thumb over the top of your hand, and it felt so nice. The gentle touch of someone who could be a friend. The notion that someone wanted you. It felt so nice and foreign and familiar all at once. So you nodded.

“Okay.” He squeezed your hand excitedly then surged forward, but stopped just before his arms could take home on your shoulders. You notice that he smells nice, like oranges and cinnamon.

“Can I hug you?” And just like that he’s made his way into the walls that you’ve already managed to build up.

“Okay.”

The boy holds true to his promise when two weeks later the boys approach you in the hallway, all cheery smiles and cold eyes. It’s a common exchange, they show up and tell you that you look nice today or some other fake compliment before demanding that you give them all of your lunch money. Which sounds stupid, until it’s two in the afternoon and you haven’t eaten all day and you won’t get to for another half hour.

But before anything can happen, Mingi is at your side and talking about his advanced math class. You watch as the boys slowly disperse at your friends silly rambling until it’s just the two of you. A deep breath floods your lungs as he softly punches your bicep in a way that’s starting to feel normal.

“Told you so. Do you want to come over for ice cream after school?” It’s silly how the words fill you with warmth, but you don’t even care. Because what you have here is so secure, and you know that it always will be.

And it always is. Mingi’s friendship is solid throughout your entire life, even when you started high school and nearly everything was shaky. Even when he grew out of the awkward limbs and squeaky voice, and all of the girls at your school wanted his attention. Day after day, Mingi would reject their proposals with a simple “I’m busy,” when the truth of the matter was that he would be sitting with you. Alone. In his basement, watching Star Wars on VHS tapes while eating strawberry ice cream and popcorn.

You remember turning to him one night, eyes drinking in the sight of his side profile illuminated by an exploding death star. He smiled widely, clapping his hands the way that he always does at that part. A deep sigh resounded through your chest, causing the boy to look at you with furrowed brows. For what must have been the millionth time, your eyes locked with his. Words weren’t even necessary for comfort.

“Why did you want to be friends with me? No one has ever cared about me too much, so why did you? I didn’t have anyone, why did you want to be my someone?” Your question sounds small, voice wavering gently.

“Maybe I needed someone too.” The response was so quick. Like he had pondered it before. As if he knew every doubt that you were having, and knew that you didn’t need to have them.

From that night on, Mingi was more than your best friend. More than someone who you spent everyday with. No, he became your partner in almost everything. He took you to the school dance, stood beside you at every sports game, spent long nights trying to decipher math problems. No one was surprised when you two started applying to the same colleges, you weren’t even sure that you’d survive living without him. Judging by the pattering of his heart each time you entered a room, Mingi thought so too.

Over the years of close proximity and healthy doses of codependency, Mingi’s feelings towards you had progressed slightly past friendship. Not that he didn’t still think of you in that way, obviously. It’s just that whenever you fell asleep on his chest halfway through star wars marathons he’d have to will his heart to beat a tiny bit slower, or when his family brought you along to the beach he had to remind himself that it was rude to stare. The shift in his feelings started about three months into your sophomore year together, while stuffing your face with greasy fast food burgers after a wildly unimpressive football game. Neither of you ever cared about school sports too much, yet you were present every single week. When Mingi asked why, you claimed it was to get him out of the house. He’s pretty sure it was so that you’d have an excuse to get burgers afterwards, though.

The boy distinctly remembers looking up over his boat of fries to see you with full cheeks, one strand of hair sticking to your slightly sweaty forehead. He remembers the bustling sounds of the diner going silent as his eyes drank in the sight of you for what felt like the first time ever. He remembers thinking that he wouldn’t know how to live life if it weren’t for you. Thinking that life wouldn’t be worth living if it weren’t for you.

“What?” You had questioned, nearly spitting out bits of cheeseburger onto your friends fries. If Mingi wasn’t so infatuated in that moment, he would have been disgusted.

“You’re gross.” He laughed, one hand moving to nudge your shoulder. From that moment on, Mingi thought of you as just a little bit more than a friend. Just a little bit more than a movie marathon partner, just a little bit more than someone to spend late nights with. A little bit more than someone who helped move you into a college dorm, too.

“Who on this forsaken earth thought that loft beds were a good idea?” You heave, flinging yourself onto the elevated mattress. It’s far from comfortable, and you’ve had to carry countless boxes up two flights of stairs due to the lack of an elevator, and the hallway smells distinctly of burnt microwave popcorn, but you have never in your life felt more free. High school was absolute torture, and while you did have Mingi to lean on you were still terribly lonely for those four years. Every other girl had a group to sit with, or someone to drag along to the bathroom with them in the middle of class. Having only one friend typically meant having absolutely no classes with them.

But you’re here now, hundreds of miles away from the tattered building where you used to go to school. The only person on the entire campus that even knows your name at this point is Mingi, which in turn means he’s the only person that knows about your habit of loneliness. You intend to keep it that way, too. Every shy kid hears it from their parents, ‘College will be so good for you,’ ‘You’re really gonna come out of your shell in college,’ but those words meant more to you than an empty promise. In the last few months when you were so terribly lonely that all you had was Mingi and writing until your fingertips fell off, those words were your lifeline.

“Probably someone that didn’t get enough hugs as a kid.” Your friend responds while dropping the final box, which is filled with nothing but fuzzy sock, onto the pile that’s accumulating on the desk that’s squeezed under your cursed bed, “Looks like the last of it.” You nod, cheek brushing gently against the uncovered mattress. It creaks loudly when you shift, which is something you’re sure that you’ll never get used to.

“Are you sure that you don’t want help unpacking?” You barely look up while asking the question, nuzzling even closer into the awful bed. It takes a certain level of shamelessness to sleep on a fully uncovered mattress while a random stranger could walk in and drop all of their stuff on the floor, but you swear to the stars that you’re about there. Mingi appears to be the same way, taking to resting against your yet-to-arrive roommates desk.

“Yea I’m sure, my roommate’s this absolute giant, Yunho I think? He promised to help, so I’m all good.” A hollow laugh leaves your throat, aching with sleepiness. Mingi’s eyes soften ever so slightly before casting to your dirty tile floor.

“Sounds nice.” There’s a nod, then a groan, then shuffling on everyone's part before Mingi is standing in your doorway and casting a soft gaze to your sleepy form.

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” A low humph resounds as your answer, but Mingi knows there’s no weight. You’re going to lay on that loft bed, sleeping like a rock until someone bothers to wake you up.

The someone just so happens to be Mingi, five hours later in a fresh hoodie that has your universities name embroidered across the chest. First you notice the perfectly made bed across the room, then the lack of another girl, then the scrent of oranges mixed with cinnamon, then finally Mingi nudging your shoulder from the ground while holding a Styrofoam bowl of hot food.

“D-did I miss dinner?” Your eyes squint harshly, the way they always do when someone’s just woken you up.

“Yea.”

“Sorry.” Mingis heart clenches tightly at your slurred speech, then again at your fluttering eyelids.

“S’okay, I brought you food.” His voice sounds warm, low. Like the Mingi that you’ve always known. You sit up and accept the to go bowl he’s passing up before patting the empty spot next to you. Within seconds the boy is next to you and offering utensils along with his arm around your shoulder, “It’s ramen.”

“Really?” The boy nods, fluffy brown hair falling onto his forehead as you excitedly rip the lid off. The smell of spicy ramen wafts through your otherwise empty dorm, and while it’s not the same as what Mingis mom would make from scratch on Winter days it still fills your belly with an immeasurable warmth, “Have I ever mentioned that you’re my favorite person?” Your shoulders relax thanks to a mouthful of slick curly noodles, Mingi can feel each individual muscle give way beneath his touch.

“Once or twice.”

The two of you spend that night curled up on your bed sharing bites of the warm soup, and even once it’s done and the bowl is disposed of it still feels like old times. His arm is resting around you, the conversation is happening effortlessly, laughter is bouncing from every last tile. It doesn’t exactly fit in with your ‘new school, new me’ narrative, but that’s okay. You can always spend one night in comfort seeing as the following nights will be spent doing thousands of things out of your comfort zone.

When the time comes for him to walk back to his own dorm building, it’s well past dark outside, your clock ticking dangerously close to midnight from its perch on the (useless) nightstand. The boy hugs you in the doorway, making you pinky promise to not sleep through lunch tomorrow.

“I won’t, I promise! Please don’t tell me that I left you sitting alone!” He exhales a short laugh at your furrowing eyebrows, his hand taking home on your shoulder in an attempt to squeeze out your tension.

“Not at all, Yunho has like a ton of friends. They’re funny, too.”

“Really?” Mingi squeezes your shoulder one last before nodding.

“Really.”

He walks home in silence, the beginnings of an Autumn breeze kissing his cheeks. Upon arriving at the dorm Yunho spins around in his desk chair, smirking at the younger boy as if he knows something that Mingi doesn’t.

“Where’d you go after dinner? We were gonna invite you to Wooyoung and Sans apartment.” Yunho leans back in the chair, it’s legs teetering precariously in a way that would debilitate elementary teachers.

“Oh, thanks! Maybe next time, I had to check on a friend.” Yunho quirks an eyebrow as Mingi begins to climb into his bed, kicking his shoes off at the base of the wobbly ladder.

“A girlfriend?” The question should be shocking, Yunho doesn’t even know that you exist for crying out loud, but he is so used to it. After being your best friend and caring for you as deeply as he does, he is so used to it.

“Nope, why do you ask.” The older boy simply shrugs, grounding his chair and picking up a stubby pencil.

“Just an inkling. Lots of girls came up to you in line, you seemed less than interested.” Mingi ponders his response, because what do you even say to that? He doesn’t have a girlfriend, he’s not interested in anyone, he only has you to worry about. You, with your laugh that defines his childhood. You, with eyes that shoot wide anytime you’re worried about accidentally offending someone. You, who wants to make a new person in the coming year; and you, who Mingi wants to convince that you don’t have to change.

“Nope, she’s just a friend.” He decides, the words falling flat in the cramped room.

“Whatever you say.”

Mingi lays sleeplessly in his bed for hours, his head pounding with the thought of how hard your connection with him is becoming. He loves you in more ways than one, but he doesn’t love the ache in his chest whenever he has to leave you. He doesn’t love that way that the weight of your touch haunts him for days, when for you it’s probably just something easy and meaningless. He doesn’t love being less to you than you are to him.

But he does love you, in a way that’s impenetrable and everlasting. That alone is almost enough to make everything worthwhile. Almost.

It turns out the whole ‘new school new me’ thing is much harder than you previously anticipated. Naïve senior you thought that maybe you could meet new people through your roommate, but that didn’t exactly work out. It’s been two weeks and all you know about her is that she’s a junior, and that she really doesn’t want to be staying in a dorm.

So, that’s obviously not going the way that you’d hoped. There is another person though, and he’s been a great help in meeting new people. He is a roommate, ironically enough. Just not your own.

Jeong Yunho, sophomore, fading blue hair, cheeks that look like freshly baked bread, brown eyes that sparkle a little bit when you ask about his major (biology, which is something that you know far too much about after a brief stop by Mingis dorm,) and a head that hits damn near every doorway it passes through. He has to duck to get into the cafeteria. But he’s sweet, like the guy who you could ask for help with homework. And he has so many friends, who are all terribly boisterous, that just eating lunch is like going out of your comfort zone.

Which is enough for you, but apparently not Mingi.

It’s a classic Friday night marathon, you already cuddled up on your bed with Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire pulled up on your laptop. The only thing left to accomplish is getting Mingi next to you and watching the movies, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan that your friend has. When he opens the door to your dorm you immediately notice the lack of Harry Potter pajama pants and popcorn. Instead he’s opted for movie night chic, with jeans that have something written on the left thigh and a white t-shirt that hangs off his lithe torso. His caramel brown hair is pushed back in a way that you’re not used to seeing, but it looks good. Attractive, even. There’s something about seeing him all dressed up and handsome while you’re in measly shorts and a platform 9 3/4 t-shirt that makes your cheeks go hot.

“I didn’t tell you before because I knew that you would say no, but Hongjoong and Seonghwa are having a party tonight and we’re going. Surprise!” Your mouth drops open at Mingi’s form of greeting. Before you can even process what’s been said he’s shaking the rail of your loft bed and chanting ‘Get up! Get up!’

“What about Harry Potter night?” You question dumbly while shimmying down your ladder. Obviously Harry Potter night has been discarded in favor of a house party, you don’t need Mingi to say anything to gather that much information, “Seonghwa is okay with a party in their apartment?” Mingi laughs gently, a soft shake of his shoulders and glittering eyes. It’s the only familiar thing about your interaction thus far.

“The boys said that it’ll hardly be a party, probably too few people and too many wine coolers. Maybe some jazz, Seonghwa’s pretentious like that y’know?” He opens your closet door for you and starts to wrack through the few dresses in the very back. You’d never had much of a reason to buy any dresses.

“Believe me, I know.” Seonghwa was one of the first of Yunho’s friends that you’d met, and while he wasn’t an ass about it he was definitely a little pretentious. It’s probably hard to be an art major for three years and not be pretentious, “Do I have to wear a dress?”

“You don’t have to, but-”

Long story short, you find yourself sitting on a suede couch clad in a red plaid mini dress that you only bought for a neighborhood Christmas party in your sophomore year and your one pair of worn leather boots. It’s a tight fitting thing, meant to be worn over turtlenecks and with tights, but Mingi insisted that it would look good alone. He’s not wrong either, ever since you set foot into the surprisingly swanky off campus housing your lunch mates have been showering you in compliments. It started with Wooyoung wolf whistling and asking for your phone number, then Hongjoong asking if he could’ve complimented you in a way that was any weirder, then San giving you a stemless wine glass and announcing ‘A sparkling cider for the lady,’ in the most offensive British accent you’ve ever heard. It was for sure a strange form of flattery, but flattery nonetheless.

“I’m sorry about Wooyoung, he apparently hasn’t been house trained yet.” Hongjoong jokes while settling you onto his plush, red hair briefly sweeping in front of his attentive brown eyes, “Though we can’t really blame him because of the whole sports medicine thing.” You hear a brief ‘I heard that!’ waft from the kitchen, where Yunho and Seonghwa have gathered the majority of the boys. It makes Hongjoong giggle a little bit, and the sound is so clear and gentle that you find yourself giggling too.

“I guess we can’t.” Your eyes move to take in the living room, which is filled with your lunchmates and some extra people who you don’t know in the slightest. First there’s San, your fellow literature major who just switched from middle school education. Then Yeosang, a quiet sophomore who majors in political science. He usually only talks at lunch to tell his table mates that they sound ridiculous, but every once in a while he'll indulge their antics. Lastly there’s Jongho, the only other freshman in the room with you that you know of. You’ve only just finished your second week but everyone’s already expecting him to be the star student of the music program for the next four years.

Everything about this situation reads anxiety. Mingi is already in a different room, you’ve barely held a conversation with any of these guys before, someone in the corner is definitely getting a little too drunk into a ficus tree in the corner of the room. But you aren’t nervous. A little tense maybe but who wouldn’t be? You certainly aren’t nervous the way that high school you would’ve been nervous.

“He’s not wrong, you know.” Your eyebrows shoot up with a quiet ‘hm?’ behind your lips. It’s mostly because you think you’ve missed something that Hongjoong said.

“Not wrong about what?” He looks at you with his brown eyes and a lopsided grin, and when you look back it feels like he’s asking for permission to unravel you.

“That you look pretty.”

It’s not his words that take you off guard, or how he pinches your cheeks afterwards, or even him getting off of the couch and bouncing into the kitchen like a kid coming down the stairs. Your heart barely announces a flutter, your cheeks barely give way to heat. He was probably tipsy. It’s just that no one has ever noticed you in that way. No one other than Mingi has ever really called you pretty.

So it leaves an impression, to say the least.

Quickly after Hongjoong leaves, San takes his place, Jongho sitting on the floor and nuzzling into the older boy's legs. The three of you talk for hours, Jongho sharing your disdain for grumpy roommates (he says that Yeosang throws pillows at him when he starts practicing) and San for Beowulf. He does mention that your creative writing class is fun, to which you agree. Fun, but ever so stifling for creativity.

It’s a simple kind of conversation, the kind that doesn’t tell anything too personal but still gives insight into the people having it. San throws in a few anecdotes about him and Wooyoung in high school, Jongho shows you a bruise he got from fumbling up the ladder to his loft bed. You even include a few of the controversial star wars opinions that you and Mingi came up with at three in the morning so many years ago. It’s simple, weightless.

When Mingi walks you back to your dorm that night he pauses outside of the door, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from your eyes.

“Hongjoong asked me about you.” He says, a smile playing onto his lips. Something about the way that it doesn’t fully reach his brown eyes makes it seem sad.

“Really?” The memory of Hongjoongs hands on your face, his cute voice burning the words ‘you look pretty’ into the back of your mind, “W-What did he ask?”

“Just basic stuff. How long we’ve known each other, your major...” He wants to add ‘whether or not we’re dating,’ because that’s the question that struck him the most. Mingi doesn’t know Hongjoong too well, but he knows that the older boy is sweet and respectable. If Mingi explained all of this mess to him, Hongjoong probably wouldn’t think twice, just go about his day and be friendly as always. But Mingi didn’t explain it, he said that you guys are just friends and that it’s never been anything more than that. Hongjoong smiled in a way that made Mingi’s chest ache and thanked him before bouncing off to entertain Seonghwa. He remembers feeling taken aback, then like he should go talk to the pretty girl that’s been eyeing him in calculus, “I can’t do movie night next week. I-I have a date.”

And it’s something about those words that manages to crawl into your body and find a home in your heart, then pump throughout your entire bloodstream. You shouldn’t be upset. You have no reason to be upset. Mingi is your best friend, and you were stuttering about Hongjoong mere seconds ago, and you shouldn’t be upset right now.

“Oh, okay... Just don’t forget about me.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but Mingi looks at you like you’re the moon. With care glimmering in his irises and adoration adorning the glow of his cheeks. You think to yourself that there’s something special in the air, then that you shouldn’t be upset.

You have no reason to be upset.

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

The next time that you see Mingi is at lunch on Monday, but he doesn’t take his normal seat next to you. He can’t when you’re already sandwiched between Jongho and San, who are talking in intense detail about their terrible morning classes. Sometimes you can join in, seeing as you and San share classes, but for the most part they just banter. Hongjoong is taking up the seat in front of you, his chin resting on his palm while he nods attentively to everything the younger boys are saying. He reminds Jongho that he needs to be getting sleep, and that life doesn’t happen in practice rooms. He tells San to eat his food whenever the boy gets a little bit too excited. He even asks about your day, to which you respond with something simple and lame. When you mention being tired he gives you the rest of his coffee.

Mingi comes to the table nearly twelve minutes after you do, and it’s not really a big deal that he can’t take his usual seat. There’s a chair between Wooyoung and Yunho at the end of the table, which is perfectly fine. The two of you know each other well enough that a simple look can be translated to ‘It’s okay, we’ll see each other later.’ Which is perfectly fine. You both have a lunch that is perfectly fine.

The week continues on like that, though. Missing each other by a hair's breadth. On Wednesday his intro to statistical methods test goes so late that he misses your scheduled coffee run, then when you tried to surprise him in his dorm later that night, Yunho had to inform you that he was holed up in the library with some of the people in his calculus class (Yunho let you come in and made hot chocolate in the Keurig, so overall the night wasn’t too bad.) Then on Thursday you skipped lunch, opting instead to finish the assigned Beowulf reading at the last possible minute. You hated every minute of it, but not as much as you would’ve hated failing your second ever quiz. San sent you a picture of himself and Hongjoong pouting around your empty chair and Mingi in the background laughing at something that Wooyoung had done to Seonghwa.

Friday night feels more lonely than you had expected. Your bed is empty without the taller boy sitting in it beside you. The movie gets cut off halfway through when your roommate stumbles in and announces that she’s going to sleep, which is the most she’s ever said to you at one time. You turn off your laptop and fall into the uncomfortable bed that you’re slowly getting used to. This is okay. You remind yourself that you shouldn’t be upset and that this is okay.

Right as sleep is about to wash over the room your phone lights up with a message from Mingi. It’s a picture of his hand cradling the chin of a golden retriever puppy, and beneath he’s written ‘we found these dogs in the courtyard. sleep well :)’

After reading the message three times over and staring at the image for ten minutes you start to believe your words. This is okay.

You shouldn’t be upset and this is okay.

Your high school had three classes per semester then one free period for a study hall. Mingi would always make this huge deal out of lining up your study halls, claiming that he needed help with his English classes. In reality you were the person that needed help with classes, namely math and science, but he’d always insist that it was because of whatever book he had for assigned reading in the upcoming class.

There was this one semester, though, where you had four classes. Anatomy, geometry, personal finance, and then your absolute saving grace. Creative writing.

It was a true blessing, honestly. Since every other class was absolute torture, and you didn’t really have any Mingi time to take the edge off of your day, that class was your favorite part of nearly every day. You would kind of use it as an escape, just sit in the isolated corner desk, tap the toe of your then fresh leather boots, and write about any and everything that came to mind. The teacher liked one of your stories so much that he framed it.

Seeing as that was your only experience when you saw ‘Introduction To Creative Writing’ on your schedule you were ecstatic. You thought that you’d just get to sit and write anything that you wanted. Needless to say, it is nothing at all like your high school class. The teacher speaks too quickly and assigns nearly a million readings. He waited four weeks to let the students do any actual writing, a fact that San was most grateful for. You, however, were dying.

You think the assignment is kind of stupid, too. Focus on a setting, no characters. Just the setting. It took a while for you to get it just right, but after about a week of staying up past midnight you wrote something that was actually good enough to read. It was nearly two pages about Florence Italy, going in depth about the winding roads. You commented that they were the kind of streets that lent way to deep discussion. The kind that begged for secrets to be shared.

All in all, you were quite proud of it. You even considered showing it to Mingi, until it came back with a bright red C sketched on the front. It was covered top to bottom in red ink markings, none of which were comments about your grammar. No, these notes were personal. This sentence is lifeless. Your tone shift is unnecessary. I’m not sure that this is actually in Italy.

San asked about your grade on the way to your European literature class that day, right as you’re reading over the harshest note of them all. He says that he got an A minus, which makes perfect sense. San isn’t lifeless, he doesn’t do unnecessary things.

“My grade is fine.” You choke out, eyes endlessly tracing over the red notation.

‘This feels lonely.’

In a way, you suppose that it is.

“So you did this every single Friday night?” Yunho questions while sandwiching his way onto Mingi’s bed. It would probably be normal to be upset that your movie is being infiltrated by your friends roommate and Hongjoong, but you’re just so grateful for the movie night to actually happen that it doesn’t matter.

“Sounds about right.” You’re about to comment that you’ve skipped the past two weeks, but the words twinge with resentment right as they’re about to come out. So you swallow them down while scooching into Mingi’s side. Hongjoong immediately fills the new space beside you, his hands occupied with fuzzy blankets that have various patterns. One has corgi’s and hearts printed from corner to corner.

“I don’t know if that’s lame or endearing.” The older boy comments while spreading the blanket you’d been eyeing across your lap. Yunho laughs while taking in a mouthful of microwave popcorn, and you think to yourself that this isn’t so bad. Having a movie night with more people than usual is better than having none at all. There’s more snacks and extra blankets now, so you don’t have to burrow into Mingi’s comforter halfway through and tangle your legs together. Because you’ve never wanted to do that before, it just happened out of habit and necessity. Definitely habit and necessity. Definitely.

There’s also not much difference in the essence of movie night. Someone still interrupts serious scenes to crack a joke, you still tell Mingi that he’s breathing too loud, by the time the credits are rolling you still find grease stains on the underside of Mingis comforter. It’s from all of the years of him using the plush blanket in place of a napkin, and the years of you telling him that he’s going to stain it.

Mingi walks you back to your dorm that night. When he stops in front of the door and lets out a deep exhale it almost feels like you haven’t skipped the past two weeks. It almost feels normal.

“I’m glad that at least one of us has a cool roommate.” He comments idly, eyes raking over your growing smile.

“With cool friends.” There’s a gentle laugh, and you’re not exactly sure why. Nothing is funny, just familiar. Maybe a bit tense, though you suppose you don’t know the reason for that either.

“Yea. Cool friends.” Mingis feet shuffle, brown hair flopping onto the bridge of his nose as his gaze takes purchase on the floor. He smells like oranges and cinnamon. He always has. You think that he looks nice like this, with the flickering hall lights illuminating his face. This is probably what Mingi was always meant to look like. Real, and handsome, and grown, “I think we should switch movie nights to once a month.”

And if this whole thing was a little tense before, like an ornament hanging on by it’s hook around one green needle from a Christmas tree, it’s worse now. It’s broken shards of glass all over your living room floor, willing and ready to pierce your foot and stain the carpet. It’s the gaping hole in your Christmas tree. It’s your mom's favorite Santa no longer having a head.

“O-oh... Once a month?” Mingi nods gently. It almost looks like he doesn’t want to be nodding, but he is. He is, and it’s pulling your heartstrings like an orchestra.

“Yea, I just figured that’d be easier since we’re so busy. Y’know, with classes and friends...” You wonder if he’s going to say something else. Like dates with girls from his calculus class. He never does, but you can feel it.

“I know, I-I’m like... Super busy with all of my f-friends.” A heartless laugh leaves you, and Mingi replies with a smile that doesn’t quite crinkle his eyes, “But yea. Once a month, once a month. Once a month totally works for me.” He takes a step towards you.

“Look, (y/n-)” You think that he’s about to comfort you, which of course would be welcome. Comfort from your very best friend is always welcome. It’s just that a small part of you is worried that he’s going to take it back. You’re worried that he’s going to tell you that it’s whatever and you can have movie night every week until you die and that he’s going to live life in college dragged down by your stupid, lonely self. You’re worried that he’s going to drop it, and that you’ll never live it down.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch, yea?” Before the boy can even fully nod, which makes you sick to your stomach for no apparent reason, you’re scrambling desperately for the doorknob to your dorm. You think that you may hear him say goodbye, or wait, or something. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Everything matters. You just want to be inside.

When you get inside your roommate is sitting on her bed with earbuds in, though they don’t appear to be playing anything. She looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, and you can’t really blame her. In the rush to get away from Mingi you probably ended up looking a bit frazzled.

“Um... Are you okay?” She questions, her mouth making a perfect circle. You nod fervently while bringing your palms up to pull at your cheeks. They’re wet. You’re not sure when they turned wet.

“I’m fine. It’s okay.”

Sometimes you say something so many times that it doesn’t sound real anymore. I’m okay, this is okay. I’m okay, this is okay, This is okay, this is okay. Okay, okay, okay...

If your roommate hears you sniffling and shaking while alone in bed that night, she makes no comment. It’s the first thing she’s given you to be grateful about all year.

One of your biggest concerns before starting college was walking to classes alone. All throughout high school Mingi would walk with you across the tiny campus, somehow managing to drown out the crowded hallways with laughter and tips for quizzes. When you were taking discrete mathematics he’d walk backwards down the hallway while showing you flashcards.

Obviously you knew that wouldn’t be feasible in college. You might not have known many things before coming here, but you knew that vastly different majors would lead to vastly different classes. You knew that Mingi wasn’t going to wake up at eight am every Wednesday to walk you to your lectures. Knowing didn’t seem to make the actual act of it any easier in your brain.

But after just one week you started to look forward to the trek to your classes. At first it was because you could listen to the assigned readings in the amount of time it took you to get from your door to your desk, however that hasn’t been necessary since your social calendar became suddenly clear. You just do the readings at night in your loft bed, which hasn’t gotten any comfier, then use the walk as a time to relax. To think without impositions, even though they’d find their way to you most mornings.

Today your imposition is dressed in jeans with painting above the knee and a sweater that’s too big, tufts of red hair sticking out from beneath his black beanie.

“What are you doing out so early?” Hongjoong asks while jogging to take up the spot next to you, pulling on the strap of your bookbag as he arrives. When you fully look at his face you can see a dusting of pink across his nose. You think it’s from the light fall wind.

“I could ask the same thing of you.” You think that he looks pretty like this, with inklings of the rising sun taking purchase on his face. You almost think that anyone would look pretty like this.

“I’m out for a walk. Also grabbing muffins from the campus cafe, we’re out of food and Seonghwa’s mgonna be hungry.” His voice sounds groggy with sleep, like maybe he hasn’t been awake long. The notion conjures an image in your head of Hongjoong detangling himself from bed and trekking out to campus all so that his friend would surely have something to eat. It makes this whole exchange just a little bit easier, “Your turn.”

“I have an eight am class.” The boys eyebrows knit together as he looks at his darkened phone screen.

“It’s seven fifteen.”

“... I don’t like my roommate?” At that wimpy explanation he laughs, a gentle laugh that was made for morning, then hooks his arm through your own. The weight is something that you’ll have to grow used to.

“You kids are gonna drive me insane, I swear it.” His free hand pinches your cheek which is growing increasingly warmer. You hope that you two will continue walking like this, quiet and unbothered and maybe a little bit childish.

“Hongjoong?” You question as he begins to pull you down a brick paved road that you’ve yet to travel.

“Hm?” He answers like nothing about this is strange.

“My class is the other way.” The boy giggles at your concern, wanting to reach out and run his thumb over the crease in between your eyebrows. Something about your demeanor, which isn’t far off from a stray kitten, clues him in that you wouldn’t respond well.

“We’re taking a detour.”

“If you don’t tell me where we’re going I’ll pull out my pepper spray.” This sentiment is the first thing all morning that’s made him stop in his tracks, casting a puzzled look to your bulky bookbag.

“Do you actually have pepper spray in there?” You can feel a smile edging on your lips as your eyes click with his, and while you know that he’s not giving you butterflies or sparks it does feel like something. Like the first gulp of soup on a cold day, or the sound of orange leaves crunching beneath your sneakers.

“Tell me where we’re going and you won’t have to find out.” Obviously, you don’t have any. It’s been in your cart on Amazon for forever but you’re not one hundred percent sure about how to order things to a dorm, and you figure that your first package shouldn’t be a literal weapon.

“We’re getting coffee, and you are terrifying.” The comment lights your cheeks with fire as you scurry to catch up with him once again.

“Well you’re the only person that thinks so.” The boy walks so quickly that your feet are nearly going in double time, face puffing with cold air while you speak.

“I doubt that.” You notice that his face is pink again, though you’re not too sure that it’s from the cold this time.

“You’re probably the only person who thinks anything of me.” Hongjoong stutters like he’s going to stop walking again but you tug on his arm once more and he’s back in full swing.

“That’s so not true. Yunho thinks you’re sweet, San says you’re a wonderful writer, Mingi clearly thinks that you’re amazing.” That last statement finds a crawl in your chest and begins to fill your lungs with pink daisies. Amazing. Mingi clearly thinks you’re amazing.

“Sure.” You answer with twiddly fingertips and a thumping heart. Luckily you’re standing in front of the campus cafe before you can think too hard on it.

Hongjoong orders two salted caramel hot chocolates, a black coffee, and three blueberry muffins. When you asked why he didn’t get you a coffee as promised he told you that the coffee here is ass and Seonghwa only drinks it because he’s starved for energy. You don’t have the heart to tell him that the frappuccino you order has so much cream and sugary syrups in it that you could barely even call it coffee, and it tastes pretty darn good. It’s not a big deal. Hot chocolate is good too.

“This is really good.” You offer later while walking through the campus quad. There’s not many people out this early, just a girl you’ve seen in your lecture once or twice and two boys playing checkers on the grass. Hongjoong keeps stepping on the crunchy orange leaves then smiling like a little kid. It makes you think that he’s growing on you, then that you thought that you’d be doing this kind of stuff with Mingi.

You don’t really know why you can’t let yourself enjoy this. You’re in the quad with Hongjoong, waiting out the clock until your class starts, and this precious sweet boy is playing in the fall leaves. This should be a perfect morning, but you can’t help feeling sad. Feeling incomplete.

“I know, right?” He answers, bouncing over to you wearing a bright expression, “Now get up pretty girl, we’re playing in the leaves.”

“I have a lecture.” He takes your hot chocolate and places it on the empty seat next to you before slotting his hand into your own. His skin is soft, like blankets fresh out of the dryer.

“And before that you’re going to have some fun, let’s go!” He’s smiling at you expectantly, so what are you supposed to do other than drop your hot chocolate and join him?

Your first impression is that he plays with people in the way that a puppy would play with another puppy. He’s quite fond of kicking up piles of leaves just to see how tall they’ll go, then you kick them up further and he gets flustered. He then proceeds to throw leaves in your face, then picks them out of your hair before you can get mad enough to throw them back. You think that this is a lot of fun, then that your trusty boots make a nice sound when the leaves crunch under them.

There’s this one time when you try to kick up the leaves and your leg slips out from beneath you, which sends you flailing backwards into the leaf pile. Hongjoong rushes over immediately, his face half concerned but mostly lit with laughter. He asks if you’re okay, though it’s through indecipherable wheezing so you can’t really hear him. The boy is laughing so hard that he ends up laying next to you, red hair and sparkling eyes mingling with the orange leaves seamlessly. You think that he looks like a photograph.

If you show up to your lecture ten minutes late and with crushed leaves sprinkled through your hair, no one mentions it.

Movie night with Wooyoung and San is fun. The popcorn is a little bit burnt, courtesy of San, but their couch is far more comfortable and blankets far fuzzier. Sans burning a candle that smells like cookies, and you feel like nothing could be more accurate to him.

“This is nice, I’ve been meaning to rewatch Harry Potter.” Wooyoung comments while sinking in between you and San on the couch. He’s cradling a bowl of slightly browned popcorn and shoving it into his mouth as if there’s nothing wrong.

“Yea, definitely. I like spending nights in.” You’re about to tell them that you considered this a night out, but then you think that’s terribly sad and that you’d sound really lame. So you nod instead.

They’re pleasant movie guests, San makes funny comments every once in a while. Wooyoung starts to fidget about halfway through the first movie so he spends the first portion of the second one making a fresh batch of popcorn. It doesn’t burn this time. Him and San spend almost the entire movie tossing popcorn across the room and into each others mouths. Overall it’s not such a bad night.

When all is said and done and you’re helping them pick up misfire popcorn kernels, the boys get to talking. They ask you what Mingi’s up to that he couldn’t make it to a Friday movie night. You’re going to tell them the truth, that Mingi’s out on a different date with a different girl from a different class. You’re going to tell them, but the words taste so terribly bitter on the way up.

“Um... I’m not sure. Probably homework.” Wooyoung tosses an unpopped kernel so that it hits you square in the forehead. You simply giggle before throwing it into your trash bag.

“We should’ve invited him! Him and Yunho, it could’ve been a whole thing!” San shouts from the kitchen. It makes your skin prick up with goosebumps. Because while you are definitely lonely, and you definitely miss Mingi, you’re not sure that you could handle his response. You’re not sure that you could handle asking Mingi to come to one of your most prized traditions and him saying no. Him saying no because he’s out with another girl and giving her his undivided attention, because that is how he is, and you couldn’t handle hearing him saying no to you. He never used to say no to you.

“I had fun with just you guys, though!” They tackle you in a bear hug, and it feels nice. It really does, it’s just that you still have that nagging feeling in your gut. Like your professor is right. Like you’re alone.

Your next ‘Introduction To Creative Writing’ assignment is about characters. The rubric clearly states that it should just be about the people and nothing else. Points will actually be deducted if you mention a setting.

So you wrote two characters, a boy and a girl. The boy finds the girl too bland so he asks if she’ll share a secret with him. She thinks for a long time while the boy studies her face, and he loves every corner of it. Finally, she leans in to whisper something. You don’t tell the audience what she’s said, but you do tell them that it makes the boy laugh. Then he kisses her cheek and they laugh some more, until time dies out and the stars no longer shine. You liked it from the moment that you started writing it, and by the end it was something that you were genuinely quite proud of.

Apparently pride wasn’t enough to get you a much higher grade. It’s passed back looking exactly like the last one, a bright red C and thousands of red notations. You flip to the rubric in the back to see that everything is marked straight down the middle.

You didn’t mention a setting, but you didn’t make the setting irrelevant.

Your characters didn’t interact with the setting, but they barely interacted with each other.

You included characters, but they were not lively and enjoyable.

And you’re not quite sure why everything you write is so dead. You’re not a person who feels dead, you’re funny and full of life. You have things to say that are important so you write them into stories rather than speaking them out loud. You’re good at this, so why are you getting C’s? Why is an old man with a beard that touches his belly button saying that you aren’t good at this?

When you get back to your dorm you rip the paper to shreds and cry alone in your loft bed. Mingi texts you to ask when you’ll be at dinner, you tell him that you’re too busy with homework. He asks if he should bring you something, but you lie that it’s all covered. You’re not entirely sure that you could handle seeing him right now.

When your roommate comes in she seems a little drunk. She clambers over to her bed then finally looks up to you. It’s not your finest moment, cheeks streaked with mascara and shreds of paper all around you.

“You okay?” She slurs out. You think that it’s a dumb question, because obviously you aren’t, but at least she’s trying. Trying is good.

“I’m fine” Right as the words come out you know that they sound fake, but you don’t know what else to do. Normally when you feel like this Mingi is just a phone call away. Every time you’ve tried to call him in the past week it’s gone to voicemail. When a week has really torn you down like this one you’d always have a movie night to look forward to. Mingi made it clear that he wasn’t too keen on that anymore. You usually have your shoulder to cry on. Now you don’t even think you’ll be able to keep yourself together if you see him.

And it’s hard for a lot of reasons. Because you need Mingi but Mingi doesn’t need you. Because everything feels so wrong unless you’re desperately trying to salvage your longest friendship. Because maybe this friendship meant a little bit more than just that, but you’ve realized entirely too late.

You usually wake up at seven thirty in the morning. It’s not because you want to, or because your roommate is too loud climbing into her bed at night, or because the sun comes into your dorm weirdly. You just go to sleep late, because you can’t force your brain to stop, then wake up early. Because out of all of the things that are going wrong, why wouldn’t you also get less than four hours of sleep every night?

But it’s not all bad. Every other morning you meet Hongjoong in the quad. Sometimes it’s with a book, sometimes with your latest creative writing assignment. He’ll read them and make comments. He always says that it’s good, and it’s fun to believe him for a little while.

This morning you come to him empty handed, just like he said to last time. There’s supposed to be a surprise. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you don’t like surprises.

“Good morning, pretty lady!” He’s always so chipper in the mornings, with his eyes crinkling happily around the edges and bright red hair bouncing. Today he’s wearing a puffy coat that’s nearly ready to swallow him whole paired with jeans that have a painting sprawling up the calf. You had recently found out that he and Seonghwa were responsible for the illustrations on everyone's clothes. Mingi gave them his favorite jeans after two lunches spent in the cafeteria.

“Good morning.” You were clearly finding it hard to be as excited.

“Did you read the student newsletter yesterday?” Cold air puffs from his lips along with the words, and his face lights up when you shake your head no. The collar of his coat is brushing his cheeks, “So it’s really a surprise then!”

He’s so precious and childlike in that moment that you decide there’s no harm in indulging him.

“What’s really a surprise?” He’s already started walking so you have to do a half jog to catch up, once you’re at his side he starts to skip so that you have to jog even further. This happens every once in a while whenever your friend is feeling extra punchy. You often find it hard to match that energy, but something about this early November morning has you more present than ever.

“Catch up to me and I’ll let you know.” He reaches into his pocket and appears to pull something out, then hang it over his head. You know there’s nothing in his hand. It’s empty and you know that, nevertheless you chase after him. The boy laughs loudly before sprinting away. Once you’ve caught him you start jumping for the mythical gift hanging over his head, which he finds unreasonably funny. The sound rings off the brick path beneath your feet, and it’s like the sun is finally rising. You think that’s the kind of person that Hongjoong is, the kind that would bring the sun up just to make someone else smile.

When you open his clenched hand he slips it into yours, fingers curling ever so gently around your own. His skin feels soft, it makes you wonder what kind of lotion he’s using.

“I caught up.” Your voice sounds small. Hongjoong thinks it’s bright, “What’s my surprise?”

“There are puppies in the quad, I think they’re up for adoption. I figured you’d like to see them.” He’s perfect. On paper Hongjoong should be the perfect boyfriend. He takes you to see puppies, buys you hot chocolate, makes you play in leaf piles, you’re pretty sure he’s redone his entire sleep schedule just so that you two can keep up with these morning strolls. You so badly want Hongjoong to be perfect.

But there’s just something off. Maybe it’s because his one hand can’t fully engulf both of yours, or because he doesn’t tower over you with what feels like two extra feet. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t smell like orange zest and freshly ground cinnamon.

Maybe it’s because he’s not Song Mingi.

“I would like to see them.” You respond, squeezing onto the boy's hands. Hongjoong is perfect, but he’s just not right, “I’d like that very much.”

You’re not quite sure how it happened, but San seemed to notice that your Fridays were becoming more and more lonely. After that one Harry Potter movie night you did with him and Wooyoung in their shared apartment you’ve not really done anything. Hongjoong invited you to another house party, and you were going to go, but when you reached for the handle to exit your dorm you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Something about going and knowing that Mingi would be there, probably with his date of the week, made your mouth taste sour. So you stayed home instead, sitting in your bed and struggling with a creative writing assignment. You’d occasionally snack on some granola bars that Mingi stashed in the bottom of your closet when he moved you in.

Those were your plans for tonight, but San grabbed you just before class ended. He told you that Wooyoung was planning dinner but the recipe serves four so he figured that they could invite you and save the rest as leftovers. You agreed, fully expecting that you’d chicken out at the last second and stay home, yet here you are. Standing in their kitchen while sipping on a shirley temple that San mixed up for you, Wooyoung is occasionally stirring the simmering pot on the stove. San invited Hongjoong at the very last second so those two are sitting at the kitchen table and trying to talk each other's ears off. You find your way into the empty seat beside Hongjoong and let his hand rest on your thigh. He rubs gentle circles on your jeans, and it nearly gives you butterflies.

“Dinner is almost done, would you guys mind grabbing some drinks from the garage.” The two boys nod before scurrying towards the front door and shared garage. Wooyoung takes the seat across from you, “Do you think you’re gonna date him?”

“Who?” You ask, probably in a less defensive way than he’d anticipated.

“Hongjoong.” Wooyoung doesn’t look as playful as usual, the childlike glint gone from his eyes. If anything the boy appears worried, probably for his friend Hongjoong. Part of you wants him to be worried for you. You’ve barely eaten anything except for granola bars in the past week because you don’t want to risk running into Mingi in the cafeteria. Your five hours of sleep every night has been slowly dwindling down to four. Mingi has moved movie night twice this month. You still can’t get a good grade on a creative writing assignment.

“I don’t know.” You think that you probably are. You think that you mostly want to.

“But you aren’t going to date Mingi?” It feels like the air around you is made of cotton, your mouth has gone completely dry.

You don’t know why you’re upset. You shouldn’t be upset.

“No.” There are tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You hope that if you breathe deeply enough then you can will them to stop, “I suppose I won’t.”

The dinner turns out lovely, but you can barely take a bite. You can barely even say another word for the rest of the night. You just tell them thank you, it was lovely, then go home to finish your creative writing assignment. The professor is probably going to write a note that it’s lonely. That’s okay, though. It is lonely, because that’s what you are. Terribly, and irrevocably lonely.

A week after the dinner party you and San are partnered together on a creative writing assignment. The main goal is to learn how to work collaboratively with another author, not that you even considered yourself that, and it’s coming along nicely. There are just a few things that need to be cleaned up before it’s due, which prodded San to invite you out to coffee. At least you thought that’s what it was about, but when he takes his seat at the table there’s no laptop tucked beneath his arm.

“A-are we not working on the project?” You question softly, hands hovering idly over your keyboard.

“I wasn’t planning to, but you... You can if you want to, I guess.” He drops his bags and heavy coat in the vacant seat before flipping through his wallet, “You ordered yet?” You shake your head no, you didn’t want him to show up and have you already be halfway done with your drink and then deal with the awkward conversation of how you showed up thirty minutes early because other than meeting Hongjoong in the morning this is the only thing on your social calendar for a week. After that you have movie night, “I’ll get you something. Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.” When the boy returns to the table, it’s with two steaming mugs, perfect for the frost bitten weather outside. Yours smells like vanilla and nutmeg.

“It’s the shop special I think.” He smiles gently, dimples on parade for the entire campus to see. You think that San has a nice smile, the kind that takes over his face, along with yours before you can even stop it.

“It’s nice, thank you.” Things are quiet for a second while San is putting away his wallet, and for some reason you’re confused. If you’re not going to work on the project then why on earth did he make the time to get coffee?

“(Y/n?)” He asks softly, raising your attention from the untouched mug of coffee to where his hand is on the lid of your laptop, “Are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m good.” The words sound dismissive before they’ve even left your mouth, “Why did you ask to get coffee?” Sans eyebrows raise and he feels a small tug on his heart. He doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to spend time with you.

“Because I have free time and I wanted to spend it with you.” You’re not sure why, but it’s hard to hear that. Maybe because you’ve been hiding from life for as long as you can remember, or because you’ve had nothing but free time for a month and you’ve wanted to spend all of it with the one person that will hardly return your texts, or maybe because sometimes those words are hard to hear.

“Oh.” You take a sip of the coffee, it makes your stomach feel warm for the first time in a long time, “Thank you.” San cracks his knuckles while offering up a gentle smile.

“No need to thank me, we’re friends.”

“I guess that’s why I’m thanking you. I don’t have a lot of friends, if you hadn’t noticed.” The boy is looking at you with attentive eyes, and it feels like there’s something lodged in the back of your throat. It tastes like vanilla and nutmeg and thousands of wasted opportunities, “I used to have Mingi, but he’s so busy with all of the classes and... Dates, that we don’t really talk much. I’m grateful that I have you.” When San smiles it’s sweet and genuine and you feel like you are finally doing the whole college thing. The thing where you make growth.

“I’m grateful to have you too, you’re a sweet kid.” If you weren’t so touched you would remind him that he’s only one year older, “I don’t think any of Mingi’s dates have much substance, honestly.” Something about the way he says it makes you think that he’s not talking about the girls themselves. It makes your heart flip.

“How come?” As soon as the words leave your mouth you pray that they don't sound eager. San lets out a heavy sigh and you think that maybe your prayer worked.

“He just isn’t really satisfied with anything. There have been girls eyeing him since his first time in the cafeteria, but he didn’t care much for it. Now he’s decided to take them up on their offers, and yet he still doesn’t seem to care for it. We’ve all asked him what’s up but he won’t say much. Just that it’s not what he’s looking for.” There’s a pointed gaze that says a million things. Mingi hasn’t found what he’s looking for. Mingi is just as lost as you are. Maybe Mingi couldn’t find what he was looking for because it’s always been there. Maybe Mingi needs you as much as you need him.

“Oh. I didn’t know.” You leave the cafe that day with a smile on your face and hope fluttering around in your heart, and for the first time in a long time you think that maybe you can be happy.

You’ve been planning this night since the moment you stepped out of the campus cafe with San. It’s probably a little bit cheesy, with all of the contraband candles and what not, but Mingi always said that you went a little overboard on movie nights. Now you’re standing in the center of your empty dorm room, illuminated by tea light candles, wearing the dress that you wore when Mingi dragged you to your first ‘party,’ and your heart all the way in your throat. Because tonight is the night. Tonight you’re going to tell Mingi how you feel about him, and you’re not going to listen to the little voice in your head that says this is probably stupid, and that Mingi showing up over half an hour late is a bad sign. That voice is annoying and has made you wait too long for too many things.

So when Mingi walks into your dorm with rosy cheeks and windblown hair, you let your heart stutter. When his jaw drops open, you let yourself laugh, and when he takes a step forward, you do too.

“What’s this about?” He questions with a familiar deep voice that leaves warmth blossoming in your chest.

“I just...” Your eyes lock onto the freckle on his neck before flashing back up to eyes. They’re sparkling in the flickering candle light, “I’ve missed you. Really badly, Mingi. I miss you in the mornings when I walk to class, I miss you at lunch when I get my granola bars from the closet, I miss you when I’m with my friends, I-I... I miss you on Friday nights. I spend all of my time missing you, and I don’t want to anymore. I’m tired of hiding how I feel about things, like I think that my creative writing assignments are stupid, and I hate everyone in sports medicine except for Wooyoung, and I miss you. A-and I think that I might love you, so I wanted to-” Mingi takes two steps forward, coming dangerously close to closing your distance, and you think that he’s about to kiss you. You think that you’re ready for him to kiss you. You’re heart is beating faster, then faster, then faster-

“Why are you doing this?” And then it stops dead. You honestly think that you might be dead. This feels worse than being dead.

“Um, d-doing- Doing what? I’m not doing anything, I thought you were-” You’re rambling and it’s so awful, Mingi knows it’s awful. His hands are massaging his temples as if this is insanely stressful. It kind of is, but you can’t figure out why he would think so.

“Why are you telling me that you love me? After not seeing each other for almost a month, why are you telling me that?” Clearly, this is not the way that you expected tonight to go. Several of the candles by your desk has burnt out, you feel like you’re about to cry, “I haven’t been lonely, (Y/n,) because I have a-” You feel tears tugging on your eyelids so hard that it hurts. Before you can think about it, and before you can hear whatever he has to say, your index finger is in between his eyes and you’re staring at him like you want to throw something out a window.

“Don’t say that.” It’s probably the most assertive you’ve ever been with him, “I just don’t understand why you’re fighting me on this.” Mingi takes a deep breath before running his hands through his hair. You wonder when he picked up on that habit, which person got to see this before you did. He looks handsome. You hate it.

“I don’t understand why you get to want this now. I don’t understand how I have waited and waited for you to love me back for years, and once I’m finally done with letting you break my heart you get to decide that you want this. I don’t understand how that’s fair.” There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but they’re different from the ones that you’ve seen before. They’re not like the ones he sheds over movies, these tears are angry and unwilling.

“Mingi I-“

“Don’t say that you didn’t know. I know that you didn’t know, because you never wanted to know. You were too scared to know, but I was never scared. I’ve always known that we were right, and you were always scared.” It feels like your heart is trying to crawl up your throat in the worst way possible. Like it’s a spider that you swallowed.

“Mingi that's not what-“

“But I can’t be with you (Y/n,) because I’m done with you being scared. I’ve been done with you being scared for years, and I'm finally okay with being done with you. Let me be okay, (Y/n.)'' There are now tears behind your eyes as well, but it’s not angry. It’s sad, because he’s right. You are really scared, it took months for you to work up the courage to admit to even yourself that you love Mingi.

“What are you saying?” The words are choked and staccato, tears spilling freely onto your cheeks. A brief look at his tear streaked face tells you that he’s known this answer for forever.

“I’m saying that I can’t be with you right now. I just… Can’t.”

He leaves before he can see you sink to the tiled floor, or hide your face in your hands, or cry off all of the mascara you had put on just for tonight. Just so that you could bat your eyelashes at him and give him love until the sun came up. Just so that you could give him your love like flowers and a candle lit room.

But you don’t get to do that. You put on mascara for no reason. Mingi doesn’t want your love, he doesn’t want your candle lit room. He gave your flowers back, and they’re just going to sit on your nightstand until time takes her toll on them. Until they wilt and wither and all of the petals fall onto the floor. You don’t know if you’ll have the strength to sweep them up.

It’s not clear when you start crying, but it is clear that you never stop. You cry for hours and hours until you finally pull yourself off the floor and into your bed. The candles burn themselves into darkness. The room smells a bit like ash. Your blankets are warm. Your chest aches. Mingi is gone. You are scared and you’re alone. You probably always will be.

You’re not sure when food lost its taste. When your room lost its color. When your legs became too heavy to move. When sleep became extinct. When it was easier to be in the library than it was to be in your own room. When every single one of your grades sky rocketed to an A while creative writing sat heavily at a C. You can’t watch Star Wars anymore without wanting to throw up. Strawberry ice cream tastes like poison.

You’d fallen asleep on a desk in the back of the library twice before Yunho found you. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do seeing as it was the middle of the day and no one had heard from you for a week and a half except for San, but he figured that leaving a hot coffee by your sleepy head seemed to suffice. If you were tired enough to fall asleep in the library it was probably much needed.

He thought that he’d just forget about that encounter, sweep it quietly under the rug and hope that you started getting more sleep. It was going well enough, until he arrived here. One week later, ten minutes before midnight, you in the same exact position as last time. There were tear tracks in your makeup and black smudged beneath your eyes. He could see the assignment peeking out from beneath your folded arms, ‘Study In Relationships,’ no doubt for creative writing. There are only two words that aren’t covered in black scribbles. You let a gentle snore, and he knows that it’s time to wake you up. To talk to you.

“(Y/n?)” He whispers while gently nudging your shoulder. You grumble ever so slightly before snatching the unfinished assignment back to rest beneath your head. Another small grunt leaves your lips before he calls out your name again, shaking you with a bit more force than the last time. Your eyes flutter open gently and take in the tan walls and fluorescent lighting before you fully register that Yunho is there.

“Hey,” Your voice is gruff around the edges, and you know that if you say too much everything is going to fall apart, “good to see you.” His eyes take you in, sweatpants with countless stains, a hoodie that has a little hole forming in the armpit, your hair disheveled and greasy. He knew that something bad had happened when Mingi came back to the dorm about two weeks ago with tear filled eyes and an unwillingness to talk. You stopped showing up to any of the meals after that, even Hongjoong couldn’t get a hold of you. The blue haired boy would be lying if he said he didn’t worry for you in passing, but all of those concerns were brought to a forefront at the sight of you now. You look, and he means this in the nicest way possible, like a disaster.

“Yea, i-it’s good to see you too.” His hands fiddle with the hem of his sweatshirt, busying themselves so that he doesn’t start to pack up for you, “The library is closing.” Your eyebrows furrow as you suddenly remember where you are.

“Oh. I-I’ll get this cleaned up then.” You don’t know why, but asking him to help feels wrong. You’d like help, but something about his pitying eyes makes you feel small. The same way that you did when those boys pushed you off of your hot pink bike. Like he’s pitying you, except now there’s no lanky kid to save you.

Yunho ends up offering the smallest amount of help possible, just slipping your pencil into your bookbag, before helping you stand. The room swims for a minute before you can walk.

“Can I walk you back to your dorm?” You don’t know how to tell him that most nights you don’t go back to the dorms after the library kicks you out. Most nights you plop down on a bench in the quad and slave over your creative writing journal. Most nights you don’t crawl back into your room until four in the morning, when your roommate is dead asleep and can’t ask you if you’re okay, “Just don’t want you walking back alone in the dark.”

And really, what are you supposed to say?

“Yea, that’s fine.” The two of you walk in silence for a wall, nothing except for the rhythm of padding feet and rustling tree branches. Early winter air nips the tops of your ears while Yunho shivers beside you. You hear him miss a step and you feel yourself choke on a thousand words.

“We’ve missed you.” You don’t respond with the question that you desperately want to ask. You don’t ask if everyone misses you. If a certain boy that smells of cinnamon and eyes that glimmer like childhood misses you.

“Yea. I’ve missed you guys too.” The silhouette of your dorm building is slowly coming into view, you think that it looks different when the world is still awake. Some windows are still lit, people are drawing curtains shut. Normally when you come home everything is dark and unbelievably cold. This isn’t anything special, but it’s a whole lot better than that, “This is me.” You say tersely while slowing to a stop in front of the looming building.

“Yep.” You can tell that he wants to ask you something. Maybe it’s why you were asleep in the library, or why depression wears you like a necktie, or why he hasn’t seen you in the cafeteria for a month in a half. He wants to ask you something, but the way his lips close around the consonant tells you that he won’t.

You get halfway into the door before something tugs at your heart strings, “Yunho?” You call out, turning halfway over your shoulder to see his eyes trained on you. They look sad. You think that it makes sense why, “Thank you.”

He nods curtly, and you know that he’s not sure why you’re thanking him. It’s okay though, because at least you know that he misses you. Before tonight, you thought no one missed you.

Sleep is as rare as ever that night, yet the thing that lulls you to sleep is the same as always. Floppy brown hair, clapping hands, a bad CGI explosion playing off of a crackly VHS tape. He smells like cinnamon and orange rinds, yet when you inhale it’s nothing but your dusty dorm room.

The end of the semester means wrapping up many loose ends. You pack up every coat and Christmas themed clothing item in your closet, notably avoiding the dress that you wore for Mingi. You meet Hongjoong for coffee and exchange presents, a pair of customized jeans for you and a twenty five dollar visa gift card for him. He smiled really wide when you told him that it was to make up for all of the coffees and meaningless conversation. You drop the level two creative writing class that was on your schedule. San makes a plan to meet up over the holiday and you agree wholeheartedly. Finals week isn’t all too bad seeing as you’re already getting less than four hours of sleep a night and funneling every bit of brain power into school. The only thing that’s left for you to do is turning in your creative writing assignment, which is both the easiest task and the one that you want to do least.

The classroom is dead empty when you enter, not even your white bearded professor in sight. You scurry down the steps with the short story in hand, a meaningless piece about two strangers who share misty mornings. You hate it, just like you’ve grown to hate almost everything that you create, but it’s an assignment. It meets the bare minimum for what’s required on your rubric. You finished it.

“Miss (Y/n?)” Your body freezes in the middle of the final step before stuttering slowly back to normal. It probably looks stupid but you barely have the will to care, seeing as the thing that you were most dreading was happening. Your creative writing professor is standing at the top of the classroom with his long beard and judgmental eyes, and you are standing in front of his desk with shaky knees.

“O-oh, hi! I was just turning in-”

“Why aren’t you enrolled in my class next semester?” You take in a breath, the air as thick as soup. You don’t know how to answer his question. You don’t want to answer his question. Answering his question feels like letting go of a piece of yourself.

“Oh, I-I dropped it. It’s just that I have other classes I need to take, a-and I’m not all that good so…” Your professor nods before furrowing his bushy eyebrows and starting slowly down the stairs. Each of his forward steps causes your heart to thump.

“Who said that you aren’t good?” He questions, continuing down the steps. You clench the assignment in your hands and watch as the paper creases beneath your thumbs. When you look at the pages they’re clear, nothing but your words and margins, but when you think about what it’ll look like in a week you want to cry. It’ll be marked in red, with a fat red ‘C’ circled on the title page.

“I-I just, I never thought, Y-you said-” The professor is now standing in front of you with folded hands, his expression of confusion shifted into concern.

“I never said that you aren’t good.” You breathe in again, the air thin enough to actually intake this time around.

“You didn’t?” He shakes his head before pulling the crinkled assignment out of your hands.

“No, you show great promise as a writer! Your writing is… lacking, but it’s only in one area that can be easily improved upon. No great writers start out great, but all great authors show their flaws at one point.” Tears prickle the back of your eyelids, and it feels like there’s a little hand grappling onto whatever you thought you’d have to let go.

“Miss (Y/n,) I’m trying to say that failure is okay. Getting less than a ‘B’ on your paper is okay, but you can’t stop trying.” He’s right, a part of you has known for a while that he’s right. Just because you got a bad grade in this class doesn’t mean that you’re bad at writing. Just because Mingi said no doesn’t mean that you’ll never feel deeply again. It just means that you need to keep trying.

“Oh, um… Thank you.” You’re not sure what else to say. There honestly isn’t much else to say, so you give him a short nod and head towards the stairs. You think that you’re going to head back to the dorm and cry on your bed, which is stripped of its duvet and most of the pillows. You think that you’re going to ask if you can have this class added back to your schedule. You think that you might speak with Hongjoong more often once your break is over.

And sure enough, your spring semester begins with Hongjoong walking you across campus and to your second level creative writing class. The month away seems to have done good for the both of you, Hongjoong returning with dozens more customized clothing items and you with slowly disappearing eye bags. His hair is also faded into a lighter pink shade, which you think suits him quite well.

Your walk to class is uneventful, riddled with small talk and basic catching up. Near the end he slips his arm beneath your book bag and around your waist, which feels nice enough. His arms are stronger than you expected. The half embrace is not unwelcome. When you two are standing outside of the quickly filling classroom he takes your hands into his own for a brief moment before asking if you’re free for coffee after class. You want to make up an excuse for why you can’t go, because you know that this isn’t just two friends going for coffee, but when you look at Hongjoong there are sparkles in his eyes. Pink hair tickles his cheekbone as he smiles warmly at you, and you find yourself thinking that his confidence right now is commendable. You also find yourself saying yes, you can definitely get coffee with.

It’s a fun outing. He cracks a few jokes, you talk about class. He asks if you have any assignments and you say not yet. When he orders an iced coffee you ask if he’s trying to get frostbite, to which he laughs and pokes out his tongue. You think that he looks cute. You think that all of this is kind of cute.

You also think that when you’re with Hongjoong, and he’s making you laugh and holding your waist, it’s very easy to forget about how badly you miss Mingi.

When you agreed to re-enroll in your creative writing class you and your professor exchanged a number of emails. First about how you could improve your grade, then about how to improve your writing, then countless of other questions with ambiguous answers before the two of you finally settled on having weekly meetings. It would be sort of like he were your personal advisor, but only for writing. You would come into his office once a week to discuss your current project and he would read it over, ask if you had concerns, usually give some feedback.

Within the first week it was clear what your most reoccurring critique would be. It was a mantra echoed many times, ‘To write life you have to live it.’ He said that your writing was good, pretty, but the characters lacked life. Then he asked if you could try to spend a little more time with people. It didn’t have to be much, but he was convinced that a bit more people time would improve your writing greatly.

It’s been a month or so since that first meeting, and you weren’t sure if you agreed yet. You were spending almost everyday with Hongjoong, sometimes Seonghwa as well. You were definitely more tired each time you came home, but you also smiled more. Laughed more, too. They would often ask you for help with silly things, like the time that Hongjoong called you at midnight because he needed help touching up his hair, Seonghwa often asked you to mix his paints. It often felt like you were their third roommate, but it was okay. You had fun.

Yet you didn’t see much improvement in your writing. There were still notes in red ink on your paper. You weren’t sure of the remedy you should apply, but more people time seemed like it wouldn’t hurt. So you set up daily lunches with Yeosang and Jongho, which was an interesting dynamic to say the least. Jongho would sit down most days and chug an entire reusable cup of green tea with soy milk before getting lunch, to which Yeosang would furrow his eyebrows and comment ‘I don’t know how he drinks that.’ Usually the younger boy would talk animatedly with you about classes then he’d ask if Yeosang had anything going on. Your dark haired friend would look up from his half inhaled plate of food with deep set eye bags and say that he had at least three papers to write. One time you asked if he was okay, but he just laughed and blamed it on his major. After that your writing seemed to improve greatly, at least according to your professor. He told you that it was starting to come alive much quicker. The only thing he had left to say was that your more gentle characters needed work. He said that they needed to be more than just gentle.

Running into Yunho in the library after that meeting was pure coincidence. You were headed to the back to start cracking down on some of your more challenging classes, namely entrance level biology, yet when you dropped your bag on your usual study table you noticed someone was already there.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll just-”

“(Y/n?)” He asked while turning to face you. It suddenly hit you that the last time Yunho had seen you was while you were at your absolute worst. Not sleeping, or eating, or talking to anyone but yourself. You don’t know if he’s going to let that version of you go. You only know how badly you want him to.

“Yea, it’s me.” The words tug on your vocal chords so you cough lightly in an attempt to clear them, “How are you doing?” He twirls the blue gel pen in his hand for a moment before responding.

“I’m okay. The usual kind of busy, my room’s been messy lately. Just normal stuff.” Quiet settles over your conversation so that you’re left standing awkwardly in front of his neatly organized table. You’re not sure why you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you are sure that it has something to do with the fleeting thoughts of the boy that Yunho’s sharing that messy room with, “What’re you working on?” He asks, motioning with his gel pen to the stuffed folder in your hands.

“O-oh just some biology stuff, I have a quiz next week so…” Before you can say otherwise he’s clearing off a spot on the table and telling you to pull up a chair. He helps you with pretty much every half finished assignment. He even adds extra cheat codes onto your flash cards in crisp blue ink. As you’re leaving the library to get dinner with Hongjoong he tells you to meet him back here after your quiz.

“After all, I’d like to know how my best student is doing.” Weekly study sessions honestly come about naturally. He insists that he’s beyond happy to help, and you’re beyond happy to observe him. Listening to him talk is your favorite part. He’ll ramble on about a lab or being worried that someones going to steal his bike from in front of the dorms. He tells you that he thinks Hongjoong will ask you out, you tell him that you know. He says that your handwriting is pretty, you thank him. When he talks about things that make him angry his words are gentle and calculated, so as not to hurt people that aren’t even present. Needless to say, the red ink marks are few and far between after factoring this newfound knowledge into your pieces.

But you think that it’s a bit more than that too. For the first time in… Ever, you think, you’re happy. Not in a fleeting way that depends on strawberry ice cream eaten on Friday nights. You’re happy in a way that’s hard to tumble, and you’re happy in a way that’s without Mingi. You never thought that you would be happy without Mingi. All throughout high school you feared this very thing, having to live without him and be okay with it. Now that you’re doing it, it’s not all that scary.

You still see Mingi around campus from time to time, in curls of chestnut hair and broad shoulders. Sometimes when you’re walking to class with Hongjoong you can hear his laugh bouncing from the surrounding buildings. Part of you wonders if you’re just conjuring him up. Part of you wonders when it’ll stop.

Hongjoong does ask you out, just like Wooyoung, and Yunho, and everyone predicted. You say yes. You laugh with your friends until your sides hurt. You share kisses with your boyfriend. You start to feel excited about life in a way that you never have, and a part of you honestly wonders if this whole thing with Mingi was just a growing pain. Something that needed to happen in order for you to change.

The aching of your chest at night says otherwise. But believing as much is easier to stomach.

You’re relaxing at Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s house when a nerve is struck. You'd been sitting at the table chatting with Seonghwa while Hongjoong made himself something for lunch. It was really an accident, you had just been telling Seonghwa about your study session with Yunho when he got onto the topic about an awkward study date he had been on recently. You laughed as he recounted it and assured him that a study date was a cute first date.

“I’m sure it’s not as cute as whatever you and Hongjoong did.” And that’s when it happens. The chord is played, the line is written, and Hongjoong was looking at you with wide, apologetic eyes, “Y-you did have a good first date, right?” Your boyfriend said nothing, just bit his lower lip and returned his attention to the stove, “You’ve been dating for a month, you had to have had a first date. Right?”

“I’m sure that we will.” The tension that followed your meek statement was painstaking. First Hongjoong inhaled sharply through his nose, then Seonghwas mouth pressed into a thin line while his eyebrows raised. He muttered some nonsense about needing to get started on his painting for realism class. Apparently he was in such a rush to leave that he forgot that he wasn’t even taking a realism class, “Look, Joong we don’t have to-”

“Do you want a cutesy first date?” He asked, turning away from his food once again so that his eyes could bore into your own. You weren’t sure if his voice was stern in that moment or sincere, either way it was maddeningly effective.

“I mean… It would be nice.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded with his tongue in his cheek before returning to his food. Once it’s done and the fragrance is drifting from his workplace and towards the table, he takes the seat across from you. You’re about to say something but then he presses a swift kiss onto your lips.

“Then you, my darling, are getting just that.”

A cutesy first date, with your sweet boyfriend who brings you tons of joy. It sounds great in theory, except for the fact that it’s been a week since your conversation and he still refuses to tell you when or where the date will be. Some may say that it’s romantic, but you say that it’s stressful. Pretty much every time that you leave your dorm room you end up seeing Hongjoong, so pretty much every time that you leave the dorm room you’re fully dressed and ready to go out. You’re starting to think that he’s finding joy in your suffering. It’s not too drastic of a belief, seeing as every time that you open your dorm room in a new outfit he giggles and whispers ‘cute.’

The miniature cat and mouse game finally comes to an end about a week and a half later, when he texts you Friday morning that you should wear something cute today and to be ready for pick up at five thirty. Though, the suffering doesn’t really end because in reality you spend the entire day raking through your closet for anything that could possibly make a cute outfit. There’s the cursed red plaid dress that you wore to that house party and awful confession oh so many months ago. You figured that was a no go, but honestly what else did you even have? There’s a uniform skirt that you bought while thrifting with Hongjoong, but you weren’t sure what shirt to wear with it. Your favorite jeans were in the wash so those obviously weren’t an option. It looked like it was going to have to be that dumb little dress.

But it’s not so bad, you manage to pair it with a black cardigan and the pair of leather boots that your mom got you for Christmas to replace the old ones. You also do more makeup than last time, so it really doesn’t look all that similar. When you look in the mirror before answering Hongjoongs knock you’re barely even thinking about the last night that you wore the dress. You’re thinking about tonight… Mostly about tonight.

You open the door to see your boyfriend wearing a black button up and blue hair that catches you off guard. His hands are shoved cutely into his pockets, you can see his thumbs twiddling from inside his jean pockets. The moment that his eyes take in your frame his face breaks out into a wide smile. It’s a familiar smile at this point, he wears it around you constantly.

“You look amazing.” He says beneath his breath. You watch with twinkling eyes as he examines every one of your features, your smiles growing with each passing moment.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You're not sure what to do past this point. He’s said that you look nice, you’ve internally fawned over his new hair that looks so incredibly soft, you’ve looked each other once or twice and smiled. You don’t know if you’re supposed to kiss him now, or hold his hand, or what. This is all quite new, “Um, should we get going?” He looks back at your face with a jump, as though your question had pulled him out of something. You’re going to ask what, but you aren’t quite sure how to get the words out.

“Yes, yea! I-I’ll lead the way.” After five minutes of walking around your familiar campus you arrive at the shuttle. You’ve only taken it once or twice in your time here, mainly to get to Hongjoong’s house at the edge of campus, but you do know that on weekends it will take you into the nearby city. There’s only one seat left by the time that you get on, so of course Hongjoong let’s you have it and opts to stand instead.

“You can sit if you want to.” He immediately shuts down your offer with a quick peck to your lips and a sweet giggle that you’ve grown to adore.

“It’s our first date, I can’t have you thinking that I’m anything less than a gentleman.” If he weren’t so endearing you’d point out that you’ve been together for over a month. But he is endearing, so you only laugh and take hold of his hand.

The date ends up being pretty much perfect. He takes you to a small cat cafe that’s tucked away on the downtown streets of the city, something that you didn’t even know existed until this very night. The inside is fully decorated in light pink with white lighting that highlights your adorable boyfriends features. He’s so sweet the whole time, smiling and letting the cats curl up in lap. The two of you share a piece of cake, he smears a little bit of the stiff frosting onto your nose. It’s cute. Sweet. You return to the dorm room with hot cheeks and a bashful grin.

“I had a lot of fun.” You say to him while leaning up against the doorframe of your dorm room. He smiles, but it’s different from the smile that you usually see. He’s usually so confident and sure of himself, but in this fleeting moment you can see unsureness in his features. It’s almost like he didn’t think you’d like the date.

“Yea?” You nod as quickly as he can ask. It’s not clear why, but you feel the need to assure him that you enjoyed your time together, “I’m glad. We could do something like this every week, you know?”

The response isn’t as quick this time, or as adamant. You want to say yes. You had fun tonight, you enjoy spending time with Hongjoong, you want to say yes. But there’s something holding you back. It’s gentle, tugging on your heartstrings like a haunting winter melody. It tastes of strawberry ice cream, and smells of Song Mingi’s basement. You still remember the first time that he proposed a weekly movie night, all those years ago. You still remember how wanted it made you feel. At times you wonder if anyone will make you feel as wanted as Mingi did.

You’re starting to wonder that now, even as Hongjoong catches his thumb beneath your chin so as to tilt your chin up. The thoughts don't waver until your eyes meet, and you think that you’re probably right. No one will make you feel as wanted as Mingi; but Hongjoong does make you feel wanted. It’s not as overwhelming as Mingi. It’s not as safe as Mingi. It’s not as fateful as Migni. But it is there.

“What do you think? About the weekly thing, I mean. Like how does that sound?” Mingi was everything to you. In many ways he is still, but he’s also gone. Hongjoong is most things, but at least he’s here.

“It sounds lovely.”

You’ve spent a lot of time thinking in the past few weeks, pretty much ever since Hongjoong started with the dates. It’s mostly when you come back to your dorm after them and lay belly up on your loft bed, eyes glazing over the ceiling tiles that you’re pretending to count. Sometimes you think about Hongjoong, the way that his smile overpowers his face. The way that he laughs whenever he flusters you. The way he takes time out of his week to plan these cute little dates with you. Sometimes you think about Hongjoong. But most of the time you don’t.

Most of the time you find your thoughts wandering far out of reach, and most of the time they wander straight into Song Mingi. It starts with thinking that you miss his presence, the way that he jumps to help anyone with anything. The way that his eyes shine each time you call out his name. You miss the way that he gives hugs, all warm and inviting. Some nights if you focus hard enough you can even remember the way that he smells. Orange zest and cinnamon.

If you’re honest with yourself, you know that this isn’t fair to Hongjoong. You like him well enough, but he adores you. He calls you darling and kisses you as though the action is sacred. He always walks you home after every date even though his own house is so far away. In theory, he is perfect. You’ve been dating for close to two months, you should be fully head over heels by now. But you can’t give that to him, and you know it. You also know that you can’t be alone again.

“Darling?” Hongjoong questions, pulling you away from your thoughts and back into the present. The two of you are cuddled into a far corner of the couch, midday sun pouring through the tall windows and landing across your boyfriend's face. You were watching the light dance in his eyes and talking about your latest creative writing meeting, but then he started talking about having another dinner party at the house. He said that it’d be like the one that he and Seonghwa hosted at the beginning of the school year, where you came with Mingi. It’s kind of funny honestly, because he regards that as one of the nights where he first started to like you. You regard it as one of the nights where Mingi first started to hate you, “Is everything okay?”

You should tell him no, because that’s the truth. You’re not okay. You don’t know if you’ll ever get over Mingi. You don’t think that you’ll ever love Hongjoong the way that he so clearly loves you. You shouldn’t lie to him. You should tell him no.

You also shouldn’t be alone again, right?

“Yea! I’m just tired. That’s all.”

In retrospect, you should’ve asked Hongjoong to not invite Mingi to this house party. It would’ve sounded odd, sure. As far he knew you and Mingi were still friendly. Had you requested that Mingi wouldn’t be invited you probably would’ve ended up having to rehash the entirety of your history. It would probably leave your boyfriend questioning whether or not you still had feelings for Mingi, a question that you’d have to lie through your teeth to answer. It would’ve been a little bit awkward, sure. But at least you wouldn’t be where you are now.

You fall gracelessly onto Hongjoongs unmade double bed, hands flying up to cover your flustered face. Mingi arrived at the off campus house nearly two hours after all of the other guests. There was an small window where you thought that you were safe, in which you took time to talk with San and Wooyoung while grazing over the cheese board that Seonghwa had set out. You felt like a true adult in that narrow window, the kind that works a nine to five job and deals with their problems. Then Mingi arrived. Two hours late.

You watched carefully as his eyes bounced around the room. They landed first on Yunho, who engulfed the boy in a warm hug before returning to his previous conversation. Then they traveled to the sectional couch in the living room where Seonghwa sat with Yeosang. He offered them a short greeting while walking through the living room, face crinkling with laughter at something that Yeosang had said. You find it comforting that after so much time apart his laughter hasn’t changed. He filtered naturally out of the conversation before moving to stand beside the tv. You watched his eyes move deftly across the open floor plan and began to wonder what he’s looking for so eagerly. Maybe it’s the girl from his math class. Maybe it’s someone entirely different. His gaze wandered and wandered, covering every corner that it could reach before finally landing. Before finally landing on you.

His eyes were piercing yet kind, stripping away the facade that you had previously believed. You aren’t an adult. You’re a little girl that got pushed off of her barbie bike and had to have a lanky preteen come to her rescue. You’re the idiot who lit dozens of tea light candles in her dorm room just to be turned away. It feels like you’re being stripped of your skin, but it also feels like you’re being reminded of yourself.

“Are you okay?” Jongho asked. You were so occupied with Mingi that you didn’t even realize he had joined. His question was sobering though, pulling you back to the harsh reality that you are okay. And you’re okay without Mingi.

“Yea, I’m fine.” You tore your focus back to the group in front of you, who were all staring at you. They clearly didn’t buy your answer, and you didn’t blame them too much. Anyone who didn’t know you could see that you were distressed, so clearly three of your close friends could tell, “I-I just realized that I have a paper due tonight. I’m gonna go finish it in Hongjoong’s room.”

You now find yourself praying that Hongjoong won’t try to come and find you. You don’t know how to lie about this to him. You don’t know how to look him in the eyes and make up a reason for why you freaked out and left the party. By some terrible coincidence the door handle starts to jiggle. You want to say that you think through all of the possibilities of what you’ll say to him, but in reality there’s only one option of what you’ll say. The truth. If Hongjoong were to come into his room right now and ask what’s wrong you would have to tell him the truth. That you love Mingi.

“Hey honey, I had a paper to finish and-” The person that comes through the narrow doorway is much taller than your boyfriend. His shoulders are broader. The slope of his nose goes down further. Even from here you can smell brown sugar and oranges, “Oh. It’s you.” He looks handsome as ever. His cheeks may be a bit slimmer, the bags beneath his eyes are a bit deeper, but he still looks like Mingi. His face is still your childhood.

“Yea. It’s me.” Silence falls over the room, squeezing tightly around the chords of your throat to the point where you think that they’re going to break, “I-I just saw you come in here and-”

“I have a paper.” He swallows harshly, hands shoving into his pockets as his eyes stay glued to the floor. You find that bit funny, seeing as when you were outside he wanted to look nowhere but you.

“Right. A paper. I’ll leave you to that, then.” He’s moving to leave, and in that moment you know nothing. You’re not entirely sure what your name is, or where left is in relation to right, but you do know one thing. You don’t want Mingi to leave. You don’t want him to leave. He’s barely been here for two minutes. You haven’t said a single thing that you wanted to say. He can’t leave.

“Wait!” The boy stops in his tracks before turning. His eyes finally meet yours again, they’re questioning and so gentle that you almost think things could go back to normal, “I don’t have a paper due tonight. Well, I do but I did it two days ago. It’s just that when I saw you I-I… I panicked. Probably because we haven’t seen each other in months. Probably because I really, really, miss you.” Your eyes are slowly becoming tearful, but you really don’t want them to be. You’ve shed so many tears over this relationship. You should be able to do this. The fact that he’s not saying anything doesn’t make it any easier, but still. You should be able to do this, “You don’t have to say anything, I guess, but I-I’m glad that I said it. You were my best friend, I’ll always think of you in that way. I know that we’ve both said… Things, and I get that you might not be able to move past that, but I’m willing to. If it means that we can be friends again, I’m willing to.” Your eyes somehow became glued to your twiddling thumbs over the course of your speech. You don’t think that you’re going to move them, until you feel a pair of strong arms embracing you. He smells so good, like he always does. This one hug feels like all of the comfort that you’ve craved for the last six months. Like the comfort that only Mingi can bring you.

“I’ll move past it. I-I’ve missed you too.” His voice is low, crackling like a fresh log that’s been thrown into the fireplace. You spend the following two hours in Hongjoongs room. You’re curled up on the bed and he’s in front of the disheveled desk. It’s dodgy, you know that it is, but something about really being here with Mingi makes you forget about all of that mess. It’s much easier to forget about it. You eventually return to the party, floating in between conversations with all of your friends. It’s nice to not have to avoid Mingi. At one point Hongjoong joins your conversation with Mingi, San, and Wooyoung. He puts an arm around your waist, which you should enjoy. You would like to enjoy it, but your mind is slightly preoccupied.

“Where’d you go earlier, darling?” He whispers into your ear halfway through a drawn out story that San is sharing. He’s always been awful at telling stories, but he gets so excited that everyone lets it slide.

“Oh! I just had a paper that I needed to finish, so I went and did that in your room.” He wants to ask why you had to do that with Mingi, but then the other boy starts to laugh and he knows the answer. Based entirely off of the way that you look at him, Hongjoong knows.

Once everyone has left and you’ve all shared your goodbyes, Hongjoong suggests that the two of you clean up the living room together. It was an hour or so of silence before he brought up the elephant in the room.

“I’m not it for you. Am I?” You don’t know why you thought he’d be angry with you. Probably because he’d have every reason to be so. But this is Hongjoong. You could single handedly send the world into ruin and Hongjoong still wouldn’t get mad at you.

“I really want you to be.” You’ve stopped cleaning now, hands lying limp over the small stain that you were previously scrubbing off of the couch. Getting dumped isn’t going at all how you always thought that it would. It doesn’t feel like your heart is being trampled. You don’t have the compulsive urge to cry. No, none of that. It just feels like you’re explaining away a weight that’s been on your chest for months, “Does that make sense?”

“I think that you wish you wanted me. I think that you wanted me more than you wanted to be alone.” He’s started to play with the strings of his hoodie in a hopeless attempt to calm his raging heart, “But you’re not alone anymore, are you?” You could pretend that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You could deny it, but in reality there’s no point to any of that. It would only prolong all of this, so you nod, “Yeah. Thought so.”

When you say goodbye to him he hugs you tighter than usual, you think for a minute that he’s going to tell you something else. He doesn’t. Just kisses your forehead and says to get home safely. You do, it’s a mere twenty minutes before you’re tiptoeing into your dorm room and up the ladder to your bed. It almost gets to the point where you pretend to count ceiling tiles, but then your phone buzzes from beneath your pillow. It’s a text from Mingi, a short and sweet message.

‘I’m glad to be your friend:)’

It’s probably stupid, seeing as the night ended on a terribly sour note, but those few words and that silly emoticon makes it feel like this entire year has been worth it. Because you have Mingi again, and there’s no way that you’ll lose him this time around.

After the breakup with Hongjoong, you were slightly worried that no one would want to be friends with you anymore. It would certainly be a fair decision on their part, seeing as you were beyond awful as a girlfriend. You thought that in Hongjoong’s healing, he would end up telling some of the worst things that you did to some of the people whose opinions matter the most. You’re not sure why you thought that, perhaps because it’s what you would’ve done if someone did this to you.

You’re more immature than he is, though. Hongjoong handles his feelings with grace. His words are unbelievably careful whenever he shares them, or at least that’s what Seonghwa says. He also says that he misses having you around to mix his paints and clean his brushes. You had told him that you were just glad that he still likes you, even if the wounds were only a month old.

There was also the ever present worry that Mingi would ask why you and Hongjoong split. You’ve thought of plenty of fake reasons, like saying that the two of you didn’t really click. Or you could keep it simple and say that it just wasn’t the right time for either of you. The options were endless, but there was the problem of Mingi being able to read you like an open book. He would surely know that you’re lying, possibly before you even opened your mouth. The main risk involved was whether or not he’d pester you for the truth.

That constant fear was not helpful for a regrowing relationship, to say the least. You’ve hung out a number of times since reuniting, but he would always ask you about what you did in the months that you spent apart. Obviously, mentioning the end of first semester was strictly off limits. The rest of the time you spent with Hongjoong, so that left very little room for conversation. You would mostly end up talking about your creative writing meetings, which was fine. It was just sparse.

But this weekend would be different. The two of you had made plans nearly two weeks ago to carpool home together after spring midterms for the long weekend. Your immediate response was to panic, because what on earth would the two of you talk about for the hours that it took to drive home? How would you possibly avoid talking about any of your life for the past four months for that long? But as the days drew closer you realized that maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. The two of you used to go on fun drives constantly, and most of the time you’d barely talk at all. This would be fine. You could manage this.

He picks you up an hour after the exams are concluded, and much to your gratitude there’s music already blaring from each of the speakers. He motions through the window for you to put your bags in the backseat, which you do before sliding into the front seat of his car.

“Hey.” He’s looking at you with a soft smile when he says this, the gentleness of his face juxtaposed against the disney channel music blaring from the speakers is enough to make you laugh. So you do, the sound falling from your lips in a way that reminds Mingi of how dearly he missed it.

“Hi.” You stare at him for a minute, and he stares back. You find yourself thinking that all of this is mighty odd. Just two months ago you didn’t think that you’d ever have the strength to talk about Mingi again, now the two of you are sitting in the same car, “We’re listening to High School Musical?” He laughs too, passing his phone into your lap while shaking his head of brown curls.

“For now yes, you can change it if you’d like.” If you didn’t know him then you would’ve missed the twinkle in his eyes which indicated that he was going to continue, “Only if it’s Hannah Montana, though.”

The ride was full with playful banter and off key high notes. Each time Mingi would go to hit one he’d tilt his head back ever so slightly, the brake lights of the car in front of you catching on the delicate lines of his adams apple as he did so. You would laugh until you had to clench your stomach then chastise him for not keeping his eyes on the road. He never once tried to ask about what you’ve been up to, or ask about Hongjoong. In a way, you almost forgot about it for the long hours that it took to drive into your hometown. Mingi seemed to have that effect, like walking through a museum of all of the things that he made you feel for the beginning of your lifetime. Comforted. Carefree. Joyful.

The car slows down then turns, and even if you weren’t looking up you’d know exactly where this car was headed. It’s the place that you spent every late friday night, the place where burgers couldn’t be served without a milkshake on the side, the place where Mingi first knew that he would always love you no matter how hard he ran from it. The chrome on the outside of the diner looks exactly the same, and when you peer through the windows it’s even more familiar. Red cushioned seats, a jukebox in the corner, salt and pepper in mismatched porcelain dispensers on each table. It feels like you’re coming from a football game with sweaty hair and a quickly beating heart. It feels like you’re still a kid.

“Are you hungry?” You ask teasingly as Mingi turns off the car and undoes his seatbelt. He runs a hand through his hair, laughing lowly.

“More like thirsty, milkshakes on me?” You know how this is going to end. You know what paying for food and offering up rides indicates. You know that this could crash and burn and leave you utterly devastated for months. But you also know that you’ve changed. That you’re finally done living a loveless life in honor of your own comfort. You think that he’s changed too, less bitter now. You’re both finished with hurting each other, so maybe it could end up hurting exactly the way that it did last time. Maybe it’ll end up working out. The fact of the matter is that you’ll never know what falling feels like unless you jump.

“Milkshakes on you.” You respond with a purely happy smile. He smiles too, the kind that breaks across his entire face until it can’t possibly get any bigger. You’ve missed that smile so much, “Hongjoong and I broke up by the way. I’m sure that you already knew that, but I wanted to tell you myself.” He nods once, then purses his lips, then begins to play with his own fingertips. It’s too early for you to get a read on him, but you do think that he already knew. You also think that he’s trying to hide his happiness.

“Thank you for telling me.” He pinches his lips shut and swallows before continuing, “Are you okay?” He reaches out to hold your hand before he can even think about it, but it doesn’t seem to make you uncomfortable. You take his hand and squeeze it gently then slowly set it back down to lay on his thigh.

“I’m fine. I’ll be even better once I get a milkshake.”

Conversation flows more naturally after that, the both of you talking about nothing and everything at the same time. He tells you about the time that Yunho made a hotdog explode in their microwave. You share one of your many anecdotes from lunch with Yeosang and Jongho. He asks about what you’ve been writing lately and so you tell him briefly about your work in progress and the meetings with your teacher. The entire time while you’re talking he beams at you with pride. You had always loved writing so much.

You finish your milkshakes and he tips the waitress extra. You drive the remainder of the way to your house, Hannah Montana still blaring from his speakers. It’s unbelievably stupid and childish, but at the same time it’s absolutely perfect. He pulls into your driveway and lets out a heavy sigh, hands smacking against the steering wheel.

“Well. You’re home!” He doesn’t really want you to go, despite having driven all this way specifically to watch you leave. Something about the look in your eyes, and the fact that it’s directed straight at him, makes him think that you don’t want to leave either.

“I’m home.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car before Mingi can even think of another thing to say. He maneuvers a bit in his seat so that he can see you as your picking up your stuff and think of something to say, “Thanks for the ride, I’ll-”

“Do you want to start up movie nights again?” He wasn’t exactly planning on asking you that, but he was planning to ask if you could spend more time together. It’s been so long without you that he wants to spend as much time with you as possible, “In my room, on Saturdays. And I’ll never stand you up or reschedule at the last minute.” Your heart is hammering, you don’t even bother to pretend that you don’t know why. The boy in front of you is stammering and over explaining and turning red in the face, and you are terribly in love with him.

“I’d like that very much.” With that simple agreement, it feels as though the entire world has been set back into place.

You didn’t realize how much junk a dorm room could accumulate in the span of a year until it was time to clean all of it out. There were schedules to peel off of the walls, clothes to dig out from the back of the closet, phone chargers that had fallen behind night stands. It’s weird to look at it now, with all of the homeliness and personality stripped away. Next year there will be two entirely different people sleeping in the loft beds, which you admittedly grew used to. Maybe they’ll be strangers. Maybe they’ll be best friends.

“That’s the last box.” Mingi enters the emptied room right as your eyes move to the empty bed that had been adjacent to yours for the entire year. Your roommate had left early this morning, her things had been packed for weeks already. The two of you never grew any closer to one another, but you didn’t mind. Coexisting with her felt like one of your many growth challenges throughout this year, “You missing your roommate?” Mingi asked with a cocked eyebrow, making you realize that you’re still staring at her stripped bed.

“No, not really.” Your voice comes out so matter of fact that it makes Migni giggle a little bit. He thinks that it’s nice to see you, who was once so meek and quiet, being adamant about not caring for someone, “I’m grateful for her though. I didn’t think that I’d be able to live with a stranger before this year. I didn’t think I’d be able to do lots of things before this year.” You finally move your eyes to the boy standing at your side to see that he’s staring at you with a proud smile. It makes your chest swell with warmth in a way that you don’t even fight against, “What?” You can’t help but break out into a smile as you gaze even longer at his.

“Nothing, I’m just really proud of us. Who we’ve become, especially you.” His pinky finger brushes up against your own, for a moment you can feel his hand aching to hold your own. You open up your palm and lace your fingers into his, moving with certainty and purpose, “I like who you are now, you’re a lot bolder. Happier.” Your body flushes with heat, heart pattering so erratically that you’re sure he can hear it. You hope that he does.

“I-I like you now too.” Your voice wavers as his hand travels to your wrist, pulling you gently so that you’re facing each other. His face looks stern, like this moment is do or die, yet his eyes sparkle with the same childlike twinkle as always. You watch his eyes travel from your own to your lips in a mere second, breath hitching in the back of your throat. You’ve waited for this for such a long time, but as his nose brushes ever so gently against yours you find yourself thinking that it was worth it, “May I?” The question is whisper, your breath ghosting against Mingi’s plump lips. You place your hand on his chest so that his heart is thumping beneath your hand.

“Yes.” You hook your free hand beneath his chin and bring his face closer to yours so that your lips are finally touching. It’s nothing but a gentle brush at first, both of you timid and overly careful, but as soon as you try to pull away his hands are on your waist and pulling you closer than you thought was possible. He kisses you with fever, hands gripping you as though he’s scared that you might melt away. You bury your fists into his shirt, trying desperately to let him know that he never has to worry about that again.

He pulls away after sometime, hands moving to hold your face as he rests his forehead on yours. He says nothing, only brushes his thumb against your cheek and smiles. In the quiet moments, you can make out the blurred lines of a future, one that’s spent in a modest apartment that’s decorated with all of the junk that Mingi just hauled downstairs for you. You can see late nights spent writing at a desk that’s full of his trinkets. You can see weekly movie nights on the couch with blankets and twinkling fairy lights. You can see a life that’s lived with love and passion, a life where pains are forgotten and growth is left in their place.

When he smiles at you and goes in for a second kiss, your eyes flutter closed. Yet you still see it all so clearly. You can see a future, and you can see it with Mingi by your side.

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miazeklos · 2 years

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The narrative of Jaime "breaking free" from Cersei is bad because it delegitimizes the experiences of mentally ill women (especially relating to relationships, sexuality, etc) and falls back on the good woman/bad woman dichotomy. I hate with the burning passion of a thousand suns the implication that he’s better off without Cersei because she’s “crazy,” which unfortunately seems to be how many fans view it. Mentally ill women are gaslighted and abandoned and taken advantage of by men all the time in the real world and it’s hugely harmful that Cersei, who’s the prime example of a mentally ill woman in ASOIAF, is treated the way she is by GRRM and the fandom. She’s damaged, as a result of the patriarchy, sexual assault, rape or other abuse by men.

There’s this quote which I think about when regarding relationships with mentally ill women, it’s by Anne Theriault, bolded mine:

“The Sexy Tragic Muse fetishizes women’s pain by portraying debilitating mental health disorders filtered dreamily through the male gaze. The trope glamourizes addiction and illnesses like depression, bipolar disorder, and schizophrenia – diseases that are distinctly unglamorous for those of us who live with them. The Sexy Tragic Muse is vulnerable, and her vulnerability is sexualized. Her inability to properly care for herself or make decisions on her own behalf is presented as being part of her appeal.

And perhaps this is the most frustrating thing about the Sexy Tragic Muse – the fact that this character type seems to be a neat way of removing a woman’s agency without the film or book or song coming across as overtly misogynistic. She occupies the intersection of ableism and sexism, and her mental illness is portrayed in a way that makes it commendable, even necessary, for others to care for her. We feel gratitude to the men that step up and save her, because she obviously cannot save herself. We feel empathy for the men that break up with her, because we see that she is difficult and volatile. We never get to see things from her perspective; often it is implied that this would be impossible, because her perspective is too confused and fractured.”

As a society, we’re conditioned to feel more empathy for Jaime than for Cersei because she’s the crazy bitch and he’s the proper man who’s doing the right thing for himself. And like, I really really really hate that we didn’t get Cersei’s perspective until she’s on her downward spiral because it’s not inherently misogynistic that we see her downfall so vividly but it just feels that way when comparing how GRRM writes Cersei compared to how he writes Jaime (or Tyrion and Tywin for that matter). Look at how Euripides wrote Medea.

This is a wonderfully apt quote, thank you for sharing it! And yes, this is literally it: part of what makes me mad about that whole thing (and also makes me as invested in Cersei as a character, since I identify with her in a lot of ways) is that people will do that to you allll the time IRL face to face if you're a specific brand of unstable. Explosively angry women with a plethora of only halfway concealable issues exist at a weird intersection of 'I can fix her' brand of men who think that their (obviously asked for and needed, duh) empathy (which is rarely that, tbh) will simply put you to rights and the anger of those same men when you tell them you're more than capable of caring for yourself without their help.

GRRM's decision to only include her POV when she's supposedly ~descending into madness~ (and even then, she's right about the majority of the things going on around her even if she's heavy-handed int he way she deals with them) can be fuelled by things others than misogyny, but to tell you the truth, I don't think it is.

There are times when I think he criticises that same treatment of such characters through Jaime's POV when he's being profoundly unfair to her in his own mind, but then I remember him writing his fave Tyrion talking about how 'all he wants' is to kill and rapе his sister' and GRRM saying that he needed a shower after writing her chapters or w/e and it's like.... yeah. Sentiments such as these are part of the reason why I dread the way he's going to write her ending and also why I was so profoundly pleased by her show ending. All I wanted for this character was to be allowed to have her end in dignity and I was astonished when it happened and that's all you need to know about how media usually handles characters like her.

As for Jaime and his supposed betterment through leaving her behind, I'll combine this answer with the one to another ask, because YES:

I am once again asking about the specific ways in which Cersei is worse than either of her brothers.

#asks #discourse #I guess #war flashbacks to the guy at the beach this summer who came to me to tell me that he'd been watching me for a while #and also that I had 'angry tatarian eyes' and 'looked like I wanted to beat people with a whip for looking at me' (yes really)#and that made me really unapproachable #and I was like 'well apparently not unapproachable enough' and lemme tell you he Did Not like that #many such cases unfortunately #because it really is some weird fuckin brand of indecision where they'll go 'you're mentally ill and that's hot'#and you're like 'yeah' and a symptom shows up and everyone loses it because it's suddenly inconvenient and not sexy #because wouldn't you know #this fascinating object of interest would actually like to be treated as a person #the audacity

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tails89 · 3 years

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Fandom: Teen Wolf Word count: 1289 Read on AO3

“You will not believe what just happened to me,” Stiles whines, bursting in through the front door and dropping down onto the couch beside Derek. Kicking off his shoes, he throws his feet up to hang over the armrest and slumps backwards into the cushions.

Derek doesn’t move—just glances around the pages of his book muttering under his breath, “Hey Derek. Nice to see you Derek. Can I come in? Sure Stiles, make yourself at home.”

“Pfft, this isn’t about you,” Stiles grins, flapping his hand at Derek. “Actually-” he sits up suddenly, pulling in his legs to cross them underneath himself. “It is. Do you know what Mrs Davidson said to me today?”

“Let me guess.” Derek throws one arm across the back of the couch. “She said, ‘here comes trouble’?”

“Uh, no.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “She asked me-” He lets his voice go high and reedy in a poor imitation of his elderly neighbour. “’What’s a nice boy like Derek Hale is doing with a boy like you?’ Which, first of all—rude! Second of all, me corrupt you?”

“Yeah, where on earth would she get that idea?” Derek asks, finally giving up on his book and slipping an old receipt into the pages to mark his spot.

“Hey, I am an upstanding young citizen,” Stiles argues, flopping back, his head pillowed against Derek’s thigh. “I am a pillar of this community. I mould the young minds of Beacon Hills.”

Derek barks out a laugh. “Who thought that was a good idea?”

Rolling over onto his stomach, Stiles steadies himself on one elbow and uses the other hand to poke Derek in the leg. “You sir, have everyone one tricked into thinking you’re Mr Deputy Goody-two-shoes, but I know the real you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I know who of the two of us dug up Mrs Davidson’s daffodils, and it wasn’t me.”

“That was an accident and you promised not to bring that up again.”

“Well I’m a lying liar who lies.”

With a quick shove, Derek sends Stiles tumbling onto the floor and stands, moving for the kitchen. “And that’s why your neighbour thinks you’re corrupting me. You staying for dinner?”

“Yup, you making spaghetti?” Stiles asks, following Derek into the kitchen and hopping up onto the counter to watch him start pulling things from the fridge. He swings his legs, knocking his heels against the cabinet doors. “I distinctly remember you promising to make your Dad’s famous spaghetti if I made it through parent-teacher week without murdering anyone.”

“What does she even mean by that, anyway?” Stiles asks around a mouthful of pasta, his next forkful hovering halfway to his mouth.

Derek waits, tearing off another slice of garlic bread, for Stiles to explain his logic jump.

“Who?” He prompts, when the explanation never comes.

“Mrs Davidson,” Stiles tells him, like it was an obvious connection to make. “Why does she think we’re together?”

Shrugging, Derek uses his garlic bread to mop up the last of the bolognaise sauce. “We hang out a lot,” he says. “You’re either over here or I’m over at your place. It’s not an unreasonable assumption to make.” He pops the bread into his mouth and reaches for Stiles’ now empty bowl.

“I got it.” Stiles waves him off. “You cooked; I can clean up.” He stands, stacking the empty bowls on top of each other. “I’ll get the icecream if you queue up the next episode of Narcos.”

“I’ll be right back,” Stiles says suddenly. “Don’t let the next episode start.”

He disappears from the living room and Derek takes the opportunity to stretch out on the couch. It’s getting late, but the last episode had ended on a cliffhanger so there’s no way they can leave it there.

Reaching for the remote, Derek checks how many episodes are left—three. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so Stiles is off and Derek’s on a late shift so they can probably finish the season before calling it a night.

“You’re in my spot,” Stiles says, shuffling back into the room.

“It’s my couch,” Derek says, making a show of getting comfortable. “I think you’ll find it’s all my spot.”

Stiles slaps jokingly at his legs until Derek lifts them, dropping them down into Stiles’ lap once the human is sitting again.

“You’re such a couch hog,” Stiles complains, but he doesn’t push Derek’s sock-clad feet away. Instead, he stretches out with his own legs up on the coffee table. “You know, I only come over here when Dad’s on the late shift.”

Derek’s finger hovers over the button on the remote but he doesn’t press play. “I know.” And it’s true, because when the Sheriff is home, Derek’s usually over at the Stilinski house with them.

“I just- do other people think we’re dating?” Stiles asks. “Like is this a widespread thing or is it just my neighbour? Do you think my dad thinks we’re dating?”

“I think you’re overthinking this,” Derek says, nudging Stiles’ leg with his foot. “Can I hit play now?” He doesn’t wait for Stiles to respond and the title card of the next episode flashes up on the TV.

“Hey, what time is it?” Stiles mumbles, rubbing his fists into his eyes.

Onscreen, Netflix is playing a trailer for another show, but Derek hits the power button on the remote to shut the TV off. Picking up his cellphone, the bright light almost blinds them both as Derek checks the time.

“Late.”

“Ugh.” Stiles mashes his face into the space between the back of the couch and Derek’s leg. “I’m getting too old for this,” he complains. “I’m feel like an old man— gotta be in bed by nine or face the consequences.”

“And all at the ripe old age of twenty-five,” Derek jokes, shifting to give Stiles more room to faceplant into the cushions.

“You don’t understand.” Stiles looks up. “You and your youthful werewolf body will never know my pain. My knees creak now Der, they creak.” He buries his face again, and Derek only just catches his mumbled. “They tell me when it’s gonna rain.”

“It’s a useful skill,” Derek tells him, laughing when Stiles flips him off. “Come on, it’s late. You can crash here.” He lets Stiles use the bathroom first, stacking their icecream bowls into the dishwasher while Stiles brushes his teeth.

“Did I leave any clothes here last time?” Stiles asks, sticking his head out of the bedroom door. Jeans don’t make for particularly comfortable pyjamas and it’s too cold to sleep in his boxers.

“Bottom drawer,” Derek calls back over his shoulder.

“Found them.”

Turning off the kitchen light, Derek heads to his bedroom. He’d spent the afternoon lounging around in his sweats so after brushing his teeth he goes straight to bed, climbing into the sheets and rolling over onto his side.

He’s comfortable and warm, drifting right on the precipice of sleep.

“Oh my god!” Stiles lurches upright on the bed, almost elbowing Derek in the gut with his flailing. “We are totally dating.” Even in the dark Derek can see his dumbfounded expression. “How could you not tell me we were dating?”

“Knew you’d figure it out eventually,” Derek mumbles, tangling his fingers in Stiles’ and pulling him back down.

Stiles goes willingly, shifting back so that he’s pressed against Derek’s chest.

“It’s just— all this time we could have been doing… I dunno, boyfriend stuff.”

“We were.”

“Other boyfriend stuff.” Stiles rolls in Derek’s arms so that he’s facing the werewolf. “Like, kissing boyfriend stuff.”

Derek’s laugh is a warm puff that ruffles Stiles’ hair. “We have so much time for ‘boyfriend stuff’” He presses his lips against Stiles’ temple. “In the morning.”

#sterek #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #eternal sterek #teenwolffanfic

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

Note

A classic, there was only one bed!

I'm just now realizing there was no ship name here. My brain just auto-filled SamBucky

I also realized, setting up the document, that I combined the 'only one bed' trope with the 'omg they were roommates' vine in my brain

(Always taking prompts)

Read on AO3

The Grief of Down

“Mr. Wils-- Captain Wil-- Mr. … Captain America,” a frazzled concierge greeted before Sam’s eyes had even adjusted to the light in the hotel lobby.

“Mr. Captain,” Bucky scoffed under his breath at Sam’s side. “That’s a new one.”

Sam jabbed his elbow into Bucky’s ribs.

“There’s been a mistake, Captain,” the concierge said. “We didn’t realize Mr… Sergeant Barnes would be attending with you. We don’t have any more rooms.”

“That’s fine,” Sam said with an easy smile, trying to calm the man down. “He can stay in my room.” He held out his hand and the concierge shook it slowly.

“No, I’m afraid, we didn’t put you in a full suite. It’s just a one-bed room.”

And Sam and Bucky both waited probably too long to respond. Sam was never sure how to approach a subject like that with total strangers. Of all the jarring things he expected from the unfortunate fame of being Captain America, people believing they knew everything about him, when they really didn’t, wasn’t one of those things he could get used to.

“Well, weapons of mass destruction don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” Bucky said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Key?”

“Oh my God?” Sam breathed disbelievingly and elbowed his ribs again. “Can you behave?”

The concierge looked like he was about to pass out. “Of course. I’m just so sorry we couldn’t make accommodations. All of the suites were booked by other participants of the conference months ago. I tried to find the best room I could,” he explained absently, too quickly for Sam to try to keep up with. He looked around the foyer as the other man scrambled behind the desk to check him in. Bucky leaned his shoulder against Sam’s back and Sam tracked his eyeline to a table of pastries set out before shrugging him off.

“We literally ate, like, two hours ago,” he said.

“We stopped at a McDonalds and they didn’t even have Sprite. I need a sugar hit.”

“I think that’s biologically impossible for you.”

“Oh, ‘cause I’m a super soldier I can’t want things for myself?” Bucky asked, more facetious than Sam thought could fit into a single voice.

“You’re the worst.”

“Mr. America-- I mean. Mr. Wilson, here’s your keycard and an extra for Mr. Barnes.” The man’s face was so red, Sam started to feel bad for him. “There should be an itinerary of events in your room. If you need anything, call down and let us know. We’re working with the conference organizers and can reach out to them for you as well.”

Bucky reached out for the keys and tapped them on the desk twice before heading to the elevators without waiting to see if Sam was coming or not. Sam shot an apologetic look at the concierge and then followed after Bucky.

“You’re a real asshole, y’know,” he said as the doors opened and they stepped inside the elevator.

“I’m a tired asshole and I’ve been thinking about this bed since you woke me up this morning,” Bucky answered. He dropped his bag by his feet and shook out his arm like the metal could get cramps.

“I don’t know what you’re tired for. I drove most of the way.”

“I’m tired from worrying about you driving.”

Sam snorted. “I’m a much better driver than you.”

“You had to take a break halfway here,” Bucky said. And Sam knew it was bait, but he couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that came from his chest.

“Oh, I had to take a break halfway here?” he asked.

“Yeah, I distinctly remember crossing into Texas, getting through all those pine trees and then you stopping the car on the side of the road.”

Sam backed Bucky into the corner of the elevator. “Is that how you remember it, Barnes?” he asked.

“Why don’t you tell me your version of events, Wilson?” Bucky purred, looking exactly like a cat in the cream as he let Sam crowd him against the wall.

“I remember you begging me to pull over and practically flipping into the backseat. I remember you bein’ half naked before I even got back there. I remember you trying to knock out the window when you wanted us flipped over so you could blow me.”

“I don’t recall any of that,” Bucky said saccharinely, hands going to Sam’s hips to pull him closer. “Remind me again what, exactly, we did.”

Sam rolled his eyes, let his lips graze Bucky’s cheekbone and then stepped back in time for the elevator to ding on their floor. “Maybe later, Barnes,” he teased and grabbed Bucky’s bag before walking out the door. He shot an easy grin at a woman in the hallway, gave a kid a high five, apologized to both for Bucky sulking up behind him.

“Sometimes I hate how good you are at this,” Bucky grumbled behind him as Sam took the keycard from him. He rested his cheek on the back of Sam’s shoulder while Sam fought with the door. It took three tries before it finally swung open, which was enough time for Bucky to have closed his eyes and already started daydreaming. He was not pleased when Sam stepped away, but it was quickly remedied by the sight of the bathroom. He stepped inside, looking at the sleek, granite countertops, the deep sink, the wide showerhead over a huge bathtub.

“I think we could both fit in this tub together, Sammy,” he called.

The thought sent a thrill through Sam’s traitorous body. As much as he wanted to focus on being Captain America and the speech he had to give, more than any of that, he wanted to curl up in the big bed in the middle of the room and let Bucky get back to what they’d been doing four hours ago. He wanted to relax in a giant bathtub while Bucky drew nonsense patterns in the soap on his back. He wanted to check into a hotel and not have to explain that it was no issue that he and Bucky would share a room or even a bed.

Although, one time, it had ended with them pushing two queen sized beds together and then checking out very, very late.

“I can’t imagine what the suites in this place look like if this is just a one-bed room,” Bucky said, appearing in the bedroom portion of the room.

“Probably just means they have a kitchen and couch,” Sam said. He held out his arm and Bucky grinned, took his hand and let Sam pull him close.

“You got any nerves you need me to work out of you?” Bucky asked, dragging his hands down Sam’s back until he got to his waistband and could start to pull his shirt free.

“A speech is a speech,” Sam said. “More worried about babysitting you in public,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the nuisance,” Bucky agreed and finished pulling Sam’s shirt off before making quick work of his own. “But I’m a hot one, so…”

Sam laughed and pushed Bucky back onto a bed that had more than enough room to share. “I think you were trying to recreate our escapades from the road,” he said, climbing over Bucky’s hips until he could press his body along Bucky’s, mouth finding Bucky’s neck, his collarbones, his shoulder.

Just for now, he could be a man in a nice hotel room with his partner and nothing else.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky asked, loud enough from the bed that Sam heard him over the shower and sink running. He leaned out the bathroom door, one hand curled around the towel at his waist, the other holding a toothbrush in his mouth.

“Whmm?” he asked.

Bucky, still delightfully, distractedly, naked and tangled in the sheets, held up his tablet. “We’re the front page of every celebrity gossip tabloid this morning.”

Sam’s stomach turned over but then Bucky shifted and exposed more of his thigh and the worries flew out of Sam’s mind. He turned and spit toothpaste into the sink. “What for?”

“Captain America and sidekick Bucky Barnes were seen checking into a conference hotel late yesterday afternoon. Sources at the hotel say that while they split a room, there was only one bed,” Bucky read.

“Oh my God,” Sam replied blandly. “There was only one bed.”

Bucky snorted and then continued. “Speculation has run amuck in recent months about the relationship between Wilson and Barnes, especially when they’re between saving the world and chose to lay low along the Gulf Coast. Together.”

“It’s not our fault that no one can put two and two together. You think AJ and Cass are ever not talking about their uncles?” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, but no one’s taking the word of a ten year old as gospel. Or asking him in the first place.”

Sam laughed softly and shook his head. He finished rinsing out his mouth and came back to the bed, curling around Bucky’s side and kissing his jaw. “Come on. We can think about saying something later. Right now, why don’t you come get in the shower with me?” he suggested, running his hand down Bucky’s chest and kissing his shoulder.

“Or,” Bucky said and smoothed his hand over the bedspread. “You could stay here with me. Make the most use outta something that’s causing us a whole lotta grief,” he countered. And wasn’t that a tempting idea. “Come on, it’s not like we’re payin’ for the water. The shower’ll be there when we’re done.”

Bucky pulled Sam down into that big bed and Sam couldn’t be happier to be sharing it right then.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #the falcon and winter soldier #writing #i answer things

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years

Text

Steve Rogers - Promise

A/N - So, this is my first marvel imagine? I haven’t watched all the films yet, I’m halfway through and watching them all in chronological order, but I couldn’t resist because I love Steve Rogers. So much. Once I’ve finished watching, I'll probably realise a shit tonne of mistakes in this, but please don’t judge. Apologies for any typos and incorrect information. GIF credits to owner.

Warnings - angst, smut so 18+ please; fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do it), borderline ‘captain’ kink, 5k.

Summary - you’re an admin worker in stark tower, an average working girl except for one thing, you have a superior memory, one that has aided you many a time. But when you’re leading Cap on a mission and it gets cut off, is it because of your memory, or are you just letting your crush on Steve cloud any reasonable thinking?

YOU LOVE YOUR JOB, there’s no denying it. You’re young, a Brit in America, just working to help with your future, but after how well it’s been going recently? You don’t think you’ll want to leave.

You’re an admin at Stark Tower. Not that one is really needed with all of Tony’s tech, and the fact that everyone is more than capable of sorting themselves out, it’s just fun to be around. Not only do you complete all the stenography and spreadsheets that don’t necessarily have to do with anyone specific, but you also do many of the more artistic plans and are everyone’s personal therapist. You probably don’t help your own cause - leaving your door propped open with a book to let anyone drift in and out of their own accord at any given time, unless you’re properly working, and then they know to find you in your office. Yes, your very own office.

Recently, with you becoming more and more familiar with the workings of all the residents, growing more knowledgeable of their work lives, picking up the lingo and everyone’s gladness at your perfect, imperturbable memory, you’re slowly being given more tasks. This could be anything from mission reassignment to looking through months old footage, but you’ve been helping out over the system on a couple of missions. You really feel like one of the team even though you know you’re far from it. Sleeping in the tower helps, as well as being welcomed by everyone every meal time that you sit together, especially the way they test your memory trick and always seem completely amazed at how you remember the most obscure details. Anything from the exact positioning of a birth mark on someone that Natasha took down the first week you began working, to the precise measurement of metal that Tony needed to complete a new project, to the freckle on Steve’s bare ass that one time he had to use your shower-

That escalated quickly.

Currently, you’re in your office, daydreaming and completely wistfully thinking. You have no trouble remembering every conversation you and Steve have ever had, not that many admittedly, but he’s always been so kind to you. He was the first one to truly make you feel part of the team, welcoming you with a hug before holding you at arms length and brushing a crease from the arm of your blouse. You’re not really sure if he’d seen anyone dress that way, since all the girls he was around were always in their kick ass clothes, gym shorts or comfies, so you wandering around day in day out and wearing frilly Victorian-era blouses paired with short, tight pencil skirts and Louboutin stilettos may have been a shock to his system. It wasn’t with any agenda in mind that you did this, merely a mix of modesty and business woman style. Every word Cap has ever said flies through your mind, the impeccable memory of the way his exquisite nylon suit clings to him in all the right places...

Steve is the only guy you’ve fancied for a while, the only person you’ve ever really gone for emotionally, and all of that is because he’s such a cute human being; so genuine, so upbeat around you, so supportive, and his smile. Goddamn his smile. He’s just too cute for life, which is also why you should really be concentrating, considering you’re supposed to be monitoring his mission.

“Y/N, are you there? I think somethings happening, someone’s here that we didn’t know about, where do I go?”

His usually soft voice is frantic, and you can tell he’s a little scared, since this was supposed to be a simple solo mission, in and out, but now you’re having to recite an escape route.

“Turn left at the end of that corridor, half way down there’s a grate on the wall. Pull it off, climb inside.” You tell him as calmly as you can, but even your heart is beating out of your chest, breathing laboured and a slight sweat forming on your forehead.

“I’m in, sweetheart. What next?” Not the right time for your heart to flutter at his words, especially not the time to imagine the way his raspy morning voice would curl around those very same Few words...

“Follow the route, it’ll bring you out in a downstairs kitchen area that was empty last time I checked, I’ll look again...” you trail off, clicking off the one screen with the dot of his whereabouts to check the surveillance, and he seems to be safe.

You hear his breathing calm down as he crawls through the ventilation system, but even as you flick through every camera that you’ve been able to access in the building he’s in and the surrounding area, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary apart from a couple of unconscious, probably dead blokes scattered across stone floors.

“I’m in the kitchen, but there’s no doors in here, no way out.” He says.

Fuck.

Your heart sinks to your feet.

“Yes there is Steve, it’s on the north wall beside a faux, oversized spice rack. It has a silver handle and it’s an oak door, exactly like my bedroom door.”

He pauses, his heart rate thrumming heavily, “sweetheart there’s no door here, there’s no spice rack, just old built in cabinets and flat walls. You must have misremembered.”

“Shut the fuck op Steve, I’m doing what I can,”

Your usual eloquence is out the window along with all of your chill, sounding mildly like a road man as you frantically tap between the screens. He’s right though, his only way out is to climb back in the vent and hope to god, well, or Thor, that no one finds him there, but that may be too late.

“Try the cold tap on the sink, I don’t know exactly what was said but I distinctly remember someone talking about it. Stay calm for me Cap, please.” You want to beg for him to be ok, to come back in one piece, because this isn’t a normal mission, you’re emotionally attached.

He takes a deep breath and walks over to the tap, but as soon as he touches it, all surveillance is cut off, your computer goes black, and you can’t even hear his breathing anymore.

“Steve? Cap, come back to me, can you hear me? Steve?” With each call of his name to which he doesn’t respond, you grow more frantic. The lights are still on so you know that it’s not the mains, but you’re not educated with circuits, so you do what you can to reboot your computer, only for it to show up with your bland screen of spreadsheets, sans anything about the mission or Steve.

Your hands start shaking, lip quivering and mind overwhelmed with stress. It’s over, you’ve lost Steve, fucked up the mission, you’ll be out of a job, and the worst part? You broke a promise.

“Promise you’ll keep me safe out there Y/N?” Steve asked, his cute little smile twinkling in his eyes and making your whole body go giddy.

“I promise, but you have to promise that you’ll come back in one piece.”

“That I can do, for you.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around your body and placing a kiss to your hairline.

You haven’t been at the compound long enough to know whether this is normal for Steve, or for anyone, or if he’s just a natural flirt. Whatever it is, you feel too guilty to face him again if he even comes back alive.

Slowly, soft sobs start to escape your lips without you noticing, tears slipping down your cheeks and dampening the neck of your blouse. You can’t help the guilt that overtakes you, the fear that you can’t even reason, and that’s when you hear a soft knock on your door.

“Can I come in?”

It’s Natasha. You nod gently as she takes a seat in the corner of your room, throwing her feet up on your coffee table so nonchalantly that it’s almost not a challenge of authority.

“What’s up? Didn’t you have to radio for Cap?” Once again you nod, hastily wiping the tears from your face and smoothing your skirt out. “So, why are you crying?”

You like Natasha, of course you do, but you have normal people emotions and a little more conscience, unable to stand the thought of anyone even getting a papercut on your watch.

“He went off, the computers crashed, and it’s all my fault.” You say, standing up and moving to shut your office door, locking it for safekeeping, because if Bucky finds out then you’re dead.

Natasha grabs a lollipop from your sweet bowl and sticks it in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s flirting. She’s not, that’s just Natasha. “Care to elaborate?”

You take a sharp breath, “someone was there that we didn’t calculate, I had to get him through the ventilation system to an abandoned kitchen that I KNOW had a door, my memory doesn’t glitch, so in the time it took for Steve to get through the vents, someone must’ve closed off the door, but I’m not sure how. Then he just went when he touched the only possible thing that could be an escape route. Fuck, what if he’s dead?”

You feel tears bubbling up in your eyes again, blinking harshly to keep them away.

“So what if he is? You’re smart, you’re panicking, so you’ve obviously done everything. It sounds harsh but you can’t get too attached. Just listen out and he’ll come back of his own accord, but if he doesn’t then we’ll have to deal with that later.” She says, grasping a hand around your shoulder before stepping over the threshold to the main compound, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Maybe she thought tough love would work, but she has a point. You’ve done everything you can, so now it’s just a waiting game.

You keep an ear piece on you but shut your office for the night, heading out to the bar to pour yourself a more than healthy sized glass of wine. You unbutton your shirt a little and slide down the wall to your favourite reading spot, in one far corner, you set up some cushions and bedding. You’re the only one that uses it, but you could swear that you’ve seen Steve eyeing it up before. So you sit, tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving you with mascara-stained tear tracks, the first few buttons of your shirt recklessly undone, and your heels flung elsewhere. You bring the bottle over with your glass, and you pick up a book to keep you distracted.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, guilt slowly building, occasionally calling Steve’s name to check if he’s come back on the system, but there’s nothing. Nothing until the lift doors open, and out walks a very bloody Cap with his suit half on and a skin tight white t-shirt clinging to his upper body.

The tears don’t stop falling from your eyes, but you close your book anyway. You would stand up, run to hug him, but your legs can’t hold you up, so you stay seated, all your words caught in your throat as Steve edges further across the common area towards you.

He offers you a shy smile, virtually collapsing into the carpet only metres from you. Slowly his head lifts, hair falling into his eyes, and he holds his arms out.

“Oh god Steve,” it’s him. Really him. You feared he’d be a hologram or something, your eyes deceiving you from their soreness post crying. But he’s here, you can tell from the overly memorised display of veins in his bicep when he offers you his arm.

“It’s me,” he nods, edging a little further towards you as you crawl closer and settle into his grip.

Your tears flow freely, dampening his shirt. Neither of you says a word, he just grips you closer to him, cuddling your legs into his lap to soothe you.

After a while, Steve fidgets, and you find your eyes dry.

You angle your head upwards, your well kept chignon completely haywire. Steve’s face is covered in bruises and dried blood, but his eyes don’t look at all worried.

“What happened?” You whisper, words vibrating through his chest.

“The tap was a trick, or maybe I twisted the wrong one, but all the lights went out and I was shocked, I had to attack a few guys but I made it out, albeit bruised.” He swallows, running a shy finger over the curves of your face. “Were you worried about me?”

You nod, clutching him close. He chuckles and draws circles on your back through your shirt, just his soft touch more comforting than anything else.

“I’m fine, sweetheart, is my nose broken though?”

You look at his nose, softly smoothing over a hell of a bruise, before placing a gentle kiss to the bridge.

“No, trust me. In British comps, fights happen daily, and my ex was in with a bad crowd, always in fights. I had to deal with all kinds of injuries, and your nose is not broken. Be grateful because it hurts to sort it out.”

He laughs and brings you in.

“You deserve so much better than someone like that. I was worried about you when I was out there you know...” he says.

A strange conversation transition, but who are you to judge.

“I was so scared, I thought you’d died,” ah shit, here come the tears again, “Natasha told me to just wait it out like I wasn’t completely emotionally attached to you. Bloody hell, Steve, I’d be responsible if you died.”

He cooes sweet reassurances in your ear, wrapping his arms entirely around your torso while the join between his neck and shoulder becomes your sanctuary.

“I’m emotionally attached to you too if that helps,” he whispers in your ear, so quietly that he hopes you didn’t hear, instantly regretting it. But with the soft kiss you place on the sweet spot just below his ear, he brings up all his courage to angle his head just right, capturing your lips in his in the sweetest of kisses.

You gasp into the kiss, your reaction giving Steve means to believe you didn’t like it, instantly pulling away and dropping his hands from around your body.

“I-I’m sorry, you’re upset and I took advantage of that, and I haven’t really been with anyone since, well...”

“Shut up and kiss me, Steve.” You command, cutting off his rambling, your hand cupping his cheek.

His hands slowly make their way around your body, fumbling for the bottom of your blouse and subsequently unable to find where your shirt ends and your skirt starts. You giggle a little into the kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss by delving his tongue into your mouth. You place your hands over his and guide them to your chest. For a second, he seems confused, his lips halting their massaging movements on your own, until he finds the open buttons at the top of your blouse. He pulls his lips away for a moment, breath mingling together in the air. His smells of strawberries, you note. He glances at you for reassurance, something which you eagerly give, so he begins. His hands slowly work their way over your chest, fingers fiddling with your buttons as you wait patiently, completely submissive for Steve to do whatever he wants to you.

He pushes the material from your shoulders, and you untuck the back of it from your skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, revealing your bra. Though now you see Steve eyeing it up, you realise it’s not really a bra at all, rather two triangles of flimsy fabric with some bands and strings attached, one of your only bras that doesn’t show through a sheer blouse. The way his eyes are boggling at your tits though, you guess he likes it.

An unwitting blush creeps up your neck and cheeks, suddenly feeling cold under his scrutiny.

“You can touch them if you want,” you chuckle lightly, fearing that you’ll sound like an inexperienced teenager if you say more.

Steve blushes as crimson as you, his large hands leaping at the opportunity to feel you. You throw your head back in pleasure as his cold thumb rubs over your nipples, making them hard to the touch, and the rest of his hands get to work massaging and kneading your boobs, pulling down the fabric to softly kiss your bare skin.

Although he hasn’t done this in a while, well, a lifetime, he still knows how to do it realllly well.

Your hands fly to his heart, keeping him there, his lips switching between your breasts until you grow a little more needy, grinding down on his bulge.

“You wanna do this?” He asks, voice a little hoarse but still silky.

“Yes, Steve. Fuck, just take me.”

“Language,” he chides jokingly, but despite that, he agrees.

Clearly he doesn’t need to be asked twice, because he has you flipped beneath him with your back on your cushions in your reading corner, his lips attaching your neck.

You fumble with the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head between kisses and suckles to a sensitive spot on your neck. He’s carved like a Greek god, abs toned to perfection, his tanned skin rippling with any given movement. He feels so soft too, skin tender beneath your fingers, trailing them gently across his back and torso to simply feel him. The contrary of gentle skin and solid muscles is one that makes your mouth water with desire, bringing Cap’s lips back to your own, palms pressed firmly against his back. You go in deep this time, licking his mouth and devouring his taste. To your surprise, he kisses you back with even more fervour, so passionate that you lose track of any thought swirling in your mind.

“Suit off, now.” You call breathlessly, watching on as Steve clumsily tries to peel off his trousers by using the sleeve of his suit. He’s moving so recklessly that with an abrupt movement he’ll snag the fabric, ripping the suit that makes him look heaven sent.

“Here,” you giggle, offering a hand out which he gladly takes, letting you shimmy the tough material down his legs, only blocked by his clunky boots which he kicks off at the same time as the suit, haphazardly leaving them wherever they fall in the lounge. “Fuck.” Is all you can choke out. The serum worked on everything. Even with his briefs still on, you can see his cock twitching within its confines.

“You’re wearing too many clothes now,” he faux scolds, leaping atop you again, kissing your collarbone as his hands work their way down your body.

First he unhooks your bra properly, throwing it off and you both hear it land on the glass coffee table from the way your clasp knocks the glass. Next he moves onto your skirt, unzipping it, your hips raising of their own accord to accommodate his actions, slipping it off alongside your tights, revealing your bare legs to him for the first time. He doesn’t care about any of the natural marks that grace your skin, merely that you’re sitting in just your panties and only for him.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he says.

He runs his palms over your thighs, just feeling your skin beneath his. His touch is soothing, as is his presence, allowing you to feel open towards him. You tilt your legs a little more open, revealing to him the small wet latch that graces your not-so-sexy work underwear.

“All for me?” Steve asks, eyes innocent and doe like.

If he’s really this sweet and naive then you’re gonna fucking ruin him. Sweet Jesus what you wouldn’t do to that man, starting with your incredibly well hidden Captain kink, though it may not be hidden much longer.

He brings a finger up to your core, pushing your panties to the side to run a finger up and down your slit. He audibly moans while collecting your slick from between your folds, fingers rough in contrast to the part of his body that you’re gripping onto, though you’re not sure quite where from your eyes fluttering closed.

“Ready?”

You nod, bracing yourself as he rips your panties off and pushes one finger inside you. He feels brilliant, his fingers so much longer and better than your own, already bringing you jolts of pleasure from its presence.

He draws it out before pumping back in again, continuing his movements. Your forehead falls against his bare shoulder, small gasps of pleasure escaping your open mouth.

“More,” you pant, ready to feel more of his intoxicating ministrations.

He nods obligingly, slowly adding a second finger, continuing his gentle assault on your pussy. God, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex, just his two fingers pumping in and out of you brings you more pleasure than you’d care to admit.

“S-stop,”

He looks up at you, immediately withdrawing his fingers, covered in your juices and glistening in the moonlight. You flush far too deeply at such a simple thing.

“I need to feel you already, please.”

You sensually drag your finger all over his bare chest, hearing his breath hitch in his throat. He nods vigorously, hair falling in his line of vision, but scrambles to be on top of you properly, hands either side of your head on your array of cushions and his legs steady, trapping you completely beneath him.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna take advantage of you, y/n. You’re so beautiful and perfect and I want your first time with me to be something you’ll remember forever.” He says sweetly, but despite his kind words, you can’t help but chuckle for a solid few seconds before he realises what he’s said.

“Ok, but are you sure you wanna do it here rather than my room? Yours is out of the option, everyone will assume you’re dead if your book isn’t there anymore...”

once more you chuckle, as does he, bringing your hand up to cup his jaw.

“I’m sure, Steve, now get inside me before I change my mind and wake Bucky up,” you quip.

He knows you’re joking but gets to work anyway, swiftly getting rid of his brokers and ungracefully kicking them off as you watch him. He may be hot but even Loki’s magic may not be able to make him elegant.

As soon as he’s back in his previous position and you see is dick slapping against his stomach, hard and already a little red, you can’t help but gape. His too-tight boxers didn’t do him justice because now you’re worried he won’t even fit.

He sees your worried face and panics, “We can go back if you want, we don’t have to do this.”

“I want this Steve, shitting hell-“

“Language,” he chides, interrupting you, allowing you to cock your eyebrows at him, a look to say ‘is this really the time?’

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, just go slow because you’re huge.” You finish, smiling at his dorky smile and flushed cheeks.

Of all the things he could blush at, he chooses a compliment. Such a dork, you think to yourself, unable to stop the contagious smile creeping onto your face.

“I’ll be careful with you, I promise.”

And that he is.

“Oh, and call me captain.”

That’s something you knew he’d have a kink for, making you smirk a little too.

He runs the head of his cock through your folds to father a little lubrication before pushing in, very slightly and very gently. He bends his arms and kisses all over your face with the new leverage, feather light kisses of pure affection before you give him a breathy whisper, resembling of a ‘more’, so he pushes in a bit more again, repeating the process until he’s buried to the hilt inside your aching core, clenching around him without Steve even needing to do anything.

“Can I start moving?” He asks, awkwardly shifting his weight above you, but you nod vigorously, kissing him urgently as his lips begin to move.

He starts off slow, gradual thrusts, ensuring that he finds every weak spot inside or you, making your toes curl already and your legs knot around his waist, his tongue still dancing with yours.

He increases his pace after a while, bucking into you faster, making you moan out his name and clutch onto his wonderfully broad shoulders.

You pull your lips away for a moment, “more Captain,” you ask, nothing more than a breathy sound, but Steve obliges.

He breaks the kiss as he begins snapping his hips into yours with fervour and purpose. His balls are hitting your bare ass, his cock stuffed inside you and making the most delectable sounds from how wet you are, all for Steve. He looks down, tearing his gaze away from your pretty little face with your die eyes and parted lips, only to watch as he sinks into you again and again, blurring the lines of where he ends and you begin.

“Steve, Captain, please, talk to me,”

Your words come out as a strangled cry, a beg mixing with his moan at the name, oxygen lessening as your eyes flutter shut, too engrossed in the pleasure to even care that your voice has gone up in pitch while his has gone down.

“You’re such a tease, walking around in that tight skirt all day, those long legs always crossed. All I want is to pull them apart and go down on you, under your desk, in the kitchen, just anywhere that I can have you for my own.”

His voice is low, raspy and needy as he trails his tongue along your collarbone filthily, forcing your eyes open with some unearthly force he must possess simply so that he can meet your gaze as he bites your nipples, his cock continually hitting that sweet spot inside you.

“It’s not just that though,” he continues, resuming his dirty talk between caresses of his lips all over you, “you’re so perfect. So stunning, so intelligent, the reason I wake up every day just for the hope that one of these days I’d be able to kiss you.”

his hips halt just for a moment, long enough to unwrap your legs from his back and throw them over his shoulders, lust filled eyes boring into your own with an uncharacteristically devilish smirk.

He kisses you again, fleeting but passionate before he nibbles your earlobe and purrs,

“And now I get to have you at my mercy, and believe me, that desk fantasy is gonna come true every day.”

With that sentiment, he starts ploughing into you even more ferociously than before, making you scream his name, a lot of murmured ‘Captain!’s and curses mingling with the cries.

The new angle hits spots you forgot even existed. Your nails take his back, tugging in and clinging on for mercy, the burn of your legs in such a contorted position only adding to your pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you shout breathlessly, chest heaving, your boobs moving up and down of their own accord and Steve is unable to take his eyes off them.

You feel the coil ready to spring in your stomach, a climax that’s been steadily building since he first kissed you.

“Tell me what you’re gonna do with me tomorrow, and then you can come.”

His words are something forbidden, coaxing you off the edge, daring you to hit that wave of pleasure. Just the thought of your past daydreams make your walls clench around him.

“I’ll wake you up by sucking your magnificent cock, then I’ll ride you harder than anyone has ever before, and then I’ll ride your face before we have intermittent sex in my office, at least twice.”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, your imagination running winks with the thought of Steve having you in his lap in your desk chair, pressed up against the glass of your office for everyone to see as he fucks you senseless. You’re insatiable. The thought of his dick twitching in your mouth is too much to handle, especially as he brings his thumb down and presses on your clit, moaning unintelligibly at your apparently sexy words, and you feel it.

Your orgasm crashes over you so hard that you feel it on your bones, thrashing around beneath Steve, screaming out his name as he dudes your high out only seconds before coming too, his muffled cries of your name drowned out as he bites onto the juncture of your neck, bruising it and rendering you unable to wear anything other than polo necks for a good few days. The pleasure he’s given you is unrivalled, and you can’t waist for more.

His body collapses onto yours inelegantly, wrapping you unto his body warmth in your cosy little corner, both forgetting that you’re completely naked in the common area after having rather loud sex.

“Was that good?” Steve asks sheepishly, fingers running through your tangled hair.

“Yes, incredible. And for you?”

He thinks for a moment before answering, “exquisite, sweetheart.”

Your heart glows a little at his sleepy voice. You run your thumb over the bump of his nose and the blood residue still on his face, but you think you may like Steve a little roughed up. You stay close to each other, breathing together and sharing kisses in the night time, so absorbed in your own bubble that you don’t hear someone come in.

“The fuck is this, Steve?”

Fuck, Bucky.

“Couldn’t you have been a little better at aiming your clothes? We’re all glad you’re finally together, but loud and untidy as well as sex in the common area? Come on.”

You can hear the humour in his words, but they do hold some sincerity, making you blush and chuckle. Next thing you know, your bra is being thrown at the pair of you, landing in Steve’s messed up hair.

“Thanks buck...” you say with a meek giggle, kissing Steve and removing your bra from his face.

“Round two? My room?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling.

“Promise you’ll let me clean you up first?!” You insist, kissing his shoulder and beaming at him.

“Promise.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america imagine #avengers smut #avengers imagine #captain america smut #steve rogers smut

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iamdeku · 3 years

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Friday (I’m In Love): Oikawa x Reader

You don’t know Oikawa Tooru. You don’t want to know Oikawa Tooru. But when fate and circumstance bring you two together, you’re forced to confront, over a series of Fridays, your worst fear. You might have been wrong. Also, you might be in love.

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: Some brief bullying from a girl I accidentally named Annoying. Pining.

Oikawa Tooru was one of the most obnoxious guys you had ever met. He thought he was the coolest guy in school, and he was not at all shy about sharing that opinion. He never stopped talking about himself in that high-pitched, whiny voice of his. You hated him.

So why you had agreed to tutor him was beyond you.

You supposed it paid well enough, but you were dreading your first session. You had prepared yourself to bite your tongue until it bled through his mansplaining. You were probably going to want to die by the end of the experience, but at least you would have some extra cash for the holidays.

Your boots kicked through the drifts of snow, pure as a coal miner after a long day doing overtime. The cold ice crunched under your weight, and you pulled your coat closer, wishing you had a scarf to help provide protection against the biting wind from the cold flushed skin on your face. Your headphones offered some protection to your ears at least, blasting your favorite song in an effort to raise your spirits.

The warm rush of the library’s heating system slammed into you in a wall of heat as you searched for the annoying setter. It took you longer than you thought to find him, expecting the loud man you knew and instead finding someone significantly more studious. He was hunched over one of the library tables, gray cardigan wrapped around his body, glasses perched on his nose.

You hoisted your satchel more firmly up your shoulder, bracing yourself for whatever weird thing was about to happen. Was he trying to look like he knew what he was talking about? Did he want to show off? You really weren’t sure.

You were hesitant to venture forward, but you did anyway, taking a seat next to him. Oikawa immediately looked up, blinking at you a couple of times before giving one of his usual smiles.

“Oh good, you’re here! As much as I’m great at everything, I have to admit that this has been giving me a little bit of trouble. I was so happy to hear you could help me. Iwa-chan won’t anymore, that traitor.”

You couldn’t blame Iwaizume for getting frustrated with Oikawa’s behavior, even if he had chosen to befriend the disaster sitting casually in front of you. You pulled out your books, writing utensils and laptop. You were a self-professed nerd, so you had brought a surplus of pens, highlighters, and other instruments to the table. You had a reputation to keep up after all.

“Well, I guess we should get to work. What part of this are you having trouble understanding?” You asked, pulling open your textbook.

Oikawa explained his troubles to you, and you were surprised to find how intelligent he was. Everything he found difficult to understand was...well, understandable. You could see why he would struggle in those areas, and for some of them you had struggled as well, despite this being your favorite subject.

Even more surprising, you found out he could be a good listener when he wanted to be. It was alarming, actually, how attentively he could listen. Damn it, he took notes on the things you said, writing down the important parts of your explanations.

As you started to pack up, you saw sparks of the Oikawa you knew.

“Thanks for that, cutie. You’re pretty smart, you know? Of course, you’re smart enough to already know that. Besides, I wouldn’t have asked you to tutor me if you weren’t the best.” He winked. “See you next Friday.”

He didn’t even ask if you wanted to meet him next week. Gosh, he was the worst.

Even with Oikawa “I’m the Worst” Tooru dragging you down, you were still resolved to keep showing up to these tutoring sessions. They weren’t half as bad as you thought they would be, and you hadn’t stopped needing the money. You could have gotten a better gig, but frankly this was a pretty easy job, easier than you thought it would be. It was, loathe though you were to say it, the best option.

Besides, you were the kind of person who kept their promises, though you weren’t sure you could say the same of Oikawa.

He was late. He was a whole 3 minutes late and you were only on your second session. If he kept up this kind of behavior you were going to have to have a serious discussion with him about timeliness. Your time was valuable, and none of this had anything at all to do with you needing something to justify your dislike of him.

You were halfway through writing your future lecture on timeliness when Oikawa arrived, slightly breathless and windswept, cheeks pink from the cold. Despite looking as though he had run all the way here, he had the nerve to still look all handsome and charismatic. It irritated you.

“Sorry about being late. The guys and I were practicing volleyball and we totally lost track of time.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, recognizing his mistake, and something in the general area of your chest did a little flip. It was probably a rib rotating in disgust.

“It’s alright. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Oikawa gave you his signature charming smile as he sat next to you.

“You know, you could stand to loosen up a little. I know you’re more fun than this, somewhere deep down in that nerdy little heart of yours.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not my job to be having fun with you.”

“Ah, but it could be.”

“Just open your textbook, Oikawa-san.”

He pulled the book out of his bag, flipping it open on the desk but not bothering to look down at it.

“Come on. Seriously. I got a way better grade than usual on the pop quiz we got this week. I feel like I should thank you for everything you’re doing for me. What are you doing tomorrow?”

The truthful, sad answer was that you were doing nothing at all, actually. You had tried to make plans with your friends, but they were all “busy” with something or other. While it pained you deeply, Oikawa was right. You had no social life.

You sighed. “I’m not busy tomorrow.”

“Well, that settles it then. The guys and I have practice. You can come watch the end of it if you want, and then we’re all going out for dinner. You should come.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Oikawa’s face lit up in a way you hadn’t expected, and he smiled down at his textbook as he turned it to the relevant page.

“Good. Prove to us that you can have fun after all.”

“Watch it. You’ll remember it’s in your best interest to stay in my good graces.”

Oikawa just laughed at your threat like it was meaningless. He was right to do it. You hated to admit it, but even now he was starting to grow on you.

Oikawa started explaining what he was having trouble with, and just as you were really getting into your subject, you were interrupted by a shrill scream. You stiffened in immediate panic, swiveling in your chair to find the source of the sound. Oikawa, on the other hand, looked momentarily annoyed before pulling his Prince Charming façade into place.

“Oh my gosh!!! Tooru-kun is that you!”

You felt a wave of deep-set annoyance go through you at the girl’s tone of voice. Not only had she caused you to be genuinely alarmed, but she was clearly being way to familiar with Oikawa, unless he had a girlfriend you hadn’t heard about.

“Hey there!” Oikawa turned to face the girl headed towards you, an indulgent smile on his face.

“Oh my gosh! I saw your practice earlier and you were like, so good.” The girl gushed.

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.” Oikawa seemed genuinely flattered at this, if you were so bold as to assume you could tell the difference between the fake him and the real him.

The girl giggled, stars in her eyes before they turned to you, darkening dramatically. “Oh, who is this? Is she like, your girlfriend or something?”

You didn’t like the turn the girl’s tone of voice had taken. There was something distinctly catty to the way she said the world ‘girlfriend’ that made your stomach turn. You had met plenty of mean girls in your life, and now alarm bells were going off in your head.

“No, no. Just my lovely tutor. She’s helping me out in my worst class. She’s very talented.”

Oikawa seemed to have picked up on the change in tone, shifting slightly to be in front of you. Presumably, this was to block you from the daggers the girl was glaring at you.

“Remind me your name, would you?” Oikawa’s smile had grown tense.

“Oh, my name is Miko! How could you forget?” She pouted elaborately.

“Silly me!” If at all possible, Oikawa’s megawatt smile grew brighter as he caught her attention again, drawing her in once more. “I remember now. How have you been, Miko-san?”

You smirked to yourself at the honorific, so different from how she had referred to him earlier.

“I’ve been great! Way better now that I get to catch up with you. I missed you!” She stuck out her lower lip like she was trying to catch something with it.

“Well, I hope to see you at my next game, once we’re back in season. Thanks so much for stopping by!”

Oikawa’s body turned towards the table, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. Miko didn’t get the message.

“What are you studying? Maybe I can join you. I’m pretty smart, you know.”

You had officially had enough. You stood from your place, glaring at the girl in a similar fashion to how she had looked at you earlier, but for very different reasons.

“Listen, Miko-chan,” you said, purposefully pitching your voice up into an imitation of her own calling for Oikawa. “I don’t know who you think you are, but this is a tutoring session. So unless you intend to pay me for my services, I really am going to need you to find somewhere else in this rather large library to study.”

The girl turned to you, and you expected some kind of temper tantrum, maybe a few crocodile tears before she walked away, but what you got was far worse. She smiled at you sickly sweet, planting a hand on your table and leaning in.

“Pay you for your services? Oh, so I guess you’re nothing more than a common who-”

Oikawa stood from his chair, the legs loudly scraping across the floor as he grabbed her arm. He turned her to face him harshly, and you would never forget the look on his face. You had seen the prince of Aoba Johsai wear many faces, most of them some version of the charming, charismatic boy you knew. You had never before seen the look of cold rage he wore now, grip firm on her forearm as he practically snarled at her.

“You’re not going to call her that. You’re not going to call anyone that ever. If I see you at one of my games, I will make sure you are promptly escorted out. Leave. Now.”

The girl stood still for a moment, frozen in terror, before turning on her heel and bolting as Oikawa released her. You blinked in shock a few times, unaware that your classmate was capable of such emotion, let alone such anger.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said quietly, the first words to cross your mind. “She’ll go around telling everyone you’re an awful person now. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got in trouble or if she started some kind of weird hate club.”

Oikawa scowled as he sat back down, mind clearly still elsewhere.

“I don’t care. People shouldn’t talk to you like that. Nothing about what she just did was okay. Whatever repercussions I face for that, so be it.”

You stared at him in surprise. Oikawa had come to your defense, at no personal gain to himself. Sure, anyone should have done that, but you never thought he would. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey.” You nudged his side gently, and he softened, looking down at you. “That invitation to your practice still open? I think I’d like to see you play. I hear you’re ‘so great’ or something.”

He smiled again at your gentle teasing. “Yeah. We’d love to have you.”

As the months went on, you began to acknowledge that Oikawa was not what you had thought he was. Reluctant as you were to admit it, you considered him a friend now. As you had grown to know him better, it became obvious that everything you had thought about Oikawa before had been a mask he put up to impress people.

“If you keep poking me with that pencil, I will stab you in the eye with it,” you mumbled, not bothering to look up from your paper until a soft spring breeze floated through the library door as it opened.

“Iwa-chan! She’s being mean again!” Oikawa whined.

Iwaizume, ready to join your Friday study session, cast a lazy gaze over the both of you, assessing the situation in half a second.

He shrugged. “It looks like you deserved it.”

“I’m wounded, Iwa!” Oikawa threw an arm over his chest, falling back in his chair.

You rolled your eyes even as a smile tugged at your mouth. You had gotten used to Oikawa misbehaving. Some might go so far as to say you liked it. Some might even go so far as to say you liked him.

You would deny it if asked, of course. The way you blushed when he complimented you was the same as the way you blushed when anyone complimented you. The warm tingle left on your skin when he touched you was just because he was warm, infecting you with it, burning you alive. And the way you couldn’t breathe around him sometimes? Well, nobody could prove that.

Nobody could prove that Oikawa Tooru was your best friend, and nobody could prove that you were in love with your best friend.

Oikawa rested his head on your shoulder, and you wish you could say you had long learned how to ignore the jump of your heart, but you were only human. You still caught your breath, still felt an ache somewhere in your chest when he did it. It was the sort of feeling you got when you saw something in a shop window you couldn’t have but amplified by a million. It was so strong that sometimes you wanted to scream it out, wanted to stomp your feet and throw a fit like a kid in the grocery aisle because you wanted something you couldn’t have but oh, how you wanted it.

It consumed you some days, the way you wanted Oikawa. The way you wanted to peel back his layers, make him reveal that real self you caught glimpses of when he was with you. The soft boy who cried during sad movies, the brave boy who fought for you when you were sad, the silly boy who made faces just to get a rise out of you. It creeped like a sickness through your bones until you wanted to throw up, wanted to lay in bed all day in your sticky sweet misery and sob taffy tears, taste them on your tongue.

“Who are you going with to the spring dance?” Oikawa asked you, breath blowing against your neck in a way he couldn’t know sent shivers through you.

“I’m not going,” you said, returning to your textbook now that Iwaizume had established his presence.

Oikawa sat up, posture stiff with his indignance.

“Not going? How can you be not going? I know for a fact there are at least 5 boys planning to ask you.”

“They asked. I said no. I’m not going.”

“Why not? It will be fun!”

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the nasty feeling in your gut. You couldn’t very well tell him that you didn’t want to go just to watch him dance with every member of his little fan club. You refused to explain how absolutely heartbreakingly awful it would be to go and watch him rotate through his carousel of girls, all of them beautiful, all of them wanting him, none of them you.

“I’m studying. You know, that thing smart people do when they want to pass their classes?”

Iwaizume snorted.

“I know what studying is.” Oikawa glared. “I thought you would want to come, though. I figured you would already have a dress picked out and a date and everything.”

For a guy trying to convince you to go to this thing, Oikawa sounded almost sad talking about it. He especially seemed rather melancholy at the prospect of your date. You wondered if maybe one of your potential dates was somebody Oikawa hated or something. Not that it mattered, since you had turned them all away.

“I don’t really want to go. These things aren’t really fun anyway. Besides, all the guys who asked me were jerks.”

“That’s true,” Iwaizume said. “Didn’t Itsuki ask you? That guy got in 4 fights just this week. Pretty sure I heard him in the bathroom bragging about…actually, never mind. Point is he’s a jerk.”

“Trust me, I know. They were all like that, too.” You groaned. “If one decent guy had asked me, maybe I would have gone, but apparently there’s something about me that draws in the Itsuki’s of the world. So, I’m not going. I’m just going to stay home and watch tacky movies and do homework.”

“Go with me.”

You froze at Oikawa’s offer. He couldn’t be serious. Didn’t he already have a date? Didn’t he already have girls lining up around the block to go to this stupid thing with him?

“Don’t you already have a date? I thought…” You trailed off, unsure what exactly you had thought.

“No. I…I heard the person I was planning to ask was rejecting everyone who asked her. Didn’t want to risk it.”

For whatever reason, Iwaizume rolled his eyes from where he sat across from you.

“Okay. Well…can’t you just go with one of your fangirls?”

You weren’t sure why exactly you were fighting this. This was what you had wanted, but not like this. You had wanted him to ask you because he liked you, not because he was too afraid to ask some other girl who was apparently too good for the student body population.

“I don’t want to go with them. I want to go with somebody I like.”

Oikawa’s soft brown eyes were too earnest staring into your face. You couldn’t say no to him when he looked at you like that, so open and vulnerable you could almost pretend it was a confession. It would have been terribly cruel of you to turn him down now.

You sighed. “I guess I have to buy a dress now.”

Oikawa smiled. “Yay! You don’t deserve to be cooped up all night in your room. I promise I’ll make this fun for you.”

“You’d better,” you teased. “I’ll tell you once I know the color of the dress. That way you can match your tie.”

“Perfect.”

If you closed your eyes and didn’t think about it too hard, you could almost pretend it was a real date.

When the Friday night of the dance came, you really did almost believe it was a real date. Oikawa had told you he was going to pick you up, but he hadn’t told you that he was going to bring a corsage or charm the pants off your parents. He was acting like you were the girl he had wanted to take this whole time.

He opened your door for you before you got into the car, taking your hand to help you balance as you stepped into the car in your heels. You were dumbstruck when he reached over to buckle you in and make sure you were safe before heading over to the driver’s side. You tried frantically to control your breathing as he got the car started.

It was a short drive to the school, but the whole way there you could barely talk to him, trying to figure out his game. Was he doing this because he didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out? That had to be it. He was probably just trying to show you what a good date was like.

When you got to the school, he helped you out of the car, and you finally admitted it to yourself. When he escorted you in, despite everything, you sort of felt like a princess. Oikawa looked so dashing in his tux, his tie matching the shade of your dress, everything coming together perfectly for a moment before it came crashing down with the realization that you were not the person he had wanted to take to this thing.

In spite of that, though, he seemed intent to act like it. Oikawa’s fan club mobbed you as soon as you entered, but he ignored all of them entirely for once.

“Sorry ladies, but as you can see, I am escorting my date. Any other day you know you all have my attention, but I’m afraid tonight is all about us.” He flashed you a shy smile as he said it, cheeks turning pink on the word us. “Do you want to dance?”

“Uh….sure.”

He was being weird about this. You didn’t have much time to think about that though before he swung you out on the dance floor, swaying you to the beat of the music. The first few songs were fast, but eventually they played a slow song, and so you two danced a slow dance, Oikawa’s hands settled gently on your waist and yours around his neck. He had you pulled close though, enough so that his head curved over your shoulder and your ear pressed against his.

“So, I was thinking,” he said.

“Oh no. That’s always dangerous.” You laughed a little bit.

“Haha, very funny. But seriously, we’re graduating soon, and I…I don’t want to lose you.”

You couldn’t see his face with the position you were in, but you could hear the tenderness of his voice. Your heart ached with it even as he voiced the thought you had been having for a while now. You were coming to the close of your final year and you had wondered if, when you were no longer in school, you would have to face the reality of Oikawa no longer wanting to spend time with you.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you said softly.

“Yeah but…” Oikawa released a shaky sigh. “I don’t know if that means the same thing to you.”

Oikawa pulled back, far enough to look you in the eyes. You were too astonished to protest, staring up at him with your mouth fallen open in surprise.

“I want something more. I know you’ve just barely accepted me as a friend and you hardly even tolerate me and I know I’m annoying and loud and brash and obnoxious. I know all of that, but I need you to know that you’re everything I’m not. You’re gentle and smart and careful and considerate and you were the one I wanted to take to this dance. You. Not anyone else. That’s all I have to say.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess that’s my confession. I don’t expect you to accept it.”

Before you could stop him, he let go of you, starting to retreat through the crowd of dancing bodies around you.

“Tooru!” You used his first name in your excitement, forgetting any need to pretend distance.

He stopped when he heard you, a look of desperate hope on his face. You grabbed his hand, pulling him back into you.

“I wanted to come to the dance with you too. You’re my best friend, but you’re so much more than that. I’m so stupidly in love with you, but I never thought that you would feel the same. I do accept your feelings. All of them. Even the big, loud, obnoxious, dramatic ones. I love them. I love all of it. So let’s not lose each other. I was thinking that after we graduate, I’m probably going to go to college, but I don’t know if you have plans to go pro with your volleyball, or maybe-”

You were cut off when he grabbed your face between his hands, crushing your lips to his. Right there, in front of everybody, Oikawa Tooru started making out with you in the middle of the dance floor. Nobody really noticed the two extra teenagers kissing on the dance floor, but you felt your heart soar.

“We can work all of that out later. For now, I just want to dance with you.”

“And kiss me?” You teased.

“Yes. I would very much like to keep kissing you.”

You laughed, leaning into his shoulder again. The song changed, picking up pace to something more upbeat, and you changed your dance style in accordance with it. You could see Iwaizume on the side of the dance floor looking at you two approvingly, and when you made eye contact, he gave you a thumbs up.

Later, you would have to worry about college and volleyball and everything else. Eventually, it would all work out in the end, though not without some troubles. That Friday though, you danced the night away with your best friend turned boyfriend, and finally admitted to yourself that Oikawa Tooru was the best.

#hq #haikyuu!!#hq fic #oikawa tooru #oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 4 years

Text

Among These Pages

Summary: After a painful breakup, you move to a new town and you’re instantly attracted to a small bookshop near your new residence. The new owner has definitely caught your eye.

Warnings: Smut and mild cursing

A/N: So this idea originated from a Discord chat (again) in an Arthur specific server. Needless to say this one was fun to write.

The hot sun beat down amongst the worn cement and faded asphalt of this little town you now called home. Bright and sunny, though a little bit too hot for your taste. You quickened your pace to seek the shade of a tree, careful to keep out of the paths of others.

Having slight relief from the blistering sun, you squinted around for another view of your surroundings. A small, quaint village bustling with its inhabitants. The streets were lined with independent shops, restaurants and cafes. The buildings and walkways were splashed with brightly colored plants and paint, immediately setting a cheerful vibe in the atmosphere.

After spending the first day moving in and unpacking, you decided to take a break and explore your new residence. You’ve only really experienced it through your car windows, and stopped in one of the cafes once or twice. However, you now wanted the full experience. Though with how sweltering it was, you were probably better off driving.

You fanned yourself for a moment and cast your attention down the length of the block. More food, smoothies, coffee, ice cream, except you weren’t all that hungry at the moment.

However, another sign caught your eye. Though too far to see, your curiosity spiked and you walked forward. As you drew in closer shapes began to appear, along with letters. Morgan Books, painted in gold lettering in a distinctly Western styled font. Underneath was a stack of books with one opened on top. A bookshop. Being from where you were, you were used to the large corporate bookstores. You hadn’t come across an independently owned one in years.

Checking this place out was a perfect excuse to get out of the sun for a bit. You increased your pace until you were standing at the store front. The building like the others surrounding had a somewhat rustic appearance, part of the charm that attracted you to living here. The windows were dusty and the inside was fairly dark, but you could make out the silhouettes of shelves. You approached the entrance and pulled open the door, ringing a bell overhead. You stepped across the threshold to be greeted by a cool breeze of air conditioning.

You sighed in relief and looked around. The shop itself was fairly small, or at least appeared that way as it was full of multiple bookcases, all of which were stacked floor to ceiling with books. The floorboards creaked elsewhere, and you turned to see someone appear from around one of the shelves.

A man, tall and broad-framed. He offered a quick smile. “Hey there, welcome!”

“Hello.” You greeted him politely.

He stepped closer, allowing a better view of his face. You couldn’t help but to notice how handsome he looked. “Need help findin’ anything?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Nah, just exploring, really. I saw this place and I wondered what sort of treasures lurked within.” You lightly joked.

He chuckled. “Well, you’ll find plenty here. Got new n’ used, so feel free to look ‘round.”

You nodded in response, and turned your attention toward the endless amount of books. You scanned the shelves, following along with the signs marked on top of which cases held which topics. You found that he had a little bit of everything; from encyclopedias to New Age books, to computer guides (from the early 2000’s) to conspiracy theories. You had to giggle to yourself upon reading some of the synopses for a collection of the more esoteric pieces.

Time soon became lost to you with more exploration. All the while the man who greeted you earlier moved through the shop occasionally. After a while it felt like you’d been here for ages. When you checked your phone, you’d realized nearly a half hour passed since first walking into this place. You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t anticipated spending that much time here.

As you were putting your phone away and moved toward the front of the shop, the man sat at his register and caught your attention.

“So, find any treasures?” he casually asked.

You paused to turn to him. “Guess I did, you have a…uh, an interesting collection.” You responded, tilting your head back toward some of the shelves.

He nodded in agreement, offering you a half-smile. “You’d be surprised what people come in askin’ for, or what people come in to sell.”

“Well if I needed a how-to book on Windows 2000, I’ll know where to stop by.” You said with a giggle.

He shook his head and smiled even more. “See? Those books have been on them shelves for years. Ain’t sure why I still keep ‘em ‘round.”

“Antiquity value perhaps?” you joked.

He gave a small, hearty laugh. “’Spose so. Guess I should get rid of ‘em, they belong in a museum at this point.”

His laughter made you smile. “Anyway, I should be heading back home and unpack some more…”

His expression changed to curiosity. “You jus’ move here?” when you nodded, he asked, “Where from?”

“Couple hours north,” you answered. “Needed a change of scenery, you know?”

He nodded in understanding. “You’ll be glad ya moved here. This lil’ town has its charms, folks here are nice too.”

“I’m glad, believe me,” you sighed. “It’s a nice change of pace. I’m glad to have found this bookstore too, it adds to the charm.”

He grinned at you. A cute, slightly lopsided grin that somehow made your heart flutter. “Glad you think so.”

---

The next two days was spent unpacking the rest of your house, keeping yourself focused on it to have everything organized before the first day of your new job. It was Sunday, and by noon you’d finally unwrapped the last of your décor and placed it accordingly in your living room. You smiled to yourself as your eyes panned across the room, proud of how much you’d accomplished in just three days. Sure, you didn’t have too many possessions, yet it was a relief to tackle the largest of chores.

Though you hadn’t expected to finish this soon. With only half the day gone, you wondered what else to do. You supposed you could explore more, and that little shop on the corner popped up in your mind, along with the image of the handsome owner…

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to stop by again.

After a quick lunch break and heading outside, it was only fifteen minutes of walking before you reached your destination. It wasn’t as hot out today which you were thankful for. You strode up to the door and pulled it open, the bell once again alerting your incoming presence.

As soon as you stepped in, your eyes darted to the shopkeeper who sat behind the register. He peered up at your entrance.

“Hey, welcome back!” he greeted with enthusiasm.

You blinked in surprise. “You remember me?”

“’Course, when ya live in a small town, you tend to remember faces,” He explained. “Y’back to find more treasures?”

You smiled. “In a way, I finished unpacking earlier than expected so I thought I’d come back into town for a bit.”

“So you’re all settled in then?” he asked.

“For the most part. I start my new job tomorrow, so I’d figure I use my free time productively by…looking for more old computer manuals.”

He chuckled at that. “Now that ya mentioned it, I think I better do some inventory o’ the place. Might as well get rid of the useless stuff,” He spoke while standing up. “I won’t get in your way.”

You nodded, sidestepping as he rounded from around the counter to move past you. As he passed by, a short whiff of his cologne wafted through your nostrils. He smelled good, and you briefly turned your head to take a look as he walked away. He was certainly broad, almost too broad to fit in this little shop. Yet he moved between the bookcases with ease.

He turned a corner, obscuring himself from your vision. You turned your attention back to the books, looking for the topics that would particularly spark your interest.

It’d fallen quiet, aside from the creak of floorboards and sliding of books across wood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him pass back and forth with a few in his hands, carrying them towards the back. You’d sneak another glance or two without him looking, appreciating his physique.

After a little while, you found yourself poring over a book on the religion of Wicca. It was something that piqued your interest in your earlier life, though never had a chance to really learn about it. You’d only just began to skim through it, although the content was interesting enough that you started to read.

A loud crash emanated elsewhere in the shop, causing you to jump in surprise. The shopkeeper hissed out a curse, prompting you to peer around in search of the source.

“You okay?” you called out.

“Yeah,” he replied with a sigh of annoyance. “Jus’ one o’ these shelves fell apart.”

You listened to the sounds of him attempting to clean up the mess, and followed it through the narrow aisles until you found him. He was bent over, attempting to collect the disheveled books spilled at his feet.

“Here, let me help.” You said, automatically starting forward.

“No, you don’t have to –” he began, glancing up at you.

“There’s a lot here.” You stated, gathering a few into your arms.

He didn’t argue further, and together the two of you managed to collect them all. He nodded in thanks and headed toward the back once again, with you on his heels. He led you to an open door to reveal a small back room. From over his shoulder you spotted a chair and desk, and a pile of books placed haphazardly on top of it. He placed his armful on an empty space and gestured for you to do the same. Once you emptied your arms and exited the back room, you turned to him.

“Thank you.”

You nodded to him. “You’re welcome…” you glanced around the shop again, and an idea struck your mind. “Need any more help?”

“Nah, jus’ ‘bout halfway done I think.” He answered, placing his hands on his hips.

“I could help with that though,” you pointed out, though surprised at yourself for even offering. “Kinda curious what else you got that’s ancient and obsolete.”

“Oh there’s plenty…” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck while he peered around as a thoughtful look painted his face. “Tell ya what, if ya find anything interestin’ that need to be off the shelves, I’ll let ya keep it for free.”

Bewilderment crossed your mind. “Wouldn’t you be losing money then?”

“A couple of ‘em won’t hurt business,” he said. “Better n’ throwin’ ‘em out or puttin’ em in storage, ya know?”

You didn’t want to decline his offer since he had a good point, yet you still felt bad regardless. “Alright, fair enough.”

And so you set to help him. All the while you two held a casual conversation. You learned his name was Arthur, and that he owned this place for a few years. Other than running this store he lived on a small ranch on the edge of town. You shared a little bit about yourself, including your career and a couple of shared interests you had with him.

Surprisingly enough, you’d pulled out many more old texts than you anticipated. Some were so worn and dog-eared that there was no resale value, and Arthur told you to just throw them away. Throwing away books? You instead convinced him to give them away, and he found an empty box and labeled it “Free Books”. You skimmed through them briefly to see if they caught your eye, yet none did and they ended up in the box.

After a little over an hour passed before the both of you picked the place clean. You dusted your hands off after placing the last few in the box. Arthur picked it up and carried it outside, placing it on the sidewalk. We walked back in and said, “Hope that gives ‘em some good use.”

“Hey, people will take anything free,” you pointed out. “Maybe even pull in more revenue for you.”

“Well here’s hopin’,” he sighed, briefly glancing toward the floor before meeting your gaze with a small smile. “Thanks for the help again, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome Arthur, I actually had fun helping you.” You answered with a grin.

He chuckled softly. “Fun, eh?”

You nodded. “Sure, you’re a nice guy and fun to talk to.” You answered.

You weren’t sure, but his face reddened a touch as he ducked his head. He laughed again, shy and…cute. “Thank you, though I ain’t that much of an interestin’ person.”

“Nah, I beg to differ,” you argued lightly. “Either way, I think I’ll be coming back. I like it here, and if you’d need any more help…”

“You’ve been more than helpful Y/N,” he answered, waving his hand as if trying to flit away your words. He then paused, realization crossing his face. “Actually…no, never mind.”

“What is it?” you pressed.

“Well,” he released a heavy sigh. “I’ll be honest, business ain’t as good as I’d hoped. I’ve been tryin’ to think of new advertisin’ strategies, pull in more customers. Problem is I ain’t too good at it.”

“So…you’re asking me to help you advertise? Or create one for you?” you questioned.

“I know it ain’t fair to ask,” Arthur answered quickly, his face shadowed with a look of guilt. “We hardly know each other and you jus’ moved here –”

“I’ll do it.” You softly interrupted.

He blinked, staring at you in surprise. “Whuh?”

“I said I’ll do it,” you repeated, smiling at him. “Luckily for you, I took a few advertising arts classes in college.”

The surprise remained on his face. “Uh –” he huffed, and cleared his throat. “I don’t want ya to feel pressured or nothin’ –”

“I’m not, Arthur,” you assured him. “You were gonna ask for a reason right? I don’t mind. Besides, I haven’t used my art skills in years. Might as well put them to use again.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” You affirmed. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll give me something fun to do after work.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. He finally nodded and spoke, “Alright, as long as I ain’t troublin’ you with it.”

“No trouble at all,” you replied with another smile. “I’ll come up with something good, I promise.”

His smile matched yours. “Then I look forward to it.”

---

The next few weeks kept you busy. After settling in at your new job and coming home to sit at your computer to design flyers didn’t leave you much time for other activities. Still you stopped by the bookshop to plan with Arthur and discuss strategies, or suggested many ideas that he seemed to like. You laid out a few thumbnails of different designs for him to pick and choose, narrowing it down to two that he really liked.

You stopped by every day to update the progress, even when you didn’t have to. Admittedly you were enjoying his company, and you had a feeling he liked yours as well. After moving to a town where you knew no one and were far from your family and old friends, you were just fine with considering Arthur as one. As time passed on he’d become friendlier and more open to you, offering you a drink or snack even when you’d come by for a few minutes.

Sometimes you’d stay longer just as an excuse to be close to someone other than your new coworkers, and to admire how nice he looked. He always dressed in either button-up shirts or a nice T-shirt and Wrangler jeans like a cowboy, the fabric accentuating his broad frame in all the right ways. His sandy hair was trimmed neatly, and he kept his face somewhat clean shaven, although something about having stubble lined across his sharp jaw set a spark within you.

A relationship was the furthest thing on your list at the moment, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t admire how attractive he was.

Soon after you produced a finished product, and quite proud of the result after not having designed anything since your college days. It was a weekend which meant you were free, and upon printing out a nice colored version, you headed to the bookshop almost instantly.

Arthur loved it, as you had hoped. He paid for multiple copies to be printed and distributed around the town, and you spent the afternoon stapling them to telephone poles and handing them out in some of the shops. You thankfully had gotten a positive response from most of those you’ve spoken with, which gave you hope. You wondered how Arthur was doing on his end.

After a few hours you’d met back up at the shop, tired and arms empty, but Arthur looked as pleased as you did. You settled down in the back room while he handed you a water bottle from his mini fridge. You took it gratefully and gulped a swig, sighing in relief.

“I think we did good.” you said as he settled across from you.

He nodded in response, followed by taking a drink from his own bottle. “I think so too, lotsa people seem interested.”

“I would figure more people would come in here often.” You said thoughtfully.

“You’d think, but this place is more of a tourist trap than anything,” Arthur responded. “Can’t complain, but I understand. Ya get used to one place, it gets borin’ after a while.”

“Well, hopefully this will be the beginning of a new era for this place.” You enthusiastically gestured to the surroundings with a flourish.

Arthur smiled at you, chuckling as he took another drink of water. He didn’t speak, however your eyes met his. You’d never noticed before how absolutely gorgeous his eyes were. From a distance they appeared blue, yet you could detect hints of bright green surrounding his pupils. You wanted to view them even closer. Somehow you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The entrance bell however sounded, pulling your attention and his toward the front of the store. The telltale signs of potential customers. Arthur glanced out in surprise, and immediately stood up to greet the newcomers. You stayed in the back room while he dealt with the customers, listening to their voices with a smile on your face. Who would have thought it would work that quickly?

You left shortly after, catching Arthur’s eye briefly as you walked by him helping out a young couple that wandered in. A gaze that lingered a second longer than you intended, however you felt it was best to leave him to deal with his shop at the moment.

—-

Two weeks passed and you hadn’t stopped by Arthur’s shop, mainly because each time you passed by, the building seemed to be teeming with customers. You felt more than happy, and proud of yourself that you helped a business owner earn more revenue after a dull streak.

You did find yourself missing his company. Each day he hung in your mind like a cloud. You certainly liked him enough to call him a friend, yet those gorgeous eyes of his would meet you in your dreams.

That following Saturday evening, you received a text from him.

Hey, would you mind stopping by?

He was vague yet direct. Perhaps he was going to ask you another favor? Either way you were excited to see him again, and to inquire how everything was going. You headed over just minutes after responding to his text, hoping your eagerness didn’t overflow into your phone.

The first thing you noticed was the closed sign hanging in the window, which explained the lack of people this time. It was just past 7 pm, and you walked up the door and knocked. Movement shadowed behind the glass and Arthur’s silhouette appeared just a moment later, meeting your gaze between the glass and smiling wide. He opened the door.

“Hey there, come on in.” He stepped back and gestured.

You walked in and turned to face him. “So, I’ve noticed business has gotten better recently.”

“All thanks to you,” he responded, the grin on his face only growing wider. He then lifted his hand to reveal he was holding a bottle of whiskey. “I wanna thank ya.”

You blinked at the alcohol, surprised by this but you didn’t have any objections. You smiled and nodded in approval. “You don’t have to thank me Arthur, but I’m not about to turn down a good drink.”

He chuckled heartily. “Sure I do, the booze is jus’ a bonus. C’mon.” He waved toward the back room and strode for it, and you were right behind him. Once he stepped inside he grabbed a couple of plastic cups, and filled the both of them with a few cubes of ice. He then poured in the whiskey before topping them off with some soda. He handed a cup to you, and then held up his own.

“To you, for your design and advertisin’ skills.” He said, although rather awkwardly. You figured he wasn’t good at that sort of thing, but you didn’t mind. Bringing your cup to tap against his, you smiled again and took the first sip simultaneously with him. The sweet soda tinged with the smokey bitterness of the alcohol was a pleasant mixture against your tastebuds.

It was quiet for a moment, and Arthur took another sip before drawing in a deep breath. He focused on you. “Drink’s good?” He asked.

You nodded, taking another sip of your own. “Very. Haven’t had a chance to have a good drink since I moved here. Had to resort to a few gas station beers.”

He snorted softly, a small smile of amusement appearing on his face. “Gotta introduce you to the good bar in town sometime.”

This piqued your interest. “Oh? There’s a bar here?”

“‘Course, every small town has a bar,” he pointed out. “It ain’t on any of these main roads though, it’s closer to the outskirts. I imagine ya probably didn’t explore that much.”

“Can’t say I have,” you said thoughtfully. “But I’ll take up the offer of you showing me.”

“Jus’ name a time, ya won’t be disappointed.” He confidently replied.

You finished your first drink after a little while and Arthur poured you a second to which you were not opposed to. The effects were taking hold of you before you knew it. Your lips were looser with each sip you took, and you found Arthur was the same way. The two of you spoke about random topics, anything ranging between favorite colors to what you cooked yesterday. Things that were otherwise too boring to discuss, yet somehow with Arthur they seemed more interesting.

A little while later, the conversation became deeper. Arthur spoke some about his earlier life and what kind of environment he was raised in, and how his teenage years were spent bitterly. You shared the reason why you moved: you were previously living with your significant other, only to find your shared bed occupied by two bodies when you arrived home early one day when you weren’t feeling well. The reveal absolutely crushed you, which led into an emotional spiral and you looking for a new place to live the next day.

It’d been a little over a month since then. Your mind was still heavy on the breakup until you stopped by here the first time. Arthur and his charming little shop seemed to absorb any lingering sadness you had. Seemed like both yesterday and ages ago.

Regardless of the story, the pair of you were chortling in good spirits. You ranted about all the negatives about your old partner, releasing the leftover bitterness you’ve suppressed and turned it into humor. It only heightened your mood more, and with each drink it only increased.

After a few more minutes it quieted down again, though the smiles remained on your faces. You since became immune to the sting of whiskey, immensely enjoying the flavors and the inebriation that accompanied it.

Arthur reached over and poured himself another helping. His sigh caught your attention. He stared down into his cup, fixated with a thoughtful expression.

“I gotta say, I’m glad you wandered in here that day.” He murmured, peering at you with a sidelong look.

“Yeah?” you chirped.

He nodded slowly, taking a swig of his drink before focusing onto you with a serious gaze. “I’ll be honest, I was thinkin’ ‘bout closin’ up.”

You were taken aback by this statement. “Why?”

“You saw for yourself. Hardly any business. Shelves lined with books decades old,” he snorted without humor. “Truth is openin’ this place ain’t even my idea.”

“Then whose was it?” you pressed tilting your head in curiosity.

“My fiancée’s,” he smiled bitterly, gently swirling his drink. “Eh, ex-fiancée. Had the grand idea to run a business together. Picked out this place herself. N’ like a fool I fell for it.”

Ex-fiancée. Your heart raced upon learning this new information, and you wondered what happened between them. Would it be too prying to ask? “So…what changed?”

Arthur shrugged. “She found someone else more interestin’. Said we had too many differences in our lives to really enjoy each other…” he trailed off to take another sip, his eyes shifting to gaze in the distance.

Your heart broke for him. Rather than wallowing in those feelings, you instead asked another question. “But why hold on to this place if it was her idea?”

His gaze pulled back to you. “Guess for a while I was hangin’ on to the dream that she’d come back n’ pick up where we left off. Obviously that didn’t happen. Stupid, huh?”

You frowned at this. Hell, you understood that pipe dream all too well. There was a brief time where you wished your ex would come after you like in the movies in some dramatic fashion, pouring out apologies and begging you to come back. Wishful thinking.

You noted his hand was resting against the table. In a quick movement you reached over and placed your hand comfortingly on his forearm, and offering him a sympathetic smile. “It’s not stupid at all. You loved her and you held on to the one thing that you knew she loved too.”

Arthur’s eyes dropped to your hand. “For too long,” he sighed. “After a while I knew there was no chance. Still I continued, kept this place open for my own sake. Came here every mornin’ with a rock in my stomach, least until recently.” He explained, his voice softening towards the end. He peered over to you again.

Your heart raced once again. The way he was looking at you… it was obvious as to why he mentioned that last bit. Hell, you knew for a while. He wasn’t subtle about trying to steal glances your way these past few weeks. As attractive as he was, you were denying yourself of your own feelings out of protection. It felt too soon after your last relationship, although it seemed Arthur had been single for a while. You were afraid you’d change your mind. “And why is that?” you asked, wanting to play dumb to hide your initial hesitation.

His arm moved – at first you thought he was pulling away, until his hand met yours. Palm to palm, skin rough but warm. His fingers entwined with yours and you automatically did the same. “I think you know,” he murmured.

His thumb smoothed against the back of your hand. Your eyes bore into his. Such a gorgeous light blue, glistening in the lamplight of this tiny room. Despite the table in between the two of you, it was hardly an obstacle to view him in better focus. Upon closer inspection, you could detect pools of green surrounding his pupils, reminding you of tropical beaches.

His lips were parted, wafting his gentle breath against your face. Scented with alcohol and the sweetness of soda, he seemed to be growing closer.

You closed the space immediately, the booze flowing in your system offering a boost of confidence. His mouth was surprisingly soft against yours, and within seconds he returned the favor. Your free hands joined, mirroring their counterparts with ease. He pulled you closer with no effort.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly to stare at you with a soft expression. He released your hand to cup your cheek gently, and you leaned into his touch with a smile.

“You don’t have to hold on to those thoughts anymore.” you sighed to him.

His smile mirrored yours. “Neither do you.”

---

It was nothing but pure bliss following that night. You’d fallen into a routine to spend some time with him every day, even when you had work. Arthur was such a sweet lover and was not hesitant to hold you whenever he had a chance. His arm around your waist, or pulling you into his lap. You helped around the bookshop more, even when he told you that you didn’t have to. Yet you insisted, and redecorated some of it to give a new energy while keeping its rustic look. It certainly attracted even more customers.

He took you to the bar as promised, and it quickly became a regular spot for casual dates. It was just as charming as he explained, accompanied with lovely patrons and entertainment. You were soon completely comfortable with this small town, completely integrated into its community thanks to Arthur. People often recognized your face from the bookshop, and the praise following was something he was elated to hear about.

A couple of months have passed, and you swore Arthur’s smile grew bigger each and every day. He looked forward to running the business again, and left those bitter thoughts of his ex behind with the help of you.

One particularly slow weekend day, you were spending time in the shop as usual. It was late afternoon and the last customer left an hour ago, thus creating a quiet and relaxing atmosphere. Closing time would be in less than an hour, and you just assumed no one else would be wandering in.

While Arthur manned the register, albeit with boredom, you began to observe some of the newer inventory. The shelves were thankfully lined with more recent texts to fill in the gaps of what you’d sorted through previously. Once again you found yourself coming across the book of Wicca again, the same one you were skimming through just months earlier. You were surprised no one purchased it with the heavy amount of traffic that passed through.

The book served as a better distraction than you realized. You pored over it, so focused on the information that you didn’t notice the presence that loomed over you until gentle hands found your waist.

“You can keep that if ya want.”

You blinked in surprise, turning your head to look at him. “No, I’d feel weird about it.”

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s still your store, I just can’t take it.” You pointed out.

He shook his head and quietly laughed. “Ah, it’s alright sweetheart. I know you were interested in that. ‘Sides, it’s been sittin’ here for months, n’ I can always order more if people want ‘em. Pretty sure it’s here for ya.”

“I still feel like I should pay…or something.” You murmured, placing the book back on the shelf.

“Now I don’t wanna hear none o’ that,” Arthur lightly chided you, despite wrapping his arms around your waist. “I never did properly thank you for all the help you’ve given me.”

You turned around in his grip, giving him a playful smirk. “As if all this affection wasn’t repayment enough?”

“’Course not,” he snickered, and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “Think I got quite a while ‘fore I’m even,” he reached over and plucked the book from its spot, and pressed it into your hand. “Until then, take this.”

Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the spine, and you sighed again. He was adamant about you keeping this book, and there was no use arguing with him. No point in denying a free gift anyway. “Alright, I’ll keep it.”

He smiled in response. “Don’t ever think y’gotta pay for somethin’ in here. If ya like it, then help yourself.”

“You tell that to all the girls?” you asked.

“Only to the ones I like.” He replied with a wink.

You giggled, stepping back to lightly slap his chest with the book. “Alright you, I’m gonna head home. See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, drawing you back in for a hug and another kiss. “See ya tomorrow, darlin’.”

Breaking from the embrace, you headed toward the exit. Somehow you hadn’t noticed how much darker it got outside until you saw the iron-gray storm clouds through the door. You opened it just as a loud thunder clap rumbled through the air, vibrating the floor beneath you. A split second later, rain began to fall.

Well shoot, you walked here today.

Arthur’s low hum sounded behind you. He stepped up beside you to observe the weather. “Guess you ain’t goin’ anywhere for a while.”

“Guess not.” You agreed. You weren’t opposed to staying longer, however you were hungry and some leftover pizza at home was calling your name. Hopefully this storm would be quick.

Arthur seemed to have read your mind. “Got some snacks in the back, c’mon.” He said, reaching your free hand and leading you through to the back room.

The two of you settled at the table with a shared small helping of cut fruit. While it wasn’t much, it was enough to curb your appetite for the time being. It was quiet aside from the raging storm, which settled to an even calmer atmosphere. You popped a grape into your mouth, peering over at Arthur as he munched on an apple slice.

His eyes met yours. “Somethin’ wrong with my face?” he asked jokingly.

You snickered, scooting closer. “Yeah, a whole lot of handsome.”

He snorted and shook his head with a dejected smile. You learned early on that his self-esteem was low, even though he hid it fairly well. Any comments toward his physical appearance was usually deflected.

“It’s true, you know.” You insisted. “You ever see how some girls stare at you when they’re here?”

“Nah, only ever got eyes for you, darlin’.” He answered.

“It’s pretty obvious,” you continued. “They’re not so subtle with their googly eyes, even when they try to be.”

Arthur laughed again, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Guess I’m blind to it.”

“You must be, if you can’t tell how sexy you are…” you stood up briefly to slide into his lap. Your hands cradled his face. “Probably the most attractive man in this town.”

His cheeks flushed with a light shade of pink, ducking his head slightly to avert your gaze. “You’re jus’ bein’ sweet.”

“I’m being truthful,” You corrected, slipping your hand beneath his chin to tilt his face back up. Once he was looking at you again, your hands moved to his shoulders, down his arms and to finally take his hands. “I could stare at you all day, you know.”

He chuckled in response, entwining his fingers with yours. “I could say the same ‘bout you.”

“Ah, but this is about you…” you spoke softly, pulling his hands up to your mouth, placing soft kisses on his knuckles. “From your gorgeous eyes to your sexy jawline to your absolutely stunning body. And the way you dress? It’s like you do it on purpose just to make me feel all hot and bothered.”

“I don –”

You gently shushed him by planting your lips on his. Tasting faintly of fruit, your tongue swiped out to steal the flavor from his lips. You pulled back to see the flustered expression on his face, his mouth betraying a slight smile tugging at the corners.

He released your hands to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer on his lap. “Guess I can’t complain if you like it all.” He murmured.

“And then some.” You added, wrapping your own arms around his neck. He drew you in for a second kiss, softer and sweeter than the previous. He held you close to him, his body warm and solid against you. Seconds ticked by as it gradually grew deeper and more fervent. His tongue slowly invaded your mouth which you happily accepted. His large hands smoothed up and down your back, both soothing and igniting your body. A soft moan slipped from your mouth, unintentional yet you didn’t regret it.

This caught his attention. He paused and parted the kiss, confusion plain in his expression. His eyes however betrayed his thoughts, aquatic pools shining brightly in the lamplight. He wanted more and was held back by his hesitation. It seems like you would have to take the lead.

You offered a soft nod to him, a silent acquisition of permission for his unmentioned desire. Removing your hands from around his neck, you reached down and peeled your shirt off, tossing it to the side. Arthur’s eyes widened, staring without shame at your chest, only reflecting the hunger in its prominence. He moved then to attach his mouth to the crook of your neck, kissing your skin lovingly. Your head tilted to allow him more access, quietly encouraging him to explore more of your body.

He did just that. His calloused palms roamed the expanse of your back. His fingers trailed with feather-light precision up your spine. You shuddered in his grip, arching your back and pressing against him even more. He rumbled softly in appreciation while his other hand found the zipper of your jeans. You anticipated feeling him venture further, only for him to grip your ass. He stood up, catching you off-guard and you expelled a yelp. His journey with you was short as he brought you back down, resting your back on the table before him. You locked eyes with him as he smiled down at you, reaching up to caress your cheek. He dragged his fingers down your midline to the hem of your pants, gripping them to tug them straight off.

You were now down to your underclothing while he was still fully dressed. He was certainly moving fast. “You’re gorgeous too…” he muttered, his gaze scanning you up and down with great interest. He rested his hands on your hips, standing in between your legs. He leaned down to kiss your collarbone, moving his lips in a steady line following his trail from earlier. Looping his fingers through your underwear, he pulled them down just as his face reached just below your navel.

He tossed your panties with your other discarded clothing. As exposed as you were, you didn’t feel embarrassed. Your yearning for him was driving you wild. He kissed your mound before taking his spot in the center, and a split second later the wet presence of his tongue appeared along your slit, searching for his target until he honed in on it.

Good lord, who knew he was so good at oral?

You covered your mouth while he worked his magic against you, moaning quite loudly through your fingers. He held your trembling legs tightly against his shoulders, occasionally peering up at you for validation. Your other hand carded through his soft hair, allowing your touch to encourage him further.

He toyed with your entrance, exploring your inner walls. It wasn’t long until he hit that spot, a toe-curling and edge-gripping sensation that had you squealing his name. You were thankful this place was empty for once. He rubbed your inner thigh, offering his own encouragement. Your climax was arriving almost too quickly for you to comprehend. “A-Arthur,” you gasped. “God –“

You could barely utter another word as your pleasure washed over you like a powerful tidal wave, snapping your legs tightly to him while he lapped at you, drawing it out until you were writhing and whimpering from overstimulation. He broke free from your grasp with ease, standing back up to stare down at you.

As your breath evened out, you sat up slowly. “Where did that come from?” you asked.

He chuckled, offering you that crooked smile you loved so much. “I do have some tricks up m’ sleeves.”

You giggled with him, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck. He leaned into your embrace, joining his lips to yours for a short kiss. You brought yourself to your feet and pressed closer to him, highly aware of what rested against your thigh. Sliding your arms off, you knelt down. “I got tricks of my own too.”

Before he could speak, you palmed him through his jeans. He took a deep breath, easing out a quiet moan to you. You nimbly unzipped his confinements, reaching in to fish out his already hardened manhood. He was larger than you anticipated, but not enough to intimidate you. You wrapped your hand around, finding him thick in circumference. To describe him as well-endowed would only serve him some justice. Your fingers couldn’t touch.

You peered up at him. He was staring at you with curiosity, the rosy tint in his cheeks only increasing. There was still a hesitant energy to him, enough to not push you further.. You offered him a slow rub, memorizing every inch in your hand from root to tip. He released a shuddering breath, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

A soft smile crossed your lips, and you brought yourself forward to kiss his hot skin. You parted your lips to slowly engulf him, keeping your eyes locked to his. Your tongue slid languidly along his silky flesh, drawing along the thick vein that lay on the underside. Soon you had a set rhythm, bobbing your head in an undulating movement. He moaned deeply, breaking his gaze to tilt his head back. His fingers tangled within your hair, a gentle hold that prompted you to take more of him.

The sounds he made were glorious. Guttural groaning with your name, pet names, wrapped with his pleasure. His palm pressed against the back of your head. As gentle as he was, you sensed an urgency behind it. And so you dove further, swallowing him whole with some effort.

“Oh –” he huffed, his hips shuddering with a small buck. “Shit, darlin’. S-sorry.”

You uttered a soft hum and rubbed his thigh soothingly in response. Pulling your mouth back, you deep throated him again. He swore out loud a second time and gripped a nearby chair. You repeated a third time, raising your hand to fondle his balls through his jeans. His breathing became erratic the longer you pleased him, taking him whole with long swallows and a wiggle of your tongue. He gripped your hair hard, though he broke any direct contact with your head, too lost in his ecstasy to aid your movement.

Though hardly any time passed when he spoke your name. “Sweetheart, ain’t g-gonna last.” He gasped out.

You stopped immediately, pulling your mouth off him with a pop of your lips on the tip, swiping off a small pearl of precum that formed. You sat back quietly on your knees as his breathing regulated, and he was able to straighten up and focus on you again. “God damn, your mouth…ain’t no other like it.” He sighed.

You smiled smugly and stood up, closing the space between you with a swagger. Your arms slung around his neck again while you gave him a sultry look. “Didn’t want to be done yet.”

Arthur caught on immediately, pulling you in closer with an iron grip. He ground against you, his rough jeans on your soft skin felt wonderful. His erection rested between your thighs, just inches of where you wanted it to be. “Didn’t think so.” He growled, setting a shudder through you.

With one swoop he propped you back onto the table. His lips hungrily latched to yours while his hands explored every inch of your bare body. His fingers found your center with easy, relaxed strokes. Your moans silenced in his open mouth. You could only hold on while he pleasured you with his hands, though your patience for all of him was wearing thin. His shirt balled up in your hands, fingernails digging deep into the fabric and against his skin.

You pulled back to gasp out. “Arthur, please!” you panted. “I need to feel you.”

He paused his ministrations, bringing his gaze to you. A sweet smile touched his lips and he moved to grip your hips, shuffling slightly to align himself to you. His hips rocked forward, allowing himself to poke between your folds. He invaded you slowly, inch by inch and spreading your inner walls. You hid a wince, underestimating his thickness. He watched your face intently as if to note any discomfort. Soon he was completely joined with you.

He caressed your cheek, asking a silent question of your comfort. You nodded to him and kissed his palm, then trapped his thumb between your lips to suckle on it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the faint surprise on his face, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

His hand left your face to take place once again on your hip. He brought himself back and forward in one smooth motion. The discomfort dissolved almost instantly as your body accepted him, soon replaced with waves of pleasure. You moaned loudly, gratefully, hanging on him while he rocked you to the very core.

He murmured a breathless swear, gripping you tightly while he continuously thrust into you. You were enveloped by your own ecstasy, whispering his name into the air. Lost in your pleasure, you almost didn’t feel him lift you from the table. He held you without effort, driving himself even deeper. His grunts and groans vibrated deep in his belly, vibrating against you.

“Sweetheart, ya feel so nice.” He crooned.

You couldn’t form a coherent response. You could only muster up a long moan the more he fucked you, the further he reached and the harder he rocked. He paused briefly to move from the little room out into the main area. You felt him press you against a bookshelf. The books housed in it shuddered and some fell.

“A-Arthur?” you panted in question.

“Scientology books, no one reads ‘em anyway.” He quickly answered.

You couldn’t help but to laugh, a hearty giggle that switched to a squeal once he pounded into you again. The bookcase creaked behind you, tapping against the wall. The small aware part of your brain wanted to be careful, that is until Arthur shifted to snake his hand between you, his fingers once again toying with your clit.

You stifled another squeal, keeping yourself from becoming any louder than you already were in case any passerby somehow heard you, despite the storm still raging outside. Arthur seemed to have other plans, ramming himself so hard that you could only shout his name. His mouth latched to your neck again, not hesitant to mark and abuse your flesh. He growled with a nearly animalistic tone, echoing deeply throughout the shop.

Your second was on a quick ascent, peaking and surging through your center and radiating through your muscles. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him. He grunted, unleashing a shuddering breath.

“Jesus, gonna finish soon.” He huffed to you, and caught your lips for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He held you again with both hands. His pace hastened and his hips became erratic, unshamefully moaning against your tongue.

Every one of your senses was overwhelmed in the most wonderful ways. Your taste and smell were overwhelmed with his essence, your nerves tingling as you came down from your high. Nails dug into his flesh, spurring him to finish even sooner.

The clear ringing of a bell pierced your otherwise distracted attention. The bell indicating the store’s door opening, followed by faint footsteps. It brought you back to reality quickly. Ripping your mouth from his, you tried to gasp out his name, only to have him nearly slap his hand over your mouth.

“Shh, nearly there sweetheart. Jus’ be quiet.” He grunted quietly.

Part of you was nervous about the idea of being caught by someone, yet another side seemed to enjoy the thrill. You barely managed a nod while he somehow quietly fucked you, keeping you pressed against the bookshelf and undulating rolling his hips. You locked eyes with him, hyperaware of the creak of the floorboards that sounded as if they were growing closer. Your heart raced despite the endless amount of pleasure racking through your body.

It almost seemed as if he wouldn’t finish in time, until he pulled out of you and stifled a low groan. Hot trails of his spend painted your bare stomach. His entire body shuddered and he eased your legs to the floor, planting a quick kiss on your forehead before ushering you to the back room.

Your legs felt like jello, but you managed to scurry back into the room, ducking from view of the shop while Arthur stuffed himself back into his pants and hastily adjusted his appearance before disappearing from your line of sight. You heard him greet the newcomers, his voice cheerful and not a hint of what just happened a moment before.

You swiftly and silently closed the door, cleaned yourself up, and redressed. A few quiet minutes passed by before Arthur opened the door back up. He smiled at you and let out a sigh of relief. “They didn’t catch us,” he announced.

“I thought it was closing time,” you said.

“Close, had ten til,” he rolled his eyes. “Usually how it goes…”

You sighed heavily. “Of course…” You stepped up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Despite the fatigue that took hold of your body, you felt energized from the whole ordeal. “You sent them on their way?”

Arthur took a hold of your waist, pulling you flush against his torso. “Once they found what they were lookin’ for, though they did hear us a lil’…I had to tell ‘em I was rearrangin’ some o’ the shelves.”

You snickered. “Gotta say, it was a little bit of a thrill feeling like we were gonna get caught. Like we’re teenagers sneaking around or something.”

Arthur snorted and grinned at you with a sly smirk. “Yeah?”

“Sure, but let’s wait until after closing time. Don’t wanna scare off the customers.” you amended.

He nodded, his face twitching thoughtfully. “Next time, I think my house is more suitable,” he laughed. “More comfortable than a bookcase.”

“Oh I’d hope,” you replied, arching your back and feigning a look of pain. “Pretty sure that threw out my back.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised in surprise, though quickly realized you were joking and shook his head. That same adorable crooked smile returned to his face. “How ‘bout I massage ya to make it up?”

“How about we do that at my house?” you proposed with a cheeky wink.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x reader smut #modern!Arthur Morgan #modern au

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teacup-crow · 3 years

Text

Fizzy

The first time Krejjh met Brian they saved his life. Here’s that story.

Words: 1100

******

A few days after they defect from their platoon, the greatest war humanity has ever known comes to an end not with a bang, but with a whimper. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in Neuzo is electric with joy, and it tingles Krejjh’s skin as they down another glass of… well, they’re trying to find out what.

“Shrel veeda agat?” They try, waving a hand at the transparent bubbling liquid. The human bartender, a person with an accent far too strong for Krejjh’s barely-there Earth-English, shakes his head uselessly. “Mmmm… has what? Cup has what?”

“Oh! That’s lemonade. Well, the closest we can get to it out here; the Americans are pretty unconvinced by it but it seems popular with everyone else, as well as your lot...”

“Lemonade,” they take another sip appreciatively, understanding the first three words of the answer and trying for the right question word as they wave another free hand. “Veedo... veedo... why! Lemonade has…” they gesture uselessly, miming the bubbles popping. “What, why?”

At the awkward and apologetic shrug they receive, Krejjh sighs. Breesht! They really need a translator, and sooner rather than later.

Pocketing the little umbrella from the drink, they down it and drop a handful of coins on the table. Few places in Neuzo deal solely in credit - hard cash is far less easy for the IGR to track, and more difficult to fake. It’s helpful for someone with no ID, but human, physical forms of money don’t feel real to Krejjh, all those little slivers of metal imprinted with stars and dates and numbers. Consequently, the supply of it in their pockets is rapidly dwindling. They probably need to deal with that problem sooner than later too.

Still, for now, back to the motel and to trying not to ruminate too hard on the choices that led them to wandering this collection of space stations with no plan and no idea what to do.

It’s a street scuffle that catches their attention just a few blocks from the bar. Words which are Earthen, but not English, and distinctly threatening -

“Coglione! Sei stupido?!”

There are other humans who hear it too, but they rapidly disperse. Krejjh steps a little closer in overwhelming curiosity.

Three men, in cool black jackets Krejjh immediately wants to get their hands on, have backed another into a wall with a knife against his neck. He looks a little bruised up, as if he tried to escape from them and failed miserably. He also doesn’t look like a particular target for mugging or intimidation - he’s so skinny even by human standards, in baggy clothes, glasses, fluffy gold-brown hair and freckles that scream civilian and young. How cowardly of the other humans to flee! Krejjh clenches their jaw.

“Fellas, è tutto un malinteso… io posso…”

Then, glancing round desperately for an escape route, he catches Krejjh right in the eye and says, in perfect Dwarnian:

“Ch’eth il.”

Help me, in one of its most desperate forms.

The man with the knife tenses the muscles in his upper arm, and Krejjh steps out of the shadows with a hand on their blaster and clears their throat.

There’s a few seconds of silent stand-off that stretch out until the men let their victim slump to the floor, nod, and skulk off. He crouches for a few moments, breathing rapidly, shaking with nervous laughter, words in English this time: “Oh man, I thought I was a goner.”

“You speak Dwarnian?” Krejjh says, crouching beside him, barely able to hope.

He replies in their language: “I’m pretty fluent, yeah. Dude, you just saved my life!”

“Glad I could be of assistance! The name’s Krejjh,” they say, so delighted to be having an easy conversation for the first time in days, and press a thumb to his in greeting, a custom he seems aware of.

“Kre… you’re a pilot!” He smiles, broadly, and Krejjh realises they can’t quite take their eyes away from that face. It’s dazzling. His eyes crinkle at the corners: he’s not quite as young or innocent as they first thought, and that intrigues them, too.

“You… know how our names work?” They’re smiling too. Apparently his is infectious.

“I had to write a three-thousand word paper on it, junior year of my undergrad. I’m a linguist, I, uh, work as a translator. Freelance, you know? I did some work for those guys, but as you can see, our contract’s kinda fallen through. Oh man, this is all out of order, sorry, I’m a bit… I’m Jeeter. Brian Jeeter. And wow, Krejjh, if there’s anything I can do to pay you back for that - ”

“Translatorjeeterbrianjeeter? I absolutely have a job for you! I need English lessons, and translation services, and pretty much every sort of help you can provide with understanding human languages.”

“That I can definitely provide!”

And the deal is done, like most deals in Neuzo, quickly in a back alley.

“Okay so, lesson one, squashing everything together like that is really not how English names work… like that obviously sounds good in Dwarnian but once we translate it it’s long and uh, unwieldy...”

They listen intently to his chatter as they head back to the main street. The station lights, mimicking a planetary day, are beginning to dim even further.

“Want me to walk you home?” Krejjh offers.

“I… I normally wouldn’t take you up on that, but it’d be appreciated right now. If I look like I’m under some Dwarnian protection the gang might cool off and forget about me.”

“You would be quite hard to forget,” Krejjh says, barely thinking. His cheeks and the tips of his ears turn an alarming shade of pink, like the birds back on Homeworld when they sense a threat and want to blend with the sky.

“This is my place!” He waves up at a cosy, second floor apartment. Even from here they can see the stacks of teetering books. “Swing by tomorrow whenever it suits if you like.”

“I can do that! Wait, how do I say bhren ip nokeen in Earth-English? How do I say the phrase how do I say that in Earth-English? How do I…”

“Maybe let’s go one thing at a time, yeah? Bhren ip nokeen is ‘good night’.”

“Good night, Translator Jeeter!”

“G’night, Krejjh.

“Wait, wait, one more thing.” He hangs out of the doorway, looking down at them for the first time from the steps. They suddenly feel a little shy themselves, which is pretty unusual for them. “In lemonade, what is it called when it’s bubbly? And how do they make the bubbles?”

“Dwarnians don’t have carbonated drinks? And they say we have inferior technology...”

“Oh, so… you add carbon dioxide to your beverages?!”

“When you put it like that, it sounds weird, but yeah. I think the word you’re looking for is fizzy.”

Krejjh tries it out as they walk back to their motel again, lingering on the zzzz sound, picturing the way his face made them feel, picturing the partygoing humans and their relief and joy and excitement, feeling their heart race a little faster than it should. Maybe, they decide, it’s not just drinks that can be fizzy.

*******

Notes

I remembered like halfway through this that what Europeans/Australians call lemonade and what Americans call lemonade is NOT the same, and I feel like 200 years of cultural integration and space flight wouldn’t change that. Also, Americans are actually correct here: lemonade should contain actual lemons and not be a stand-in word for 7up/Sprite. But hell, this station is full of Sicilian Mafia, it’s definitely a European part of Neuzo, don’t @ me.

The Italian conversation, according to Google Translate, is pretty much: “Asshole! Are you stupid?”... “This is all a misunderstanding, I can-”

Brian buys Krejjh a soda stream at some point. I just know it.

#tscosi #the strange case of starship iris #fanfic

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rmnamjoons · 5 years

Text

Castaways [KNJ Oneshot]

➳ summary: You’ve always hated the ocean. Open water terrifies you, and you stay as far away from it as possible for self-preservation and peace of mind. Despite this, your friend somehow convinces you to go on a luxury cruise with her, her boyfriend Hoseok, and Hoseok’s nerdy friend Namjoon, who’s almost cute enough to distract you from your debilitating fears. When a sudden storm hits, however, you and Namjoon are swept overboard and find yourselves castaway on a desert island somewhere in the vast South Pacific.

➳ pairing: Namjoon x reader

➳ genre: smut with plot, slow burn, fluff, a pinch of angst, and a happy ending

➳ word count: 25.5k (this is a completed oneshot)

➳ tags: so much teasing, non-completed foot job in public, sensual massages, cuddling for warmth, nursing ur loved one back to health, relying on each other, face-riding, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breathplay, cumplay, biting, rough sex, sweet gentle loving sex, fucking in water, sex outside, a small hint of a daddy kink, so much dirty talk, like 6k of this is just dirty talk

[read on ao3]

➳ a/n: Though I do try to make this somewhat realistic, this isn’t at all meant to be some dark, gritty tale of survival. They’re super lucky in their circumstances and everything is fine. This is basically just two people fuckin' a bunch on an island. Bon appétit.

➳ warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of almost drowning, having a panic attack in a terrifying situation (y/n is afraid of open water and they’re swept overboard during a storm without even life jackets), and dehydration symptoms including vomiting. They find an island with freshwater and everything is fine and peachy pretty quickly if you can make it through the rough stuff. I had to make it at least like 15% realistic, guys.

You fucking hated the ocean.

Like, ponds were okay. Streams? Great. Swimming pools, ideal. Rivers and lakes were fine, you guessed. It was the ocean that you hated and were downright terrified of on a pathological level. You had no idea what was down there, you didn’t know how deep it went. Reading about it made you want to throw up. Being out in open water you knew was deeper than five feet made you panicked and anxious and sweaty. You just couldn’t do it.

You had agreed to go on a cruise with your best friend Mina because she loved the ocean, for some fucking reason. When you’d gone on your senior trip back in high school together, you’d compromised: high school senior trip you’d go to New York for you, and college senior trip you’d go on a cruise for Mina. A selfish, immature part of you had figured you probably wouldn’t even be friends that far in the future, because that’s what happened when people went to college. People naturally drifted apart as they grew. You’d also figured that Mina would forget or find a new thing to fixate on. Maybe in four years she’d really love London or Bali or the desert and not the fucking ocean.

Instead, you’d remained close friends that whole time, and Mina still loved the sea. She’d majored in marine biology and spent most of her time down by the bay, where she met her lifeguard boyfriend Hoseok, a ray of sunshine, just like Mina. You had no way of knowing for sure, but for some reason you were willing to bet money the two of them had done some kind of mermaid sex fantasy roleplay before, as cheesy as they were and as much as the two of them loved the ocean.

You and Mina both finished your undergrads and then boom, just like that, you found yourself on your way to Sydney, Australia for the “South Pacific Grand Adventure,” just like you’d promised Mina four years ago. You distinctly remembered never ever promising to a fucking three week cruise, but, as always, you couldn’t say no to Mina.

Hoseok and his friend, a man you didn’t know, had been invited to come along as well. Once you knew she wouldn’t be by herself, you’d debated faking a serious injury or illness, but Mina was onto your tricks and dragged you along, insisting you’d have a good time once you were there and that you’d probably forget you were even on a ship.

Hoseok’s friend, a tall man with thick glasses and a backpack full of paperback novels, seemed to be as equally thrilled to be here as you were. Mina had introduced him as “Joon,” and he’d quickly corrected her, pushing his glasses up his nose and saying that his name was Namjoon, thank you very much. You noticed the way he grimaced when Hoseok and Mina openly made out on the too-long plane ride and how he rolled his eyes when they called each other over-the-top cutesy pet names. Namjoon seemed much more willing to show his distaste for the happy couple’s antics than you were, and you were now debating taking a page from his book.

You and Namjoon ended up stuck together pretty quickly, and you both seemed to realize that at the same moment, sitting beside each other in silence on the shuttle bus heading over to the port, while Mina and Hoseok sat together a few rows away, baby-talking to each other and cuddling and giggling. They were the only people on the bus making any noise this early in the morning, and they seemed not to notice that fact.

It was going to be a long cruise.

You’d had to wake up entirely too damn early to get on this bus, you were jet-lagged to shit, and the moment you saw the harbor and the cruise ship there waiting for you, you just knew you were going to very deeply regret this. The only solace you had was that Namjoon was stuck here with you. Maybe you could at least come out of this with a new sarcastic friend.

The four of you got off the shuttle and went up the ramp onto the massive cruise ship, and checked in at one of the front desks. You attempted to pretend this was just a normal hotel and was not going to take you out into the middle of nowhere in the awful ocean.

Mina did all the talking during the check-in process, Hoseok right by her side with his arm around her. You and Namjoon hung back with all the luggage, and you kept catching yourself staring at him and having to force yourself to look away.

Namjoon was tall, his messy dark hair sticking out from under a backwards baseball cap, his black thick-rimmed glasses slightly crooked on his deceptively cute button nose. He crossed his arms, his muscles there making you bite your lip, and you figured he was a man of contradictions. He was nerdy and kind of awkward, but was absolutely jacked, his chest nearly bulging out of his shirt. He had a cute, seemingly innocent face, but his resting expression seemed to be rolling his eyes at Mina and Hoseok’s expense. You decided you liked him.

After getting the keys to the rooms, the four of you went down and dropped your luggage off and then went to grab some lunch in one of the ship’s restaurants, and on the way there you only thought about jumping off the ship into the harbor and swimming back to Sydney once.

Hoseok and Mina sat beside each other and kept giggling and touching their foreheads together and cuddling, even giving each other a few quick kisses as they grinned at each other. Across the table, you and Namjoon sat there, just watching the two of them. Mina and Hoseok were lost in their own little world, while the two of you sat in an awkward silence, too embarrassed to say anything to your friends or each other. You mostly stared at your phone or the table in front of you, while Namjoon seemed very fascinated by a painting on the wall across the room. The waitress showed up and you ordered a mixed drink, figuring the only way you were going to make it through this trip was if you were highly intoxicated for most of it.

As you sat there during the course of the meal, you watched Namjoon’s reactions to different things Mina and Hoseok did as he leaned back into the corner of the booth, sprawling out, one arm across the back of the booth behind you. The two of them nuzzled their noses together, and Namjoon rolled his eyes. Mina leaned her head on Hoseok’s shoulder and snuggled in, and Namjoon tilted his head back, his tongue sticking out to the side and eyes rolled back in his head as he silently pretended to keel over and die. Everything the two of them did with each other, Namjoon reacted to it in some quiet passive aggressive way, mostly to amuse himself, but definitely amusing you.

Halfway through the meal, he realized you were watching him and silently giggling. When Mina and Hoseok started baby-talking and feeding each other, Namjoon looked at you with wide eyes and bit his lip, his body almost shaking as he tried so hard not to laugh at them. You put your hand up and hid your face, turning toward Namjoon so he could see you trying to hold in your laughter, too.

So far, Namjoon was more than making this trip bearable. He was turning out to be the best part.

***

Two days at sea passed. The ship was headed to New Caledonia and was set to get there the following morning, where you would have almost a full day to explore the port town of Noumea. After that, you’d be heading deeper into the South Pacific toward Fiji, another two days out on the open sea. On the map, it all looked so close together, but you saw at one point that it was over twelve hundred miles just from Sydney to Noumea. You tried not to think about it.

The next morning, you’d be on land again in Noumea, at least for a few hours. You just had to last until then, and then you’d have a brief break from the ocean. You tried to stop yourself from wondering if New Caledonia had an airport that could get you back to Sydney, where you could just hang out until Mina finished her cruise.

That being said, you actually weren’t having too awful a time, you had to admit. The ship was nice and had a lot of fun stuff to do, and Mina wasn’t spending every second of her time with Hoseok.

You did spend most of your time with Namjoon, though. You knew you were definitely attracted to him, and you’d caught him looking at you enough times to wonder if he was attracted too. He was so funny, and you’d grown to find his nerdiness endearing, and good lord did that man have muscles. You wondered more than once where on earth a little bookworm like him got a chest and arms like that. Every time he awkwardly pushed his glasses up his nose, his muscles in his arms bulged under his shirt. When he lounged on the ship’s deck reading yet another one of his novels, which he seemed to go through one of a day, you just stared at his thick thighs, imagining yourself riding them.

You learned a few things about Namjoon very quickly, the first being that he was very awkward and shy around new people. With everyone, from you at first to waiters to the random women who tried to flirt with him at the pool bar, he couldn’t look them in the eye and stumbled over his words, not knowing what to say when someone attempted to have a simple conversation with him. The man was terrible at small talk, though you could tell he was really trying his best. You’d tried so hard not to laugh at him on the first night at dinner when the captain came around to all the tables and introduced himself, and Namjoon had stuck out his hand for a handshake and the captain didn’t see him at all, and Namjoon had just sat there with his hand out for a few seconds until he dropped his hand to his lap, looking like a sad little kicked puppy.

The second thing you learned about Namjoon was that once he was comfortable around someone, he was a sarcastic, flirty tease, and this seemed doubly true for his interactions with you. At lunch on the second day, he’d taken a sip of your drink without asking, and when you’d turned and caught him, he’d just smiled at you smugly and winked, your straw still in his mouth. He’d then offered you a bite of what he’d ordered, holding up a piece of food on his fork, and when you’d opened your mouth and leaned in, he’d smeared it all over your cheek, apologizing profusely and insisting it had been a complete accident while smirking to himself the entire time. Underneath his shy awkward nerd exterior, he was all teasing and winks and sarcasm.

You dished it right back to him when you could. You’d stolen his book when he’d gotten up to get a drink at the pool, just for him to come back and see you reading it and refusing to give it back to him. You’d rubbed a bite of your dessert on his nose after offering him some at dinner. His eyes always lit up when you teased him right back, and with Mina all but ignoring you, Namjoon was proving to not only be your perfect distraction from the ocean, but a wonderful way of entertaining yourself on the ship.

It was now the third day, and you and Namjoon went to the pool together while Mina and Hoseok did some expensive couple’s massage all afternoon. As you walked out onto the pool deck together, you caught yourself staring at him yet again. Namjoon was shirtless, his swim trunks obscenely low on his hips, his chest so large, his big arms defined so beautifully. You were nearly drooling by the time the two of you found two lounge chairs together in a nice spot.

You had an idea for how to get some more attention from him, and you decided now was the perfect time to begin your plan.

“Joon? Will you do me a big favor, pretty please?” you asked, overly fake-sweet, as the two of you sat down and settled in. He’d unsurprisingly brought a book and was already laying down and opening it, but he tilted his head to look at you.

“What do you want?” he said, matching your sarcastically sweet tone.

“Will you put some sunscreen on me?”

“What, like on your back?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“All over me,” you said. “I don’t want to get sunscreen on my hands.”

“Neither do I,” he protested, pouting. “I’m the one reading a book, with paper. Do it yourself.”

“Ugh,” you huffed as you sat up. You reached into your bag and pulled out your sunscreen. “Please?” You made your voice higher and more feminine, almost a moan as you pouted and begged, holding out the sunscreen and batting your eyelashes at him when he looked over at you.

“Why can’t you do it?” he said flatly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“I told you,” you said, “I don’t want to get sunscreen on my hands. I hate that feeling.” That was partially true. You were much more focused on the prospect of Namjoon’s big strong hands rubbing sunscreen all over your almost naked body, covered only by the skimpiest little bikini you’d brought on the trip.

“Fine,” he said, grumbling as he set his book down on the little table between you. “Where do you want it?”

“On my skin,” you said, smiling up at him innocently as you leaned back, reclining lazily in the lounge chair, your body on full display as you put your sunglasses on.

“But of course, your highness,” he said, sarcastically over-serious as he opened the bottle and squeezed a bunch of the sunscreen out onto his hand. “How could I not have known that?”

Whatever you were going to say was cut off by him suddenly smacking his hand down on your stomach, the cold sunscreen splattering out equally as surprising as his sudden movement. You gasped, squeaking in surprise, and Namjoon smiled to himself as he started moving his hand.

"Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I surprise you?” he deadpanned, spreading the sunscreen out across your skin.

“Not at all, Joonie,” you replied, relaxing under his touch. As sarcastic as he’d been, he was actually being normal about it now, sitting beside you on your chair as you laid back and let him touch you. He was also letting you get away with calling him “Joon” or “Joonie” lately, not correcting you or even reacting most of the time.

Namjoon was gentle yet firm, the cold sunscreen contrasting the warmth of his large hands so wonderfully it made goosebumps spread across your skin. You took in a deep breath and held it as you felt the tips of his long fingers slowly skim along the bottom of your bikini top, just barely going under the fabric and teasing the underside of your breasts as he rubbed the sunscreen in across your ribs. You sighed as he moved down your stomach to oh-so-gently massage your hipbones and navel, running his tips of his thumbs under the waistline of your bottoms just enough to make you raise an eyebrow at him.

He noticed your questioning look and smirked, moving back up to more neutral ground on your sides and massaging there instead.

“That feels good, Joon,” you murmured, relaxing again under his touch, and you noticed the way Namjoon slowly looked up at your face at your words, his lips parting as his eyes drug up and back down your body, drinking in the sight before him.

After getting more sunscreen on his hands, Namjoon started on your legs, touching you slowly and firmly, spreading his fingers out as he moved across your inner thighs. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head, and you were thankful you were wearing sunglasses so he couldn’t see that. You wondered for a split second how much trouble the two of you would get if he fingered you right here on the pool deck in front of all these people.

Namjoon moved up to the top of your chest, spreading the lotion out there, and then up to your neck, where he stopped for a moment, his palm over your throat. You held your breath as his hand just rested there, and you knew he had to be able to feel how fast your heart was racing. He squeezed so gently, barely at all, and your breath caught in your throat, not from the tightness of his squeeze but from the intimacy and dirtiness of this moment. There were so many people around. All he’d have to do was squeeze a little harder. You were dripping wet for him, biting your lip and struggling to keep your eyes open. And then Namjoon moved his hand like he was rubbing in the sunscreen there completely innocently, stroking up and down your throat and then across your shoulders, returning to normal.

Namjoon moved back down to your legs. He put it on your inner thighs for the second time, and you noticed that but said nothing. You spread your legs just slightly, giving him easier access, and you could almost hear the small moan that escaped his lips when he touched the stitching of your bikini between your thighs.

He growled at you to roll over, a noise that went straight to your already throbbing core, and when you complied, he spread the cold sunscreen there, even pausing to carefully untie your bikini straps so he could cover your back fully. His massage was rough and thorough, rocking your body slightly with each of his movements. You almost moaned out loud, feeling his fingers digging into your flesh as he kneaded and spread out more sunscreen.

Namjoon used both hands on the backs of your thighs, dipping just his fingertips into the back of your swimsuit bottoms as he stood over you, stopping just before he was fully grabbing your ass with both hands under the fabric.

When he finished, Namjoon wiped his hands on his knees and then carefully tied your bikini back together. Before he even sat down, you jumped up and grabbed the bottle of sunscreen from his hands.

“Your turn,” you said, throwing your sunglasses down onto your chair. Namjoon’s eyes were dark, glinting with desire, and he immediately leaned back in his chair, ready for whatever you were going to do to him.

You straddled him, pouring sunscreen directly onto his tanned chest, making him hiss from the surprise of the cold liquid. He held you by the backs of your thighs as you rubbed it in with both hands slowly on his hot skin, feeling his muscles forcefully, spreading out your fingers. Namjoon didn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time, his jaw set as he watched you so intently. You felt his firm chest, his strong shoulders, his tight muscles, his large body seeming even bigger under your small hands. The whole time you worked, his chest steadily rose and fell, his breathing thick as he watched you with hooded eyes, his pupils blown.

You made him roll over. As you rubbed his back, you sat gently on his ass, still straddling him. You reveled in the feeling of massaging the cool liquid all over his warm skin, and you swore you felt him almost groan at one point when you really dug your palms into his lower back.

When you finished, you got up, smiling down proudly at him.

“There,” you said. “Now neither of us will get sunburnt.”

“That’s good. Skin care is important,” he said, rolling over slowly onto his back once again. You hadn’t touched him there, but somehow his hair looked ruffled and slightly messier than normal, his eyes almost satisfied, as if the two of you had just finished something much less innocent.

You could feel him staring at you intensely as you bent over, putting your sunscreen back in you bag. You bent at the waist and faced away from him, giving him the perfect view of what he wanted.

“I’m going to get a drink,” you said when you stood back up. You looked over your shoulder at him. “Do you wanna come?”

He blinked a few times, staring at you like you weren’t speaking a language he knew.

“Yeah. Yes,” he said when it finally processed. He stood up and followed close behind as you took his hand and led the way over to the bar.

While the two of you ordered, he stood close behind you, moving with you when you stepped off to the side to wait for your drinks. When you accidentally took too quick of a step back, partially bumping into him, you felt him through his swim trunks and realized that he was attempting to hide the fact he had a semi.

You definitely weren’t thinking about the ocean right now.

***

When you got dressed for dinner that evening, you picked out your skimpiest little dress, ready to taunt and torture Namjoon. You knew that packing your stockings, garters, and suspenders was a good idea, and you hoped Namjoon would potentially get to see them tonight if all went well. When packing, you’d anticipated a potential one-night stand with a crewman or fellow passenger, but this situation with Namjoon was far better than anything you’d imagined. You were sharing a room with Mina, but maybe you and Namjoon could sneak off together to some deserted part of the ship and he could fuck you against a wall, or something else equally sexy, passionate, and depraved.

Mina and Hoseok were meeting you at dinner and had already left, and Namjoon had texted you earlier, asking if you wanted to head down together. He came to your room to pick you up, and, when you opened the door, you grinned when Namjoon’s gaze immediately fell to your chest, his eyes wide. He quickly looked back up at your face, blinking in surprise as if shocked he’d let himself do that so openly. His cheeks were bright red, his lips parted as he tried to say something but couldn’t. He was so thoroughly flustered, and you stepped out of your room, brushing past him and knowing he’d follow.

You walked ahead of him down the hallway, accentuating your hips as you walked. You could practically feel that filthy boy’s eyes glued to your ass. This was going even better than you’d anticipated. Maybe he’d snap and fuck you against a wall before you even got to dinner.

You eventually found Mina and Hoseok, and the four of you sat together in a small booth near the center of the busy dining room. Waiters buzzed around like honeybees, and every last passenger on the ship seemed to all be here in this grand room. It was lively and exciting, a live band playing on the second floor and the kitchen staff loudly preparing course after course in the next room. If you were to look up, you would’ve noticed the chandelier swaying oh-so-slightly from the waves outside, nearly undetectable here in the belly of the ship.

You sat across the table from Namjoon. Part of the way through the meal, you decided to play with him some more and slipped off one of your heels. You continued eating normally, not letting your face or upper body show any signs of what you were doing.

You moved your foot up the inner side of one of his legs, feeling him jump only slightly when he first felt you. Your foot traveled farther and farther up until you were at his crotch, slowly moving the heel of your foot so that you pressed against him, teasing in a slow, circular rhythm.

You didn’t look up at Namjoon, but you felt him grab you by your ankle and squeeze. You cracked a small smile and tried to keep moving your foot despite his grip, and you could already feel him growing hard. He didn’t move or push your foot away. He held you right there in place, biting his lip as he moved forward in his seat, pressing his chest against the table as if he were simply sitting up eagerly.

“What did you two do this afternoon?” Mina asked politely, smiling at the two of you.

“Just hung out, mostly,” you said. You glanced up at Namjoon and saw his cheeks flushed red, nostrils flared, and you kept slowly moving your foot against him as he held your ankle. “Joon did some reading and I tanned.”

“It’s Namjoon,” he said, his voice deeper than normal, and when you looked up at him he was glaring, leering at you, eyes dark under those thick glasses you’d grown to adore. Mina and Hoseok seemed not to notice Namjoon’s suffering.

You smiled at Namjoon politely. You took a slow sip of your drink before speaking, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.

“How could I forget? Namjoon,” you said, tasting his name on your tongue as if for the first time. You stroked him through his pants with your foot faster now, and you could almost see how fast his heart was racing in the veins in his neck and forehead. He was squeezing your ankle so tight you felt like you were losing circulation there, but you kept going.

Namjoon suddenly stood up, dropping your foot and turning away from the table and walking away as fast as he could, not looking back. Mina and Hoseok both looked confused, turning and watching him as he left, asking where he was going.

You slipped your shoe back on and excused yourself, saying you’d check on him, and quickly followed him outside.

Namjoon wasn’t hard to find. He stood out in the hallway, facing away from you when you walked out, arms crossed. You were in your own private little part of the ship, right near a balcony and where nobody could see or walk in on the two of you talking.

Before you could say anything, Namjoon turned around and looked at you.

“How would you like it if I just touched you like that while we’re in public, around all those people?” he said, glaring at you.

“Do you not like it?” you asked seriously, watching the way he set his jaw and looked away. Behind him, you could see out a large window that the sky was darker than it should be at this time. You could feel the sway of the ship way more than usual, but Namjoon’s distress pulled you back and made you focus on him.

Namjoon sighed before speaking. “You’re playing games with me,” he said, his voice deep and gravely. He shook his head like he was disappointed, but you saw how he looked back at you, his eyes falling to your legs and how short your skimpy little dress was.

“Do you not like games?” you asked, tilting your head and smiling now. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes now lingering on your mouth.

“I don’t think I like being played with,” he said, not taking his eyes off your parted lips. He watched you lick your lips slowly, and you swore you almost heard him growling.

“Well that’s a pity,” you cooed. “Because I love playing with you.”

Namjoon sighed, turning away from you and running a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, and he walked out of the hallway away from you and out onto the deck.

You followed as he went out onto the balcony to get some air, both of you still under the large overhang. You froze in the open doorway, though, eyes wide and horrified as you looked out at the ocean, finally seeing the full scale of the situation.

Rain poured down as the dark waves churned and threw themselves against the ship, the angry water covered in white caps and sea foam. The sky was black, the roar of the wind and rain near deafening. The humidity out here was suffocating, even as you still stood in the doorway. You’d barely noticed it before, but now that you were paying attention and away from the center of the large ship, the vessel was rocking with the waves, your stomach lurching with it. You grabbed onto the doorframe, holding on for dear life.

“When did it start storming?” you said distantly, eyes wide as you stared out at the large, dark swells in the water.

“I don’t know. While we were eating,” Namjoon said. “Jeesh, it’s really coming down. It must’ve started up in just the last ten minutes or so. It was so nice this afternoon.” He continued talking about something, but you didn’t listen. Instead, you braced yourself there on the doorframe, eyes wide as you stared out at the water, feeling only the ship rocking side to side. The rocking wasn’t even that bad and you were both more than ten feet from the railing, but even being exposed to the outside air just this much was overwhelming.

You needed to get out of here. So many people had told you that you could barely feel the intense waves of a storm when you were in the middle of a ship, so you just needed to turn around and go back to your room. You heard an announcement on the ship’s broadcast system vaguely in the distance, but couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wind, rain, and the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Namjoon seemed to finally notice how you were reacting.

“Hey, are you okay?” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said, voice cracking, not looking up at him. You were pretty sure you were going to throw up. After a few seconds of Namjoon not saying anything, you spoke again, now trying not to hyperventilate. “Okay, I’m really really afraid of the ocean, and right now is like my worst nightmare, and I think I might pass out.”

“You’re afraid of the ocean?” he said in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing on a three week cruise?” When you didn’t respond, Namjoon moved so that both hands rested on your shoulders gently, grounding you. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, his voice much softer as he tilted his head to look at you better.

You didn’t answer. The ship swayed and rocked with the harsh waves, and you tried to get used to it, swaying with it. Instead you just felt sicker. You knew it was near impossible, but you felt like the ship was going to flip over or break in half, and it kept getting worse by the second, the rain only coming down harder and harder. Lightning cracked and thunder immediately followed, making the whole ship rumble.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to go lay down in comfy pajamas and listen to music and not concentrate on the ship rocking and the sound of rain and thunder and huge waves. You needed to forget you were on a ship.

You stepped away from the doorframe, and Namjoon stepped back from you, giving you space.

The ship suddenly jerked side to side exactly three times as huge rogue waves hit it on each side, tossing it around like it was nothing, the ship tilting back and forth and making dishes inside fall off of tables and shatter.

The first wave threw both of you forward against the railing, nearly ten feet away from where you had been standing, the ship listing so dramatically so suddenly that you weren’t sure if you’d been thrown or just fallen. You fell into Namjoon and Namjoon fell against the railing, and he cried out as his back hit it sharply and you slammed into him.

The second wave threw both of you in the opposite direction, away from the railing and back towards the middle of the ship, the large wave coming up over the railing and soaking both of you. You coughed and gasped as Namjoon tried to both grab onto you and grab at the wall you’d been thrown against, both of you nearly tripped over each other on the now slick floor. You’d hit the wall beside the door you’d walked out of, and Namjoon had crashed right into you, unable to stop himself, both of you being tossed around like children’s toys.

The third wave threw you both back against the railing again as the ship tilted dramatically, and both of you, while still holding onto each other, fell overboard.

You felt like you were falling forever. When you hit the water, it felt like slamming into concrete, and a huge wave immediately sucked you under, into the darkness.

You couldn’t feel Namjoon anywhere. You were thrown against the side of the ship, pressed there, still underwater, the back of your head hitting the ship so hard you saw white. The force of what held you there felt like enough to grind you into nothing, and then, just as quickly, you were sucked back out away from the ship.

You didn’t know which way was up. Wave after wave hit you from every direction, making you spin and twist and throwing you around like you were a ragdoll. You didn’t have time to think, you just tried to find the surface, survival instincts taking over.

Your lungs burned. You couldn’t breathe. You felt like you may as well be a hundred feet underwater, and for all you knew, you were. For a split second you felt like you got your head above water, but you were immediately swallowed by another wave before you could even take a breath.

This felt like it lasted for hours, but in reality it was less than a minute. Eventually you got yourself above water and took in a deep, agonized breath, gasping for oxygen and coughing up seawater. A huge wave came toward you but hadn’t crested yet, so you floated with it, letting it bring you up and back down again.

Looking around in all directions, you tried to find the ship or Namjoon. You saw neither.

Your isolation and terror hit you like a freight train.

You were in the middle of the ocean. Alone. During a storm. With no ship in sight.

You had no idea if Namjoon was even alive. You couldn’t see the ship anywhere — had you been under that long? Had you been pulled one way while the ship sailed another? Or was the ship lost to the storm too, everyone else now drowning and being pulled to the bottom of the ocean?

This was you worst nightmare coming true. Your imagination and intrusive thoughts kicked into overdrive; you imagined what could be underneath you, what monsters and leviathans could be swimming up toward you right now, ready to swallow you whole. You screamed, trying to swim upwards even though your head was already above water. You kicked your arms and legs furiously, hyperventilating and gasping as you entered complete panic. The waves still tossed you around, but they were big enough and most were not cresting, so you could float and stay above the surface mostly. The rain poured down on you, and you felt like the rain alone was going to drown you.

Namjoon surfaced then, about twenty feet away from you. Gasping, he saw you and swam toward you, and you swam franticly toward him, you arms and legs moving violently. As soon as he reached you, you grabbed onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around him and moving like you were trying to climb on top of him to get yourself completely out of the water. You were kind of vaguely aware of the fact you were screaming and gasping and maybe sobbing.

What you were doing made Namjoon’s head go back under the water again, and he tried to get you off so he could breathe. You curled up into a little ball, twisting your body so that your legs could stay up near his chest and your arms could wrap tightly around his neck and shoulders.

“Help me! You’ve got to help me!” You were screaming near-gibberish, holding onto Namjoon as tight as you could as you wept and gasped, a small part of the back of your mind recognizing you were having a panic attack.

Namjoon hadn’t even had the chance to react yet other than his basic survival skills keeping himself above water and keeping you from drowning him. His feet were treading water desperately, his neck twisting as he looked around for the ship. His hands went up to hold you in place as he looked, his attention not really on you as he tried to find your way back to safety.

“I don’t see the ship,” he said loudly to be heard over the storm, eyes wide in horror. “Where’s the ship?”

You didn’t respond, instead twisting yourself so that you were wrapped around him again, clinging onto his body as tight as you could with all of your limbs. You were crying and gasping for air, your mind simultaneously blank and full of every panicked thought you’d ever had as you wept and hyperventilated.

A huge wave crested above you, pulling you both under for a moment. You kept yourself on him, and Namjoon got both of you to the surface. You clambered up him wildly, trying to climb him again as you gasped and cried, tears streaming down your face with the rain and seawater.

“Y/N, stop—” Namjoon started to yell, but you accidentally pushed him under the surface, cutting him off short. He got himself back up and wrapped his arms tight around you, if only to stop your movements, using just his legs to tread water. You held onto him like a leech, shaking, hyperventilating, sobbing as your panic consumed you.

“I can’t keep us both above water,” Namjoon said loudly, thunder crashing around you. “You’re gonna have to swim. You’re going to drown us both—”

A wave swallowed you both then, sucking you deep under yet again.

You lost consciousness before you reached the surface.

***

When you woke up, the first thing you were aware of was that your face, arms, and legs were sunburnt to hell, your mouth unnaturally dry, your tongue like sandpaper. Your entire body felt bruised and sore, the back of your head throbbing, the dull ache intensifying with each pulse. You felt like you’d been hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat, and, remembering how you’d been thrown against the side of the ship underwater, you kind of wished you’d been hit with a bat instead.

The second thing you realized was that the sky above you was now clear and blue, and it was daytime. You were floating in the water on your back, the hot sun beating down and filling your corneas, all but blinding you. You were partially submerged, the gentle, calm water lapping at your sides.

Beneath you, you felt Namjoon holding you in place against him as he gently tread water, floating on his back as you laid on top of him. One of his arms was around your stomach, the other slowly moving in the water as he kept you both above the surface. Your head was back on his shoulder, strands of your hair floating loosely in the water.

“You’re awake,” he said then. His voice was lazy and deep, and you realized his movements weren’t just slow, they were sluggish, exhausted. You tried to shift your head and look back at him, but couldn’t at the angle you were at.

The sun where it was in the sky, perfectly above you, you guessed it was midday. Namjoon must’ve been awake since the storm last night, which meant he’d been awake for almost thirty hours, keeping you both above water during and after the storm all night and all morning, treading water all this time.

“Jesus, Joon,” you said as you realized that, but started choking on the dryness of your throat.

“I haven’t… seen the ship,” Namjoon said slowly. He sounded like he was drunk or half out of his mind, moments away from giving out from exhaustion. “I saw a plane, a few hours ago. I… I tried to signal it.” He held up his hand weakly, showing you he was wearing a watch. You didn’t catch the time on it. “I tried to use it, like a flare. A light flare, a re… reflection, from the sun. I don’ think it saw us though.”

“That was smart of you,” you croaked, your voice almost gone from dehydration and dryness.

“My phone… it fell out of my pocket las’ night, or maybe I forgot it at the table,” he slurred. “I don’ remember.”

“Namjoon…” you started. You wanted to ask him to trade places with you so you could tread water instead and he could rest and lay on you. The thought of being the one on the bottom, the one much more exposed to the ocean sent a shiver of pure terror down your spine, but it was the absolute least you could do for him. You could give him the chance to rest after keeping you both alive this whole time.

He kept talking, apparently not hearing you.

“I’m sorry I did this, but I… I checked to see if you ‘ad your phone. I’m sorry… I know some girls, keep it in your bra. I didn’t look much.”

“That’s fine,” you said. You completely understood and would’ve done the same. “Hey, Namjoon, here, let’s trade places.” You started to move, but he held you in place.

“No, 'is 'kay,” he said. His speech sounded like it was becoming more and more slurred every time he spoke. “I know you’re… 'fraid of the water. Jus’ keep looking up at the sky. 'Is okay.”

“Namjoon, really, let me take a turn. You need to rest.” You moved off of him and his arm fell off of you into the water, as if he were unconscious. You felt almost lightheaded as you shifted, moving upright instead of laying down for the first time in so long. You held onto his hand so he wouldn’t drift away as you started treading water on your own, your muscles sore and stiff.

Namjoon was worse off than you’d thought. His eyes were bloodshot and vacant, like he’d been forced to keep them open way too long in the bright sun. He looked exhausted and drained, deathly pale yet sunburnt to a crisp. You swore you could almost see his veins through his skin. You knew it wasn’t possible in the time frame, but he looked like he’d somehow lost a little weight.

His sunburnt skin was somehow already peeling, though one spot on his cheek looked more like a saltwater sore than a sunburn. His lips looked as dry as yours felt, and his lower lip was chapped, split, and bleeding, the blood just starting to run down his chin toward the water.

You immediately brought your hand up and wiped his chin with your thumb, keeping his blood from touching the water. You brought your thumb up to your mouth and sucked. You knew that bleeding in the water, especially warm waters like this, was a very, very bad idea. For all you knew, ten sharks were already circling the two of you below the surface right now.

Namjoon breathed slowly through his mouth, nearly wheezing, like just breathing agonized him. In your clinical paranoia and anxiety, you’d read a lot about surviving in open ocean: you knew that spending a lot of time in water like he had — and he’d kept you mostly out of the water for a lot of this, so you weren’t feeling it yet — the pressure, even at just a foot or so deep, started to affect the body. It constricted breathing, changing the way the chest cavity moved and expanded, and was even used as a torture technique in some places: making someone sit in water until they couldn’t breathe, even though their head was above water the whole time. That, plus the fact he’d been treading water for two people and exerting himself that much over such a long period of time, was more than enough to drain a person.

Being in saltwater this long also affected the skin, and you knew that if you didn’t find a way to get out of the water within the next day, your skin would start to deteriorate, loosen at the pores, and rot away. That was if dehydration and exhaustion didn’t kill you both first.

“What are we going to do?” you said. You really didn’t want to become panicked again. You held yourself back, refusing to let yourself break down now, but you still asked him that anyway, just to voice your fear.

“'Is okay,” Namjoon said. As he spoke, his eyes blinked slowly, like he was starting to nod off. “Don’ worry. We’re okay. We’ll jus’ float an’ find an island, or a ship’ll find us. It’s okay.” Namjoon was not a talented liar when half-dead.

You refused to let yourself cry or even think about the water, your odds of survival, any of that. You needed to focus. Namjoon had kept you above water all last night and this morning, and now it was your turn to return the favor.

Fish. You knew your best chance right now at not dying of dehydration was catching and eating fish, and using the fish oil you consumed to stay alive. If it rained, you’d need to find a way to collect the water. Now, though, you needed to focus on a way of finding, attracting, and catching fish, which you’d have to then eat raw and alive.

Wait — you also remembered that shark attacks, especially in warm waters, were something to stay alert to, and leaving bloody fish guts in the water was a very quick way to attract predators.

You were going to die.

Before you could say or do anything, you watched Namjoon suddenly slip out of consciousness, his eyes all but rolling back in his head. He slumped forward in the water, face down, and you caught him, pushing him back up so that his mouth and nose weren’t in the water. You moved behind him and held him the same way he’d held you, laying his head on your shoulder and keeping him flat on his back, just floating.

You floated like that for at least an hour. At one point you pulled Namjoon’s arm up and checked what time it was, but his watch was waterlogged and had stopped working at 9:15, and you didn’t know if that meant it had broken last night or this morning. You checked for his pulse a few times, each time finding it still going steady, albeit very slow.

At one point, something suddenly touched your arm. You screamed in surprise, pulling your arm away and trying to get yourself and Namjoon away from whatever it was, but stopped when you looked over and saw it was a piece of driftwood. Namjoon hadn’t stirred, even when you’d screamed.

You didn’t know what for, but you figured the driftwood could be useful at some point. You didn’t have a free hand to hold it, so you laid it on Namjoon’s stomach. It was light enough you could barely feel it in your hand, like it was made out of something just slightly heavier than styrofoam.

You started talking to Namjoon, blabbering on and on just to keep yourself entertained and to keep yourself from thinking about how deep the ocean was beneath you.

“I don’t really like tap water. I feel like it tastes really different, from whatever they put in it. Fluoride, right? I hate the taste of fluoride. I could really go for some fluoride water right now, though. I think my favorite kind of water is Smart Water. You know those really big bougie bottles? I love those. Or Fiji Water. We were supposed to be in Fiji… three days from now? We were supposed to be in Noumea today. I bet Mina and Hoseok haven’t even noticed we’re gone.” You laughed at that dryly. “I bet they got up and left while we were gone at dinner, and haven’t even left the room since then. Oh man, last night at dinner, I ordered this big ol’ tilapia with mashed potatoes and green beans. I’m so hungry right now, I might eat this driftwood later.”

You felt like you were losing you mind. Namjoon just floated there, still unconscious, and you kept checking to make sure he was still breathing.

Something else hit your arm, making you jump in surprise. When you looked down at it, you saw three little fish swimming by. You watched them go, and you realized something here was very off. You looked down in the water and didn’t see a dark abyss. You saw golden sand.

You could see the bottom of the ocean, and the water was only ten feet deep, maximum. You’d drifted far enough to find shallow water.

You spun around, looking around wildly. Above your head, two large white birds flew by. You saw it then. Maybe a football field’s length away was a small island, overflowing with green.

You nearly started crying in relief as you pulled Namjoon along, swimming as hard as you could.

“Joon, Joon, wake up, there’s land! We found land!”

Namjoon remained unconscious, but you dragged him with you as you swam with your legs and free arm. You almost cried out when you felt your feet touch the bottom, and as soon as you were in shallow enough water, you stood up and started pulling him, splashing through the warm water.

You immediately fell over, your muscles weak from exhaustion and not being used to gravity and normal weight. The top half of Namjoon’s body fell on your legs, and you shifted yourself and him so that you were pulling him along, dragging him and yourself up onto the sand.

You managed to get both yourself and Namjoon up to where the water just barely washed over your legs before collapsing. You laughed, nearly hysterical, feeling the wet sand between your fingers, holding onto it in handfuls. Tears streamed down your face, your heart bursting from joy and relief in catharsis.

After probably a half an hour of just laying there on the sand and just breathing, you managed to get yourself sitting up. In front of you was the ocean and nothingness on the horizon. To each side, beach curving away. Either the island was small or you were on a peninsula. Behind you was dense jungle. You could hear birds and noisy bugs — there was definitely an ecosystem of living plants and animals, which meant there would be fresh water and some kind of food supply.

Standing on shaky legs, you got to where you could move behind Namjoon, who laid on his back, arms out where you’d dropped them. Even while unconscious, he looked so weak and fatigued, the saltwater sore on his face and his split lip now both bleeding.

You still had on one of your heels. You must’ve lost the other one at some point in the storm, and you were shocked you hadn’t lost both. You bent and took off the one you still had, tossing it behind you further up the beach. Digging your feet into the sand, you dragged Namjoon up onto land by his arms. The white sand burned the bottoms of your bare feet, and you moved as fast as you could to get him up into the shade, only falling over from exhaustion a few times during the process.

The piece of driftwood was still on his stomach, and when you got him under a cluster of palm trees, you moved it from his stomach and used it to support his head, moving him as gently as you could. You took off his soaking wet shoes and socks, not wanting him to get whatever it was, that disease World War I soldiers got back in the day from walking in wet socks, and his belt, to help him be more comfortable.

You took off your garters and suspenders, peeling off your hose. You hung your hose and Namjoon’s sock on a branch nearby. You figured your suspenders would be useful at some point, as well as maybe the wire in your strapless bra. Namjoon’s belt would definitely be handy. Maybe you could use some of this stuff to make something to go fishing, maybe a net with the hose and—

Your thoughts were cut off when Namjoon, still unconscious, started gagging. You froze in shock and uncertainty, watching as his body shook, convulsing upward as he began throwing up. He was on his back so it had nowhere to go, and you watched, still frozen, as he began choking. Hearing that made you jump-start, and you quickly turned him onto his side, moving him so that he threw up onto the ground instead.

You felt Namjoon’s forehead, holding his head in place so he didn’t slide facedown into vomit. He was feverish, so hot to the touch you felt uncomfortable just touching him. His skin felt strange, deathly dry but also covered in a cold sweat, and it felt as if his skin were less movable and elastic. You gently pinched his arm, and his skin was unnaturally slow moving back, like his flesh was made of loose putty.

When he stopped throwing up — and he didn’t throw up much, just bile — he started moaning weakly, barely opening his eyes. His breathing was fast and shallow, catching in his throat with each agonized breath.

You moved your hand to his neck, feeling his pulse. You had trouble finding it, but when you did, it was racing and irregular. He moaned in agitation, weakly trying to move away from you, like just your touch was bothering him.

Namjoon showed every sign of severe dehydration you’d ever heard of, plus you had no idea what he was going through from exhausting himself so much and treading water that long. You needed to find him water and you needed to do it right now.

“Joon, I’m going to go find some water. You’re gonna be okay,” you said sweetly, trying not to speak too loudly and surprise him.

Namjoon mumbled a string of words you couldn’t understand. The only words you caught were “tree,” “dark,” “sun,” and “sea” between his harsh gasps. He looked back at you, barely able to keep his bloodshot eyes open, and said something else. He wasn’t making sense or saying anything coherent, just quiet gibberish as he breathed hard, lost in delirium.

You needed to go, but you didn’t want to leave him laying here alone. He could just roll over onto his back the second you walked away and throw up again, or he could get worse. Well, you figured, he was going to get worse no matter what if you didn’t go find water.

“Namjoon, you need to stay laying on your side,” you said, gently rolling him back over so he wasn’t looking at you. He moaned in irritation. “I know,” you cooed, stroking his hair back out of his face.

You couldn’t do anything for him here. You had to go and find the spring. You knew there had to be one, with this much wildlife, and it was your only chance at staying alive or helping Namjoon.

As you ran into the jungle, the end of your dress snagged on a low-hanging branch. It ripped, a few inches of it splitting. You’d all but forgotten you were still in your fancy skimpy dress, now discolored and faded from being in saltwater for so long. You were lucky a shark hadn’t tried to eat you, thinking you were a big colorful fish.

It took you about ten minutes to find it. The ground became wetter and wetter, the flora taller and stronger. You felt around with your bare feet, feeling your toes almost sinking into the wet moss. You turned around, looking around yourself wildly, and tripped backwards, falling on your ass right into water.

You were sitting in a pond. A small waterfall fed into it, the water coming out of a crevasse near the bottom of a large rock jutting out of the ground. The water was perfectly clear, probably only five feet deep at the lowest part. Tall palm trees and tropical leaves and ferns surrounded the area, shading it, the clearing surrounded with colorful flowers, bamboo stalks, and light gray rocks. A fish the size of your pinky swam by where you sat, not at all concerned by your presence.

You needed to find a way to get this back to Namjoon. Thinking fast, you stood up and walked over to one of the leafy plants, your dress dripping down your legs and onto the jungle floor. You found the biggest leaf you saw, pulling it out. When you cupped it and shaped it with your hands, it probably had enough room for about a bottle’s worth of water.

You waded into the water, heading straight for the direct source of the spring water, figuring that was the best place to get the cleanest water. You held the leaf there, letting water gently collect, and once you had it full you slowly and carefully made your way back toward Namjoon.

When you found him, he was unconscious again, thankfully still alive and breathing. You sat behind him, careful not to get yourself or him in the vomit still laying there, and had him sit up a little so he could drink as he leaned back on you. You held the leaf up to his mouth, but he didn’t wake up, sending a spark of panic through you. You moved so that his head tilted back and forced some water into his mouth. A lot of it ran down his chin and onto his chest, but at least some of it went into his mouth and down his throat. You saw him swallowing after a moment, and let yourself sigh in relief.

You got him to drink about half of the water before he started gagging. He threw up again, but was self-aware and awake enough this time to turn himself to the side and not throw up on himself or you. You held the leaf up above your head, careful to make sure he didn’t knock into you and spill it.

You drank the rest of the water and then went back to the spring, this time making a path for yourself on the way. You used rocks and large branches to move the foliage aside, leaving behind a clear trail you could easily follow. This would also help you get back faster, and you wouldn’t have to move around the thick plants while holding a leaf full of water.

You got Namjoon to drink about half of the next leaf too, and you figured that was enough for right now. You swore you remembered reading that giving someone too much water when they were dehydrated would make them sick, so you’d give him more very gradually.

You now focused on setting up a shelter. You were in survival mode, not allowing yourself to think about anything except your next move and how you were going to keep yourself and Namjoon alive.

A little bit down the beach, you found a tree near the tree line with a branch about four feet off the ground, and another tree maybe six feet away with a similar branch. You walked into the foliage, looking around for a huge, narrow stick. When you found one, you brought it back to your two trees and set the stick on the branches, making a bar. Now, you just needed to find more large sticks to lean against your bar, and then you could tie leaves to those sticks to make a thick barrier that could protect you both from the elements. You always knew your years in Girl Scouts would eventually pay off.

Setting up your plan took a while. You stopped part of the way through and went back to check on Namjoon, still laying there unconscious or sleeping. His breathing was normal now and he seemed more relaxed, but he was still feverish. You went back to the spring and drank a lot yourself before bringing water back to Namjoon. Even while not awake, he drank without hesitation this time, immediately swallowing instead of just laying there unresponsive. You stroked his hair back from his forehead, wiping away the sweat there.

Before standing up to leave him again, you leaned in and almost kissed Namjoon on top of his head, but caught yourself. What the hell was that? You shook your head and got up, gently easing him back down on his side.

The shelter was done by sunset. You cleared the ground underneath the slanted roof — it was still sandy there, so you figured you probably wouldn’t have to worry about bugs too much. You still laid down a layer of large leaves anyway, setting up a kind-of mat to lay on. This was about as good as it was going to get right now.

Your stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. You didn’t have time to find food now, though — wandering around the jungle at night sounded stupid at best, and you still had things you had to do before the sun went down. The hunt for food would come tomorrow.

You went back and found Namjoon again. He seemed closer to sleeping than unconscious, and that comforted you. You went back to the spring one last time, filling yourself up and then taking one more leaf back to Namjoon. Once you got him to drink, you dragged him down the beach to your shelter, which took quite some time. He was a big boy, and you were fucking tired, your muscles still weak from being in water so long. You pulled him by his arms, though, and eventually got him there and rolled him under the lean-to.

After that, you went and found your discarded heel, garters, and hose and Namjoon’s belt, socks, and shoes, and brought them all back, keeping your stuff together and close. The spring was about a five-minute walk down the path you’d made from the shelter. Everything was fairly close together, and for that you were thankful.

You laid Namjoon on his side in the shelter and then climbed in behind him. You didn’t know how cold it got here at night, but you laid behind Namjoon, spooning him, partially for warmth and partially to make sure he didn’t roll onto his back at any point in the night.

The sound of the ocean was eerily lulling. You listened to it, the gentle waves lapping against the shoreline in the dark, and when you really listened you could hear Namjoon’s steady breathing. The jungle behind you was silent.

***

When you woke up, your arm was asleep. You’d used it as a pillow because of your lack of anything else, and that had been a minor mistake. You stretched it out as you got up and climbed over Namjoon, looking out at the early morning ocean.

The sun was just coming up, which meant with its position, your spot on the beach was facing north. You didn’t know why knowing that comforted you. Maybe knowing more about the situation, even inconsequential stuff like that, made you feel a little bit more in control of everything. Your head didn’t hurt as much today, and you felt your energy coming back, albeit only slightly.

You looked back at Namjoon. He hadn’t thrown up in the night, which meant he was keeping fluids down, finally. You felt his forehead — a little warm, but not clammy and feverish like he’d been yesterday. He had to be a little warmer than usual because of his sunburn, too, so that was okay. At least you couldn’t see his veins through his skin anymore.

Your own skin was peeling, too, your face and shoulders the worst. It itched so bad, but you kept yourself from touching it. You knew in the back of your mind that going into the ocean would help heal your skin — living with Mina, you knew all the little things about the ocean like that, about how clean saltwater healed wounds and made sunburns not hurt. Right now, though, the last thing you ever wanted to do was go back into the ocean.

You were hungrier than you’d ever been in your life. You needed to find food today. Namjoon wouldn’t be able to take anything besides water for a little while, so this was just for you. First order of business, though, was getting more water in both of you. Your number one priority was keeping both yourself and Namjoon hydrated.

You made your way back to the spring. As you walked, you thought about how you would try to make a fire today, and maybe start using big rocks to spell out “HELP” on the beach. Your mind kept wandering to food; not even you favorite foods, but basic stuff — bread, red meat, and fruits. You pictured a big, juicy steak and nearly whined out loud.

When you got to the spring, you saw something that made you freeze in your tracks. A wild boar, about the size of a fat house cat, was drinking from the pond.

Your mouth started watering just looking at it. Your mind just saw sizzling bacon as you stared blankly at the boar, unmoving as you stood there at the tree line of the clearing. It looked up at you and didn’t really seem to be afraid of you, just going back to drinking after a few seconds of a glance.

You pushed it out of your mind. The meat would probably go bad before you could even make a fire to cook it. You’d just find something easier, like fruit, and hold onto the knowledge that there were boars on this island for a time when you’d be more prepared to cook it. You’d probably also need to make some kind of defense weapon, in case this little guy was just a baby, and papa boar was around and angry.

You drank directly from the spring for a moment, letting yourself feel almost full, and then found another leaf and filled it up. When you got back to Namjoon, he was almost stirring awake.

As you sat down behind him, he tried to sit up, but was too weak.

“No, shh, stay down,” you cooed softly. You brought the leaf to his mouth and he drank slowly, a few drops spilling down his chin. When he finished, you set the leaf aside and looked down at him, wiping his chin and stroking his hair back off of his forehead.

You took his dress shirt off of him — it was long-sleeved, and you didn’t want him to overheat during the heat of the day today. You moved him onto his side again and bundled up his shirt, using it as a pillow underneath his head. Namjoon drifted back to sleep as you moved him.

You saw a large yellowish-purple bruise across his lower back and remembered how he’d hit the railing so hard when the ship had been tossed around in the storm. Reaching out, you let your fingertips skim against his skin, feeling his bruise. There wasn’t anything off about the way his spine looked, at least externally, and he’d been using his legs just fine when you saw him treading water. You hoped his kidneys were okay, since the railing must’ve hit him hard there, but you knew you had no way of telling what kind of pain he was in until he woke up.

Sighing, you stood up, leaving him. You then began your search for food, walking down the beach.

After a few minutes of walking along the tree line, you saw a plant you thought you recognized. A tree about three feet taller than you grew right beside the sand, fruit growing out of the top of it below its leaves. You recognized the fruit, but the name wasn’t coming to you. It was shaped like a fat eggplant and was a mix of green and yellow in color.

Papaya. You knew that’s what this was.

You reached up and pulled one off, and brought it down to look closer at it. You squeezed it with your hands, looking at it intently. You had no idea how to tell if papayas were ripe or bad, but this one looked as good as any.

You just bit right into it. The skin was hard to chew, like eating an orange peel, so you spat that out into your hand and bit off the meat of the fruit, leaving behind just the skin. You repeated this all over the papaya until the skin was gone, and then you devoured it. When you got to the seeds, you spat them out, unsure if they were safe to eat, but you ate every last bit of the meat of the fruit until there was nothing left.

You ate two more papayas before you moved on. About ten feet down the beach you found a banana tree, but all the bananas were small and green.

You kept walking. You wanted to see how big the island was, and see if there were maybe other inhabitants there. For all you knew, you were on a resort island, and you’d walk around a bend and see a big five-star hotel.

You found a few more papaya and banana plants, some of the bananas even ripe, and saw some coconuts and a few things you didn’t recognize. One looked like a huge blueberry, another like a bumpy green lump, and another like a small, light pink pear. You only gathered the ones you knew for sure, and figured that eventually you could test the others to be certain.

You kept walking and walking, and then you saw Namjoon laying under the lean-to. You’d walked around the entirety of the island, seeing no signs of civilization, and had done so in an hour at most, and that was with you stopping and looking at fruit. The perimeter of the island could only be a mile or so. You and Namjoon were definitely alone here.

You took your armful of fruit over to the shelter. You didn’t want to waste anything by picking it too early, so you’d only brought two yellow bananas and a papaya. You planned to get just a little bit of food into Namjoon tomorrow if he seemed up to it, starting with banana, since people could usually eat that when they were sick.

Namjoon was still asleep. Judging by the sun, it was nearing midday now. You went to the spring in the woods and drank, and brought some back for Namjoon, methodically keeping him hydrated, and then moved on, starting your call for help.

You spent a large part of the afternoon finding large rocks to arrange in the shape of HELP across the beach. Each letter was probably fifteen feet long and half that wide, and you only got halfway through the E before getting too tired to keep going today. The last thing you wanted to do was wear yourself out, so you figured tomorrow you’d finish E and do L, and then do P the next day.

You continued your routine. You checked on Namjoon. You went to the spring and drank some water, and then brought back a leaf full for Namjoon. You ate two bananas and called that a late lunch.

Late in the evening, you sat on the sand a few feet from the shelter. You faced out toward the ocean, watching the waves as the tide slowly went out and the sun set far to your left. At the highest point of high tide, the water was about forty feet from you. That comforted you, being that far from the waves.

You were thinking about how you could try to make yourself go fishing eventually when you heard Namjoon stirring, and you turned around, looking back at him.

“Hey, sleepy,” you said, smiling warmly.

Namjoon opened his eyes slowly, blinking as he got used to what he was looking at. As far as you knew, this was the first time he’d been aware of what was going on since that first night in the water.

You moved and went to sit beside him.

“You’ve been out for about a day,” you said. “There’s a spring a few minutes away, with clean freshwater. I found a bunch of fruit, too. I checked and the island’s small, no people. There are animals, though.”

Namjoon blinked a few times slowly. “Animals?” he asked, his voice deep, gravely, lethargic.

“I saw a boar,” you said, smiling. “That means there’s more, unless this guy swam here like we did.” You giggled a little at that, trying to lighten the mood, but Namjoon just laid there for a moment, thinking and looking out at the water behind you.

“What happened?” he said, his face blank. You bit your lip, not sure if you wanted to scare him, but figured you may as well tell him everything.

“You kept me alive until I woke up,” you said, watching his face to see if he’d react to anything you said. “It was afternoon when I woke up, and you seemed delirious. You passed out, and I kept you above water until we drifted and found this island. You were really dehydrated and sick, and I found the spring and got you to drink some water and rest. You’ve slept for over twenty-four hours. Probably twenty-eight, if I had to guess.” You added the last part nervously.

Namjoon nodded slowly, listening to all that. Behind you, the waves hit the shore steadily. You were getting sick of hearing that noise.

“I didn’t feel your pulse after that big wave,” Namjoon started, staring out at the water, speaking slowly. His eyes were blank and vacant, still bloodshot, though not as bad as they’d been. “I kept your head above water, just in case. I figured you’d swallowed some water, or maybe drowned. I tried to do CPR but it was kind of hard, with the waves and the rain.” He took in a few deep breaths, as if just speaking that much had worn him out.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking down at your hands in your lap. Your heart swelled from his words, and you almost felt yourself tearing up. He’d worked so hard for so long to keep you both alive. It must’ve been terrifying, thinking he was alone in the middle of the ocean, the only person with him potentially dead.

You glanced up and saw Namjoon slightly shaking his head, brow furrowed.

“When you didn’t wake up the next day or the following night, I started to get really worried. I felt you breathing, though, so I kept going.”

You looked up at him suddenly, eyes wide, heart all but stopping in your chest as your blood ran cold. “Following night? What do you mean?”

Namjoon shook his head again slowly. “The storm happened and we had that night in the rough waves, and then there was a full day and another full night where you were out, and then I don’t really remember anything after that.”

“Jesus, Namjoon,” you said, eyebrows about in your hairline from your shock. No wonder he’d been so exhausted — he’d had another twenty-four hours more than what you’d thought, and just what you’d thought he’d gone through was enough to kill him. Another twenty-four hours of keeping himself and you above water. Another full day of being alone with his thoughts and fears while adrift in the ocean, keeping an unconscious person above water just in case you were still alive. How the hell had he survived?

This meant that you had been unconscious for almost two full days. Didn’t being unconscious that long mean brain damage? You felt fine now, but shouldn’t you not be fine? You remembered hitting your head on the side of the ship, and you were certain going into shock from your panic hadn’t helped that at all, but your head barely hurt anymore, other than when you were exerting yourself too hard. Had you been in a coma or something? What the fuck?

Namjoon started to sit up then, but you stopped him, moving over to him and putting your hand on his shoulder to make him lay back down.

“You need your rest,” you said.

“I’ve rested enough,” he said, trying to sit up again, but he was too weak to even push against your hand just barely resting on his chest. You didn’t say anything, instead just watching him huff and lay back down.

A few moments of silence passed between you. The sounds of the ocean and waves mingled with distant birds and the gentle wind moving the leaves on the tall trees.

“I wrote ‘HELP’ with some rocks,” you said lowly. “Or at least, I started to. I’ll finish it in the next few days.”

Namjoon rolled onto his side and stared out at the ocean blankly. Just moving that much seemed to wear him out.

“That’s good,” he said flatly. “I’ll help tomorrow.”

“No you won’t,” you said. “You need to keep resting and recovering.”

“I’m not dying, I–”

“You were,” you shot at him, your expression and words turning harsh. You stared at him intensely, all but snarling. You were prepared to make him keep resting, even if it meant tying him to a tree with vines from the jungle.

“Well, I’m not anymore, and I want to help,” he said, not giving up on it.

“Too fucking bad,” you said, setting you jaw.

Namjoon glared at you. Apparently just to spite you, he sat up, pretending not to be dizzy once he was upright as he braced himself.

“I’m going to get more water,” you said coldly, standing up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes so I can put water in your mouth for you and help you drink, again.”

Without waiting to hear a response, you turned and walked down the beach to your path to the spring.

***

The two of you didn’t speak much the rest of the day, both of you too stubborn. That night, when Namjoon found out what the sleeping arrangements were, he huffed and pouted but didn’t comment, apparently still annoyed at you for refusing to let him help.

The two of you did talk for a little while seriously. You figured it was warm enough at night without a fire, but you’d need one to cook any eventual meat or fish and to keep warm if it rained or the temperatures dropped, and it would of course be great for signaling rescuers. You planned for Namjoon to work on that tomorrow while you worked on the “HELP” letters, since beating rocks together to make sparks was stationary and he could sit down and take his time with it. He seemed like he really wanted something to do, to feel helpful, and being put in charge of the fire seemed to please him. He tried to pretend he was fine, but he was still so exhausted.

You’d found some baby coconuts earlier and were fairly confident you’d be able to get them open, and tomorrow you’d have Namjoon try the milk to start getting used to something besides water, and then you could use the husks as tinder for the fire.

When the sun went down, it was a little bit colder than the night before. You curled up against Namjoon, who’d laid on his back, and he wrapped his arm around you, gently pulling you closer to him as he also felt the chill, your head on his chest, your hand over his heart. You used his dress shirt as a blanket, laying it over both of your upper bodies. You hooked your leg up over him, your thigh resting across his thighs, and he put his large, warm hand on your knee. He moved his thumb in small circles on your skin, sending sparks to your core. He was so warm, and you tried to remember and focus on how he’d been warm on the ship too, when he’d put sunscreen on you at the pool. His fever wasn’t so bad anymore. He was just a warm person. You didn’t need to worry about his fever anymore, you told yourself.

The ocean was so loud right now. Your mind drifted to how close to death you’d both been, especially Namjoon, and how you were probably going to die on this island. How could you possibly survive here long-term? What would happen if one of you got a little cut that got infected, or if one of you got seriously hurt? Just a broken bone or toothache could kill you. What if nobody every came looking for you? The ocean was so fucking big — how could anyone find anything? How had you even managed to find this island at all?

You felt and heard him sigh then, your hand and head both rising and falling with his chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you asked. Your voice sounded so small, nearly cracking as you spoke.

He didn’t answer for a moment. You wondered if he was actually asleep.

Namjoon did answer, his warm voice a low, comforting noise you could almost feel rumbling in his chest. “We’ll stay alive.”

He turned his head and kissed the top of your hair, resting his mouth there as he breathed slowly. The ocean didn’t sound as loud now.

***

Namjoon’s snoring only woke you up twice. You found yourself getting used to it, much preferring it over the awful sound of the waves you knew were going to eventually drive you crazy. You almost found his snoring comforting after a while, because now you knew for certain he was alive and sleeping, not unconscious or worse.

In the morning, after you’d gone to get your and Namjoon’s first drink of water, you went and found Namjoon some rocks to try to make his fire. You set up the pit, circling up some larger rocks to contain it and arranging some dry leaves and sticks. You helped Namjoon move over to where you’d set it up, since you didn’t want it right beside your very flammable shelter, and you helped him get settled in his new spot.

He started working, and you went and got one of your baby coconuts. You hit it against a tree nearby, and after only two hits it started to burst. You hurried over to Namjoon and held it as he drank from it eagerly. He brought his hands up to hold the coconut tighter, his fingers on yours as he drank up every last bit of liquid. A small amount of it dribbled down his chin, running in a long, thin line down the column of his neck, which you tried very hard not to stare at as he drank and swallowed, his large Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You peeled the coconut open and found the meat inside. You saw the way Namjoon was staring at the meat intently where he sat, mouth watering, and you reached in and brought some of the meat up to your own mouth.

“No solids for you until tomorrow at the earliest,” you said between bites, and he huffed, annoyed with that.

You put the dry parts of the cleaned out husk in the fire pit and went and cracked open another. Namjoon drank, you ate, and you threw it in the fire pit again.

You got to work on the “HELP” letters, working slowly not to overstrain yourself. Around midday, you took a brief break to get some water to Namjoon and get him another coconut. You had two papayas plus a leaf of water and the coconut meat.

In the afternoon, you continued with the rocks. Namjoon wasn’t having much luck actually starting a fire, but he was starting to make sparks and absolutely insisted that he’d eventually get it.

When you walked out of the jungle with yet another rock, back to the beach on what you told yourself was the last trip, you saw Namjoon standing and walking into the ocean, only in his boxers and already up to his knees in the water. You threw the rock in your arms off to the side and ran to him.

“Namjoon!” You sprinted, moving yourself as fast as your legs could carry you. You didn’t know what he was planning on doing, but with him as weak as he was, there was no way he’d be able to fight a riptide or maybe even just the normal waves pulling him out.

You splashed into the water and when you got to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, physically dragging him back to shore.

“Stop it, get off,” he grumbled, trying to wiggle free. “I’m just trying to get clean. Neither of us have bathed in days.”

“Sorry, buddy. There’s a rule about this,” you said, still attempting to pull him back. “No swimming in the ocean when you almost died two days ago.”

“I’m fine,” he whined, begrudgingly allowing himself to be pulled backwards until you both stood with just your feet in the water.

“Nuh uh, Joon,” you said, letting go of him and walking around to face him. You were ankle-deep in the water and tried to ignore the small spike of fear even just this now brought you.

“Yeah huh, Y/N,” he said, matching your tone.

“If you’re fine, do ten jumping jacks right now,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. Namjoon didn’t say anything and definitely didn’t do what you’d asked, instead just setting his jaw and glaring out at the water behind you.

You smirked at him, knowing damn well that he wasn’t able to do that right now, and he knew it too.

“I’m going in and you can’t stop me,” Namjoon declared. He moved to step around you, and you sidestepped, standing right in front of him. He tried to do it again, and you just sidestepped again, smiling now.

“I can do this all day, Joonie. You getting tired yet?” you said.

Before he could say anything, you felt something touch your ankle and you screamed, jumping out of the water and up onto the sand. Namjoon used your distraction to walk straight out into the waves.

“Namjoon, stop,” you begged, walking in after him. You saw what had touched your ankle: a little piece of seaweed maybe an inch long.

You went right into the water after him, ready to pull him back again, but he moved down, dunking himself under where it was only about three feet deep. He stood back up, running his hands through his hair.

You looked down at his muscular, broad body as he faced away from you, his caramel-toned skin glistening from the water in the bright sunlight and thoroughly distracting you from your worry. It didn’t seem to fit, him still looking like this but you knowing he’d been starving and dying the past few days. You knew logically that of course he wouldn’t change size too much or in any way reflect his complete lack of food yet, but still. It felt odd seeing how muscular he was and remembering how frail and weak he’d been.

Namjoon dunked himself back under one more time, and then walked back onto shore.

“See? I was fine,” he said as he walked by. You ignored the way the droplets of water ran slowly down his firm chest and stomach and the way his smug smile made you want him to bend you over something.

“And if you’d been caught in a riptide, I’m sure you would’ve been a-okay,” you said, turning and walking back up to the shelter with him. When you got there, you decided to give him some privacy, and to go off and take a bath of your own.

You went to the spring. On your way there, you saw a low-hanging palm tree with more baby coconuts, just off the path. You got one and carried it with you.

You had nothing to use for soap, but maybe using coconut milk on some of your body would be the same thing as coconut oil or lotion. You knew that was an ingredient people used in soaps and stuff, and had read about fresh coconut milk being used on the skin. You could just rub it in and then wash it off with water. You were probably doing something really stupid, but you didn’t even care. You just desperately wanted to not smell like sweat anymore.

When you got to the spring, you stripped off your dress and took off your strapless bra and panties and laid them all out on a large flat rock near the edge of the water. You cracked the coconut against a tree and carefully set it on the rock beside your clothes.

The first thing you did once you were in the water was wash your panties. You didn’t want to fully transition to full-time commando, especially not with your short dress, but the time you’d been wearing them now was already far past way too long. You soaked and scrubbed them with just water, and then laid them out to dry.

You leaned back and dunked most of your hair in the clear water. Getting a little coconut milk on your hands, you ran your palms over your shoulders and upper body, rubbing it in and pretending it was a nice body wash back home in your shower.

It smelled so good and pleasant here. The little waterfall from the spring was the only thing you could hear besides the leaves and flowers moving in the gentle island breeze. You dunked yourself completely under the water, letting it soak into your skin. You ran your hands all over yourself, and felt, for the first time in days, almost clean. Your skin had been so dry from the salt water and pained from the sunburn, and the coconut milk felt like a thin lotion, exfoliating you skin.

You moved toward the deepest part of the pool, where you could still touch the bottom if you were on your tiptoes. You really didn’t mind being in this water. It was clear and you could see around you, and it was small enough you could see all of it. There was nothing hiding here.

“Hey, you.”

You nearly screamed in surprise.

Namjoon had followed your path and now stood near the entrance to the clearing, still dripping wet in his boxers, which were so low around his hips you could almost see a bit of dark hair. He seemed completely unconcerned with the fact you were naked — you had been facing the other way before, but when you’d spun around and saw him, you’d covered yourself, knowing the pristinely clear water would do very little to distort his view of you. You covered your breasts with one arm and crossed your legs, wrapping your other arm around your body instinctively.

“Fuck, Joon. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Language,” he said sarcastically. “And it’s Namjoon to you.”

Namjoon walked around the clearing, looking at the different plants and making his way over to the spring. He didn’t seem to notice or care that you were on edge, turning yourself with him so he wouldn’t see your ass.

“Uh, do you mind?” you said after a moment.

“Not at all, go ahead,” he said, sitting down on a rock beside the crevasse where the spring water flowed out. He cupped his hands and drank some before continuing. “I can’t see shit without my glasses, which I lost in the storm. You just look like a little skin-colored blob to me right now, especially this far away.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. You’d been so relaxed and calm before he showed up, and now you were standing here covering yourself. Though, realizing that he’d lost his glasses and couldn’t see well without them did make you feel almost bad for him.

“So I was thinking,” Namjoon began conversationally, and you bit the inside of your cheek, preparing for a full conversation with him like this, with you covering yourself. “We can use your pantyhose as a fishnet. Nothing big, but enough to catch something we can eat. We don’t have enough for a mosquito net, but I haven’t really seen any mosquitos, even here with all this sitting water. We don’t need to make a rain filter since we have the spring, so our only real use for your hose is fishing or drying foods.”

“You know how to dry foods?” you asked. You were still covering yourself fully, but relaxed some as the two of you talked seriously. He wasn’t leering or trying to catch a glimpse, and he couldn’t see that well anyway, but he did look over at you and make eye contact when you spoke. His expression was serious and businesslike.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just hang it up and keep it in the sun for two days or so. It’s easy, I used to do it all the time when I hiked more. Bananas would probably be best, but we’d have to cut it up somehow. I’m not sure mashed bananas would be very good dried.”

“We can use the wire in my bra,” you suggested. Namjoon raised an eyebrow, but nodded after a moment in agreement.

“We can also use the prong on my belt, if we can get the buckle off, as a spear tip. Just tie it to a nice stick, and boom, we have a spear to use on that boar you saw. Twenty-first century arrowhead. We can probably tie it with your sexy little leg straps.”

“Sexy leg straps?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding seriously. “You know, your hose thingys?” He made a straight line motion with his finger, drawing up and down the side of his outer thigh.

“They’re called suspenders.”

“Whatever. You knew what I meant.”

You looked at him for a moment. You were still standing there in the water covering yourself as much as you could, and he didn’t seem to have any plans for leaving any time soon.

“Yes?” Namjoon said when he noticed you staring at him. You could see the smallest hint of a smile on the corner of his smug mouth.

“Get out,” you said simply, smiling fake-politely.

“I’m just here to drink water,” he said, feigning innocence. “Remember the whole dying of dehydration thing? Plus we were talking about plans to survive. You plan on wearing that dress every day?”

“Were you planning on going permanently naked any time soon?” you said.

“Pants don’t last forever, and neither will that pretty little dress of yours.”

You set your jaw. Before you could say anything to him, he stood up, eyeing the water beside where he stood.

“Uh, what are you doing?” you said in surprise, realizing what he was doing.

“Going for a swim,” he said, like it was obvious. He pulled down his boxers, and then there he was, completely naked before you. You only looked up at him in short glances, your eyes wide, careful not to let him catch you staring. Even in the cool water, you felt the heat and slick wetness starting to build between you legs. You didn’t let yourself look at him anywhere below his stomach, but you could see even when not looking directly at him that he was a big boy, short dark hair surrounding his thick length, so big even when flaccid like this. He seemed completely at ease, this moment not sexual to him at all as he eased himself down into the water.

“Didn’t you just swim in the ocean?” You made yourself look only at his eyes.

“You barely let me go in at all, and I see you invented some coconut soap, which you didn’t share,” he said. “I wanna be clean and not smell bad, too.” Namjoon waded over through the waist-high water to where your coconut was sitting on a rock. You watched him glance at your panties drying there, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Namjoon got some coconut milk on his hands and rubbed it on himself. He was still facing away from you, so you stared blatantly as he rubbed his hands across his arms and shoulders, the muscles in his back moving and stretching.

He continued talking to you as he worked. “So, when are you going to let me start eating? Or is your plan to starve me out?”

You snorted. “How are you feeling with the coconut milk you had earlier?”

“Good.” He glanced back over his shoulder at you for a second, and your eyes snapped up to his eyes from where you had been staring at his ass through the crystal clear water. “Hungry as hell, and ready to start eating something.” He spoke normally, apparently not catching on to your leering, thankfully.

You didn’t answer him. You relaxed yourself a little, still keeping yourself covered but not letting your muscles stay as tense as they had been. After a moment, Namjoon spoke, still facing away from you and rubbing coconut milk on his upper body.

“I gotta ask. Where was all this shyness and modesty when you nearly jerked me off in public with your foot? Or is it different for you if you’re playing a game?”

You froze. You’d all but forgotten about how much you’d teased him on the boat. All of that seemed so long ago now.

“What game?” you said.

He turned around and looked at you, one eyebrow raised. You smiled at him innocently.

Namjoon moved slowly through the water, coming toward you. His dark eyes were so intense, you couldn’t look away if you wanted to, though his smile was playful. Your legs were still crossed and one arm still covered your breasts, but as he approached, stepping closer to you, you dropped your arm and moved to stand firmly on two feet. You were where the water came up to your breasts, the water level teasing your nipples as the gentle waves from your movements swelled around you.

To his credit, Namjoon didn’t look down at your breasts. You were standing nearly chest-to-chest now, though he was so much taller than you. Under the water, his hands moved slowly to touch your sides low on your hips, his fingertips just barely skimming against your skin as he gazed down at your eyes. You stood up straight, eager, leaning back just slightly as if presenting your chest to him.

Namjoon leaned in a little, looking down at your mouth with an absolutely depraved look in his eyes, his lips parting. You parted your lips too and watched his eyes darken as he took in a deep breath. This close to him, you could see the freckles he’d gotten from the sun, and the little moles he’d had before that you hadn’t really noticed before this moment. You studied the curve of his nose, the lines of his plush lips, all the details of his handsome face. You wanted to touch him, you wanted to feel his face with your hands, your breasts, your inner thighs.

One of his hands moved slowly around your hip toward your ass, lightly tracing his fingers there, his touch so gentle you could barely feel him. He moved around the swell of your ass and straight up your spine, watching you shiver as he moved. You looked up at him through hooded eyes, arching your back and wordlessly begging him to touch or even just look at your breasts.

Namjoon looked down, admiring you finally, and he leaned in so that his mouth was less than an inch from yours. You closed your eyes and could almost feel his mouth on yours. You felt his warm breath on your skin and nearly whined, a small moan escaping you. His hands traced up your ribcage, resting just below you breasts. Other than his hands, he didn’t touch you, though the rest of him was close enough to tease your skin with light touches and traces in the water.

His hands were so big and strong, you thought you might pass out just thinking about what he could do to you. His fingers touched the undersides of your breasts, moving upwards so slowly.

“This game,” he said then, pulling back completely and smirking at you.

You should’ve known.

You sighed and rolled your eyes as he moved back in the water, looking at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. You knew you were flushed and hot and bothered, and he’d gotten you so desperate in such a short amount of time, all but begging him to touch you.

Two could play this game.

***

It had to have been about ten days or so on the island by now.

You had yet to see a boat, plane, or any hint of other humans existing within a hundred miles of you. You would’ve been nearing the end of your cruise by now, you thought with a sigh. You had yet to get your period, guessing that was about due next week, and you were not looking forward to that experience at all.

The day after your game with Namjoon at the spring, you’d finished making the “HELP” letters and Namjoon had gotten a fire going. He’d eaten some bananas that night and didn’t get sick, so you considered that a success.

In the following days, you both got used to your routines. Namjoon worked on getting his strength up. He ran laps around the island, did push-ups, swam in the ocean — staying close to the beach, at your insistence. You even caught him lifting large rocks at one point, and made fun of him for that quite a bit. He’d insisted that he was doing it just to test if his strength was fully back yet or not.

You both went fishing and hunting. Namjoon made a spear like he’d said, sharpening the point on his belt buckle and using one of your suspenders to secure it there. He found and killed a small boar, which you roasted over the fire and split between the two of you. Namjoon made a joke about you eating a baby Pumbaa, which made you want to hit him. The following day you caught a huge fish and split that, too, though Namjoon seemed to not like seafood all that much.

You tested one of the fruits you didn’t know over a few days and found it was edible and wouldn’t kill you, and when you brought it back to your little camp proudly, Namjoon was sitting by the fire, cleaning the fish he’d caught that day.

“Noni?” he said, looking up at you as you walked over.

“Huh?”

“The thing you’re holding,” he said, motioning up toward your hands. “It’s called noni fruit.”

You looked down at the fruit you were holding. You’d spent days testing to make sure it wasn’t poisonous, and had wanted to present a new food to him as a nice surprise, and Namjoon had known the whole time what it was. Figured.

You had a fish and noni fruit dinner, finished off with coconut meat and milk and a leaf of water split between you afterwards. You didn’t have many complaints food-wise. You figured the two of you were about as lucky as you could get not to have ended up on an island with nothing, and even luckier to have ended up on an island at all. The place you’d landed pretty much served up all you needed to eat, and the only thing you really had to work for was meat, but even that helped give you something to do.

That night, you both sat by the fire talking for hours. You’d done a lot of that since you got used to your routines and set everything up. There wasn’t very much to do, besides hunt, collect fruit, and keep the fire going so potential rescuers could see it and the smoke.

Every night, you slept right beside each other, cuddled together. In the light you both were cocky and play-fought each other, teasing and bickering, but at night you held onto each other, neither pointing out aloud how much you depended on each other. A few times, you’d started crying in the middle of the night, and Namjoon always hugged you tighter and stroked your hair and told you it was going to be okay. You’d done the same for him when he’d broken down, and learned that night how much he liked and was comforted by you stroking his hair and humming to him. You were both so terrified, and at night you clung to each other like you were still lost and adrift in the middle of the sea.

When you went to bed that night, Namjoon just wore his boxers and you your panties and his dress shirt. You washed your clothes in intervals, wearing one outfit for two days or so and washing the other at some point in that time period. Namjoon was pretty much always shirtless now, to your delight, so he alternated between his dress pants, which he’d ripped into shorts, and boxers. You’d basically torn apart your bra when you got the underwire out to use, so now you alternated between your dress and Namjoon’s shirt. Both of you were clinging to the last semblances of modesty and normality you had left for as long as you could.

Tonight you laid facing in, turned away from Namjoon and the ocean, and after you’d been laying there for a while, you felt him turning toward you. He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair, the tip of his nose touching your scalp. Your legs were bent and he bent his too, right along behind you, fully pressing his body against you from nose to feet. He was so gentle with you, and you immediately, reflexively, melted back into him. Namjoon exhaled, a hint of a small moan in his deep sigh.

You only ever felt truly safe at night, like this in his arms.

***

You woke up in the middle of the night. Namjoon was asleep, his erection pressed hard against your ass, and you sighed, snuggling back against him, using the slight friction for warmth. You loved when you woke up and could feel he was hard. The tension between the two of you had yet to be resolved, and nothing had happened after that day in the spring. You wanted him so bad your pussy almost ached when you looked at him, and when you woke up and could feel his huge length hard against you, it always made you shift and snuggle back into him, loving the feeling and idea of him being aroused by you so much, even if he was asleep.

He groaned in reaction to your movement. Still asleep, his arms tightened around you and pulled you even closer against him, holding onto you firmly with his muscular arms you loved so much.

He smelled so good. Earthy, like sea salt and smoke from the fire still burning a few yards away, with a hint of coconut and his musky natural scent and pheromones. You wished you could just lay here and smell this forever.

You turned over slowly, careful not to wake him. Once you were facing him, you nuzzled in against his chest. Namjoon tightened his arms around you again, sighing.

Facing him was even better. He was so warm and smelled so good, and you were right up against his bare chest. This close, you could see the hints of very slight stubble on his chin and the freckles across his face and shoulders from all the sun he’s been getting. Namjoon was so broad and muscular and big, and you brought one of your hands up to rest over his heart, very subtly feeling his pectoral muscle and heartbeat.

At your touch, Namjoon’s eyes shot open and he rolled both of your bodies, moving so that he was directly over you, straddling you, his face buried in against you neck.

You let out a small squeal in surprise, grinning and gasping in delight. He moved slowly, grinding his erection into you as he let out a low growl. You moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as you felt his thick, hot length pressed against you through his boxers.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he murmured against your neck, moving so that his lips brushed your skin while slowing down the pace of his grinding to downright torturous. He had to know that he was rubbing right against your clit, every sudden movement making you gasp.

“Nothing,” you said, your voice high-pitched and breathy.

You couldn’t see his face — the only thing you could see was the low light from the fire yards away dancing across the ceiling of the shelter above you — but you could feel him. The tip of his nose touched your pulse point on your neck. His breath both warmed and made goosebumps spread across you skin. He braced himself with both arms, caging you there, his hips grinding into yours.

“Are you sure?” he murmured right against your ear, his breath hot.

“Yes,” you said, closing your eyes. Right after he’d finished speaking, he’d taken your earlobe between his teeth and pulled gently. Your fingers dug into his bare shoulders, holding onto him desperately as he moved against you still.

“Tell me to get off,” he said, his voice so deep and gravelly and low you had to close your eyes. The tip of his nose traced your jaw playfully as he spoke. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll get off and never touch you again.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your centers pressed together fully through your thin clothes.

“Don’t get off.”

He didn’t even respond. Namjoon thrust so hard against you, your entire body rocked. He did so repeatedly, quickly humping and grinding against you through both his boxers and your panties. All you could hear was his breathing directly against your ear, low growls and breathy moans escaping him through the exertion of how forcefully he was moving. He was saying something you could barely understand, though you thought you heard “Yeah, you fucking like that?” after you moaned loudly.

You tried to meet his thrusts but he moved one of his hands down to grab your hips, roughly holding you in place.

“You’re so fucking good, so beautiful,” he growled, biting along your jaw. “I wanna fuck you forever, baby. God, I wish we could, so fucking bad.”

Before you could say anything, a sudden loud thump hit the roof of your shelter, and you both jumped and froze, waiting and listening for any other sounds.

Your heart raced. Namjoon looked down at you, eyes wide, and slowly moved off of you, shifting to his knees and then to a standing position outside the shelter.

He grabbed the spear from where it leaned against the tree, slowly walking where you couldn’t see him. You quickly jumped up too, watching him walk around the shelter, looking for what had made the noise.

He bent over and you couldn’t see him, and then stood up again, holding a coconut. You both looked up above you: you had set up your shelter underneath a palm tree that now had three coconuts hanging from it, and a fourth had just fallen and hit the roof of your lean-to.

You both laughed in relief, and Namjoon tossed the coconut behind him into the jungle, since you had no way of cracking into a non-baby coconut.

Namjoon walked straight for you then, throwing the spear off to the side. His eyes were dark and intense, and when he reached where you stood, he picked you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around him as he sucked on your neck roughly, carrying you back to the shelter. His hands ran over your back underneath the shirt as he walked, feeling your bare skin desperately, and you tilted your head back in ecstasy and gasped, completely willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you.

He laid you down inside the shelter, his mouth still connected to you. He kissed you roughly, hungrily, claiming your mouth with his own, his tongue so deep inside you. You wrapped your legs around Namjoon tighter, pulling him down against you harder. He kissed you ravenously, one of his hands behind your head, knotting in your hair, holding your head just how he wanted you.

You could feel his erection through his boxers and your soaking wet panties. He ground himself against you roughly, bucking his hips, again nearly fucking you just like this through both your clothes.

“I’ve wanted you under me since the moment I saw you,” he growled against your ear, biting at your jaw. “So fucking beautiful.” He dipped his tongue into your mouth, so deep you swore you felt him in your throat, growling again.

You loved every moment of this. He moved so desperately, he was rough with you without hurting you, and god, the things coming out of his mouth were obscene. Namjoon brought his lips to your ear and whispered all the things he wanted to do to you, all while grinding himself against you harder and harder. You nearly cried out, just his words and his hips bringing you close already as you felt him moving against your clit through your clothes. His voice was deep and gravelly, contrasting his usual smooth-as-honey tone. You felt his growls and moans deep within you, all the way to your tight, throbbing core.

“–And then when you’re writhing and begging me, your beautiful legs spread so wide, I’ll kiss your pussy, taste your sweet, wet cunt. I bet you taste so fucking good, don’t you, baby? I can feel how wet you are right now, and it’s all for me. I wanna kiss and lick every inch of you so bad, I swear I could swallow you whole. Do you want me to call you ‘baby girl,’ sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you gasped, clawing at his back.

“I knew you would,” he growled against your ear, still thrusting against you, and you could almost feel his smile. “I want to kiss every inch of your beautiful skin, baby girl. I want to bring you pleasure with just my mouth, I want to please you, praise you, worship you. I want you to know what I can do to you. I want to feel you cum for me and taste you as you cum all over my face. I think about that so much, baby.”

His hips bucked faster, spreading his knees apart to spread your legs even farther as you whimpered from his filthy words.

“You think about me?” you managed to say, your voice so much higher than normal, you barely recognized yourself.

Without answering, he brought his mouth to yours, the tip of his tongue nearly touching the back of your throat again as he tilted his head, trying to dive deeper still. He kissed you and fucked your mouth with his tongue, groaning obscenely into your mouth when you sucked on his tongue.

He parted from you after a moment, gasping for air. He kissed along your jaw as best as he could while trying to get his breath back, and bit at your earlobe playfully again before answering.

“You’re the only thing I think about, baby girl,” he growled, bringing one hand to your breast, squeezing roughly. “I imagine fucking you on your hands and knees and making you scream for me, stuffing you full of my cum ’til it’s dripping out of you. I imagine making love to you, so fucking sweet, holding you so tight to me as I take you over and over, holding you like you could break. But I know you can take it. I know you like it rough, princess. And I’ll do anything you want. You want me to make you feel good, even if it hurts too, because you like it. You like pain with your pleasure, don’t you, princess?”

“Yes,” you moaned, arching your back up against him, so far gone by just his words and him dry-humping you through your clothes. How he’d managed to work you up this much without even touching you under your clothes was beyond you.

“I wanna fucking drown in you,” he growled, your earlobe between his teeth again. He pushed himself fully against you, so hard you could feel his cock throbbing. “I bet you feel so fucking good, and taste even better. I wanna fuck you every moment of every day.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You brought your legs down from around him, and Namjoon started to move off of you, surprised and confused. You only let him move enough so you could get your panties down and off of you and the buttons on your shirt undone, and then you brought him back down to you, pulling his boxers down to his knees and letting his erection spring free, bobbing up against his stomach, painfully hard. God, he was big, so long and thick and perfect. Your mouth watered just looking at him, already so eager to be filled up and stretched out by him.

“I don’t have a condom,” Namjoon said, biting his lip and holding himself off of you as you wrapped your legs around him again.

“Obviously,” you deadpanned, looking up at him. You giggled, shaking your head. “What? You mean you didn’t run down to the store and buy any?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, hiding the smile he had from your teasing.

“Don’t worry,” you said, sobering after a moment of your giggles, your need for him taking over. You spoke quickly, nearly babbling in your excitement and need. “I have an IUD. Birth control for two years, no condoms needed. The doctor said it’s more than ninety-nine percent effective and it’s the most effective of all the birth controls, bla bla bla, and it may be stupid but I’m definitely willing to take that risk right now. Now get inside me.” You tried to pull him closer to your throbbing core where you needed him so badly with your legs, but Namjoon stilled above you.

“Huh?” he said, tilting his head and looking down at you. He didn’t follow, mostly because he was completely lost in a haze of lust, barely seeing straight, and you realized that you had kind of spoken about a hundred miles a second. His eyes twinkled in the light of the fire, but they looked glazed over, lost in his desire. He was breathing hard and already breaking a sweat, and you could feel his heart racing, his whole body throbbing from his need.

“I have a birth control implant in my uterus that lasts two years,” you said much slower, calming yourself down and looking him in the eye. You put your hands on either side of his face, making him focus. “Basically, I can’t get pregnant for at least another eighteen months. Now get inside me, daddy.” You added the last bit with a smirk, watching his reaction as all of that slowly sunk in.

Your words registered with Namjoon, and he immediately jumped into action, apparently also willing to take the less than one percent risk of pregnancy. You figured this island might be the actual worst place on the planet to get pregnant, but you trusted your IUD enough and were so far gone in your lust, you were willing to be stupid.

Namjoon reached down and lined himself up with your entrance, and then thrust into you in one smooth motion. You cried out as he stretched you, and he kissed you, swallowing your moans. A deep, broken noise escaped him as he felt your walls clenching down on him and adjusting to his size.

“You feel so fucking good, I knew you would,” he groaned, his words turning into a whiney moan as pleasure almost completely overwhelmed him. He was so big, and even though you were soaking wet, it was a tight fit. You’d had a while of intense foreplay and dry-humping, and now both of you were barely holding on by a thread.

“Keep talking, naughty boy,” you said, pulling his hair. You tightened your legs around him, and he began slowly moving, muttering praise and more dirty talk, his nose and mouth directly against your skin on your neck.

“Your pussy’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt, baby girl. You’re so fucking good, I’ve wanted this for so fucking long. I wanna make you feel so good, sweetheart, that’s all I want, I–” He cut himself off as he picked up his pace, and you arched your back and brought your legs up even higher around him. One of his hands held onto your thigh, bracing himself and holding you in place exactly how he wanted you. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N…” He moved his hips so quickly, you knew you both weren’t going to last.

You knew exactly what you needed for him to do to push you over the edge. You reached down and took his hand he wasn’t using to support himself, and brought it up to your throat. You squeezed your hand around his, making him choke you.

Namjoon took the hint and squeezed his hand tighter, and you gasped, your vision going blurry as he pumped pure bliss into you body. Every stroke filled you perfectly, the head of his cock hitting you deeper and deeper with every thrust, stroking a spot within you that made you see stars as his thick girth stretched you out. You tried to bring your legs up even higher around him, and then he was hitting you at the exact perfect angle.

You tried to scream out in pure uninhibited pleasure, but his hand on your neck made the noise choked off and broken. The hand that wasn’t around your neck was in your hair now, and he squeezed his fingers there too, just hard enough to hurt. He pulled you so that you head tilted back almost painfully, showing off your neck to him as he squeezed there tighter.

Namjoon’s movements were becoming erratic and brutal. He wasn’t speaking anymore, just moaning and grunting. He loosened his grip on your neck just long enough for you to wheeze in a shaky breath. Tears streamed down your cheeks from the force of it all, your eyes watering from asphyxiation and pure pleasure. His thrusts filled you so hard, you were sure the sound of his skin smacking against yours could be heard on the other side of the island, if they weren’t drowned out by both of your moans.

Namjoon buried his face in against your neck, his nose against your rapid pulse and feeling you trying to breathe and moan, his hand now squeezing your throat harder again. You couldn’t even see anymore, the only things your mind registered were his voice and the feelings of his cock moving inside you and his hand on your throat.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. “Your pussy’s so fucking perfect, I could fuck you forever. I wanna cum in your tight little pussy just so I can lick it clean. You want that? You want me to eat your perfect cunt, princess?” He paused long enough to lick once up the side of you face, slowly, his tongue wide, which would’ve made you gasp if you could breathe.

He rubbed his cheek against yours roughly, completely animalistic and primal, as he continued. “I’m gonna make you fucking scream, I’m gonna make you cum so hard you can’t see, can’t walk, can’t think. I’m gonna fuck you so good, the only thing you’ll know how to say is my name. Fuck, you’re so good. Scream when you cum for me, baby, or I’ll spank your ass raw.”

If you had any air within you, you would’ve screamed as you came. Instead, you tried to gasp, unable to inhale at all with Namjoon’s hand tight on your throat, and he only moved himself harder and harder, savagely pulling every drop of pleasure from your body. You’d never felt anything like this, your orgasm completely overpowering you. He must’ve loosened his hold on your throat, because you somehow screamed, and he came right as he heard you and felt you clenching and spasming around him.

Namjoon quickly pulled out, finishing himself off with his hand on your stomach, his head buried in your neck as he kept himself mostly up off of you. You gasped desperately, his hand gone now as he stroked himself furiously with it, thrusting into his own fist as if he just couldn’t make himself stop, moaning in pure ecstasy as he fucked his own hand and spilled his cum all over your stomach.

Namjoon let out a noise from deep within him and just barely managed to keep himself from collapsing on top of you when he finished. Instead, he held himself up with his arms and knees, giving you plenty of room to breathe and recover as you both gasped for air. His arms and legs shook like at any moment his limbs might give out, but he focused solely on keeping himself up. You noticed, and you turned your head and kissed the corner of his mouth, trying to pull his body down onto you with all of your limbs wrapping around him.

He reluctantly let himself rest his weight on you, only partially. You didn’t mind; if anything, you loved feeling him on top of you. Feeling the weight of his big, perfect body was so comforting, and you still just wanted to be closer to him. His cum pressed between your bodies, smearing on both your stomachs as he let himself put more of his weight on you. It was a sticky mess, but god, it felt so dirty and filthy and good.

After a moment of catching his breath, Namjoon started kissing your shoulder. He peppered your skin with his love, his breathing still deep and slow, his voice in his breath muffled against your skin as he moaned with almost every exhale, and the sound was music to your ears.

He made his way down your body slowly, and you only had the energy to lay there and enjoy being worshipped. His tongue circled one of your nipples, and you brought your hands to his hair, knotting there. He sucked your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it lazily, and you arched your back, letting out a lazy moan and closing your eyes.

He kissed down to your stomach and started licking you, tasting his own cum and your sweat from the exertion of what you’d just done. He held you with both hands, holding you perfectly in place, his hands nothing but gentle as his fingertips skimmed along your ribs and his tongue lapped up every drop on your stomach, licking you clean, just as promised.

As Namjoon licked his cum off of you, he moved his mouth so slowly, so gently, so sweetly, like he wanted to do just this for days. He moved down your body slowly though, and dipped his tongue into your belly button playfully when he reached it. You felt him smiling against your skin when you giggled in reaction.

He got to your legs and spread your thighs gently. He kissed your cunt so chastely, his lips pressed together like he was a gentleman kissing a lady’s hand. He tilted his head and kissed your folds, his mouth opening and his tongue moving on you. You knotted your hands in his hair and moaned as he dipped his clever, evil tongue into you.

“Joon,” you moaned, spreading your legs wider, and Namjoon moaned back to you in response, the noise muffled against your pussy.

He opened his mouth as wide as he could, covering you from entrance to clit, and then he started sucking roughly, drinking you, tilting his head as if kissing you deeper as he slowly moved his lips back together and slurped. You cried out, pulling his hair roughly as the new source of such intense pleasure overwhelmed you. As he sucked, he thrust his tongue in and out of you rapidly, fucking you with his tongue and moving his whole head around like he was trying to fucking motorboat your pussy, or maybe attempting to bury his head inside you.

He closed his lips on you with an obscene wet slurping noise and started drinking at your entrance, his tongue quickly lapping into you as you felt nothing but his talented mouth.

“Joonie, that feels so good,” you moaned, trying to thrust up against him. He groaned against you and moved his hands then, grabbing your ass with both hands and pulling you tighter against his face. Namjoon sucked and drank and fucked you with his tongue, every moment such sweet bliss.

He’d planned to work your entrance for a while before going up to your clitoris, but you didn’t even last that long. Your whole body shook when you came, holding onto his hair with both hands. This time you did scream fully, and you thought you heard birds all over the island flapping away from the trees, as if spooked by the noise. You scream-moaned with every exhale, and Namjoon kept moving his mouth and holding you close to him, working you through your orgasm roughly.

You laid there gasping, staring at the ceiling of the shelter, dazed and fucked out and so far gone. As you recovered, you felt Namjoon leaving hickeys on your inner thighs and hipbones, entertaining himself with marking your skin.

You glanced down at Namjoon when you felt him pulling back. He stared up at you, eyes dark and mouth nearly dripping from your wetness. After a moment of eye contact, he leaned in again and licked you slit, as if he were trying to lick up the new wetness that now dripped from you from your orgasm. He watched your reactions as he slowly worked, seeing you spasm and squirm as you moaned and arched you back again in overstimulation.

Namjoon pulled back again and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before climbing on top of you. He moved in close, pulling your legs up around him and nuzzling his face in against your neck.

“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he murmured, his deep voice a low rumble, grinding his erection against your stomach, hard again just from eating you out. “I knew you would. So fucking sweet, princess, I can’t get enough of you. I’m gonna eat your beautiful pussy forever.”

Namjoon slid into you again and you screamed, full-out actually screamed, crying out in ecstasy and overstimulation as you gripped at his sweaty shoulders. You swore he was going to kill you, he felt so good.

“God, baby, keep sounding like that and I really will fuck you forever,” he groaned, his hands on your body squeezing you tighter.

This time he moved so much slower, holding himself up with his arms and spread knees. He kissed your mouth, slowly moving his tongue deep within you, hitting the deepest corners of your mouth and completely dominating you as he moved his tongue in time with his hips. His large arms caged your head, and he was the only thing you could see or feel at all.

He pulled his mouth back enough just to say, "See how good you taste?” before dipping his tongue back into you, hungrily, so slowly claiming your mouth. He growled when you started sucking on his tongue, thrusting in hard once and circling his hips when he was inside you as deep as he could get.

You moaned into his mouth and he moaned right back, not taking his mouth off yours as he kissed you and rolled his hips over and over, just fast enough to keep you desperate. He pinned one of you arms down above your head by your wrist, holding it down tightly but not painfully, lacing his fingers with yours.

As Namjoon moved, you felt him becoming more and more desperate. He began bucking his hips, kissing the corner of your mouth sloppily. His breathing picked up as his pace did, and he gasped, the two of you cheek to cheek as he brought one of his hands down to hold onto your hip.

You started encouraging him. “Yes… fuck, you’re so big. Fuck my tight little pussy, Joon,” you groaned, tilting your head back as he slammed into you so hard and fast you could barely breathe. He moaned with every exhale, so far gone, only moments away from falling apart again.

“What’d you fucking call me?” he growled, not stopping or slowing his pace at all.

“Joon?” you moaned, closing you eyes.

Instead of answering, he suddenly bit down on your neck so hard it had to have broken skin. You cried out, and as Namjoon kept biting down and kept thrusting, going even faster somehow, you kept screaming, short cries with each exhale between desperate gasps for oxygen.

“Joon,” you repeated, loving every moment of this, and he bit down again, harder, now where your neck met your shoulder. You felt the sharp pain in your shoulder throb, and it felt incredible, the pulsing matching that in your aching cunt. He licked at the part of your skin between his teeth, and you swore you felt him moaning.

You repeated “Joon” one more time, and Namjoon stopped suddenly, pulling back and glaring down at you, seething. Saliva and traces of your wetness covered his chin and lips, a wild look in his eyes.

“Call me that one more fucking time,” he snarled, “And you’ll fucking regret it, you little slut.”

You must’ve looked scared, because Namjoon’s eyes immediately softened, a concerned, terrified look on his face. He leaned in and kissed your cheek gently, murmuring against your skin.

“Only if you want to, sweetheart.” He kissed your cheek again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you just surprised me,” you said, your voice so small and high-pitched you barely recognized it. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, angel. I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll never do that ever again.” He nuzzled in against your neck gently. He was still inside you, your bodies joined so perfectly, and he shifted his hips, trying to get even closer to you.

“You can do it again, I was just taken by surprise this time,” you said. “I’m sorry I kept calling you Joon.”

“No, it’s my fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You can call me anything you want. I won’t do anything like that ever again, I promise, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He kissed along your neck, avoiding the bite marks he’d left there before.

“I want you to do it again.”

Namjoon froze when you said that. He pulled back just enough to look at you and see your serious expression.

“Yeah?” he said, watching you carefully with a small smile spreading on his face.

“Yeah.” You nodded, biting your lip and looking up at him through your lashes. “I want you to fuck me like I’m your little slut, daddy.”

He flinched when you said that, apparently no longer in that kind of mood, so you corrected yourself.

“Namjoon,” you corrected, smiling up at him. “Joon,” you added, smiling, and Namjoon smiled too.

Namjoon moved to the other side of your neck, pressing kisses on your skin there. One of his hands went up to your ribs, just under your breast, resting there lightly as his mouth teased you.

“Tell me exactly what to do and I’ll do it, angel,” he murmured, his breath hot in your ear.

You could tell that he was trying to make up for his perceived wrongdoing by saying he’d do anything, and that he really just wanted to take it slow and gentle right now, scared out of his rough ‘daddy’ mood he’d been in before.

“Make love to me,” you moaned, holding onto his shoulders, and Namjoon complied.

Rolling his hips, he moved slowly in you, not lazily, but deliberate. Every gentle thrust brought your bodies closer together, the head of his cock stroking you so deep, exactly where you wanted him. You moaned, encouraging him with how good he made you feel.

He whispered soft praises in you ear. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’ve never felt anything so good, ever. You’re so tight, so wet for me, so perfect,” he said, holding your body tightly to his. “I could make love to you forever. You taste so good, and feel even better. Your pussy’s like milk and honey. Like warm, wet silk.”

Your orgasm was gentle this time. Namjoon had to work for it, making love to you exactly as you’d asked, and when you finally came you let out a long, anguished moan that made him gasp and still, cumming into you as he felt you clenching down on him so tight. You froze when you heard what he was saying as he came, muttering almost unintelligibly as he spilled into you and hugged you.

“Don’t leave me. Please, don’t ever leave me here alone. I need you. Please, please, I need you, I love you. Please….”

This time he did collapse on you, completely spent. He breathed in sharply, rasping for air, and got himself off of you as soon as he could, propping himself up on his knees and forearms. You breathed steadily and tried to will your heart to stop beating so fast and hard as you looked up at him.

Namjoon started to roll off of you, but you leaned up and kissed him, holding onto the back of his head. He rolled anyway, keeping your mouths connected, both of you rolling until you were on top. He hugged you tightly, your breasts squeezed against his chest, and he moved one hand behind your head to hold onto your hair, pulling it back from your face for you.

You pulled back just enough to look down at him. He looked completely love-struck, hearts in his eyes as he gazed up at you, a lazy smile on his face. You could barely see his face in the darkness, the dying fire and the moon’s reflection on the water your only light. The warm red glow of the fire covered one side of his face and twinkled in his eyes.

You cupped his face, stroking your thumb on his adorable round cheeks. Namjoon closed his eyes and snuggled into your hand, letting out a small sigh. His hands rested on you lower back, his fingers drawing small lazy circles. You turned and kissed his cheek gently, closing your eyes too.

***

You weren’t aware of it, but you’d fallen asleep like that on top of him. When you woke up in the morning, you were still laying on top of him, your face turned in toward his neck, your cheek on his shoulder. Your hand rested over his heart, feeling his steady heartbeat, and you rose and fell gently with his breathing. Namjoon was still asleep, but his hands were where you’d last felt them, on your lower back.

He must’ve felt you stirring, because started Namjoon waking up slowly, too. You heard his deep sigh-moan as he stretched his muscles, and when he realized what was on top of his body and under his hands, he smiled lazily, bringing his arms up to squeeze you in a lazy hug.

“Good morning, baby,” he said, his husky voice so deep from his sleep.

You pulled yourself up, sitting up and straddling him as you stretched your arms. The ocean seemed louder today, the waves nearby crashing on the shore. The breeze was just a little stronger than normal, but the sun was bright, not a cloud in the sky.

You looked down at Namjoon and saw him staring at your breasts, mouth all but watering, eyes darkening from lust already.

“I see you staring,” you smirked, rolling your eyes.

“I wasn’t hiding it,” he said, matching your playful tone but still not taking his eyes off you chest. His hands rested on your thighs, holding you in place where you straddled him, his thumbs drawing small circles on your hipbones.

“I slept on you last night,” you said then after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking up at you. “Don’t be sorry. Do it again, as much as you want.”

“Really?” you asked, incredulous. “It doesn’t bother you, having a person laying on top of you as you sleep?”

“It feels amazing. Kind of comforting, too. And not to be rude, because I know talking about weight is a bad thing for a lot of girls, but you barely weigh anything and I love feeling you on top of me,” he said, his eyes so dark and intense and loving and playful all at once.

You shifted. You knew you didn’t weigh nothing, but hearing that he loved feeling you on top of him made your heart flutter.

You knew where this conversation was going, and you cut it off before it got there. You had shit to do today before more fucking.

“All right, we need to get up,” you said.

Namjoon groaned, his hands on your thighs gently massaging you. “Why?” he whined.

“We need to eat breakfast so we can keep our strength up, and I want to take a coconut milk bath at the spring.”

Namjoon’s eyes lit up. “Can I–”

“Yes, you can join me,” you said before he could finish.

Namjoon sat up, kissing you deeply and wrapping his arms around you.

***

After breakfast, your bath at the spring consisted of ten percent bathing and ninety percent fucking in the water. You wrapped your legs around him and he thrust up into you, holding onto your hair and pulling your body closer to his.

Namjoon carried you back to your shelter bridal-style, both of you giggling the whole way. When you got there, Namjoon fucked you on your hands and knees, his hand resting on your lower spine as he thrust into you savagely, his hips smacking against your ass so hard it sounded like he was spanking you. He did actually spank you at one point with his hand, and you came near instantly at the feeling.

After that, he laid you down and got down beside you on his side, propping himself up on one arm and looking down at you as you laid on your back. He leaned in and kissed you while his free hand moved down your stomach, his fingers playing with your curls as you spread your legs for him.

You gasped when he stroked your folds, and he smiled, sighing as he looked down at your face. You bit your lip and barely held in a groan as he curled two fingers into your soaking heat.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he groaned. You held onto his wrist with both hands, feeling his tendons moving as he pumped his fingers inside you.

The two of you just laid there, Namjoon fucking you with his fingers and watching you as you reacted, moaning and writhing. His thumb circled your clitoris, pressing hard and moving slowly. You felt his erection against the side of your leg, and he seemed to be holding himself back, not wanting to lose control of himself but already so desperate for friction.

“Please, Namjoon, please,” you moaned, hips rolling, trying to fuck yourself on his hand. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing the corner of your mouth as your lips fell open, breathing roughly as you felt yourself drawing close. “Let me take care of you, baby.” His fingers picked up their pace and you gasped, coming with a long, breathy moan.

Namjoon almost came just from watching your face in pleasure and feeling you squeezing his fingers. He quickly pulled out and moved on top of you, and even as you gasped for oxygen, you brought you legs up around him, wanting him, wanting this. You cried out when he slid into you, and he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them as he started bucking his hips, desperate to finish himself off.

He held himself up higher off you, not trapping you and keeping you immobile with his body so that this time he could look down at your breasts bouncing with each quick, hard thrust. You arched your back, giving him an even better view and presenting your breasts to him like a gift, and you moaned and squeezed his cock purposefully and brought your legs higher up around him. Namjoon’s breath caught in his throat, his mouth agape and eyes nearly rolling back as he spilled himself into you, his thrusts sloppy and erratic.

Namjoon let out an agonized moan that almost sounded like your name before collapsing on top of you. You held him there with your legs, stroking his hair with one hand and resting the other on his shoulder. You loved feeling him on top of you just as much as he did you.

When he had the strength, he rolled both of you so that he was on his back and you were on top of him, just like how you’d slept. You leaned up about halfway, but Namjoon moved both his hands to your breasts and you stopped. He basically just supported your weight with his hands as he felt you, massaging slowly and watching your flesh between his fingers as he squeezed and kneaded you, your hard nipples against his palms.

You moaned, closing your eyes, and Namjoon lowered you down so that one of his hands was still on your breast while the other held you up by your shoulder and his mouth moved to your nipple, sucking and licking and biting.

After a moment, Namjoon suddenly pushed you up so that you were upright, and then pulled you forward by your thighs. He moved you around his arms and you let him, Namjoon moving your whole body like you were nothing. He positioned you so that you were straddling his face, and you gasped when you felt his tongue moving along your folds, surprised by all he’d just done but immediately tangling your fingers in his hair when you felt him sliding his tongue inside you.

You tilted you head back and closed your eyes, trying to spread your legs even further as Namjoon tried pulling you down on his face harder, both his hands on your ass as he sucked your cunt and fucked you with his tongue, making it rigid for you as you ground down against his face. You could hear him moaning against your pussy, the waves hitting the shore, the obscene slurping noise he always made when he sucked you dry, but there was something else you were hearing, too.

You suddenly froze as you listened, realizing this sound was something new. Namjoon kept going, unaware, but you looked out at the water, biting your lip to hold in a moan.

Out in the distance, a huge ship sat just on the horizon, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it and realized you weren’t hallucinating. You thought you could see shipping containers on it, and the whole thing had to be the size of a football field. A small inflatable boat with a motor was headed directly for you, and would probably be here in a few minutes, its motor a quiet buzz in the distance.

“Namjoon!” you said, quickly moving off of him and jumping to your feet outside the shelter.

“What..?” he said, dazed, lost in his lust, looking only at you, still laying there on his back. His cock was half hard against his stomach already, his mouth, chin, and cock all glistening from your wetness. You grabbed your dress from its spot hanging on a tree nearby and quickly pulled it on, and Namjoon must’ve looked over and seen the ship and boat too because he started pulling on his boxers as fast as he could, jumping to his feet as well.

You both ran down to the surf, making yourselves much more visible to the people on the smaller boat, waving your arms. You were jumping up and down in your joy, holding onto Namjoon’s arm as you tried to hold in your tears, looking back and forth between him and the boat. Namjoon was grinning ear to ear, moving to hold your hand as he waved his other arm wildly at the smaller boat. You looked up and saw him tearing up too, and when he realized you were looking at him, he turned and kissed you, both of you barely able to press your lips together from smiling so wide.

The boat reached your shore a few minutes later. A cargo ship on its way to New Zealand had seen your fire earlier that morning, and had finally made its way to you after preparing its small rescue boat. You really really hoped they hadn’t seen any of what the two of you had been doing that morning in your lean-to, if they’d been looking at the beach with binoculars or something like that.

The three men on the speedboat had shock blankets and water bottles for the two of you, one of them realizing who you were and saying that the two of you had made big news all over the world the past few weeks. You and Namjoon gathered up your scarce belongings, each carrying the remainders of your clothes, and were escorted onto the little boat to be taken over to the ship.

As you sat in the back of the boat together, you in your faded, torn party dress and Namjoon in his boxers and his unbuttoned, worn-out dress shirt, the two of you cuddled close together, sharing one shock blanket. Namjoon closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against your temple, smiling softly.

“We made it, sweetheart. We’re safe,” he murmured against your cheek before kissing you there. He could tell you were nervous being out on the water again, so he held you close to him, his arm around you and nose nuzzling your cheek.

You tried to stop yourself from crying, but holy shit, you were saved. You weren’t going to die on that island. You were both safe and healthy, and you were together.

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