#i like my coworkers; i get along okay with my manager; it doesn’t stress me out; i don’t really dread going to work

[angry-geese]

Hi I literally adore your work and I was wondering if you could do (if you can’t it’s okay I’d totally understand 🤗) one with reader pinning for Gojo and thinking it’s unrequited so she goes and try to move on with others but it’s not satisfying and Gojo knows it and want to see how long it’ll take until she comes to him and when she doesn’t and he sees that she’s getting more and more frustrated he tease her saying she could always come to him and she says yes and he force her to confess while they’re fucking ?

Thank you 🫣

YESS omgg I think I could literally write a novels worth of content abt this sjhffkhf

Night Shift - Gojo Satoru x reader

Warnings: not OSHA compliant lol. Shameless smut, oral (fem receiving), face riding, unprotected sex/creampie, breeding (if you squint). one bed trope, not actually unrequited love, light angst with a happy ending. fem reader

Word count: just under 6.5k :)

Jjk masterlist

You’ve been in Tokyo all of three hours before the higher ups decided to send you on another job. 

That's typically how this goes. One assignment. A day of rest. Another assignment. Sometimes you’re lucky, and you’ll get a weekend off. Other times it feels as if the only rest you get are the naps you take on the plane ride over there. All you’re left with is paperwork. Boring, but nothing new. It's a task you can save for the morning; once you’ve eaten, and gotten some sleep.

The halls of Jujutsu Tech are empty. It's late. Well past ten. Students are asleep. Most of the staff have gone home. You drop off your papers, making a mental note to finish them in the morning.

Hunched over a desk, face illuminated by the computer screen, is Shoko. Her white coat is slung over the back of the chair. In her free hand, she holds a cigarette, repeatedly tapping the filter against the desk. If she does hear you enter, she makes no acknowledgement to it.

“You're here late,” you say, clearing your throat.

Shoko sighs, tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “One of the new managers fucked up his report. It's easier to fix it myself than call him back here to get it.”

That's… awfully kind of her. And out of character. The Shoko you know isn't one to act solely out of the kindness of her heart. Someone has bribed her. Or perhaps blackmailed her.

“How’ve you been?” She asks. But Shoko isn't one for small talk; it sounds awfully strange coming from her.

You shrug. “Alright, I guess. I had a date,” you say, “a few nights ago. We had dinner at that new Italian place that just opened up.”

“How’d that go?” 

You swear you hear a hint of sarcasm to her voice.

“How do I put it…?” you seem to take sudden interest in biting the skin around your thumbnail, “he tried to get me to meet his mom after the first date.”

Shoko makes a noise along the line of “oof”. The look on her face resembles pity.

“I’m too busy with work to date,” you say, sighing. “But when I try to stop, my mother insists on making me use matchmaking services. So I keep trying to keep her happy.” 

You leave out the part where you’re head over heels for one of your coworkers. 

You try to move past him. To ignore him as he passes you in the halls. To not let him consume your thoughts. There's no particular reason why this crush of yours bothers you so much. Others come and go. It's not the first time you’ve been romantically interested in a coworker. But it's the most confusing, and longest lasting one.

Moving on is a lot harder than you anticipated. Especially when he keeps worming his way back into your life.

Your mother is really beginning to stress the matchmaking part. It's rare to be single at your age, she’d say. You need to get married before you’re thirty, she’d say. And you would nod along. Maybe you’d make excuses: you’re too busy with work. You want to focus on your career. And she would nod along like she understood, but you feel secretly that she doesn't. 

Perhaps normal life—working at an office, getting married, having children—was never something that interested you. As you had always had a feeling of not belonging; and the moment you stepped foot into Jujutsu Tech, you finally felt as if you finally had a place in life.

You suppose if you disliked it that much, you’d leave. Nanami did it. But he came back, too. He found some reason for this to be worth doing. And though you aren't certain what that is yet, you know there's a reason out there. 

Gojo is… difficult to talk about, but not in the typical sense. When you’re dealing with someone who changed the whole balance of the world upon his birth, you suppose that's to be expected. He's complicated to say the least. You feel as if you both understand him and don't at the same time. When you see him in the halls of Jujutsu Tech, you’ll say a polite greeting, and may even make small talk, but not much more than that. You admire him greatly. For his strength, confidence, and power. Perhaps even more than that. You have never been able to put it into words how you feel about him. Words have never been a strong suit of yours, though.

But god does he irritate you sometimes.

You hate it. You hate how he has you wrapped right around his finger. And in some twisted sense, you hate him too.

“Have you seen this yet?” She asks, angling the computer monitor so it's easier to view. “They’re sending you on another job. Okinawa this time.”

“But I just got back from Sendai…” You say with a groan.

You can't say you’re particularly eager to spend another two-and-a-half hours on a plane. And that's a generous estimate. If your flight has a layover somewhere, it’ll take longer.

“No. Look at this.” Shoko says, jabbing her finger into the screen. “They’re sending you with Gojo.” She stresses the syllables of his name, putting emphasis on the fact it’s him you’re getting sent with.

You lean against the table, glancing over her shoulder at the screen. ‘Several reports of strange lights and noises coming from an abandoned warehouse. A sorcerer was dispatched, discovered several curses, and was unsuccessful in exorcizing them. No recorded fatalities. One injury. Building closure is being blamed on a gas leak.’ A few lines below that, are the words dispatching: followed by both of your names.

A job like this is well within his capabilities to do on his own. Though, that's a bit of a copout, considering most are. If the man could be in multiple places at once, you know that the higher ups would make him. They throw enough of a fit when he tries to take a day off.

So to say you’re confused as to why you’ve been assigned on this job would be an understatement. It's almost as if he had some hand in this.

You scan the screen a little further, but no other information stands out.

“Overnight trip too, huh?” She seems to stress these words. Her eyebrows are raised. From the corner of your view, you see her gaze turn to you. You want to roll your eyes, but refrain from doing so.

“You should tell him.” She says.

“What?”

“That crush you have on him—when are you going to get another opportunity like this?” She asks. “You should do it.”

“I never said I-” your mouth snaps shut.

“You’re not exactly subtle. You know that?” She asks. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re not just being friendly,

“If you ask me, I think you could do better…”

“That's easy for you to say; you’re with Utahime.” You say, frowning. “I mean… he’s the strongest. And a great teacher, and relatively attractive when he’s not doing that freaky stare thing. And at the very least, rich. Does it get better than that?”

The palms of her hands slap down on the table, causing a loud bang! If there is someone out in the hall, this certainly would draw their attention.

“I knew it!” She says loudly.

You wince. Sweat leaves the palms of your hands feeling damp. You wipe them off on the front of your slacks.

“He’s my superior.” You say. “Wouldn't it reflect badly on him if we were to pursue a relationship?”

“You’re thinking too hard about this.” She says. “Trust me.”

Gojo has to duck to enter the room. He says your name in a sing-song tone of voice. And it makes you cringe. You force a smile, and nod at him. Part of you wonders how long he was standing out there.

It's as if the reality of your situation sets in all at once. An away mission. With Gojo. Two nights where you’ll be stuck in the same hotel room as him.

You can always lie, and say you snore, claiming you’ll keep him awake. But deep down, some small part of you wants to jump at the idea of sharing a room with him. 

Gojo certainly wouldn't have an ulterior motive, would he? He’s a bit childish, but he has never been anything but professional and respectful with you.

Shoko shoves herself back from the desk, standing, and saying: “I’m going to have a smoke.”

You silently wish for her to stay. And your expression must be pleading, because she takes one look at you, and shakes her head. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment as she exits the room. And though you can't see Gojo, you feel his eyes on your back. You allow yourself that moment to mentally prepare yourself.

“Is something the matter?” He asks.

You shift your weight from foot to foot. “I’m just a bit tired. That's all.” You say. “My flight landed from Sendai a few hours ago. I was hoping to have more time between that job and this. I need to do laundry.”

You have the sinking feeling he doesn't believe you, but for now, he doesn't question you further.

“What’s the rundown?” You ask. “The higher ups haven't filled me in yet.”

“A cluster of curses have been discovered in an abandoned warehouse down in Okinawa.” He says. “Their frequency, and strength, leads me to believe that something else is happening down there.”

“Like what? You think they found another one of Sukuna’s fingers?” You ask.

Gojo sucks his teeth. “It's unlikely, but I figure it's possible. I think, at the very least, there is the presence of some cursed object there, due to both the volume and strength of the curses present.”

“Why not take Itadori with you, then?” You ask. Or any of the other first years, for that matter?

“I’m giving the students a break,” he says, “at least for a few days. I've been pushing them pretty hard during training.”

You laugh. “Man, I wish I had you as a teacher. Yaga didn't seem to care how tired we were. He’d always tell us we could sleep when we were dead.”

Gojo nods. Something akin to a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He remembers it well. Your gaze drifts to the door, where a shadow lingers. Shoko.

“I suppose you being here means we need to leave soon?” You ask.

He nods. “You weren’t at your apartment, and you weren’t answering your phone, so I assumed you’d be here.”

“You went to my apartment?!” You say, horrified. 

You suppose it is public records. Technically. At least, Jujutsu Tech might have the records on hand.

“Our flight leaves at midnight, so we should arrive at our hotel around 3.” He says.

It's slowly solidifying in your mind: the thought that you’re not getting much sleep tonight.

You don't get much rest on the flight over there. They dim the lights in the cabin sometime after takeoff, but there’s too much turbulence for you to truly rest. You spend much of the trip gripping the armrests of your seat like your life depends on it.

It's a little before 3 when your flight lands, and just past 3:15 when you arrive at the hotel. To its credit, it's quite nice. Better than some of the places you’ve stayed in. But maybe that's just the perks of being the strongest.

The man working the front desk seems a bit shocked that someone is coming in this late, but recognizes Gojo, and hands over your room keys. Dragging your feet, and exhausted, you’re just ready to shower and sleep.

The hotel room itself is quite spacious, with a good view of the skyline. There's an attached bathroom, and what looks to be a proper bathtub, separate from the shower. A TV, and what you think is a menu for room service.

With sinking horror, you realize there's only one bed.

“Jesus,” you say, laughing nervously, “making me share a room with you is one thing, but you couldn't at least get a room with two beds?”

Though his face is quite plain, his ears are red. 

"When I go on business trips, I generally try to stay in the same room at the same hotel each time." He says. "That way it's easier for me to fall asleep, as I’m already used to the room. It didn't occur to me until just now that this room only has one bed."

You don't think you’ve ever heard him sound so quiet. The redness from his ears has spread onto his cheeks.

"Guess you're sleeping in the bathtub then," you say.

"Hey no fair!" He says.

"Believe me, I'm doing you a favor," you say. "I snore and I kick in my sleep, you don't want to share a bed with me."

You kick off your shoes, and set your belongings by the bed. The grandness of this hotel room has worn off. Now you can see it for what it truly is: cold, and plain. Much like every other hotel room you’ve stayed in, just more expensive.

It makes you wonder how many nights he’s spent in this place. The higher ups are always pulling Gojo every which way, you can't imagine he spends much time at home.

“I call the shower first.” You say.

“Room service?” He offers. “It should be here when you get out.”

“As long as I'm not paying.” You say.

“Of course,” he says, flashing a black credit card, “it’s all paid for by Jujutsu Tech.”

“I don't think you should use those funds so liberally.” You say. That's company money. The higher ups give you hell when you try to order coffee.

“Jujutsu Tech clearly isn't hurting for cash,” he says.

Figuring it a hill you’re not willing to die on, you relent, and order your food. Clearly you and him aren't in the same tax bracket.

You shower, and change into some comfy clothes, coming to terms with the fact you're not going to sleep very well tonight. Some skincare is next. You don't have much energy to do anything more than wash off your makeup, and put on some moisturizer. But you went through the effort of bringing it, so you figure it's a waste not to use it. Into your hair goes some products, and you pray it’ll be manageable in the morning. Hotel shampoo has never been very kind to your hair, so you skip it for now.

By the time you get out, your food has arrived. Mochi. Sesame balls stuffed with red bean paste. Is that… a Melona bar? All appetizers, or deserts, not a proper meal in sight. Gojo has turned the tv on, and some show plays. It's not one you recognize. It's a period drama—possibly Korean, judging by the wardrobe—of an army general, and a young woman. The woman clutches a sword to her chest, but that's about all you’re able to see before Gojo clears his throat.

He’s shoved his glasses well into his hairline. Now, without them, it's far easier to track his gaze. And he does little to hide the way it lingers on you. More specifically, your bare legs.

For now, you try your best to ignore him. It's only a little after 4am. You’re certain you’ll have to head out sometime around 7. Maybe eight at the latest.  Assuming you can get ready in a little under thirty minutes—sometimes less on a good day—that doesn't leave much time to sleep. Two hours at most. That's just a nap.

“Those are all sweets.” You say. “I feel sorry for your teeth. Please tell me you at least give Megumi real food to eat at home.” It's not that hard to cook up some vegetables. And Gojo has the cash to pay someone to do that for him. Hell, you’d do it for free.

He grins. With his free hand, he pops one of the sesame balls into his mouth. Despite being hungry, you only pick at your food.

“Not hungry?” He asks. “Or is it that bad?” Gojo’s attempt at a joke falls flat on its face.

“I don't really have much of an appetite this late,” you say.

“Here,” he says, offering the chopsticks to you, “try one of these.”

In your sleep deprived mind, the most logical decision it comes up with, is to take the bite as he offers it to you.

It takes Gojo a moment to collect himself. Gojo Satoru, for seemingly the first time of his life, is flustered. His glasses have fallen back down onto his nose, but that does little to hide the way he blushes.

“How was it?” He asks.

“Good,” you say.

There's a click! as you shut the bedside lamp off.

“So we’re sharing?” He asks. The bed…

Defeated, you nod. “As long as you’re not going to make this any weirder.”

He folds his hands behind his head, setting his glasses on the side table.

“Don't tell me you sleep in your uniform,” you say. That can't be comfortable. “At least don't put your outside clothes on the bed!”

It's bad enough he’s trying to eat on top of the covers. It makes you wonder what Megumi and Tsumiki have to deal with at home.

He strips down to his undershirt, and boxers, but remains above the covers. Gojo lays on his back, with his hands folded across his chest. You can feel the warmth of his body through the blankets.

“You know you can always come to me, right?” He says.

You want to roll your eyes. Or perhaps make some noise of disgust. But there's a strange genuineness to his words that stops you from doing so. Maybe it’s just exhaustion setting in.

“What makes you say that?” You ask. Anxiety prickles up your spine. Did you do something wrong?

“I just… as your superior, I felt the need to address it,” he says. “I know you prefer to work alone on jobs like this. And I understand where you come from, and I know the toll that can take on a person.”

Somebody must have put something in the water back at Jujutsu Tech, because not only is Shoko acting strange, but Gojo too.

"I don't want to burden you any more." You admit. "You've got your hands full already."

He rolls on his side to face you. The low light of the room makes his face look sunken. The harsh angles of his face are highlighted by the moonlight that streams in through the window. It makes him appear much older than he really is. Gojo Satoru, the strongest, a god among men; it's as if he finally appears human.

“Why did they send me on this job with you anyway?” You ask. “From the report, this seemed like something you could handle on your own.”

Gojo laughs. You swear you hear the slightest hint of nervousness to his voice. “I pulled some strings with the higher ups and had you assigned to this job with me.” He says.

Something akin to cement seems to harden in your stomach. 

“Why?” You ask. Weakly. “Why me?”

“Because you are one of the most frightening and beautiful women I have ever met and frankly you scare me.”

You feel as if you’ve stuck your fingers into a light socket. You’re not certain if his words are meant as a compliment, or an insult. But they weren't said in a tone that was condescending. It's some dreamland. This is all a dream… Gojo would never say such a thing.

It's not a matter of him not feeling the same. The worst he can say is no. And that would suck. You may be upset over it for days, or weeks. It may make things awkward between you and him. But in the grand scheme of things, you will move on. Or that's what you’ve tried to tell yourself.

It's him liking you back that brings you some sense of terror.

Gojo rejecting you is simple. At least in the grand scheme of things. But if he were to return your feelings, you’re not certain what you’d do.

You’ve repeated this same sentence to yourself over and over. It's been so long, that you haven't even taken the time to consider he may feel the same way. 

“Gojo…”

“You don't have to keep calling me Gojo,” he says, “I don't mind you using my first name.”

As he’s your superior, you feel much better using honorifics. Yet in the same, twisted sense, you love it when he says your name. You secretly crave the way he greets you in the halls—the cheery way he calls out to you.

You laugh. It starts out genuine, but grows more and more nervous. “But I’m not strong—not in the way you are! I can't even hold a candle to you…”

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.” He says. “You doubt yourself too much. You need to have more faith in your abilities.”

With people like Gojo around, you start to lose sight of who is really strong. Most great sorcerers are grades one or two.

“And I’ll tell you what I told you last time: this is more complicated than that.” You say. “I just… I want-”

You want to be like him. Powerful. With no regard for the higher ups. 

Gojo moves to straddle your thigh, his knee gently nudging your legs apart. A soft “oof” escapes you as he sits back, resting more of his body weight on you. 

If you did want to throw him off, it wouldn't be all that hard to. Despite his height, he’s not particularly heavy. Getting leverage to throw him off would be simple.

“Say it,” he says. “Please, say it.” 

To hear a god among men beg…

"I want to be stronger!" You say. “Do you even know what it's like to be a woman in Jujutsu society? To be held to a standard of perfection? To always be chasing some unattainable goal?!”

He's hard. There's no mistaking it. Does he normally get turned on while arguing?

He says your name softly. The look on his face almost resembles disappointment. But it's more complicated than that. You swear he almost looks sad.

“You don't get it!” You say. “You’re already perfect!”

Tears of frustration prick at the corners of your eyes. When he kisses you, there's a strange heat that accompanies it. His large hands move to cup your cheeks. Warmth spreads from his palms, to your cheeks. You've kissed other people before, but none of them have had the same strange effect on you as him. 

He breaks the kiss first, leaving a line of saliva connecting your lips. The taste of his strawberry chapstick lingers on your tongue. A set of sapphire eyes meet yours, and he chuckles. “You think I’m perfect?”

“I think you’re insufferable.”

Gojo’s hands find your shoulders. He’s trying desperately to meet your gaze, but you won't allow it, turning your head away. If given the chance, you’d rather bury your face in the pillows, and pretend this is all some dream.

“You know,” he says, “this entire time I’ve known you, I don't think I’ve ever heard you really say what you want.”

You hardly even notice the way his hand slips under the waistband of your shorts. No panties. Cute. The feeling of your soaked folds is enough to make him shudder. You swear you feel his cock twitch against your thigh.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't imagined him in this way—imagined what he looks like under that baggy uniform. You’ve wondered if the carpet does match the drapes. Maybe under different circumstances; you would like to think your first time with him would be something more… romantic. But who would you be to admit that you’ve spent plenty of nights imagining how your boss would fuck you?

His lips ghost along the line of your jaw, before finding your neck. This is better than any of those dreams, you think. This is something tangible. You reach out and 

Gojo's pointer and ring finger slip between your already slick folds. They only graze across your clit, but it's enough to send a jolt of electricity up your spine. His free hand slips under the hem of your shirt, moving to palm at your breast, pinching at the pebbled nub of your nipple. He's nearly vibrating with excitement. You're so wet. So wet and he’s hardly even touched you.

“I want you,” you say. “Or I want to be like you—I don't know.” You cover your eyes with your forearm.

“What do you want right now?” He removes his hand, and you whine at the lack of contact. Low and pathetic.

You huff. “Fuck me-”

There's an evil glint to his eyes. If you had to guess, Gojo has wanted this just as bad as you.

“That I can do,” he says.

He shoves your shirt up just enough to expose your breasts. You swear you hear him let out a little gasp. He’s shameless in the way he stares—in the way his hand kneads the perfect mounds of flesh.

Your hands cover your face, and you’re trembling.

"C'mon," he coos, "don't hide from me. I wanna see that pretty face of yours."

One of his long fingers slips into your entrance. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head at the feeling. If it feels this good now, he can only imagine what it'll feel like to be buried inside of you.

"Gojo!"

“What did I say about using my name?” He pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

By the time you uncover your eyes, he’s discarded his shirt, tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. Those uniforms sure do hide a lot. His boxers have ridden down low on his hips, exposing a patch of soft white hairs on his lower belly.

You were right. Does that mean the rest of his body hair is white, then?

“Satoru- please,” 

A low, pleased sounding noise leaves him. “There's my girl.”

Fuck. Gojo’s thumb brushes across your clit, fingers hooking inside of you. 

"You like being called my girl, huh?" He coos, "you're squeezing around my fingers…"

If you had it in you to roll your eyes, you would.

This is lewd. But that thought only crosses your mind for a moment, before it's overtaken by something else entirely. 

Unsure of what else to do, your hands find his thighs. You're met with the feeling of hard planes of muscle. Strong. Sturdy. He twitches under your touch, bucking his hips. The bulge in his boxers has grown considerably now. Gojo must be painfully hard, straining against the confines of his boxers. Part of you wishes for nothing more than him to take you right here; to split you in half, make you beg for every skilled touch. For him to manhandle you, and leave you aching for more. In your sleep deprived mind, you simply just want him to touch you.

And he toys with you, slowly. Achingly slowly. You want to cry out in the frustration of it all.

When he pulls away, he makes a show of licking his fingers, moaning sinfully at the taste. Such a sigh makes you throb. Your thighs squeeze together in a meek attempt to gain some sort of friction. It's not enough.

Gojo flops down onto the covers beside you with a sigh. He sounds nearly out of breath, but it's impossible to tell if that's out of excitement, or something else entirely.

When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on him. It's not an unpleasant taste—something akin to sweat, skin, and… persimmon?—but you don't understand why he likes it so much.

"Sit on my face," he says.

"What?!"

"Sit." He says. "On my face. Please."

"I don't… think…”

You never get to finish your sentence. Gojo is shoving his hand under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your hips. Carelessly, he tosses them aside, moving to lay on his back. 

You gasp as he pulls you to rest over his face. No matter how hard you try to struggle against him, there’s no breaking free of his grasp. Finally, your hands find themselves buried in snowy locks of hair.

"I can't!" You squeal. "I'll suffocate you!"

"Please do," he says, voice muffled by your thighs.

Testing the waters, he sucks a few hickeys into the soft skin of your thighs. The feeling of a hot tongue brushing across your clit is nearly enough to make you scream. A pleased shudder tears through his body as you rest more of your weight on him, grinding down on his tongue. When your thighs squeeze around his head, he moans nearly as loud as you do. Gojo sucks and licks like a starving man, finally presented with a full-course meal. He allows you to ride him—to use him in such a way—and he sure does seem to get off on it.

His name falls past your lips in broken moans, and Gojo has never seen such a beautiful sight. The hem of your shirt is clenched between your teeth. He grips your thighs with enough pressure to leave bruises where the pads of his fingers touch.

It doesn't take him all that long to work you up—and through—your first orgasm. He leaves you quivering and whimpering, thighs clenched around his head. His eyes are crossed in a state of pure bliss. You swear he looks more content with his head between your thighs, than you’ve ever seen him.

The people staying in the next room over must hate you right now. Not only have they had to listen to you argue, but listen to you fuck too. Maybe they’re not getting much sleep either.

It's not until overstimulation registers in your lust-addled mind that you try to escape. And even then, Gojo doesn't allow it. It's as if he can't get enough of the way you taste. To you, it's too much. You writhe and whine under his touch; putty under his hands.

“Satoru please!” You cry out, flopping onto the covers beside him. 

He lets you go, but not without leaving another hickey first. You land on your stomach, discarding your shirt, tossing it onto the floor.

Gojo laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A thin sheen of sweat covers your body. The temperature of this room feels as if it's risen about ten degrees. For a moment, you consider getting up, and opening the window, but eventually decide against it.

If left alone, you’re certain you could fall asleep right here. The warmth of the room, combined with the endorphins that flood your body, leave you sleepy.

Gojo has shoved his boxers down his hips just enough to free his cock, the sight of which is nearly enough to make you drool. It's—he’s—pretty. Not as big as you were expecting, but you can't call him small. Nothing too intimidating. If anything, he’s above average. He’s trimmed, but not clean shaven. The hairs towards the base are the same snowy white as his head. A pearly bead of precum collects at the head. There's a prominent vein running up the bottom that appears to twitch once he notices you’re looking back at him.

He kneads the flesh of your hips like a baker kneads dough. Soft. Steady. You arch your back, angling your hips for him, allowing him a better angle. Grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed, he stuffs it under your stomach.

His nails graze down your arms, then your wrists, before he laces his fingers with yours. There's something so oddly intimate about having him pressed against you like this; stomach flat against your back, hands squeezing yours, grinding against you desperately. 

With one swift movement, he’s sheathed inside you entirely. A noise escapes him, that sounds like a mix between a sob, and a cough. Your teeth dig into your lip hard. A metallic taste floods your mouth. Gojo stays there for a moment, bottoming out, as if allowing you to adjust to his size. But secretly you both know that if he moves now, he’ll cum on the spot.

His lips latch onto your shoulder, and pull away with a pop! He leaves a trail of hickeys down your shoulder; ones just barely hidden by your shirt collar. It's almost like he takes some sick satisfaction in marking you up. Claiming you as his own.

"What is it you truly want?" He asks. His lips are swollen, and have a slight red tint to them.

You can't bear it anymore. A frustrated cry pulls itself from your throat. "I want you!"

Yet you have him. Right now. In this moment. You have him in a way no one else does.

Gojo's heavy balls slap against your soaked folds with each thrust. A mix of his precum, and your own slick leaves a thin white ring around the base of his cock. One of his hands slips between your legs, toying with your already sensitive clit.

“You… you don't even know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that,” he says, grunting softly. “Do you even know what it's like? Watching you go on all those dates, and being able to say nothing about it?”

Gojo’s voice goes from demanding, to whimpering. He moans particularly loud when your cunt clenches around him.

“I tried to be professional about it. I tried to wait for you to come around,” he says, “christ you don't even know how long I waited,

“It's frustrating,” he huffs, “knowing you felt the same, but would never confess. God I’ve waited years for this…”

“I couldn't!” You say. Your body twitches as he brushes across your clit particularly roughly. “I couldn't confess! It would reflect badly on you as my superior to be seen with someone like me!”

His thrusts pick up in pace, and you’re certain you’re going to be sore when you wake up. You clench around him, pulling him back in, and the noise he lets out at this is nothing short of sinful.

“Fuck them!” He says. Gojo nips at the side of your neck. “Fuck anyone who cares so much about that!”

His face is red, and his neck is white. Gojo’s thrusts grow more erratic as he nears his own release. Your name falls past his lips in what must be a prayer.

Your second orgasm rolls over you like a wave, pulling you under, and spitting you out wrong. Momentarily, your vision goes white. It's as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe. A mix of your cum and his runs down your inner thighs in streams. Sweat leaves your skin sticky.

“You could—fuck—benefit from not caring about others opinion of you,” he says, tightly gripping the sheets beside your head, “I think you underestimate the effect you have on people.”

You can only lay there under him, twitching, as he fucks you through your release, letting you ride out your orgasm on his cock. The nearer he gets to cumming, the less sense his words begin to make.

“Cum inside,” you say, in a delirious moment, spurred on by pleasure.

It's as if his brain short circuits. You feel him pause momentarily. 

With one final thrust, he spills into your unprotected womb. There's an odd full feeling that accompanies it; being stuffed with both his cock, and cum. It's not unpleasant, just odd. All of your previous partners wore protection, so this feeling is foreign to say the least.

“Shit,” he says. “Shit.” He pulls out slowly, so as not to spill a drop of his cum. 

“I’m on the pill,” you say, “if that makes you feel any better.”

And to Gojo, there's no prettier sight than you sprawled out in front of him, stuffed with his cum. He wishes for nothing more than to capture the moment in some way. But just memory will have to do. For now, at least.

“I need another shower,” you say. Gojo can see the exact moment the gears start turning in your head. “Actually, I don't think I can walk. Carry me.” You stretch your arms out to him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

Gojo slinks off the bed, hauling you into his arms bridal style. Your arms find purchase against his neck. He sets you on the bathroom counter, while he starts the water. The marble is cold against your bare legs. He dips his hand under the stream, gauging the temperature. Steam curls off the water. And it leaves his skin a bright shade of pink.

“We should use the bath,” he says.

“Really?” You ask. “Aren't these hotel tubs usually kinda gross?” You don't know how many people have used them previously. 

Gojo takes one glance at it and says: "I mean, it looks clean to me."

For you, that's a good enough answer. Though it makes you wonder if his Six Eyes technique can pick up on such things. Probably not.

The tub itself is quite large, and separate from the shower. Big enough to fit both you and him, with a bit of room to spare. There’s an array of soaps you have yet to check out. Gojo picks one, uncorking it, pouring the pink tinted liquid into the water. Soon, bubbles begin to form a layer on top of the water. It has a faint citrus scent to it.

You settle into the tub, and Gojo takes a seat behind you. You wish you had a tub like this at home. Not that you'd get much use of it, with as often as you're away. His arms loop around your waist, pulling you flush to his body. Your head falls into the crook of his neck.

From the side of the tub, he grabs a washcloth, and a bottle of soap. He drags the cloth across your skin. Soft. Lovingly. Starting with your arms, then moving to your breasts—which he lingers for a while on—then your thighs. The hotel soap is scented heavily with lavender.

"We'll take the morning off," he says. "We still have all of tomorrow to find those curses."

“Fine,” you say. “But if we find another cursed object, I’m making you carry it. I'm not keeping any severed body parts in my purse ever again, Satoru. You got that?”

Gojo laughs, softly.

“I guess this makes us partners then.” He says. And though from this angle, you can't see his face, you’re certain there's a dumb grin plastered on it.

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo satoru smut #not osha compliant #jujutsu kaisen #i have forgotten how to tag lol #tumblr was really not wanting to keep the read more part where i wanted it so sorry lol

[wonwoonlight]

flower | jeon wonwoo

➝ word count: 13.000~ words

➝ writer!reader x editor!wonwoo

➝ angst // exes!au // also slice of life-ish // non idol!au // fluff

➝ warning: tiny bit mention of alcohol, clichés lol, probably inaccurate description of how a magazine works even though i've done my research :')

➝ A/N: hi guys! honestly didn't know i still have it in me to write anything that would reach 10k lolll. this was fun to write and i... really worked hard writing this so your feedback would be very much appreciated <3 my ask box is always open hehe. enjoy! (why do i feel like this isnt as angsty as i wanted it to be tho??)

하루에도 몇십번은 고민해 How many times do I think about it in a day? 약이라던 시간도 꽤 지났는데 Even the time they say that would heal has quite passed 이게 아닌데 이게 아닌데 이게 아닌데 This isn't it, this isn't it, this isn't it

Taeyang - This Ain't It

One.

You’ve always wanted to be a writer—a novel writer, if you’re being completely honest. There’s always something that fascinates you about stringing words together: bringing nonexistent stories into existence, pouring your fantasies in the form of letters and knowing people take their time to read them.

That was the dream, anyway. Reality hits and you know you’re not lucky enough to be one of those people who have the luxury of turning their dreams into reality. You can’t risk spending too much time writing a novel that might not be published. There’s too much to gamble there; the publisher, the audience, the time and energy you’d spend in finishing a book and editing it after.

What if you manage to finish your book but couldn’t manage to find a publisher? What if you manage to find a publisher but can’t see eye to eye with the editor they assign you to? What if it gets published but do not sell well?

It’s sad, but you’d rather take the safe way of looking for office jobs that would regularly pay you than gamble your luck as a writer. Frankly, the time and energy you’d be pouring into that work would be too much if you’re not guaranteed success.

Not that you want to get rich off making books.

The main goal for you as a writer has always been to make a story that’s able to comfort people. That’s practically it; you’d be happy if people read your stories, but it’s like you have the whole world in your hand when someone tells you your works bring smiles to their face—that they find your stories relatable and comforting.

You’re afraid if publishing a book would make you too concerned with the sales and demands from the upper highs to the point where your writing isn’t… yours.

“Are you okay?” Minghao asks from his cubicle in front of you, the fingers on his keyboard stopping in worry. It’s not a busy day at the office today, a lot of your coworkers are working from home because, as magazine writers, your boss doesn’t require you all to be in the office everyday though you can if you want to.

You’d like to think at least you’re still working as a writer even though you’re writing about movie reviews instead of writing fictions.

“Yeah, just got reminded of something,” you smile at him. “Plus, Seokmin is stressing me out. I can’t believe he’s really leaving me.”

Minghao lets out a small laugh and then his fingers start to busily type again. You’ve always liked that your office doesn’t have those dividers between cubicles on the desks, it makes looking the office less… stuffy and you get to look at your co-workers freely. There’s just a low glass that goes along the desk between you and Minghao, the only divider between you and him. The seat next to him is empty because Lee Jihoon is rarely in the office unless he really needs to.

“I thought Joshua has already found a replacement editor for you? Didn’t he say the new guy is coming in today?” he asks. “Who else are Seokmin’s writers, again?”

“Me, Jihoon, and Jennie. You’ll probably see Jihoon in the office again two days from now, complaining about Seokmin, too,” you grin at the thought of your coworker. You can already hear him going on about having to adapt to a new editor again, and you just know he’s praying to everything up there that the new editor wouldn’t be a stuck up one that changes everything without any valid reason other than the desire to be annoying.

“Not today?” Minghao returns your grin, looking at you through his glasses.

“No, his deadline is in two days and you know he won’t go to the office just to see the new guy,” you match his grin, cracking your fingers as you skim through your piece. You mainly dabble on movie reviews, and while it’s not as easy as one would think it is, you find joy in making reviews for indie movies in particular. You, of all people, know how it feels to make a story on your own and you know whatever you write would mean a lot to these people. That said, you always try your best to point out details that you truly enjoy from these movies. “Okay, I think I’m done with this.”

“Your last work with Seokmin?”

“My last work with Seokmin.”

“I hope you know you’re breaking my heart,” you glare at Seokmin in front of you, his desk resembles him less and less as he has started to tidy up his stuff since earlier this week. As an editor, Seokmin gets his own desk in the office even though he doesn’t have his own office. His desk isn’t that far off yours and, without the dividers, you usually still get to see him everytime you choose to work in the office.

You notice the puppy plushie on his desk is no longer there, the only thing that’s distinctively his is a yellow stationary container still sitting near his monitor. Honestly, it saddens you to see him leave, but you know he’s gotten an offer at a fairly big company and it’s a great opportunity for him.

“You sound like I’m breaking up with you,” he chuckles, though his eyes are focused on the monitor in front of him. “You do know we can still meet each other outside work, right?”

“Yeah, because you definitely won’t be busy as the new chief editor and adapting to a new company,” you pout at him, and Seokmin actually glances at you with a playful smile in return. “And, yes, for the record—you are breaking up with me. I’m expecting an alimony because now I have to deal with Mingyu and Chan by myself.”

“Okay let’s say we’re breaking up, you still can’t ask for alimony because we’re not divorcing,” Seokmin clicks away, but the grin on his face doesn’t falter even a little. “Also, I heard the new editor is pretty good-looking, do you not care about that?”

“I don’t want good looking editor. What if he’s annoying?!” you whine at him, making a fuss in the empty office because everyone’s out for lunch except for you, Seokmin, and Lisa who’s busy editing a last-minute piece on a fashion program on the other side of the room. And probably Joshua in his office because he is rarely not in his office—even during lunch. “What if he changes my writing so it fits his taste, Seokmin? How can you do this to me?”

Sighing at last, Seokmin logs off his computer before finally putting all his attention on you. “Okay, what if we get out for lunch now because you obviously have nothing to do after submitting that review to me?”

You immediately light up at that, your posture straightening right away. Seokmin excuses himself to the restroom and tells you to get ready first, so you go back to your table to take your wallet and your phone. You contemplate on putting on your jacket, but you really can’t be bothered so you leave it there hanging on your seat.

Walking out to stand near the elevator, you absentmindedly scroll through your phone as you wait for Seokmin. The elevator dings, and you wouldn’t have cared nor even looked up if not for the soft gasp from the person inside once the elevator door opens.

You automatically glance up from your phone, your mouth quickly turns dry at what once was a familiar gaze—one that used to look at you with nothing but love, one that you used to find yourself drowning in because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been standing there, looking at him with eyes wide open and mouth slightly ajar from shock. It’s probably not long, but it feels like an eternity and it takes the elevator door almost closing again along with Seokmin’s cheery voice calling your name for you and him to get out of the trance.

“Hey, let’s—oh? Hello, can I help you?” Seokmin greets the guy who has just got out of the elevator.

“I’m… yeah, I’m supposed to go to Joshua Hong’s office?” he gulps hardly, eyes both trying to avoid you and hardly leaving you.

Seokmin tilts his head, something clicking in his mind. “Oh, are you Jeon Wonwoo? My replacement?”

You have no idea how Seokmin could miss the way your mouth drops open at the news.

Two.

“Please, please, please, Shua, you know I never ask anything from you,” you plead to him after you’re sure Wonwoo has left. If you’re to be completely honest, you’re a little disoriented after seeing Wonwoo in the flesh. It’s been about a year since you’ve broken up with him, a break up that you force yourself to believe is an amicable one even though you know it wasn’t.

Just because Wonwoo wasn’t screaming and you weren’t pointing fingers doesn’t mean it was amicable. Just because you didn’t slap him and he didn’t throw things around doesn’t mean it was peaceful.

How can it be peaceful when you’re left to tend yourself for months to come? How can it be peaceful when you cried yourself to sleep almost every day and night until your tears dried up and you’re empty inside?

How can it be peaceful when a part of you was ripped apart, and you had to reassemble whatever’s left behind when not all of the pieces were even there for you to piece together?

How can it be peaceful when you still have to blink back your tears even now, almost one year later, when his ghost comes back to you everytime you’re awake at 3 in the morning?

“I… I’m sorry, but you know we don’t have any other editors for you,” Shua says with a worried frown, the guilt in his voice clear as days. While it’s true that you’re probably one of his best employees, rarely complaining and rarely giving him a hard time, it’s also true that there’s no editor left that he can assign you to. He knows whatever it was between you and Wonwoo, it must’ve been bad if it’s to the point where you feel the need to come to his office and personally ask him like this. And he genuinely feels bad for making you work with him, he really does—but he really has no other choice here even is he’s able to pull some strings as your head of department.

“I… can’t I edit my own work?” you desperately ask.

“You know I can’t let you do that,” Shua answers, his tone just as desperate as you. “I’m really sorry, I really am. The best solution I can offer you is… maybe you can just work via email with him?”

You sigh, even though you’ve known since the beginning that there’d be no escape from this. You know there’s no editor left that Shua might be able to assign you to, and you’re fully aware even if there is an editor that might be available, it’s Seungkwan. But his column is actually about, in his words, 'entertainment news' (it's mainly gossips and insiders' talk, really), and you have zero knowledge nor interest towards it, so there’s just no way you’d be able to write a good piece even if your life depends on it.

Okay, that’s exaggerating. You’ve got enough skills to write a decent piece regardless, but honestly? You treasure your writing too much to write just for the sake of working so it’s just not a choice for you. The voice in the back whispers that you can just quit and work for another magazine, but that’s taking things a little too far even for you.

So you thank Shua before you leave his office, assuring him you’ll make it work somehow. He gives you a guilty smile, one that tells you he understands if you’re not going to be as enthusiastic about work as you usually would.

Guess you’ll follow Jihoon and start working from home a lot more now.

Fortunately for you, Wonwoo does not try to force you into a conversation if it’s not about work. Your communication with him is limited to your report and his pointers. One time he replies way too long than he usually would—almost a day late, to be exact—and he didn’t explain why nor did you ask if anything happened.

Unfortunately for your subconsciousness, it has started to reminisce more and more about your time with Wonwoo. And as if that’s not enough torture already, your mind has started to overthink about everything Wonwoo does even when he does nothing.

Right now, you’re struggling with the thought that Wonwoo has stopped caring about you after all because he never tries to talk to you even once, which is very stupid because wasn’t it you who was begging Shua to change your editor just so you won’t have to interact with Wonwoo?

You don’t understand where these feelings come from, you really don’t. Because even if the ungodly hour that is dusk would still remind you of Wonwoo and sting your heart everytime, you’re fine. It’s all good. You’d sleep it away and you’ll bother Seokmin, Minghao, Jihoon, and the others again once morning comes and Wonwoo would be the last thing on your mind. You’d laugh again and he wouldn’t find his way to your memories until you find yourself awake in the lonely hours of twilight once more.

That, or when you just… miss him terribly.

But now that Wonwoo has suddenly shown up in your life again, it all goes downfall and your routine of not having him in your mind 24/7 is messed up in the span of a day.

Why.

You’ve worked so hard to get back on your feet, to return to your daily life without having the urge to cry and get upset at everything that reminded you of him, to fix yourself and try your best to be okay even when you haven’t managed to put all of the broken pieces Wonwoo has caused back together until now.

You’ve always thought that the best way to deal with sadness is to accept it; to let it be and get used to it. Some of them would go away on its own: you’ll forget about it sooner or later and it’d be like it has never happened in the first place once you get there.

And some would stay with you, and you’ll have to learn to live with it. But you’ll be okay even though it would haunt you from time to time, reminding you that it’s still there and has never really gone away. It will get easier to deal with, though, and you’ll still be sad sometimes but you’ll be okay again and that’s the most important thing at the end of the day.

Apparently, your feelings for a certain Jeon Wonwoo go way too deep that they all just burst out of their hiding the moment you see him again after a year—even after having your heart shattered and having suffered for what felt like forever until you’re able to stop thinking of him every single chance you had.

You take a deep breath as the elevator goes up to your office, dreading every time the number goes up one by one. You don’t even know if Wonwoo would be in the office or not, but if Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are any indications, you’re pretty certain these editors sure like to be in the office.

Well, you do like to be in the office too until recently, so you really can’t say anything about that.

“Oh, hi!” Minghao greets you the moment you walk through the door. “Feels like it’s been so long since I see you here.”

“Yeah,” you return his smile as you pull out your chair and make yourself comfortable there. From where you’re at, you can see Seokmin’s old desk already filled with stuff that you assume to be Wonwoo’s. You gulp at that, forcing yourself not to look there and see how he has decorated his desk. “Just haven’t been feeling like going to the office.”

Minghao raises a curious eyebrow but doesn’t comment further, knowing that you’ll say whatever’s bothering you when you want to. “How’s Jeon Wonwoo? Jihoon seemed pretty fine with him the other day.”

“Oh, did he come to the office?” you ask instead before you busy yourself with the computer in front of you. Thankfully, Minghao doesn’t seem to notice you’re dodging his question about Wonwoo. What were you supposed to say anyway? That he’s actually a great editor, only points out what’s necessary and give you excellent suggestions? It pains you to admit that you actually work better with Wonwoo than all of your previous editors—even Seokmin. How did he get into editing again?

“Yeah, he’s got a meeting with Shua and I guess he’s finally curious about his editor,” Minghao grins. “Jennie seems pretty comfortable with him, too. I assume you’re also doing well if Jihoon and Jennie has no complain about the guy. He seems pretty cool, too.”

You shift uncomfortably on your seat as Minghao continues to talk about Wonwoo. Xu Minghao has always been a very great co-worker of yours and he’s a good friend too, he’s not exactly quiet but he doesn’t talk a lot, either. That said, you have never thought there’d be a time where you wish for Minghao to shut up.

“—Oh, and, I think I heard that Shinji is going to come here somewhere this week so it might be a good thing that you’ve been working from home.”

You pause at the name and a frown immediately crosses your face. “What business does she have here?”

“My guess?” he glances at you. “To check Wonwoo out. She’s probably heard we’ve got a new, good looking editor and she’s curious. But her official reason would be to see if ‘our works is according to Hyuna’s standards’.”

You exhale tiredly at the revelation; the annoyance over the news actually wins over the bitterness in your tongue. Shinji is one of the directors’ daughter and also the assistant of Hyuna, the art director. Her office is actually two floors below yours, but she’d come from time to time because she, for the lack of better words, considers the people in your floor to be attractive and would sometimes appear just to see them (and flirt around, if she feels like it).

It’s fine, though, being Hyuna’s assistant means Shinji doesn’t—can’t—come often, because she has to basically follow Hyuna around and Hyuna is easily one of the busiest personnel in this building.

You really don’t care that Shinji likes to be flirty in your office, that’s her call and some of the guys seem to enjoy indulging her, too. But Shinji, for some reason, hates you with everything she has. You think it probably has to do with her one-sided crush towards Jihoon a long time ago, the guy barely even looked at her when she tried to get his attention—brushing pass her and went straight to you to discuss about Seokmin’s style of editing because Jihoon had only joined the company at the time.

That was just the first of many reasons she’s made up to justify her hatred towards you. She’s made it her mission to be a pain in your ass everytime she crosses paths with you ever since. She somehow has the capability to pick on the little mistakes that no one else has ever noticed when it comes to your piece.

Back to the present, your eyes widen in horror when the door opens again and you can hear Wonwoo greeting everyone in his path as he makes his way to his table. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo was never this cheery before, but a year is a long time and there’s a lot that can change.

Maybe the one year of not seeing each other is kinder to him than it is to you.

He happily greets Minghao, only then realizing the usually empty table across the guy is finally not empty anymore.

“Oh… Hi,” he awkwardly calls your name, the tone obviously different from the one he uses to greet everyone else. But can you blame him? So you nod in return and force out a thin smile, the exchange obviously noticed by Minghao.

Your friend is still curiously staring at you even when Wonwoo has settled on his desk, but you just continue to pretend like you don’t notice Minghao blatantly boring holes into you as you busily move things around on your table.

“Do you know if Junhui is coming in today?” you ask instead, your eyes focused on the screen in front of you instead of Minghao.

“Not sure. He hasn't been coming in a lot, though. Why?” he answers, getting that you don’t want to talk about whatever it is about Wonwoo.

“I just remembered he borrowed one of my papers for reference last month,” you pout a little. “Do you think I can find it if I look through his table?”

“Wouldn’t it be better if you call Junhui and ask this yourself?” Minghao shoots back, both confused and amused at the way your mouth is turning into a silent ‘O’ as if the thought has never crossed your mind. Three minutes later, you’re flipping through Junhui’s table with your phone between your ear and your shoulder, Junhui himself busy directing you where your file should be on his table through the phone.

Of course his table just has to directly face Wonwoo’s and the amused glance he’s subtly sending you is making your warm and tingly inside.

“What do you mean I should be able to find it near the yellow—Jun, all of the files in your desk are yellow and there are way too many papers here!” you sigh in frustration. Lisa, whose desk is next to his, shakes her head in pity because she, of all people, knows just how messy Junhui can be. “The only file not yellow is this red one, which has a big ass ‘SEOKMIN’ on it—why do you still have Seokmin’s file with you?!”

On the other side, Junhui laughs sheepishly and says he’ll come to the office in the afternoon to help you look for it if it’s urgent and you’re welcome to go through his stuff now if you want. You flop down to his chair and rub your temple, thanking Junhui before you hang up. It’s not actually urgent, but you’re pretty sure both you and Junhui are going to forget about it again and it’ll be months before you finally have your paper back.

After contemplating for a while, you exhale and decide to at least tidy up the surface of Junhui’s desk so it’ll be easier to navigate through later on when the guy comes in. You’re trying your best not to react at the way Wonwoo’s stealing glances at you, and you’ve just finished moving his files to one side and the papers to another when an annoying voice cuts through the office.

You close your eyes in contempt, biting back a sigh when Shinji addresses you first for whatever reason. Of course she has to come on the one day you are in the office. “Well, look who’s snooping through someone’s desk instead of working.”

“If you must know,” you grit your teeth as you try to keep your calm. She’s still the director’s daughter, after all, and there’s only so much space for you to fight back. “Jun asked me to do this.”

The girl simply snickers, eyes falling to Wonwoo in a matter of seconds. You miss the way Wonwoo sends you a worried glance from the beginning, not liking the way whoever this person is talks to you.

You eye her warily as she makes her way to Wonwoo; she stops by the side of his desk, extending her hand and proceeds to introduce herself. Then your eyes go to Wonwoo, and you can tell at once that he’s not comfortable in her presence. He looks stiff, there’s a polite smile on his face and you notice the way he’s gripping his pen a little too tight from where you’re at.

“So, if you’re replacing Seokmin that means you work with her?” she points at you rudely and Wonwoo immediately frowns at that. “Must’ve been hard, huh? I heard she hasn’t been coming to the office these days.”

You gape at her in disbelief, how did she even find out about your working condition?

“She’s actually very great,” Wonwoo says with a tight smile. “She writes so well to the point where it’s almost pointless to have me as an editor, really. And, um, I think the office allows us to work from home most of the time?”

You blink at that, not expecting Wonwoo to stand up for you. At most, you thought he would just brush her off and until she stops because that was the kind of person Wonwoo was. He used to find fights much too bothersome, even more with people he doesn’t know, and would usually let people be until they shut up.

This, too, has changed, you figure, and something inside you churns at the thought of Wonwoo being a different—better—person than when he was with you.

Maybe it was for the best that you broke up, after all.

You jump at the sudden call of your name and, when you look up, there’s Wonwoo with a concerned look on his face. You can feel tingles all over your body at the way your name leaves his lips; how long has it been since the last he says your name? You shake the thought away, looking around to find Shinji nowhere in the office. Wonwoo seems to get who you’re looking for and tells you she’s left to Joshua's office just a moment ago.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, a tone you’re very familiar with. He used to use this tone everytime he’s worried you’d been holding things in a little too much and a little too long, he’d gently run his fingers through your hair, dropping kisses on top of your head as he listened to you vent your heart out. You frown at the memory, a lump forming in your throat at the vivid picture in your mind.

“Yeah,” you manage to croak out, even though you’re sure he knows you’re not fine at all. “Thank you for… earlier. I’m fine, though.”

You stand up from Junhui’s desk after that, not giving Wonwoo a chance to say anything else and then bolt off right to the restroom. You immediately go to the sink, splashing water to your face as if to wake you up from whatever it is you’re on.

You need to get a grip, you remind yourself. You don’t want a repeat of what happened before, you don’t need to relive what happened after you broke up with him.

What you had with Wonwoo was way too deep for you to be able to set it away and just be friends with him. He was your first serious relationship and you’ve always been someone who loves deep—way too deep than you would’ve liked. It's anyone's best guess that the two of you didn't even try to talk after the breakup.

A part of you would like to think that it’s not exclusively because of Wonwoo; that even if it had been someone else, you’d still be a mess because you’re just the kind of person who’s too emotional for your own good. But you also know that Wonwoo played a great part in it; that his playful grin, his gentle words, his fleeting kisses, and his tender touch brought you warmth and happiness like never before.

No matter how it ended between you and him, Jeon Wonwoo was still the greatest love you’ve ever experienced in your life. He let you know how amazing love could feel, showed you how much you deserved to be loved, and taught you how deep a relationship between two people could be.

Along with that, Wonwoo also taught you how painful love could be, how hard it was to pick the broken pieces up, and how much you can suffer over one single person.

It’s sick, and you genuinely have no idea if you can go through that for a second time. You don’t know if you have it in you to love someone like you did Wonwoo ever again—don’t know if you have it in you to risk another broken heart and the process you’d need to go through to mend it.

“Slacking off again, I see,” Shinji’s voice echoes through the bathroom the moment she steps in and sees you inside. She takes a glance at the water dripping down your face, a look of disdain crossing her face before she snickers to herself. “Too sleepy to work that you need to freshen up, huh?”

You take a deep breath before you dry your face with a tissue, once again trying to hold back a snarky remark against her. You opt to stay silent and simply throw the used tissue into the trash bin and are about to make your way out when Shinji suddenly starts her monologue.

“First Jihoon, then Minghao, then Junhui, and now Wonwoo,” she says to herself, though the words are definitely meant for you to hear. “I wonder what it is they see in you. You don’t even write that well.”

She’s doing this to rile you up, you remind yourself, and she’s doing an excellent job at it. You’re not sure why the sound of Wonwoo’s name leaving her lips annoys you more than it should on top of her groundless statement against your works. You don’t wait around to find out what she’s going to say next though, you just quickly get out of the restroom and speedily return to your desk.

The desk in front of you is empty, you notice, but your mind is not collected enough to guess where could Minghao possibly be and you bury yourself in your arms as soon as you perch yourself on your desk. The day has barely started and you just want it to end already.

You’re rarely stressed because of work, if you’re being completely honest. This is a job that you enjoy by nature and, even though it isn’t exactly your dream job, it pays quite well and you’re still doing something you love, which is already more than you could ask for.

The few times you’re stressed during office hours, you’d go up the 6th floor where the outdoor-slash-rooftop park is at and just stare into nothing as you sit down on one of the benches. It’s usually quiet there, a place meant to gather your thoughts or simply bask in the moment, and you’re not surprised to find two or three other people there already; all minding their own business without saying anything.

You clasp your fingers together, looking down on your lap as your mind takes you nowhere and everywhere at once. You’ve learned to tune Shinji out for the sake of your sanity, and while most of the time her words don’t bother you anymore, what she’s said about your works and the way she’s mentioned Wonwoo still brings a bitter taste in your mouth.

Truth be told, you haven’t been really confident with your work the past few months—even before the whole Wonwoo fiasco. This is most probably the biggest writer’s block you’ve ever experienced in your career and it just needs to overlap with Wonwoo coming back into your life and Shinji along with her antics.

Her words hurt because you know the last few writings you’ve submitted aren’t your best works. You could’ve done better, but you have no idea what more to add nor what more you can edit. Frustration doesn’t even cover what you’re feeling. Even Seokmin couldn’t tell why you’re so unsatisfied with your final works because to him, it was already perfect. There was no sentence too wordy, no diction too hard, no nothing. He’d remind you all is good and it’s perfect—that there’s nothing wrong with what you’ve written. It doesn’t one hundred percent help, but it’s Lee Seokmin and he’s the master of reassuring people that everything’s going to be okay.

With Seokmin gone, so is your constant reassurance. You can’t expect Wonwoo to treat you the same, not when you don’t even tell him your own works have been bothering you. Not when he doesn’t try to talk to you and not when you don’t give him any chance to talk either.

“Something in your mind?” Just like he knows you were just thinking about him, Wonwoo appears next to you, startling you out of your thoughts.

You just shake your head, though, unsure if you want to talk to Wonwoo just yet. He’s not even sitting that close to you, but his presence beside you feels intense. The warmth his body is radiating reaches out to you in a more pleasant way than you’d like to admit.

“You’ve got your stressed posture on, you know?” he says softly, though his eyes are looking forward instead of at you. “You’re absentmindedly playing with your fingers, gaze empty, and eyebrows furrowed—”

“Please don’t,” you stop him, trying your best to even your breath. Maybe you’re like this because the day—perhaps even months—hasn’t been kind to you, or perhaps it’s because Wonwoo is so close yet he feels so foreign. But at the moment, you find it getting harder to blink back the tears in your eyes.

“Sorry, I—”

“No, please,” you say one more time, your voice wavering. Frankly, you’ve never imagined you’d be close to tears when you talk to Wonwoo again after so long. You’re not stupid enough to think you’d be able to greet him with a smile, but to be crying in front of him? That’s unthinkable even for you. At most, you thought you’d just pretend like you don’t see him and maybe act like his memories don’t hurt anymore.

But how were you supposed to know that the day you finally talk to him again is when you’re in a slump and it’s just been a bad day after all? How were you supposed to know that you’d want to be near him because his presence still brings you comfort, even when it’s still clear in your mind how much you suffered because of him? How were you supposed to know his voice would still bring warmth to your heart, as if he didn’t break the very same heart a year ago?

“Please don’t speak like we’re close to each other,” you say with a small voice, exhaling a deep breath once you’ve managed to stop the tears from falling down. “You’re my editor and I’m your writer, okay? That’s it.”

You don’t turn to see Wonwoo’s reaction, fearing that however he’d react would shift something within you even more. You immediately leave after that, missing the way Wonwoo’s shoulders slump in defeat, his eyes never leaving your figure until the door of the rooftop closes once again.

Three.

Unfortunately for you, the annual company workshop is coming. This means Joshua is going to be an ass about all of you taking part in it even though it’s barely a workshop and more of a 2 days and 1 night trip, in which you’re all mostly just gonna lay around and relax instead of passing ideas and discussing about the future of your department.

Having only worked there for barely a year, you’ve only experienced one workshop before this. It’s pretty enjoyable, if you’re being honest, just like going on a short trip with your classmates. But with the whole Wonwoo situation, you’re not sure anymore.

Ever since that day, you feel like Wonwoo has put a visible distance between the two of you, which is something that you should be glad for because it was you who basically told him to stay away. But in truth, you just kind of feel bad everytime you catch him stealing glances at you as if he has something he’d like to say.

It’s not like you hate Wonwoo, but you simply don’t think you have it in you to talk to him as if nothing happened between the two of you. It’s been a year, painfully long and short at the same time, but you’re still not ready to face Wonwoo again after the break up. Maybe it’s because, deep down, you know you still want him back, and you’re afraid whatever strength you’ve mustered to stand back again on your feet would crumble in a matter of seconds the moment you let your guard down and talk to him.

The little voice in the back of your mind would sometimes ask if you wouldn’t regret it, if you want to miss the chance of making things better with Wonwoo now that he’s appeared in your life again.

Sometimes you wonder if the fact that you did not see Wonwoo at all in the span of a year is the reason why you’re not as bitter as people would imagine you’d be even after seeing him again. Maybe whatever bitterness and pain you bear have mostly evaporated as time goes by, and even though the scar is still there to remind you about how it came to be, you’re no longer as hurt as you initially were.

You're just mostly disoriented.

Would you react differently if this had happened only three or four months after breaking up with him? You can’t tell for sure, but you know you’d still be too overflown by emotion that you wouldn’t even be half as calm. What you’re certain of is that it was the best choice for you that you didn’t see him at all after the break up; not even on Instagram because Wonwoo rarely updates anyway, and you have developed a habit of not checking social medias to avoid anything that might give you the slightest update on him ever since.

“You look stressed,” Jihoon comments as he sits down next to you on the bench near the main door of your company building, waiting for the others to arrive. There would probably be 10 or so people, as this is a workshop exclusively for your small department and, like from before, you’re just going to use the company cars to go to the rented house.

“I am stressed,” you sigh tiredly. “Shinji hasn’t gotten off my back and she’s somehow managed to convince Hyuna to change the layout of where my work would be in the magazine and it just...changes everything.”

Jihoon sends you a pitiful look, well aware of Shinji’s persistence to make your job harder when she could. “At least we could relax for a short while until tomorrow, right?”

You nod in agreement, about to say something else when Jihoon calls for Wonwoo who has just arrived. You freeze a little at the sight of him, nodding back as he greets you and sits down next to Jihoon. Goddamn it, it has been so long since you’ve seen him in casual clothes and doesn’t he look good even when he’s simply wearing a plain navy shirt with long black pants.

“Has the other not arrived yet?” Wonwoo asks no one in particular—though he hopes that it’d be you who answers—trying not to get caught stealing glances at you.

Obviously, it is Jihoon who answers. “I think I saw Seungkwan, Lisa, and Mingyu inside. Not sure about the others.”

“Who are going, again?”

“Just the people on our floor, basically,” Jihoon says, much to Wonwoo’s relief. “Other than the ones I’ve mentioned; Joshua, Junhui, Minghao, Jennie, Chan, Soonyoung, Somi, and Hanna, I think? Not sure if I missed anyone.”

Wonwoo gives him a silent ‘ooh’ as an answer, not having any comment on that. The three of you fall silent after, and you don’t know if Jihoon can feel the awkwardness looming over you and Wonwoo, but the guy suddenly stands up, much to your horror, saying he needs to go to the restroom and leaves just like that.

You’ve never been so tense in your life before this, but you’re pretty sure at this point, you can cut through the heavy atmosphere between you and Wonwoo with a knife, an awkward distance where Jihoon sat haunting the both of you. You’d stand up and pretend like you’re taking a call if you could, but you’re actually frozen in place as if your body is unsure what to do.

It is Wonwoo who breaks the silence, and you let him be because you’re lying if you say you haven’t been beating yourself up over your own words on the rooftop a few weeks ago.

“Are you looking forward to the workshop?” he starts, picking a very safe topic in hope you wouldn’t shut him off again.

“Yeah,” you reply hoarsely, as if your throat is surprised that you’re answering. “Last year’s was great, but I’ve only been once, so…”

“Right, you’ve been working here for how long?” he asks carefully, hoping that the way he’s looking at you isn’t too intense that it’d make you uncomfortable.

“Uh, it’s going to be a year in a month or so I think,” you reply as you shift in your seat uncomfortably. You actually got interviewed for this job a week before the break up happened, and between the impending doom of your relationship and your reluctance to talk to him at the time, you hadn’t had the time to tell Wonwoo about it. Two weeks after your break up, they called you in and gave you the good news. You’d like to think it’s the universe’s way of helping you distract yourself from your misery even though you still cried yourself to sleep for a few weeks after that.

Wonwoo stays silent after that, his mind immediately takes him back to a year ago when he left your apartment with eyes empty and heart the heaviest he’s ever felt in his life.

He can still remember thinking it’s a relief that he managed to get back to Seungcheol’s place in one piece—because he didn’t remember at all how he got there. It was like his body walked itself to his cousin’s house on autopilot, his mind never leaving you as it replayed the picture of you with your jaw taut and eyes red from holding back tears. He could even see the way your lips trembled as you tried not to cry, and it’s still crystal clear in his ears, even this very second, the way you finally gasped the moment he stepped out of your door, softly closing it behind him.

“You guys okay?” Shua says, making the both of you turn to him in surprise. Shua sends you a worried glance, but you give him a small smile to reassure him all is fine; he’s probably worried, remembering the way you begged him to change your editor.

You look around to find practically everyone’s arrived already. They’re busy talking to themselves, you notice. On one circle is Jennie, Minghao, and Mingyu, seemingly having a serious discussion by the way they’re frowning and hands flaunting around, on another are Somi, Junhui, Soonyoung, and Hanna.

And then there’s Jihoon, that ass, busy having fun as he watches Chan and Seungkwan mess around. This man really has it in him to be laughing after leaving you and Wonwoo together.

You’re never going to tell anyone you’re kind of glad it happens.

You somehow end up being in the same car as Wonwoo even though Joshua literally has all of you draw a stick to decide who gets on which car. You also somehow happen to sit next to him, because you need to go to the restroom last minute and that makes you get in the car last. Of course the only seat available is next to him.

No one tells you you fell asleep on Wonwoo’s shoulder for the majority of the road trip, and you have no idea because your head moves from Wonwoo to Seungkwan who’s sitting on your other side just ten minutes before the car reaches your destination.

No one says anything about the way Wonwoo also fell asleep on you, painting a picture perfect of lovers napping together until he stirs and leans his head back instead.

So far, the day has been better than you expect it to be. You wonder if your little conversation with Wonwoo in the morning helps lessening the tension between you and him if only a little, but the guy seems like he’s less hesitant to hang around wherever you’re at even though he doesn’t engage you in any conversation.

It’s driving you crazy though, the way he’s around but not really. He’s hovering near the kitchen island when you, Mingyu, and Hanna are given the task to cook, which annoys Mingyu who eventually tells him to at least help if he’s going to be standing around. He almost knocks off Mingyu’s special sauce, which makes you laugh when the tall guy kicks him out of the kitchen for being a hazard; Wonwoo frowns before he complies, even though there’s a suppressed smile in his face at the sound of your laughter.

When you’re all sitting in a circle in the living room to talk and play games, Wonwoo’s sitting just two seats away from you; the perfect seat to get a glimpse of you without being too far away. His glances are getting bolder and he doesn’t always look away when you catch his eyes.

Once evening falls and dinner is nearing, you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung are chosen to do grocery. You’ve only agreed to go if they promise to exclude you from doing the dishes because you’ve cooked already earlier (also, you don’t actually trust the boys to go shopping by themselves, if you’re being completely honest).

Wonwoo doesn’t even try to say no when they tell him to drive because Joshua is sleeping and Mingyu’s still playing in the pool with Minghao.

You should’ve known though, bringing Soonyoung and Seungkwan means the two immediately flee to the snack sections the moment you step into the supermarket. You share an amused glance with Wonwoo, chuckling a little as you push the trolley to the meat sections.

“You’d think they’d have everything ready, huh?” Wonwoo shakes his head even though there’s a smile on his face, happy that you don’t seem to be as bothered with his presence.

“Shua’s only strict about deadlines, not so much about everything else,” you roll your eyes, already expecting something like this was bound to happen. Shua’s unexpectedly clumsy at times, and he’s probably forgotten that he needs to buy enough grocery that’d last until tomorrow morning and not just the meal you’ve all eaten earlier.

Silence envelops the both of you after that; you wouldn’t go as far as saying it’s comfortable, but it’s not tense and only a little awkward which is already a big step in your newfound dynamic if you might say so. The thought has started to consume your mind though, and you’re conscious about how painfully close Wonwoo is next to you. You’re probably exaggerating, because it’s not like his arm’s brushing yours or anything. In fact, Wonwoo has his hands in his jean pockets and there’s a safe distance between the two of you as he continues to follow your step.

You shake your head to snap out of it, immediately turning to see the meat and whatnots.

“I don’t think that’s enough,” Wonwoo exclaims when he sees you about to leave the section, his eyes examining what you’ve put down in the trolley.

“They’re probably going to order chicken and cook ramyeon, too,” you shrug. “This is just the right amount of food, gotta teach them to have enough instead of too much.”

Wonwoo grins at that, very used to this particular tendency of yours because you hate it when people don’t finish their food. Something in his heart flutters at the familiarity of it—of the whole thing, really, he’s missed doing grocery with you.

“You do remember there are a lot of guys? And Jihoon eats like there’s no tomorrow,” he tries to push you just for the sake of it.

Just like he’s expected, you simply glare at him and continue on your way as you push the trolley in front of you. Wonwoo snorts a little at that, but is quick to act innocent when you actually stop in your track and tell him to quit it with your eyes. Wonwoo bites back a grin, then quickly catches up with you and takes the trolley from you.

He’s standing way too close for a few seconds, his hand brushes yours when he pulls the trolley to himself that you actually inhale a deep breath and gladly exhale when he steps away and pushes the trolley forward. You can practically hear your heartbeat drumming like crazy in your ears and nothing has even actually happened.

“Are you not coming?” Wonwoo calls you over when he realizes you’re not following him. When he looks back, you look up at him in surprise as if you’re in a daze. He doesn’t comment on it, though, simply signals you to start walking.

“Oooh, look at this,” he takes a bag of chips and shakes it around. It’s one of your favorites, you notice, and you can recall the how much Wonwoo used to nag you over the stack of chips in your apartment. “I’ll take this one.”

You look at him in surprise, the words out of your mouth before you even realize. “You don’t even like snacks.”

“I enjoy them from time to time now,” he mutters with a shrug, a spark of hope lights up in his heart because of your words. Wonwoo drops his voice lower before saying, “Reminds me of you.”

“What did you say?” you ask, not quite catching his words.

“Nothing,” he gives you a small smile, pushing the trolley again to the next section so you wouldn’t see the hopeful look in his eyes. “Where do you think Soonyoung and Seungkwan go?”

“Here!” Soonyoung answers helpfully, his voice coming from the aisle right next to where you and Wonwoo’s at.

The both of them, apparently, have taken another trolley and it’s full of no actual food, just lots and lots of snacks and too much sugary drinks at the bottom of it. You look at them, unimpressed, and at least they still have the decency to smile sheepishly.

“Come on,” Seungkwan tries to convince you, and Wonwoo simply watches the scene in front of him in amusement as he leans his weight on the trolley handle. “It’s the company card! And Shua really doesn’t care that we’re buying snacks instead of food—ow! Don’t hit me, woman! I will report you to the upper high for abuse!”

Next to him, Soonyoung has been nodding in agreement until you send a glare his way.

“It’s less about company money and more about you guys consuming too much of these in the span of one night,” you tell him, a worried frown on your voice.

“We can always bring whatever’s left to the office’s pantry,” Soonyoung pipes from the side quietly, looking at you like a child asking for permission. “...or not?”

Wonwoo laughs at that, nudging you a little so you’ll wear the glare off. “He’s right, you know? You can just separate some of the snacks and leave them in the car if you’re worried they’d be eating too much. Our pantry is getting emptier, anyway.”

You turn to him in betrayal, and Wonwoo has to hold back everything in him not to squish your face. “You’re on their side?”

Wonwoo nonchalantly shrugs with a coy smile. “It’s not like you don’t enjoy snacks, too.”

“Moooom,please?” Seungkwan calls you with a playful grin, his hands swaying your arm from side to side. “Even Dad says yes.”

You gape in disbelief, mostly because Seungkwan is implying you and Wonwoo are a thing in his made-up family, though Wonwoo just seems to be happy with the whole situation from beside you. “I hope you know if I were to adopt a kid it wouldn’t be you.”

Seungkwan lets out a dramatic gasp, leaving you to hug Wonwoo’s arm instead. The taller guy just barks another laugh and lets him be. “How can she? How can she?”

You notice Soonyoung moves from the corner of your vision and you look at him warily, waiting to see what he’s going to do. But he quietly stands next to you, weakly circling his arms around yours like a little kid even though his height is towering over you.

“I’m on your side, Mom,” he declares innocently, and Seungkwan still has it in him to act like he’s in disbelief, shaking his head at Soonyoung in mock betrayal.

“Great,” Wonwoo claps once to get your attention. “We get one child each. Pretty fair, I would say.”

You unknowingly snort at that. The situation is pretty amusing even if you’re in denial about the whole thing. And, along with the wayyour face is getting warm, you know the reason behind the butterflies rowdily flying in your stomach is because of the stupid grin in Wonwoo’s face.

Four.

After dinner, the lot of you actually sit down in the living room to talk about how work has been to all of you, if anyone’s having a hard time writing or if there’s any concept suggestions about your magazine’s special edition.

The discussion goes on for a good three hours with almost everyone taking turns to share their ideas or simply talk about their struggle with writer’s block. Mingyu shares that the managing editor has been annoying these days, which Wonwoo and Seungkwan easily agree with.

You mostly just listen, not really in the mood to talk about your own writer’s block even though you know these are the people who would whole fully understand. When Lisa talks about how she’s been struggling because she has, without meaning to, changed her style of writing, you can relate to the desperation in her voice on a spiritual level.

“It’s just… frustrating,” she has said earlier. “My writing doesn’t feel like it’s my writing but I don’t know what’s exactly wrong with it.”

Mingyu, as her editor, has told her to take it slow and reminded her that changes aren’t always bad and her works are still one of the works the editor-in-chief always favours. You wonder what would Wonwoo say if this was you, but you don’t really have any plan to confide Wonwoo in about it even though things are definitely no longer tense between the two of you after the grocery episode.

It’s midnight when the discussion comes to an end, some immediately wash up to get ready for bed while some hang around the living room. You find yourself sitting on the edge of the pool, your feet submerged in the water as you bask on the quiet night under the moonlight, a ballad playing on your earbuds to accompany you at 12 in the evening.

“Can I join you?” you hear someone say, and you look up to find Wonwoo staring down at you. You’re pretty sure he’d leave if you say no, but you nod and turn your head back to stare into the pool in front of you As you remove your airbuds before putting them in your pocket. Maybe it’s the little alcohol within you speaking, but you’re not in any hurry to turn him away.

At least not right now.

“Why are you outside?” You break the silence, surprising him.

“Not sleepy yet,” he tells you half the truth, though he doesn’t continue and says he sees you heading out and wants to take the chance of talking to you. “You?”

“It’s a beautiful night,” you shrug, your hand softly playing with the water.

“You have always liked the moon and the stars, haven’t you?” he says without missing a beat, only then realising that it might be too soon to talk about stuff he knows out of memories. He’s about to apologize when you chuckle instead, the sound of it warming his heart in ways unimaginable.

You look down on your fingers moving in the water; back and forth, back and forth. “That I do. There’s just something so beautiful about them, you know?”

“They are,” he smiles gently even though you don’t see it. “You must try looking at them from this camping site in Gapyeong. You’ll love it.”

You turn to Wonwoo in surprise, your heart skipping a beat at his proximity. Has he been this close the whole time?

“You go camping now?” you ask in astonishment. Your Jeon Wonwoo from a year ago would never even know about camping sites and this Wonwoo is recommending you camping sites for stargazing?

“Seungcheol forced me to go with him once,” he explains, smiling at the memory of Choi Seungcheol basically pulling him from his room so he would stop moping over you. “It was unexpectedly healing, so I’d tag along from time to time now.”

A gentle smile blooms on your face at the familiar name. You used to talk to Seungcheol from time to time before, and even though you’re not exactly close with him, he was still one of the dear friends you’ve lost over the break up with Wonwoo.

“How is he, anyway?” you decide to go for it, might as well now that you’re here.

“Still wrapped in Yoon Jeonghan’s fingers,” he grins, sharing another laugh with you at the mention of Seungcheol’s boyfriend. The two have been dating for years now, and, at some point, the four of you would do movie nights together during weekends. You’re glad that part of Wonwoo’s life hasn’t changed yet.

“Have they moved in together at last?”

“Yeah, by kicking me out,” Wonwoo scrunches his nose in mock annoyance, though he’s happy for the couple. You send him a curious glance, one that he knows you’d give when you don’t mind if the other party doesn’t wish to say anything. “I… uh, I lived with Seungcheol for a while after… we broke up. Turns out they already planned on moving in together when… when I needed a place to stay. The room I used was supposed to be Jeonghan’s when they needed time for themselves, but they told me I could use it until—uh, until I find a place on my own. Eventually I moved out, though, because I knew they actually wanted privacy and Hansol told me he’s looking for a new roommate. So… yeah.”

You stay silent after that, collecting your thoughts together before you answer him. You remember thinking about Wonwoo’s whereabouts after he walked out of your apartment. He practically lived with you before even though you both had never really talked about it; but what was there to say when he already had his own drawer in your place? When you already took turns washing the dishes and doing chores as if it’s the most obvious thing to do?

What was there to say when the warmth of his body against yours was always the first thing that greeted your sense the moment your eyes fluttered open?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Beside you, Wonwoo slightly shifts to get a better look at you, unsure what prompts your apology. “I… I feel like I should’ve given you more time to look for a new place. I could’ve stayed with my sister while you… packed up and got ready. Instead, everything was rushed and I’m sure a lot of your things are still in my place.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Wonwoo reassures you, his comforting voice still has the effect it did a year ago. “I got Seungcheol too, and it was pretty nice living with him. That just gives me a reason to come back and get it someday, yeah?”

You force out a smile, though you nod, to Wonwoo’s surprise, telling him he’s welcome to come and gather whatever he has that’s still sitting in your apartment. “I’m pretty sure Jisoo and Chaeyoung simply chucked your stuff that caught their eyes into that big bag and be done with it.”

Wonwoo slightly swings his legs in the water, enjoying the cold feeling against his skin.

“I could tell,” he grins. “There were mostly my pants and barely any shirts, did you know? They somehow packed the pairs of shoes and the toothbrush I left in your place, though.”

“I know,” you laugh, your mind goes to the box full of Wonwoo’s shirts and some of his stuff still hidden in your closet. “Hansol probably didn’t check too. And… I guess we… haven’t had the chance to take care of it.”

You look down to the water, the silence enveloping the both of you suddenly feels heavy in a different way than before. It’s like something’s pushing you to talk, to finally stop avoiding the past and discuss it with Wonwoo, to face your fear and... maybe make peace with it—but what were you supposed to say? That you still miss him and you’ve practically forgotten why you broke up in the first place?

Beside you, Wonwoo moves to get out of the water and you gulp hardly when he extends his hand to you. You take it without hesitation though, letting him pull you to the little gazebo near the pool. You almost whimper when he lets go of your hand and sits down, patting the space next to him to signal you to do the same.

“I miss you, you know?” For a second, you think it’s you who’s said it out loud, but Wonwoo’s voice quietly rumbles through the night. You fidget a little on your seat, the chilly weather plus the fact that you’ve just gotten out of the water makes it somewhat colder. “I’d still think about why we broke up, traced back about what could possibly lead up to it. But whatever possibility that came to mind just seemed… fixable to me, like things that we could’ve talked over.”

Your mind takes you back to the cold war between you and Wonwoo leading to the break up. You’re pretty sure a spark of insecurity was the root of it; perhaps, it once crossed your mind, you were much too romantic and you believed love shouldn’t be able to go cold, that the flame between the two of you should always fire bright without burning off even a little.

You remember speculating if you’re getting bored of him—or he, you—that maybe your love wasn’t as strong as you claimed it to be, and the thought planted even more seeds of insecurity onto your mind. Because how could your love for him get cold when you’ve always thought he’d be the one? How was it possible that you became reluctant to talk to him, afraid that you wouldn’t have the same enthusiasm as you once did once he replied?

How could it be true if you end up with a broken heart for months to come? If your love for him has gone cold, then why did you end up crying yourself to sleep nearly everyday after the break up? If all of that was true, then how come you turned empty inside like the half of you had been ripped apart?

If you no longer love him, then how come you still long for his warmth and his laugh even after going through what could possibly be the worst heartbreak in your life?

“Why… do you think we broke up?” you ask, blaming the trace of alcohol in your system for the bold question.

Wonwoo coughs in surprise, but quickly regains his calm not long after. Before he answers, though, you cut him off again.

“Let me rephrase that,” you bite your lip, suddenly realizing how painfully close Wonwoo is sitting next to you. “Do you think… it was right, that we broke up?”

You can hear Wonwoo take a sharp breath beside you and you wonder if you’ve asked the wrong question. What right do you have to ask about this, anyway? You were practically the one who pushed him away and it wasn’t until today that you allowed him to make a conversation with you, but now you’re asking him this? Even you wouldn’t answer if it had been the other way around.

But Wonwoo doesn’t seem to mind and you’re unsure if you’re simply imagining the way he shifts closer to you.

“Do you want me to be completely honest?” he says, looking at you. You hold his gaze and Wonwoo takes your silence as a yes. “It’d be a lie to say I still think about it everyday since then. But at some point, I did. I thought long and hard about what went wrong, about our problems, how it came to that. I tried to remember if you’d said something—anything, really, that might be signs that I failed to catch. But I’m not...sure if I’m just really daft or if I simply can’t remember.”

You’re about to reply, but Wonwoo is seemingly not done and he continues to spill his heart out—things that he doesn’t think he’d be able to tell you if he waits any longer because he’d hesitate, he’d change his mind, and he’d regret that he didn’t tell you.

“I thought we should be okay, you know? I loved you and you loved me, and I thought that was enough,” he smiles bitterly. You wince at the use of past tense, wondering if it means he’s completely moved on from you and if you ever really stop loving him.

“But of course it wasn’t. We need more than that to keep a relationship going no matter how much I loved you and you, me. It’s… it’s not until I started living with Seungcheol and Jeonghan to notice this, to be honest. Living with them means I got to see the stuff that we don’t usually see in a relationship, like how they fight and how they make up.

They probably also had to tone it down a little with me around, but it was still clear to me how much they tried to be the bigger person for each other when problems arose. Sometimes it’s not their fault, but they know the other isn’t in the best condition so they let it be. And then, after a while, they’d apologize and move on like the fight has never even happened.”

You stay silent at this, trying to digest his words as your mind replays the way you and Wonwoo would usually just give each other the cold shoulders when something bothered either of you. You’d like to blame your and Wonwoo’s tendency to be quiet, but it was a part of you that you should change to have a healthy relationship. It’s also true that with your tendency to just give each other the silent treatment after a fight, you started thinking that talking it out would be a waste of time, that it would lead to another fight and you’d rather just avoid it altogether.

This, you finally realize, along with your idea of the perfect romantic relationship, is what eventually drifted you two to an end. It wasn’t that you stopped loving each other, your feeling for each other was very much real; just that you didn’t know how to properly grow the flower that was your relationship.

As much as Wonwoo was your first serious relationship, you were his, too, which is why you both were wandering on a pretty much unfamiliar territory. Just like Wonwoo, you also thought your love for each other should be enough to keep the relationship alive, but you forgot that a flower doesn’t only need water to bloom; it needs the sun, maybe even fertilizer, and a touch of regularity. It’s a constant process. You don’t stop taking care of the flower even after it blooms; you continue taking care of it until you come to the decision of plucking it off.

You wonder if your flower with Wonwoo had even bloomed properly when you two decided it was enough.

You take a deep breath, and then you finally tell him about how you felt and what you think drove you to that decision. That you were insecure and you thought something was wrong with your enthusiasm towards him gradually lessening, that maybe you were getting too used to his presence that it didn’t excite you anymore.

“It wasn’t… supposed to be like this, I remember thinking to myself,” you sniffle, the memories of those nights bringing tears to your eyes. “I loved you so somuch, but why did I find myself getting less excited talking to you? It scared me… what if you’re feeling like this, too? And then you also started to talking to me less and less and—”

“Oh, baby,” Wonwoo quickly moves closer to you as you suddenly choke on your tears, the petname he used to call you when you’re feeling down slips out before he even realizes. But that’s not important and neither of you really care when you’re literally trying to hold back your sobs behind your palm to no avail.

Wonwoo pulls you to his chest, and that’s when your wall crumbles and the tears freely fall from your eyes. Wonwoo continues to whisper against your head, doing his best to comfort you and to calm himself down because this is not the time to have his heart drumming rowdily against his ribcage when you could probably hear it from where you’re at.

When he feels your fingers gripping his shirt, Wonwoo hugs you tighter, as if that’s even possible. Once you’ve calmed down enough and your hiccups are the only thing that’s left, you hear Wonwoo whisper once again that it’s okay and he’s sorry for the time he left you to cry on your own. You almost cry again at that, but you take a deep breath and rest your head against his chest for a few seconds before you finally look up at him.

The first thing that comes to your mind is Wonwoo’s so beautiful like this, smiling down at you under the moonlight. You don’t know why he would be smiling at you when you’re certain you’re looking a mess; your eyes are probably puffy from the sudden outburst and your nose is most likely red from the same reason.

But Wonwoo’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on and you’d be lying if you say it doesn’t make your heart flutter like crazy.

Wonwoo reaches up to cup your face, his thumb carefully caresses the trace of tears there as his other hand rests on your waist.

“Would it be stupid if I say those were my exact thoughts at the time, too?” he smiles a little too bitterly. Not at you, but at the reminder that he was too busy with his insecurity that he didn’t realize you were basically in the same situation as he was. If only you both had talked it out...

“Huh?”

“I… I was afraid you’re getting bored of me, so when I noticed you’re talking to me less and less I… just thought it’d be best to follow your pace. I don’t want you to feel like you’re forced to be in this relationship—to be with me.”

You let out a small gasp at that, your fingers digging into your palm as everything suddenly clicks in your head. “Is that… Is that why you simply agreed when I… when I brought up the break up?”

Wonwoo smiles tightly before he nods, the hand that was on your cheek falls down to his side and you can feel the fingers on your waist tightening. “I always… told myself that there’d be no way for us to break up… unless you’re the one who asked. Since the beginning, I promised myself to let you go if it was your call because I don’t want you to...feel like our relationship is a burden you have to carry. So when you said you want to end...us, it didn’t matter to me that I didn't want it to end. What mattered was you thought it was best that we end it and I must’ve done something wrong if it came to that point.”

The countless nights that you cried because you thought Wonwoo didn’t care flash through your mind. All those time… you could’ve just talked to each other and go from there. Instead, you both had assumed and made the wrong choices, suffering by yourselves for… nothing, apparently.

“We’re so stupid, aren’t we?” you say it out loud, an incredulous laugh coming out of your lips.

Wonwoo simply chuckles, and you can feel yourself getting warm as his arm has somehow wound itself further around your figure. You exhale a little before braving yourself to scoot closer and rest your head against his neck. You can obviously hear Wonwoo take a sharp breath at that, but you don’t say anything about it.

For a moment, you and Wonwoo simply stay like that, no words are exchanged even though there’s a silent question looming over the both of you. For now, it’s just the two of you pressed against each other under the bright moonlight at ungodly hour that usually would haunt you awake.

At some point, you’ve started to talk about anything and everything, and you’re laughing with each other as if you weren’t just crying your heart out not even an hour ago.

“No, really! I can’t believe you would go camping with Seungcheol willingly,” you shake your head with a laugh, looking at him with eyes that Wonwoo believes reflect all the stars in the universe. How he misses this—misses you and your laugh and everything about you.

“Well, if I’m being honest,” he starts, a shy grin on his face. “He had to drag me out because he thought the time I spent alone in my room after the break up couldn’t be healthy.”

Despite his light-hearted tone, your heart stings. You’ve never imagined that he’d be suffering just like you were, and to picture Wonwoo being in a more or less same condition as you were—

“Hey, it’s fine,” he cuts off your thoughts, knowing that it will go literally everywhere if he doesn't. “It’s passed and… it’s not just your fault. Didn’t we agree that we were both stupid?”

You give him a small smile and a nod, telling him that you get what he’s saying but it’s hard not to blame yourself because you were the one who asked for the break up after all.

“Maybe we needed it,” Wonwoo says, prompting you to look up at him curiously. “Maybe we needed the break up to happen to get to this point. If we kept our relationship without trying to figure out what was wrong, we would just hurt each other more—assume more things and choose more wrong decisions. The time we spent apart allowed us to step back and figure things out slowly, which was what we exactly needed, don’t you think? Yes, it would’ve been preferable if we didn’t have to go through those miserable thoughts, but I’d like to think that it’s just… a part of the process that we needed to go through so we can grow—so we’d know better.”

The both of you fall into silence after that, your head snugs deeper into his warmth and his arm hugs you tighter to his side. You wonder what this means to the both of you, and you’re pretty sure Wonwoo does too, but you’re not brave enough to voice it out loud, afraid that it’d be too fast, that it would burst this bubble of happiness you’re sharing with him.

This morning you were still trying to avoid him, and now you’re here plastered to his side, sharing warmth with each other as if it’s the most natural thing to do.

The silent question heavily engulfs the two of you and, after some time, it’s Wonwoo who takes the first step.

“You know we don’t have to decide anything right now, right?”

You pull away to meet his eyes, and there’s a certain kind of tenderness in his eyes that would’ve made you weak on your knees had you not been sitting down right now.

“We’ve got time and we can… try to figure out what would be the best after this,” he says softly, one of his hands reaching out to fix the hair that falls into your face and pushes it back behind your ear. “But, for the record, I hope you know this isn’t me hesitating to be with you again.”

Your heart quickens at the thought of getting back together with this man in front of you, and you know Wonwoo’s giving you time to figure out if that’s what you really want. As much as you wish to jump back into the relationship with Wonwoo again to make up for the time lost, you know there are a lot of things you need to discuss with him, to make sure that your relationship wouldn’t crumble because of the same reason again.

This time, you have to make sure your flower will bloom into its best form instead of getting plucked somewhere along the way or worse, withered.

This time, you have to remember that it’s not only water your flower needs, that you have to take care of it with love and with constant effort no matter how big or small.

“We’ll figure it out together?” you ask softly.

Wonwoo smiles before he nods, and then he moves forward to let his lips linger on your forehead, your skin tingling from the touch.

“We’ll figure everything together.”

©wonwoonlight – all rights reserved.

#wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo angst #seventeen angst #seventeen fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagine #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo fic #seventeen oneshot #seventeen scenario #svt fic #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo oneshot #wonwoo x reader #svt angst #seventeen au #wonwoo au

[a-wildemusing]

The Three of Us: A Late Night at the Cafe. 

word count: 1,676~

genre: Kenma x platonic!reader, Kuroo x Platonic!reader.

warnings: nothing I can think of. probably any mistakes.

summary: Y/n took the late shift at the Cafe they work at. It’s been a slow night until unexpectedly a whole volleyball team decides to get a late snack. 

a/n: this is part of a series I’m doing, called the Three of Us. Its made up events and adventures with being best friends with Kuroo and Kenma. Hope you enjoy!

The Three of Us. ✨ Masterlist. ✨

--

The night was going to be a long one, you thought. As a courtesy to your boss lady, you said that you would take her closing shift so she and her family could spend the evening together. It was her son’s birthday. You wanted them to spend as much time with her family as possible. There was no class the following day, so it all worked out. You could sleep in and your boss lady can relax. 

A few customers came in, but it wasn't overwhelming. Even at the last hour, you even told your co-worker they can go home early. You have done this many times before. Taking the closing shift wasn't anything new to you. The boss lady did not hesitate to trust you.  

It was a quiet night. Only two people came in for drinks after your coworker left. They left after a short stay. You were on your own after that. From the front window of the cafe, you looked out. Occasionally, a car passed by. As the minutes passed, the streets began to clear. After catching yourself spacing out, you decided to keep busy and start cleaning a little.

You had your back turned from the door. Cleaning the counters a little while waiting for closing time. There were still forty minutes left. You were minding your own business. Humming along with the low melody of the song playing over the speakers.  

This sort of quiet was sometimes enjoyable to you. However, it was beginning to feel a little overwhelming. You went too deep into your thoughts. 

The past few months have been interesting. There were many things coming up soon. Summer break was just around the corner. Graduation was drawing near for third-year students. In the coming term, Kuroo will be attending university. Kenma and you were going to be third years. Everything felt a little overwhelming. 

As you sighed, you began to organize some things. Your work routine slowly returns and you try not to space out again.     

Your ears were alerted to the chimes from the door. A smile soon appeared on your face as soon as you turned around to see your smirking best friend. You had a slightly confused expression on your face, but the smile was still prominent. Kuroo was standing with what seemed like the whole volleyball team. 

“Welcome!” You cheerfully said putting down the rag you were using the clean moments ago.  

You smiled at Kuroo. “What are you guys doing here? I thought you guys had practice” 

“We-

“Y/n, can I still order?” Lev interrupted Kuroo. Lev walked towards you with heart eyes. Kuroo rolled his eyes and sat at the nearest table. Kenma follows him. Both of them are watching you. Before giving Lev your full attention, you shook your head at the two. 

“Oh. yeah! Of course,” You said cheerfully as you made your way to the cash register. “What can I get you, Lev?” 

The rest of the team lined up behind Lev to order and offer a small greeting as well. After taking some orders, you take a short break to make the drinks or give the snacks to the boys. Even though they had practiced, everyone was so lively. Kuroo caught your eye as you glanced over at him. A smile spread across his face. It was as if he knew you needed the company. 

Kenma finally came up to you to say hi when it seemed you had a small moment to yourself.   You handed him a box to go. 

“Hi, Kenma.” You smiled. “I saved that for you.” 

Kenma opens the box to see a piece of apple pie. He smiles, and thanks you before sitting with Yamamoto. Then you went back making drinks again.

Once everyone had their food and drinks. You went around chatting with everyone. Yaku and Fukunaga were the two you ended up with. The two of them took care of you by protecting you from Lev, Inouka, and Yamamoto from simping too hard or bothering you. 

All in all, it was a good time. You felt so much better. The thoughts you thought earlier weren't so bothersome to you anymore. 

In time, the volleyball team began to slowly leave. Everyone said goodbye and thanks to you.  Before leaving, some of them helped you stack some of the chairs on top of the tables. All that remained was to mop the floors and finalize the cash register. 

Soon the only person that was left was Kuroo. Kenma was actually feeling tired and went home with the rest.

“Thanks for tonight.” As Kuroo grabbed the spare mop, you said softly, "I was kind of feeling weird." You moved the mop side to side as you slowly walked backward, not making eye contact with him.

"I remember you telling me you would be taking the night shift and we ended practice early. So why not.” Kuroo said while he mopped an area a little further apart from you. “But what’s up?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. 

“I am sure you do. How am I supposed to give you amazing advice if you don’t tell me what’s bugging you? How can your elder help you?” Kuroo teases you. 

You shake your head with a small smile on your face. “You are only one year older than me... Shut up.” 

A chuckle escaped Kuroo's lips. Then he taps your mop with his. Bringing your eyes up to look at him. As you hold the mop and pretend to be holding a sword, Kuroo follows your lead and does the same. 

“I don’t know…” You softly tap your mop with his a couple of times. “What are we going to do without you, Kuroo?” You leaned the mop by the counter. 

“What do you mean? I’m not leaving.” 

“Yes, you are. This is your last year. Graduation is coming soon.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. We have been together since we were kids and I don't know... Maybe I'm just being weird.” You looked down.

“No. No. you’re not. To be honest with you. I thought about this.” 

“Really?” You looked back up to meet Kuroo’s eyes. There was a seriousness to them.

“Yeah, really. I was thinking that I get one whole year without you and Kenma. How peaceful will that be.” 

You nudged him playfully, “ Hey!”

Kuroo starts laughing, putting the mop that he was holding down next to yours. He leans on the counter to keep his balance. 

Kuroo as he calms down. “It’s not like I’m leaving the face of the Earth Y/n. Plus, you are going to the same university as me.” Kuroo teases. 

“I know! Okay…it’s just I-I’m... I’m going to miss you.” You give him a small smile. 

But with that Kuroo starts laughing again.  

“Oh come on, Kuroo let me be sappy for a second.” You sighed and gave Kuroo a shove. “You’re my best friend...my annoying older brother. God. Maybe, this is going to be a nice break from your teasing!” Your vision slowly started to blur. You shocked your head. 

“I’m going to miss seeing you every day,” Kuroo said, as he walked towards you. He wraps you in a hug and you return the hug. “But don’t worry. It’s going to be like I haven’t left. I’m going to bug you and Kenma as much as possible.”

You rolled your eyes but hugged Kuroo a little harder. The both of you stayed like that for a bit.

“Hey, come on. I know you still have to finalize the cash register and it's getting late.” Kuroo lets go of you. 

You and Kuroo completed the cleaning and you completed the cash register after your conversation. The cafe was locked. The two of you walked home together. It was a quiet walk and train ride home. Each of you taking a moment to ponder over the small conversation you both had. 

There was going to be a lot of change. Getting used to not seeing each other every day was going to take some time. However, you knew Kuroo and Kenma would be your closest friends for a long time. 

*Kenma and Y/n during the first two weeks of their third year*

Your alarm went off and when you saw it was the third special alarm you woke up so quickly. A burst of energy helps you race to get yourself ready and out the door. Your third alarm was your last warning before you were going to have zero time to make it to school on time. 

You knew if you were waking up late, Kenma would be as well.  Your hair was a little messy, your uniform wasn't tucked in completely, and there were some papers trapped in the zipper of your school bag.  

“We're going to be late, Kenma!" You barged into Kenma’s room. Kenma is still lying in bed. Opening his eyes gradually, he gazes into the distance towards you by the door. 

“Kenma! Let's go!" You threw his uniform at him. Despite still being confined to his bed, he slowly begins to rise. 

“What do you mean...Kuroo is not here yet.”  Kenma rubs his eyes. 

After a brief pause, you turned your attention to him. Your face displays a sad smile. It's then that Kenma realizes what's going on.

“Oh.” He grabs his uniform.  

Kenma and you were finally out the door and rushing to school. You both were able to catch the train. Both sitting down, you placed your head on Kenma’s shoulder trying to catch your breath.

“How did Kuroo manage to keep us from being late for so long?” You look up smiling at Kenma. 

“I don’t even know.” Kenma takes out his handheld console. 

You lifted your head from Kenma’s shoulder when you felt your phone blowing up with text messages. You smile to yourself seeing who was texting you. Kuroo was texting you asking if you made it on time and if you and Kenma were at school yet. You message him back and then put your phone away. Placing your head back on Kenma’s shoulder to watch him play his game.

--

end notes lol 

~ Kenma and Y/n were so distracted by the game that they almost missed their stop. ಥ‿ಥ

~Kuroo is stressed af bc of Kenma and Y/n and he doesn’t even go to same school as them anymore lol 

#haikyu!! #haikyuu!! #kozume kenma #kenma #hq #hq kenma #kenma x reader #kenma x you #kenma x platonic! reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #hq kuroo #haikyuu!! kuroo #kuroo x platonic!reader #platonic reader #haikyuu x you #a-wildemusing writes

[masterthespianduchovny]

The counter argument to people being against Sam/Rebecca for legitimate reasons are claims that Sam is being “infantilized.”

These age gap conversations in general are difficult to have because one side won’t acknowledge that just because two people are adults doesn’t mean they are in the same place emotionally and mentally. And this is a very important thing to note.

Someone being 18, a legal adult in America (I think you can date adults at 16 in the UK), doesn’t mean they are able to date a significantly older person, say 38, without a problem. Because, more times than not, which is an understatement, there’s a lot of fucking problems in an age gap relationship even if the older person isn’t dating the younger for nefarious reasons.

It is not infantilizing Sam or any young adult to say, “hey, this relationship may be detrimental to them because of their age.” That is just…facts.

Many people on tumblr and other SM sites often talk about how they still feel like kids at 22 and are still figuring life at, despite having jobs, kids, and shit. Despite being in full blown relationships, these young adults don’t feel like adults and that’s because you aren’t magically mature just because you’ve reached an arbitrary age to be declared a legal adult.

You just aren’t.

And being mature in one aspect of your life or regarding emotional development doesn’t mean you’re mature in other aspects. At 17, I was mature enough to understand this.

Because maturity isn’t just something you obtain like your degree or license, it’s an ongoing, ever evolving thing.

It’s life experience. As in how you learn and grow from it.

Acknowledging that someone doesn’t have significant life experience isn’t infantilizing them, it’s giving an important perspective to a crowd of who is essentially arguing “age ain’t nothing, but a number.”

If you’re all for an 18 year old dating a 38 year old, why not a 16 year old and a 36 year. It’s only a two year difference, right? And what if that 16 year old is really mature? Most would have an issue with that. People are justifying a significantly older person dating a younger person due to legality and not they are actually mature and on the same level. But there’s not much difference between a 16 and 18 year old or an 18 year old and a 20 year old. But guess what, there is a significant difference between people between the ages of 18-22 dating people a decade or more.

I literally just turned 30 last week and, even when I was 25, after a while I could tell when I was speaking to a teen or someone in their early 20s. Because, whether or not you get along with them, there are just some things that, because they haven’t had enough life experience, they don’t have the nuance or perspective to engage with you a certain way and this is even on a non romantic level.

And, in some cases, the younger person is more “mature” not because they’re actually that mature, but because the older person is that immature.

So before I get into the issues with Sam and Rebecca, let me give you four examples of age gaps relationships:

1. A friend of mine dating an older man when she was 23 and he was 38. She was a manager at a gym and he was a gym member. They would have sex and hang out, but she wanted commitment. Whenever she asked him about it, he’d get weird on her. After finally breaking it off months later, he “loved” her and finally wanted commitment, but she’d moved on. While she dated him, I told her my two cents on the situation and left it alone. Last month, she recalled this conversation as she groaned in displeasure hearing about an age gap relationship. She’s now skeptical of older people dating significantly younger people.

2. A friend of mine was 18 dating a 28 year old. We all worked at a pizzeria. He watched her on the cameras from the back when he became a manager—got mad if she talked to male coworkers. Used to gaslight her, controlled her via manipulation, and other gross toxic shit. After emotionally tormenting her for a year or so and pressuring her to live with him, which her parents allowed due to some issues they didn’t want to exacerbate, he cheated on her. They’re broken up now. She was always stressed out while with him.

3. A girl got into her first and only relationship when she was 19 with a man who was 32. They’re now married 23 and 36. She wants to wait to have kids and on her birthday he gifted her baby clothes. Make of that what you will.

4. A girl, 22, dated her 37 year old professor. At 28, she feels like she’s outgrown him and is disturbed about how and when they got together. And one night she heard him advise his friends to date younger girls so they can mold them. Yeah…

Sure you have marriages that have age gaps that lasted, but even then, very few of those are actually healthy. The younger person is usually taking orders from the older partner, can’t do certain things, doesn’t have any true agency, skills to survive on their own, etc. What typically happens is after that person becomes older, they begin to question their relationship because what seemed okay when they were younger, is unsettling after becoming older.

Like I said, take out the nefarious shit, and there is still a significant life experience gulf between Sam and Rebecca and that is one of the many issues with this pairing. Despite what some romantics and media loves to say, “love does not conquer all.” Most of the marriages that end in divorce isn’t because they couple fell out of love, it’s due to finances. Love couldn’t conquer that. Some marriages end because one of them changed or they could’ve overcome their vast differences.

I’m not saying Sam and Rebecca are on a path for marriage or are even in love, they aren’t, however, they idea that just because they get along and have some things in common means it would be a great relationship is very shortsighted. There isn’t even enough significant interaction to prove this. Getting along on an app isn’t the same as connecting face to face. And none of this can overcome Rebecca’s life experience and, relatively speaking, Sam’s lack thereof.

And I’d argue that, on average, athletes tend to be immature because they live in such a bubble where people constantly kiss their ass. Which makes Sam look more mature than he probably is.

Even then, being with an older person ages you. This younger person misses out on so much, many of which they regret, because they’re trying to be mature enough for their older partner. They don’t want to seen as immature for doing young shit when that’s exactly their age range.

But let’s get into the real consequences for Sam here:

1. Sam has to keep his relationship a secret. The media will tear him up about dating/fucking the owner of the team. And so will fans. People love to mention he’s being infantilized because he’s young and black, how do you think that is going to go if anyone finds out about them? Racism, baby. He won’t suffer from sexism, however, they will question his place on the team and if he deserves to be there. This will taint him and even cause issues with his parents. So secret relationship it is.

2. If his teammates found out, this will fracture his relationship with them. Whether or not it’s true, Sam will be blamed for shit outside of his control. They’ll think he only got more playing time, more pay, or whatever because he’s fucking Rebecca. OR they’ll try to ask him for favors and get upset if he won’t do it. His team will think he’s getting favoritism and believe there is a power imbalance between them and Sam as a result. Don’t believe me, Google dynamics once students realize a classmate is dating their teacher or an employee is dating their boss. It usually doesn’t go over so well.

So even if the relationship is loving and healthy, Sam will suffer from being with Rebecca. Because if it's a secret, it’s going to bother him eventually that they have to sneak around and the anxiety of being caught. If it’s out in the open, he will suffer harassment, alienation, his play will suffer because his teammates probably won’t pass to him, etc.

Which leads to, 3: transferring teams. But how is that fair? Sam is developing well under ted and now that may delay his development and stock just so he can be with Rebecca? We want this young, black man to succeed, but his career will be kneecapped due to his relationship. Sam is serious about football and this would be a major blow to him.

Like I said, take out nefarious shit and this relationship is still detrimental to Sam. And even with a healthy relationship, there will still be a disconnect that will lead to their relationship ending because they are in two vastly different places in their lives.

That is not infantilizing Sam, that’s reality.

And, again, that power imbalance is massive. We saw how easy it was for Rebecca to send Jamie back to Man City. She has so much power, control, and influence over Sam’s career and livelihood. She can dictate how much or how little they offer to pay him during contract negotiations.

And this is the ship people are getting upset at others rightfully taking issue with?

It doesn’t even make sense for Rebecca to go along with this either. She played a part in Keeley breaking up with Jamie, which age, Jamie being younger, played a key part in it. She’s even disgusted by Rupert dating a significantly younger woman. I doubt her opinion centered on maturity. She’s not going to suddenly support this relationship if she found out that Bex is super mature.

Rebecca would stand to lose a lot of she were to get involved with Sam and others found out. She’d get dragged through the mud worse than she did after her divorce. She’s lose them support of her staff. And it would fuck up the relationship she has with her players.

Now some Sam/Rebecca supporters have called bullshit on people who are against this relationship, yet support Ted and Rebecca. They claim it’s the same power imbalance or that one exists.

1. It’s not the same power imbalance.

2. Yes, one does exist, but it’s not nearly as wide as it is with Sam and it wouldn’t destroy her either.

Ted has the authority to hire and fire people. He has the authority to facilitate trades, call up people, and send them down. He has a lot of influence that Sam does not. They aren’t equals, but there also isn’t a massive power disparity either.

Rebecca also can’t completely fuck over Ted like she can Sam if she went all scorned woman. Because, doing so, would entail her own demise. Even if you don’t include that, Ted is only attached to Richmond. He doesn’t care about having a career as a football coach in the ways coaches from non US countries do. He can go back and have a career as an American football coach and still be massively successful. Or, if Rebecca did want to fuck him over, he has that bomb as to why he was hired. Ted doesn’t even have to play that card for it to be played by either Higgins or Keeley.

Because one of them will if they feel it’s necessary.

We have no clue what’s going to happen with this storyline. But the idea that people against Sam and Rebecca being a thing, romantically or sexually, being fueled by racism or sexism is misguided, hypocritical, and flat out wrong. If this entanglement is pursued, it stands to harm Sam from various angles and that’s MY objection.

People think this is all about Ted/Rebecca when, personally, I’d lose (some) respect for Rebecca if she got involved with Sam. That would taint her for me. Because let’s be real, many of us are grossed out by Rupert dating, marrying, and then impregnating Bex. Yet, some are okay with Rebecca and Sam getting together and those who are against it are sexist? And I truly believe the same people supporting this ship are also grossed out by Rupert’s relationship.

How is Rupert’s relationship gross, but we shouldn’t obsess over age with Rebecca and Sam? People say Sam is mature enough to date Rebecca, which implies that Bex isn’t mature enough to be with Rupert and that IS sexist.

Even if the writers confirm tomorrow that Ted/Rebecca will never be a thing, I wouldn’t object any less to Sam/Rebecca. If Sam was Roy’s age and in Roy’s position, I’d have way less of an issue.

But you’re going to have a tough time convincing me that a young man who is 20/21 and employed by a 47 year woman who can heavily influence his career isn’t a massive power imbalance that shouldn’t be explored by fans.

I’m really curious to see how this post ages once the storyline plays out. But this post is about exploring what it means for Sam and Rebecca to get involved and how the accusations of infantilizing Sam doesn’t pass the sniff test.

#rebecca welton #sam obisanya #ted lasso

[erin-bo-berin]

Enemies Closer

MASTERLIST

Happy smutty Spencer Saturday! This fic has been hidden in the depths of my brain for way too long. I knew I wanted to do an enemies to lover fic for a while but didn’t have much more for it until recently. The title comes from the famous saying “keep your friends close and your enemies closer”.

I want to say a big thank you to all of my followers who sent in quips, jabs and bantery remarks. I tried to use them all because they were all so wonderful. Thank you to @dreatine @andiebeaword @sammy-jo1977 @redbullchick and the numerous anons who contributed. Also a big thank you to @multifandommandy for coming up with the idea of the reader interviewing the little girl, it really helped move the story along and add to it. I appreciate all your ideas and help 💕

Okay, enjoy the 10k words of sassy, smutty Spencer Reid. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 10,088

Spencer was walking back to his desk when he heard JJ’s voice.

“Really? When?”

There was a pause on her end of the phone conversation. She looked up and saw Spencer, immediately waving him over.

Spencer’s interest was piqued. He wondered what was going on, especially since there was a huge grin on her face. He approached her desk just as JJ spoke again.

“That sounds great, mom. I can’t wait.”

Spencer smiled. JJ and her mom were extremely close and he always looked forward to her visits—she made the best triple chocolate chip cookies he’d ever tasted. He opened his mouth to tell her to say hi from him, when she practically read his mind.

“By the way Spencer says hi.” 

JJ shot him a wink, grinning at the fact that she knew him well enough to know exactly what he was about to say. He chuckled to himself. They definitely were close enough to know what one another was thinking.

“Sounds good. See you then. Bye.”

JJ hung up her phone, turning in her chair to face him fully.

“Is your mom coming to visit?”

“She is,” JJ smiled, “And she’s bringing your favorite triple chocolate chip cookies.”

“Bless that woman,” he chuckled.

“There’s also something else,” JJ trailed off nervously, a flicker of worry in her blue eyes.

“What?”

“Y/N’s visiting too...and she’s kinda stuck with me, or well us for the next week. So if we get a case, she’s coming with us.”

Spencer groaned loudly.

“Why?”

“Mom has a business seminar in downtown D.C. and you know Will took the boys to Disney World this week. I’m not going to make her sit at home alone for a week.”

“Why? It would be for the greater good of humanity. I’ll even be willing to chip in for a hotel room for her,” Spencer said, hoping JJ would actually take him up on the offer, “Particularly one across the country.” 

“Spencer,” JJ eyed him warily, “Emily already said it was okay. She knows to stay out of the way while we work.”

“Yet she’s always in my way.”

“Spence, she’s not that bad. Why do you hate her so much?” she asked.

“Last time she visited she “accidentally” spilled an entire pot of coffee on my favorite work shirt!” Spencer protested.

“Just like you “accidentally” locked her in an interrogation room?” JJ raised a brow.

Yeah, that hadn’t been his finest moment. But she had driven him crazy that day.

“She wandered in there on her own. I was just helping the situation along,” he shrugged innocently.

“You’re lucky she didn’t burn the building down,” JJ mumbled.

“Yeah, well, she pushed me to my limit that day. Sorry.”

“What is it with you two? You fight worse than her and I ever did.”

“She’s annoying, rude and drives me crazy. I honestly can’t believe she’s your sister, let alone related to you. JJ, you know I love you, but I just can’t stand her. We’re just two completely different people that probably will never get along.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ held her hands up in defeat, “At least try to be on your best behavior?”

“No promises,” he grumbled.

“Hey, look at it this way. At least you get cookies,” she stood, patting his arm before walking away.

He was positive even cookies wouldn’t make up for this.

•

“Y/N while you’re here, can you please try to be nice to your sister’s coworkers?”

You suppressed a groan.

You were currently in the elevator with your mother at the FBI in Quantico, riding up the numerous floors to the Behavioral Analysis Unit, where your sister JJ worked. In your arms were a stack of containers, filled with sweets your mom had made for the team.

There were her famous triple chocolate chip cookies made with milk, dark and white chocolate chips, some apple cobbler, cupcakes and even a strawberry pie. JJ’s team were suckers for Sandy Jareau’s delicacies.

“Mom, I love the team. They’re like extended family, you know that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Your mom gave you a look that you swore only mothers could perfect. It was partly calling out your bullshit and part disciplinary all at the same time. It was amazing, really, 29 years old and you were still getting the “you better not act out” look from her. What were you, eight?

“I mean that lovely Dr. Reid. You’re always so mean to him.”

“He starts it.”

Okay, maybe you were eight.

“Y/N.”

The warning tone in her voice was all you needed to keep your mouth shut.

“All I’m saying is I don’t want another call from JJ saying you’ve gotten locked in an interrogation room and almost got arrested for assaulting a FBI agent.”

“Okay that was one time!” you said, exasperated, “Granted, it wasn’t my finest hour. But still. It’s not like I’m that bad all the time.”

“Really?” your mom looked at you, all knowingly, “What about that one time at JJ’s housewarming party?”

“I swear I didn’t glue his shoes to the floor!”

In your defense, that had been Derek Morgan, back when he was still working in the FBI, prior to his resignation. Of course though, no one believed that he had done it, apparently including your mother.

“Whether you did it or not, that’s not the point. You would’ve done it given the opportunity.”

You couldn’t deny that. 

“Just don’t stress JJ out any more than she is. She said when the two of you are fighting it’s like trying to corral two feisty chihuahuas.”

You sighed, defeated.

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior mom.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

The elevator dinged, alerting you that you’d arrived at your designated floor and the metal doors slid open to reveal your sister and of course, Spencer.

Spencer Reid, the biggest nemesis of your entire life.

He was absolutely infuriating. 

Tall, imposing, three PhDs, IQ of 187, Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s right, he wasn’t just Agent Reid, he was Dr. Reid. It was eye roll inducing.

He was a know-it-all, quite literally. If anyone said something even the slightest bit wrong, he didn’t hesitate to correct them. A person could breathe wrong and he’d probably correct that.

He constantly spewed facts. That was annoying enough in itself. You had no idea how JJ put up with it. But then again she was best friends with the guy. That blew your mind enough in itself.

If he wasn’t so annoying, he might actually be attractive. With a stature of over six feet, he was lean but without being a beanpole. His light brown curls always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and/or never taken a brush to his hair. His eyes were definitely interesting though. You could never tell if they were brown, green or maybe even hazel.

Not that you’d been paying that close of attention. Nor did you care.

He had significantly more facial hair than the last time you’d seen him. Not a bad look for him, you had to give him that.

JJ once told you that a college class he’d taught for two weeks was filled with nothing but young girls auditing his course. She said it had confused Spencer. It confused you too cause you didn’t see how he was that attractive. He was kinda cute, if you liked the whole snobby, genius who doesn’t brush his hair, smartass type.

Oddly enough, you’d known him for half your life, yet couldn’t recall how or when you started hating him. It just seems like it had been that way all along, when in fact, it hadn’t.

“Mom! Y/N!” JJ exclaimed, grinning wide.

You felt a burst of happiness in your chest. You’d missed your sister. Despite the 11 year age difference, you guys were close growing up.

You were still a baby when your older sister Rosalyn had committed suicide, so you didn’t remember much about her, sadly. It was really hard on JJ as she was the one to find her. But as she’d told you much later, you’d helped her grieve. Reliving memories and keeping Rosalyn’s memory alive in sharing stories with you helped her heal after such a traumatic situation. It was often that you’d wished you’d had the chance to know your oldest sister, but with her death came an impenetrable close bond between you and JJ.

JJ immediately wrapped her arms around your mother, hugging her tight. You gave a nod of your head, your arms too full to be able to hug her at the moment.

“I’ll just go put these in the briefing room,” you said.

You turned, aiming to head through the glass doors of the BAU’s entrance, but instead ran right into Spencer.

“Here, I got it,” he took several of the boxes out of your arms so you could see properly again, “If only to save you from injuring anyone else.”

“My knight in shining armor,” you muttered sarcastically.

“Watch where you’re going next time.”

“You watch where you’re going. Besides, I didn’t need your help,” you retorted.

“Obviously, you did,” Spencer mumbled, following you through the doors.

You hadn’t even made it all the way through the entrance when you heard your mom and JJ sigh in unison. You heard JJ’s words loud and clear, as well.

“They’re already bickering less than five minutes in. Must be a new record.”

It kinda was. Usually, the two of you managed to avoid each other until the inevitable crossing of paths occurred. Today, though, you both had started in, right off the bat.

You placed the numerous arrays of desserts on the round table, knowing by tomorrow they’d pretty much all be gone.

“You’re welcome for the help,” Spencer snarked, setting down the few containers he’d carried.

You couldn’t help it, you rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t ask for it. So there’s no reason to thank you.”

“It’s the polite thing to do. Oh, wait. I forgot you don’t know how to be polite. My bad.”

You glared at him, the hatred stirring in your gut.

“I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure to see you again, Y/N, but it hasn’t,” Spencer said.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go greet your mother who actually deserves and appreciates my kindness.”

“Kindness, my ass,” you muttered as he walked away.

He turned, almost to the door.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you smiled in a fake, sweet matter.

He scoffed, turning and walking away.

Only when his back was turned did your fake demeanor drop and you stuck your tongue out at him.

This man would be the death of you yet.

•

“Penelope just got us a case. Luckily, it’s right here in our backyard so you can just sit in while we work. But please try to control your mouth.”

“JJ, I’m almost 30 years old,” you replied.

“Yes, but you still have a sharp tongue.”

“I promise not to make a scene, cause any trouble or be in the way. I know you have to work Jayj.”

After a round of greetings and hugs from the team and promises to stay longer when she returned from her business seminar, your mom had dashed off, leaving you at the BAU.

You looked up to see Emily Prentiss, JJ’s friend and boss motioning for her to join them in the briefing room.

“The team has to be debriefed about this case. Are you going to be okay here?”

You spun back and forth in her desk chair, motioning to the book you’d brought to read.

“I’ll be fine. Go work,” you shooed her.

JJ bounded off and up the stairs to the meeting and you picked up your book, ready to be entranced by the wonderful fantasy world of your book, far away from your reality.

-

“Why do people read that garbage? It does nothing but fills a person’s head with nonsense. It’s stupid and a waste of time. Although, now that I think of it, that’s probably a perfect fit for you.”

You peered up over the edge of your book.

You’d just gotten to a good part in your book. Your heroine was just getting ready to destroy the enemy and his lair, saving her love interest from the clutches of evil. It was a shame you couldn’t throw Spencer in the cage that your heroine was saving her lover from. Now that would make the book perfect.

“I’m reading. If you don’t mind.”

“Well it offends me. At least read something good. War and Peace is a good recommendation. Good story. I read it at breakfast last weekend,” Spencer said.

You turned up your nose. Leave it to Spencer to brag about his ability to read 20,000 words a minute and offer atrocious book recommendations in the same sentence. That in itself was offensive enough to you.

“This is why you don’t get dates, isn’t it?” you snipped.

He ignored the quip. 

“I’m supposed to ask you for help with the case.”

Now this was interesting. You raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think I want to help you?”

“You do realize the entire world doesn’t revolve around you, right?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “There’s kids that are going missing.”

That sobered you quickly. You dropped any anger you had at him, for the moment, realizing how serious the matter was.

“How? What’s happening?”

“Four kids have gone missing. We can’t figure out how or why. They haven’t shown up yet, so we’re hopeful that they’re still alive,” Spencer said, lips narrowed into a thin line.

“What do you need my help for then?”

“Because to understand what happened to them, we need to profile these kids.”

•

“Okay so we know from his parents, six year old Erik Yates was incredibly shy,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard where the pictures of the four missing children were hung.

“He wouldn’t have talked to his own school teacher, let alone a stranger,” David Rossi said.

“But his best friend, Carlos Hoffman also went missing with him. They were having a sleepover, so he’d been at Erik’s house,” Emily added.

“And Carlos was the more outgoing of the two, wasn’t he?” you asked.

“Yup,” Tara said, flipping through her notes, “According to the parents, wherever Carlos went Erik was always close behind. So if they encountered a stranger, if Carlos was willing to go, Erik would likely follow.”

“I don’t know about that,” you piped in, “I’ve seen friendships like that in my class. Even if the kid is quiet, if they know something is wrong, they either say something to their friend or they just don’t do it period. I find it hard to believe that Erik would go along with someone he wasn’t comfortable with.”

“Says the one that’s not a profiler,” Spencer mumbled from where he was standing, examining the evidence board.

JJ shot him a look, before returning to the conversation. You pretended not to hear that one and for once, bit your tongue. You wouldn’t accomplish anything by arguing with Spencer at the moment.

“So let’s go back to the top,” Matt said, “Mrs. Yates went to the door and there was someone there either selling something or had an excuse made up for the unsub to guilt trip money out of her. She leaves to get her purse. The kids are in the living room playing. Then suddenly, by the time she gets back, all three are gone.”

“That’s how her story goes,” Luke said, looking through interview notes.

“What about the other children?” you asked, “How were they taken?”

“One was kidnapped at the park, the other at the grocery store,” Spencer answered.

“What if it’s someone familiar with their routines?” you asked.

You weren’t anywhere close to being a profiler, but you knew enough from JJ to sort of get by in this conversation.

“A lot of my kids and their families have strict routines. Usually because it benefits the child and/or they have other children that they keep on a schedule too. Wouldn’t that mean that it’s someone that they know?”

“It could,” Emily said, “But unfortunately that doesn’t narrow down much because the unsub could also just be stalking these families before the kidnapping. The unsub could potentially be a complete stranger to them.”

“Have you asked the parents of the children if they could think of anyone who could do this? Is there anyone that might overlap with these families?” you inquired.

JJ had opened her mouth to answer you, but of course, Spencer had to add his two cents. 

“Are you an idiot? Of course, we did,” Spencer snapped, “That’s always the first thing we do.”

You bristled. Even when working together, he couldn’t be civil. He had the nerve to try and insult you and make you feel stupid, even though all you were trying to do was help.

“I’m not an idiot, Spencer,” you grit out.

“Oh really? You sure do act like one sometimes,” he retorted, writing something on the board.

Your defenses snapped back into place and you were ready to shoot back a remark when JJ interrupted you.

“Hey, hey, you guys. Quit it before I have to send you both into separate corners for timeout. We’re all on the same team here, trying to accomplish the same thing. Let’s just focus.”

“Matt, Dave, JJ, I want you to go and reinterview the parents. Y/N has a point. We need to make absolutely sure there’s no one in these families lives that connect with one another,” Emily ordered.

“Luke, Tara; both of you go to the schools. See if there’s been any strangers lurking around. We can’t rule out a sexual predator just yet, but it would help vastly if we could.”

“Penelope, you and I are going to work on a deep dive of these families.”

Garcia’s face scrunched at Emily’s order; she hated diving into people’s personal lives, but unfortunately it sometimes came with the job.

“We’re going to make sure that these parents aren’t holding back any secrets that could possibly help us.”

Emily turned towards you and Spencer next.

“Spence, I want you to start on a geo profile, see if we can figure out the vicinity of the unsub’s hunting grounds. Maybe we might even be able to find where he’s holding them.”

“On it.”

Spencer was already grabbing a map, spreading it across the round table.

“Y/N, I want you to help him.”

Spencer’s head snapped up.

“Hell no. Emily please-”

She held up her hand.

“I don’t want to hear it. That’s an order. If you disobey, I will put you behind a desk for a month.”

He relented, but you could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Not like you were pleased at all by it either.

“Try not to burn the room down while you’re working,” she instructed, walking out to meet Garcia in her lair.

Once she left, Spencer spun towards you.

“Let’s get one thing clear. You’re not to bother me while I work. You stay out of my way. I don’t need your help, nor do I want it. I can do my work just fine without you. I’ve been doing it for 15 years,” he snapped.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer. Even I can tell when your IQ gets slashed to 60.”

“That’s the best you got, Y/N? I didn’t realize they let bimbos into the FBI. Oh wait...that’s right. I’m the one that’s the actual agent here. What is it you do again?”

“I’m a kindergarten teacher. You know that, you dumbass or else I wouldn’t be here helping you.”

“Oh, guess there’s no sleeping to the top in that field. Although, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Your fists clenched. Spencer made you mad like no other could. Not even JJ could ever make you this mad.

“Just sit down and shut up while the adults work, okay?” he sneered at you.

“I’m not a child!”

You crossed your arms defensively. You weren’t about to let him get in all the insults. Ignoring him never worked, he was too obnoxious. So you just played it like he did, by slinging insults like dodgeballs at him.

“Well if you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like a child!” he threw back.

His eyes were blazing, his cheeks gone pink from his anger. 

“Funny because you act more immature than my kindergartners.”

“WILL YOU TWO CAN IT AND GET TO WORK?!”

You both jumped at the sound of Garcia yelling from the bullpen. She made the motion that she’d be keeping her eyes on you two. You threw one more scowl Spencer’s way before flopping down on the sofa on the other side of the room.

This week was going to last an eternity.

•

Two days passed with no luck on finding an unsub, but they’d managed to put a profile together based on what little they did know.

The entire team was worried and on edge. Of course, that made the situation between you and Spencer even more volatile.

“Are you sure you’re an actual qualified agent? All you do is stand in front of a room full of police or your team and say smart things and gesture with your hands,” you mimicked Spencer, doing exactly what he was just doing earlier while they gave the profile.

“I do not look like that! You look like a baby dinosaur who doesn’t know how to walk,” he jeered.

“Yes, you do. All I’m saying is these civil service exams must be really easy to pass nowadays, huh?” you smirked.

“You know I’d ask if you could really be any more infuriating, but I’m afraid you’d take that as a challenge,” Spencer huffed, “Besides I’m supposed to be “nice” to you, since you’ve been so helpful.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you grinned mischievously, “I’ve been what?”

“I’m just quoting what Emily said. In my opinion you’ve been more like a pain in my ass,” he mumbled, looking through one of the case files.

“Oh sure because without me, would you’ve figured out that the unsub is a woman?”

“Probably. Don’t pat yourself on the back, sweetheart. You’re no match for us real profilers, Y/N.”

“I may not be, but you’ve met your match with me, pretty boy,” the nickname falling from your lips with deep sarcasm, “You can’t help but fight with me. For some reason I get under your skin and frankly, I enjoy it. It’s nice to know you can actually squirm, Spencer Reid.”

His lips pursed and he was about to speak when the phone rang. He answered it, putting it on speaker. Garcia’s excited voice came through it.

“Reid, gather the team. You won’t believe what I’ve found.”

•

“So it turns out, one of our families did have a secret. Although, it was something we weren’t even looking for,” Penelope said.

“What’s that Garcia?” Tara asked.

“The family of the first missing child: Daisy Rowe, had a nanny once. Her name is Kali Dye.”

Garcia hit the remote button to pull up the woman’s picture on the big screen at the front of the room.

“What does she have to do with our case?” Luke asked.

She stared at him, exasperated.

“If I could finish what I was saying, you’d know,” Penelope griped.

“Okay, okay,” Luke chuckled, “Carry on.”

You lived for Luke and Penelope’s playful banter. It was like the complete opposite of you and Spencer. They liked each other at the end of the day—not to mention everyone knew deep down they were definitely attracted to one another. Their banter was flirty. Yours and Spencer’s was anything but.

“As I was saying,” Penelope continued, “Kali was the nanny to the Rowe family back in 2016 when Daisy was only two years old. There was an incident where apparently she turned her back on little Daisy playing in the backyard. Daisy got too near the pool and almost drowned. She was in the hospital for a few days afterwards. The parents were obviously furious. I’m guessing Mrs. Rowe told all her friends about it because according to my research, Kali’s nannying career was basically ruined.”

“So you think this is an act of revenge? Did she nanny for any of the other kids she kidnapped?” Emily asked.

“No, that’s where it gets weird. She seems to have no connection to these other children,” Garcia said.

“Well we know who our unsub most likely is,” JJ said, “But how are we going to find out where she and the kids are?”

“I checked for that. There’s no significant places that she would take them, her old family house isn’t even in the state and besides it’s been sold years ago,” Penelope answered.

Emily’s phone rang as the team continued to throw around ideas of where to find Kali. 

“Prentiss.”

You watched Emily’s face quickly change expressions, from neutral to shock, to worry, back to businesslike.

“Okay, bring her to Quantico. We’ll need to interview her.”

Emily hung up, turning to the team.

“The second child kidnapped, Eden Jenson just showed up at a police station in D.C. She managed to get away and ran for help. We need to interview her, but she hasn’t spoken yet. The chief of the police station is having one of his detectives drive here so we can interview her,” Emily filled the rest of the team in.

“I’ll talk to her. I’m pretty good at getting kids to talk,” Spencer said.

“Actually, I think we should let Y/N do it,” JJ said, looking at Emily.

“What?! She has no experience interviewing a witness, much less a victim!” Spencer exclaimed.

“I worked in art therapy when I was getting my degree as a teacher. I still use some in my class, plus I’m a teacher,” you said defiantly, “I know how to talk to kids.”

“I agree with JJ,” Emily said, “But Spencer, sit in with her just in case you need to intervene.”

You were sure he was going to do plenty of that.

•

An hour later, you and Spencer were sitting in front of a little, terrified Eden. Her—what you assumed were once neat—blonde pigtails were in all types of disarray. Pieces stood up everywhere while other strands came loose, hanging around her face. She was clutching her bunny stuffie, which you figured had been with her when she was kidnapped.

She had refused to talk to anyone, shrinking away frightfully at any imposing adults. You had to restrain yourself from literally pushing Spencer out the door when she shrunk even more into herself when she saw Spencer’s tall frame.

She’d been previously asked if she was hungry or thirsty in which she barely nodded. Now, she sat a bit less rigidly as she ate her Goldfish crackers and sipped on her juice box.

“Eden, my name is Y/N and this is my…friend, Spencer.”

You had to admit, you had a rough time getting that one out. 

“We just want to talk to you, okay?” you said.

The little girl just stared back at you, wide eyed.

“Do you like to color?” you asked.

Still no response.

You pulled out some paper and a pack of crayons from a bin next to the desk. You pushed them across towards her.

“Could you draw something for us?”

It took a moment of Eden staring at the items before she opened the box and picked up a crayon.

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions while you color?”

You didn’t expect an answer, so you weren’t surprised when none came.

“Are you six years old? Six is a fun age. Are you in kindergarten or first grade?”

Eden looked up at you, from underneath her lashes, just briefly, before returning to drawing.

“I’m a kindergarten teacher myself. I’m used to seeing kids your age all the time. It’s spring break though and I miss my kids terribly. Do you miss going to school?”

Spencer shifted in his seat. You knew time was a delicate thing right now, but you were trying to get her to trust you.

“Eden?” 

She looked up again. If she was surprised to hear Spencer speak for the first time, she didn’t show it.

“Could you describe the place you were at?”

Fear flashed in her eyes and she dropped her crayon, hugging tightly to her bunny.

You glared at Spencer.

“Just keep drawing, Eden. Okay? We’ll be right back,” you said, standing up, your hand a death grip on his arm.

Once the two of you had stepped out of the room and the door was closed behind you, you whirled on him.

“How can you be so stupid? I thought you were supposed to be a genius!”

“Y/N, you know we’re running on limited time to find those kids. We don’t know if Kali will hurt them or not!”

“I realize that. I’m trying to make her comfortable enough to talk about it.”

“Avoiding it doesn’t seem to be helping either,” he grimaced, hands on his hips.

“You saw what happened when you brought it up! She was terrified!”

“When dealing with a traumatized child you should tell them information about the situation they were in. It’s best they learn it from a trusted adult. Besides, it’s most likely they want to talk about it, but just don’t know how to bring it up.”

“And how would you know all of this, doctor?”

“Because contrary to your beliefs about me, I actually know how to do my job and how to do it well. I’ve dealt with things like this many times before. 60% of adults report being traumatized in childhood. 26% of children in the United States alone will witness or experience a traumatic event before the age of four.”

You blinked, unable to process so much information at once.

“Are you even human?” 

“Are you?” Spencer shot back, eyes narrowed.

“You know, with all things considered, I’d thought you’d gotten the idea that I really hate you.” you sneered.

“Really? And here I thought that was your version of flirting,” he retaliated, sarcastically.

“Moron,” you muttered under your breath.

“Now, if you’re through calling me names, I’ve got work to do,” he said, reaching behind you for the doorknob.

“Wait,” you grabbed his arm, “Just let me try again first? Please? If I get stuck or need you, I’ll let you know.”

It was some of the most civil words you’d said to him in a long time. But you didn’t want to give up on this little girl. You wanted to help her and prove to Spencer and yourself if you were being honest, that you could do it.

He must’ve noticed your serious tone and pleading eyes because he relented. He nodded and you turned to go back in.

Eden was waiting for you when you returned, back to clutching her bunny.

“Don’t you want to finish your picture?” you asked, sitting down in front of her.

She pushed it across to you.

“Oh are you done?”

She nodded.

You picked up the picture, noticing four stick figures. Two seemed to be girls, two seemed to be boys. They looked like they could represent all four missing kids.

“Are these you and your friends?” you asked gently.

She didn’t say anything for a beat, then came a soft, timid voice.

“They aren’t my friends...at least not until a few days ago.”

“My friends here, they found out that you didn’t know these other three children. Is that right?”

Eden nodded again.

“Do you know the woman who took you?”

“No,” she said, equally as quiet as before.

“You’re doing a great job, Eden,” you smiled at her, hoping to encourage her, “Just a few more questions, okay?”

Another nod.

“Can you describe where you were?”

“I...I don’t know,” her voice trembled, as if she were going to cry.

You heard the door open up behind you and you turned to see Spencer. He gave you a terse shake of his head, as if telling you now was not the time to snap at him.

“Eden?” Spencer came around to her side and crouched by her, “You remember me, right? I’m Spencer.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“I want to try to help you help Miss Y/N here. To tell her what the place looked like that you were at.”

“But I don’t remember,” Eden said, frowning.

“I think you do. You know how when you’re afraid, you hide?” Spencer asked gently.

Eden nodded her answer.

“Well, that’s kinda what your brain is doing. It’s scared, so you think you can’t remember. What I want to do is have you to close your eyes and think back to before you were taken.”

“No, I’m scared,” Eden whimpered, hugging the stuffie.

“It’ll be okay. I’m right here,” he offered her his hand, which she took reluctantly, “I’ll be right here the entire time. If things get too scary, just squeeze my hand and we can stop. Alright?”

“Alright.”

She closed her eyes, listening to Spencer’s voice.

You were amazed at how soft and gentle he was with her. It was like seeing all of his razor sharp edges he displayed around you, smoothed out. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever heard him like this.

“Just focus on the sound of my voice,” Spencer whispered, “You were playing at the park. What were you doing?”

“Playing on the swing with my bunny,” she said.

“Okay, that’s good Eden, you’re doing wonderful. What do you hear?”

“Lots of kids playing. They’re very loud.”

“What happens next?”

“There’s a lady behind me. She asks if I would like to play in the sandbox with her. I told her yes but I didn’t want to get bunny dirty.”

Eden is trembling now and you eye Spencer warily. He holds his free hand up and you don’t say anything, just yet.

“Very good Eden. Did you go play in the sandbox?”

“No. She took my hand and led me away from the swings. I asked her where she’s going because the sandbox was the other way.”

“Do you want to stop, Eden?” Spencer asked.

“N-No. I a big girl like mommy always says.”

“Okay. What happened then, sweetheart?”

“She grabbed me and put her hand over my mouth. I tried screaming for my mommy, but I couldn’t. She took me to a car.”

“Can you remember what the car looked like?”

“Um, blue. It was blue. It had a lot of doors. It was long too.”

Spencer looked like he realized what she was describing.

“Did the middle door slide open and closed?”

She nodded, her eyes still closed.

“It was big inside with lots of seats. That’s all I saw before she covered my eyes.”

It sounded like an SUV or family van.

“When you were in the car, did you ride for a really long time? Or a short time?”

“A short time.”

You jotted the note down.

“One last question honey. Do you remember anything about the room you were in? What did it look like?”

“Like...like my bedroom. Only much dirtier. And old looking. There’s...there’s flowers on the wall. There’s a lot of toys, but I don’t want to play. I want to go home. Me and my friends are so scared. She’s coming back, she's coming back!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m right here.”

Eden’s eyes snapped open and he enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as she trembled.

She didn’t let go of him until her parents arrived.

•

After kicking the information over to Garcia and her being the goddess she is at finding even the most hidden information, she found the house.

The team had found her car, registered to Kali, but with a false last name. From there, Garcia looked for any run down buildings or homes for rent within 10 to 15 minutes of that park. The team agreed that Kali wouldn’t have bought a house for the simple reason of too much work. She didn’t seem to be that dedicated to a well thought out plan. That was when Garcia discovered an old house rented under the name of Kali Rowe, the same last name of the family she had been a nanny for.

You stayed behind while the team went out to rescue the children and hopefully bring Kali Dye into custody. 

They did.

All four kids were now safely reunited with their parents and Kali had been arrested and hopefully was going to get the help she needed.

Since you hadn’t been there, JJ had filled you in afterwards when everybody had gotten back. You were sitting next to one another in the briefing room, talking, while everything settled down. 

Kali Dye had been so distraught over the loss and destruction of her nannying career. Apparently at one point, she had been a wonderful nanny. What had happened with Daisy, truly was an accident. Whether she had had a mental breakdown or suffered from an unknown or untreated mental illness beforehand, they didn’t know. But she soon became desperate to prove she was a good nanny.

She kidnapped Daisy first, to prove her point. Then three other children that she’d followed, learning their schedules. 

She had taken good care of them, at least in her mind. In reality, she hadn’t hurt them or touched them one bit. She fed them, gave them all attention and all the toys they wanted, to play with.

It was a sad situation, really. But you were glad that the families had a happy ending and their children were back safely in their homes tonight.

“You did good little sis,” JJ smiled, “Keep it up and you may just have to think about switching careers.”

“No thanks,” you chuckled, “I’m happy teaching kids, not seeing them in life threatening situations. I don’t have the heart for that.”

“Spence said you did really well getting Eden to open up,” she said.

“I’m surprised he actually knows how to compliment a person, let alone me,” you scoffed.

“Y/N. Come on. What’s your deal with him? This has been going on for years now.”

“I don’t know. I just can’t stand him.”

“That’s a cop out and you know it,” JJ said, “He’s a good guy. Besides, you used to have a crush on him when you were younger.”

“Ew, did I?” 

You wrinkled your nose, trying to remember. JJ had joined the BAU when you were only 14. A lot had happened in high school, let alone the 15 years since she’d first joined. You didn’t visit her very often because of school and all of your other extracurricular activities, so you hadn’t met the team until about a year after she started.

“You don’t mean the summer after my freshman year, do you?” you asked, “Cause back then he was a cute little dweeb and it lasted like two seconds anyway. I had a case of raging hormones to the point I had a crush on just about anything male with two legs.”

You rolled your eyes, disgusted at the fact she’d even think that you’d have a crush on Spencer. Although deep down, deep, deep, deep down, a little part of you knew that she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Why do you hate him though? He’s my best friend. I love him and I want you two to get along.”

You snorted.

“Yeah, I know you love him. Remember, you told me that you told him that you’ve always loved him? That he was your first love?”

You bit your lip, trying hard to keep the jealous edge out of your tone. This is what you’d tried hard to avoid all these years. You hated that you felt like this but you’d been covering up your true feelings for him and the situation, with anger all these years. If you kept yourself at a distance, you were less likely to get hurt.

How wrong you were.

“Is that what this is about? Because I told Spence I loved him?”

“No.”

Maybe.

“Y/N.”

She gave you the same look that your mother had given you in the elevator just days before.

“Jeez, you’ve got mom’s “look” down pat,” you mumbled.

“Please tell me the truth. Is my confession why you hate him?”

Her eyes pleaded with you and you couldn’t help but cave. She was your sister and your best friend and you knew she cared.

“No. I don’t know, maybe partially. But I disliked him way before that anyway. He’s just a know-it-all smartass, that annoys the shit out of me and is just like every other guy to fall head over heels in love with Jennifer Jareau.”

You grimaced, “For a guy that has an IQ of 187, he sure doesn’t know how to be different from other guys.”

“Okay hold up,” JJ held up her hands, “First of all, he is not head over heels in love with me.”

“JJ, please. You’re not an idiot.”

“I’m serious. He may have been once, but he’s not anymore. We’re best friends and that’s it. Besides, we worked out that mess over a year ago. He’s even dated since then.”

“The kid actually dates? I’m shocked,” you said, putting a hand on your chest in mock surprise.

JJ ignored your antics, continuing on.

“Second. He’s actually a really great guy, Y/N. He’s a real sweetheart, really. It’s just a side of him that you don’t see.”

“Yeah like the dark side of the moon,” you muttered.

“Just give him a chance and try to be nice? You know what mom always said. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Besides, if you want to go for him, that’s fine.”

You laughed outright at that. As if that would happen.

“On that note, I think I’m gonna head back to your place,” you said standing.

“I have to stay a little later to finish up some work. Can you get home okay on your own?”

You assured her you could and you grabbed your purse. 

“Y/N?” she called, as you were about to the glass doors.

“Yeah?” 

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

•

If you thought you were gonna get a reprieve after that uncomfortable conversation, you were sorely mistaken.

The moment you stepped out of the BAU, you saw Spencer standing, waiting for the elevator, his hands clutching the strap of his tan satchel as he waited.

“Ah, there she is. The woman who saved the day,” he quipped sarcastically.

“Fuck off Reid. I’m not in the mood.”

“You know, I’m actually shocked that you’re good at something besides bitching.”

You ignored him, your teeth clenching.

“I’m surprised you held your tongue as long as you did earlier. Bet that’s a record for you.”

The elevator doors opened and you got on without a word, Spencer following you.

“What? No comebacks? Amazing. Has Spencer Reid actually won for once?”

You whirled on him, dropping your purse to the elevator floor in the process.

“No because you’re full of shit. You’re the most annoying, stubborn ass, infuriating, egocentric, smart aleck in a fancy suit I’ve ever met!”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened. He pulled his satchel over his head, dropping it too, to the floor. He pushed the emergency button of the elevator with such anger, it was amazing that he didn’t break it. The elevator suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” you screeched.

Your body was thrumming with anger. You could and likely would pummel him at any second.

“You’re not leaving this elevator until you tell me what the fuck your problem is,” Spencer glared.

“My problem?” you huffed.

“Yes because I have to deal with you jumping down my throat every single time I see you. You’re the most stuck up, spoiled, self centered, bitchy little brat I’ve had to deal with!”

“Ha! You sure you’re not talking about yourself?”

“You know what I think your problem is?” he challenged.

“Go ahead, try me. I’d love to hear.”

“I think, you don’t know how to deal with how you’re really feeling. So you hide it under anger. You lash out every time your feelings threaten to surface. It’s become a defense mechanism. It’s all you know. You fight with me because it’s the only way to protect yourself; you throw words as your daggers. Simply because you can’t get me out of your mind. I push you to limits you don’t want to think about. You may swear and declare that you hate me but in reality, you’d be thrilled if I took you right up against this elevator wall.”

His voice grew deeper with every word that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Are you profiling me? Cause that’s one hell of a reach.”

“Is it though? You wanna know how I figure that? You told me the other day that I met my match. That I can’t help but fight with you because you get under my skin. Well you were right. I do enjoy it and I think you do too. Because it turns you on. It does the same thing to me. You get under my skin yet at the same time all I can think about is how I want to fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”

“You think I’m gonna fall for that shit from just another guy who’s crazy about JJ?” you sneered.

For the first time, he actually looked just the tiniest bit surprised.

“You think I have feelings for JJ? If I had feelings for her, do you honestly think I’d spend all my time and attention on you?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“JJ isn’t the one that occupies my brain, no matter what I try to do, Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth.

His face was mere inches away from yours now. Close enough to see an array of scattered freckles on his face. A few under one eye, a tiny one on the side of his nose, one on his forehead.

His stubble had gotten heavier in the last few days, becoming more scruff than stubble. His lips were naturally plump, an asset that would be the envy of any woman. They were also a natural shade of dark pink, maybe even leaning towards red. 

Anger heated his eyes. Or was it desire? You wondered if you looked the same way. Right now, they looked more green in the brighter light in the elevator, but you could still see rings of brown around the edges of his eyes. They were also filled with mischief as if he were up for a challenge.

“You really think you’re going to distract me by putting your tongue in my mouth and getting my panties wet?” you hissed.

“Is that what you want?” 

A smirk formed on his lips. He was definitely challenging you.

Your legs were trembling now. Although if you were to admit it, you weren’t entirely sure if it was from anger or arousal.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to say anything, almost afraid what would come out of your mouth. He had you cornered up against the wall now.

“Maybe I should just find out for myself,” he said, propping his hands on either side of the wall by your head, “Make you moan in my mouth while I finger you.”

The anger that was coursing your veins earlier had definitely now turned into desire. Your stomach churned with it. You could feel his body mere inches from yours and the heat from it was making your entire body temperature feel that much higher.

“It’s not like I haven’t imagined making you moan my name,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, his tongue moving out over his lips in a quick swipe.

Your breathing had become shallow and you were throbbing with need. Before you could think of what you were doing, you were already unbuttoning your jeans.

“For once in your life I wish you’d shut up and just do it,” you grunted.

He grabbed your face roughly with both hands, his lips colliding with yours. They were hot and rough against yours, this kiss so hungry and animalistic that it was unreal.

His body was pressed against yours as he pressed you against the cool, metal wall. You could feel his arousal pressed against your thigh and you unwittingly moaned into his mouth. You had a difficult time wrapping your head around the fact that you’d gotten him so hard.

Then again, you were having a hard time wrapping your mind around anything that didn’t involve him.

His tongue moved with yours, ironically increasing your desire, making you wetter. Just like you’d voiced earlier. Damn, the guy sure knew what he was doing.

He pulled your jeans roughly down your legs until they were enough out of the way that he was satisfied. His lips attacked your jaw, then neck, being anything but gentle, but it was working you up more than anything.

Your hands gripped his arms, your teeth bearing down into your bottom lip, resisting the urge to give in to what he wanted: hearing you moan.

He pulled away from you making you suddenly desperate for his lips on your skin again. He pried your hands away from him and held them against the wall, his hips pressing into yours.

His suit pants were a lot thinner than your jeans, so you could feel his erection pressing into you, dangerously close to your throbbing core where all of a sudden, you wanted him the most.

Spencer’s fingers ghosted over the fabric of your underwear, causing you to inhale sharply. It felt good and you wanted more.

You reached for his hand, trying to push it against your core, but he pulled it away, shaking his head.

“No. This is all you’re getting until you admit it.”

His finger trailed up the center of your panties, having just enough pressure to slightly feel his touch. You groaned at his teasing. If your past years of banter had been foreplay then you were more than ready for him to have you.

“Admit what?”

“That you want this,” Spencer stated simply.

His fingertip swirled lightly over the fabric, just above your clit. Light enough that you didn’t get any real friction from the touch and you bucked your hips, desperate to feel it.

“I think it’s fucking obvious,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”

His smirk was wolfish. You knew he wasn’t going to give in unless you did what he said.

“I want this,” you groaned.

“What’s that?” he tipped his head to the side, “Can’t hear you.”

“I want this,” you said, a notch louder, gripping his wrist.

“This?”

His fingers dipped into your underwear and his thumb pressed hard against your clit.

“Ah, fuck yes,” you moaned.

He grinned, his finger dipping into your wet warmth.

“Seems like my tongue in your mouth did indeed make you wet,” he chuckled lowly, pulling your underwear off with his other hand.

His fingers teased you as you writhed and moaned, clawing at the elevator wall behind you. He had this amazing way of rubbing his knuckles against your walls as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

“Holy shit, fuck Spencer,” you whined.

You were so turned on, you hardly had any recognition of what was tumbling out of your mouth. It sure seemed to please Spencer, though.

He kept you on your toes though, slowing his fingers just when you thought you were reaching the brink of your orgasm, twisting them so gradually, it was almost painfully pleasant. You swore your eyes almost rolled back in your head when his fingers curled inward in his direction, catching that sweet spot at just the right angle.

He was kissing you as you moaned appreciatively in his mouth. His hands were quite literally magical.

His fingers finally sped up, his thumb focusing all its attention on your clit. You could feel your release quickly approaching and you were ready to succumb to it. You wanted Spencer Reid to make you cum so hard you’d be begging for more.

He did just that.

Your high hit you as you released on his fingers. Your eyes screwed shut, your head banging against the wall. You actually think you stopped breathing for a short second before air rushed back into your lungs and you released a long moan.

“Oh my god, Spencer,” you groaned, reaching for the waistband of his pants.

He’d given you one hell of an orgasm and here you were, ready to beg for more. Especially if they came while he was buried to the hilt inside you.

“That was hot as hell,” he muttered, kissing you again, “It’s sexy seeing you spend all your energy on an orgasm instead of yelling at me. It’s healthier for your body, too.”

He smirked, his teeth pulling on your lower lip gently before pulling away. His hands were working with yours to push his pants down and his boxers too.

“Are you willing to admit you want me to fuck you against this wall now?” he growled.

“Yes, yes. Fuck yes, please.”

Man, if he wanted you to be his bitch ages ago, he probably should’ve just fucked you. One orgasm at his hands and you had turned into a writhing, begging and moaning heap.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder if he could make you feel so good with his hands, that it would most likely be ten times as amazing with his dick.

He lifted you up, holding you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed into you. You felt yourself stretching in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time and you couldn’t hold it back; a long, low moan of gratification left your lips.You hated to admit it, but he felt fucking fantastic inside of you.

By his own confirming groan, you could tell he felt the same way as you. At the back of your mind you couldn’t help but wonder why this hadn’t happened years ago. 

His hips rocked against yours, slowly at first as his mouth found yours. He was as ravenous for you as you were for him. 

Your fingers dug into his back as his thrusts became faster and harder. He was quite literally fucking you into this metal wall and you were loving every second of it.

Your emitted moans were coming every few seconds with every slap of your skin against his. His own grunts and groans came from deep in his throat, making you even hotter.

“S-Spencer,” you stuttered, pulling his face back to yours.

You have him a brief kiss before smirking up at him.

“I’m the spoiled little brat that’s got you moaning like a little bitch,” you panted.

Your words made him groan as he gripped your sides. He must have excellent control because he managed to get a hold of himself, slowing his hips to where he was tantalizingly pulling out of you and pushing back in.

“Still hate me, Y/N?”

“Right now, yes,” you groaned, trying to pull him deeper within you, wanting the previous speed and depth back.

“Now?”

“Ye- ahhh,” a breathy moan came from you as he resumed his harsher and faster thrusts.

“I don’t hate you,” you groaned, lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

Maybe voiced thoughts during sex were the truth because you actually didn’t hate him. Especially right now.

“Fuck, Y/N, yes baby,” he groaned.

He was close to his peak, you could tell. His fingers were on your clit, circling furiously. He was going to make sure you got your orgasm, before he got his. Who knew he was actually so decent?

Your whimpers, moans and groans were rising in pitch. You halfway hoped no one could hear, but at the same time didn’t care. Let the whole building hear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Spencer, I’m coming, I’m-”

With that, the coil of pleasure that had been building up snapped like a broken rubber band, shooting through your entire body. 

You may have screeched too, you’re not entirely sure. You were completely lost to the bliss of your orgasm and even more so when he came apart not long after you. If you had thought he was attractive before, he was a hundred times more sexy when he was orgasming above you, all caused by you.

Your movements slowed, your chests both heaving. He held onto you carefully, as if he was afraid to set you down just yet. Probably a good idea considering you felt like you’d lost all function in your legs.

You laughed incredulously, unable to believe what had just happened. That had simultaneously been the craziest yet hottest thing you’d ever done.

Spencer’s smirk was replaced with a more shy, happy smile. It was a better look than the scowl he’d worn for you for so long.

It was like the moment that first orgasm hit you, all the anger, all the hatred, all the negative feelings you’d felt towards him drained from your body. You didn’t have the willpower or the desire to hate him anymore. Not that you ever really had.

“I meant what I said,” you said quietly.

“What’s that? You said a lot of things,” he chuckled.

“That I don’t hate you.”

He took a few moments in silence, parting from you and gently setting your feet on the floor again. He took his time getting decent again, as well. You worried at your bottom lip as you did the same, nervous that you’d said the wrong thing.

“So I was right? About the defensive mechanism and everything?”

“Yeah,” you nodded somberly, “I horribly misjudged you; thinking you were stuck up, full of yourself, better than anyone else, the kind of guy that was like all the others and in love with my sister.”

“If anything, I would think what just happened would prove more than anything that my sights are set on you.”

He had a point.

“Why did you hate me though?”

“I was thrown off by your reaction to me. I thought you were a self entitled, spoiled brat and that you thought you were better than me. Seems like we both vastly misjudged one another.”

“It’s kinda a good thing though,” you said.

Spencer looked at you, baffled.

“It is?”

“Well yeah, cause if none of that happened then that wouldn’t have happened either,” you gestured to the place where moments before the two of you had been a tangle of limbs.

“Good point,” he chuckled.

“Uh, Spencer?”

“Hmm?” he looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“You might want to get the elevator moving again.”

“Oh! Right.”

He laughed, hitting the emergency button to restart the elevator.

“I apologize for giving you so much grief though. I’d do anything to make it up to you,” you said.

“How about letting me take you out then? You’re still here for a few more days, aren’t you?” he asked.

You smiled.

“I think I can make all the time in my schedule for you, Spencer.”

His answering smile was enough to make you smile in return.

Oddly enough, the elevator had gone down and back up without stopping, returning to the floor the BAU was on.

“That’s weird,” Spencer mumbled.

The doors parted to JJ waiting to get on.

“Hey, what are you guys still doing here? I thought you left an hour ago.”

Huh, so it’d been an hour. 

She got on the elevator, standing between the two of you.

“Elevator issues,” Spencer answered, before you could think of what to say.

“So you’ve been stuck in the elevator together this entire time?” JJ asked.

“Yup,” you answered.

“I guess it’s a miracle you two didn’t tear each other apart then,” she muttered, hitting the button for the ground floor.

Yeah, there might’ve been some tearing involved.

Behind her back, you and Spencer shared a secret smile.

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[hippohead]

Okay, here goes for the prompts: number 4 on friends to lovers!

I hope you're doing well :)

thank you so much! sorry it took a little while also i’m feeling a little rusty but here’s a little something-something. 

4. “you deserve better. it doesn’t have to be me, but you deserve better.”

Blaine went through a superhero phase when they were seven years old.

Kurt went along with it because he liked the capes and he thought it was cute when Blaine lifted his fist into the air and pretended to fly. The only part of it that was tedious was The Question, every day:

“What would your superpower be?”

The first time he asked it, Kurt answered honestly: “I want to be like Matilda. Move things with my mind and stuff.”

Blaine nodded and then picked super speed for himself. He ran around his backyard in loops until even Kurt felt dizzy, and they decided to just be superheroes who lay on the grass for the rest of the evening.

But then he asked it the next day, and the next, and the one after that. Over and over for almost a year. He wasn’t allowed to say the same one twice. Kurt ran out of superpowers to want.  

When he finally moved on to his next obsession, Kurt was relieved, but right now he’d give anything for Blaine to ask him that question.

He’s not sure why Blaine would, though, considering it’s been over twenty years since the last time he did and they’re both wearing suits, not capes. But he’s got a new answer.

Time travel.

In fact, he’d do just about anything to flick a switch or drive a car past 88 or hop into a telephone box and end up thirty seconds earlier, before he said The Words.

The words. The ones that weren’t meant to come out. The one’s he’d vowed to keep stuck inside of his throat, even if it made it hard to breathe sometimes.

“You deserve better. It doesn’t have to be me, but you deserve better.”

Most of the sentence was fine and allowed. Most of it.

“What- what did you say?”

Shit. “I said you deserve better.”

God, he can see a million different things on Blaine’s face right now. He’s read those lines so many times; deciphered them, understood them, figured them out. He can still see all of the lingering pain about Tom not showing up, and the anger at himself for letting that be okay, and the tiredness of fighting for a relationship that neither person really wants. He can see the comfort that Kurt’s giving him, his best friend, in this tiny little restaurant cloak room, and the confusion, too.

“Look, I know you don’t like Tom-”

“It’s your thirtieth birthday. He should be here,” and it comes out like grit in Kurt’s teeth.

Blaine doesn’t say anything. If he did, he’d have to admit that this is actually pretty low on the list of Tom let-downs. There’s been worse - this one just looks bad.

“We should get back out there,” Kurt says, just to say something. The air is starting to feel too stuffy in here. He starts to leave, aware that Blaine’s parents and their mutual friends and a couple of Blaine’s coworkers are sitting at their table, probably wondering where on earth they’d disappeared to.

"Kurt?”

He stops halfway through the door, bracing himself - there’s no way Blaine would let Kurt just breeze over a slip-up like that. It’s not the first slip-up, either. There have been others in the past, from both of them. And it always goes the same way; the one who slipped up deflects and ignores, and the one who heard the slip-up pushes a little bit, desperate to see if the other will be brave this time.

Neither of them are ever brave.  

“Yeah?” he says, resigned to the inevitable.

There’s plead in Blaine’s eyes – so much so that it makes Kurt kind of want to be brave this time, even though Blaine hasn’t questioned him yet. He’s gotten stuck, just sort of halted and trying to find the words.  

And then the soft sound of a Billy Joel song starts to play from Blaine’s pocket – his ringtone.  

Blaine holds his gaze for a second and then checks his phone, sighing, with a little puff of exasperation once he registers who’s calling. “It’s Tom.”

Kurt nods, drained of any bravery, and heads back to the table.  

- - - - -

Kurt drops Blaine home after the dinner because even after the phone call, Tom still didn’t turn up.

It’s a quiet ride. Blaine had managed to do what Blaine does best which is to put on a cheerful face and convince a room full of loved ones that he’s fine, but he doesn’t have to do that in this car. Not in Kurt’s presence.  

There’s a free spot right by Blaine’s apartment building so he pulls into it and turns the car off. It’s even more quiet now; the hum of the engine had been giving them some kind of music and it’s confronting now that it’s gone. He waits. Blaine seems settled in his seat. He’s staring at the sidewalk, curved in on himself but grounded, grounded to the space next to Kurt.  

“Are you okay?”

Blaine’s shoulders lift, “I’ve had better birthdays.”

Kurt thinks that’s all he’s going to say but then he keeps going, his tone lightening a little bit.

“Do you remember that time you paid for all of the Warblers to fly into the city to surprise me?”

Kurt laughs, melodic and sweet at the memory, “I overshot my budget a lot that year.”

“I couldn’t understand why you wanted to go to the top of the Empire State so badly on my birthday,” Blaine laughs too.  

“God, it was so stressful. Rachel was helping me co-ordinate it all but there was no service in the subway, and I had no idea if they were all in position and ready, and you were being... difficult, to say the least.”

“I wanted to go to Benny’s.”

That makes Kurt smile. It had been for Blaine’s twenty-first birthday. It was a big deal. And all Blaine wanted to do was get a milkshake from their favourite diner. Maybe share a plate of fries. Nothing big or fancy – just dinner in a place they discovered together. “If I remember correctly, I took you to Benny’s afterwards.”

“You did,” Blaine confirms. And then, with an odd mixture of wist and sadness, “I can’t believe you did all of that for me.”

“Is this your way of telling me you hate the watch?” and it’s an attempt to lighten the mood back up. He reaches for Blaine’s wrist and picks it up, admiring the new silver and ignoring the way it makes him feel to have Blaine’s skin under his palm.  

“I love the watch.”

They catch each other’s eyes and oh, here it is. He almost got away with it.  

“What did you mean tonight?”

Kurt drops his wrist.  

“When you said it didn’t have to be you, but I deserved better?”

He looks straight ahead, the heat from Blaine’s stare burning into his cheek. He doesn’t know how to tell this lie again.  

“Kurt?”

“Do you want me to be brave?” he asks, almost wanting permission to be.

Blaine nods, resolute. “I want you to be honest.”

Okay. There’s the permission. And he keeps it simple. “It doesn’t have to be me, but I want it to be.”

Blaine nods again, barely surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me this when we were seven?”

“Seven-year-olds aren’t in love yet.”

“We were.”  

And maybe they were, or maybe they fell into it somewhere along the way, but one thing is for sure.  

They definitely are now.  

Blaine looks like he wants to kiss Kurt but doesn’t, mumbles a little incoherently about needing to sort some things out first which they both know means breaking up with his useless boyfriend, and then he squeezes Kurt’s hand.  

Just as Blaine’s reaching for the door handle, Kurt can’t help but ask him something.  

“Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“What would your superpower be?”

Blaine looks a little confused, and then the context of his old obsession sinks in and his eyes crinkle as he laughs. And once his laughter settles, he thinks about it. “Time travel.”

He means: I wish I could go back to that day in Eighth Grade when we came out to each other and explain that you were the reason I knew, or, I wish I could go back to that party we went to when we were 17 and instead of getting horrendously drunk, kiss you instead, or, I wish I could go back to that night at your first apartment in New York when we argued and hold your hand instead. And Kurt knows that’s what he means.  

“What about you?”

Kurt sets him with a look that is love, and adoration, and hope, and says, “I’m gonna go back to my original answer.”

“The Matilda thing?”

And he remembers. Of course he remembers. 

“Yeah. The Matilda thing.”

#klaine fanfic #i wrote this! #klaine #it's just short but it's something!!

[burnedbyshoto]

disconnected

— Kirishima answers a phone call that wasn’t intended for him, and of course he can’t help but be interested in the beautiful voice and soul that angrily began to rant about their day. —

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, lil angst (lol sorry), cursing

word count: 7,786

a/n: this was a stupid thought that slammed into my mind, and here it is!!!! now I have a calc midterm tomorrow that I did not look at because why think about double derivatives and integrals when I can think about kirishima????

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It was eleven at night when Kirishima strolled out of his bathroom, ready to go to bed. After a rather long day, he was looking forward to sleeping and not having to wake up at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow for the very first day in a very long time, he wouldn’t have to work at the local coffee shop he was hired at. It was a job he had acquired with his good friends on the promise of it being a manageable job on top of his college work, and of course, the pretty girls who would go in.

From what Kirishima had gathered from the four months working there was that there were a lot of pretty girls who entered the coffee shop — most of which were focused on the angry ash-blond friend of his — and that it was so unnecessarily stressful. 

Some days he was up at four in the morning to open at six for the morning regulars, then he’d go to his afternoon classes, only to return for a two-hour shift in the middle of rush hour, and would leave while trying to keep the peace between a certain ash-blond and two new hires. To say the least, it was hell on Earth at times. 

Regardless, he didn’t have to open tomorrow morning, so he was content! On top of not having classes tomorrow, Kirishima was excited to sleep in.

Falling on his bed with a massive sigh, Kirishima snuggled his face into his pillow, rejoicing in the way that the laundry detergent still clung to the fabric and relaxed.

Sleep sounded so—

RIIING.

RIIING.

Kirishima’s eyes slammed open, his head snapping to see his illuminating phone on his nightstand. He had no idea who the hell was calling this late. There was no way it was Bakugou; he was asleep already at this point. Sero had broken his phone two days ago during a failed stunt and wouldn’t be able to get a new phone until the weekend. Kaminari only called him when there was a bug in his apartment, but he was currently closing… maybe it was Mina? Kirishima shook his head, no, he hadn’t spoken to Mina in ages.

Grabbing the phone, he didn’t bother to look at the caller ID and answered.

“Hello—?”

“Oh my god, I am fucking raging! You can’t believe what kind of fuckery I just went through tonight!” a voice shouted into the receiver, and Kirishima flinched a bit at the loud and angry voice. “So you know how I wasn’t supposed to work today, right? Because my coworker had sex with her ex-boyfriend like an idiot, and I owed her for covering my shift three months ago, but anyways irrelevant. I’m taking the order of this one group of adults. That’s right, A-D-U-L-T-S, adults! They are completely staring at my tits the entire time, and not my face. At first, I thought maybe you know, I had spilled something on my tits earlier, no. No! NOTHING! So I call them out on it, and they say something along the lines of ‘you could be a camgirl with that body, but like not in a sex sort of way’ I’m sorry, WHAT?! Like yes, continue sexually harassing your server who is a college student and therefore has no will to live, so will gladly beat your Gucci belt wearing ass into a bloody pulp! What they gonna do? Sue me? I have one dollar to my name, fucking take it, I don’t care, I’ll find another dollar in the sewer after I beat their asses up!

“But you know, I’m saying all this in my head because I’m broke and can’t afford to be fired from this place because the tips are hella good here. But they continue saying dumb shit, and then the obvious ringleader — I know he was the ring leader because his beard looks like it was the first picture printed on a new ink cartridge and his manspread was ten times wider than all of theirs — have the fucking audacity to slip his number while only tipping TEN DOLLARS ON A TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR TAB!!!!” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say, his jaw on his mattress, breathing having stopped while your voice wheezes from your lack of air. He makes a croaking noise, wanting to speak up and apologize for what had happened and for not being the person you thought it was, but it seemed that you weren’t over. “AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THAT FUCKING KAREN!!! ‘I didn’t like the way you looked at me so I won’t be tipping you tonight!’ yeah, well maybe if you didn’t order enough FOOD TO FEED AN ARMY AND KEPT SENDING IT BACK I WOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT!!!”

There was a pause, and Kirishima, while feeling entirely sorry for you, finally spoke, “Fuck, that sounds... horrible.”

“Damn right, it was horri— wait, who the fuck is this?” your voice squeaked, and Kirishima almost started to laugh at the difference in the tone your voice took. Once so loud, angry, and entirely ‘fuck the world,’ had changed into a meek and embarrassed voice.

“Um, this is Kirishima. Kirishima Eijiriou?”

“This isn’t Hagakure?” you moaned into the phone. “03-9082-2395? That isn’t this number?”

“2-2-9-5,” Kirishima repeated his own number back, a small smile overcame his features knowing that you had accidentally misdialed a number.

“Fuck my fat fingers,” you cursed, and Kirishima chuckled lightly at the mutterings that were poorly picked up. “Well, um, I am so sorry for calling you and dumping that unnecessary bullshit on you—”

“No, no,” Kirishima interrupted, rolling onto his back, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling. “It’s totally okay! You seem less stressed out now too, and it really isn’t a big deal!”

“You are very kind, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, and Kirishima can’t help but imagine a figure curled up on a couch.

“Thank you!” he beamed, a hand threading through his hair, “um, but what happened with the Karen? And why were you typing in your friend’s phone number?”

“Do you really want to know?” you ask after a fit of bubbling laughter; it seemed that you were not at all convinced.

“I work at a coffee shop for one, so I totally understand the Karen situations! Secondly, all my contacts are on my phone, I don’t have a single one of them memorized!”

“Okay, okay, okay, I do not have this number memorized! Hagakure is my roommate, and she has a new number that she left posted on our fridge and because Mr. Sprinkles left in the middle of my rant, I called her to finish it!” you explain in what Kirishima could only consider being childlike glee. “And a coffee shop? Oof, Kirishima, you might have it just as bad as I do then.”

“Ever had a boiling cup of coffee thrown back at your face?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I wish I was joking!”

“The nastiest thing I’ve ever been put through is a highschool couple breaking up in the middle of the restaurant, and a bowl of cold soup and milkshake were thrown at me! And I had to work for another five hours!”

“That… that beat mine by a long shot…”

“Okay, but like, it was cold. If you hadn’t dodged, you’d be dead!”

As time passed Kirishima soon found himself sitting up on his bed, his back pressed against the headboard, a lamp on so that he wasn’t in the dark while he talked to you. Somehow conversation flowed so perfectly between the two of you, so smoothly, so naturally. You had extremely compelling energy and a pretty bright one at that as well. Your stories were exceedingly extravagant, most derailing into hundreds of side stories before making its way back to the main point, but he didn’t mind. Though there was no proof, he imagined that your arms were swinging around while you talked, a bright smile on your face, and lights shining in your eyes.

“So anyway, I had to beg my professor to let me remake this exam because, for some reason, my brain would not switch back to Japanese. I almost cried because I was only speaking in English, and I think because I am an amazing person, my professor let me do that!” you laughed after explaining an issue with being fluent in a third language. 

“My English skills deteriorated after leaving high school, I’m rather jealous you can speak three languages,” Kirishima admitted, his head falling back onto the cold wall. “My Japanese professors probably think my Japanese sucks too.”

“Just because I am amazing and can speak three languages doesn’t mean I’m perfect at it,” you laugh, obviously trying to make him feel better about himself.

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re painting yourself as a pretty perfect person,” Kirishima sighed. “Or you have an enormous ego…”

A loud scoff came from your end of the phone, and Kirishima waited for your verbal retaliation but was met with a moment of silence.

“Oh! Welcome home!” you called out, and Kirishima quickly put together that your roommate Hagakure was home. “Yeah, no, I’m talking to someone right now! ...who? Oh, um, a friend! ...no, I tried to call you when I got home but misdialed your number and got him instead! NO! You’re not going to get a pic of him! Wait, it’s what time?!”

Kirishima’s eyes fell over to his alarm clock and saw in the dim red light that it was 04:57. 

His jaw dropped.

“Well, um, Kirishima, it seems that our call is going to end,” you whisper into the phone, and Kirishima lets out a breathless chuckle, sudden sleepiness creeping into him. “It was pretty fun chatting with you stranger, thanks for putting up with that ranting in the beginning! Most normal people wouldn’t have picked up or let me rant like that!”

“It’s no problem,” Kirishima smiled softly, his fingers stretching out to turn off the light. He licked his lips, five hours on a phone call with an absolute stranger, and he didn’t have your name, and better yet, a part of him wanted to ask if it was okay to be friends. You were magnetic to him, and he wanted to know more about you, even if this was this weird modern and accidental penpal thing. “I didn’t have anything to do today, and you were fun talking to!”

“Aww, thank you!”

Silence.

Ask, he thought, his teeth biting down onto his bottom lip. Ask!

“Um, I know this is weird and all, but do you think I can keep your number?” you ask, your voice almost timid and meek.

Kirishima’s heart rate spikes at those words, he very much wanted that, but his mouth had a mind of its own it seemed. “Why?”

“Wha— well, I just had a lot of fun talking with you! It was fun, and I don’t know, you seem like a pretty chill guy!”

His fingers gripped his phone, a warmth spreading through him when he relaxed under his sheets. “On one condition.”

“Oof, if you’re going to ask to decide between Crimson Riot or All Might you’re going to be—”

“No, no,” Kirishima lets out a snort, his shoulders rolling while he imagines the curious look coming over your face. “I would like to know your name?”

“My name? Why would you want— HOLY SHIT! I never gave you—” there was a loud noise on your end of the call, and Kirishima heard you apologize profusely before returning in a hushed whisper. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t give you my name?!”

“No,” he laughed loudly, one that was pushed from his belly, spreading warmth through his body. “You never did, but I did learn every name of every person you’ve ever talked with!”

“God,” you groan, a small whine emitted from you. “I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry! Y/l/n y/n at your service!”

Y/l/n y/n, that’s a pretty name, he thought while imagining just what you could look like. 

“Well, goodnight y/l/n, I’ll save your number, and we’ll see if you still would like to be friends when you wake up?”

There was a small noise of agreement, “I’m like a drug, Kirishima, you’ll be back for more.”

“Okay, okay, goodnight…”

“Goodnight, sweet dreams!”

“Sweet dreams.”

Kirishima listened to the line ending, and he pulled his phone away from his ear and no sooner did he do that, a text came in at what he believed to be your number:

don’t let the bed bugs bite! 🕷😱‼️

He snorted and replied back before eventually letting sleep consume him.

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“You’ll never believe what just happened!” you squealed into the phone, and Kirishima laughed while wiping his sweaty face with a white towel. You had called thirty minutes earlier than usual and had caught him leaving the gym.

It had been a bit over two months since your misdial, and things with you had been going pretty well for strangers. The two of you didn’t talk every day, most weeks going by with just a single call, but they were always delightful talks. You worked most nights, and he most mornings, the two of you discovered. So most calls took place the night he didn’t have to work the following morning. 

“You got a customer who complained that there was too much salt in their meal that had no salt in it?” he asked, pulling a random story of something that had happened at his own coffee shop today. You let out an amused snort, a clear indicator that he was wrong, but found his guess to be amusing at the very least.

“No, but oddly enough, someone did ask for an insane amount of salt on their food and hated it!” you sang, clearly happy with how you found their distress to be funny.

“Close enough!” Kirishima laughed, but he was straight out of guesses, so he stopped. “So, what happened?”

“I tried coffee for the first time ever today!” you squealed loudly, and Kirishima cheered happily.

Through these two months, there were some hard facts that Kirishima had learned about you. One, you were living in the same city as him. Two, you worked at a semi-classy restaurant. Three, you had two roommates named Hagakure and Jirou. Four, you were twenty, just like him. And five, you were a child who only drank hot chocolate and tea because you were afraid of coffee.

~

“Caffeine is a drug you know,” you had snarkily teased him one night when he said he was going to make a cup of coffee. “Nice to know I’m friends with an addict!”

“If drugs were as amazing as coffee, I’d be an addict!”

“You know…” your voice whispered, your voice suddenly taking a guilty approach. “I’ve never actually tried coffee…”

“WHAT?!”

~

“Wow, look at you, becoming an old woman in front of my own eyes!” Kirishima chuckled, starting his walk back home. 

His fingers pushed the headphones to be more secure over his ears, hopeful that there it wouldn’t pick up too heavily on the wind of the outside world. 

“To be honest, it wasn’t that good, your taste buds are just tarnished from drinking that bitter crap all day!” you huff and he half imagined you turning your nose up.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima laughed, a warmth flooding in his chest at the sounds of your muffled laughter. A visible indicator that you were also amused at this. “I hated coffee until I started working at a coffee shop, and that was because I needed to know my shit.”

“Wow, you only got that job while not being a coffee addict?” you tease. “Seems like a fake barista to me.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe, I know,” Kirishima stated his tone one of fake melancholy. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you, and honestly, I am a shit barista.”

“Aww, don’t say that!” you exclaim, and it seems like you’re ready to fight him. “I bet you put all those fancy TikTok baristas to shame!”

“TikTok?” he laughed, his pace speeding up just a bit so he would get home faster. “Wow, I am honored you think that!”

The light conversation continued, nothing too deep or too intense, just chatter about today's shifts and classes. Eventually, Kirishima made it back into his apartment complex, and stumbled into his room, collapsing onto his bed. 

“Can I ask something?” you ask suddenly, and Kirishima lets out a small hum.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”

“What do you look like?” you asked softly as if you were curled up in bed, seconds from letting sleep consume you. “I haven’t come up with a mental image that I like, and well, I want some hints.”

“I can just send you a picture of me,” Kirishima smiles, his eyes closing. “It would be much easier than me trying to explain to you what I look like.”

“No!” you disagree, and there's a long sigh from your end of the phone. “I’m not ready for that kind of information yet, Kiri. I just… I can’t accept a pic of you without sending one back, and I’m not mentally ready for that yet…”

“Don’t tell me the big fat Gucci bougie you is shy?!” Kirishima exclaimed, humor drowning his words as he referenced you to something you had called yourself one drunken night weeks ago.

“Not shy!” you bemoan, your voice muffling out at the end of it. “I’m more scared you’ll find me ugly and ghost me…”

“I don’t think that’s possible,��� Kirishima interjected, his voice stable and confident.

“Which part?”

“Both parts.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know what I look like…”

“...call it… Kirishima’s intuition,” Kirishima slowly stated, his eyebrows furrowing. “I find your voice and your personality to be attractive on their own, so I would never ghost you. And of course, appearance isn’t anything; plus, there’s no way you’re not gorgeous.”

He says these words with honest truth, and a part of him fears he overstepped and made you wildly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that is heard from your end of the line. But finally, as Kirishima is ready to apologize to you, a soft exhale is heard.

“You’re a dork,” you whisper, and a soft grin spreads on his own face. “Anyways, I’ll ask questions, you answer them first, and then I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds good!”

“Hair color?”

“Black, but I dye it red.”

“Mm, edgy teenager, I like it, and also knew that because you complained about your stained sheets! Eye color?”

“Red.”

“Oh, am I sensing a theme? How tall are you?”

“I’m… a bit over six feet?”

The list went on, most questions becoming more of a joke than anything else, but he was glad that you were asking these things because now he had an insight on how you looked too. You had told him your eye color, your hair color, how tall you were, and a whole bunch of trivial things he would have never thought to ask about to begin with.

“Okay, last question!” you cheered, happy to have finally included Kirishima into your inside joke that revolved around your eyebrows. “Do you have any distinguishing features?”

“Well, I don’t actually...” Kirishima admitted, his fingers brushing against the scar on his eye, and then it hit him. That was one! “Oh, wait—” CRASH. A loud crashing noise emitted from your side of the call.

“Shit, hold on!” you curse and Kirishima can only remain silent while he hears you yelling in the background, it was too far away for him to quite understand, but it was enough to know that it didn’t sound okay. 

Kirishima sat on his side of the call, the phone pressed to his ear while he tried to strip his gross and sweaty shirt from his body. His teeth bit into his lip, his canine pressing into the permanent indent of his lip, an indicator of how anxious he used to be. 

“Fuck, Kiri?” your voice suddenly snapped back onto the call, your tone frantic and quick.

“Everything okay?”

“No, Hagakure showed up drunker than… a drunken drunk, I don’t know expressions, ANYWAYS I know tonight is our unofficial official call night, but anyway I can get a rain check?”

There was guilt that swallowed your voice, a pang of guilt that made Kirishima warm a bit because it showed that you valued these calls, just like him. 

“Of course, I don’t have class or work Friday morning this time around, so Thursday night?”

“That works perfectly,” you sigh, gratitude. “I owe you, text you later if you don’t fall asleep! Goodnight, sweet dreams, love ya!”

Kirishima couldn’t repeat the whole statement before you hastily hung up, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face the entire time he showered. The shower didn’t take too long, and by the time he emerged from the shower, towel around his neck and his waist, he had a text message. 

sero - hey bro!!! i can’t pick up my morning shift tomorrow i know you have tonight to speak w y/n but todoroki and bakugou can’t cover it!

Kirishima sighed, he definitely didn’t have anything tomorrow anyways, he could manage with going in for an extra shift to help a friend.

kirishima - yeah sure what time?

sero - youre a life saver T-T im covering 8 am - 3 pm!!!

Kirishima sent a simple affirmative emoji before finishing up his nightly routine. 

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Kirishima looked at his apron while he was assembling himself in the backroom. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and pastries was almost pungent in the back, and he was eager to get out of there. As per employee regulations, he was to wear a black apron, a name tag, and something to hold his hair because it was a bit too long, for that, he wore a white bandana around his forehead.

“Wait, where’s my name tag?” Kirishima called out, his eyebrows furrowing when he turned out to Kaminari, who was currently in the back with him.

The blond froze and scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly, “About that…”

So Kirishima was in the front of the store with a shiny silver name tag that read Hanta Sero. Because Kaminari was the best barista they had on hand currently, he was busy teaching Midoriya — their newest hire — around the bar. For now, Todoroki was nowhere to be found, and Kirishima was handling the cash register. 

Today was a slow morning, most people had their day off today, so morning coffee rush wasn’t in existence. Sure, there were a few outliers, but it was never chaotic. 

The gentle bell of the front door rang, and Kirishima automatically called out.

“Welcome!”

You had walked into the store, your eyebrows furrowed while you prayed that this was the coffee shop your roommates had been raving about. You’d never been here before, but it was the closest coffee shop available that wasn’t something generic and basic like Starbucks. You looked up from your phone at the voice, a thank you automatically being repeated while you neared the register.

You froze when you saw the red hair and the red eyes of the handsome man at the register. A careless thought entered your mind, Kirishima said he had red hair and red eyes… but he said he didn’t work today… 

A kind smile sat on his face, his eyes taking you in, waiting for you to approach him. 

This couldn’t be him, right?

The last time you had assumed a redhead working in a coffee shop was Kirishima, it had ended embarrassingly. 

“Um, hi,” you drawled out, your eyes reading the board to figure out your own order. 

Kirishima couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, you were exactly what you had described to him, but he wouldn’t ask until he was sure. He would ask you for your name after collecting your order for either tea or hot chocolate, and if it was you, he’d reveal that he was Kirishima. But he didn’t want to be wrong; he didn’t want to pin any other person as you, after all.

“I’ve never been here before,” you confess, your hand rubbing the back of your head. You were transfixed on the caramel macchiato that was spelled in the prettiest font, though, plus Hagakure promised all their coffee was good. 

“Oh, well, welcome! If you need any recommendations or have anything else to order, I can put those through while you look?”

His smile was kind, and you felt blood rush to your face, something you desperately tried to fight off by thinking of anything you didn’t like. 

“Oh! I do have two orders, though! There’s going to be one chai tea latte with three pumps of vanilla, and a lavender tea with a splash of oat milk.”

Kirishima nodded his head, “Will this be for here, or to go?”

His voice sounds so similar to Kirishima, you hoped, studying his face. While you answered that it was to go, you saw a distinctive scar on his right eye. Kirishima had said he didn’t have any distinguishing features… 

“What are your favorites here?” you ask, your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, your thoughts very evident in your face.

Kirishima couldn’t help but find hope bubbling up in his chest, there was always the possibility that you two lived in the same city-based off the same area code, and with what seemed like an incomplete knowledge in coffee, maybe…

Kirishima rambled off about the different seasonal drinks right now, his recommendations leaning towards the teas and non-coffee things primarily after his general and basic list. You seemed to take every word out of his lip like gospel, agreeing and nodding when appropriate, and his lips stretched into a grin when you bluntly exclaimed your ill knowledge of this all.

“To be honest, I only step into coffee shops to take a cute pic and then leave,” you laugh, pressing your hands against your lips and screaming a bit in your throat. 

Kirishima laughed, more confidence blooming through his body over the hope that this was you. It had to be you.

Your eyes then found the nametag on his apron, and like a sinking ship, you read Sero.

Not Kirishima.

“And for you?”

“I’ll have the caramel macchiato,” you decide, a grateful smile on your face while he looks down and writes the orders.

“A name?”

“Penny,” came your automatic response.

You never used your real name in coffee shops.

Kirishima suppressed the way that his mouth wanted to drop into a sad smile, and like two rejected teenagers, the money was exchanged. Before Kirishima could attempt to calm his disappointed soul, you walked out of the shop with the coffees and tea in hand.

“What was that about?” Kaminari asked, his eyes wide. “There was so much flirting and then poof, gone from both sides. Come on, dude, it’s my job to fail at flirting, not yours!”

Kirishima laughed, ignoring the way that his three friends looked at him with concern and curiosity. “Nothing, I just… the customer looked like how y/n described herself to be…”

“Oh… sorry, bro.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Kirishima waved it off, and without so much as another slap on the back, he went back to work.

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“What the hell are you doing?”

Kirishima looked up from his phone, his fingers mid-type pausing only for a millisecond before continuing to text blindly. 

“Oh, hey, Bakubro, what’s up?” he cheerfully spoke, ignorant to the controller in the ash blond’s hand. 

“It’s your turn, shitty hair, pay fucking attention!” Bakugou barked, tossing the plastic controller into his chest. Kirishima grunted, the feeling of the plastic slamming against his chest was less than ideal, but the smile on his face didn’t waiver while he offered his best friend the controller back.

“It’s all good, you can have another turn, I can handle being out this round!”

“Kiri, that’s six rounds in a row,” Kaminari spoke up, his face in a teasing smirk.

It was then that Kirishima’s face turned approximately the same color as his hair. “I didn’t—”

“Awww, Eijirou has a little crush on y/n!!!” Kaminari sang, resulting in agreeing with noises from Sero and Midoriya. Only Bakugou and Todoroki remained silent. 

Kirishima only laughed, he knew he couldn’t deny that fact, but he wouldn’t say it aloud — especially because Bakugou seemed to hate you. It had been now four months since the two of you had ‘meet,’ and while he still had no face to imagine you with, things had taken a slightly flirty route between the two of you.

Calls were much more frequent, nearly all nights the two of you would speak, even if it was just a measly summary of the day and a ‘sweet dreams’ and a ‘goodnight’ and an ‘I love you.’ It always happened nowadays.

Tonight was an exception, of course, because he was out with his friends, and apparently, you were doing the same. 

“You can’t be fucking serious?” Bakugou spat, a laugh spluttering from his lips, but it was cold and held no humor. “You caught feelings for a person who’s too much of a fucking coward to reveal a picture of themselves?”

“That’s not fair; besides, it's not about physical appearance!” Kirishima waved him off, pressing send to his text message.

have fun tonight! text me when u get back home if ur able to!

“Just how naive can you be?” Bakugou sneered, his hand taking the phone from Kirishima's side. “Six months of talking every week, texting every day, and this y/n still hasn’t trusted you with a single picture of them? I know you said that she told you how she looked, and all that shit, but let's be real, it’s so easy to lie about how you look like when you don’t have to provide a picture. What y/n say? Big tits? Big ass? Small waist? What about her did she say that made you so fucking insane over her?”

“N-Nothing! We didn’t talk about our body types!” Kirishima’s eyes widened significantly, the once comfortable atmosphere of the room wholly gone while Bakugou’s vermillion eyes seethed silently. “None of that matters! I told you the truth! I like y/n because of her personality, she’s manly, and I like that a lot! It’s not about her appearance, how pessimistic can you get, bro! I promise you, she’s trustworthy!”

“Is she really?”

“What?”

“How can you be in love with someone who you trust entirely, but doesn’t trust you at all? You said that y/n won’t show you a picture of herself because she’s scared you won’t like her? How is that trusting you? How is that fucking fair? To me, that sounds like some fucked up catfishing thing.”

“We talk on the phone, dude,” Kirishima said softly, but those thoughts were invading his mind. Did you not trust him? He knew he wasn’t the best option in the world, and he had accepted that in time and by improving on what he thought he was best at. But did you, after all this time, really not believe him when he claimed nothing would change when he saw you? “Catfishes don’t even do that… besides, the first call was by accident, why would someone—”

“Dunce face, what’s that one fucking idiotic thing you do for fun?” Bakugou snapped at the blond, not even bothering to look at him.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I do that you—” Kaminari laughed awkwardly, his smile tight and awkward.

“Kaminari.”

“I call… random numbers… pretending to have a big issue to see how they react…” he admitted, and Kirishima’s stomach clenched.

“And?” Bakugou snarled.

“I pretend to be a girl…”

“Don’t be stupid, Bakugou, this is more than one time!” Kirishima groaned.

“It's a voice that you can’t attach a face to, who knows if this is a person you can trust! People with voice acting exist in this world, how the hell do you possibly know that they’re not one of them?! Be fucking real, if ‘y/n’ trusted you, if that’s even their name, they wouldn’t be hiding their face from you.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything else, the acid piling in his throat was too much for him to even look at his friend. The night didn’t really recover from that conversation, and Kirishima eventually found himself back home.

He sat at the edge of his bed, his phone in his hands, waiting for a message from you. He couldn’t sleep, and even though he had work tomorrow morning, he found himself wide awake, unable to let sleep consume.

It was three in the morning when you sent a text, his eyes still wide awake, and with shaky fingers, he read the message.

i just got home can you believe that i drank three cups of wine and didnt get tipsy??????? thats on being a raging alcoholic ;D

Kirishima wanted to laugh; on god, he would’ve found this beyond delightful to read because he knew you couldn’t handle your liquor, but that bitter stream of acid destroyed the humor in his thoughts.

Were you really telling the truth? Was this all a lie?

He didn’t text back; instead, his finger pressed the call button, and he held his breath.

“Helloooo?” a voice picked up on the second ring, but it wasn’t your voice. It was a voice he didn’t recognize at all.

‘Voice actors,’ Bakugou’s voice reentered his thoughts, and the phone in his hand nearly dropped.

“Sorry, hello?” the voice he knew as you finally came through, and Kirishima let out a shallow breath, one so small, so mediocrely weak it burned his lungs.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, maybe too softly because you asked with a strained laugh for him to repeat his words. “Do you trust me, y/n?”

There was a pause on your end, too long a beat for Kirishima to be comfortable with.

“Of course I trust you, Ei, are you okay?”

“Do you actually trust me, or are you lying?”

“Woah there,” you said a small laugh on your tongue, but there was only confusion in it, not your contagious sound. “Did you drink? It’s a work night, you never do that!”

“Answer the question,” Kirishima spoke with finality, his shoulders tense, tears pushing past his eyes while he struggled to maintain composure.

Prove Bakugou wrong, please, prove Bakugou wrong.

“Of course I do,” you spoke with genuine clarity, but still, Kirishima was rattled, his confidence blown. “What’s going on?”

Did he want to confess to his insecurities? Was it worth it? His breathing became frantic, almost as if he was going insane just thinking about where his thoughts were. But Kirishima was never good at hiding things, no he was as open as a book.

“Why won’t you let me see you… we’ve been friends for six months, and the only thing I know about you is your eye color and your hair color. It’s so insanely generic that I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, your voice small, almost a whisper of all the energy one could have at this time of night.

“I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t trust me, who’s using me,” he spoke with perfect clarity that hid away his insecurities about this all. “For all, I know nothing about you is real, that this is all just some ploy to hurt me in the end. Six months and you can’t trust me with a single meet up or even a picture? I just… has this been a game for you, y/n? Or is that even your name.”

The call ended and a single message held on his screen, this call has been dropped, but you didn’t seem to want to call him back.

Kirishima didn’t sleep a wink that night, his words coming back to bite him in the throat each and every time he thought he was close enough to sleep. Insecurities riled up in him, consuming him entirely.

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He tried to call back.

For fourteen straight days, Kirishima attempted to call you back.

Every time he called you, he would always hang up before he could take back his words. But each call, after he had prematurely hung up, he would recant his mean words to the unresponsive phone. He did trust you, he was weak, he was unmanly to assume those things. You could take, however long it took to finally trust him again because he would wait for you no matter what. He apologized again and again until the very last one he broke down into silent tears, a single message of ‘I hope one day you’ll forgive me’ hung weakly on his voice and put his phone away. 

It was sixteen days since he had spoken those cruel words to you, and in that time, he didn’t regret finally talking about his ill feelings towards wanting to reveal yourself to him. But he did regret the way it came out; instead of it being a deep and personal conversation, it came out as bitter and one-sided. The two of you were disconnected, and he felt empty.

But he couldn’t focus on it, not today, after all, it was Bakugou’s birthday, and everyone was gathering at the local fancy restaurant to celebrate. 

Kirishima dressed up presentable, wearing a navy blue button-up, and dark slacks. He walked towards the entrance of the restaurant where Kaminari, Sero, and Midoriya were eagerly leading the group of them into the building. Typically Kirishima would’ve been with them in terms of spirit, but he felt energyless at the moment.

With the moon high in the sky, Kirishima stilled when Bakugou called out his name.

He stared at his best friend, the ash blond’s lip curled into a sneer while he huffed, “Listen, Kirishima, I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s okay, Bakugou!” Kirishima laughed, his hand slapping to the back of his neck. “You weren’t wrong.”

“I never said I was wrong,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes locked on Kirishima’s while he shoved his hands into his pockets. Kirishima stilled, unsure as to where this would be leading. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I know that Mina hurt you badly, and you’re too big of an idiot to not see when things arise. Maybe y/n is genuine, but if you aren’t fucking honest with her about your own feelings about how she’s so secretive, it’s not going to work.”

Kirishima smiled softly, a weak shrug moving through him, “I know, thanks, man.”

Bakugou nodded, and without a word, he continued on ahead where Midoriya was yelling at them to hurry up and come so they could be seated. 

Kirishima sighed, rolling out his shoulders before following afterward.

Kirishima followed after the hostess, smiling at her gratefully when she sat the group into their own private room and left. 

“Bakugou’s paying, right?” Kaminari stage whispered to Midoriya while staring at the prices on the menu.

“Eat shit, dunce face, learn how to save up your fucking money the next time you offer to come to this fucking place!” Bakugou roared, hearing the whisper.

“I’ll be covering the bill,” Todoroki informed with a smirk on his face. Kirishima laughed, looking at the prices and indeed agreeing with Kaminari’s statement. Having a wealthy friend was very convenient at times like this.

“Hi, welcome to Eiko, I’ll be your waitress today!” a voice chirped from the entrance of the room, and Kirishima froze, he recognized that voice and face.

It was the person he had mistaken for you all those months ago.

By the smile on your face, it seemed that you recognized them all too.

“And what is your name,” Sero winked, his eyes captivated by you.

“Oh, haha, sorry, my name is y/n,” you smiled, moving the menus you held in your hand to show the silver nametag on your uniform.

“Oh, like Kirishima’s y/n,” Kaminari laughed, pointing a finger at Kirishima, not at all being as quiet as he probably thought himself to be. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who thought that because while Kirishima was staring at your face, embarrassingly taking you in, you followed Kaminari’s finger.

Your sight sat on the redhead in the middle whose name was Kirishima, and you straightened up in what felt like panic. 

“You’re Kirishima?” you asked quietly, your finger grasping the menus so tightly, your knuckles turned white. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

“The one and only,” Kaminari voiced for him, his arm thrown over Kirishima’s shoulder while he nodded like a scholar. “And why do you ask?”

“Shut the fuck up, dunce face.” Bakugou hissed.

Kirishima continued to stare at you, a million words running through his head, yet not a single one being translated on his tongue. You were beautiful.

What should he say?

What could he say?

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head, a smile of disbelief spreading across your face, “Unbelievable.”

“Y/n—”

“Be quiet,” you snap, your tone angry, but your eyes beyond hurt. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

Dinner wasn’t exactly a pleasant time, you came in and left faster than anyone could blink, and yet none of their drinks went empty, nor did they really have a problem. Much quicker than Kirishima would’ve liked, they were done and were soon piling out of the restaurant after Kirishima decided to leave a very, very generous tip.

“I’m going to stay until I can speak to y/n,” Kirishima said, waving off his friends who were expecting him to follow. But he couldn’t, not when he felt like the world's biggest ass for what he did to you.

“Good luck,” they all wished him well before eventually leaving, knowing better than to stick around.

So there at the outside bench, Kirishima waited.

Two hours he sat there until you emerged from the front door, your hair was no longer put back, you held your apron in your hand, and your purse on your shoulder.

“Y/n!” he called out, his feet no longer cemented into place; he strode after you.

You didn’t seem to pick up the pace, nor did you slow down. You were focused on your car that sat at the edge of the parking lot, and you ignored his calls.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your shoulder, and he appeared before you did Kirishima freeze again. Angry hot tears slid down your face, your face screwed up, your shoulders stiff.

“What do you want, Kirishima?” you spat, but there was only exhaustion in your voice, nothing bitter, nothing at all what Kirishima deserved from you.

“I want to apologize,” Kirishima whispered, his hands struggling to reach out and wipe your tears away. You were crying because of him, he did this to you. “I was a dick, I was… beyond unmanly to you, and I’m so sorry! I just let Bakugou get into my head, and I’ve never been a secure person because, well, I’m just… fuck, I don’t even know, but all I know is that you didn’t deserve this. And I like you so much, but I didn’t — I don’t know what to do?!”

Your eyes stared up at him, they were bright with tears, wounded beyond anything Kirishima could hope to fix.

“That night, you said if I didn’t trust you, but I did trust you! I’ve always trusted you—” your finger jabbed his chest— “but it was you who didn’t trust me! I get that it’s hard to not have a picture of someone you care about after a long length of time, but we were always fine for a while! It was going to happen, but while I trusted you, I didn’t trust myself, okay?! I couldn’t trust myself to see that if you were so much more handsome than me that I couldn’t be confident enough to let myself be friends with you! I constantly fuck up relationships when I have crushes on people because… I don’t know, I just do! But you were someone with no risk and the highest risk, and I wanted to be sure in my own feelings before giving you a picture of me! But… fuck, Kirishima, you didn’t trust me!”

Kirishima’s throat tightened, the tears on your face a guilty reminder that this was because of him. But how could he fix this?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands grabbing onto your arms just above the elbow, and his head hung by your forehead, not quite touching you, but just enough that his spiked hair teased the atoms between you. You were taller than he expected, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with, no, not at all. “You’re right, I didn’t trust you, and you didn’t deserve that. I don’t think there’s anything that I can say, or do for that matter, to change your mind, and I’m sorry. I just panicked because who gets into this type of situation, how do I tell my phone friend that I have feelings for her? I was weak, and I am so fucking pathetic, and I just want to make things better. If you’ll let me be your friend again…”

He slowly looked back up at you, and you were frozen in your place, tears falling down your face still.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” you confessed, and Kirishima’s heart broke in two, his hands dropping from your arms in his embarrassment and humiliation.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry still, um… maybe I’ll see you again?” Kirishima smiled despite it all, he kept smiling despite the crack in his chest and his soul.

“You will,” you murmured, and before Kirishima could blink, your fists wrapped in his collar, and you brought him down for an ardent kiss that he was not quick to respond to. It took three seconds for him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, kissing you again and again and again.

It didn’t seem to matter to either one of you that you were both now kissing without a care in the world in the middle of a parking lot, because you both had your emotions exposed to the other, and you didn’t want to be friends. At least not when the man who held your heart confessed that you held his in yours. 

The two of you weren’t truly disconnected, it was just a little lost moment in your call.

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader

[sprainedwriting]

why can't you see me (4)

chapter one

I deleted chapter 4&5 because I thought they were trash 😔

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it all started with vocaloid covers. yes, you're also cringing right now. you were how old? 12? 13? it doesn't really matter, to make it short: a few years ago you posted a shitty cover, of an edgy song.

you went viral. thousands of likes and comments were made on your YouTube video, which was recorded with your laptop microphone.

not going to lie, you were shocked. holy fuck? people liked you? your content? that's new.

well, not really. your best friend at the time told you to upload it. he supported you! how nice of him.

one cover caused 2 to be made, then 3, then 4 and after 10 covers you posted your first original song. you didn't actually think that your fans would support it, but they did.

that all happend in the span of a year, or two.

you weren't so sure, you lost your feeling for time a while ago.

after that original song record labels wanted you (you were easy to take advantage of after all). problem was, or still is, you're a minor.

you can't sign anything, you don't have an accutal agent, or manager, you don't have shit. to be honest, you also aren't sure how you're doing it. well, it's easier now because of streaming platforms and your best friend likes to play manager.

it's less stressful at least, you publish whatever you want, when you want it. nobody controls your social media account.

you accutally make money, a lot of it. but to keep yourself humble you donate a huge part, and put the other one in a savings account.

you're so smart! so mature! an old soul! not like the others! a delight to have in class!

you're absolutely burned out.

companies constantly messaging you for you to promote this! newest product! so good! the best thing on the market! when it's trash, a way to get money.

but everything is like that, isn't it? you're also selling trash. making trash music and poetry. wow, you're so special. an artist! royalty, you drew all the album covers yourself? no wonder they look like that.

your age is a mystery, so is your face and real name. people were able to figure out your height by a simple picture of you besides a dresser.

they know you live in japan, you were forced to publish that as you got nearly cancelled for wearing a kimono. life is great!

constant comments and messages of "you changed" were flooding you. of course you changed? bro? you were only 13?

it's called character development.

your fame is basically a secret, besides your best friend and school nobody knows.

you didn't bother telling your father because he didn't want to listen, pretty sad. you tried, you really did but he was busy, as always.

now it's too awkward to tell him.

"hey, papa, by the way im like a prodigy in the music business and i have more instagram followers then you."

yeah, as if (even tho you have to check if you accutally finally got more followers then him).

the older you get, the more followers you get, the less you post.

you're arrogant, they scream.

you're so so tired. constant spotlight. constant critism and people who think you're god. it's so much.

sometimes you're thinking about deleting it all, but you like the attention.

but if you see one more newspaper saying you died or that you're accutally a villain, on god you're going to go crazy.

"Top 10 face claims for faceless celebrities!"

murder on your mind.

______________

toshinori is embarrassed. as he's sitting with his co workers, he feels just straight up bad that he accutally has to think hard about his kid hobby.

"well.. they like cats? and.. ah! they play the guitar."

"acoustic or electric?"

"...there is more then one guitar type?"

his three coworker sighed. well, earserhead would, if he wasn't asleep.

midnight looked at the clock and quickly stood up, "well, i have to go! the kids don't teach themselves."

the two others also quickly realised the time, toshinori stood up, while present mic woke earserhead up.

god, he has to think of a bonding activity. concerts? no, it wouldn't work out for different reasons.

what did you talk about last time he saw you?

when was the last time he saw you?

shacking his head, he quickly remembered an email from your school.

your school was hosting an internship! that's the solution! you work here for a few weeks, he works here! perfect! what could go wrong?

__________

"no."

"why not?"

"because i said no?" with that you turned back to your computer.

"well, i think it would be a great learning experience!"

"and i think it would be very useless for me. i'm not interested in hero's. besides that, i already got a place at a company which I'm accutally interested in." you don't.

"it's not about hero's, it's about teaching."

"I hate children."

"you are also a child?"

"yes, and have you ever seen me get along with somebody my age?"

silence. he feels defeated. maybe he needs to put his foot down?

"you're going to work at UA during your internship, this is finally." thinking about it, he wasn't even sure if UA does internships.

"no, nice try though! appricate the effort. now get out, it's not halloween yet so i don't need any skeletons in my room."

toshinori has to take a deep breath to remind himself that you're just a kid. he can fight you physically once you're 18.

using your full name to get your attention, he used his last card, "please do the internship with me. see it as an bonding experience."

"..okay whatever, but if it sucks i can get another cat."

toshinori felt like a winner, but he needs to ask nezu first. the internship is still a few months away, who knows what will happen during these months.

#all might imagine #toshinori imagine #bnha imagine #mha angst #mha imagines #bnha x reader #mha x reader #toshinori yagi imagine

[kiirokero]

Inure (KSJ)

Inure: To accept and grow accustomed to something undesirable

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot series.

Masterlist

Pairing: Banker!Seokjin x FinancialAdvisor!Reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, misunderstandings, a bit of suggestive content (?) idiots to lovers (kinda) 

Note: This was supposed to be out yesterday, but my dumbass fell asleep before I got to finish and polish it. I drank dumb bitch juice, apparently. 

Summary: Having strict, overbearing parents meant expectations, and those expectations pushed you to be a financial advisor for the sake of making them proud. Worst idea ever. Well... Maybe not. Besides, you got to meet Kim Seokjin.

Word Count: 6k

      “Taehyung... I’ve told you that eating half of your cookies every time you make a new batch isn’t good for business. You’re lucky Jimin and Jeongguk like your treats so much or you would be here filing for bankruptcy.” I scolded the younger boy in front of me. Taehyung gave me a sheepish smile as he scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, Noona,” I sighed, shaking my head to relieve the small headache I had going on. 

      Taehyung was a good kid. Well... He was in his twenties, but he still had that childlike glow to him. But with the childlike glow came the less than logical decisions. “Tae, you still have loans to pay back and they’re coming up soon. I don’t want to be the pessimist, but it’s better to sell those cookies.” 

      Taehyung nodded, “Don’t worry! I got this!” He exclaimed, a determined grin on his face. “I’m sure you do, now you’re free to go do more fun things,” I chuckled, gathering all the paperwork that laid on my desk that detailed Taehyung’s finances. Boring stuff, really. “Thanks, Noona! Come by sometime, okay?” We waved goodbye, silence now encompassing my small plain office. 

     It wasn’t even lunch yet, and everything has already drained my will to stay awake. It’s not that I absolutely loathed my job. I enjoyed seeing Yoongi or Taehyung light up in joy when I told them they reached their business goal or answered their questions about the best way to save. It was satisfying.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t boring as hell sometimes. 

      Sometimes I wished I gave my parents a big middle finger and majored in art conservation. I’d rather be looking at 200-year-old paintings of dead people and bringing a portrait back to life rather than staring at paperwork with endless numbers printed on them. But, alas, I didn’t. Now here in Bangtan Village, I help the businesses (and occasional person) here thrive. 

      “Tired already?” My coworker, Hyejin, asked as she walked into my office. “An accurate observation,” I sighed, resting my forehead on my mahogany desk. “I assume Taehyung’s business is doing well then?” She chuckled, handing me some files that I’d have to look over later. “Now you know I can’t disclose client information, but let’s just say he’s lucky to have gluttons as friends.” I chuckled. 

     Hyejin snorted and shook her head. “That boy... Besides that I came in here to ask if you wanted to go out to dinner after work, but you really do look exhausted,” Hyejin’s face contorted into worry. She grabbed my face with both hands and moved it in different ways, looking at the consequences work related stress gave me. An acne breakout on my right temple, dark circles under my eyes, pale face. I’ll admit I didn’t look my best, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. 

I had to work.

      “It’s fine, really. I’m fine. I just need more coffee,” I shrugged, gently moving away from her grasp. “Y/n, running on just coffee isn’t good for you either,” Hyejin pouted, gesturing to the 2 empty mug already sat on my desk. “It’s not ideal, but I can’t just not work,” I pointed out, “You haven’t taken any days off since you came down with the flu, in January, two years ago.” Hyejin deadpanned, “You need a break. I’m sure Yoongi and Taehyung won’t go bankrupt in a matter of three days,” 

      I groaned and slouched in my old leather desk chair. “But what if they do...?” I whined. “You’re being irrational.” Hyejin sarcastically whined back, mimicking my slouched shoulders and pouty lip. “Why don’t you just ask Mr. Kim to give you a couple days off?” She suggested. I laughed, “Mr. Kim? Overly handsome Mr. Kim that I can barely speak a word too without blubbering? Me? Talk to him?” 

      I chuckled some more and Hyejin gave me an unimpressed face. “It’s not that hard! What’s so bad about it?” She scrutinized. “What so hard? His handsome face! The way he says my name! His eyes! They make me loose all brain function like I’m not a college graduate,” I pointed out, because it was obvious. 

      Kim Seokjin. Manager of Bangtan Village’s bank. 28 years old, tall, the embodiment of professionalism. He looked as if god sculpted him. A modern rendition of Galatea. He had a demeanor that called for authority without question. When he walked by, you had to pay attention. 

      Some may say that this only affected me so badly because of my tiny crush on him. But I beg to differ. How could you look at that beautiful face and not stutter? How could you hear that voice and not swoon? How could your heart not skip a beat whenever he smiled or laughed? Even if he always played the boss role, I couldn’t help but fall.

      “You’re overreacting, it’s just-” Hyejin was cut off by a knock at the door. “Come in!” I called, sitting back up in my seat and dusting off my blouse. The door opened and the one and only Kim Seokjin walked in. Speak of the devil. “Good afternoon ladies,” He said with an unwavering smile. We replied with a ‘good afternoon’ back. 

“What brings you here?” I asked, fiddling with my hands. 

“I just wanted to ask your opinion on something,” Seokjin explained. 

      He walked further into the room, rounding my desk to stand beside my sitting form. He placed a folder in front of me, three sheets of paper spilling from the manilla cardstock. Seokjin leaned down next to me, one hand on my desk, one hand on the back of my chair. I could faintly smell his earthy cologne. 

      I cleared my throat, erasing the invasive thoughts of Seokjin from my mind. This was work, business, he needed your help with something. Calming my shaky hands, I grabbed the first sheet of paper, examining the printed black numbers and letters. The closer I looked, I spotted the bank’s name printed on the top and different amounts of money though a certain number of months below it. 

    “M-Mr. Kim, are these the statements for our bank?” I asked, flipping through the three pages that contained more information on money and spending. “It is,” He answered back, turning his head to look at me. I looked at him in return, suppressing the gasp in my throat when I realized just how close he was. His honey eyes roamed my face for a moment before he spoke again, “What do you think?” 

      Confused, I looked back at the papers briefly. “Are you asking me to make a business plan for the bank...?” I questioned, looking back at my boss. He shrugged nonchalantly, “No, do you think we need one?” Answering my question with more questions. “N-No, the bank’s doing well.” I said, “We’re not drastically losing money or anything, not losing money at all actually...” I mumbled to myself, but loud enough that the man beside me heard. 

      Seokjin let out a nonchalant hum, sitting back up in his pitch perfect posture. “If you say so. I trust your opinion.” He said, gathering the papers from my desk and making his way to the door. “Wait! Mr. Kim!” Hyejin spoke up. Seokjin stopped, turning his attention on Hyejin, who had a knowing smile on her face. “Ms. L/n actually has a request for you,” She said in a sweet voice, gesturing her hand towards me. 

      Seokjin’s attention spun towards me and I stopped like a deer in headlights.  “Yes, Ms. L/n?” He asked, raising one of his eyebrows. That shouldn’t be attractive... But it was. “I- uh... I’m...” I stuttered, not being able to tear my eyes away from the alluring man in front of me. “Ms. L/n wants to know if she can have a couple days off,” Hyejin spoke for me.

      “I do?” “She does?” Seokjin and I asked at the same time. “Yep!” Hyejin said, giving me a “If you say otherwise I’ll put itching powder in your skirts” look. So for the sake of my comfort, I shut up and went along with it. A couple days couldn’t hurt, right? If there's a financial emergency, then I’ll get a call or something. 

      Seokjin cleared his throat and turned back to me with a worried look on his face. “Are you okay Ms. L/n? You’re not sick or anything?” He asked. “N-No just... I just need a break, ya know?” I nervously chuckled, fiddling with the end of my blouse to keep my racing thought to a minimum. “Ah, okay. You’re welcome to have a few days off, you deserve time off,” Seokjin smiled. 

      After we exchanged our goodbyes and Seokjin left, I whipped around towards Hyejin and glared at her harder than a teenage boy glaring at his mom after she took away his vape. “What was that?” I hissed, crossing both of my arms. Hyejin, unphased by my threatening demeanor, chuckled and sighed. “That, my friend, was you getting a well-deserved break”

      I never realized how bland my apartment was until now. I mean, yes, it looks kinda lived in and yes, there are kink-knacks lounging about. It just looks, barely used. Which wouldn’t be an understatement considering falling asleep on my desk at work is a common occurance. 

     Maybe it’s because I haven’t spent a lot of time here. I’m always cooped up in my office, whether it be my home one or the one at work. My home office looks like I’ve used it well, if all the coffee stains are anything to go off of. But the rest of my apartment looks like a set from a sitcom, purposefully messy, not “I’ve been here for 10 years” messy. 

      It was slightly unsettling how much I got used to something I dreaded. How I threw myself into a routine- an unhealthy one at that- and got used to it. I always told myself that no matter what, I’d still paint. I’d still go to art galleries and watch those calming art restoration videos on YouTube, living vicariously through the screen. 

But I didn’t.

      I suppressed the hurt I felt for not being able to follow my dream by forcing myself to like what cards my parents dealt to me, what cards I played. That fact scared me. It scared me cause even if this was my apartment, even if I had trinkets that reminded me of my favorite shows and books, even if I was away from the pressures of my overbearing parents. I wasn’t living in a home. This was my apartment, but it wasn’t my apartment.

      Not a single thing around reminded me of my passion. Not a painting, not a paint tube, not a paintbrush. Not even an art catalog. I love art catalogs. Maybe I really needed this break, maybe I needed it to show myself that I wasn’t thrilled with the life I had now. 

However, there was nothing I could do, could I?

       It was too late. The diplomas on my wall told me that. It was too late to turn back. I’m 27. I already laid my life out for myself. I would be a financial advisor until I retired or died. That fact didn’t leave a pleasant feeling in my heart. But what could I really do about it?

      The sound of the doorbell ringing jostled me awake from my nap. I gave myself a second to get my bearings. I was in my living room, on the couch. Grey blanket draped over my form while the T.V played some trash show. Groaning, I got up from my makeshift bed, stretching out my stiff muscles as I made my way to the front door. 

       Opening the door, I saw Jimin, the town's delivery boy, standing on my doorstep with flowers in his hands. “Hello Jimin,” I said, giving the boy a smile. “Hey Y/n! Long time no see,” He chuckled, “I have a delivery for you,” He said, extending the vase of flowers in his hands towards me. “Oh, thank you Jimin, but I didn’t order any flowers,” I said. 

     “Not you, someone ordered flowers for you!” He said, turning the vase around to show me a little card that was hanging off of it. “You have a secret admirer,” He chuckled. Confused, I took the vase from him, smelling the saccharine aroma of the peonies and daisies that laid perfectly together. “Oh, wow, thank you again Jimin. Have a good day!” I said, Jimin gave me his award-winning smile as he bid me farewell. 

      I stepped back inside my apartment, shutting the door behind me. I walked to my kitchen and placed the heavy vase down on the counter, grabbing the attached card. “Min’s Flowers” was printed on the front in a style resembling calligraphy. Opening the card, I saw a neat handwritten note. 

‘Dear Y/n, I hope you are feeling better after getting some rest. You should know that you can always ask for a break when you need one, you’re an amazing advisor, but I know that staring at paper work can get a bit boring. I hope you like the flowers, I remember you mentioning that your favorite art piece had beautifully painted peonies. Get some rest, okay? 

P.S. Why was the office of cantaloupes so glum? Because they were melon-colleagues!”

      “Melon-colleagues... Oh!” I chuckled to myself, only understanding the play on words once I said it aloud. “This was sweet of you, Mr. Kim,” I said to myself, smelling the peonies once again. It was stupid how easily the man made me swoon, a simple smile here, a compliment there. Anything he did made my heart skip a beat, and this was no different. 

      I carried the vase to my bedroom, placing it on my bedside table next to my alarm clock. Deciding that I should thank him, I grabbed my phone and opened it to my messenger. Was it unprofessional to text your boss? I mean, I am thanking him for a gift so I suppose it’s fine. I texted out a simple ‘thank you’ message and sending it. 

‘I got the flowers Mr. Kim, thank you. They’re beautiful :)’

But what I didn’t expect was an immediate answer back. 

‘You’re welcome and please call me Jin :)’

‘Alright, Jin’

      “I’m telling you Y/n, I think Mr. Kim has a thing for you!” Hyejin squealed over the phone to me. “No, he doesn’t, he’s just a nice man,” I said, placing the new vase of flowers that were just delivered to me on my coffee table. “He sends you flowers every day! That’s not nothing!” She argued. I rolled my eyes, picking up the new card and flipping it open to read. 

‘Dear Y/n, I got you mini sunflowers this time, they remind me of you. Also, why was the broom late for work? It overswept!’

      I chuckled, turning my attention back to Hyejin. “I’m sure he’ll stop soon,” I counter argued. “Besides, what would Mr. God’s bragging right want from me?” “God, you are so dense it hurts. Did you know he asks about you? Checks your office to see if you came in today? Every single day.” Hyejin revealed. I stopped fiddling with the flowers for just a moment. “He does?” 

      I heard Hyejin groan and sigh, “Yes! Mr. Kim totally has a thing for you!” She stressed, “Jin’s just-” “See! He even lets you call him by a nickname!” Hyejin cut me off. “Hyejin, you’ve been watching too many Hallmark movies,” I giggled, “Friends are nice to each other. No matter how badly I want Mr. Hottie to smack me in the face with his lips, it’s just unrealistic.” 

      “Okay, how about I prove to you he’s crushing on you? Get you undeniable evidence?” She bargained, and I could only imagine the mischievous face she was most likely sporting. “What are you going to do? Follow him around with a camera?” I chuckled sarcastically. “No! But what if you tell him about something you like? But really discreetly. You mentioned he remembered your favorite painting, say something in passing that nobody would care about unless they wanna impress you!” Hyejin answered. 

      “That’s a horrible idea.” I deadpanned, “But if it’ll get you to leave me alone about this, I’ll do it.” I heard Hyejin cheer, sounding way too excited about what will end up being nothing. “You’ll see!” Hyejin teased. I was about to refute her statement when my phone chimed. I took it away from my ear to see a message from Jin. “Speak of the devil, he just texted me,” I said aloud. “Well, don’t leave him hanging, go on! I’ll talk to you later!” Hyejin said as she hung up. 

Shaking my head at her antics, I opened my messages. 

‘Hey! How are you feeling?’ The text said,

‘I’m feeling better, thank you. How are you doing?’ I asked.

      That was the start of a very long conversation. One where we talked about mostly anything. Jin mentioned that he was bored in his office doing nothing and decided to check up on me, to which I joked about telling the boss about his slacking. 

      The conversation flowed without hesitation. There was no long pause between messages, no awkward one-worded responses. Just the two of us talking freely. I completed Hyejin’s challenge when Jin was telling me about all the pretty colored flowers that Yoongi had in his shop. I agreed with him, saying that it would be nice to paint it, preserving the colors in art form. 

But what I hadn’t expected was for Jin to drop a bomb on me. 

       We were talking about Jin’s printer that seems haunted because it beeps at the weirdest times. He was making a joke about talking to it and having it as a friend, and to bring that joke to a close he took a selfie with the printer. Admittedly, he looked very handsome posing next to a hunk of metal, but it wasn’t his face that caught me off guard, it was his collarbone. 

     Normally, looking at someone's collarbone on purpose just seems... Pervy... But when there’s an irritated bruise on it, it draws one's attention. Right there, peaking out from under his slightly unbuttoned white button up, was a bruise on his collarbone. Now, I’m not naïve. Why else would you have a bruise there unless someone left it on you in a steamy way? 

      Maybe I was denying the possibility of Jin having a crush on me to Hyejin, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t hoping for her words to be true. Deep down I wanted her to be right. I wanted my feelings for the stunning man I was texting and talking to for the past couple days to be reciprocated. How dumb was I?

      Of course he had a lover. Just look at him. Not only is he handsome, but he’s kind, funny, hard-working. We were in our late 20s, this was the time where most of the people our age were settling down, having kids, getting ready for the future. There’s probably going to be a ring on his perfectly imperfect finger soon.

That fact shouldn’t hurt as bad as it does...

‘Dear Y/n, You mentioned you’d like to paint the flowers in Yoongi’s shop, so I got really colorful flowers for you. Maybe now you can paint them? I’d love to see if you did. I’m sure your just as good as an artist as you are an advisor. Hyejin mentioned you plan on coming back to work tomorrow, I’m happy you’re feeling better. :)

P.S What’s red and smells like blue paint? Red paint!’

      I felt as if my body was betraying my thoughts as a slight smile graced my lips at Jin's terrible dad joke. My heart still beating for him even if my brain was against it, flashing the image of a passionately bruised Jin into my mind every time my heart rate picks up at his words. 

      What betrayed me more was my body moving on autopilot towards my storage closet, wrestling my way to the back, pulling out tubes of old paint, sets of old paintbrushes, and an old easel. What betrayed me more was my body going to an empty corner in my room, setting up a workspace for my suppressed passion to flow, setting the colorful flora delicately on a spare table. What betrayed me more was the way I didn’t hesitate to squeeze colors out of their tubes, meticulously pick paintbrushes, lift my hand up to start the first stroke. Then the second, then the third.

      Soon I got lost in the motion of forgetting everything. Enclosing myself in my own world, nothing but me and the canvas. Focusing on the details of flowers that nobody cared to look at. Stem, sepal, stigma. All pieces of a puzzle that made up a delicate lily. Those lilies making up the picture of the vase, that bouquet having much more meaning than anybody could interpret. 

      A bouquet that represented longing, hurt, disappointment. All conveyed with every stroke of the brush, every color mixed, every dot placed. Anyone looking in on my life from a fogged window wouldn’t understand why tears fell from my eyes as I continued painting. People would tilt their heads in confusion at the way I stared, longingly, at the seemingly simple flowers. People would whisper words of confusion as I unconsciously desaturated my colors to match the feeling that plagued me. 

A once bright image turned into a foggy photo of melancholy. 

      I painted those flowers and cried, dreaming about the man I couldn’t have, the man I longed to hold, to kiss, to cherish. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe I was overreacting. A simple bruise. A simple reddish bruise is all it took to break my spirit? Silly when you think about it hard enough, but feelings and rationality are a funny concoction. Never quiet going together in how they should, many opting to unconsciously separate the two. Many like me. 

      I should’ve suppressed the wayward feelings when I recognized them years ago. Lock them in a box and throw them away, never to be seen again. Have my heart swallow the key, then forget about its existence. But I didn’t. The nights spent thinking about him; the days spent watching him from afar; they passed like a flash of lighting. My feelings growing quicker than I expected, right under my nose. 

      When I finished, I didn’t move. I just looked at the painting that was a product of my suppressed sorrow. Realizing that not only did Jin steal my heart, he reawakened my passion for painting as well. 

      “Hey, are you okay? You don’t look so well,” Hyejin asked, taking a sip from her mug that aptly said “Cupid’s Sleuth” that I got her for her birthday one year after she set up two of our mutual friends together. “I guess,” I mumbled, focusing my attention on my own cup of liquid energy. 

      Hyejin put her hand on my shoulder to gain back my attention, but after a restless night my reaction speed wasn’t the best, so I didn’t notice it. “Y/n,” She called, and I looked up from my mug. “You’re even worse than you were before you took a mini-vacation, what happened?” 

      I sighed, placing my mug down on the gray counter of the employee break room. “You were right. He remembered.” I said in a gravelly voice. “That’s great! Right?” She cautioned. I said nothing, opting to fish my phone out of my pocket and opening my messages with Seokjin, turning the phone to her to show her the picture. 

     “I don’t- Oh...” She coughed. “That um...” She stammered. “Yep, looks like a hickey.” I said, putting my phone back in my pocket. “But that doesn’t make sense, he’s obviously likes you!” She argued, “Well, obviously he doesn’t!” I snapped, startling Hyejin. “Sorry, but the proof is right there, Hyejin, he already has a lover,” I sighed. 

      Hyejin didn’t say anything. Her face showed she was thinking about something, and she was thinking hard. “There has to be an explanation,” She mumbled. “There’s something we don’t know. If he had a lover, why has he never talked about them? Mentioned them in passing? Or even have a picture of them on his desk?” She pointed out. “Maybe they’re a private couple,” I reasoned. 

     Hyejin shook her head, mumbling out, “No... that’s not it,” Her eyebrows creased as we stood there in silence. “He’d at least have a picture... Why don’t you just talk to him?” She suggested. I choked on the coffee I was sipping, hacking up the liquid that made it down the wrong pipe. “Talk to him? And what? Admit that I’ve fallen in love with him so he can laugh about me to his significant other when he gets home? Not happening.” I said. 

      Hyejin rolled her eyes, “Come on, talking is the only way to sort this out. You’re an adult Y/n!” She gestured to my matured, adult body as if I didn’t already know this fact. “Sometimes, things are best left to the unknown, for the sake of my heart.” I finished the rest of my coffee and left the cup in the sink. “I appreciate your effort, but this time you can’t be cupid's sleuth.” I lamented, leaving the break room to go back to my office.

      I avoided Jin like the plague for the next few weeks. Running away from him in the halls before he saw me, leaving for lunch before him, not leaving my office unless absolutely necessary. Others were starting to notice my sudden aversion for my boss, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t look at him. 

      Every glance at his face, rumble of his voice, whiff of his earthy cologne whenever I rushed by him in the halls, it was torture. I hated the way my heart skipped a beat at everything he did. How my breath picked up and palms turned sweaty. I hated the way he still held my heart captive in his hands, even if he didn’t know it.

      So, if it hurt to be around him, I’ll avoid him. No matter how long it takes for my feelings to dissipate, I’m willing to dance this dance around him. They have to go away eventually, right? I wouldn’t be a hopeless romantic forever...

      I drowned my thoughts in paint. Left my sorrows in swirling blues and purples. Expressed my frustrations in striking reds and yellows. Wrote my whimsical wishes in hues of greens and pinks. I got lost in the empty canvas set up in front of me, giving color to the void of white. 

      I never knew how to start or where to finish, but I just let myself flow. Orange here, maroon there, wherever it felt right is where it went. Soon pictures of flowers and sunsets would emerge from the cacophony of colors that I splattered on the canvas. The worlds that I painted ones of idealization. Worlds where there was no hurt, no pain, no disappointment. 

      That’s where I was now, currently getting lost in saturations of green. Sitting in front of a canvas, I painted a world of my own. This one was turning into an open field at dawn. Maybe if I give it to a psychiatrist, they’ll understand the unconscious emotions I laid bare in the paint. Point out why such a picture gave off feelings of longing, melancholy. But for now this was my solitude, my abditory. 

      A knock on my front door threw me out of that daydream, however. Confused, I turned to look outside at the weeping sky. It was pouring. Who in their right mind was at my door? I quickly got up and hurried over to my door, not caring that I was in my paint stained apron or that I had paint on my face. But maybe I should’ve when I opened the door and was greeted by a soaking wet Seokjin. 

      Gasping, I took in his sopping form. He was dripping from head to toe, still dressed in his work attire. “Jin? What are you doing out in the rain? Come on, come in,” I said, ushering him inside. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than his comfort and the fact he was most likely freezing. 

      I quickly hurried to my hallway linen closet, grabbing one of my fluffy towels and rushing back to give it to Jin. “Let’s get you warm,” I led him to the couch, sitting him down. After Jin dried off a bit, I prepared some tea and handed him a cup. “Thank you,” He said, giving me that same adorable smile. “What were you doing out in the rain?” I asked, keeping my mind off of his charm. 

      “I wanted to come see you...” He admitted, nervously looking down at his cup. “M-Me? You see me at work, Jin,” I pointed out, taking a sip of tea from my own cup. “No... I don’t, you’ve been avoiding me Y/n,” He whinged, emphasizing the “avoiding” part. “I haven’t been avoiding you...” I fibbed, looking anywhere but at him. 

      “Yes, you have! It’s like I’ve got the plague-Which I don’t- Did I do something wrong?” He fretted, a look of hurt on his handsome face. I didn’t know what to say, I wanted to say no, tell him it was all me and my stupid feelings for him, but admitting that to him was terrifying. After I didn’t answer for a minute, Jin sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. 

      “I don’t- I really don’t understand...” He whimpered, sounding like a kicked puppy. It tug at my heart string more. “I’m sorry...” I mumbled, guilt bubbling up in my throat and stinging at my eyes.  

“I don’t want a sorry! I want an explanation! What did I do?” Jin glowered.

“It wasn’t you! Alright? It was never you... It was me! I can’t be around you!” I yelled.

“Why not?”

     “Because I love you, asshole! And it hurts to know that you already have someone who loves you the way I wish I could.” I wept, tears of frustration spilling out of my eyes. I furiously wiped away the stray evidence of my inner turmoil, turning away from the man in front of me. “Alright...? Is that what you wanted to hear...?” I sniffled. 

      Jin stayed silent. Not making a sound. The only noise that could be heard was the beating of rain against the windows and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. “I’ll call you a cab...” I choked out, stepping towards my bedroom where I left my phone laying on my bed. 

      As I went to go grab it, Jin stopped me, grabbing my wrist, pulling me back. I whipped around, bumping into Jin’s wet chest, his large hand still wrapped around my dainty wrist. “Jin, what are you-” “Where’d you get that idea?” Jin asked, cutting me off. 

      “What?” I whispered. “Where’d you get the idea that I have a lover?” He asked, staring directly into my eyes. His face was so close to mine that I could faintly feel the breaths he took. I could see the little imperfections on his face, a freckle here, a scar there. He never failed to take my breath away. 

      I peeled my eyes away from his amber ones, focusing on the- now faint- bruise that rested on his collarbone that was semi visible through his damp shirt. I reached up and lightly touched it, my hand shaking a bit. “I’m not seven, I know what a bruise on the collarbone means,” I whispered. 

“Y/n, that’s not a hickey,”

“Then what is it, Jin?” 

      “It’s the result of Jeongguk’s carelessness. He was swinging around his baton, hit me square in the collarbone. Hurt like a bitch,” He grimaced. Jin guided my hand away from the bruise, lifting it to his lips and giving it a chaste kiss. “The only bruise on my collarbone that I want is one that you give me,” He whispered, bringing my hand to cup his cheek. 

      I rose my other hand to rest on chest. I could hear my heart in my ears, beating in a rhythm rivaling the gallop of a horse. “Jin... What are you saying?” I asked. “When you started avoiding me, ignoring my texts and dancing around me at work. It hurt. I realized that without you, I felt like I was missing something important. I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell myself that even if it wasn’t what I wanted, I’d get used to it. But earlier today, when all I could see at every street corner was a happy couple... I knew I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” 

      Jin wrapped an arm around my waist, bringing one of his soft, slightly calloused hand to gently cup my cheek. Even if he was cold, the touch was so undeniably warm. “I really like you Y/n. More than I probably should.” He admitted, “So please, let me kiss you.” 

      Jin lent down, capturing my lips in his soft, plush ones as my knees threatened to buckle. His lips lingered in place, basking in the warmth mine offered. We moved together in an unspoken rhythm, a waltz we created in our own heads as our lips danced together. 

      Jin kissed me like the second he pulled away, the world we had created together behind our closed eyes would melt away, and he would be back shivering in the rain. “I love you too,” He whispered against my lips, kissing me with more fervor after every second. He held me tighter, his wide hands enveloping my waist in a comforting hold. 

      It felt so hot. Whether that was the heat from Jin or the flush from myself, I wouldn’t know. Our bodies melded in a way where you couldn’t tell who was who. Arms wrapped around one another, legs brushing together, lips clashing in a fight to get impossibly closer. 

      After we calmed down and our lungs started to burn, we pulled away. We still held each other close, not willing to part just yet. “I never want to part from you again,” I admitted, resting my head on Jin’s broad chest. “Me neither,” Jin whispered back to me, pressing a kiss on the top of my head. 

      We stood there in silence, holding each other in an embrace that said so much. So many unspoken words of “I’ve wanted this for so long” and “I never want to let go,” communicated through delicate touches and lingering kisses. 

       The man who stole my heart and refused to let it go. The man who reawakened my lost passion for art. The man who taught me that maybe talking is better than letting things wallow in an abyss of self pity, was mine. He was in my arms, kissing my lips, hugging my body. 

And I couldn’t be happier.

      “Let me see,” Jin said, looking over my should at the painting I’ve been working on for the past 2 hours. “Wow, you never cease to amaze me,” He said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. I was painting the recent bouquet of flowers Jin got me this morning, this one filled with different color peonies. “You’re so sweet,” I chuckled, giving him a kiss back. 

      Jin gave me a smile, his eyes full of admiration and love. “I love you, flower,” He whispered to me. “I love you too,” I whispered back, stealing a chaste kiss from his lips. “Are you going into work tomorrow?” Jin asked. “No, none of my clients need me so I’ll just stay home and paint,” I shrugged, turning my attention back to the canvas.

      Jin watched me paint for a little longer, stealing kisses here and there. It was relaxing to have him so close. “From workaholic to laid back painter,” Jin chuckled, his squeaky laugh pulling a giggle from my throat. “Well, I had someone to show me that it’s okay to have passions,” I said, giving Jin a loving look. “I’m glad,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to my waiting lips. 

#bts #bts fic #seokjin #kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #jin #jin x reader

[sunnysidevans]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 | 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

Summary: Everyone goes through stages in life, meeting new people, falling in love, getting married , having children. Some people think it won’t happen to them but maybe fate hadn’t lead you in the right direction.

Warnings: Fluff mostly, some creeps, alcohol mentions, food mentions, mostly fluff though.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

The Stages Masterlist 

READERS POINT OF VIEW

Friday nights were always your favorite, you had finished working and finally were able to live your life in the best way you knew how, with your friends. You walked in the door after work,tossing your shoes in the corner and meeting your dog, Zeus, a black lab who had definitely become your best friend. “Hi baby!” you crouched down rubbing behind his ears, smiling as you walked to the backdoor, letting him out to do his business. You stood on the porch steps watching Zeus run around the yard as you thought about what you wanted to wear tonight, you didn’t step into bars much but you needed it after the stress work had been putting on your shoulders. “Okay big guy lets go!” you hollered to zeus in the yard as he excitedly ran into the house panting and getting a drink from his water dish as you made your way upstairs to get dressed. 

After a quick shower you were blow drying your hair when your phone binged with a text, your best friend ( besides Zeus of course ) (Y/BF/N) had texted you to let you know what bar you were meeting up at. After a quick text back you finished getting dressed, You dressed yourself in just a simple jeans and tshirt but throwing it together with boots and a denim jacket. You walked downstairs after finishing your makeup and getting in the cabinet and getting Zeus his treats, you smiled as he came running, crouching down to his level you chuckled “hey buddy, you be good okay?” you set the treats down for him to eat and give him a scratch on the head. Walking towards the door you blew him one last kiss and grabbed your keys, walking out to your car, you knew you wouldn’t drink much tonight so you trusted yourself to drive. You typed the address of the bar (Y/BF/N) had given you and made your way over. 

Walking in the bar it was packed, for a Friday night it was normal but you shook it off with a smile looking for your friends. “(Y/N!)” you heard from across the bar, resulting in a few people turning towards you in which you ignored but you turned to face them, meeting the faces of your friends. “Hello ladies!” you laughed walking to the booth and sliding in “It’s about time you joined us! We were worried you weren't going to show '' one of your friends laughed nudging your shoulder as you laughed with her “oh and miss all of you getting drunk? Of course not!” you laughed again as you smiled at them “shall I go get us more drinks?” you asked looking as most of their drinks were empty “uh duh! Thank you!” (Y/BF/N) piped in raising her glass. You stood up from the table and made your way to the bar, putting in everyone's drinks and just getting yourself a glass of wine. You watched around the bar at everyone who was enjoying their Friday night, you were but what you would give to be home with zeus is high. You managed to get all the drinks back to the table, smiling as everyone was again excited to see you and took their respective drinks as the doors opened and a group of rowdy men walked through the door, peaking the whole table's attention. 

The guys all piled in the booth across the bar from your table as you turned back to the table watching as all the girls at your table couldn’t take their eyes off their table. “Ladies” you motioned to them, trying to get their attention back to the conversation you were having before they walked in, “hellooo” you dragged out again, following their gaze to the table. As you followed their eyes you were met with a pair of blue eyes looking back at you, you smiled at the owner of said blue eyes and looked away sipping your drink, you didn’t expect to meet a handsome stranger either. “Oh my god” your one friend whispered from beside you “do you guys not see who that is?” your other friend motioned as you turned to them with confusion “uh no” you questioned. “I’m like seventy five percent sure that's Chris Evans” your best friend whispered as you laughed “what?” you shook your head again watching their faces “what? I mean he does come here to visit” another friend mumbled. “Okay you guys ogle I’m going to get some food” you said, standing to walk towards the bar, grabbing the menu and sitting down in one of the empty chairs.

Scanning the menu you sat and looked over at the table as they continued to watch the table of men like hawks. You laughed to yourself and put in your order for fries, they sounded good at the time. “So why are you sitting alone?” someone strolled up beside you, he whispered, he had no game you could already tell “I’m just waiting for food” you nodded, being respectful as you were taught, “yeah? Well do you want some company?” he grinned leaning closer, you could smell the bourbon on his breath, along with noticing the faint wedding ring lines on his left ring finger. You shook your head “no thank you” you smiled politely at him as he scuffed and walked away, sporting a full glass. You sat at the bar picking at your fries, you felt a shadow behind you, as you turned the blue eyed gentleman had entered your vision. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, keeping his distance as he held his stella beer between his fingers, you nodded “oh yeah” you mumbled licking the grease off your fingers looking up at him “well why did you leave your table?” he asked “not that I was watching or like creeping or- okay that sounded terrible” he laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. You smiled at him shaking your head “your okay, I just am not a drinking type, wanted some peace, and cheese fries” you motioned to the fries in front of you as he laughed, “I see that, well I’m over the rowdyness, could I join you?” he asked motioning to the chair beside you as you quickly nodded for him to sit.

“Wait Wait” you laughed looking at him as he sat across from you “You jump over counters for fun?!” you laughed harder throwing your head back holding your knee, “yes!” he laughed in response holding his chest, “I take my counter jumping skills very seriously!” he laughed watching as you continued to chuckle. “Okay okay” he said through a deep breath, a chuckle following “why don't we get out of here?” he asked softly, smiling “it’s close to them closing and well, i’m quite sick of the bar smell” he smiled, you nodded in response “wait- you wont kill me right?” you asked quickly as he laughed, shaking his head, smirking “is that a chance you want to take?” he asks laughing at the shocked look on your face, quickly shaking his head “no no I promise”. You waved to your friends, following behind him as the girls whistled behind you. “You know” you started, hands in your jacket,looking up at him “you never told me your name” you pointed out looking at him as his face turned to you smiling “wait do you not know?” he asked, pure shock on his face as the pure confusion on yours “uh no” you smiled laughing softly “I’m Chris” he smiled nodding, looking at you with his eyebrows raised, “and you never told me yours?” he pointed out smiling, “oh!, my names (Y/N), also, what should I know?” you asked him, curious. “I’m an actor” he started, walking along the sidewalk “I figured you knew who I was” he continued “oh!” you pointed gleefully “I wondered why you seemed slightly familiar” you smiled shrugging “that doesn’t bother me, your a person” you nodded in response to him. 

Sitting down in the park by the river you held your slice of pizza closely, looking over at Chris as he sat beside you. “Thank you” you smiled,taking a bite of your pizza licking your lips watching him from the corner of your eye “yeah! No problem” he smiled eating a piece of his. “So why did you go out tonight if you didn’t want to?” he asked, wiping his face with his napkin, turning to you, watching you. “I hadn’t seen them in a while you know? And I don't know it seemed fun, at the time” you shrugged,watching the water smiling softly looking over at him “why did you leave?” you asked, he also shrugged “you seemed like a bit of better company if I’m being honest” he nodded in response, laughing softly at your soft chuckle, “well” you adjusted in your spot, looking over at him as his eyebrows rose in confusion “was it worth it?” you asked “am I better company?” you chuckled as he smiled, nodding “yeah, yeah you are”.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘

Walking into work was rough, Making it home in the early hours of the morning was not for you, You exchanged numbers with Chris so maybe the early hours were worth it, your body told you otherwise. Walking in you were met with one of your coworkers with a smile “wow look what the cat dragged in” she laughed watching as you gave her a dirty look shaking your head “hey! I’m not late” you laughed setting your things down, sipping from your travel mug that held the many extra shots you needed. “Long night?” she asked as you made your way to the front of the office, sitting down at your desk, looking at all the paperwork on it that you thought you cleared last night. Sighing heavily you started to sort through the papers, working in a law firm was not fun, let alone being sleep deprived and working with big words. “Hey!” out walked your mentor, Casey. You jumped in your seat sitting up looking up at him “yes?” you asked quickly, smiling at him the best way you could, “make sure you get through that paperwork quickly, I need it on my desk” he walked back in his office before you could even respond. 

Afternoon rolled around and you had made it through almost all of the paperwork for Casey when he followed with another pile of papers for you to do for him, now you really hated yourself, it was bad enough working on a saturday but doing loads of paperwork was not what you were expecting. After working through almost two hours of paperwork your office phone started to ring “This is (Y/N) can I help you?” you asked, sorting through the paperwork in front of you “yes hi Ms.(Y/L/N) we have a delivery for you down here at the front desk” the front desk man spoke “you do?” you asked confused sighing “okay I’ll be right down”, hanging up the phone you got up and headed for the elevator. You walked into the lobby,walking to the front desk “hey harry” you smiled at the front desk men as a bouquet of flowers sat on the ledge “these are beautiful” you smiled looking to him as he smiled “that's your delivery” he smiled as you looked at him shocked “what?” you asked laughing “uh okay” you smiled taking the vase and making your way back upstairs. Sitting down at your desk you look through the bouquet to find the note, once you find it you open it with a smile. 

“Hi (Y/N),

Don’t be mad, I asked a buddy of mine who was with a friend of yours where you worked so I could send you these but, how about a date? A real one this time, not that having pizza and cheese fries with you wasn't enough, but a proper one. Let me know xx

Chris” 

You smiled at the note as you sat down, digging through your purse you pulled your phone out, smiling you quickly typed out a quick “yes” to Chris. Who knew cheese fries would’ve brought you to having a date with a handsome stranger. 

+

TAGLIST: 

@onetwo3000​

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chirs evans fanfic #chris evans x you #chris evans fic #chirs evans fluff #christopher robert evans #christopher evans #sunnysidevans

[makoodlesarchive]

a gift

pairing: bakugou x reader

summary: drunk reader finds a kitten in an alleyway and brings it home to surprise their boyfriend bakugou. it doesn’t quite go to plan

word count: 2030

i uploaded this last night but apparently it didn’t work properly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  so here we go again

It was possible, that you were maybe, a little bit drunk. 

You stumbled a little on a kerb, but managed to keep yourself on your feet as you clutched the little furry bundle in your arms to your chest. A quiet giggle bubbled out of your lips, but you kept hurrying along in the darkness - it really wasn’t a good idea to be out on your own at night on the streets, especially while drunk, but it had been your coworkers birthday party and you would have felt guilty if you had missed it. Still, maybe the rum had been a bad idea.

Your pocket was buzzing. You squinted down at it, puzzled. It buzzed twice more before you realised it must be your phone ringing, and then you fumbled to answer it one-handed. “Hello.” you said, hoping you sounded at least a little sensible.

There was a pause, before you heard. “[Y/N]?” 

“Katsuki!” you tried to whisper, but it came out far too loud. You frowned, puzzled, then tried again. “Katsu-ki!” it came out quieter that time and you smiled, satisfied.

“Where are you?” he sounded irritated, but you knew him well enough to be able to hear the subtle undercurrent of amusement in his tone.

“On my way home.” The furry little bundle in your arms squirms a little, and you peer down at it in delight. “I have a gift for you!”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” you turn left at the donut shop on the corner, and put a little more speed in your step as you come up to your apartment. “I found it in an alley, just now.”

“You’re bringing me something you found in a fucking alley as a gift? How fuckin’ drunk are you?”

“Tipsy!” you correct with a frown. You struggle for a moment to find the keys to the front door with one hand, the other arm cradling your precious find while your shoulder kept the phone pressed against your head. “Are you coming over?”

“It’s 2am, idiot.”

“Okay.” you say easily, keeping your voice low as you slip in the front door; the walls are thin in your building, and the last thing you need is Mrs Namamoto from down the hall giving you another lecture on keeping the noise down. You don’t think you’ll ever forgive her for her claims that your ‘heavy gait’ keeps her awake at night. 

“Tch.” Bakugo said, then paused for a long moment. When he spoke again, there was a vein of forced casualness in his voice. “I’m on my way.”

“You don’t have to.” You press the button for the elevator, listening to the rattling sounds of it approaching.

“Fuck off. I’ll be there in a few.”

“I can just see you tomorrow, Katsi.” you say as the elevator arrives and you absently press the button for your floor. “It’s no big deal, you don’t have to go out of your way or anything.” Fatigue has hit you now, probably as a result of the alcohol. You feel sleepy, and listening to Katsuki’s deep, rumbly voice always has a way of relaxing you further.

“Whatever, asshole. I’m nearby anyway.” 

You smiled at the tinny sound of the wind whistling through the phone. “Nearby? At 2am?”

“You got a problem with that, fucker?” Katsuki said, a little bit too fast and a little bit too breathlessly for it to be entirely believable. 

You laugh a little as you step out onto your floor, and as you step up to your door the little animal in your arms stirs. You had found the kitten in the alleyway outside the bar your work friends had been in, where she had been rustling through the garbage rummaging for something to eat. Scooping her up and bringing her home had seemed like the right thing to do - she was so small and thin, you didn’t like to think of what might happen to her if she was left on her own in that dank alley. 

“Hello, pretty baby.” you coo as the kitten blinks up at you, slow and lazy. The alcohol turns your words a little syrupy and they slip out slower than you’d intended, but at least you’re not slurring.

”Who are you talking to?” Katsuki asks, a little suspicious now.

“Hm?” you ask, heading for your small living room. You had almost forgotten you were still on the phone, distracted by the little ball of fur in your arms. “You’ll see in a few minutes!” Your balance is a little off, but you manage to curl up on your beat up old couch without disturbing the kitten.

The sound of Katsuki’s impatient tongue clicking sounds distant over the phone, but the familiarity of it still makes you smile. You position the kitten carefully on your chest, making soft little cooing sounds to try and keep her docile and unafraid; it seems to work, because she lays passively just below the hollow of your throat, taking in her surroundings with dark eyes. She’s such a sweet little thing, so mild and gentle.

“Few blocks away now, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

You hum, satisfied at the thought of seeing your boyfriend in a few short minutes. “Guess you weren’t that close by at all, huh?” you laugh a little as Katsuki grumbles, and run a hand down the kitten’s skinny back. The fur is oily and a little matted in some places, no doubt as a result of the time she spent on the street. Your heart goes out to her, and you sigh quietly as you pet her. She doesn’t purr, which you find a little odd, but then you consider the fact that this might be her first contact with humans and you get sad all over again.

You doze off, just for a few moments, but come back fully into wakefulness at the sound of the door to your apartment creaking open. The kitten has fallen into a light doze of her own, and so you sit up with the utmost care as you watch your boyfriend slide into the living room. “Katsuki.” you whisper, beaming as your thumb strokes the length of the kitten’s back.

“Did I wake you-” he begins, but he breaks off as soon as he turns his eyes your way.

Your beam just gets bigger, and you gaze at him excitedly. “It’s a kitten!”

Katsuki stands frozen, still half bent over from toeing his shoes off. His mouth hangs open, his forehead scrunched. It’s not his usual scowl. “Ah.” he says, sounding strangled.

Your smile falters a little, confused by his unenthusiastic reaction. You had thought he would be more excited - the more you sober up though, the more you start to wonder if your lack of impulse control had impaired your judgement. It might have been the rum, either. “I want to keep her.”

“[Y/N].” Katsuki says, approaching slowly. You frown at him, a little bewildered at the uncharacteristic caution he was displaying; it’s not as though you were going to attack him. “That… is a rat.”

You gasp, scandalised, and pull away from him as he approaches, clutching the kitten to your breast. “Katsuki!” you snap. “How could you say that? She’s underfed and a little ragged, maybe, but she’s been living on the streets! She just needs a little love and care! What the hell is wrong with you!”

“With me?!” Katsuki shouts reflexively, then squeezes his eyes shut tight and takes a deep, forced breath. When he speaks again his eyes remain shut, but his voice is steadier. “Babe. That’s a rat. Give it to me now. It might be diseased.”

You stare at him, hurt, bewildered, and still a little tipsy. “I think I know what a rat looks like, Katsuki.” you sniff, but you can’t help the doubt that begins to creep in and you steal a look down at the kitten(?) that is still laying pliantly in your arms. Grey/black fur, little pink nose, rounded ears, long hairless tail. 

You blink at her, feeling a bit betrayed. “Right. Okay. Hm. This is a rat.”

“Give it to me.” Katsuki says, his voice stiff with forced calm.

“No!” you blurt, holding the kitten rat protectively. “I rescued her.”

Katsuki’s shoulders twitch, his jaw clenching against his aborted movement. His calm is beginning to crack around the edges. “I think,” he growls, “It was probably happy where it was. Give it to me, before it decides to go feral and chew your dumb face off.”

He’s right, obviously, but you still frown. You can’t help but feel protective over the little guy. “Lots of people have pet rats.”

“Yeah, but not sewer rats found in alleyways, idiot.” Katsuki’s calm facade fractures, but the look he shoots down at the rat in your arms is a combination of panic and disgust with very little of his usual annoyance mixed in. “Has it scratched you anywhere? Or bitten you? You could get really fucking sick.”

“No.” you say quickly, adjusting your hold on the dozing animal. “She’s been a perfect angel!”

Now it’s Katsuki’s jaw that twitches from where he’s clenching it so tight. “Of course it has.”

“I don’t see why she can’t stay.” you say, scratching the rat behind its ear. She flicks her tail, but otherwise sits placidly still.

“Because it’s a rat!”

“I let you stay!”

Katsuki’s nostrils flare dangerously. “At least I ain’t gonna eat you in your sleep!”

You pout. “Aw.”

Katsuki momentarily looks like he’s going to explode, his palms sparking ominously until he clenches them tight into fists. “Let it sleep on the fire escape.” he says at last, apparently having come to the conclusion that you’re not going to back down about this. “Decide whether you’re gonna keep the gross fuckin’ thing in the morning.”

You bite at your lip sharply, thinking. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that your ridiculous, emotionally-constipated boyfriend is worried about you, and you don’t like causing him stress. Besides, his suggestion really isn’t all that bad. You just hope the little guy will be there in the morning and that she doesn’t wander off in the night. “Okay.” you say quietly, and a little reluctantly.

Katsuki exhales, quick and sharp, then stands to make room as you move off the couch, still clutching the rat. “Don’t let it fuckin’ bite you.” he says, hovering at your shoulder as you move toward the still open window. “Watch it!”

You set the rat down very gently on the fire escape, and watch as it moves immediately to the corner and begins sniffing around. Now that you’re looking at it from a bit of a distance, you’re really not altogether sure how you had mistaken it for a kitten; you supposed you could blame that on the rum, too. “She’s a good rat.”

“Right.” says Katsuki, a little doubtfully. He frowns mistrustfully at the rodent, who has started to wash its face with its paws, and then at you when you awww over it. “You’re such a dumbass. D’you know how many diseases they carry? It’d be fuckin’ embarrassing if you’d had to be hospitalised cause you got scratched by some gross rat.”

“Lucky I didn’t then, hm?” you smile in an attempt to appease him.

His scowl remains fixed for a moment or two, then his shoulders relax and he presses a kiss to your temple. “Don’t put yourself at risk like that again.” he says seriously, then adds hesitantly, “It was...a nice thought, I guess. I want a better present next time.”

Grinning, you reach up to cradle his face, only for him to catch you by the wrists. “Shower first.” he says, grimacing at your hands and making you laugh for real. The sound of your laughter pulls a genuine warm smile from him as he directs you towards the bathroom.

It’s when you reach the bathroom that you hear a low chuckle, and you look back to see Katsuki shaking his head a little. “What?”

It’s Katsuki’s turn to grin at you, his white teeth flashing in the dim bathroom light. “I’m just thinking about how much Kirishima is going to love this story.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #mha bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Two

Link to Masterpost

So I realized today I hit 50 followers! Wow. That’s amazing, and I love you all so much. Plus, it was so inspiring I got to work on some more prompts for this wonderful little AU. I combined two prompts in this part:

1. “Are those slippers?” / “Is that you being mean? AGAIN?” 

-and-

2. “You don’t know how to change a tire?” / “Give it a rest, would you?”

As I mentioned last time, I am still taking prompts for this universe! It’s been a great time playing in this particular AU, and of course I have the rest of the story vaguely sketched out but it’s been way too much fun incorporating these prompts. Hope y’all enjoy!

~*~*~

Aelin was still marveling at the turn in her morning as she got dressed for work in the afternoon. She and Rowan had spent an hour or so finally getting to know each other a little like they probably should’ve when he first moved in, only stopping when he had to leave to go on a run with one of his coworkers. They still had quite a ways to go, but Aelin already felt more at ease than she had previously.

She still felt a twinge of embarrassment at how it had happened, but she had gotten herself into more awkward situations before and Rowan had seemed content to not bring it up further.

Aelin hummed along with the music playing on her phone as she wriggled into the dark pants that served as the bottom of her work outfit and then sat to braid her hair back. In her month and a half working behind the bar at her current job, she had learned in a single shift that leaving her hair down was absolutely not worth it; the golden waves that she was so proud of had an annoying tendency of getting in the way while shaking drinks, and choosing to tie them back instead left her hair much neater at the end of a long shift. Lately she had taken to braiding the long strands into a crown around her head, the style elegant enough to please her but practical enough to survive the night.

Smiling with satisfaction, Aelin pinned the last few strands in place and stood to leave. She took a few extra moments to glance in the mirror and make certain that her shirt was presentable enough for work before grabbing her keys and heading down the stairs.

She made it all the way to the driveway before her good mood evaporated.

“Fuck,” she whined as she stared at her car. It had been fine when she had gotten in, or she thought it had been. But now in the daylight the left rear tire was obviously flat, almost cartoonishly so. There was no way she would be getting in to work on time, not with her car out of commission.

If he had been home she would have asked Aedion for a ride, but he was absent and his car was garaged wherever it was he put it while away so that he could save on his insurance payments. That left trying to get in touch with her coworkers to see if they could pick her up.

Taking a deep breath and preparing to grovel, Aelin scrolled in her phone to Lysandra’s contact information and was about to press the call button when she heard a surprisingly welcome voice from the edge of the driveway.

While Rowan’s voice was a relief, his words certainly were not. “Are those… slippers?” he asked.

Aelin crossed her arms, not ready to deal with this kind of interaction when she was still trying to figure out how she was going to get to work. “Is that you being mean again?” she retorted, shuffling her feet. The motion only served to draw attention to her choice of footwear, however, and when she looked back up at him she was met with an expression she could only call amused exasperation. She sighed and decided to end this probable fight before it could begin, if only to preserve the remnants of her sanity after an already-stressful day. “I always wear slippers when I drive to work,” she admitted. “My work shoes are great when I’m actually on my feet, but I hate driving in them.”

“All right,” he allowed. “I can’t say I relate, but I suppose that makes more sense than anything else I was coming up with. Doesn’t explain why you’re staring at your phone like it’s your only lifeline instead of actually driving to work, though.”

At the reminder of exactly why she was stuck here and not at work, Aelin sighed and wordlessly gestured to her tire. He glanced down at it and then back at her, clearly confused, and began to laugh.

“Oh, what is it now?” she demanded, immediately on edge again.

He crouched beside the tire and braced his hands on his knees, inspecting it as he continued to chuckle. “You don’t know how to change a tire?”

Just as it had a few hours ago, Aelin felt heat flood her cheeks. “Give it a rest, would you? So what if I never learned, I didn’t exactly have anyone around to teach me.”

Aelin bit her lip to stop the words from coming out, though she had already revealed far too much. Even if it was true, and even though the theme of the day had been building some kind of camaraderie with her roommate, she firmly believed there was such a thing as oversharing and that had been it.

A small part of her brain noted that she felt more exposed now than she had been literally exposing her backside to him just that morning, but she carefully stifled that thought to be dealt with hopefully never. Instead, she blurted out, “And I’m not sure I have a spare anyway.”

Rowan gave her a skeptical glance. “Open your trunk.”

“What?” Aelin asked, stunned. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

Deciding to humor him, she did, and in less than five seconds he had opened a compartment and revealed exactly what he had been looking for, a spare tire as well as a few tools. “Oh.”

Rowan shook his head. “Most cars have the essentials in case this happens on the road. The replacement isn’t meant to be driven long-distance, it’ll only get you to the nearest repair shop. I’m assuming you don’t have time for that.”

Aelin nodded. “I’ve only got about an hour before I’m supposed to be at work.”

“All right. You have tomorrow off?”

Aelin checked the picture of the schedule she’d saved to her phone. “Yeah, tomorrow and Monday are my ‘weekend’,” she replied.

Rowan pulled the tools out of the compartment and straightened. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to put the replacement on now, because that tire’s flat enough that you’re risking damage to the rim if we let it sit and that gets expensive fast. I can drive you to work tonight, and tomorrow we can take it to someone to see if you can get away with patching the tire or if you need new ones.”

Aelin stared at him, surprised. “Wait, you’d drive me to work?”

“Would I say I’d do it if I wouldn’t?” he retorted.

Before today, she would’ve bristled at that comment and perhaps even snapped back at him. However, through their talks after his aunt had left she’d learned that he had an incredibly dry sense of humor bordering on outright sass. With that knowledge in mind, she bit back her immediate urge to fight back and instead simply said, “Thank you.”

Rowan’s head spun around to stare at her, and she shrugged, uncomfortable under the intense focus of his gaze. “What?” she asked. “You didn’t have to offer, but I appreciate that you did. Honestly, before you got here I was running down my list of coworkers, trying to decide who was most likely to pick up.”

“You may still want to see if one of them can bring you home,” he cautioned. “I’m not saying I won’t do it, but I’m not exactly used to staying up that late and I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep.”

Aelin laughed at the admission. “And here I thought you were the life of the party. Have you ever done something just because it was fun?”

“Says someone who is currently reaping the advantages of my lack of a social life,” he snorted. “I thought you were supposed to be grateful.”

“I can be grateful and still comment on your life choices.”

Rowan carefully set one of the tools next to the tire and got to work, pointedly ignoring her and leaving her with nothing to do but watch him.

Even before today she’d noticed in a distant kind of way that her roommate was unfairly attractive, for all that he didn’t seem to do himself any favors. That recognition was only affirmed as she watched the muscles of his shoulders and back while he worked to change her tire. He hadn’t even had the time to change out of his running clothes, and sweat lingered at the back of his neck, darkening the short strands of his hair.

She’d never bothered to ask if he’d naturally gone completely grey at a strangely young age or if he simply dyed his hair that color, but either way she could admit it suited him in a way she wasn’t sure would work on anyone else. Paired with piercing green eyes and angular features, what would have been a noteworthy feature on anyone else was a stunning combination on him.

It was really too bad that they barely tolerated each other. And now that they were roommates, she knew too much about him to be swayed by looks alone. All it took was one recollection of him reorganizing their living space and those thoughts retreated to the back of her mind where they belonged.

It was just in time, too, because she realized belatedly he was speaking to her. “—got lucky,” he was saying. “I’m no expert, but I think they should be able to just patch this and you won’t have to get new tires.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, curious.

Wordlessly, he rotated her tire—which she noticed was now freed from her car—and pointed at a large nail driven right through the rubber.

“Oh.”

“Here, stuff this into your trunk while I get the spare on and then we’ll get you to work,” he said, rolling the tire in her direction. She rushed to comply, and by the time she had tucked it away as neatly as she could manage he had finished his part of the job as well. “All right, get what you need and we’ll go.”

“I already have what I need,” she replied.

He looked at her, gaze moving from her braided hair down to her slippered feet, and said, “Your work shoes?”

“At work,” she said.

“And you’re not bringing food when you’re working a full shift?”

“Rowan, I work in a bar. They have food there.”

Her statement granted her a withering look that promised a painful end to her admittedly-unhealthy usual diet. “Do you even have food in the house?”

“If you’re going to judge me, I’m not going to answer that,” she evaded.

“Fine. We don’t have time to fix that right now anyway,” he muttered. “Get in my car, and I’ll get you to work.”

They drove in silence the entire way to the bar, but it was somehow less uncomfortable than Aelin would’ve expected. Maybe there was something to be said for utterly humiliating yourself in front of your roommate, after all. She could only go up from here.

As they arrived, before she could slip out of his car she turned to face him. “Hey, thank you,” she said. “I mean it. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He waved off her thanks with a single gesture. “I know you have my number. Just text me if you need me to pick you up as well.”

As it turned out, Lysandra was able to get her back home after her shift and she texted Rowan about a half an hour before her shift ended, receiving no reply. But as she crept into the house, she noticed a sight that made her freeze and then smile. Rowan was passed out on their couch fully clothed, phone prominently placed on the coffee table as though he’d fallen asleep waiting for her message.

Not willing to risk waking him, she quietly crept up the stairs to her room, but the image lingered for quite some time as she prepared for sleep herself.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

#rowaelin #haven writes #reluctantly rooming

[willwriteforhugs]

the boy in the bookstore (part three)

in which you meet a suspiciously handsome boy in your favorite bookstore- but are not cultured enough to know his true identity.

part one

part two

ateez scenario

yeosang x (fem) reader

word count: 1.6k

g: fluff, angst if you’re a sensitive bitch

warnings: intrusive thoughts, alcohol, & heavy drinking (please drink responsibly lol)

a/n: parts one and two of this fic are linked at the top of this post. when the whole fic is completed, i plan on posting it in it’s entirety. happy reading!

- allison

part three

over the next few weeks, you and yeosang continue to talk. nothing too serious- just occasional texting and one (1) trip to the bookshop. you can tell he's much busier than he lets on, because he takes ages to answer your messages. at first this stressed you out, but now you suspect it's just his day job keeping him occupied. today, you shoot him a quick text before you leave for class. (7 am lecture. what the hell.)

you: hey, wanna get together this week? it's occurred to me that you're basically my only friend in this fucking city lol

you: and i should probably get out

you: i heard it's good for the soul

you cringe internally. why would you let yourself ramble like that? besides, you don't even like him romantically, don't make him think you do. ugh. maybe stop overthinking, y/n.

you force the embarrassing text messages out of your mind, leaving your small apartment before you can consider just skipping the lecture.

- - - 

as you walk along campus, (post-lecture, thank god) you feel your cell phone buzz in your pocket. you pull it out to check your messages. when you see yeosang's name, your heart skips a beat.

yeosang: good for the soul, huh? where the hell did you hear that

you: idk can't u just let me rant

you hesitate sending that message. you find it odd that you can have such a casual conversation with someone like yeosang. besides, you'd only known him less than a month. how was he so easy for you to talk to?

yeosang: lol okay

yeosang: but yes i'd like to go out but i'm only free tomorrow, does that work?

you: that works fine yea

yeosang: what were you wanting to do..?

you falter again. you had no idea... you hadn't really gotten that far in planning.

you: honestly idrk??

yeosang: well

yeosang: how about we just go get a drink or something

you: like alcohol?

yeosang: yes????

you can't help but giggle. how did he send so much attitude through a text? you let the conversation taper off naturally, and the two of you agree to go get drinks tomorrow evening. yeosang knows a place, apparently.

you set down your phone and sigh.

a beat passes, and suddenly it hits you. was this a date? had you just accidentally asked yeosang on a date??? you curse out loud. does he think it's a date? but he said yes, so he couldn't possibly-

you force yourself to stop thinking. you know that if you don't snuff those thoughts now, you probably wouldn't be able to go tomorrow. dammit, y/n.

deep breath in.

deep breath out.

he's just a friend.

- - - 

you narrow your eyes as you glare at your reflection in the mirror. nope, this top does not look cute on you. why did you ever think it had? you walk back to your closet and dig through the mess of clothes you've created. you've spent the last 30 minutes trying on outfits, unsure on what to wear. you desperately wish you had some girlfriends to help you out- but the closest you have are your coworkers, and you aren't really friends with any of them.

10 more minutes pass, and when you glance at the clock, your heart almost stops. shit. you're gonna be late. you turn in a desperate circle, and finally just shove on a dark green sweater, leftover from last christmas. on top of your loose jeans, you look slightly ragged, but you don't have time to think. you grab your bag and leave the apartment in a rush.

the heels of your boots click as you walk along the road. it's only seven, but the sun has already set, and the streets are relatively quiet.

it only takes you a few minutes to arrive at the address yeosang had sent you. you come to a halt, staring up at the building in front of you. it looks busy, and you can hear the sound of many conversations happening inside.

"y/n-ssi!"

you turn at the sound of your name. yeosang is standing under the awning of the building, wearing ripped jeans and a lazy button up shirt. your heart flutters at the sight of him.

"oh, hey," you manage, walking over to meet him. he nods at you and opens his mouth, about to say something, but he hesitates. after a moment, he says: "you look nice."

heat crawls up your neck, and you look at the ground. "oh. thank you." you glance back up, your eyes flickering to the exposed skin of his collarbone. "you look good too."

you hear his breath catch. another moment passes, and he looks up again. "let's go inside?" he asks.

the two of you make your way into the bar, searching for a table. you manage to spot one at the back of the room. it's a two person table, and it's perfect. you sit down awkwardly, face still flushed. you feel so stupid. this is practically a date. why would he agree to it? you wish you were already drunk.

yeosang sits across from you, and asks what you want to drink. you tell him soju is fine, and he stands up, beginning to walk away.

"wait, hold on! take my card." you say, holding it out to him.

he shakes his head. "no, it's fine. this one's on me."

you begin to protest, but he reaches out and grabs your hand, placing it back on the table. before you can say anything, he walks away, pulling out his own wallet.

you feel like stone. on the table, your hand burns as a result of his touch. you shove your face into your hands.

you don't like him. you don't like him. you don't like him. you don't like-

yeosang's return rips you from your thoughts. he sets three beers on the table, and takes his seat. you look up at him, not sure if you'll be able to survive the night.

"are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuinely concerned. "you seem kind of upset."

you let out a high-pitched giggle, and reach for one of the beers. "oh, i'm fine. totally fine." you grunt, trying to open the bottle. the cap wouldn't budge. you try again, and when that doesn't work, you bring the bottle to your teeth.

yeosang reaches over and snatches the bottle from you. "you're so weird," he mumbles, opening the bottle on the first try. you make a face, and take the drink back, taking a long sip. he cocks an eyebrow, and reaches to open his own.

you guzzle your drink, grateful for the distraction. maybe too grateful, though, because after a moment, you choke on your drink. sputtering, you laugh a little. you glance up at yeosang, and he’s smiling, too. you imagine you probably look stupid as hell, but his eyes sparkle. suddenly, he moves his hand up to your face, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“got a bit of soju there,” he mumbles, but his hand hovers. 

your face burns, and his does too. but neither of you look away. 

you lean forward slightly, suddenly yearning to close the gap between your open mouths. 

he looks down, leaning back in his chair. the connection breaks.

what the hell? you think. had you just wanted to kiss yeosang? you must be tipsier than you’d thought...

as the night continues, the two of you manage to keep a light conversation going, in between the drinks. twenty minutes pass, and you've already finished two beers. you stand up, ready to order more, but yeosang grabs your wrist. "hey, maybe you should slow down."

you shake your head. all you want is to be drunk right now. your random almost-kiss had your brain in overdrive. everything is stressing you out, and if you don't get drunk soon, you might lose your mind. being around yeosang was too much. you wanted to leave, but you wanted to be with him. you wanted for him to go, but you wanted to see him. you wanted him to stay away, but you wanted to touch him. what was going on? what were these feelings?

your counterpart sighs and raises his hand at the bartender, gesturing for another round.

 - - - 

thirty more minutes pass, and you're now three and a half sojus in, officially drunk. your thoughts spin and the ground tilts, but at least your breathing has evened out. you look up from the grain of the table, and find yeosang staring at you, a crease between his eyebrows.

"what?" you ask.

his gaze just hardens.

you like him you like him, no you DON'T you like him you like him you like him

"i didn't think you were gonna get plastered."

you plop your face onto the table, and he cringes. "well, i am. plastered, that is." you mumble against the wood. 

"mm-hmm. maybe we should go home."

you begin to argue, but yeosang has already gotten up, and is lifting you out of your seat. your whole body flushes with heat.

don't touch me. touch me. kiss me. go away.

he slings your arm around his shoulder and begins to lead you out. you can't help but notice how nice his body feels against yours. you can feel his toned muscles beneath his thin shirt.

on the street, yeosang turns to look at you. "i don't know where you live." he says, more to himself than to you.

you hum, not quite understanding his predicament. you want to sleep. suddenly, a thought occurred to you. "oh, yeosang-yah!"

he starts and turns back to you. "what?"

you force yourself off of him, stumbling towards a bench. he lurches for you, catching you around the waist. "what on earth are you doing?"

"i forgot to tell you." you mumble, lazily trying to push his hands off of you. "i can't handle my alcohol." and that's the last thing you manage before the world goes completely dark.

edit: part four is up now. thank you for reading!

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fics #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez angst #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop #yeosang #yeosang x reader #yeosang x you #yeosang scenarios #kang yeosang #kang yeosang x reader #stray kids #skz #skz au #bts #bts imagines #kpop fic #willwriteforhugsfics

[sweethq]

❝Stress and sleep deprivation have become the new normal to you, and has caused you to make a mistake that draws a wall between you and boyfriend Miya Osamu.❞

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requested by: @avylee​ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

𑁍 Pairing: Miya Osamu x reader

»»—Trigger warning(s): hospitalization, light swearing—-««

➶ Genre: angst with a happy ending

✎ Word count: 2.87k

-ˏˋ A/N: I really hope this turned out okay?? I wanted to get this out before the weekend since I’m not going to have stable wifi, so I hope it’s not too bad! ˊˎ-

The past few weeks have been some of the most physically, emotionally, and mentally draining weeks you have ever experienced. After long days at school and tending to the boys at volleyball practice, you want nothing more than to go home, take a shower, and hop in bed. On most days, the order of events doesn’t quite happen that way. After volleyball practice you head to the convenience store located a block away from your house, picking up three hour shifts each weekday in order to save money for your future that is approaching all too soon. By the time you arrive at home, you are far too drained to put any effort into completing homework that has been assigned throughout the week, subjecting you to save it for the weekend. Your schedule is as busy as it gets, some, including you, wonder how you still manage to also have time for a relationship.

Although you don’t get to see him as often as you’d like, Osamu is the one thing that keeps you going. The thought of being able to see him every day at volleyball practice never fails to bring a smile to your face, sometimes forgetting about all of the things in your life that have been bringing you stress. Becoming the manager of the Inarizaki volleyball club was the best decision you ever made. Not only did it allow you to meet Osamu, but also all of the other boys you’ve come to love and adore. They’re your family, and getting to see them every day is the only thing that you look forward to.

You clock out of work with a sigh of relief, thankful that the week is finally coming to an end. As you walk home you purposely take a wrong turn, deciding to stop by Osamu’s so you could see him. You had to skip volleyball practice today; one of your coworkers called in sick and they desperately needed someone to cover. As much as you didn’t want to work for longer than you already had to, you felt like you couldn’t leave them stranded. You don’t want to go a day without seeing your boyfriend, desperately needing to be in his arms just to keep your sanity. Your eyelids start to feel heavy on the walk to his place, but you force yourself to keep them open as you’re only a minute away.

As you approach the door you give it an eager knock, closing your eyes while waiting for Osamu to answer. The pain and uncomfort starts to ease the longer you stare at the back of your eyelids. Your tiredness is quickly engulfing you, your body unconsciously starting to sway as you begin to fall into a deep sleep. As you are on the brink of sleep, your body rocks backwards making you lose your balance. Before you could fall, you feel Osamu’s strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you into his chest.

You’re not even fazed, unaware of how close you were almost passing out right in front of his door. You just felt happy to be back in his embrace, something that has always brought you comfort. You loop your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face into the crook of it, eyes still glued shut. As you breathe in his scent, you can’t help but notice he smells like sandalwood instead of his usual mint. You don’t mind though, intrigued by the sudden change. You pull away from him slightly, peppering a couple of small kisses along the side of his neck.

“I missed you today,” you speak in a small voice, tiredness laced through your words.

You pull him into a deeper hug, now resting your chin on his shoulder. Your eyes open for the first time since you got there and are met with the gaze of Osamu standing in the doorway a few feet away. A smile creeps onto your face, never getting tired of the sight of him. A small sigh leaves your lips as you squeeze him into the hug a little tighter. Then it hits you.

Osamu is standing in front of you. He is not in your arms. He is not the one you are hugging.

Horror flashes in your eyes. You slowly turn your head to the side, eyes landing on brown roots that fade into golden locks.

Oh no.

You loosen your hold and take a couple of steps back. Atsumu is staring at you with wide eyes, not daring to move a muscle.

You glance behind him, eyes falling on your boyfriend whose demeanor holds so many different emotions. He turns away from the two of you and walks further into the house, entering his bedroom before slamming the door.

“Shit,” you mutter quietly while pushing past Atsumu, making your way to Osamu’s bedroom door which is now tightly shut and locked. You give the door a couple of gentle knocks, silently hoping that your actions didn’t cause too much of a problem. It was silent on the other side of the door, no indication that he was going to walk over and unlock it.

“Babe, please let me in,” you start, hands growing sweaty, “it’s all just a misunderstanding.” Silence.

“Osamu, don’t be like this. It was an accident. Let’s just forget it happened and move on, yeah?” The worry and anxiousness keeps building inside the longer he stays silent. Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching the door before it swings open. You start to smile but it’s immediately wiped away when you see the anger presented on Osamu’s face.

“‘Don’t be like this’? Do you think I’m overreacting because I just saw you hug and kiss my brother?”

“I didn’t kiss him on the lips, it was just… on his neck.” You soon realized that your words are not helping you, but in fact making it worse. “Babe, I’m sorry. It was an accident, I swear! I just have so much going on and I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep and-”

“I really don’t want to hear your excuses,” Osamu stated, cutting you off mid-sentence.

“I’m not making excuses, I’m trying to give you an explanation.”

“Yeah, well I have a lot going on too, Y/N. I don’t get that much sleep either but you don’t see me going around and kissing other people because I mistook them for you,” he started, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Do you know how hard it is for me? I’ve lived my entire life standing in Atsumu’s shadow. Everything he did, he always did it better. He was always the one to get recognition for everything. I worked my ass off in both my academics and volleyball just to try and prove to, not only other people, but also myself that I am just as deserving as he is. The only thing that I have that Atsumu doesn’t is you. And now I’m not so sure that’s the case anymore.”

You could feel your heart shatter from his words. Not only was he sharing something that made him feel the most vulnerable, but he was starting to doubt if you still wanted to be with him. You take a step closer to him and reach to caress his face, slowly rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone.

“What are you talking about? Of course you have me, you’ve always had me. What you saw out there was a complete accident. I was just so tired that I didn’t even realize it wasn’t you. I’m really sorry, I promise it’ll never happen again.”

He stares deeply into your eyes, he can tell that your words are genuine, but something stops him from forgiving you.

He puts his hand over yours and removes it from his face.

“I just need some space. I think you should go,” he says while releasing his grip from your own. As he was closing the door he mumbled, “Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe,” before shutting the door and locking it once more.

You stare at the door before squatting down, holding your face in your hands. Please don’t tell me I just messed up the one good thing I have in my life.

The walk home felt long, and the rest of the night felt even longer. You had been eager to start the weekend, but now you couldn’t wait for it to be over. You have too much time alone, too much time with just you and your thoughts. You couldn’t even bother to do the homework that you had saved over the week. All you could think about was your fight with Osamu and how he hasn’t even tried to reach out to you since then.

The amount of sleep you got over your two days off was miniscule, even less than you got throughout the week. The nights were filled with mindless thinking and many many tears. You spent so much time thinking about Osamu that you didn’t even remember to eat your usual three meals a day.

The weekend came and went without a word spoken between the two of you. You’re now dreading going to volleyball practice, somewhere that always brought you so much joy. You don’t know how to face him, worried he’s just as upset as he was before.

You stand outside the gym doors, contemplating what you next move would be. Should I try and talk to him? Should I continue to give him space? Should I pretend like nothing happened? Ideas kept flowing through your head, none of them jumping out at you as the correct choice. You decide that it’s best to go in there and assess the environment first. Hopefully that will give you a little insight on what to do.

You grab the two carriers that held the boys’ full water bottles, barely managing to carry all the weight in your small hands. You start you way up the few stairs that lead to the gym, each step taking more and more energy out of you. You reach the last step with a sigh of relief, walking through the open doors and into the view of your boyfriend and the rest of the boys.

“Hey Y/N!” Aran smiles, everyone’s eyes turning towards you. The rest of the team greets you as you enter, with the exception of Osamu.

As you are about to greet them back, you start to feel uncontrollably dizzy. White stars begin to scatter your view as your vision begins to blur. You start to stumble over your feet, eventually tripping and collapsing onto the wood floor, landing almost fully on your shoulder. You hear sets of footsteps running towards you, but you can’t tell where they’re coming from. You see blurry figures hovering over you, one of them reaching out to hold your face in his palms. You can’t visually make out who he is, but you know it’s Osamu. They’re shouting at you, but all you hear is quiet mumbling that sounds like it's coming from the other side of the room. You try to muster the strength to say something, but your eyes flutter shut before you get the chance.

The next time you open your eyes you’re greeted with a heavy pain in your left shoulder and a light that is far too bright. You come to the conclusion that you’re in a hospital, but the events that led up to it are a little blurry.

You feel a warmth in your hand. You glance over to see Osamu sitting in a chair beside your bed, his hand in yours and the other being used to rest his head on, his elbow pressing into his knee for support. A mixture of guilt and comfort engulfed your emotions at the sight. You felt terrible that he was in this situation because of you; you wish he would’ve slept at home in his bed instead of in a sitting position in the most uncomfortable chair. Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel happy knowing that he stayed by your side throughout the night so you weren’t alone.

You reach out to him with your spare hand, brushing the gray strands of hair out of his face. Osamu wakes from his slumber at the feel of your finger grazing against his forehead, the tiredness in his eyes not dissipating. Once he sees that you’re awake, all the tiredness that he felt was suddenly gone. He hurriedly stands and takes a seat on the side of your hospital bed, making sure not to sit on you.

“Hey, baby. How you feeling?” You can sense the concern in his tone, his thumb mindlessly rubbing against the back of your hand.

“My shoulder hurts,” you reply with a small chuckle, “but other than that, I feel fine. I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed. This bed sucks ass.” Osamu laughs along with you, glad that you seem to be feeling a lot better than you were before.

“I’ll go get the doctor and see if we can leave.”

The process to leave the hospital took unnecessarily long. They kept handing you papers to sign and telling you to make sure you drink enough water and to not skip meals; two things you definitely didn’t do throughout the past few days. You’re just glad it’s over and that you’re on your way home with the person you care for the most.

When you and Osamu enter your house, he heads straight for the kitchen knowing that you’re probably in need for some food. He opens the fridge to see what he’s working with and notices that you have all of the ingredients to make your favorite dish. He quickly gets to work, hoping that the prep and cooking time wouldn’t take too long.

“Samu, you don’t have to make me anything. I know you must be tired from staying in the hospital overnight with me.”

“No, I want to. It's the least I can do since you were in that state because of me…” You frown when you hear those words escape his lips, not wanting him to feel guilty. You stand up from your seated position at the dining table and make your way towards him. You snake your arms around his waist and hold him against you, the side of your face pressing against his muscular back.

“Don’t say that, it’s not your fault. I was already going through a lot with school and work and volleyball that I just forgot to take care of myself. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Osamu turns to face you, your arms still tightly locked around his waist. He holds your face in both of his hands and looks at you with nothing but love and passion in his eyes, scanning all of your features. After being together for so long, he’s learned to memorize every part of your face: the way your eyes crinkle slightly when you smile, how your nose moves when you speak, how you slightly pout your lips when you’re frustrated. He retains all of these little quirks that you have, all the things that make him fall more and more in love with you. All he can think about is how incredibly happy he is that he has you, and relieved that his little episode didn’t break the two of you apart.

He pulls your head into his chest, one of his arms holding your upper back while the other is holding the nape of your neck.

“I’m sorry about our fight the other day. I know what you did wasn’t intentional, I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up about it. I’ll try harder so we never fight like that again, I really hate to see you sad, especially if it’s because of me.” He slightly pulls away from the hug so he can press a small kiss on your temple before bringing you back into the hug. “I love you, Y/N. No matter what problems we face, I’ll always love you.” He can feel your smile grow against his chest.

“Samu, that was so romantic. Since when did you get all soft?” You chuckle, pulling away from him. Your smile widens at the sight of your boyfriend in front of you. A pink hue dusts his cheeks and the tips of his ears, his flustered expression enough to make your stomach do flips.

“Whatever… Go sit down over there, you’re distracting me.” He replies while releasing his grip on you, turning back around to face the ingredients on the counter. As he tries to get back to preparing the food, he can still feel your presence behind him. He turns his head to face you, “I said to go sit-”

You grab his face with both hands and bring his lips to meet yours, cutting him off mid-sentence. You can feel him smile into the kiss which makes you return the gesture. The both of you pull away at the same time, placing a couple of more pecks onto his lips before resting your foreheads together.

“I love you too, Samu. I will until the day I die.”

───

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