#it’s just. I’ve only gone a couple times this semester and every time has left me feeling more empty and hurt than when I walked in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

221bshrlocked · 3 years

Text

masked in desperation

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word count: 6044

Warnings: Verbal Degradation. Physical Humiliation involving Din making reader wet herself. Dirty Talk. Penetrative, Non-Protective Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong por favor). Rough then Soft Din. Don't worry, this is consensual and there is aftercare involved.

No summary because I don't even know what to call this? All you guys need to know is that this fic is based on/inspired by the following asks [x] [x] [x] [x]

A/N: Uhhh this is new for me so I'm sorry if I didn't get the dynamic involved with a humiliation kink right. Please let me know how I could correct anything should there be something off. This was supposed to be rougher...but I turned soft midway because nervous Din makes me warm. I hope you like it nonetheless though. Comments are hella appreciated. And you can add yourself to the taglist here. Enjoy and please don't @ me once you finish this fic. And I apologize that it took long, this semester was hell.

It was an act of crazed desire concealed beneath irritation and anger, irritation with you for managing to claw yourself into his heart and anger at himself for allowing you to do so freely. He couldn't deny his feelings anymore, not if he wanted to retain whatever sanity he had left around you. What started out as nothing but stress relief and a way to help with the pain left behind by Grogu leaving turned into Din wishing he could stake his claim on you every moment of every day so you wouldn't seek anyone else out. Not that he genuinely believed you would. Still...

And it wasn't like this was any different from what the two of you usually do. At least that's what he says to excuse his twisted behavior, to not dwell too much on his sick, possessive fantasies.

It was driving him mad. He wanted to mark you up, always did during those passionate nights, loved watching as you tried, and failed, to cover up his love bites and handprints from the guild members. But he also craved to feel the same way. He wanted to bear traces of you on him so people knew how much he cared for you, perhaps even recognized the hold you have on him. The only problem was, no one would ever see the angry nail scratches and bite marks you left every night on his skin because of his beskar. So this, this would do the trick, even if it was barely noticeable, even if it would be gone when he washed his beskar, even if the two of you would be the only ones who knew what happened behind closed doors.

The weird thing was, he doesn't even know how he got to this point. Well, that's not true. He can actually trace his way to this moment, but he feels ashamed to do so? Reluctant maybe. It didn't matter what he was feeling at this point. All he knew was that he needed to watch you as you humiliated yourself in front of him, and had no power to do anything about it. Perhaps it was because, deep down, he wanted to show you that he'd accept you no matter what. He wanted to prove to you that he may just be worthy of having you in his arms. He wanted to assure you that he would be committed to you until his dying breath. And this, in some way, was the solution.

Before he can reevaluate and dwell too much on his decision, he fills a cup with water and heads towards you, ignoring the Marshal's glances as he approaches you and taps on your shoulders.

"Yeah?" You turn around, and Din forces himself to stand his ground when he sees your smile growing wider as you take the water from his hand. "Oh aren't you sweet. Careful, or else they'll think you're growing soft." You tease him as you down the cup of water and hand it back to him before returning to fixing the ship. He says nothing as he walks back towards the cantina, and resumes his quiet meditation.

And that's how it goes for the next couple of hours. He brings you a cup of water every so often, murmuring something or other about how he doesn't have time to take care of you if you suffered from a heat stroke before leaving immediately. Din quietly thanks the maker for your discomfort with public refreshers, because this plan wouldn't have worked if you decided to go to the cantina or elsewhere to relieve yourself. He's locked his ship's refresher and made sure to not be anywhere in sight when you sought him out to ask about the issue with the door.

He feels himself grow harder when he notices you squirming as you work on the ship, softly palming himself through his pants when you halt your movements every couple of minutes to either cross your legs or push your hand between your thighs to attempt and alleviate some of that pain. A part of him feels horrible for putting you through this, but something tells him it will be worth it in the end. Din Djarin isn't a man of prayer, but he pleads to whatever higher power that created you that this wouldn't backfire and make you leave him.

As the twin suns slowly set beneath the sky, Din moves away from where he's been hiding and heads towards the ship, making sure he is in your line of sight as he walks up the ramp and towards his armory. He quickly takes out the durasteel cuffs from where he's set them, hiding them behind his back as he pretends to head towards the cockpit.

However, he stops when he sees you rushing past him and setting all of your tools aside. You're mumbling angrily beneath your breath when things begin to fall over, growling when you try to fix them a couple of more times, and they continue to fall.

"Motherfucking shit," Din hears you swear as you carelessly try to set the box again and it falls over. Shaking your head, you turn around and sprint past him again towards the refresher. His eyes never leave your shaking form as you push on the refresher button numerous times and nothing happens.

"Pfassk! Din, how angry would you be if I broke this fucking door right now?" You try to grab the gun on his holster but he is quicker than you, slamming his hand on your own to prevent you from taking it.

"Extremely." His answer is short and straight to the point, mostly because he can't trust himself to respond to you without giving himself away.

"God please I- I need..." You hesitate and try to remove your hand from him, only to feel his hold tighten around your wrist. He thought you'd break and confess what you needed to do due to your desperation, but you don't, holding your tongue and looking up at him quizzically when he removes your wrist and clasps one side of the cuff on them.

"Din, what- what're you doing?" You look down and watch as he clasps the cuffs on your other wrist and ensures that they aren't too tight around your wrists before he locks them. Before you can ask him again, Din drags you across the ship and into the cockpit, ignoring your annoyed murmurs as he sits down and pulls you onto his lap.

You squirm around and try to get up but Din’s hold on your waist tightens and he slides you against his beskar until you fall into his chest. He says nothing as you push away and try to maneuver yourself so your legs aren’t wide open. He chuckles lowly when he sees how much you’re struggling, finally allowing you to put some space between the two of you. You rest your back against the controls board and take a few deep breaths before you stare at him.

“Can you please let me go?” You ask patiently, and hope he sees how genuine and serious you’re being. When he sits back but keeps his hold on you, you know he isn’t going to make this easy.

“Why?”

“Because I- I need to take care of something,” you look away when you respond and Din feels his cock twitch in his pants at the sudden shyness taking over.

“How about you let me take care of you?” He takes his gloves off and throws them aside, smiling to himself when he sees you shiver as he moves his hands up and down your body. You watch him like a hawk and you feel yourself growing wet for a moment, but you realize this reaction is the last thing you want to experience in his presence right now.

“Wait Din- just...it’s not like that.” You bite your lower lip and stifle a moan when he cups your tits and softly flicks at your hardened nipples.

“No? And yet here you are melting at my touch...your body knows me mesh’la, it’s blooming for me and I’ve barely touched you. Sweet girl, don’t you want me to make you feel good? I’ve been thinking about you all day long, about kissing you until you’re breathless...and biting you until you have my mark everywhere. Don’t you want me to show you just how much I’ve missed you?” Din knows he’s not being fair but the way your eyes are glowing with lust is enough to ground him so he could carry out his plan.

“I- I do...fuck, Din- I really do. I barely think of anything else...but I really need to-” You shut your eyes and groan as soon as you feel Din’s hand descend down your chest and rest on your lower stomach. He supports your back as he slowly begins to push against your navel, watching with fascination as your face contorts from pain and pleasure the harder he pushes on your muscles. You’re not sure what’s happening for a few seconds until you manage to open your eyes and look at him. His visor prevents you from seeing what he’s thinking but none of it matters when you feel him shift underneath you before he eases up. You sigh in relief but Din repeats his actions, only this time, he’s becoming a little more aggressive with his touches.

"N-no wait please I-"

"What's the matter mesh'la? You're usually fucking me like a loth-cat in heat by now, begging for me to have my way with you...take what I want until you feel properly fucked and filled with my cum." Din leans forward, never once easing up as he begins to move you over his beskar-clad thigh. There’s not much you can do due to the cuffs and how much advantage Din has over you in terms of muscle and size so you do the only thing that’s left.

You beg.

"Please, please Din I- I just...I need to-" It takes every ounce of control not to let go of your body’s function and you realize you’re not making much sense when Din cuts you off again and asks you what you want.

"Need to what? Go on sweet girl, tell me. What do you need?" His motions become more rough as he alternates between shoving his hand against your bladder and moving your clothed heat across his thigh. Din wants nothing more than to push you to the floor and fuck you until you can’t remember anything but him, but he tries his best to keep himself in check until he gets what he wants.

"I'll do anything Din just...need the- the refresher. I'm so- so...maker, please wait-" The controls dig into your back the more you lay on them but you can’t find it in yourself to care because a different kind of pain shoots down your spine when Din brings you closer to him and hikes your shirt up. His palms are warm against your skin and you hate how good they feel because this was not how you saw the day going with him.

"You know the safeword. Say it if you want me to let you go and I will." His tone shifts and you throw all caution aside as you confess to him why you need to leave.

"Din please...I really need to pee. I- I'll come back right away but I- oh it's too much, t-too much." You think he’s going to apologize and let you go when you tell him but all your admission does is cause him to momentarily stop before he wraps his arms around you and stands up. He’s pushing you up against the wall, not caring for what you just said to him or how rough he’s being as he nudges his leg in between your thighs and resumes his antics from before.

"I know."

The curt response washes over you like ice and your eyes begin to water as soon as Din takes off his helmet and you see him smiling down at you. You don’t know that you’re shaking in his arms but he leans down and nuzzles into the crook of your neck to commit the moment to memory. He loves the effect he’s having on you and although a small part of him feels bad, he doesn’t bother or care to hold back as he brings himself flush against you, the action causing his beskar to push deeper against your navel and have his desired effect.

"Din?" He thinks your whimpers might make him cum right then and there but he takes a deep breath before he pulls away and looks down at you. He’s sure that his eyes don’t convey an ounce of guilt at the moment, the opposite actually, and it only brightens his smile as he pulls down your tank top strap far enough to give him access to the top of your breasts. Din moves closer to you and lays lazy kisses across your heated skin, all the while attempting to grab your attention so he could tell you what he wanted.

"Why do you think I kept handing you water all day ner ka'rta?"

"W-wha-?" Your sniffles pull at his heart but he knows that you’re not in any physical danger and that all you need to do is whisper your safeword and he’d let you go. When a tear drop trails down your chin and hits his forehead, Din has to pull away to take a better look at you. He hates how much he loves the way you’re looking at him right now, like he’s simultaneously a villain and a savior to your predicament.

"And who do you think locked the refresher? Sweet girl… I thought you were smarter than that." Your surprised gasp adds more to the innocence he’s seeing in you and it’s the last straw before he holds onto your waist and begins to move you across his thigh again.

"You what?"

“Go on pretty, I know how much you’re trying to hold it in. ‘m not letting you go any time soon,” Din talks down at you and if you weren’t trying to prevent yourself from embarrassing yourself in front of him, you’d think it was the sexiest tone he’s had with you yet. But it’s getting more difficult to control your bladder and even though you get the sense that he will probably win in the end, you still try to hold off as much as possible.

“Look at you trying so hard...prettiest fucking sight in the galaxy. And do you know what makes it even better? I can smell how much you want me...this tight, wet cunt is begging for my cock. You can have me sweetheart, you can have me right now if you want. But you know what you have to do.” You’re shaking in his arms and plead pathetically when he applies more pressure on your navel. You try to ask him why again but you can’t find the words and resume moaning his name as he uses you.

And that’s what he’s doing. He’s using you. Like he owns you. Like he has the right to control every muscle in your body. You’re not sure what it is that made him act like this all of a sudden and you know it ultimately doesn’t matter because like he said, he won’t be stopping any time soon. It’s just strange that he wants this. He wants you to embarrass yourself. He’s practically helping your body let loose so you could wet yourself. You try to convince yourself that nothing about this should be turning you on, but the way his eyes are hazed with lust and desperation makes you reevaluate your thoughts and you manage to look up at him as he begins to speak again.

“It’s okay mesh’la, you can let go. Let go, now! Make a mess sweetheart. Make a mess of me, I won’t fuck you till you ruin my beskar and make this ship dirty. Go on. Or do you want me to help you again?” Din isn’t sure what’s come over him but he doesn’t hold back anymore, slipping his hand underneath your pants and pushing hard on your bladder until he feels your thighs squeeze around him.

“D-din fuck...oh- my...maker I- I can’t-” You throw your head back as you fist your hands into his cowl, holding on to that last bit of self control before you’re no longer able to. As he lifts his hand and pushes again, the thread breaks and tears slowly roll down your cheeks as you frown up at Din when your bladder gives out. Din looks into your eyes one last time before his attention moves south and his jaw clenches tightly when he notices the material of your pants grow darker the more you relieve yourself.

He doesn’t bother to stop, continuing to apply pressure on your lower stomach as a day’s worth of water floods down your legs and onto his beskar. He watches with fascination as his pants grow wet as well before he hears the faint sound of droplets falling onto his ship. You follow his line of sight and whimper in embarrassment when you notice just how big of a mess you made. There’s a small puddle forming where the two of you are standing and your nervousness only grows when you see how wet Din’s pants are.

When there’s nothing left and your shaking subsides a little, Din removes his hand from you and returns it to your waist, squeezing the skin he has access to so he wouldn’t strip you and fuck you in the middle of your mess. Every time he moves his foot, he can hear the soft splashing sound of the puddle underneath him and it only makes him harder. When he finally looks at you, he’s met with the most vulnerable expression he’s ever seen on you and although he wants nothing more than to kiss you and apologize, he allows himself to go just a little further until he sees you’re no longer able to put up with him.

“D-din...you- you made me, I-”

“Oh sweet girl, I made you do nothing.” The look of shock on your face is worth the hassle and he watches as you pout your lower lip before more tears leave your gorgeous eyes.

“You’re just a filthy girl, wetting yourself in the middle of my ship and not caring how dirty you’ve become...you really couldn’t hold it in cyar’ika? Look at this, look at the mess you made of my armor. You know how valuable beskar is and yet you pissed all over it. And my ship!? Didn’t we just clean this ship pretty?” Din could feel you melting into him with every word that passes through his lips and when you look away from him, his smile falls and he quickly grabs your neck, turning it straightforward so he could look into your eyes.

“No, you don’t get to look away from me when you’ve just pissed all over yourself and me. Maybe I should change your name, call you ad’ika from now on.” He has to hold back from smiling when he sees the moment you recognize the word. He’s only ever used that word whenever he talked with Grogu and you knew exactly why he was bringing it up now. “You’re my little girl aren’t you? My filthy, pretty little ad’ika who can’t fucking control herself and marked me up like she has the right...like she owns me.” Din watches as your expression softens a bit at his last admission and he trails his gaze down your nose until he is only focusing on your lips.

You can’t help but also stare at his lips and Din uses the brief moment of distraction to unbutton your pants and slip his hand into your panties, humming in approval when he feels the wet fabric scratch deliciously at his knuckles. You gasp when you feel his fingers softly rubbing your slit and as you look into his dark brown eyes, Din slips two fingers into your wet cunt and stops.

“Fuck, you’re so wet ad’ika, so warm and wet and ready for me.” He nudges his fingers deeper into he finds the spot that makes you see stars. You know immediately what he wants to do and reach for his arms as he grows closer to you. When they begin to get in the way, Din takes hold of the cuffs and raises them high above your head until the cuffs are glued to the wall. He can’t stop from smiling down at you, all stretched out and ready to be thoroughly fucked. But he doesn’t give in just yet.

“Din it’s...you’ll get dirty. I- I don’t want you to-”

“I don’t fucking care,” he growls as he leans down and bites shoulder again, moaning against your skin when he feels your cunt clench around him. “That’s it, open up for me...let me make you feel good. I- I want you to scream my name sweetheart, scream my name as you make a mess of me. Please...I need it, need- maker...need you to drench me again.” His words twist something inside of you and you lean back as he moves his thick fingers in and out of you until you feel that familiar pressure all over again.

“Oh Din...your fingers f-feel so- so good.”

“That’s right ad’ika, only I get to touch you. Only I get to watch you come undone...only I get to wear your scent, your beautiful fucking wet scent. I- I won’t wash this armor sweet girl, not when you’ve marked it...marked me, this much. Go on, be a good girl and make a mess of me. Let me walk around with the smell of you etched on my fucking beskar.” You whimper at the filthy whispers Din breathes against you and just as you’re about to come, Din grabs your pants along with your damp panties and pushes them as far down as he could. You bite into your lower lip as he tries to push his digits deeper into you, and when you finally manage to turn and look at him, you hold your breath as you see the way he’s looking at you, into you.

“Cum for me. Now.”

The quiet order, along with the pace of his touches, breaks you and you force yourself to not shut your eyes as your pussy throbs around his fingers, a wave of euphoria washing over you so swiftly you think you’ll faint. Din momentarily turns his attention to your heat once again and he hisses when he feels you coming on his hand just as you squirt on his beskar and the floor of the ship. You’re unable to form a coherent sentence as Din refuses to slow down and your eyes water again when the hold he has on your waist becomes more painful than before.

“Maker...you’re perfect.” Din kisses your neck as he finally decides to slow down but the way he continues to rub your clit with his palm does little to calm your nerves and you don’t realize how much you’re shaking until everything quiets down and all that you can hear is the sound of Din’s heavy breathing and your own heaving and sniffling. You wince when he fully removes his hand from you and helps you out of your pants and shoes. He takes a step back and groans when he sees how spent and ruined you look as you stand on your tiptoes and try to calm down.

As you try to catch your breath, Din unlocks both cuffs and throws them aside, reaching down and grabbing your ass so he could support your weight against him. You jump on instinct and moan when you feel the cold beskar against your skin as Din grinds into your soaked heat. He doesn’t waste another moment, diving in and claiming your lips until he could feel your teeth nipping at his tongue. He makes sure he has a good grip on you before he moves to the refresher and as soon as the two of you are standing in front of it, he pushes a code into the pad and unlocks the door. You pull away for a moment to look into his eyes, the silence of your gaze knocking the breath out of him as you hide into his neck. It takes but a second for Din to realize that he shouldn’t try to push your limits any further for the night.

His touches grow softer as he carefully sets you down on the floor of the refresher. Din can see you’re shivering from the cold room and makes quick work of his clothes and armor, choosing to leave his boxer briefs on so you wouldn’t think of anything else. He leans down and taps twice on your shoulders so you could raise them above your head. As you do, you look everywhere else but him and the gesture is a little too raw for Din because as he strips you down to nothing, he’s leaning down and kissing your forehead until he feels you relax in his arms.

When he’s satisfied with your slowing heart rate, he stands up and turns on the water, making sure to stand in front of you and block you from the cold water until it turns warm. Even though he doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he turns the hot water just a little further, knowing how much you preferred it when it struck your skin.

Grabbing the bar of soap you bought from the last hunt, Din sits down and rests his back against the cold metal of the wall before pulling you towards him.

“Come to me mesh’la.” His voice is much more controlled and mellow than minutes before and you melt back into him as soon as his skin comes into contact with yours. You rest your back against his shoulder and sigh heavily when his hands begin to massage your arms. The scent of flowers hits your nostrils in seconds, making you relax even more as the soap washes away any trace of what you and Din had just done.

Din kisses your shoulder and neck as he rubs the soap on your chest and stomach, keeping his touches as appropriate as possible to distract himself from the hardening issue he was struggling with. Although he prefers you all sweaty and dirty, he makes sure to wash every inch of you, knowing that you probably needed to feel clean after...after what he’s done.

He pushes your back until you’re leaning forward far enough for him to wash your back as well. His breath hitches when he sees evidence of his touches on your skin from previous nights. Some of them have turned a light blue color while others were still purple.

Fuck. He didn’t know his grip was this harsh. He was a little guilty for bruising your skin, your lovely, beautiful, gorgeous skin. But the more he saw as he rubbed the soap over your back, the more pride he felt in his chest at the knowledge that he was the only one allowed to mark you.

“D-din…” You moan his name when he pulls you back into his chest and you feel his hands descend lower to wash your thighs. You think that he’s going to touch you where you ache for him but when he focuses on your thighs, you realize that he wasn’t going to go anywhere near your throbbing cunt.

“I’m here sweet girl, let me take care of you.” His whispers are laced with promises and affection and you’re not sure what to make of it. He’s never been this intense, this touch-starved, even this controlling. There’s something about the events of the night that tug at your heart and you wish you could ask him what has changed all of a sudden. But you don’t, instead repeating his words from earlier over and over again as he continues to wash you.

He told you, although indirectly, that you had the right to...to mark him, to own him. He begged you to drench him so everyone would know that he’s yours. That you’re his.

“Din please,” overcome with emotions, you slap the bar of soap away from him and use his surprise to your advantage, quickly turning around and holding onto his broad shoulders as you straddled his thighs.

“Ner ka'rta, we don’t have t-” Din keeps his hands to himself as he feels you rub yourself on his clothed cock. You instantly cut him off, molding your lips with his in a bruising kiss until his arms wrapped around your back. When you knew you had him, you pulled away and laid kisses across his handsome features. He was a moaning mess in no time and when you took hold of his chin and pushed it back, Din felt like he was travelling through the stars, the rough nips you were leaving across the jugular of his neck making him notice just how needy you were.

The hot water cascaded down your back as you assaulted Din’s skin and when you felt him grab your waist and begin to move you across of him, you knew he wasn’t going to deny you from what you wanted. Needed. Craved.

“I need you...now, please Din. I need to feel you inside me.”

“But-”

“Please? Oh maker, I- you said...you said you’d give me your cock if I wanted. And I do. I want you, I want your cock. I- you promised. I- I’ll do anything.” The sound of your desperate pleas sends a shiver down his spine and Din nods frantically just before you pull him out of his briefs.

“You- you’ve done enough for me cyar’ika. So so much. And I- I...oh-” Din throws his head back and shuts his eyes as soon as you lower yourself on his hard cock. He thinks he’s going to cum right then and there, but then you’re moving on top of him and squeezing him so tightly and he realizes that he needed to feel more of you. You cry out his name over and over again as he twitches against your tight walls, and when his eyes snap wide open and look at you, you can’t help but lean forward and bite into his shoulder to keep some semblance of control.

“S-sweet girl...lovely girl, tell me you’re mine.”

The short request causes you to falter in your pace but Din decides to take over again, wrapping his arms around you as he begins to move you on top of him.

“I- I’m yours Din, I’m yours. No one else can fuck me like you, n-no one can kiss me and touch me and take care of me like you...gods, you’re amazing. And you’re mine,” Din groans when he hears the last of your words and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck as you continue to whisper sweet things to him.

“You hear that Din...you’re mine. You- you belong to me, you touch only me...you, oh maker, you fuck only me. This cunt is yours baby and your cock was made for it. Made for me. You l-love only me. Right Din? P-please I’m...already so close. Tell me Din because you know...know that I love you. I love you. No one else. J-just you-”

Din is sure he might be suffocating you with how hard he’s hugging you right now but he doesn’t seem to notice because all he can hear is your declarations of love and commitment. Neither of you have ever come close to being this intimate but his earlier actions apparently unlocked something in the two of you.

You loved him. Even though he could be kinder, and was definitely too broken. You still loved him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. P-pfassk...I love you mesh’la. Only you...always you.” Din comes with a cry when he feels your nails digging into his back and he growls as his cock throbs inside you until he’s filled you with his cum. But he doesn’t stop, instead maintaining his pace just to see you fall apart one last time. It’s all too much and not enough, and he’s already oversensitive from coming but he has only himself to blame considering how much he edged himself the entire day. When he hears your gasps turn quieter, he knows you’re close and slithers his hand between your bodies to flick your clit. You moan into his shoulder as you quickly peak one last time, the touch of his fingers reminding you of what he’s done earlier and in a matter of seconds, you’re clenching around him so hard to the point where you’re not sure if you’re experiencing pain or pleasure.

Neither of you say anything as you slowly return to yourselves. When Din moves to try and turn the water off, you accidentally dig your nails deeper into his shoulder and make him hiss.

“S-sorry.” The small apology does something to Din and he decides that he needs to do this now and not when the two of you are in his cot. Twisting his hand into your hair, Din pulls it back until you’re forced to look at him. You stare at each other for what feels like hours before you lean forward and kiss him. It’s much slower and kinder than the earlier kisses and you smile when Din unintentionally thrusts into you. He pulls away and returns your expression when he sees how genuine it is.

“I think I should be the one apologizing ad’ika.”

You know what he’s referring to and you think that perhaps he’s beginning to feel more guilt at what he’s done but you brush it aside with a joke so he knew there was nothing of concern.

“Not sure what you’re talking about Din,” you leave a quick peck on his nose as you rest your cheek on his chest and hug him tightly. He recognizes what you’re doing right away and decides to not fight you, instead maneuvering you off of him to shut the water off. You try to stand but your legs give out immediately. Forutrantly for you, Din is there to catch you and he ignores your complaints as he carries you out of the refresher and into his room. You watch as he brings two towels and proceeds to dry you off, handing you the other one to dry your hair. You giggle when he almost stubs his toe as he comes back with a set of new clothes.

Din ignores your comments when you ask him why he was handing you one of his long sleeve shirts instead of your own, quickly putting on a pair of boxers before throwing the towels back into the refresher. When he comes back, you’re already comfortable and warm in his bed, the sight of you sniffing his pillows causing him to think of a multitude of thoughts. He brushes them all aside when you make room for him and ask him to come to you.

As he slithers underneath the covers, you waste no time and move closer to him until you’re sure you’re touching every inch of his skin.

“Are you okay mesh’la?” Although you know what he’s referring to by that question, you don’t bring up the topic, instead nuzzling into his chest. The sigh of content you hear tells you that he’s not overthinking what happened too much, and it signals for you to do the same because even though you never expected the day’s events, you can’t help but admit to yourself that one thing which you know Din will bring up when the two of you have properly rested.

As strange and sudden as it was, Din’s treatment of you turned you on.

Translations:

Mesh'la - beautiful

Cyar'ika - beloved

Ad'ika - little one

Ner ka'rta - my heart or my soul

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you

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Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

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#din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian smut #pedro pascal #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #mando/reader #humiliation kink #degradation kink #peeing kink #i don't even know what to call it #someone help #pedro Pascal

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baepsaesbae · 3 years

Text

None of Your Business

Pairing— Jung Hoseok x reader

Genre— SMUT, enemies to lovers au, business/professional life au, slight angst, slight fluff, mutual pining bc im a slut for that

Warnings— inappropriate workplace behavior, explicit unprotected sex, face sitting, slight biting, one (1) butt slap, dirty talk, swearing, switch!Hoseok, Hoseok being a god damn nuisance, (also I’m not a business person so if you are and I state inaccurate/dumb things I apologize in advance)

Word Count— 8.9k

Summary— You have a shot at attaining a huge promotion at your company. The only problem standing in your way is the same one that annoyed you in college. Jung Hoseok. How will you manage to spend an entire weekend at a conference juggling impressing your supervisors while simultaneously battling Hoseok?

A/N— This super cool banner was made by the one and only @kimtaehyunq, thank you so much! Please let me know what you guys think. Feel free to leave a comment or send an ask!

The business world has always been mercilessly cutthroat; that’s one of the first things business students learn when they enter college. The competition to get an internship at a top company was fierce. Recruiting has to start at least a year in advance if you even want to give yourself a chance.

Luckily for you, you were the top student in your program. Well, one of the top students. Over the past four years, your position had been flip flopping with some surprisingly competent bonehead who annoyingly plagued your life.

“Excited to be graduating this semester, ___?” an all too familiar voice interrupted your studying.

“Excited to graduate as top of the class? Yes, of course,” you replied coldly.

“Top of the class? That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?” the handsome boy sat on your table.

“I think it’ll be pretty much set in stone after this last final,” you returned your attention to your notes.

“Well, even if you’re number one, I think experience matters a lot in this field,” the boy refused to leave you alone.

“Then it’s a good thing I did an internship with one of the top companies over the summer,” you glared at him.

“Oh yeah, how could I forget about the internship that you stole from me?” the boy pouted.

“I was obviously more qualified. And how could you say that when you stole my opportunity to go on a study abroad trip with my favorite professor last Spring Break? I’m still furious that he chose you over me solely because you were sleeping with his daughter,” you retorted.

“That was a coincidence! I don’t know how many times I need to tell you that,” he tried to defend himself.

“Whatever. Do me a favor and leave me alone, Hoseok. Hopefully today will be the last time I’ll ever see you.”

“That’s kind of sad to think about. Who else will get under my skin and annoy me every time they open their mouth?” Hoseok bantered, “Also, I told you to call me Hobi.”

“That would imply that we’re on friendly terms. I don’t like lying, Hoseok.”

“Fine. Good luck on that last final. See you around,” Hoseok hopped off the table and patted your head.

“Don’t touch me,” you grumbled as he walked away.

That was five years ago.

The company that you interned with gave you a job offer immediately after graduation. Quickly moving up through the ranks proved to be an easy feat since your tenacious nature made you the ideal employee.

You were currently waiting outside of the CEO’s office. Seconds felt like hours as you mindlessly bounced your leg. It was eerily silent, and all you could hear were the click clacks of the receptionist’s keyboard as she worked. You looked around at the bleak décor that was a sorry excuse for modernism as you racked your brain. Were you in trouble? Did something happen? You were summoned up for a meeting but had no clue what it was going to be about.

Once you were finally called in, you were greeted by both the CEO and VP of the company.

“___, please take a seat,” the CEO politely smiled, “As you know, I am getting old. I am unmarried, so therefore I have no one to oversee the company after I’m gone. The executive council and I have been looking for people to fill my shoes. Or at the very least, take a seat on the executive council if one of them were to take my place.”

“Your numbers have been exceptional this month,” the VP chimed in, “And every month prior. After much deliberation, your name has been cast into the lot.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Being a member of the executive council at your age was almost unheard of.

“There is one other candidate that has also been hand selected at the other branch. You both are to attend a conference in which you will mingle with executives from other companies. There will also be a time in which you will pitch an idea to me on how to make this company better,” the CEO continued when he saw your loss for words.

“First and foremost I would like to thank you for this opportunity. I will do my best to live up to your expectations,” you bowed to show your gratitude.

“Perfect. The conference is in two weeks. I believe that should give you ample time to prepare your presentation,” the VP shook your hand.

After shaking hands with the CEO, you turned to leave. However, something was nagging you.

“May I ask who the other candidate is?” you inquired.

“Jung Hoseok from the northern branch,” the VP answered without missing a beat.

“Ah,” your brain exploded.

“Do you know him?” the CEO asked.

“We went to college together. I know of him,” you said curtly.

“Well you’ll finally get your chance to meet him. I’ve heard he’s very popular with the ladies at his branch. That’s not pertinent to his skills; however, you can’t blame an old man for wanting to know the gossip of his own employees,” the old man chuckled.

“Of course,” you smiled politely as you excused yourself from the office.

Jung Hoseok? That douchebag? Just your luck to run into him again (to fight for the next step in your career no less!). You think back on all the run ins you had with him during your collegiate days. Nothing but irritating memories of the two of you competing for the top spot came to mind.

Whatever. It didn’t matter who the other candidate was. You had to get to work and come up with a brilliant plan that will impress the CEO. You brushed the thought of Hoseok aside. It had been a couple of years, maybe he wouldn’t even remember you. There’s no need to stress out over something so trivial.

The weekend of the conference had finally arrived. You were instructed to travel together with Hoseok. You waited alone at the airport terminal. If you were lucky, Hoseok wouldn’t show up at all. You weren’t.

“___!” Hoseok called out your name in a sing songy voice.

“Hello Hoseok. Glad to see you haven’t changed,” you were already irritated.

“How are you? It’s been so long. You look great!” he went in for a hug but you turned away.

He stood awkwardly with his arms in the air for a second until he bounced back. He took the seat next to you and began chatting. You answered his list of questions apathetically.

“Did I do something to offend you?” Hoseok finally asked.

“I just think it’s funny that even after all these years, I still have to compete with you,” you retorted.

“Still hung up on that? It doesn’t even matter anymore. We got good jobs and now we’re here. Together! Isn’t that cool?”

“No, not at all. Although I guess it will be nostalgic coming out on top once again,” you smirked.

“Your competitive nature always amused me. You’re so cute when you lose,” Hoseok teased.

“I never lost to you,” you gasped.

“That’s not what that one study abroad trip with Professor whatshisname says,” he cooed.

“Professor Namjoon! You knew he was my favorite, you prick. At least I graduated as top of the class with honors,” you argued.

“My GPA was off by thousandths of a point. That doesn’t really bother me. But I’m glad you have something that makes you happy,” Hoseok shrugged.

‘This is gonna be one long fucking weekend’, you thought.

The flight was short and pleasant since Hoseok left you alone. You wanted to see as little of him as possible during this trip. You intended to get that promotion no matter what.

After the plane landed, the two of you made your way to the hotel that was hosting the conference.

“Hi, last name ___ and Jung?” you smiled at the hotel concierge.

“Ah yes, you guys are here for the business conference?” the concierge asked.

“Indeed we are!” Hoseok chimed in from behind you.

“Alrighty, I got you guys all checked in. Enjoy your stay!” the concierge handed you a singular set of keys.

“Oh, I’m sorry, there must be a mistake. We’re in two separate rooms,” you politely tried to hand back the keys.

“The reservation is for a singular suite,” the concierge explained.

“Probably cheaper that way,” Hoseok reasoned while nodding.

Your fake smile faltered for a second. How the hell are you supposed to spend an entire weekend sharing a room with the most despicable person on the planet?

At least the hotel itself was grand. There was no way you’d ever be able to afford to stay in such a swanky place. The lobby was decorated with ornate marble pillars that were laced with gold trimmings. It even had a fancy fountain in the middle to greet incoming guests, which you thought was a bit overkill.

“Excited to sleep with me, princess?” Hoseok teased, obviously picking up on your annoyance.

“Fuck off. Stay the hell away from my bed and my things,” you spat.

“Who’s to say that you won’t be able to stay away from my bed?” he smirked.

“You wish,” you rolled your eyes as the elevator finally stopped on the top floor.

You led the way to your shared suite with Hoseok. The trip was exhausting; you couldn’t wait to take a nap on your large luxurious bed that was probably topped with Egyptian cotton (one can dream).

You immediately dropped your bags on the side of the room and flopped onto the bed, shutting your eyes.

“Interesting,” Hoseok said.

You ignored him.

“Very interesting,” he continued.

“What? What is so interesting?” you sat up and glared at him in frustration.

“Take a quick glance around the room,” he suggested.

Your heart sank, “No fucking way.”

You loved this trope in fanfics, but in real life? Fuck no, not with this asshole. Yes, there was only one luxurious king sized bed in the room.

“Well, looks like you're going to sleep on the floor,” you smiled sweetly at him.

“The bed is huge, we can definitely share,” Hoseok argued.

“I think the fuck not,” you dropped back onto the bed, “I’m sure you’ll whore your way into someone else’s bed each night anyway.”

“I don’t think I need to, not when I’m already sharing a bed with you,” he flirted.

“Bite me, Hoseok,” you sighed, not in the mood for a tit for tat.

“Are you into that? I’d happily oblige,” he responded as he sat on the other side of the bed.

“I’m afraid that’s confidential information that you are not privy to,” you huffed, turning away from him.

“Are you really going to make me sleep on the floor?” he asked quietly.

“Would you listen to me if I said I wanted you to?” you were curious to know.

“Look, I’ll admit that I can be an asshole, but I’m not a creep. If you’re really not comfortable with sharing a bed with me I’ll sleep on the floor. All I’d ask of you is to spare me a pillow.”

There was a short silence as you mulled over your options.

“Fine, we can share the bed. But I demand a pillow divider to be set between us,” you caved.

“Wahoo! Thank you so much for your generosity, ___. Do you want to use the bathroom to get ready for bed first, or shall I?” Hoseok celebrated.

“I’ll get ready first,” you lazily rolled off the bed and trudged to the bathroom.

You were so tired that you missed hearing Hoseok’s soft chuckle as he watched you stumble to the bathroom. He patiently waited for you to finish before it was his turn to get ready for bed. You were sound asleep by the time he was done.

The blankets were haphazardly sprawled out on your side of the bed. One leg was under the covers while the other was completely exposed. Your mouth was agape with a bit of drool seeping out, and your shirt lifted up to expose some of your tummy.

Hoseok smiled at the sight. Never in a million years did he think he’d ever be lucky enough to see you like this. He pulled down your shirt in an attempt to make you look decent, but there was nothing he could do about your drooling. He tucked you into the sheets properly, making sure that the blankets covered you up to your neck.

He settled into his side of the bed. You forgot to put up the pillow divider. Hoseok stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He turned over to face you in an attempt to get comfortable.

‘She looks so sweet. Almost cute,’ Hoseok thought.

He quickly brushed the thought aside. You were his rival, and have been since the first day of college years ago. He sat up and created a pillow barrier. Bickering with you first thing in the morning was the last thing he wanted.

The first day of the conference was filled with attending various meetings while attempting to make as many networking connections as possible. You got up early and left the room before Hoseok was even awake. The less time spent with him, the better.

Of course, completely avoiding him was impossible. You were to sit with your respective company during the meetings and presentations. The VP sat between you and Hoseok, while the CEO switched between sitting on either side. You were thankful for the separation, but nervous nonetheless.

The CEO would occasionally lean over to ask you questions about the presentations, and he intently listened to your responses. The VP would merely look over occasionally to give you a smile or wink; he acted more like moral support. You knew the entire weekend would practically be an interview, but you underestimated how anxiety inducing it would be.

The higher ups finally left you alone when lunchtime came around. You picked up your lunch in the hotel’s decadent ballroom that had been turned into an eating area. You scouted an empty table in the far corner of the room in the hopes of finding some peace and quiet.

Hoseok had other plans. He saw you sit down at the table and happily followed you.

“Hey there buddy!” he greeted you as he sat down.

“Shouldn’t you be networking with new people?” you rolled your eyes at him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorted as he took a bite of his sandwich.

“I’ve been doing that since before you were awake. I think I deserve a break,” you replied.

“I forgot that you’re quite the hard worker. I couldn’t have asked for better competition,” he said.

“Was that a compliment?” you asked with an amused grin.

“Yeah, and it’s the only one you’ll ever get from me. Is your pitch to the CEO ready?” Hoseok inquired.

“It has been. And no, I’m not going to tell you what it is,” you proudly answered.

“Oh c’mon! Mine is ready too! You’re a damn fool if you think I’m gonna steal your idea. I’m just curious,” he pouted.

“Fine. I’ll tell you if you tell me yours first,” you offered.

“So distrustful,” Hoseok feigned offense, “Okay, so I think offering higher bonuses for working overtime would be a good start. There could even be competitive bonuses in each department for the person who gets the best numbers that month.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” you said at first, “But don’t you think that would just create more animosity between coworkers?”

“I think competition is a healthy motivation factor. It worked for me in college,” Hoseok defended his idea.

“Everyone is competitive in college. Especially in the business schools,” you argued.

“Yeah, but not everyone is you,” Hoseok stated.

“Excuse me?”

“Honestly, I probably wouldn’t be here today if you weren’t always on my ass,” he admitted, “Being your rival was kinda fun. You got flustered so easily, it was almost cute.”

“I do not get flustered easily! Plus, it was always you who was on my ass,” you huffed.

“I see that you still do,” Hoseok laughed, “But seriously. The universe brought us together again so I guess it’s telling me to thank you.”

“That’s uncharacteristically nice of you to say,” you looked away from him to hide your reddening cheeks, “You pushed me too, so thanks for that...I guess.”

“Mhm, no problem buddy. I’ll see you in the next presentation room,” he got up to leave.

“Wait Hoseok!” you called after him.

“Yeah?” he turned around quickly.

“I didn’t tell you my idea--”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s brilliant,” he winked before walking away.

The rest of the day passed by quickly. You retired to your room, exhausted from all the forced socialization. Your mind was stuck on what Hoseok said earlier. Maybe he wasn’t as big of an asshole as you thought. Perhaps you mistook a friendly rivalry for toxic competition.

You were sprawled out across the bed in your pjs when Hoseok entered the room.

“Are you gonna sleep like that?” he asked.

“You’re gonna have to forcibly remove me from your side if you want it that badly,” you replied with your eyes still closed.

“That’s fine,” Hoseok said as he abruptly rolled you over to your side.

“Hey!” you squeaked out in protest.

“It was either that, or I laid on top of you and suffocated you.”

“Hmph,” you let out a displeased noise.

“Oh my god, you’re so bratty. How old are you?” Hoseok chuckled.

“Old enough to know that you’re a meanie,” your response was muffled by the pillow you buried your face in.

“Sorry I’m a what?” Hoseok teased.

“A meanie!” you quickly got up and slammed a pillow into Hoseok, catching him by surprise.

“I’m the meanie? You just pelted me with a pillow!” he cowered away from you.

“And I’ll do it again!” you threatened.

“I don’t think so,” Hoseok suddenly lurched forward, tackling you back onto your side of the bed.

You’re both laughing at this point. Seeing Hoseok up close and personal made you realize how handsome he truly was. Had he always been this attractive? Hoseok’s cheerful laugh echoed throughout the room as he loomed over you, pinning you down.

“I’ll get off if you promise not to hit me with a pillow ever again,” Hoseok tried to say in a serious tone, but his smile betrayed him.

“Sorry, I can’t make such a ridiculous promise,” you sassed.

“God, you really are so bratty. Kinda cute, kinda naughty,” Hoseok tsked.

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” you stuck your tongue out at him.

Hoseok leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Oh, I’m sure there’s something I could do.”

That sent chills down your spine. This was perhaps the most intimate moment you’ve shared with someone in a long time.

“Keep dreaming then, lover boy,” you said. Truth be told, just that one sentence turned you on, but you couldn’t let him know that.

“As you wish,” Hoseok released you and retreated back to his side of the bed.

“Maybe you aren’t as big of an asshole as I remembered,” you chuckled.

“You thought I was an asshole?” Hoseok laughed.

“I did. Maybe I still do. Not that it matters, we’ll never see each other again after this stupid conference.”

“That’s not true,” Hoseok disagreed, “I’ll be on the executive council, so you may see me from time to time.”

“I like the confidence. Too bad it’s in vain,” you teased, “I’m going to bed. Our day starts early tomorrow.”

“Our?”

“The. The day starts early tomorrow. Just go to bed Hoseok,” your turned over to conceal the faint smile on your face. Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.

The second day of the conference started off as boring as the previous day. The various presenters droned on about different strategies regarding the improvement of a company with a plethora of charts and numbers to back it all up. The CEO wasn’t as talkative today to either you or Hoseok. The VP still made his reassuring gestures to you, flashing smiles and winks here and there.

“Can I see you privately after the last morning presentation?” the VP whispered to you.

“Yes, of course!” you excitedly answer. Currying the VP’s favor may come in handy later.

After the last presentation, the VP discreetly led you to a vacant corner. His tone became serious as he began to speak.

“The CEO discussed his initial thoughts with me last night. I know I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he’s currently leaning towards Hoseok,” he explained.

The news made your heart sink.

“I’d rather see you on the executive council, if I’m being frank. My pride is on the line since I recommended you,” his voice lowered, “However, I think there is a way to sway his opinion.”

“Which is?” you eagerly asked.

“Someone might overhear here, meet me in my room in an hour,” the VP covertly handed you his room key.

He walked away without another word. The fact that the VP was on your side gave you a faint sliver of hope. The next hour of free time was spent frantically networking while your mind was obviously elsewhere. Every now and then you heard Hoseok’s voice, and just the sound of it spurred you on to make even more connections. By the end of it, your face began to hurt from all the fake smiling.

You were standing in front of the VP’s hotel room exactly an hour after your secret rendezvous. The door opened immediately after you knocked.

“You’re extremely punctual; that’s wonderful,” the VP observed as you entered, “Make yourself comfortable.”

You scoured the room to find a place to sit. Your uneasiness must have been obvious, as the VP gestured towards the bed.

“Thank you,” you said as you awkwardly sat at the edge of the bed, “What is your plan?”

“It’s quite simple actually,” the VP sat beside you, “I just need to get to know you better. That way I can give an authentic and flawless review to the CEO.”

“So, you’re going to conduct an in-depth interview?” you asked timidly as you noticed him scooting closer to you.

“You could say that,” he voice lowered as he rested his hand on your thigh, “We have about 45 free minutes remaining. I believe you should make the most of this interview, Miss ___,” he smiled slyly as his hand began to travel upwards.

“How dare you?!” you yelled as you abruptly pushed him off of you, “I’m going to report you to HR!”

“Then say goodbye to your promotion. You really think you were chosen just because your numbers have been decent? You definitely were not the CEO’s first choice. He didn’t even know who you were. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be here,” he explained with a shit eating grin.

“Then why the hell would you even bring me up to the CEO? Just so you could try and sleep with me?” you were enraged.

“Don’t blame me for wanting some eye candy to entertain me during this god awful convention,” he smirked.

“Fuck you, you fucking pig,” you spat.

“Ohhh feisty. I like that in a girl. If you leave now, you can kiss that promotion goodbye,” the VP called out to you as you stormed towards the door.

“And you can kiss my ass, and shove that promotion up yours,” you snapped, flipping him off before slamming the door behind you.

Tears welled in your eyes as you made your way to your room. You were absolutely distraught. Had all your hard work been for nothing? Had you been nothing but a pretty sight for men to stare at for the past five years?

You entered your hotel room to find Hoseok laying on the bed. You quickly wiped away your tears; you hadn’t expected him to be there. He appeared to be taking a nap. You watched his chest rise and fall slowly as you snuck into the bathroom. You freshened yourself up to the best of your abilities. Maybe a little power nap would help calm your nerves. Too bad Hoseok was taking up the bed. Fuck.

You left the bathroom to see if maybe you could curl up in one of the corners of the bed. Luckily, Hoseok was on his side of the bed. You set a timer for half an hour and slowly crawled under the covers. Your eyelids felt heavy as you closed them.

“If you wanted to cuddle you could’ve just let me know,” Hoseok’s voice surprised you.

“Well, I don’t. Leave me alone,” you responded.

“What if I want to cuddle?” he asked.

“There is an abundance of perfectly good pillows for you to use,” you sighed, then sniffled a little.

“Are you sick?” Hoseok asked with a worried tone.

“No, I’m fine,” you answered quickly, panicking.

“___, what’s wrong?” Hoseok was sitting up now.

“Nothing, leave me alone,” you turned away.

“If you insist, I won’t push it. Just know that you can talk to me if you need to,” he offered.

You heard him get off the bed. You pulled the sheets over your head to hide your face. You cried silently as Hoseok shuffled around the room, presumably getting ready to leave. Suddenly, he pounced on you.

“Hoseok! What the fu--” you cried out as he yanked the sheets off of you.

“Surprise attack!” he gleefully exclaimed.

His expression quickly changed when he saw your tear streaked face. You looked up at him with puffy eyes. You were too exhausted to hold your cold stare. Instead, you looked away in embarrassment.

“___, what happened?” he asked softly.

“It doesn’t matter. But congrats, you basically got the promotion,” you laughed in defeat.

“You spoke with the CEO?” Hoseok was shocked.

“No, with the VP. That stupid son of a bitch. He--nevermind. I blew my chance, so the job is all yours. I am almost positive that I am unemployed now as well,” the tears returned and you couldn’t stop them.

“Hey, ___, it’s okay,” Hoseok tried to comfort you, “If the CEO didn’t tell you himself, then you can’t be 100% certain.”

“I was literally only invited because the VP tried to get in my pants!” you blurted out.

“What?” Hoseok was dumbfounded.

“He just told me that I’d have the job if I had sex with him. Can you fucking believe that? How long have I not been taken seriously? This has been so demoralizing,” you let it all out.

“Aw, c’mere,” Hoseok pulled you up and gave you a warm embrace, “What did you say to him?”

“I told him to shove it,” you sniffled against his firm chest.

“There’s the you I know. You haven’t changed a bit,” he chuckled, “We can talk to the CEO together tomorrow about this.”

“Why would you help me? The promotion is basically yours because of this,” you sighed.

“I don’t really care for it, if I’m being honest. I’m satisfied with my job now. I don’t want any more responsibilities,” he answered while stroking your hair.

“Then why are you here?” you looked up at him.

“I only agreed to come after they told me that you’d be here,” he admitted.

You didn’t know what to say. Too many things have happened in the past hour alone.

“Don’t get it twisted, I was just curious to see how you’ve been after all these years. Plus a free trip is always enticing. Getting to share a bed with you has just been an added bonus,” he smiled.

Your timer rang, causing you to break away from Hoseok’s arms.

“Guess it’s time to go to more boring meetings. Yay,” Hoseok feigned enthusiasm.

“I’m gonna stay here. There’s no point in me attending anymore,” you stated.

“Nope, you’re going. I’m dragging you with me! You gotta show the VP that he didn’t frazzle you at all. Fuck that guy. Well, not literally,” Hoseok was pulling you out of bed.

Hoseok subtly made sure that you sat between him and the CEO the entire time. You caught him giving the VP dirty looks, which made you feel a little better.

You quickly excused yourself after the last meeting and tried to make a break for your room. Unfortunately, Hoseok prevented you from doing so.

“You got a date for the banquet tonight?” he asked.

“No. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem because I’m not going. Have fun with your date though,” you shook your head.

“Who said I had a date?”

“I’m sure women were basically throwing themselves at you.”

“You’re not wrong, but I turned them all down. I have my eyes set on one gal.”

“Lucky her, I guess,” you rolled your eyes.

“Indeed. Although I still gotta ask her,” he looked around the room as if he was searching for her.

“You better hurry. Isn’t it in a couple hours?”

“Yep. Alright, here goes nothing!” Hoseok rushed off, finally giving you the chance to disappear.

You let out a sigh of relief as the elevator doors start to close. However, someone’s hand shot through at the last second. Hoseok stumbled in as the elevator doors reopened. You groaned. Why can’t you escape him?

“Did she say yes?” you asked with an indifferent tone.

“Not sure yet. Will you go to the banquet with me?” Hoseok asked.

“Fuck off.”

“Alright, well she just said no. Ouch,” Hoseok clicked his tongue.

“Wait, are you being serious?” your eyes widened.

“If the word ‘date’ threw you off, then I’m happy with going as friends,” he proposed.

“I’m flattered, but I’m really not in the mood to party with random strangers.”

“You don’t have to. Just party with me. Why would I let you be sad and mopey all alone in a hotel room when you could be drinking free booze?”

“Is the alcohol is free?”

“Duh, it’s all being charged to the company. Plus dinner is served.”

“Ok fine, I’ll go. I guess I didn’t pack that stupid dress for nothing.”

“Let’s not allow a gorgeous dress to go to waste,” Hoseok agreed.

“You haven’t even seen it,” you suppressed a smile.

“Anything can be gorgeous if you’re the one wearing it,” he winked.

“Oh, shut up,” a small smile cracked on your face.

Hoseok was the first to get ready for the banquet. He wanted your look to be a surprise so he insisted on going first. You were beginning to find his weird yet endearing antics kind of cute.

You weren’t prepared when he came out of the bathroom. You were well aware that Hoseok was a handsome guy, maybe even handsome enough to model. However, you weren’t ready when Hoseok emerged in a grey suit with his hair styled to reveal his forehead. His radiance was comparable to that of the sun, and he only shone brighter when he smiled at you.

“You look good,” you tried to act cool.

“Thank you! I’ll admit I do enjoy dressing up from time to time. But who doesn’t, am I right?” he beamed.

You nodded as you hauled your things into the bathroom. After about an hour, you were ready: fully dressed, makeup done, confidence soaring. You had forgotten how therapeutic dressing up could be.

Your dress was a deep emerald green that was elegant yet seductive. It had a side slit that flirtatiously showed off one of your legs. The neckline gracefully outlined your cleavage while still remaining on the classy side.

“Holy shit. You look amazing!” Hoseok praised you as soon as you stepped out.

“I was only trying to match you,” you said shyly, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.

“I think it’s safe to say that we’ll be the most breathtaking duo there. Shall we depart?” he extended out an arm.

The dinner started out with boring speeches by people you didn’t care to remember the names of. Hoseok elected to sit at the table furthest away from the stage, which was an excellent choice. That allowed the two of you to chat the night away in hushed voices. You both had already gone through five glasses of wine by the time the speeches were finally over.

“The dance floor is now open! Enjoy the rest of the night, and don’t forget that there’s an open bar!” the MC shouted through the mic.

The lights dimmed and a disco ball lowered in the center of the room. People began to crowd the dance floor. You laughed with Hoseok as you both observed various awkward shuffles and sways.

“Wanna dance?” Hoseok yelled over the music.

“I can’t!” you yelled back.

“I’m sure you can! Let’s go!” Hoseok didn’t wait for a reply.

He dragged you to an empty space on the dance floor. The two of you began drawing attention to yourselves as soon as you stepped out. Two beauties were dancing in the open for everyone to see. You shyly swayed to the rhythm of the music and laughed at Hoseok’s silly moves. However, Hoseok began to move in a way that was absolutely bewitching. He looked like a professional dancer with the way he commanded his body to hit every beat. Hoseok had drawn a very large crowd as people began cheering him on.

You were amazed by his stage presence. You’ve always had a thing for dancers, and he looked downright sexy. The song ended and Hoseok gave his audience a dramatic bow, awarding him deafening applause.

“I didn’t know you could dance!” you shouted when he returned to your side.

“I like to dance in my free time! Did you like it?” he shouted back.

“I’ll admit it was sexy,” you laughed.

“You think I’m sexy?”

“Maybe I do,” you winked.

You had more fun than you expected while dancing with Hoseok. He made you feel secure, so you were able to let loose. You didn’t care what you looked like, as long as Hoseok was there with you.

The night progressed and you began to feel bold. A particularly raunchy song came on, as if it were asking you to grind on Hoseok. And that’s exactly what you did. You guided his hands to your hips as you grinded into his crotch

“You sure you wanna be doing that?” Hoseok spoke into your ear with a low voice.

“Absolutely,” you replied.

Hoseok spun you around and gazed at you intimately while he brought you closer into his body. Various body parts were rubbing against each other now. The sexual tension was palpable.

Hoseok’s hands were running up and down your body, and your mouth was dangerously close to his neck. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating. You couldn’t help yourself; you leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his neck. His low growl was an indication that he liked it, so you kissed him again with more vigor.

“You’re going to have to stop,” he scolded.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Did I overstep your boundaries?” you were embarrassed.

“Absolutely not. But I can’t fuck you out here in public now can I?” he towed you off the dance floor and made a beeline for the elevators.

Thank god no one else was in the elevator, neither of you could keep your paws off of each other. Hoseok’s hands were unabashedly feeling you up and down while his crotch was slowly grinding into yours. Your arms were wrapped around his neck as you planted kisses along his sharp jawline.

Hoseok couldn’t stop whispering naughty things into your ear during the entire elevator trip up to your shared room. His lowered voice sent chills down your spine as he expressed just how eager he was to finally have you. You felt yourself getting wetter by the second.

“I wanted to strip off that dress the moment I saw you wearing it,” he cooed, “God, I can’t wait to see how beautiful you’ll look underneath me.”

“Hoseok, do you ever shut up?” you teased with a coy smile.

“I dunno, you might have to make me,” he played along.

“Maybe sitting on your handsome face will do the trick,” you said as you nipped his ear.

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

The elevator doors finally opened, and Hoseok quickly dragged you out. He immediately tore off your dress the moment the hotel room door was closed. You did him the same favor as you frantically unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his toned body.

“Why don’t you be a good boy and wait for me on the bed?” you suggested.

“Yes ma’am,” he complied, his eyes never leaving your body.

“Like what you see?” you asked, turning around slowly to fully show off the lingerie that perfectly complimented your body.

“You are so fucking sexy, ___,” Hoseok smiled in awe.

“I’m so glad you think so. You’re not too bad yourself,” you winked at him.

You finally joined Hoseok on the bed. You kiss his body from his abdomen all the way up his chest before stopping at his mouth. You took a second to relish the feeling of his plush lips against yours before he deepened the kiss with a ferocious intensity.

“Wanna try and shut me up now?” Hoseok lifted his eyebrows suggestively once the kiss broke.

“With pleasure,” you responded as you began to position yourself above him, “Wait, do you want me to take this off?” you gestured to your undergarments.

“No need,” he said before abruptly pulling aside your panties.

You slowly lowered yourself onto his face and stopped when you felt his breath on your pussy. Hoseok impatiently gripped your hips and pulled you directly onto his tongue. The sudden contact made you gasp. Hoseok didn’t waste any time getting down to business.

He flattened his tongue out to cover as much area as possible as he licked across your folds. He expertly flicked and lapped your pussy in the perfect places. Your legs began to tremble, and you had to grip onto the bed’s headboard for support.

You looked down to see the beautiful man’s face buried in your pussy; that sight alone was almost enough to bring you over the edge. Hoseok’s hands slithered their way up to your chest, where he began to twist and pull at your sensitive nipples through your bra.

“You taste--so good,” Hoseok panted out from underneath you.

“Should I get off--fuck!” you were interrupted by Hoseok sucking on your clit.

His mouth was heaven sent. Your body began to heat up and soon you lost the strength to hold yourself up even against the headboard.

You cried out as you came all over Hoseok’s face. His face was glistening with your juices as he smiled up at you. He seductively licked his lips to taste you again.

“Your turn?” you asked.

“As much as I wanna see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, I think I need to be inside you more,” he replied as he repositioned himself.

He stripped off the rest of his clothing. You watched with admiration as more of his skin became exposed.

“You can take off the fancy underwear now,” he said once he caught you staring.

“You don’t want to see it anymore?” you fakeed a pout.

“___, you’re drop dead gorgeous in it. However, I advise you to take it off yourself because I won’t hold back. I don’t want to ruin your underwear, just you,” he replied.

Hoseok mixed in little nibbles while he kissed along your neck. Your voice dripped with bliss as you quietly moaned.

“I guess you do like being bitten, huh? What about this?” Hoseok licked your neck, causing you to squirm underneath him.

“I think I like that too,” you whispered, biting your lip.

You wriggled out of your undergarments, leaving yourself completely naked in front of Hoseok. You pull at the hem of Hoseok’s underwear, eager to see what he was packing.

You were not disappointed. Although he was well endowed, what he lacked in length was made up for in girth.

“Do you want me to use a condom?” he asked.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m pretty sure I’m clean. I haven’t been intimate in an embarrassingly long amount of time,” you admitted, blushing.

“I find that hard to believe,” Hoseok said while kissing around your face, “Since you’re so damn beautiful,” his lips found yours and led you into a passionate kiss.

His hips began to grind into yours, his dick rubbing against your bare pussy. You wrapped your legs around him, bringing him closer.

“Please don’t tease me,” you pleaded.

“What are the magic words?” Hoseok teased.

“Fuck me, Hobi,” you begged.

“Oh my fucking god,” he growled.

He slammed his hips into yours, not giving you enough time to adjust to him. The stretch was intense at first, but it soon turned into nothing but pleasure. Your euphoria grew as he rhythmically bucked his hips into you.

Hoseok spread your legs out as wide as you could go, giving him quite the erotic view that only aroused him more. You tried to stifle your moans, but were failing miserably.

“Don’t hold back baby, let me hear you. Show me how good I make you feel,” he leaned over to whisper into your ear.

You complied instantly, your moans resounding around the room. Hoseok’s position allowed him to hit you deeply with every stroke. Without a word, he pulled out of you and flipped you over onto your knees. He roughly forced your chest down, leaving your ass in the air for him.

“Your ass is so fucking fat,” he said as his hand connected with your bare skin, causing you to shriek.

He kissed it afterward while his fingers teased your clit. He realigned himself with your entrance. This new position was even better than the last. You could no longer hold in your moans even if you wanted to. Hoseok repeatedly hit your g-spot, and you could feel another orgasm welling up within you.

“Hobi, I’m gonna cum,” you cry out.

“Say that again,” he demanded.

“I-i’m gonna cum!”

“No, not that. That’s hot but call me Hobi again,” he chuckled.

“Hobi!” you said with an exasperated tone.

“Yes princess? Fuck, I’m close,” Hoseok’s movements were becoming more haphazard by the second.

“Hobi, right there oh my god keep going please,” you begged, “Hobi...ah shit!” you came undone.

It wasn’t long after until Hoseok followed suit, pulling out to cum all over your ass. He rolled off the bed to get something to clean you up with.

“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asked.

“Better. You?” you answered.

“Doing pretty well. I fucked the girl of my dreams,” he said gleefully.

“Shut up,” you playfully pushed him.

“I’m serious. I’ve adored you since college. I lived for your playful banter,” he began to explain.

“It wasn’t playful,” you interjected.

“Yeah, I know. But that’s what made it fun! All the other girls just wanted to be with me for my looks or whatever. None of them knew the real me.”

“And I did?”

“More so than most. You always pushed me to do my best. I really just wanted to be good enough for you. Kind of silly huh? I even dated that girl in an attempt to make you jealous. Which backfired since her dad was Professor whatshisface who took me on that trip,” Hoseok opened up.

“Hobi I...I’m so sorry. I was such a bitch to you back then. And now too I guess. My competitive side gets the better of me. I was always annoyed by how you were seemingly good at everything. It even irritated me that you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life,” you began to apologize, “Oh, and his name is Namjoon. Professor Namjoon.”

“Thanks for reminding me. I hate to admit it but he made me a little jealous. I wanted you to praise me the way you praised him. Anyway, things can change now that everything's out in the open,” Hoseok smiled, “You’re even calling me Hobi! I’ve been dreaming about this moment.”

“Was it everything you ever hoped for?” you joked.

“You said it when you asked me to fuck you, then you said it multiple times while I was balls deep inside of you. So yeah, I would say it was everything I could’ve hoped for, if not more,” he pulled you into his chest.

The two of you continued talking for what felt like hours while cuddling. You hadn’t been this relaxed in ages. You were nearly asleep on his chest when he stroked a strand of hair from your face.

“Tomorrow will be interesting, huh?” he said softly.

“I guess I still have to pitch my idea to the CEO,” you sighed softly, “What a waste of time.”

“It’s not a waste of time if you’re gonna get the promotion,” Hoseok reprimanded.

“I already told you, I’m not. The VP will make sure that you get it. This is good for you. Don’t worry about me,” you kissed his cheek, “We should get some sleep now.”

“Alright. Goodnight, ___,” he kissed your forehead.

“Goodnight Hobi.”

“Fuck, I really love when you say that.”

It was time. Time to pitch your idea to the CEO for no damn reason. You were beyond nervous, and Hoseok could tell. He tried to ease your nerves by giving you a firm shoulder massage as you both waited to be called into a small conference room.

The VP emerged, ignoring your mean scowl, and called Hoseok in to present first. Of course he would go first, no need to waste time hearing your proposal.

It was an anxiety riddled wait. You recounted the previous day’s events, which was a mistake because that only infuriated you. The whole situation was an affront on your character, and you will not stand for it. You debated giving the VP another piece of your mind at the end of everything.

“___, you’re up,” the VP called you after Hobi finished.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Hobi encouraged you, coupled with a pat on the back.

“This is pointless and you know that,” you sighed.

Hobi shook his head in disagreement. It was heartwarming to see how supportive he was being. Maybe it was due to the fact that the job was practically his already. It doesn’t matter now.

“Good morning gentlemen,” you greet them.

“The floor is yours, Miss ___,” the CEO responded cordially.

“I’ll keep it short and simple. I propose that the best way to improve the company is to shorten work day hours and increase PTO days,” you said confidently.

“Is that it? Can you expound on that?” the VP cynically asked.

“Yes, I’m so glad you asked,” you smiled coldly, “Studies show that employees are exponentially more productive when they are happier. Not only will the company become more efficient, but the overall company atmosphere will become more positive. Interpersonal relationships between employees and bosses will improve in an appropriate professional manner,” you glared at the VP.

“That’s a very interesting take,” the CEO said thoughtfully, “Do you have any suggestions regarding the actual work that the company does?”

“No sir. The company has been thriving, so I believe that the way things are running now are proficient. However, as a company, we should always be willing to listen to our employees’ concerns,” you stated.

“You’ve brought up interesting points to the table. As an employee, do you have any concerns you’d like to express?” the CEO asked.

“There is one pressing matter that comes to mind,” you stole a glance at the VP to see him shift uncomfortably in his seat, “I firmly expect that employee/supervisor relationships should be strictly professional.”

“Are you just giving us your opinion on office romances?” the VP sneered.

“I believe that trying to use intimacy as leverage is highly immoral, if not a fireable offense,” you held your ground.

“Of course,” the CEO agreed.

“Then said employee would simply need to file a complaint with HR,” the VP dismissed you.

“What better way to get my complaint heard than speaking directly to the CEO?” you smiled sweetly, “Sir, yesterday the man sitting beside you crudely suggested that I sleep with him in order to gain the promotion. He also alluded that all of my accomplishments are for naught, and that I am purely ‘eye candy’.”

“Is this true?” the CEO asked his VP in dismay.

“Of course not. She’s grasping at straws. Look how desperate she is to get the job,” the VP quickly defended himself.

“I am not lying. I am fully prepared to be fired on the spot. I cannot continue to work at a company that allows this kind of sloppy behavior to go unpunished. Thank you for your time,” you bowed and quickly took your leave.

You released a huge sigh as soon as you were outside of the room. Hobi rushed over to your side. Suddenly, you began to laugh hysterically. Hobi looked at you nervously, obviously concerned about your mental state.

“Isn’t it so funny? All my hard work had just been flushed down the toilet by a stupid man drunk on power. I love that!” you wheezed.

“___, ___ calm down. What happened?” Hobi inquired.

You told him what just went down. A smile crept across his face as you got to the part where you put the VP on the spot.

“I wouldn’t count yourself out just yet dude,” Hoseok shrugged, “All we can do is wait.”

“Yeah, I’ll be the first one to congratulate you on your new job. Then I’ll begin my search for a new one,” you gave him a thumbs up.

The VP stumbled out of the room and angrily stomped towards the both of you.

“You fucking bitch! Who do you think you are? Do you even know what you’ve done? I know people. I’m gonna make sure your life is hell!” he yelled at you.

“That’s enough! You have been dismissed. I do not want to see your face around here again. Clean out your office on Monday,” the CEO ordered, “Would the both of you please follow me back into the room?”

You both timidly followed him, curious as to what he had to say.

“I apologize on behalf of the company for this incident. This isn’t the first time a complaint has been filed against him. Unfortunately, he always told me that they were just futile grasps for leverage and I foolishly believed him. However, his loss is your gain,” he smiled, “How would you like to be my new Vice President?”

You were agog. Hoseok’s eyes widened as he stood beside you.

“Surely there are more qualified people,” you stammered in disbelief.

“There definitely are. But none of them are what this company needs. It takes a special person to have their rival pitch all the reasons why you are a better candidate than they are,” the CEO happily nodded.

“I- he what?” you cast a surprised look at Hobi.

“Oh yes. He spent all his time highlighting your best qualities as an employee. It was quite a shock,” the CEO smiled.

“I will humbly accept your offer. Thank you so much sir, I will work even harder!” you bowed gratefully.

“That brings me to Mr. Jung. The position on the executive council is yours, if you want it,” the CEO offered.

“If the offer is unopposed, then I have no choice but to accept. I will do my best!” Hobi joined in your bowing.

“Wonderful! It’ll be refreshing to see some lively young faces at those atrocious meetings,” the CEO laughed, “Oh, and one more thing. The two of you will have to relocate to the main branch, I hope that’s okay. I look forward to working with both of you.”

You both nodded gleefully. After the CEO dismissed the pair of you, the trip back up to your hotel room was nothing but joyous. It was like you were in a dream that you never wanted to wake up from. You even pinched each other to make sure it was all real.

“I can’t believe you were advocating for me,” you hugged him.

“You deserve it. Your impressive diligence should not go unrewarded,” he squeezed you tighter, “Plus, this ended up being pretty sweet! Congratulations to both of us!”

“We need to go out to celebrate!” you wiggled.

“Yes! Let me take you out,” Hobi tackled you onto the bed.

“Where shall we go?” you playfully ask.

“Maybe we should go explore our new city together?” he suggested.

“Our?”

“Yes, our. And when I say I’m gonna take you out, I mean as a date. Because I want to date you. And have been wanting to for years,” Hoseok charismatically emphasized.

“I’m looking forward to starting this new chapter of my life with you then, Mr. Jung Hoseok,” you press your forehead against his.

“Imma be all up in your bidness girl,” he joked.

“Your business is my business now loser,” you teased back.

Looks like all that hard work had paid off, and there’s no better reward than finally being with Jung Hoseok.

#bts smut #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #btscreatorscorner #ksmutclub #jung hoseok smut #bts angst #jung hoseok angst #bts fanfic #jhope smut #jhope angst #kpop fanfic #jhope fanfic #jung hoseok fanfic

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jjkpls · 4 years

Text

set your world alight (m)

genre : fluff, smut, tiny lil bit of angst

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

word count : 24k (eye-)

warnings/content : mentions of bruises, mature language, long haired jaykay, awkwardness & cutesy overload, clumsy frustrating idiot(s), bratty reader, explicit sexual content (fingering, handjob, protected penetrative sex), HARRYPOTTER!AU (i cant believe i forgot to precise that in the teasers), jeon as charlie weasley, pretty much.

Jeon Jungkook is a mystery. Master of dragons. Long dark locks hiding a face most have never seen. Skin covered in scars. A brave, unpenetrable, curious being that you don’t know much about for, the very few times you’ve seen him in your life, you didn’t dare talk to him. Of course, you’d have the fatest crush on him.

“If we add roses instead of eucalyptus, wouldn't it turn into a love potion?”

You could have predicted it. If you were to have spent your evening scribbling the course that this morning, with the introducing of a new potion to your year 6 class, would take, solely based on intuition and experience, you would have gotten it right. Down to who's asking the question.

“No, it won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Are you? After having spent your whole schooling career in Hogwarts, having studied the art of potion-making for five years filled with internships in the four corners of this Earth, in the greatest House of Potions there are, are you sure?

You could say all that. You could even tell to this annoying Gryffindor to shut the hell up because everyone, and you first, can’t stand to hear her voice anymore, interrupting constantly every lesson either with pointless questions or with obnoxious jabber.

But you don’t. Obviously, you don’t.

“For now, let’s just focus on learning what the actual recipe is. We’ll worry about interchanging ingredients later.”

Which is almost a lie. You won’t ever do that with them. You have your tight program, with a limited amount of recipes, that you’re supposed to go through with them. And creating new potions, or adapting already existing one to discover new effects are not on the plan. Not with Mrs Umbridge watching closely over every Hogwarts teachers' shoulders.

If they ever still find themselves obsessed with their dating life and enlarged pores once they'll be done with school, they will worry, on their very own, about creating the magic juices and ointments they need -given their lack of attention, investment and overall talent, you do sincerely hope they drop it because the results might lead to catastrophes but that's beside the point.

Miss Gryffindor sighs loudly. Turning slightly on her chair to roll her eyes to her friends, who snicker along, they’re whispering Merlin knows what about you and you’re just left there, trying to find your way back to the lesson without losing too much of your composure.

It doesn’t take you so much effort because unfortunately you are used to this. This class of Gryffindor is terrible. In your couple of years of teaching, you’ve never fallen upon a class filled with so many disinterested, awfully rude teenagers. Naively, when you just walked out of Hogwarts yourself almost ten years ago, when you were wondering with a certain dreadful desperation, what path to head for, you had finally chosen the teaching one, believing that by the time you’ll become a teacher, you’ll be old enough and teenagers would stop being scary by then, you might even grow a little fond of them, embodiment of a something long time gone, of nostalgia.

You were wrong. At twenty-six, you still feel like a barely done with teenagehood human, hardly an adult yet. The weapons you thought you’d gather along the way didn’t appear in your robe’s pockets as you thought they would.

Instead, you only have one, effective on an immediate use, but pretty useless on the long run: a monk’s patience.

You can ignore them. When they’re being so aggravating, you consider sometimes taking a hundred points away from their house -but you don’t because you’ll have to justify to the very biased Head of Gryffindor and fucking Umbridge-, you can ignore them. It’s the most effective way to react as it doesn’t feed them much, they just get annoyed with your unresponsiveness and decide to contain their disruption between themselves. The thing is, the steam has to blow some way, somehow. It’s fine when you can wake up early and spend an hour or so meditating, to gather all of your monk's potential, or if you ever have a Draught of Peace laying around, that can help too.

These days, it’s just harder to meditate, to try and keep your mind light, unbothered and calmly content.

So much harder that by the end of the class, only fifteen minutes left, you snap and end up taking off ten points from Gryffindors.

There’s a lot of whining, of strident eruptions of indignation, however, you’re smart enough to do it the moment you’re dismissing your class and they have to leave, sulking and hating you with a passion, for their next lesson.

“What have you done?” It’s Taehyung asking. He has a little alarmed look shading his abnormally handsome face, but a tiny little tremble of the corner of his mouth gives him away.

“Ten points.” You state with a bored raised of your eyebrows. What a bunch of babies.

“You suck. They’re going to hate me too, now.”

Which is not true. Immature profiles like them would tend to hate a teacher simply by association -it is to say that Taehyung is well known to be always stuck to your shoes, you grew up together anyway- but they would never Taehyung. He’s too handsome, has a voice way too sultry, too much charisma for anyone to hate him, especially his students. They can't stand his lessons though. He’s the worst option for a History of Magic teacher. He is passionate about his studies, really really passionate. Therefore his classes, in summarise, turn into him ranting non-stop, jumping from the main point to tiny insignificant streams made of pointless anecdotes that leave his students lost and confused, holes in their parchments, hands burning from their poor attempt at trying to take notes. His classes are Hell, made of boredom and confounding. The only upside being that he’s very nice to look at. He’s like an ancient mage stuck inside an elf body.

“Do you know how many times this year I’ve had to tell them that ‘no, this potion that has nothing to do with a love potion can’t be turned into one’? Why do I have to deal with their hormones all the time, seriously?”

“You mean, on top of yours?” It freezes you on the spot You could have heard that coming, with the big old ton-heavy boots. You don’t bother looking up from your papers you are reorganising. It’s pointless because you already know what you’d see. The smart ass’s shit-eating grin, singularly square at the edges, with the mischievous squinted eyes and subjective dance of the eyebrows.

“Shut up.”

“I can’t. I know you love talking about him since you don’t talk to him.”

The shame is burning the back of your neck. It’s climbing up your cheeks, taking over your ears in the process. If there’s one person who does wonders at not-making-you-feel-like-an-adult, it’s Kim Taehyung. Because of course he saw you grow up, and of course, he’s noticed that the timid, coward of a little Ravenclaw you used to be, hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re so mean.”

“Am not too.” He giggles as he leaps from the front table he had been sitting on to your desk, where he takes a seat, not caring about your quill holder that he knocks down. “You’re never going to try?”

“I don’t know, Tae.”

“He doesn’t look mean. A bit gruff but I guess that’s what living like a wild creature surrounded by the wildest creatures makes you look like.”

You hum non-committally. You have come to the same conclusion already. But you hate the idea that you could be right because it gives you one less reason to not dare approach him. “He must be nice.”

“He must?” You cackle a bit. He doesn’t even sound so sure of this statement. Taehyung smiles along, shrugging with a tilt of his head.

“Well, I don’t know. But you have to talk to him. Soon he’ll be portkeying back to his Transylvania-“

“Romania.”

“-you won’t see him ever again. And also, seriously, it’s been like, what, three months since he’s back?”

“Actually, it’s been barely a month.” The idiot is pretending, with a grandiloquent theatrical performance, that he doesn’t believe you, that somehow you’re trying to deceive him. And it’s ridiculous because no matter how dramatic he always aims to be, no matter how long indeed this whole pinning over the pretty guy without having the courage to act on your feelings has been lasting, it still has not been three months. It’s been three weeks and four days, not that you're counting.

He arrived on a rainy Friday morning, you remember it well because the wet weather agitated the frogs an awful lot and you ended up spending your ten minutes of break between two classes, on all fours, crawling along the hallways of Hogwarts to try and retrieve three escapees.

A real joy.

Especially when he appeared at the end of the hallway. Soaked to the bones but not seemingly caring, as opposed to Mr Filch who seemed even angrier than he usually does. You barely recognised him, from so far, looking up from the ground, with the hood of his heavy coat low above his eyes, nothing peculiar in his appearance that would give him away, not a word uttered that could have helped. Until he turned the corner of the hallway, and the emblem of this foreign school of wizardry appeared. With the purple embroidery contouring the white seagull, it just clicked. You remembered the rumours spreading wildly, excitedly around the castle, that despite the very vindicative Mrs Umbridge's opinion, dragons would be introduced this year to the course of Care for the Magical Creatures and real dragons, seen by their master, would be flying to you and inhabit the grounds of Hogwarts for this semester.

And of course, it would be him. With his impressive resume, or that unauthorised biography written about him by that one stingy journalist singing his lauds that you could read anywhere -there was even a version, presented as fiction, that’s been published in the muggle world- and also, his first and last visit to Hogwarts, two years ago, for the Triwizard Tournament when he proved his talent and bravery in front of all by forcefully regaining control over a Horntail that was just about to chew a few students’ heads off after having eluded his chains -and conveniently, it's also the same time when you fell head over heels for the stranger.

It was ridiculous because you never talked to the guy. But two years later, just his silhouette and the bouncing of his heavy head of curls you have to come to the shameful acknowledgement that your heart hasn’t gotten over the crush.

It’s ridiculous.

It precisely why you shouldn’t have talked about it to anyone. It’s just too hard to keep anything from Kim Taehyung though. Even if your life would have been so much easier if you’d only have to listen to your own nagging about this and not his.

“You’re going to end up as a crazy old spinster if you keep acting like that.”

“And you’re going to be late for your class if you keep on bothering me.”

“I don’t have a class.” Taehyung stares, dubiously. Now that you don’t have to face head-on your shame, attention slightly steered away from your useless self, you can stare back, glare even, as you challenge him with a raised eyebrow.

“You do.”

You relish in the sickly white suddenly brushing all over his face. He curses under his breath, grabbing his briefcase with one of his gigantic hands, before he’s flying out of your classroom.

Quite frankly, you’re not sure if he does have a class at the moment. You do know for a fact that he doesn’t know either because strangely enough, for a teacher whose whole subject depends on memory and a good one at that, he’s never been able to memorise his planning.

An easy escape you’ve come up with.

Everyone needs those.

Especially whoever’s having their ears talked off by the crazy old howl, Umbridge, down the corridor. You can hear her from your room, even with the door almost shut close. Her whole monologue is hard to decipher. You do hear that it has something to do with “her disapproval” and someone else's “irresponsibility” and “pure lunacy”.

By curiosity, you lean your head through the thin entrance your door is offering, picking discreetly to see who the victim is.

It's the guy. Jeon Jungkook. Standing with his feet pointing away from Umbridge, hands tucked deep in the pockets of a thick winter vest, you can’t see half of his face because of his hair, as always sitting low down his forehead, but you can tell from the thin line of his mouth, his tensed shoulders and something else, maybe his aura, so loudly screeching annoyance, that he's not having a good time.

It’s him. And for some reason, for the first time ever, you recall words Taehyung has said to you, loud and clear and pressing and inspiring. You don’t want to become a “crazy old spinster”. Therefore you decide to become a crazy something else you don’t bother to identify right this second.

“Oh, Mrs Umbridge!”

“Miss ___, as you can see, I am already-“

“Oh!” The loud gasp, hand clasping on your gaping mouth, wide eyes completing the look. You can’t find the courage to turn to him to reinforce -in case it wasn’t clear enough- that you just, now that she mentioned it, realise the man was here.

Mrs Umbridge has this quality to her. You find her so awfully ridiculous that you turn yourself in a clown, subtly mocking her -though you don’t think she fathoms it since you’ve always acted this way around her- each time you share any kind of conversation.

It can work and you can go along with your usual antics only if you forget the obnoxiously troubling presence of the dragon master.

“I am so deeply embarrassed, I didn’t realise. I’m not wearing my glasses, I’m an incorrigible mole without them.”

“Is that so?” From above the frame of her pink glasses, her beady eyes scrutinize. “You should wear them on your nose then, Miss ___. Now, if you will-“

“I’m sorry, I needed- It’s very important.” You cut her off with such speed and enthusiasm, you know she can't shut you off. “After discussing with my students about the program, I thought about something. Maybe I could introduce a new-“ “Miss ___!” She screeches, the triggering words -”introduce” and “new”- having hit perfectly right. “The program, as you owe to know, has been carefully crafted by the great Minister for Magic and doesn’t need for an airheaded little teacher like you to add any changes to it.”

“Oh yes, of course, how could I forget?”

“It is bad enough as it is that this foolish Hagrid has been able to convince my confreres of bringing a useless study on the most dangerous creatures there is-“ She pointedly glare from the corner of her eyes to the man who remains silent and immobile. His hands haven’t moved from the depth of his pockets, you can’t see his eyes even up close, because the curtain of dark curls hiding them is even thicker than it looked like from the other end of the hallway. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered. You wonder if he’s even listening. Barely swinging on his long legs, waiting for his presence to be dismissed it seems.

“Dragons are quite interesting creatures. I suppose that’s why they were added to the program. The Ministry for Magic must have thought so too since they voted...”

She gnarls at that. She tries to be discreet, conceals a bit of her spite but there’s no doubt in your mind that her mouth's just filled up with a distasteful repellent aftertaste.

Since the main goal was to distract her from him and free him from her claws, you start again with the suggestions for a revised scholar program. Her cheeks grow pinker than her jacket, her eyes start reflecting a fire alike the ones from Hell, her usually perfectly well-combed hair releases a few angry frizzes. She’s beyond herself and without letting you finish your little act, she’s going over all the things that are so wrong about you, about Hogwarts teachers in general, about young people and their disrespectful tendency to want to add their little spice to every tea.

You take the nagging like a champ. Because you’re used to it and to be perfectly fair, you’ve mastered a certain state of meditation whenever she’s coming your way with some complaining.

None of her words successfully reach you to stick around.

She holds strong for a good, fat fifteen minutes. At some point, you even worry that this time, her pit of nonsensical arguments won’t ever show a bottom. Until it does.

She looks all dishevelled from her heated argument. The hair worsened, with now drops of perspiration shining on her forehead. The mean beady eyes are dull, exhausted from the fight as she contemplates the void between you and the man. With a last dismissive wave of her hand, she leaves, stumbling on top of her lacquered Fuschia heels.

How can someone work themselves up so badly with so little provocation -and no further response too?

It leaves you alone with the dragon master and only now, even though you had plenty of time to take in this present, you realise how inconvenient for your coward self the predicament is. You are meant to talk to him now, aren’t you? Maybe the same question raises in his mind however he certainly doesn’t reach the same conclusion. Deeming it unnecessary, he turns his back to you and heads down the hall without much of a look spared to you. Maybe he did check, through or maybe under the impenetrable curtain of hair, for the identity of the idiot that thought he needed help to escape the annoying old owl but you wouldn’t know.

Watching in pure despair, your heart prickling uncomfortably in your bosom, you wonder if you somehow upset him. He did look irked from what you could tell. Anyone else, anyone less grumpy, anyone feeling anything but discomfort or discontent would have said something, wouldn’t they?

That’s what you explain to Kim Taehyung. Emphasising on the fact that you did try to approach the guy. You did. You created the situation, you faced him fully, you did miss the moment when you were probably supposed to say something to him but he left, too soon, and clearly is not interested in getting to know you, and whatever, you’re fine with that you just want your friend to note and remember for later reference that you did try this time.

Taehyung who’s never keen on trusting your words, no matter the fact that you’ve never lied to him -or maybe just a few times so he would leave you alone, but nothing major really- decides that you are wrong. That somehow you misinterpreted the whole thing and surely you need to hop back on the horse and try, again, maybe this time more vindictively.

It takes quite a couple of days for him to convince you. You’re not sure how. It might be from exhaustion, it might come from those three too many butterbeers you drank even though you didn’t remember ordering, back when you were gloomily celebrating your never-ending celibacy in Jjang Jjang -the magical bar held by your friend, Min Yoongi, in the far end of Hogsmead.

You promise that if an opportunity appears to be showing the very tip of its nose, if the universe is kind -and delusional- enough to gift you another chance, then you would try.

It’s funny how the laws of attraction work. Or rather, probably more accurately, it’s funny how Taehyung can be so shameless and volunteer when he has his mind set on something. He has no problem manipulating people and situations as if the universe is his and he decides whatever happens to the little pawns inhabiting it.

A week later, when he, the dragon master, is the curious apparition manifesting itself in front of you when you open the door to let your class free, it doesn’t fall into place right away.

It’s a strange coincidence. Maybe he messed up and meant to find another classroom, any other classroom but yours. He doesn’t budge when he sees you, doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He only takes a step to the side once he realises that a wave of hurried teenagers is about to swarm him in their way out.

“Miss, are we still going to study this potion next time or will we move to something more interesting?” It’s that same Gryffindor. The same as usual. She’s just made of attitudes, eye rolls, hand on the hip and all.

“Once you’ll be able to make it without cooking a hole in your cauldron, we’ll be starting with a new one.”

You’re snarkier than usual, there’s no denying that. It’s your fifth class of the day, everyone seems to have signed an agreement on messing with your patience and he’s here, hearing and seeing an umpteenth attempt to humiliate you from this kid and you’re not having it right now, not today. She grows red on the cheeks, eyebrows frowning dangerously low, they might fall from her face when she barks, “I told you the hole was already there!”

“I understand. Next time, I’ll lend you my old cauldron so there won’t be any issue, alright?”

The angry wands she owns for eyes shoot you a good dozen of curses and she departs, with her friends, as angry as ever.

There’s a heavy silence, setting around you both, engulfing you. The wood of the walls, dark and cold, make it old the more uncomfortable until you can not take it anymore. You’re about to mumble something, maybe point out the end of the hall and suggest he tries there, to find whatever or whoever he is looking for. He beats you to it. Having reached the very limit of handling this silence at the same time as you do.

“Good morning.” He starts, clearing his throat. A husky, quiet yet somehow soft voice that he doesn’t seem to have used quite often. “Here’s the stuff for your potions.”

He holds out a strong hand to you, all veiny and sparkled with tiny bruises, a dark bag made of linen held in his fist. If he can see you, he can undoubtedly take in your confusion. You have no idea what “the stuff” is. If it’s a badly expressed thought. If he meant to say, “some stuff” for your potions. Because you’ve never asked for anything from anyone for your potions -even though, the thought crossed your mind that he, with his magical pets, must have some fantastic ingredients for your searches. You don’t know if it just comes from him. If he thought you may need it and generously prepared this for you -you doubt that one highly. The other reason, way more evident, quite obnoxiously obvious actually, that doesn’t reach your brain which is only working at a quarter of its habitual capacity given his standing here, and his smelling like woods and smoky and something subtler, you can’t pinpoint but feel addicted to as soon as it reaches your nostrils, is that someone -Taehyung- must have put him up for it. He must have gone behind your back, mumble some basic potion ingredients knowledge he owns to him and asked him to bring it to you.

“I put my Norvegian Ridgeback's scales in a separate bag because they’re very sharp -and poisonous too- so be careful when you open it.” He’s done talking, he clears his throat again, this time you’re pretty sure it’s out of discomfort as your gaping silently like a dumb fish must not be the easiest response to receive. A little inviting shake of his fist brings you to your senses, and you reach forward to grab the present. Your arm drops down from the surprising weight of the thing, fortunately, as if he expected it, he catches you before you topple over, a hand on your shoulder and the other encasing yours holding the bag, squeezing around your own as he lifts some of the weight up.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.” because you carried it like it was filled with dragons feathers instead -you mean to add.

“It’s fine.” He simply mumbles. You add your free hand to cup the underside of the thing, pressing the whole to your bosom and he lets go there, letting you step inside your room to find a place on a shelf to put it away. You probably take a second to long, your back facing him, as you stand staring at your new possession. It’s the heat remaining on the back of your hand that troubles you. As if not only have his pets decorated the top of his skin with scratches and bruises, they’ve sighed enough fire in his palms for them to forever feel this warm. And he touched you so naturally so. Pressing his large hand around yours that seemed so tiny in comparison. Probably without even acknowledging it while you are shook to your core.

This added to your confusion born from his surprise apparition, are the reasons why, as I said, your brain doesn’t reach its full capacity. Still, the idea that Taehyung is behind it all, that it can’t solely come from this man here, just won’t do in your idiotic head.

You’re enamoured, even more than before, just by a touch and by the gentleness his words hold under the tougher surface. And you decide, that if you turn around and he’s still standing there you’ll ask him out.

You do so, spiralling in slow motion, filled with apprehension. He’s here. His hands back inside the pockets of his jacket, the shadow of a sparkle coming from his eyes, under the heavy protection he’s wearing in front of them.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He’s startled at the call of his name, the top of his mop of hair bouncing slightly and you just find it adorable. Maybe he didn’t expect you to know his name, he must not even know yours. Of course, he could not have expected that you had spent way too long, two years ago, back when he came to Hogwarts for the first time and you had heard his name amid a conversation, trying it out for yourself. Not to wear it out but repeating his name to yourself, appreciating the way the syllabus formed, how they felt so well chosen for each other’s, for him, and the feeling, light heading, that it gave you to pronounce it.

“Would you like to have a drink with me? On Fridays, I like to go to my friend's bar in Hogsmead and I was wondering, maybe you’d like to come?”

More clearing of the throat. It’s stalling the delivery of his answer, you hate it and almost jump to your cooking station to sort out a quick remedy for it. Your heart is beating so furiously, you might pass out and he’s just taking his sweet time to answer. You feel the awkwardness. You don’t see it. You can’t see anything, the bottom of his face not telling any secrets on his feelings. You must look terrifying, red anywhere it’s possible for you to blush, sweating and fidgety like you’re on a Girding Potion bad trip. And he doesn’t show anything. You’d rip the hair out of his eyes if only you could.

There’s only one telling sign that manifests in the form of his hand, slipping out of his pocket to reach for the back of his neck where it scratches for a bit.

It’s no. It must be a “no, I’m absolutely not interested and this moment is very awkward”.

“I have my dragons to exercise. Sorry.”

“Oh. It’s ok.” It is not.

You hope, with all your might, that he doesn’t notice how upset you are. Through your prickling eyes, through the trembling pout you try to hide behind a casual smile.

It is terribly not ok but fortunately, he doesn’t stick around. That’s probably the thing you’re the most thankful for at this moment, his laconic tendencies. Anyone else may have tried to say something else to make you feel better, to make you feel like the rejection isn't worth throwing you off one of Hogwarts high tour. Instead, he just quits, swiftly. Leaving you alone to compose yourself back enough to handle your very last class of the day. You manage to feel fine, sort of numbed out for long enough until you don’t have to pretend anymore and you can let all the emotions out.

Bent over on the wooden tabletop of Yoongi’s bar, you’re crying out your whole soul, face laid in a pool of your own tears, a gentle hand petting awkwardly the top of your head.

“I hate you Taehyung!” It hardly comes out, half mumbled, half coughed out. The hand on your hair still in the air for a second so he must have got the jest of it until it resumes to its previous activity.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d reject you.” He sighs deeply. “I didn’t even think you’d ask him out!”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” You rise from the depth of your despair, hidden in the centre of your crossed arms. Yoongi looks extremely distraught. Your face looks awful, you know. But seeing him this shaken upsets you even more. You feel mad and vengeful and you’d like to flood his shitty bar with your tears to teach him a lesson -you’re not sure which, maybe: don’t look so disgusted when your friends look indeed disgusting, that’s mean- but the realisation downs on you that you cried so much you don’t have any tears left. Just the rashness around your eyes and nose, no snot left because Yoongi had maternally cleaned it for you, tiny pathetic sniffling around nothing but heartbreak now.

“He sent him to me!” You bark, punching Taehyung in the shoulder, not caring the least that half of his drink gets spilt everywhere.

“You didn’t have to just ask him out! You could have just, I don’t know (he pretends to think deeply, the tip of his fingers tapping lightly his chin), talk to him! Like a normal person that’s never spoken to him would have done.”

You gasp, eyes burning with fire. “Yoongi, he called me a freak!”

“When have I ever-“

“Normal people, my ass!” You continue, sort of having a lone conversation parallel to theirs. “What do you know about normal people, you fucking Grindylow.” You swallow down your fourth butterbeer, one furious finger indicating Yoongi that you need another one. Taehyung is just rolling his eyes, not taking offence of the nonsensical insult. “I hate you so much, Merlin, how am I supposed to face him again?”

“You do like everyone else’s does. Just start hating him until you don’t care anymore.”

“People do that?” Yoongi asks curiously. He’s slid you a new pint, filled to the brim.

“I know I do.” You slap the back of his arm there, without giving him any explanation, just because you’re sure he’s bullshitting you -the guy surely never has been rejected.

“Doesn’t matter. How could I ever hate him anyway?” A lone survivor tear falls from your lashes into the calm, quiet amber lake topping your glass. It doesn’t hit you there that there’s no foam. Yoongi watches you carefully, one of his hand is patting your forearm.

“Is he really that great?” Taehyung just shrugs. He’s such a dimwit. You nod, heart growing big with sadness before it breathes it out, turning into a tiny, squeezed on itself pained creature. You leave the conversation then. Simply trying to rest with your hurting bosom. It needs nurturing and a benevolent yet firm healing hand to tell it to rest for a bit, and stop overreacting.

[“What's he like?” Yoongi asks directly to Taehyung as he can see, clearly, that you’re not here anymore, for now.

“He’s... uh...” Taehyung starts with very flimsy conviction. “He’s into dragons.” More shrugging.]

Honestly, you might be exaggerating. You do not know much about him. Most of what you believe to know, assumed by what little you do know about him. You believe he is nice and sensible, from the way he treats his animals and the way they treat him.

[“Oh. Holy Dumbledore!”

“Stop saying that! I told you it’s fucking disrespectful.”]

You’ve seen how much respect and trust lay between them. It’s blatant. And to create this kind of relationship with some of the fiercest creatures in the magical world, he must be something else, something exceptional.

[“It’s him. It’s fucking him!”]

And you read about him, a lot, the two books he wrote solely about his creatures. They don’t directly tell much about him but indirectly, they hint his humility and humbleness. It’s not like that stupid Gilderoy Lockhart and his autobiographies on magical creatures. And there are the numerous articles that were written about him and his exploits and alleged character.

[“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!��

Sharp short nails are jabbing annoyingly in the skin of your forearm. It’s Taehyung, of course, he never stops bugging you. It’s his second passion after the soporific subject he’s decided to teach. You close your eyes, frowning a bit because he won’t stop, trying to annihilate him from your existence, to annihilate yourself from it too.]

Simple, humble, smart and strong. Passionate, sensible and a beautiful set of thick dark locks you want to slip your fingers through as the cherry on top.

“It’s apple juice!” You screech in disgust, pushing your fake butterbeer far away from you. The hocus-pocus, if it irritates you, at least brings you back to earth, and back to the noisy bar. Min Yoongi mouths something about you having drunk enough but his attention is elsewhere, along with Taehyung's.

“Oh, Merlin's beard.”

Of course, he would be there. He’s been back to Hogwarts for over a month now, you’ve never seen him around here, but of course, the day he rejects you, he has to come to your retreat, and witness the mess he's made of you. What kind of sick joke from the stars is that?

“Holy shit. Isn’t he a bit much for you?”

You know exactly what the barman means. It makes you blush slightly under the tipsy flushing already adorning your cheeks.

If Jeon Jungkook may or may not be made of all the qualities you’ve named for him -with or without reasons-, he has some very visible, very obnoxious other qualities to him. Qualities that you’re not proud of pining over because it makes you feel shallow and superficial. The expression on Yoongi's face makes it feel better though. Justified. As if, well, here they are, you can’t deny it. And since you like his imaginary personality, you might as well like the body imaginarily hosting it.

Jeon Jungkook is tall as a tree and as strong as one. It’s hard to tell, from here, with the layers of clothes he’s wearing on his back to protect himself from the cold, to what extent he fills them but it’s obvious he’s broad, wide. He walks with strong determined steps, with his fists tight to his sides, as tight as his jaw, square, sharp.

He’s big. Both in appearance and aura and you can understand how Yoongi wonders if he’s not “a bit much” for you.

“Don’t call him over!” You whisper-yell, digging your nails in the tender skin of Taehyung’s forearm. He whines, curses and tries to let himself free while telling you that of course, he’s not that dumb, he won’t. He doesn’t need to, anyway, because the guy, after seemingly exploring with his gaze the bar, sets his aim on your table, slowly starting to make his way towards you.

“He’s coming.” Taehyung mumbles, bewildered.

You are too. Could it be you misunderstood earlier when he said he couldn’t come because he’d be “exercising his dragons”? It can’t possibly be true. You don’t even know what the heck is up with this excuse. Because it can’t have been anything more than an excuse. Since when do dragons need to be exercised and by a wizard at that?

And now he is here.

Literally, he’s standing right in front of your table, a hand reaching for the back of the empty chair, next to yours, but stops mid-track and backs away to his side.

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here ?”

You can feel, physically, the two heavy heads of your friends, turning slowly on their necks towards you, like an idiotic audience, not wanting to miss one beat of the drama playing for them.

There’s a little snappy answer that rises to the back of your throat. Something inspired by what Taehyung said earlier, about hating him. You almost tell him aloud that he can do whatever he wants, that you don’t own this fucking chair.

Jeon Jungkook is still raspy but soft voice. With his bruised hand with the fingers red from the cold, not assertive and confident enough to dare grab the chair yet and you can’t do much but nod your head, swiftly sliding your own chair to the side to draw a little distance between you.

It takes forever for the initial tension to drop a little bit. You can’t say anything, Taehyung the chatterbox can’t either, Jungkook probably feels too awkward by your behaviours to find a casual way to start the conversation. It’s Yoongi who realises the successful start. By doing what he does best, serving your new guest the best butterbeer there is in Hogsmead (Yoongi would say that it’s the best in the world, both magical and muggle, but given he hasn’t stepped two feet outside of this village for the past two decades, you wouldn’t give him that).

“My name’s Jungkook, by the way.” He starts quietly, in the direction of Yoongi. The latter nods and smiles a bit too eagerly. He tries to be natural, you can tell. And fail miserably, you must add.

“I’m Min Yoongi. Welcome to Jjang Jjang!” Taehyung cringes visibly. Yoongi leans further, towards yours and Jungkooks side of the table, wanting to ignore at best the unhelpful clown beside him. “You must already know...” With a vague hand gesture, he points Taehyung and you. It makes you want to die, the idea that he knows your name, he knows you. You’re unsure what’s going on. Why he’s here, where this will lead. But it would all feel infinitely better if you knew that somehow, he didn’t know anything about you. It’s hard to remember people without their name. It’s the first thing you learn about someone, really, like a tag they’re wearing on their foreheads and when recalling about them, ever, consciously or not, the name comes always. He knows yours so he won't forget you.

It takes all of you a short eternity to warm up to each other. The bar is still noisy, with its occasional rough burst of laughter from the tough-looking wizards, maybe missionaries, the high giggles of a group of Hogwarts 7th year students hidden in a corner. You’re all nurturing your drinks, even you with your stupid apple juice and the unease is even louder, the silence deafening in the middle of the concert of voices and shatters of glasses.

Until Taehyung says something weird, “So you like dragons, uh?” You don't understand why he persists on making it sound weird, like he's romantically interested in them.

You hit him under the table, a good kick to the kneecap but it’s clear to everyone that his yelp comes from you. That makes Jungkook laughs.

He pretty much giggles, sounding like a boy, head tilted down forward with his locks sadly hiding his smile.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He finally answers, clearing his throat, words coming out sweet and sheepish-like, as if he’s embarrassed from having been caught laughing.

“Oh, that explains this.” Yoongi says, pointing at his skin and the numerous bruises orning it. You’ve never hit Min Yoongi because 1) he’s older than you, 2) he’s a tiny little thing that you’re scared to hurt but you are this close, the width of a hair away, from throwing your foot up again and hit him in the junk. For a second, Jungkook seems awkward. Staring himself at his hands, one sliding over the other, the tip of his thumb grazing with insistence on a deep scar. Until he raises his head again, you assume to let his eyes go over your faces, studying them silently and something he sees there, maybe innocent benevolence -even if Yoongi's comment was lowkey inappropriate, he didn’t mean any ill- and something else, childish excitement probably suffice to relax him. Letting his hands be, one wrap around his pint, the other flat on the tabletop, tip of his fingers drumming quietly every now and then, out in the open for anyone who'd like to to see.

“They tend to be a bit playful.” He says this with a sly smile raising the corner of his mouth. Something ridiculously sexy that makes you choke on your fake beer and back away from him even more. You shouldn’t raise an arm to plant your elbow into the table, as a sort of shield between you two, because it’s rude and lame, but you do it anyway. Because it’s all a lot.

He's a lot.

Yoongi, probably, knows you better than you could ever imagine. Seeing right through you, added to the statement he raised earlier -and maybe he was right, maybe he's a whole lot, and a whole lot too much for you-, he reconsiders forbidding you from consuming any more alcohol. Kindly, he manifests a glass of sparkling juice, right in front of you. It's a light peach colour, from the first sniff of the aroma, you can tell it won't knock you unconscious any time soon. It's more sugar than alcohol but at least, it succeeds to soothe the harsh edges of your nerves. Because your nerves are on the verge of a fucking spontaneous combustion.

"Hey! Why does she get another one?" Since earlier, Taehyung, too, has been switched to a strictly non-alcoholic beverages diet. He's not happy about it but you understand easily Yoongi's train of thought. You need to relax so you deserve a little something -especially given the fact that Jeon Jungkook's appearance had you almost entirely sobered up-, while Taehyung's stupid mouth is way too loose and needs to be fed something soft and safe.

"Because he likes me and he hates you." You mutter, not daring to look up from your glass by fear of coming across your neighbour's attention. Your comment is well received though. You allow yourself to joke like that because everyone, Taehyung included, knows that Kim Taehyung is everyone's favourite. No matter the competition. No one can hate him, even when he's boring as hell, even when he's too loud, too nosy, dumb or annoying. He knows it as well as you do and each time you throw one of these snarky taunts, a glint of amusement sparkles his almond eyes and he loves to act all hurt and offended.

He turns all gasps and bombastic hand movements, claiming unfairness, misery. You start nagging back at him, adding more about how dumb he sounds and stupid he looks, while he counteracts with more dramatic appalled cries, as Yoongi just shrinks onto himself, shaking his head in disconcertment -even though, he's too used to your antics to be any surprised nor confused.

You're so caught up in your childish bickerings that slowly, only you two, and the amusement you're trying to contain in your stomach, matter and exist. Jeon Jungkook disappearing entirely. It has your voice turn louder, mimicking Taehyung's, your insults getting bolder, your face raises as you squint your eyes menacingly at your friend.

It's once Taehyung grabs the wand from his pocket and aims it at you, threatening to turn you into a pile of ghoul's shit if you won't shut up, that he's reminded to you.

The giggles, like earlier. Boyish and rusty, uncommon, that can only be his, ring and bless your right ear. It has you shut up instantly. Startled, you stare at him, only for a soft smile to grow on your lips, fond as you are to see him laugh like that, because of you.

You must look stupid as your eyes jump to Taehyung, silently begging him to acknowledge the wonder taking place just next to you, too giddy, too excited, too blushy to be part of it. He just grins back at you, nods his head even though you're not exactly sure at what, one of his elbows poking Yoongi's side.

"How long have you two been friends ?" He asks once he's managed to calm down his fit with a bite on his lower lip. Your heart is running a marathon and you're not sure for how long it'll keep holding up, you might need to focus all of your energy on the course, on not breaking a leg or pass out in the middle of the run, but you refuse, because he's talked to you again, because your best friends are accessorily here to help out, ease a bit of the burden of having to face the terrifying idea of being rejected (again), of failing at being good enough, somehow, to a guy you don't know much but like a lot.

Therefore you answer, aiming a joking dark glare at Taehyung because it helps to look at him, "Too long." Jungkook sniggers at the answer as Taehyung slips his ugly tongue out to you.

Somehow the tension diffuses itself. As if now that all of you had placed a word in the conversation, played somehow a role in it, it feels better, the ice has been melted and you can all, finally, relax.

Without even realising, your elbow slips from the tabletop, you're still wary, still very much aware of him sitting so close to you but you're fine with it.

As the drinks, more or less loaded, flow, Jungkook's cheeks fill up with mountains upon mountains of the fried wonders Jjang Jjang's beloved house-elf, Seokjin, has to offer, the discussion runs smoothly, tongues untied and excited.

It starts with Taehyung telling a very inaccurate version of your first meeting and blooming of this decades-old friendship (you add now and then, when the exaggerations and blatant lies get too much, little modifications to the tale that have Jungkook snigger and nod his head discreetly to you in secret confidence). It continues with Jungkook, pressured by a very adamant audience (which you are not part of, even if you are probably the most interested in the topic, in any topic that would have him speak a bit more, you don't want to bother him with your curiosity which Taehyung and Yoongi do not seem the least disturbed about) telling about the couple of last years he'd spent all around the world, in the most secluded corners of Earth, where only dangerous creatures like his beloved pets live and where only the foolhardiest or most suicidal wizards dare to adventure. As you expected, he's quite humble about it. He doesn't insist on details that make your heads spin in bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders lightly when you're the one whisper-yelling that "but you could've died?!". After a lot of cooing, from all angles of the table, tiny whispers repeating some of his words like a strange echo as you all try to handle the admiration -and intoxication-, he starts feeling himself, a tiny, discreet but visible smile, slyly redrawing the corner of his mouth. He shrugs a little less, nods his head firmly a little more, voice louder and more confident, shaping in the full form it's able to take.

He sounds lovely when he doesn't care anymore. When he feels unrestrained, comfortable and easy-going. He laughs a lot, you notice. It colours almost every single one of yours and your friends' comments, and maybe the fact that you're all a bit dumbed by shock and interest and starstruck and tipsiness makes it so that they're pretty ridiculous, hence him laughing so much. It's not so much that you're all hilarious, rather than you all being pretty stupid but it doesn't matter. You note how easy his laughter, that you couldn't even picture before hearing it for yourself, can come out. How open he is to meddle with you.

He fits so well in your bubble. This personal place only Taehyung and Yoongi have ever been authorized to inhabit. He matches perfectly. It fills your heart and mind with so much content, you feel your cheeks hurt from smiling constantly without meaning too. It's what he does, you suppose, making you smile. And when you notice the pink tint colouring his cheeks, rounded out lovingly so by a grin, you assume he's feeling the same, enjoying his time with all of you, your heart dips in the warmest bath.

"Dude!" For the umpteenth time, he's trying to wave himself some air with a hand. Taehyung has had enough and just slammed his fist to the table, making everything on it knock against each other, Yoongi's eyes this close to falling out of their sockets. Jungkook just giggles some more, he might be a bit tipsy. "Just tie your hair up, you're making me sweat just looking at your mop!"

"I don't even have-" Taehyung's already up from his chair, he bumps his leg in the process but pay it no attention, marching over his future victim with a little hair-tie that seemed to appear from thin air -probably did too. Jungkook is so lenient with your best friend, too lenient you'd say, you wouldn't even have it in you. When he excitedly reaches forward, his long fingers parting the dark locks in two, he's trying to tie one end into a little side ponytail. Before he's even done with the first one, you roll your eyes, knowing what he's aiming for. Of course, he wouldn't just give him a regular manbun or something.

For the first time, you meet one of Jungkook's eyes, the one uncovered thanks to Taehyung's shenanigan. It's round, dark but warm like rich chocolate, sparkling with exhilaration but concerned.

"What's he doing?" He asks you, unbeknownst to the fact that meeting half of his face for the first time, the endearing pretty thing, stole every single little last word from you. With two fists hold to the side of your head, you attempt to show him the cute girly hairstyle Taehyung has in mind. He winces at that, nose scrunching into itself so high, the round thing turns into something adorable, shaking his head to try to free himself from your friend's prying hands, a grin still on his lips.

"Stop being such a baby!" Taehyung growls, trying for a little while to keep ongoing, his hand desperately holding onto the second bunch of hair. He's soon forced to stop as the victim turns to be too unwilling. "Ok fine! You do it then!"

It's you he is barking to. If the hair tie thrown straight in your eye is any teller. It renders you blind for a second. Until you can blink the stingy discomfort away and you’re greeted by Jungkook and his endearing face with the oh so adorable tiny tail hanging from the side of his head, observing you with great attention, single eye blinking worrisome. He looks cute, half dolled up like a girl, fearful and curious to discover how you’ll treat him. For a second, you are tempted to follow your friend's design. Because how cute would this man look with two ponytails hanging on top of his head, with maybe even tiny hair clips to perfect it all.

He’d be pissed though and wouldn’t keep it probably so what’s the point.

The real point is that you have a hair tie in your hand, fingers itching on instinct to play with the shiny raven locks and the owner of said pretty locks, silently permitting you to do just that.

Maybe Taehyung is not as dumb and as useless as you thought him to be. Your prior reflex would be to assume he didn’t even mean to create this opportunity for you. He’s just invading as a person, touchy-feely and very comfortable with anyone entering his vicinity. You do owe him more credits and you willingly give them to him for this time. Because if he didn’t intend to put your foot on the stirrup, he surely did anyway, with a natural and a smoothness you couldn’t imagine coming from him.

Standing behind Jungkook's chair, hands hovering centimetres away, you feel so blessed, you’d jump over to Taehyung's side to snug him to your fervent heart if you didn’t have better at hand -and if the idea of actually having him this close to you did not fill you with an immense cringe.

Taehyung is watching, over the rim of his glass, with an obnoxious, kid like excited sparks burning you uncomfortably. You curse him out, soundlessly but with such great articulation, he can’t possibly miss the words.

Yoongi who watches all of it notices and understands it all as he always does even when he pretends he doesn’t, starts talking then. Something about Brazil where Jungkook had spent nine months, living alone in the wild forest of Amazonia, and about the curious plants and fruits he heard that could be found there. It’s a nice distraction. Soon Jungkook is on it again, Taehyung partakes a role in it too, leaving you alone to handle the grandiose yet terrifying fantasy that is touching and messing with Jungkook's hair.

The first ponytail comes undone easily, the hair tie simply slipping off with just the tip of your fingers to guide it.

When you timidly start, reaching with two hands to grab all of the hair from him, you feel a rush of blood to your cheeks, heart skipping beats and perspiration bubbling at your temple. Your fingers just have to graze slightly the skin of his neck, all warm and soft, you have to do it a few times even because his pretty locks are rebellious and your fingers too willing to let them run in between them, silky as they are.

There’s a strand refusing your gentle taming, slipping from your grasp and falling in front of his eye. You go to catch it back, meeting hot fingers on his temples. Yours surrender immediately. Jungkook from the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, throw you a glance and a smile. A small one, small but fond.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Yoongi asks as Jungkook tucks the strand behind his ear.

"Not really. I'm used to it." He shrugs. You take your sweet, sweet time to finish the half-bun, half-tail hairdo you're working on. Somehow something lovely has settled. Something comfortable, domestic. He's not wary of your touch, letting you mess with his hair, not even flinching when, tentatively, just taking a chance, just once, the pad of your thumb stroke the hot skin of his neck. "Dragons can be very affectionate-" That makes Taehyung cackles as Yoongi gasps in disbelief. You have a hard time picturing those creatures as affectionate. Jungkook is different anyway. You need to be different to go after the path he's chosen for himself. "I swear!" Taehyung rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Have you considered all this time spent away from civilization turned you mad?"

The bun is done, sadly. You made it last for as long as you could but eventually, as every perfect moment, it has to come to an end. You don't even bother to hide your dread as you let your ass drop to your chair, puffing.

"Leave him alone, moron." A few peanuts to his stupid head and Taehyung stops messing with Jungkook, stops acting like he's insane and starts telling about something no one cares about -so much so, Yoongi leaves to go chat up an old goblin who's just entered the bar.

Jungkook turns to you, leaning a bit. Smiling quietly, gently. As if he doesn't realise the face he owns once his hair isn't hiding the majority of it anymore.

It must be a joke. He must know. He must have noticed how his straight, dark eyebrows, with the cut splitting the right one in half, gives an irresistible, dark, mature shape to the roundest, sparkliest set of eyes the world has ever seen. He must know his face is a wonderful work of art, with the tiny little details, here and there, adding charms and depth and uniqueness, that only the greatest, only a special artist would know to use -like this faint scar linking a mole under his lip to the corner of his mouth, or the one craving in the top of his cheek. His colours are splendid too. While you'd always seen him with black everything, black hair, black clothes, quiet sombre aura and a tiny bit of red, you'd catch sometimes, where he'd hurt his hands. Never would have you thought, he's more harlequin than monochromatic. Golden scopes, tipsy patches of red matching the tiny pout he owns for a mouth, eyes not dark but the richest shade of chocolate.

"You," Jungkook starts in a whisper, now so close you have a whiff of his smell, torturous scent of pinewood, of soot, and something else, more natural, sweat most definitely but turns out to be the better element of the mixture, suave, awfully addictive. "you believe me, don't you?" You need a full minute to get your brain's vessels to connect. A full minute during which you have no idea what the hell he's talking about, what words are and how to use them, and all you can focus on is not dying from a heart attack -and also, not show that you are having one.

You shake your head up and down, still unsure to what you're agreeing to. It does not matter that much because he's smiling the way he does. The adorable smile another wonderful novelty, shaped like a bunny one, eating up his upper lip into the thinnest cupid bow. The sparks in his eyes, on his cheeks, from excitement, mirth. He's really here with you, warmer than you've ever thought him able to be, and somehow, different than what you had expected, but thousand times more endearing. Having developed a crush on him previously makes more and more sense by the second.

"Thank you for the invitation." He says quietly. You don't miss a single word, nor the least flinch in his intonation (soothing, genuine), even in the loudness of the bar, because, for some reason, he's never leaned back. He remains there, hardly a dozen of centimetres away from you.

"No problem." You lie, effortlessly after a few gulps of liquid courage. If you're enchanted by the evening, the unexpected turns of events, he still made you go through a short misery for this. He must see your awkwardness, he must notice how you're sweating bullets and swallowing with difficulty. How your eyes keep battling between wanting to bath in his and avoid them at all cost. Jungkook doesn't budge though and it almost gets annoying, almost upset you how he doesn't care -or maybe simply doesn't realise- the effect he's having on you. "I thought you couldn't-" You start, meaning to sting him a bit because he deserves it.

"I finished early, and um-"

"Was it even real?" You ask, genuinely curious to have him clear this out for you. It's not like you're mad anymore. On your face, you only feel a tingle at the apple of your cheeks from how many smiles and waves of laughter you've shared, the desperate tears from earlier long dried and gone. "The excuse, I mean."

"It wasn't an excuse..." Jungkook turns his face away from you then. Biting hard on his bottom lip, a traitorous grin hardly contained. The tip of his ears are flushed, you wonder from what, until you see his hand raising to the top of his head where it flats down hair that doesn't need it. "I- I just-" Maybe it's seeing him this abashed that pushes you forward, literally, scraping your chair to the wooden floor, thigh meeting his in the process. "I was startled when you- asked. When you said my name even, I wasn't- like- expecting it and I'm not used to-" He cuts himself off, a hand vaguely motioning the room.

"To what?" You insist, mimicking his murmuring tone, terrified as you are to pop out the little bubble now only he and you dwell.

"Going out with people or just- hang out, I don't know." He looks inherently embarrassed now. Possibly even a bit saddened, you note. Still, his face remains open, kind, the ever-boyish smile teasing at least the corner of his lips. You don't mean to be so sappy but you wish, consciously, right this second, for this very moment to last an eternity or at least, for your memory to take a picture realistic enough, as in-depth and detailed as possible so that you'll be able to recall and relive it for years to come.

"Oh. Dragons don't like to go clubbing?" He bumps your thigh with his knee, chortling at your words but shaking his head nonetheless. As you stare at his thigh, covered by a cheap black cloth stretched to the very limit, stuck to yours, almost supported by yours, sending a continuous channel of heat from there to the pit of your stomach, it seems like you've reached a determining point. A definite phase where you can handle him (more or less). Enough not to liquefy on the spot at his every glance, while remaining way too aware of him, his smell, his warmth, every sound coming out of his mouth, his lovely, lovely charms.

You really like him.

"My head hurts." Taehyung's half-dead on the table. You're not too worried because as his head lies flat, his hair marinating in a pool of spilt beer, he can mumble with a lot of coherence about how heavy his head feels, and how it will probably weigh this much until Monday. Jungkook grabs a bunch of tissues to try to slip under Taehyung's head as an absorbing pillow, it's no use though, because Taehyung, strangely enough, feels too comfortable in this position to let himself be disturbed. Jungkook seems concerned, a bit bothered even -way more than you are because you are very much used to this depiction of lame- until Yoongi passes by, observing with deep disapproval written all over his face. He kicks on purpose one of Taehyung's chair legs, making him groan, and leaves.

Greediness turns you bold. Knocking Jungkook's leg the same way he did earlier, you call back his attention on you. For some reason, he stares at your legs, touching. You wonder for a second if you shouldn't have. It's not that much, he did it earlier, but maybe you shouldn't have. He's too pensive. Doesn't budge a muscle. In deep reflection. You hit him again, a tiny little push, and a few others to follow, like an annoying bratty kid trying to steal someone's attention. His hand finds its way to your knee then, enclasps it entirely, thumb pressing and you have no idea if any of this means anything, but it does send a rush of jolt straight between your legs. Surely he doesn't mean this use of firmness to turn you on, does he? How could he even guess it having this effect? You didn't even know it yourself.

It does work though. You stop acting like a feisty little brat, patiently waiting for him to be ready to listen to you. He pretends, mean as he is, that the hand won't stay, letting it slide slightly away from your knee. It doesn't go far though. Somehow it's comfortable a bit higher on your thigh. Not very high. It's awfully PG, awfully casual and platonic, but it serves to drive you a little breathless.

With the wide glassy eyes, the small smile that keeps finding its seat on his lips each time he turns to face you, he's all ears, all eyes, just for you. It's infuriating. Galvanizing. You lavish in it.

"You said it doesn't get lonely?" You blurp out, putting all efforts on focusing on the question you are sincerely curious about. If you didn't have it blinking loud and bright in your brain for the past ten minutes, you would have had it long lost and forgotten. He's messing with your head. But you owe to ask. The curious sadness, that you may have imagined for all you know, you saw briefly earlier needs to be addressed.

If it ever were there, it's gone anyway. As he stares into your eyes, seemingly pondering his next words around in his head, there's a gleam shining to you personally there.

"It doesn't when you don't know what you're missing."

"I don't feel too good, puffskein." Taehyung burps out. Thanks to some miracle, he doesn't end up vomiting all over the table but it's obvious he's this close to it and needs to be taken home. It takes all the goodness of your soul, all of it, to control your urge to grab your wand and throw a forbidden curse on his stupid ass.

The asshole makes you out to be an ungrateful friend, appreciation long gone, aggravation deeply grounded. It was going so well.

"Sorry about Taehyung." You start, wincing a bit. Your back leaned against the door of your room, it's late, quiet and badly lit up in Hogwarts' hallways. Taehyung is sound asleep in his bed, fully clothed and wrenching of a burp who turned down to be vomit. You've managed to use your wand on him, something to make sure he'll have a long and safe night and a rather gentler awakening tomorrow.

Jungkook pretty much carried him on his back, all the way to his bed, without much of a complaint, only a growl or two when Taehyung showed himself difficult in the capricious stairs hall -because it's the best and safest place to try and stumble, blindly, drunk out of your mind.

"It's fine. I had a great time."

"Dragging Tae's drunk ass all the way here was fun to you?" You tease, squinting at him. You know what he means. You know that he knows what you mean. You're only trying to earn time. Just a little bit more time. It's late, he's about to leave you for his room, you assume, and you're not just ready for it yet.

"Maybe not this part."

You don't know what to say to make him stay. It's not like you could possibly invite him inside, is it?

Yoongi would say it's way too soon. Another version of you, maybe a twenty-four-hour younger version of you, the one that didn't know him from this close yet, that didn't get to talk and undergo the full experience that is Jeon Jungkook, to feel his hand on your thigh, his pretty eyes -Merlin, there is a time when you didn't even suspect he hid those wonders right here- would agree. It's not your kind, to have hook-ups. You wouldn't even know how to.

That being said, it's not like you often meet Jeon Jungkooks.

You're not that greedy. You're sure of it. When he's leaning himself against the wall, shoulder pressed against it to support himself, head slightly tilted, watching you soundly, the corner of his lips always curled upward. His eyes say it all. Completely black in the shadow, hooded, tempting. Sending heat to your core, shudders along your spine, tingles to the tip of your fingers.

If he says something, if he suggests anything, you'll say yes. He just has to say it. You've been courageous enough already. Asking him out, talking to him, and everything else. You just can't. You can't imagine admitting out loud what you wish to happen now, exposing yourself to him again by asking him if he'd like to stay the night.

And it's too soon, isn't it?

But Hell, you still have the lucid memory of his hair, running in between your fingers and it's become undeniable how bad you'd like to have it again except this time, you could be less delicate.

"I should probably go."

The disappointment is the language you speak because you're too tired to filter the vexation in your voice, "What, your dragons need to be tucked in?"

"Uh?" He chortles. All teeth out, eyes a bit wide, he regards your face, evidently amused. "Is there anything on your mind you'd like to share, maybe?"

"Absolutely not." You're bratty. It's the tiredness and maybe the butterbeer too. Undoubtedly the frustration. Arms crossed, looking away, pouting because somehow you are unable to relax your mouth and need to be so obvious about it all.

"Are you mad at my dragons?" Jungkook asks lightly. If you don't dare look at his face right now, you can guess it. He must have that smirk you've seen a glimpse of a few times tonight. From your peripheral vision, you can tell he's mocking you. Standing away from the wall, a step closer to you, chest puffed out and arms crossed on it.

"Why would I be?" You mumble, ever so vexed.

"Exactly." He's holding back a laugh, you can hear it louder than if he were to let it out.

Continuing, same tone, same pout, squinting harder at the void that is the end of the hall, "They sound awesome, I have no reason-"

"They are. You should meet them."

Startled, you look up to him, eyes wide with both fear and interest. "Should I?"

"Yeah." His tongue swipes swiftly over his bottom lip before he bites on it for a second, pondering. "Go to bed now so that you're in good shape tomorrow and I'll introduce you then."

Of course, he'd be so casual about it but the idea kind of blows your mind. "Really?" You've seen dragons from afar a very few times, during competitions or this one time, with Taehyung at that circus in Wales. But never have you approached one. Like most wizards, at least all wizards holding the basic amount of worth necessary to their life, it's not something you want to do: approach a dragon. You know that for the Care of Magical Creatures class, Jungkook only brings one dragon at a time. The class with their professor standing on one end of a wasteland, and Jungkook, at least a hundred feet away, presents them the animal.

"Yeah," Jungkook says again, bobbing his head along. You're dazzled by the light the grin adorning his face brought. He really wants to show you his dragons. "But early. Like super early. They're tired in the morning so they won't be too... agitated."

"Is this supposed to reassure me?" He shrugs with the same cheerful beaming.

"Did you hurt yourself with Taehyung?" For the third time tonight, you've seen him reach a hand over his shoulder, messily massaging the muscle with a tiny grimace on his face. He hasn't mentioned it so you did not bring it up but the thought that maybe it's your dumbass of a best friend who's responsible awakes your guilt.

"No, it's not Taehyung." He scoffs. Almost offended that you could imply he hurt himself that way. "I had a bad fall."

"On your back? How do you fall on your back?" There are, actually, a lot of ways for someone to fall on their back but somehow, you can only imagine Quidditch players to have the occasion to do so. You haven't fallen to the ground since you were twelve and finally mastered the skill of flying on a cheap broomstick. But Jungkook is different, right?

"Tina. You'll meet her tomorrow."

Tina. One of his dragons. Of course. He sounds so excited to introduce you to a mythical creature who manifestly attacked him, you start to wonder if that's not the thing that is wrong about him. Because everything is too sweet and lovely and perfect about him, something must be wrong -or else, it's not fair. And maybe his thing is that he is batshit crazy.

"Anyway," A clearing of the throat -you almost missed those, "go to bed. Sleep tight. Tomorrow, I want you-" Your heart stops in your bosom. There's the tongue winking at you again, through his pink lips, it's indecent, makes you forget it all about his alleged insanity, "alive and kicking."

You roll your eyes, raising your eyebrows, bewildered by his choice of words. He laughs, again. The boyish one but quieter, as if he's scared to wake the castle or just a grumpy painting possibly hanging somewhere in the dark. It's lovely. "Thanks for walking me to my room. And for Tae." You say, sincerely, turning to your door to open it.

"You're very welcome." Before you disappear in your suite, you glance his way. It's sappy-you again, needing to take a mental picture of his face, with the hair still pushed back, the rebellious strand from earlier curling against his cheek, his handsome everything, his soft expression and charming smile. He doesn't seem to mind. If anything he's doing the same, not hinting to a departure until you take it upon yourself that maybe, it's enough staring at each other wordlessly for tonight and you wave him goodnight, closing the door behind you.

By Merlin's beard, what the hell happened today?

And what the fuck is going on, now?

Your ass down on the hard ground, head dizzy, with a little warm tingling sensation in the crook of your neck.

Jungkook is standing, looking like he’s a thousand feet tall with his long legs, chest puffed out and leaning upward. He’s facing Tina, the infamous Tina, about his height if you put aside the long tail laying flat to the ground in between her legs. She's a bright degraded of a deep purple and a fire red, covered in scales, sharp and standing upwards every few seconds as if they're breathing along with her lungs.

He has a forearm blocking her jaws open, glaring with the most severe set of eyes you could never have imagined on him boring holes in her flamboyant ones. He’s growling things in a language you think you recognise as Romanian, barking in her face as he forces his arm deeper, gagging her, not caring about the sharp teeth digging in his skin.

After a while of the strangest and scariest staring contest you’ve ever witnessed, the tail lying between her legs flap once and she whines a heartbreaking mewl.

His face softens at that, slightly, he frees her from his arm, taking a step back while keeping an attentive eye on her.

Tina snivels more, as soon as her master’s attention hints at leaving her, rubbing the tip of her gigantic snot against his shoulder blade.

“Not now.” He says, sending her away with a pat to the side of her neck.

This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced.

You simply remain there, staring, gaping, trying to process it all.

You’ve been jumped by a dragon and Jeon Jungkook is-

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He still has his hair pushed back in a messier bun than the one you made for him yesterday as if he knows that you like him a lot like that. Therefore nothing is hiding the most pitiful look you've ever seen on anyone's face when he looks down to you. Eyebrows dropping low above shiny wide pearls, his two hands reaching for you, munching nervously on his lip.

-Terrible. You just had the biggest fright of your entire life -and probably, hopefully, the last one of the kind- and all you can think about, is how wet you got from Jungkook growling like an animal, and somehow intimidating the fiercest animal there is to submission.

“She doesn’t- I didn’t think she’d be that excited, I’m sorry, ___.” He mumbles, guilt laced in every syllabus he pronounces. You accept one of his hand, sliding yours against his palm, hot and calloused, sending warm all over your body as he squeezes around your fingers. “It’s my fault. She’s used to playing rough with me and she doesn’t control her strength very well yet-“

He bends over, catching your second hand in his and lifts you, a bit too strongly given how you are entirely made of mush right now. You hit his chest in the process, he has to steady you once you’re up on your wobbly legs. He holds you with a hand to your upper arm, still hot, still firm, it has the blood to your face boil even more. What kind of experience would it be to bathe entirely in this warmth, to have not the least stupid barrier in between yours and his skin, to feel his firm hold grabbing you, his whole body covering you and pressing you down?

You need to focus on the pets.

Tina seems upset, a few meters away, her tail slapping the ground impatiently but her head held low. There are three others, different sizes and spices, quietly laying above the trees forming the forest glade. They’re watching inquisitively, quiet, as cats would, you had no idea they could behave like that but then again, they were raised by this fucking guy.

The guy still holding you close, breathing hard over your forehead, who’s most definitely searching for your eyes you are deliberately not allowing him to meet. You’re not mad. A bit shook still maybe. You’re just soaked, head filled with inappropriate thoughts you're terrified he might hear from how loud they are. And the oblivious idiot keeps apologising and asking if you’re fine because you should not be, you should probably be more traumatised, certainly not aroused as you are, especially when he’s feeling this guilty. You catch a wobble in one of his words and wonder if he could even cry from a guilty conscious.

Therefore you grant him a glance.

“I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

He must see something there, hear the subtle tilt your voice, too soft, has taken because he nods, visibly relaxing. His hand departs slowly, fingers grazing your skin.

“Jungkook, I have something for you.” You say it like you know where it’ll lead. Frankly, you have no idea. You can hope, wish very loud and clear in your mind, but you can’t bet on it. “For your back.” You fish out of your shoulder bag a tiny flask. With its shimmery blue content, the tag on it with his name and a short note consisting of wishes of healing you’re somehow embarrassed to show him. “I made it before coming. It should fix your back in no time.”

“That’s very kind of you, ___. Thank you.” He grabs your hand along with the bottle as if he couldn’t take it on its own, and now you’re sure he knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t be innocently stealing all of these touches from you without knowing how intensely pleasing it feels all over.

“Don’t thank me yet, you might not like the... process.” He raises an eyebrow, head slanting to the side. “It’s a bit uncomfortable for like... 30 seconds and then it gets better.”

“How uncomfortable?”

“Well... Nothing too bad. I’m sure you handled way worse.” He can see you’re not completely honest with him. For your defence, looking at all the scars scattered on the very few skin your eyes have access too, he must be used to some kind of pain. It’s not painful per se. It is uncomfortable. Like dipping a firstly warmed up skin in a cryogenic liquid for half a minute kind of uncomfortable. He senses it. Watching the strange liquid carefully, suspiciously, he’s not certain he’ll use it.

“Is it dangerous?”

You scoff, hands raising to your sides, “No, I mean- Not if you apply it correctly, it’s fine.”

“If I-“ He worries at his lip, frowning, mentally debating the subject as if it’s that much of a big deal. Honestly, the risk, is, not that tragic. An over-application can cause a curious discolouration that will, later on, turn into a marble-like blue patch -it might be definite but you’re not sure-, you can potentially burn your skin too but usually, it only happens -and it’s the case with any magical ointment really- if it’s mixed with another ingredient it shouldn’t come in contact with or on a body that’s already under certain charms -which is not his case, you assume-, and of course, an ointment made for local application should in no circumstances be ingested. It’s not that complicated. He doesn’t need to look so scared and suspicious.

“For Merlin’s sake, Jungkook! Don’t use it if-“ You aim to snap it out of his hand but he’s quicker, holding up where you can’t reach, the corner of his eyes crinkling cutely.

“No I want to but- can you do it for me? You worried me.”

“You really are a big baby, aren’t you?” He shrugs, doesn’t deny it. He looks cute like that. Dancing on his two feet, munching on his lip, hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “Fine.” You say without meaning it. You wouldn’t say that you’re fine or that you’ll be fine.

When he walks you to his cabin, twenty meters away from the dragons' playground, your heart starts beating hard and fast, more furiously at every step. It might not mean much more than a nurse job. At the same time, would it make any sense for you to not take the opportunity to take a step and make it more than that? Kim Taehyung would turn you into some kind of pile of whatever gross creature's shit if he were to hear that.

The cabin is super tiny, rustic and barely equipped. Wooden floor, wooden walls, wooden furniture -if you can call them that. Mentally, you curse at Mrs Umbridge. If she didn’t plan this on purpose just because she despises the guy and his pets. You can tell he sleeps in it because of the shitty mattress sitting on a pile of wooden boxes, with the sheets unmade. Discarded used clothes in a corner, a little tower made of books that all seem to be about travelling, magical creatures and travellers’ autobiographies. It’s dark, smells like soot with a tint of something sweet, as if the remnants of a pastry made of cinnamon is hiding somewhere.

Jungkook excuses himself for the mess, even if it’s not much compared to the poor condition he must have received the cabin as, jumping to the only window to tear open the dusty curtain.

It brings a bit of light inside, a subdued but warm yellow-ray coming straight from the barely awakening Sun.

It feels a bit stuffy in here. With him taking over the whole space, and your lungs struggling to pump normally. It feels too intimate, to be standing a few steps away from the place he sleeps in at night. Too intimate because you're not used to it, and two days ago, or even fucking yesterday morning, you would have never thought you'd ever be standing here.

"It's cosy."

You comment, humming to yourself, at the same time as he asks, "Should I take off my shirt?"

You almost choke, tilting your head, watching him with misplaced shock. He's already holding the hem of his black shirt higher on his stomach, exposing smooth golden skin, tight on a thin, sculpted waist, a trail of teasing black hair under his belly button, yet looking at you with his wide round eyes, unsure, quite innocent somehow.

"I don't think you need to- the whole thing." Coward-you hurries to answer, trying to divert your attention to anything but him.

Jungkook turns around, giving you his back and raising his hands to the back neck of his shirt, wincing silently, as he lifts the cloth. The back is almost worst than the front. The thin waist you had a glimpse of, the smooth skin with the golden highlights, the cute dimples at the bottom of his back, the developed, beautifully drawn muscles. A dizzying hot flush takes over your head.

This guy is a mystery. Under his thick, oversized clothes, you knew he was well built, but never would you have expected that. It's not like you care about it usually but with him standing in front of you, smelling so wonderful, with this thing, intense and unique, linking and running in between you two, you can't ignore it all. You can't ignore nor deny how attracted you are and giddy and greedy at the idea of seeing it, of touching it all -when most people don't even get close enough to him to suppose what he's hiding.

It's easy to get back to Earth and the present moment with the large, blue hematoma marking his right scapula. It looks painful as hell, so much so you wonder how he's been handling it so far, how he hasn't visited the infirmary yet, how often it happens and if he always simply tighten his jaws and take the pain until it just leaves.

He turns you cheesy again. You'd like to lean forward and press a kiss to make it better. You wouldn't dare though, and you know, for a fact, that the ointment you prepared for him would be an infinite amount of times more effective to heal him.

He shudders at some point. Probably because you're taking a short eternity to do anything, or just say anything, silently contemplating instead.

Gulping hard, you start, "Bear with me, ok? It'll be better in no time." He grumbles something to himself, way too quiet for you to hear over the loud popping of your potion's bottle and the even louder rummaging of your heart in your bosom.

The first drops seem to be fine. He's not squirming under the gentle touch of your fingertips, handling the strange sensation that the potion causes at first, instantly warming up at the contact with skin. He even relaxes, letting you spread evenly all over the bruise, calm and still as the perfect patient. Until he squeals.

"Fuck, what- ah!"

On reflex, he tries to bend and twist, attempting desperately to avoid the inhumanly freezing discomfort burning his skin. You try to hold him still, hands clasped to his shoulders but he wouldn't stop wriggling, whining like a hurt puppy.

For a tough guy, he can't handle much, you decide. It's amusing but concerning as you see him move around so much, you can imagine how he's stimulating the pain coming directly from his injury rather than the ointment.

"Jungkook, stop!" He manages to knock the pile of his books down with a blind kick. "It'll last just a few seconds, calm down!" Your hands fully pressed against his bruise, the heat coming from your overly agitated heart helping, it releases some of the cold. Somehow your tiny hands on his broad back are enough and he sighs in contentment, just a tiny whimper uttered as a remnant of his short but intense torment.

"Are you ok?" You ask after a few minutes. His breathing has quieted down too. His shoulders hanging low, his head relaxed, ease and comfort have taken over his body and mind.

"Yeah. But-" Tentatively, he tests out his right shoulder, rolling it up and down a few times, a tiny impressed 'wow' escapes him and you grin to yourself, enchanted to see him acknowledge your talent. "When you said discomfort-"

"Sorry about that. I thought you wouldn't want to try but it's worth it, isn't it?"

"It is." He has a sudden burst of laughter when he turns around, flashing you a relieved smile. You can read in his eyes that he's a bit surprised, a bit confused himself about what's so funny, probably settling on the little fright the experience gave him. You won't mention that the potion, if it's so effective and this, so quickly, is because it has very highly active ingredients that mess with the organism as soon as it penetrates the skin and his insides might be a tiny bit all over the place for a few moments.

Suddenly, a big whooshing sound comes from outside, seemingly knocking against the front wall of the cabin and making it shake on its hinges. It just makes him chuckle some more, not worried the least and beyond amused by your reflex to step towards him, hands raised, this close to grabbing a hold of his shirt.

"It's just Tina getting impatient, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" You scoff. The mention of her name brings back the memory from earlier. For some reasons, Jungkook's presence now and inside that memory, make it all seem rather mundane but you're sure, you're positive that you should feel traumatized by what happened. A dragon fucking attacked you. Jungkook shoots you a crooked smile you can't say you recognise. With a little bite on the corner of his bottom lip, dark eyes squinted yet shinning mischief.

"You're safe with me." He says, voice low, teasing, as one of his hand reaches for his index and thumb to pinch lightly at your waist.

"Because they're scared of you somehow?" He laughs again, hand now encompassing your side, staring down at you. He looks so inhumanly attractive. You're confused where this intensity comes from. If it's simple lust, coming from a genuine natural place, the same as yours. Or if the potion is not still messing with him, and his hormones, possibly. It shouldn't. It's been a good ten minutes and his build wouldn't entail this long of a repercussion.

"They're not scared. They just know who's the alpha." He explains with the cockiest shit-eating grin you've ever seen. Even greasy Gilderoy Lockhart doesn't have those. You'd find him gross if he was a hundred per cent committing to the act. There's a lurch though, in the way chocolate marbles shine in childish amusement, the tendentious beam turning into a boyish one, biting back something you know would sound like a giggle if he let it escape. You chuckle yourself, hitting him on the chest -because now that he's healed, he can take it. He doesn't budge an inch, doesn't back the slightest away from you. If anything, the hand holding you slide a bit further behind your back, keeping you close. "I'm just kidding." He whispers, voice as soothing as his attentive gaze as turned. So attentive you feel your face burn with shame. As a poor attempt to deflect your focus on this, your hand raises to his chest again, fingers scrapping at a tiny default in his shirt.

"You're not." He snickers. "I still don't understand how you're not scared of them..." The question somehow was never brought up. The whole night, the day before, your friends and you spend your time praising him and asking so many questions about his life and dragons in general, the things he's seen, the things he's done, the reasons that push him to take this orientation -something about adventure and wanting to see where the world ends was the answer however you could tell it wasn't entirely the real one- but you never actually asked how come he's not terrified of these deadly creatures.

"Honestly, your students are way scarier to me than they are." Your eyes grow big with surprise as you simper. You naturally lean a bit back as you laugh, and he follows you, for some reasons, eyes fixed on you, a tiny smile shaping his mouth. "That one girl the other day, the way she looked at you."

"Yeah, they can be real brats sometimes."

"My dragons, on the other hand, are super playful and soft." He sounds like a little boy, trying to brag about his alleged better pet. Of course, he'd be lethally sexy a second and undeniably adorable the next.

"You're a bit weird, Jeon." Jungkook shrugs, not sure what to say to that because he knows you're right. He can also hear in your voice that you don't mind and he's not sure how to say that he's glad you don't. Because he doesn't say anything you force yourself to look up, study his handsome face to read him. His expression is precisely what you expect yours to look like. Content yet expecting for something more, enamoured.

It's just hard to take the first step. Impossible to overcome.

Only now, from so close he can probably feel your breath hitting his neck, you notice he has a thin beard decorating his jaw. There's a patch missing on the left. You press the tip of your index to the tender skin, noting he's probably got burnt.

"That's what happens when a baby with a cold refuses to leave your shoulder." "It sneezed on you?" He nods, grinning. "I could make something for that. And for your eyebrow too." You stare, your finger caressing the soft skin, cheating a bit and slipping to the side of his jaw where there's nothing except a barely unshaven skin. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

"Would you?"

"If you want me too. You'd be losing charm points for sure but-"

"Oh, I have those?"

For some reasons, it’s this moment your memory chooses to recycle your friend’s words. The ones about him being that great. With the pretty gold glimmer coming from his peculiar round eyes, you do not doubt that he is. “As if.” You roll your eyes, jaded by his certain lie.

And the ones about him possibly being a lot, being too much to handle follow quickly behind. He is a whole lot, from head to toes, to the very essence of his character. The thing is he’s dipped in a thick pool of sweet honey, rounding his edges into something so much more accessible, too easy to swallow, how could you not try. “Let’s not fix it then,” He starts, one of his hand roughly rubbing at his short beard. “you already have too many ahead of me.” You give him a doubtful “oh really?” look he greets with an amused grin. He’s pretty smooth for a guy that hardly ever interacts with women and humans in general. You almost ask if his pets give him dating advice but you decide to keep it for later. The cat and mouse game is getting hard to endure. You’re not bored of it but you know you’re both ready for it to turn a little less playful and a little more decisive -also you don’t know exactly what time it is, however, you do know you have a class in the morning. It (whatever it is) won’t happen with you bullying him restlessly. Maybe one of you will get tired of watching so closely the other's face, you both know the details by heart by now, are probably even able to draw them with your eyes closed, and act. There’s a subtle frown messing up his handsome face. A tiny dip of the starting lines of his eyebrows and a pout reshaping his lips. “I’m really sorry about that.” He mutters, shame dripping from his words. The pad of his thumb raises to your neck, grazing ever so lightly the skin surrounding the tiny cut Tina gave you earlier. It’s not that bad. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. When your heart is beating so fast, when your cheeks are burning so high, when your core is quivering so much, you barely remember about the cut on your neck ever hurting. He seems so sorry though. And then he’s leaning towards you, dubious eyes not leaving yours until he’s hidden in the crook of your neck and can’t see you anymore, and softly, presses his lips to the bruise. It feels like a seizure in your heart. It shouldn’t be much but it is, the softest touch, most delicate, also a beautiful promise for more to come.

You relax under him, his arm naturally sliding further behind you, pulling you flush against him. You tend your neck, expecting more, demanding more. He instead breathes in, nose buried in your hair, humming to himself as if the scent pleases him before he’s kissing your neck again, this time a more resolute kiss, with a tough pressure, a louder smack.

You can’t help but giggle, he sniffed you like an animal would, like a dragon would. The giggle turns into an embarrassing fit of laughter, the tension wearing you out probably helping a lot.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with curiosity and a smile translating his bemusement. He backs away for a second, just to see your face.

“Sorry-“ More giggles, he pinches your side, you barely manage to bite your laughter back in your throat. “Sorry but you’re really- I just didn’t realise to what extent you’ve been raised by dragons.”

He’s confused you can tell, frowning in deep thought yet not looking the least vexed. It makes you smile. Seeing him looking so adorable, a little lost, a little embarrassed. You kiss the palm of his hand, the one that’s sitting where it fits perfectly, tucked in the crook of your neck, his eyes grow big for a split second. “Cause I smelled you? Was it weird? I’m sorry, I’m just used to- like- smells are imp-“

He made it so easy for you to press your lips to his. Everything about him, from his smell to his warmth, to his smiles both from his pretty flushed lips and from the wonders he owns for eyes, his voice soothing, welcoming, words always gentle, always soft. He’s both the unknown and at the same time, the most comfortable aura you’ve ever wanted to dip in.

It’s hesitant at first, or more precisely sheepish, like testing the waters. Figuring out where you’re stepping in, noticing you’re barely keeping your nose up and afloat. It’s scary, new and exciting. Requires a little bit of practice, some intended nibbles, some timid lingering.

You’re both unsure, trying until you’re not anymore. Like a button blooming into a rose, suddenly turned bright bloody red, intense and passionate, with fierce thorns digging and scratching at the skin.

You sigh into him, he’s humming as in agreement. There’s a little agitation coming from outside. As if they know what you two are doing, how you’re feeling. As if impatient Tina can tell you’re stealing her human right under her snoot.

He is so willing to get stolen though. Chasing after your mouth when you worry for a second about the ruckus going on just behind the wall, arm tightening around you, hugging you as close as he can, his body melting with yours whenever your fingers dig in his skin.

You’re the first one to slip your fingers underclothes to just have a little sample of naked skin. It’s just past the hem of his sweatshirt, the soft and burning skin of his waist. It spurs him on. As if he was just waiting for you to give him permission, his hands find a home under your shirt. Flat on your skin, so large, so hearty, raw skin from someone who’s worked with those hands a lot, feeling so nice on you, feel like he’s holding you captive in between the palms.

The hand against your back slides up, stopping an instant where your bra is sealed, toying with it as if he’s wondering if he can. Deeming that he can’t, for some unknown reason, he goes further to grip the back of your neck. You’re too busy with his tongue teasing yours, with the growing stiffness digging in your stomach to notice. Have your brain been less occupied, you would probably have the fingers playing with the ends of his hair, pulling a little harsher than they already are. He’s loving it, it seems. Moaning each time you do, groaning each time your nails slip through the hair to scrap at his skin.

Everything is too good. Everything feels made to be, bodies made to meet and make up. It feels like this could be enough. Highly satisfying, more delicious than any make-out session has ever felt because none of those boys before were Jeon Jungkook and never have you liked someone as much as you like him.

But Jeon Jungkook can’t be perfect. You don’t know if he means to be to tease or if it’s just him holding onto some doubts, some insecurities, not wanting to go too far without you explicitly telling him that it’s what you want -because, clearly, it’s not evident enough, the way you’re hanging off of his mouth, limp in his arms, subjectively grinding against his cock can’t be telling enough.

His second hand, the one closest to all the places you want him to invade, won’t give in. Set on your stomach, his thumb retracing the underline of your bra, this hand is the very incarnation of a tormentor. You don’t last long, grousing in your mind, losing your shit and your patience, giving him chances after chances to finally get to it but of course he never does.

Your frustration reaches its limits when you back away from him, hitting his chest with your fist, breathless and frowning.

He’s too dazed, hooded eyes barely seeing anything but your swollen mouth, to comprehend. Until you bark his name, punching him again.

Jungkook takes in your mad eyes, scrunched eyebrows and impatient tapping of your foot on the cabin's floor.

“Touch me.” You whine more than you demand. His light chuckles fill the suffocating air, diffusing a little bit of the tension and maybe it’s not for the worst.

“Is that all?” He asks, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your pouty mouth. “You scared me.”

“I don’t care.” He is so gentle on your lips. The sweetest touch you’ve ever received there. Your heart is growing exponentially, threatens to burst in your chest and you’re loving every single second of it.

“You’re a bit mean when you’re frustrated, you know that?” He can hardly contain his amused grin long enough to kiss you. Explicitly telling you, he doesn’t care much for your moody outbursts. “And,” Another kiss right in the centre of your awaiting lips. “I was touching you.”

“Not enough.”

“What’s enough, lil’ brat?” He mumbles against the skin of your neck, biting a little at it, definitely grinning to himself there. You almost cum there.

“Touch me here.”

You can sense his cockiness drops to the ground when you grab his hands and press them to your clothed breasts. He just gapes, too shocked to act, as if it’s the first pair he’s coming in contact with. You have to do everything on his behalf and really, thankfully for him, you like him that much you don’t hold it against him. Tearing the cups of your bra down and under your breasts, guiding his long fingers to your tender mounds, he takes in a shaky breath, his curious eyes borne into yours.

Tentatively, he wraps his hands around them, weighing them, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin, enjoying taking extra time on the nipple. You can tell he wants it, he’s too willing to touch you, yet his mouth, the stupid thing, starts to stutter, “B-but, I don’t think righ-“

“Please.” And if this isn’t enough, you’re giving up. You’ve tried so hard. Asking, moving his hands for him, pleading with your boobs out and your shirt bunched up over them. If this isn’t enough, you’re giving up and probably kicking him in the dick in your way out.

His puppy eyes fall from your eyes down to your breast, almost reluctantly. He leaves out a tiny whimper of pain. As if he’s the one hurting. As if it’s not you, the one suffering, the one tortured, because he’s been messing with you, shaking your insides upside down, baiting and lightening up sparkles but refusing to feed you accordingly the way you need to. As if he’s not the only one inflicting himself the torment, refusing to give in for reasons you don’t understand.

Until something clicks in his brain, finally, common sense meeting desires, his mouth fall from your neck and straight to your nipple, kissing hungrily. Licking and sucking and nibbling, moaning almost as much as you do. Once both your nipples are swollen and a pretty flush, he senses your sensitivity, deciding to drop from the buds, meaning to cover the whole supple surface of your tits with lovely kisses and infuriating grazing of the teeth.

The position is awkward. Him bent in half, you on your tiptoes, trying to ease the access for him while simultaneously ordering your wobbly legs to keep on supporting you. The task is not easy, so poorly executed he gets tired of it in seconds, big hands seizing you to pick you up, holding you close, your legs wrap around his waist, so comfortable, so natural, somehow more convenient for him, he doesn’t seem to be in the least amount of effort as he feasts gladly on your chest. His hands stay on your ass, fingers digging, occasionally dragging you up and down his front where you can feel him hot and hard against your centre, a few times squeezing and tearing your cheeks apart. If this is not what paradise tastes like, then you don’t know what is.

It’s perfect pleasure, pure satisfaction.

But of course, you’re human.

Soon, it’s not enough, anymore. And more and more you want and you need. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, drops of honey dripping from the side hems of your panties crotch. He’s so good to you, lavishing and ravishing your breast like it’s the only job he’s ever wanted but you want more. Maybe you’ll let him worship you another day. Place the kisses and paint the marks he wants on every inch of your body.

Right now you need release. Any kind. He’s pent you up to a point, you can’t handle the idea of not letting any steam out.

You’re about to get bitchy again. Getting saltier and saltier at every empty-handed clench of your cunt. If you don’t take a step now, make him take the step, you’ll turn into a sex-deprived gremlin again, this time worse than earlier, and it’s not a good look you wish for him to see -again.

“Jungkook?” You can sense him perk up at the call of your name, even though he doesn’t stop his ministrations. He hums against your nipple, held tight in between his wet lips. “Fuck, Guk- just- uh- your bed.” No reaction. You suspect he didn’t even listen. “Take me to your bed, Jungkook!” It’s the harsh pull on his hair that’s made him look up and pay attention to your words. Like an obedient puppy with unmatching dark eyes, he nods, swirling around to head for his bed, carrying you effortlessly like you're not a full-grown adult hanging from his neck.

You’re about to meet his sheets. You’re about to get ravished and treated so, so right. You can tell from all the promises his hooded gaze has no shame sharing. Anticipation is killing you. The tenderness and affection along with the evident intense lust you read in him are killing you. Your back is just about to meet his sheets when it just doesn’t. He’s holding you centimètres away from it, eyebrows frowned, preoccupation taking over his face and covering everything sexy that fitted it so prettily.

“I can’t have you on this bed.”

“Wha- why?!” Maybe you yelled a bit. He winces. You don’t know what you look like right now, lust turned into pure fury, you just hope if you feel and talk like a gremlin, you still don’t look like one.

“Have you seen it? It’s not even a bed, it’s just a pile of dirty rags probably a thousand years old-“ It’s sweet and annoying, infuriating beyond belief. He’s blushing too. One foot hitting with spite the pile of rags he was given to use as a bed.

You want to cry.

“Why are you so fucking difficult, Jungkook?” You spit his name with venom, forehead hitting his shoulder, defeated as you feel. He’s hugging you closer, hands less sexual and just warm tenderness as they slide along your spine, pressing you closer if it’s even possible. Feels nice. But your panties, the soaked ruined cloth that is uncomfortably sticking to your cunt are reminding you you’re hating this moment.

“I don’t mean to. I- you deserve better than-“

“But you sleep on it!”

“I can sleep anywhere, it doesn’t matter but you’re too pretty to be laying on this.” You huff at that. Too frustrated to just take the compliment and let it shake your belly with the butterflies in it like a kid would a Christmas snow globe. “I’m sorry.”

“Should apologise to yourself, why you’re sleeping in it if it’s shit? Don’t you deserve better?”

He can tell how you feel. You’re kind enough to let everything clear as day, written in a language he mastered in so little time, an intimate one he’s only allowed to see. He sees the disappointment. Also the ease you’re feeling. The lust that’s not left. The despair and frustration tinted by dark shades of anger. You look cute as hell. All pouty and mushy in his arms. Whining and complaining and so angry yet fingers gently caressing the nape of his neck. He can tell you’re bitchy, feel like arguing but probably want something else even more.

“Wouldn’t it be better to use your bed instead? I saw it yesterday, looks nice.” He suggests, kissing your jaw to relax you.

“It is, it’s a troll size.” You lean your head back, giving more space for his mouth, mumbled words hardly falling from your pout.

“I saw that.” He says, amusement teasing the corner of his eyes.

“Professor Jeon!” The amusement completely annihilates from his eyes, his pretty rosy lips falling in a shocked o, along with all colours leaving his face. You gasp silently, wide eyes matching his.

There’s a terrifying succession of thuds shaking the little cabin, the call of his name again. Slowly, he releases you from his arms, making sure you meet the ground without emitting the least noise.

“I told you I had a class-“ he mimes with his mouth rather than speak.

“You never told me that?”

“I mean- I tried to but you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t list-“

“Professor Jeon?” More knocking on the door. You both hear the man outside mumbling to himself, a little commotion and you can tell, he’s trying to find a way to reach the window to have a look through it. Jungkook jumps on it, tearing the curtain in front of the blurry glass.

“Yes- uhm-“

“Are you okay? The class is ready for today’s demonstration! We’re all excited about that Opaleye you’ve talked ab-“

“Hagrid, I- I need to- finish get ready so- if you and the class could wait- f-five seconds?”

You are fuming. Glaring at him with the meanest eyes you own. Smoke probably coming out of every orifice, desperately trying to leave out some steam or else you’ll be spitting fire better than his fucking pets do. Tucking your boobs back in your bra, tearing your teeshirt back down, probably looking as miserable as you feel.

He’s apologetic though. One hand holding yours between gentle fingers, massaging kindly the palm of your hand. Looking guilty as hell, pouty with the watery eyes, a sweetheart.

And you like him. The realisation hits you once again, full force, you like him a whole lot. Frustration fading into compliance, leaving you helpless, about to forgive him wholeheartedly and suggest to come back later when his schedule sees it more fitting.

“Alrighty! I’ll show them that cute baby dragon I see over there-“

Jungkook winces visibly. Even you can tell it’s not a good idea to leave Hagrid alone with kids and dragons unsupervised, his reputation precedes him, unfortunately. He doesn’t hint a gesture towards the door though. Observing you with attentive eyes, the same from earlier, as if he’s trying to memorise your traits with utter accuracy, knowing he won’t be seeing it for at least the whole day ahead. You should suggest he takes a picture, it’ll last longer. But you’re overwhelmed with a vague wave of sadness, suddenly, so close to the parting from him and so unready for it.

You don’t know if he sees it, senses it, if when he kisses you hard on the mouth it’s to make himself feel better or if it’s just for you. It works in any case. Your heart filled up as it’d been, with lust and affection and something that can’t be but is so akin to love.

“I wish you didn’t have a class-“

“Do you want me?” He asks in a breathless whisper. The question is ridiculous, the answer being so fucking evident, you’d hit him to the side of the head if you didn’t like so much how intimate, how sexy he sounds murmuring against your lips.

You nod. Realising as you try and fail that he’s stolen all air from you -and probably a few other things like your heart and sanity along the way.

“Can you be quiet?” His hands have already dropped from your face, attached to the hem of your pants, hurried fingers proceeding to open them up. The situation in its entirety with the environment, with the people outside at most a dozens of meters away, the awkwardness, the everything can’t hit you, can’t take a sensible shape. No information able to be treated because of him, his everything, the whole lot that he is, infuriating, dizzying, shattering, moving. All you know is that you can be quiet, you can be whatever he wants you to be right this instant.

“I’m sorry for being so terrible at all that-“ He starts, sincere but light, amused, comfortable with you -and that’s the nicest look you’ve seen on him. “I’ll make it up to you until later when I- can really make it up to you.”

It’s funny to see the two facades of his personality clash like that. He’s apologising, red in the cheeks, but also a mouth, reshaped by a confident fatal crooked smirk, stating promises as facts.

How does he know he’ll make it up to you? How does he know he’ll make you feel good enough you’ll forgive his clumsiness?

“I’ll need more than five seconds, Jeon.” That makes him chuckle silently, shaking his head and squinting in defiance.

“You’ll need hardly more than that.” He says, dragging your pants and your panties at once, down a few centimetres.

Heat burns your face as air hits your centre. It feels shockingly exposing even if he can't see much from up there, with your shirt down, with little to no light coming from the curtained window and his large hand, that doesn’t wait for a second, slipping in between your thighs, covering your mound instantly as his mouth covers yours.

He’s right. This fucker.

You don’t time but you know he makes you come incredibly fast.

First starting by sliding a lone finger in your heat to quickly realise that you are soaking wet, sloppy to be exact, perfectly able to fit at least two and probably a third one easily. And he obliges so, filling the torturous void, fucking you with them slowly, dragging the pad of his rough fingers along your walls, teasing your sensitive entrance with lovely, lovely strokes. The sound -and he has to slow down to keep it quiet enough- is obscene. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been so fucking turned on. Dripping down your legs and unto his hand.

He spends only a few minutes on that, on fucking you nice and open when you both know he won’t even be able to fill you as you both wish he would until, well, some undefined time. It should be revolting, that thought, sort of a quick, immediate satisfaction for a long term painful wait.

But then his fingers leave your hole to migrate to your clit, as engorged as ever, as it’s not been for a long, long time, all of this for this stupid crush, from this stupid man, from his kisses and his scent, and his purposefully neglecting to give it attention. A few strokes only, fast and hard, messy and desperate with a sweet pet name he’s never used but fits so nice from his lips press to your ear and you’re coming, hole kissing emptiness, it sucks but you're invaded with so much content, legs shaking, heart beating fast, remnants of the orgasm reshaping the whole stance of your body, feels like you've just moved in an entirely new one, and head dizzy, feeling in love.

“Told you.” He’s chuckling to himself. Full of himself as he wipes you clean with a teeshirt he just picked up from an open travelling bag.

“Shut up, Jungkook.” You groan. One hand holding onto his bicep while his owns diligently tie back your pants, fixing you like nothing happened. The orgasm has been so good, it devoided you of all strength and energy you may have had.

You need to leave. Or more precisely, he needs to leave and meet the class, take them away probably in the forest so that you can escape and flee back to the castle. It’s inevitable.

You close your eyes for a second. Trying to empty your head, focus on breathing properly again, hiding how upset you feel. It’s not that dramatic. Surely, you’ll catch him again, today probably, later, tonight, but you feel so upset. Like a little girl. You don’t want to leave him yet.

Jungkook calls your name softly. You open your eyes, biting on your lip to contain all the emotions wanting to spill out right under his nose.

“Do you like me?” This time you have to throw a punch to his side -it hurts your knuckles more than it does him- because how dare he ask and look so unsure of the answer. “Well, I don’t know- I don’t- you never know with women and- and like- I- you never said-“

“I’ve liked you for two years, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Two...?”

You see the gears rolling, slowly, unsettled by big knots of confusion. You’re sweet, you’re generous and you just came in his hand, literally, so you have no issue admitting -with only a slight blush on the apple of your cheeks, “When you first came for the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t-“ Again with the apologies. With the looking so pitiful, with the guilt, with the him being so lovely of a man, especially when he’s so big and covered in all those warlike scars.

“Well you had this in your eyes anyway, would have been hard to notice me.” You joke, stealing one of the locks hiding behind his ear and tickling his eyelids with it. He scoffs, smiling before he slips it back where it was.

“Thanks to Taehyung, I have a hair tie now. So that I can see you better.” He’s beaming, staring at you fondly, it’s insufferable and you look away, embarrassed as ever because those big eyes being just yours, admiring you -for what too?- are hard to handle. You need practice.

“Is it your dragons teaching you all this cheesy garbage-“ He cackles at that, not even letting you finish and you’re loving the idea that it’s you causing that. “You need better wingpets.” He laughs even harder, you’re grinning even harder until a screech, ear-splitting, resonates through the whole surrounding forest. For a second you wonder if it’s not just Tina throwing a fit because she heard how her master is having so much fun with someone else than her but there’s a commotion following and what sounds like a seventeen-year-old Slytherin boy losing his shit, yelling and crying, and alarm takes over Jungkook's face.

“Can I see you tonight?” He asks in a hurry and you nod. “I’ll meet you in your room after I trained-“ A big smooch to your lips. “Actually maybe before, I don’t know, I-“

“Just go, Jungkook.” His eyes say something his mouth can’t, you can read the trepidation, as he sprints to the door, gaze not leaving you.

You can’t be sure a hundred per cent but you’re almost certain he just told you that he really likes you too and suddenly, you don’t feel as upset as you did, knowing you will find him back later.

« Thanks for earlier. »

For a second, you don’t know what he’s referring to. Until he points a finger towards his crotch, a little flush showing on his cheeks, where his hair doesn’t reach.

That makes you laugh. You shrug your shoulders, waving his thank away because of course, you wouldn’t let him run in the middle of a class full of teenagers with a rock hard cock showing through his pants.

Too focused on the possible catastrophe happening in his front yard, he didn’t seem to realise, if any discomfort or pain ever existed he couldn’t acknowledge it but you surely did.

After having it pressed to your crotch, having felt its hardness and its heat, there’s no way you’d be able to just stop thinking about it. Then in the cabin, with your tingling cunt and sticky panties, and the whole day ahead, no matter how far away from him you were, physically and supposedly mentally, it’s just all you could think about.

Blushing incessantly at the least stimulating moments. Gagging back giggles whenever a word, a touch, a smile of his recalled itself to you, and this in front of confused and suspicious eyes.

The whole day was a pain. It simply wouldn’t roll fast enough.

Now here you are, standing in front of him, not recognising him fully. He’s hiding behind his hair again. He’s quiet and awkward like he too forgot how to talk to you.

Maybe that’s what you get for meddling with him so quickly. Suppose you get separated for a short dozen of hours, he becomes a stranger again.

It’s an awful feeling. Seems like maybe you made it all up. The comfort, the noncommittal love and adoration, the ease, the lust, the warmth. Maybe all of it was just a hazy dream. Made up yesterday evening by alcohol and this early morning by fatigue.

Here you are sober and empty of any other commitment and you can’t picture how you could have gotten to that special place and how to find it back if it ever existed.

“You’ve let your hair down.” You simply say. Maybe it’s your way to point out aloud how you feel like you’ve been thrown a thousand steps back. He’s hiding behind his hair, being unreachable again.

“Yeah, I just- they were all staring so I felt awkward-“ You mean to interrupt, let him know because you’re sure that he doesn’t (the boy from the bar yesterday didn’t know) that if they were staring it’s because he is that beautiful and certainly no one has expected that. “I wanted to tie it back for now but I lost the little thingy.” You take a step forward, closing some of the distance between him standing against the wall and you in the middle of your room. The more you hear his soft voice, the more you recognise him. “I hope Taehyung won’t be mad, I can buy a new one for him.” You could probably point out that Jungkook probably did not lose anything. That probably Taehyung used a charm and like any of those, the object you didn’t pay for, that materialised itself from thin air, simply disappeared after some time. Maybe you’ll tell him later. Right now you’re close to him again, so close you can catch a glimpse of an eye under the pretty locks. Your ears recognise him, your nose too, and you’re impatient to see if your fingers would too.

You reach up, catching his fringe in between your fingertips and dragging them behind his ears, opening the silky curtain and smiling to yourself, eyes almost blurry with emotion, when you see his handsome face now on display. With the pretty brown eyes, the rosy lips, the cut eyebrow and that scar on his cheek, just above his timid dimple that shows up only when it wants.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” He squeaks out, flushing. “I must look ridiculous-“ He gestures you his hair your holding hostage behind his ears, taking advantage to caress his soft skin with the pad of your thumbs.

“You look cute.” He does. He looks a bit awkward, like a boy who just finds himself with too much hair and tries to do something about it. “Very cute.” You add, beaming when you see his embarrassment grow.

“Liar.”

He catches one of your wrists in his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the thin skin of the inner part. Lips soft, eyes soft, voice tender. “I thought about you a lot today...” Somehow he found you back too. He feels comfortable saying this while you’re sure he’s not used to it. Therefore even if you hate it, you can’t help but admit it. That you too, obviously, could only think about him the whole day. “I’m not here to stay forever, ___.”

Your airy smile flatters until it disappears completely.

Way to ruin the mood.

He senses it. Press the hand leaving his face back against his cheek, pressing the second one to his mouth again as if he could bring you back to him and forget all about what he just implied.

Obviously.

Obviously, his life is not here, in Hogwarts. He’s not a professor, he doesn’t want to become one, he’s here for a project that has a defined limited time - Mrs Umbridge made sure of it. He’s an adventurer anyway. He only knows forest and lands and mountains and mythical creatures, extreme weathers and dangerous places.

Obviously, you two only properly met a few days ago, only started to get to know each other less than 24 hours ago, it’s too soon to be in love, too soon to be so attached that a separation would feel that devastating. But even if you’re not, you feel in love. You feel wonderful in his arms, under his gaze, with his pretty smiles lighting on you and his sweet voice rocking your heart.

It’s so upsetting to think about. You don’t want to. Just him hardly bringing it up makes you so upset you could cry.

“But I- I know that you know that already. Maybe it’s clear for you that- we can’t-“ The more he talks the less sense he makes. Every syllabus seems dragged out of his mouth. He struggles so bad, your hand distractingly playing with the neck of his shirt, only because his hand wouldn’t let it go, you can feel his beating heart through the thick vein of his neck. “What I mean to say is- I don’t know what this- could mean to you. If it means anything or it’s just- like- fun,” Your eyebrow ticks at that. How dare he? “either way I don’t mind-“ He’s quick to add. “Really! Whatever you want is fine. I just mean to say that we can’t- I mean- at some point, I’ll be very very far away so-“

“Does it matter now, Jungkook?”

The whole dilemma is not that hard to solve, on your part anyway. There’s nothing you can do about his future departing, is it? All that’s under your control is either you decide to indulge in him, have him the way you crave to, feed in this lovely thing that’s started blooming yesterday evening between you two and later on, deal with the heartbreak you’ll surely have once he leaves. Or will you deny yourself this, still get the heartbreak but way earlier on and have to nurture it for probably less long but in this peculiar case, through a thick coat of regrets.

You hate to think about it all. You hate to think about a time when he’s not going to be around, not even only appearing at the end of a hallway, not even noticing you, not doing anything special except existing and breathing the same air as yours.

It’s clear for you. He’s right here, right now, literally right under your hands, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to consume as much as him as you possibly can, if only he’ll let you.

He looks worried, concerned. Not on the same page as you maybe. Guilty too. While it’s not his fault. It’s your own stupid, unpractical dumbass’s fault for falling for the only guy that lives like a fucking wild animal and is probably inept to leave his wild savage life for more than a couple of months at a time.

An attempt nibble to his bottom lip. Your eyes shut close slowly as to not squeeze a droplet menacing to fall from your eye. He sighs deeply, leaning into your mouth for a moment.

“I guess it doesn’t have to matter now.” He decides, pressing a new kiss to the relieved smile growing on you.

"Cause you had a few things to show me, I believe..." It's subtle. Sort of. The words may be but the eyes you give him are not, demanding, minxy. Your intentions are no secret to him and you can tell in the way he smirks, kissing you again, this time his warm palms holding your cheeks still. He's made up his mind too.

It's all you needed to wash it all behind. Everything that could be too heavy for your shoulders or your heart to carry right now. Anything that could affect this moment, tarnish it, make it lesser than it could be.

It just has to be good. Only good and nothing else. His hands everywhere, on your ass, squeezing, on your breast, fondling. He seems to have remembered what you like. He's not withholding, he's not overly gentle. He's still awfully tender, awfully sweet because it's just the essence of his person, you feel it in every breath you steal from him. The way he carries you so softly, sitting you down on his lap as careful as ever as to not have you tip over and fall off of the bed.

When you're so greedy and almost rude in comparison, lavishing in the position he just offered you, groaning when you feel his thick thighs stretching yours wide, grinding already, sliding forward to feel his hardness anew against you. You touch him everywhere because his body feels surreal. Hard and taut and skin boiling even through his clothes. Your hands disorganized, impatient, start by unbuckling his belt to then jump to the hem of his shirt, dragging the cloth up and off of him.

You hardly catch a glimpse of fair honey skin before the light is shut off suddenly. There's the very recognizable thud of a wand hitting the wooden floor that hints at you that he's the one who did turn it off and you want to whine and complain and maybe even argue a little, and maybe more, enough for him to turn it back on but his wet mouth is sucking at your collarbone, the indignant scold dies into an insignificant, trembling whimper.

He lets you undress him. Even if you're missing the visual, you decide you'll enjoy the touch. His skin is so soft, too soft in a few spots where you guess he's been hurt, uneven, little bumpy traits, here and there, like the trace of a road on a map, scattered all over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He feels wonderful under your fingers. Hot and soft. He smells heavenly, encaging you as he does, you're bathing in his scent, earthy, smoky, masculine.

You have the push him away, a hand on his jaw, another on his chest to have him quit mouthing at your skin and lay his back down on the mattress. In the very dim light, you catch his shiny eyes, wide and intense as they observe you in the dark. You lean over, pressing kisses you hope as loving as his on his skin, starting from his cheek, you feel moving under your lips from him smiling, descending to his hard belly without missing a spot.

Your mouth turns extra delicate when your lips meet uneven skin, as if you could hurt him, as if he hasn't been long healed and your lips aren't the last thing that could ever hurt him, it makes him gasps and sighs though, each time, you feel his abs tighten under you, his thighs stiffen.

"Am I hurting you?" You ask quietly, even if you doubt it.

"Yeah-" He sighs and you freeze. "I mean no! No, no, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" You insist and he groans in defeat. You might be palming his cock through his pants, which you should be patient enough to wait until he answers properly if you'd honestly like an answer. But the rock hard member has been poking your thigh for too long and you can't help it. He's so responsive too, concealing poorly his groans and his moans, his whole body and cock twitchy under you.

You're close to giving him more. To give him fully what he came for. Nails grazing with intent the line where the hem of his underwears lay but not moving down further, hinting at something more but not giving in yet.

It's exhilarating to have him so docile under you, waiting, hardly patiently, for you to give him what he wants and you can tell, from how hard he is, that he really does want it. He sucks his breath in one more time, loudly, and you snickers above him, excited as you are.

Until he decides it's enough. Raising one thigh fast and hard, pushing at your ass, making you tip over with a squeal. He catches you with the cheeky chuckle you've grown to adore, rolling you unto your back so he can hover over you. You feel so tiny under him, with his strong thick arms encasing you, the line of his wide shoulders barely decipherable in the dark. Your hand follows the line, appreciating him to be so willing to be touched, always leaning onto your fingers. When it stops at his chest, your fingers mean to play a little but you're stopped in your track by the thudding hitting your palm. It takes you a hot second to realise it's his heart, being so loud and agitated, so expressive from where it's hidden. Of course, someone as reserved as him would have a heart that vocal.

"Your heart's beating so hard." You comment quietly. You don't mean to embarrass him. You don't even mean to reverse the power button hanging between the both of you. Yours in your own chest has to be causing a similar ruckus. But it's his that matters right now. You can't get over the fact that it's for you.

"Stop teasing me." He grumbles. He's not even vexed. He's embarrassed, but you hear the slim smile in his voice, a sheepish one.

"I'm not. You should feel mine." He hums against your mouth, then backs away laughing a bit.

"Smooth."

"It wasn't-" You sigh in defeat. It was not a subtle attempt to have him take care of your tits. Seriously. He's too glad to comply though, you're not one to complain.

You only have a vague notion of time passing, of things progressing. Somehow a second he's suckling on your nipples through the thin material of your top and the next, both of you are naked, panting in each other's face. Your nipples erect and still wet, occasionally rubbing against his chest, two of his thick fingers pumping in between your folds, a third one occasionally teasing the entrance, hinting at a stretch you're so greedy to feel even though you're not sure you can take; your hands wrapped around his shaft, pumping furiously, squeezing hard to have him hiss and curse against your lips, with your thumb teasing the slit of the tender slick head.

His free hand is at your neck, resting there, fingertips pressing in your skin, his thumb toying with your swollen bottom lip whenever he's biting too hard on his own to kiss you properly.

"I'm close..." You whimper, nibbling on the flesh of his thumb. He smiles vaguely at you, hooded eyes unfocused, eyebrows scrunched from pleasure. "I want you, Jungkook."

"Like now?" Fuck. You really have to like the guy a lot. He dares stop fucking you too, all attention now driven to your face. You don't say anything, your eyes telling enough. He nods to himself. "Okay, now. But uh-"

"Jungkook, sometimes you're half-useless." You try not to be mean but you can't help some snarkiness to escape. You have patience. You have a lot of it. But he just makes everything so difficult. How can you be sin and temptation embodied and at the same time, be so fucking clueless? He's like the cure but also the disease.

You roll over on your bed, grabbing a condom from your bedside table that a certain friend I don't need to name provided you with, to then face him again, brandishing the foil packet in his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-" He seems confused for a second, struggling to get the thing open and you wonder if it's been as long as it's been for you since the last time he's been with someone like that, or if it's been even longer. "but-" Growing even more impatient, you jump on your knees, kneeling next to him, taking the thing from him and tearing it open for him. "You're, like, a lot."

You stay silent for probably too long, frozen, hit by his words probably too intensely.

"In a good way! In a- in a, you're- I like you a lot and it makes me all-" He's talking too much you decide. Stuttering the sweetest things you have a hard time hearing while you're both naked in your bed, so near to get even closer, even more intimate to each other in a way you're too excited about to handle any extra pandering -especially given, you know exactly what he meant. Who would have thought? Jeon Jungkook talking so much you'd have to kiss him quiet.

"How do you like it?" He asks in a whisper, kissing your jaw in a way that makes you shudder. He's making you lightheaded, so dizzy, with the stupid jumps between his sexy lust-filled self and the adorable clueless dude he can also be.

"Just- however you'll have me." You answer, ignoring blatantly that it doesn't mean much.

So he decides. Laying you down on your back, hovering you. The thought that maybe you are made for each other hits you full face then, because that's exactly how you'd like him to have you. Just like earlier, so close, so intimate, sort of intimidating, dominating too. All yours and you, even more, his, with his soft locks caressing your forehead, lips so close you hardly have to make any effort to reach, not that he lets you have your mouth for your own for too long anyway, every few seconds, claiming it with lingering kisses tasting of greed. You know you're in trouble as soon as the very tip of his cock squeezes in. It's somehow a tight fit, even with his earlier ministrations, even with the ones from this morning that made you feel loose all fucking day. Jungkook only fucks you with the head of his shaft for a while, feeling you so tight around him, savouring the sensation but also worried he'd hurt you if he were to go further.

You're on edge. On edge of a devastating orgasm, already too fucking close, and even if you could blame it on the foreplay, on your hormones or whatever else, he'd know. He'd know it's because of him, because of how much you like him, of how good he makes you feel, how much he turns you on.

You don't really care. He's already panting in your ear, groaning and moaning with tight jaws about how good you feel and how pretty you are, when he's only half of the way inside and that's more than enough. It's kind of too much. Kind of impossible to handle.

It's a mewl to the shell of his ear and the digging of your nails in his firm ass that push him further and balls deep inside you. It feels like discovering new places within yourself, places you haven't reach before alone or with someone else, brings a rush of excitement to your whole body that translates in a vice tight clench around him.

He fucks you so good, it feels so nice, his cock was made for you. His rhythm steady, rather slow but powerful, sending you a tiny bit higher on the bed at each thrust, with one arm slid behind your back, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to hold you still enough. It's little to no effect but it drives you crazy, having him own you like that. From all those places, his dick, his thigh pressing yours higher, his hands, his mouth, his words. Bewitching, he is. Everything feels and sounds and touches him, the air you breath tastes like him.

You wish it'd last forever but it can't. Like everything that tastes that wondrous.

"Jungkook, I think- uh- gonna come." You lie because you don't think, you know you're about to come even if it's been a couple of minutes since he's started. Conveniently, the moon chooses this very moment to come out of wherever she was hiding, shining right through the only window of your suite and hitting him right in the face to bring clear light to him and to his grin, the smug grin you've only caught glimpses of. Your nails dig deeper in his flesh, he gasps lightly and bites on his lip but the smirk doesn't leave, even though it looks ridiculous with his heavy droopy gaze, his red cheeks and his heaving. He's as affected as you are. And that's that precise revelation that throws you over the edge. You mewl aloud, turned euphoric with how incredible it feels to have him keep fucking you through your orgasm, with his cock dragging along your tight, sensitive entrance with his movements.

Soon he follows. You don't exactly catch the moment, too lost in your own euphoria to decipher when his begins, but you feel the change in his thrusts, sloppy and harsher, skin slapping louder in the quiet room and once you've both bathed fully in the pleasure, came back to the now calmer, quieter Earth, you realise your ear rings with the ghost of a raw, low scream that certainly was his.

Fuck, you need to hear this again but this time with your full, undivided attention.

But another time.

Right now, you're half dead. Your hearts have just started coming down from their high. With him laying almost entirely on you. The most of his weight he safely pressed to your side but he's clinging to you, the round tip of his nose buried in your neck, hands holding you tight against him and legs intertwined with yours. Your hand has found its way to his hair, the ungodly mess, fingers gently massaging his scalp, rolling the curls in between.

"So warm..." He hums against your skin, almost purrs. You smile lazily. "Never wanna leave."

"You don't have to." It's the exhaustion that renders your filter ineffective. You know you shouldn't have said that. You know even more so when he doesn't say anything back. "For now, I mean." You don't even know how much of this is a lie. If you really were only thinking about this moment, this night or if the future you both know too well, ugly but very real just waiting its moment to play out, was also on your mind. You're too tired and concretely, fucked out, to even think properly.

"I still have four months." It's a poor consolation. You don't mean to spoil it all. After having spent such a precious, wondrous time with him, you don't want to fuck it all up but you can't help your heart from squeezing painfully in your chest, your throat from struggling to swallow down the heavy ball that's lodged up there. Jungkook senses it. You know he does by the way he holds you tighter, pressing one of those kisses, the most tender ones, at the corner of your lips. "We'll figure something out." He says with an assertion you didn't expect and don't know the origins of. Yet, you trust him and the lump in your throat decides to leave for now.

Somehow, persuaded that you and your heart are safe with him.

A/N: i can’t believe i finished this fucking monster. i need sleep. i’m sorry if it’s not super well edited, i did the 33 pages in one go and yeah. also it’s been so long since i wrote actual explicit smut, i have no idea how it turned out. 😳 let me know :)

to anyone who’s made it this far, thank you so, so, so much. you have my infinite gratefulness and i sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

i’m off to sleep, i hope you are having a wonderful day. stay safe, lots of lots of love 💜

#ksmutclub #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #ggukienet #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #bts scenario #bts fanfic #my writing #when posting will stop being so scary lmao

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wonderlustlucas · 3 years

Text

home - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.” ⇢ pairing hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 2.7k ⇢ genre fluff, kind of angsty? ⇢ warnings insinuated that this takes place during covid & that reader has some case of depression/anxiety i literally wrote her as me so like ⇢ summary In which Hyunjin shows you just how special you are.—college!au ⇢ a/n happy birthday to my love, my comfort, my home

What am I doing here?

Unfortunately, there is no one else to blame but herself for being left without plans on this Friday night. Regretfully so, she instead finds herself alone on the upper level of the business building. Scratch that, the whole building, probably – she’s been here since four, and the few students that were once alongside her left hours ago. Initially here to work on an essay, she now occupies her time bouncing between YouTube, Twitch, and Crunchyroll, watching whatever she is feeling at the moment despite Monday’s deadline looming over her.

Sighing, she looks away from a boring page of YouTube recommendations, stretches her neck, and reaches for her hot chocolate. Well, not hot anymore, she realizes with a wince after taking a sip, struggling to swallow the now cold drink. Gaze flicking to the time on the corner of her laptop, she frowns. 9:43. She considers walking home once it hits ten, the unstirred silence of the building starting to prick up her spine like needles. Home, she thinks with an amused exhale from her nose. A too small, overheated double dorm room that technically is a single now that her roommate has gone online for the rest of the semester. Home.

She wonders, briefly, if anyone were to miss her if she were to go home home. If anyone would even notice, anyway.

She wouldn’t expect them to, honestly. It’s not as if she goes out of her way to hang out with anyone, usually opting to cozy up in her room and pretend she does not see the groupchat blowing up with plans to meet at the dining hall, a study session at the library, a trip to the mall. She loves her friends, really, but can rarely find it in herself to actually participate in said friend activities. Sure, there are some nights she actually leaves the confines of her room to join them, but to be quite frank, she’s glad they have learned to simply stop inviting her. Makes the whole looking for an excuse problem a lot easier.

Besides, who would want to go out on a night like this, anyway?

Just as she has flipped to page fifty-three of The Old Man and the Sea, she looks away in boredom, instead opting to gaze out the window. Focusing past her reflection on the tall glass pane, a warm feeling she can only describe as peace seems to settle over her, watching the snow fall like moonlit glitter across campus. The snowstorm had started light when she first arrived, soft enough she could manage with her hood down, dotting her with only miniature droplets of water. Now, though, the flakes are so large she can focus on one at a time as they fly past, covering the ground with a solid two or three inches at this point. In the distance, she can spot snowplows making their rounds to clear the pathways, the route to the business building already turned slushy blue as salt melts the continuous snow.

She sighs, eyes wide like a child as she represses the urge to go outside and grab a handful of it, maybe fall onto one of the lawns and make a snow angel, stick her tongue out and try to catch one of the large flakes. Tomorrow, maybe, she thinks, looking at her grey sweatpants and deciding walking back with soaked pants in this weather would not be the best idea.

So late into March, she cannot help but chuckle at the number of students complaining about the snow and cold temperature on SnapChat, even her friends having to change their plans. She, on the other hand, finds such last chance snowstorm beautiful; sure, she was ready for spring and eventually a break from school, but watching the snow dancing under the streetlights, choreographed by the gentle wind, she thinks it’s something to hold on to, keep her grounded to reality that albeit the stress and monotony of college, such moments like these still exist.

She jumps at the sound of the front entrance slamming closed.

Who the hell? She frowns, annoyed at whoever decided now was a good time to come inside, subsequently ruining her little moment of serenity. Turning red at the thought of some raunchy couple thinking to spice things up in the presumably empty building, she considers packing her bag and heading out. But no matter which exit, they would still see her, and that would be painstakingly awkward. Maybe she could escape into one of the smaller reservation rooms, or at least make some exaggerated noise so they at least know they’re not alone.

Could just be a janitor, or maybe someone else deciding to shelter somewhere other than their dorm to buckle down and do some work, she thinks. No matter who it is and what their intentions are, her leg is already bouncing a mile a minute having gotten used to having the space to herself.

So caught up on how or when she should take her leave, she does not hear the footsteps coming up the stairs until they’re right behind her. Tensing up, she watches in the window’s reflection as the business building’s second occupant steps up onto the platform and… heads towards her. Panic setting in, she tries to decipher who it is through the blurry reflection but to no avail, heart racing at the thought of a stranger approaching her, one of her friends finding her here on a Friday night, a janitor going to ask her to leave.

She turns her head as soon as they stop beside her.

“Hyunjin?” She blurts, taken aback. This was the last person she expected to be here. Somewhat relieved but heart still beating in her throat, she blinks up at the tall boy to make sure it’s really him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he returns, pulling his mask down below his chin and smiling cheekily at her. “I went to go pick up my food and saw you in the window,” Hyunjin explains, tugging the beanie off his head and shaking his hair out, showering her in the tiny droplets. Wrinkling her nose, she takes notice of the Chipotle bag in his hand and how soaked his coat is.

“Here,” she offers, reaching for the bag. Passing it to her with a grateful smile, Hyunjin unzips his coat and sets it over a chair beside her alongside his beanie, wipes the melted snow and sweat from his eyes, and tries to fix his now mused bangs. “So, what are you doing here?” He asks while doing this, regarding her with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Work,” she sighs. Then, glancing to the screen of her laptop and realizing it’s still the home page of YouTube, she grimaces. “Trying to do work. Not really. Just watching the snow.”

“It’s a lot prettier when you’re inside,” Hyunjin comments, following her gaze to watch the frenzy of snow before taking the bag from her and offering a quiet thanks. “But I meant more why are you here?”

She isn’t quite sure what her relationship with Hyunjin is. Having been one of the many acquaintances she barely made at freshman orientation, he did not seem like the kind of person she expected to still be in her life. She wouldn’t exactly say they were close, but she considers Hyunjin a friend, she thinks. After a good month or two forgetting he existed, she randomly bumped into him at the dining hall, recognizing that unfairly attractive face of his in line for chicken nuggets and immediately falling into conversation. Turns out, he was mutual friends with her lab partner, Kim Seungmin.

She does not see Hyunjin as much as she wishes she did. She had not shared any classes with him in the past three years, and even if her friend group and his overlapped in the slightest, it was not always a given that they both would be able to hang out as much as their closer friends do. Still, there always seems to be a random occasion, such as now, where they bump into one another. Each time is a pleasant surprise, of course, and not just because of his pretty face and wide shoulders, but because he has always seemed to care for her in a way no one else does, and that in itself is enough to have her heart racing every time he comes close.

Not that she has a crush on him or anything, but it definitely is hard trying not to fall in love every time he even so much as smiles at her.

Face heating up in embarrassment at his question, she avoids looking him in the eyes and randomly minimizes the Chrome tab on her laptop. “You know,” she drones on, “just taking it easy for the night.”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, opening the lid of his burrito bowl and stabbing a fork into the layers. Even her mouth waters. “I feel like I never see you,” he contemplates, finally taking a bite. His words surprise her. “Uh, yeah,” she coughs, forcing herself to look away before she gets too enraptured over how beautiful he looks even after trekking through a snowstorm, long hair messy but falling over his face in a way that has her fingers twitching to tuck away. “I usually don’t go out with everyone. Not my scene.”

“Aw,” he coos, “I get that. Sometimes I’m the same way, I just want to relax on the weekends after working so much all week.”

Thank you!, she almost shouts, but bites her tongue. She agrees, but even she does not know why she can’t find it in herself to go out and party with everyone else. She’s just lazy, to put it simply. Nevertheless, his words put her at ease, no longer worried that he might think she’s a loser for staying in every weekend.

“Exactly,” she agrees, “parties are fun, sometimes. But I just prefer laying low. I don’t think my friends like that, though.”

Gaze finding his, her heart does somersaults at the smile he offers. “Nah,” Hyunjin says, confident, “no one thinks that. Everyone has their way of having fun. Honestly, all I’ve ever heard is your friends complaining how they miss you and that you would make going out more fun since you’re so funny.”

“Which is true, by the way,” he adds.

She feels as if she is going to combust. “Oh,” she croaks, throat dry, “um, thank you. That’s sweet of them. And you. I guess I didn’t consider that they miss me when they go out.”

Hyunjin scoffs, raising a brow but finishes chewing before speaking again. “Are you nuts? You’re so fun to be around, of course they’re going to miss you.”

“Okay, stop that,” she laughs, burning from the inside out at his compliments. “Just being honest,” he laughs, opening the bag of his tortilla chips. “Want any?”

She looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” she huffs out an airy laugh, rolling her chair closer to his. Miscalculating that he was going to move, too, she quite literally feels her blood pressure skyrocket as her knees bump into his. And he doesn’t move. “Here,” moving the bag closer to the edge of the table, Hyunjin glances at her for only a split second before focusing on his bowl again.

Reaching into the bag, she feels emboldened not only by his previous flattery, but his proximity as well, and scrambles to continue the conversation. “Why are you eating Chipotle so late?”

“Pre-birthday celebration. Also, DoorDash took forever,” Hyunjin laughs.

“When’s your birthday?” She asks, munching on a chip.

“In,” he pauses, tapping his phone, “two hours.”

Oh. “What?” She gasps, blinking at him. “What? Why aren’t you out? It’s your birthday weekend and you’re here eating Chipotle?”

“Woah, okay Miss I-Prefer-Laying-Low. Maybe I wanted to chill tonight, since tomorrow I’m going out? Hm?” Hyunjin chuckles at her scowl, pursing his lips. “Okay, yeah, I guess but—”

“No but’s,” he interrupts, the amused glint in his eyes disappearing, “I’m here now, and that’s what matters, right? I’m lucky I saw you in the window.”

“I guess,” she mutters, realizing her heart has not stopped its staccato frenzy since moving closer, “you scared me, by the way. I’ve been here alone for hours and suddenly someone is walking up to me, I think I shit my pants.”

Hyunjin bellows out a laugh, and such an airy sound momentarily leaves her awestruck. Oh, god, she’s in deep. It’s over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he giggles, battling her hand to reach for a chip. Even the touch of his long fingers against hers has the entire butterfly population roaring to life in her gut. “Look, I made up for it by gifting you chips.”

“True,” she hums, licking residue salt off her fingers before leaning back in her chair to catch a breather. Too much physical contact and emotion for one night.

“What are you doing next weekend?” Hyunjin asks, taking her by surprise. Again. She thinks she is going to faint if she isn’t able to wrap herself around him within the next fifteen seconds.

“Um,” she starts, then remembers her previous idea of going home after this week was over. “I was probably going to go home next Friday.”

“Oh,” is all Hyunjin says, seemingly disappointed. “Why?”

She grits her teeth. Why? Really? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, not even convinced herself, “I’m bored and lonely here. I love everyone here but I miss my friends at home. I might as well be slightly less bored at home.” Hyunjin frowns.

“Okay, what about this,” he starts, leaning close enough she can count his individual eyelashes and nearly smell the flavor of his lip balm, “you go out with us tomorrow night and if you have fun, you hang out with us next weekend, too. Oh, and whenever you want some company, you text me and we’ll come here or somewhere else and do homework together or just chill. How does that sound?”

All she can do is blink at him. Her initial thought is how dare he try negotiating whether I go home or not? But, there it is, again, she realizes. That extra step he takes, the genuine care he shows her, acting like her well-being is his responsibility. “You don’t have to do that, Hyunjin. I don’t want to bother you every time I feel lonely. I’ll be fine.”

“Christ, you’re dense,” rolling his eyes, Hyunjin sets his fork down, wipes his hands on his thighs, and suddenly leans in to hold her face with both hands, “I wouldn’t offer to sit around and do homework with you when you’re in need of a friend if I didn’t want to.”

Her heart is racing so fast she fears he may be able to hear the thud of it against her chest. What he’s saying is starting to sound a lot more than some friend-to-friend comfort, and it’s making her head hurt, especially with his thumbs ever so slightly swiping against her cheeks. At her silence, he starts again.

“Y/N,” he says, voice dropping an octave, “don’t go home. This is your home, too, you just don’t want it to be.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she thinks she is going to say something, but nothing comes out. There is nothing to say. Hyunjin is right, he has read her like an open book, and he’s here to offer his shoulder to lean on. “Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go out with everyone tomorrow. And I’ll try and stay here for the rest of the semester.”

“That’s my girl,” Hyunjin smiles, leaning closer and pressing a featherlight kiss to her lips. At first, it takes her by surprise. But then it all starts to make sense. The snow makes sense. Her essay makes sense. Being here makes sense. Hyunjin makes sense. His birthday makes sense. She makes sense.

Outside the glass windows, the wind starts to howl, blowing the composed ballet of snow to its final act, covering the pathways and the streetlights and the roof of the business building in perfect white glitter. Inside these windows, she realizes they would notice if she were to go home.

Why would she ever do that when her second home is right here in front of her?

297 notes · View notes

ipuckwithhockey · 3 years

Text

History Repeats Itself- B. Boeser

a/n: This somehow ended up being around 11k words, so I hope y’all enjoy it! Also, I only did a quick scan for grammar and spelling so sorry if there are errors!

summary: You and Brock met once back in college when you were still committed to your high school boyfriend. Years later you’re single and older and just starting a new job in Vancouver. The only question now is whether or not you will take the opportunity to rewrite your own history.

warnings: None that I can think of

“So, are you in or no?” Y/N’s roommate asks her as they walk out of the library and toward their dorm.

“I don’t think so Mags, I actually have some studying to catch up on.” You reply unconvincingly. Midterms of your first semester at the University of North Dakota just came to a close, and your excuse of having homework on a Friday night wasn’t convincing anyone.

“Y/N, seriously? You aced all of your midterms and we just spent three hours in the fucking library! Live a little! The hockey team is having a huge party, and the guys are really fun AND super hot! You deserve this!” Maggie tries to convince you to come out to a party that the UND Hockey team is having tonight, and you tell yourself not to give in.

“Maggie, I have a boyfriend. And you know they don’t let guys who aren’t on the team into their parties. God, it’s basically a frat.” You scoff at the idea of a frat party, but there’s still a small part of you that wants to experience the chaos of a real college party. That’s probably why it ends up being so easy for Maggie to convince you to slip into a pair of skinny jeans and a cute top before embarking on a night out.

“Y/N, this is Nick and Brock. They’re both in my econ class. Nick is a sophomore, but Brock here is a freshman like us!” Maggie happily introduces you to the two tall boys as you enter an old musty house, full to the brim with college kids. The air smells like stale alcohol and you take note that your shoes are somehow already sticky. You’re not sure if it’s from something you stepped in or if it’s just the floor in general.

“Hey, nice to meet you.” You shake Brock’s hand that he’s extended for you and you can’t help but stare a little too long, taking in his blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes.

You had to admit though, Katie was right, these guys are super hot. You can already tell your roommate has her eye on this Nick guy, and it actually looks like he might be interested in her too. He’s just her type— He’s hot and he knows it, and his dark hair and striking features draw the eyes of nearly every girl in the room. The blonde boy who stands across from you is quite honestly the opposite of Nick. Brock is also undeniably good-looking, but he’s shy and his light hair and soft smile make him seem less intimidating than his friend.

Nick finds you and Katie some drinks and some other girls you’ve become friends with show up to the party a little later. The boys come and go as they mingle with other people and their teammates, but Nick tends to stay close by to Maggie and you catch glimpses of Brock occasionally. Apparently his shyness doesn’t apply to his teammates. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch him and his friends dance together to some shitty remix of a song you used to blast on your way to school. You’re actually having a great time, but you can’t hear your phone ringing over the music that’s blaring through the house you’re in. Later, Nick offers to walk you and Maggie home after a few hours of living like a real college kid, and Brock ends up tagging along since he apparently lives in the same building.

“So, how come we haven’t met you before tonight? This one talks about you all the time.” The four of you are walking across campus and Nick has Maggie under his arm as he asks why you never seem to be with your roommate.

“She has a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to having fun.” Maggie quips as some of the alcohol she’s consumed tonight gives her the courage to openly criticize your relationship.

“Maggie.” You say in a warning tone. “He’s just not a big partier, and usually I’m not either.” You shove at her shoulder lightly. Maggie was nice and you liked being her roommate, but when you first met and told her you had followed your high school boyfriend across the country to attend a university in “North fucking Dakota” she immediately expressed how crazy she thought you were. In her eyes there was no way that a couple who started dating when they were fifteen would last forever. You disagreed, which is why you turned down your scholarship to an ivy league and followed your boyfriend to North Fucking Dakota. His family was from North Dakota, and for some reason everyone in their family had to go to school there too. At the time, you didn’t see it as giving something up, you saw it as you and your boyfriend starting a life together outside the confines of your hometown.

“So, what floor do you live on, Brock?” Maggie asks as the four of you make your way up to your building.

“I’m on 4— Room 405. What about you guys?” Brock asks back.

“We’re 219.” You say back before you’re startled as you hear another voice you’re not exactly expecting.

“Y/N! Where the hell have you been?” The group you’re with is almost to the doors of your dorm building when a perturbed voice yells for you.

“Uh- Owen. What are you doing here?” You’re surprised to see your boyfriend standing in front of you, looking like he’s seeing red. You weren’t even supposed to be seeing him at all tonight. He had told you he was going to be occupied for the evening while he was studying for his physics exam. You hadn’t told him you were going to the party, but at the time you didn’t think it was important. Owen preferred that you didn’t bother him while he was studying, so you decided against calling him before your night out.

“I’ve been calling you for like two hours— God have you been drinking?” The rest of the group you were with tonight looks uncomfortable to say the least, and you can’t blame them. Owen wasn’t the best at saving face, especially when he felt like someone hadn’t upheld the standards that he had set out for them. Now he just looked like a dad reprimanding their child, and a wave of embarrassment quickly washed over you.

“I just- We went to a party. I didn’t think you’d mind. You were supposed to be studying all night,” You say sheepishly, as you begin to regret letting Maggie convince you to go out. Before Owen can clap back again, Maggie nudges you and tells you that the three of them are going to go, not wanting to invade on your private life any longer.

When they’re gone, Owen starts again, “This just isn’t like you. I’m so disappointed.” You feel bad now, you know you haven’t done anything wrong, but Owen’s words make you feel like you have, so you tuck your tail between your legs as follow him back to his dorm and apologize for what you did.

That was almost five years ago. You dated Owen for longer than you’d like to admit but eventually you removed your rose-colored glasses and broke up with him. You graduated from UND and got a second chance at your Ivy League dreams when went to graduate school. Now, you’ve completed your masters and have been offered a promotion at you job. The only catch was that the new position required you to move to the west coast… of Canada.

You moved almost two months ago, and your raise was enough to allow you to move into a nice building downtown. Work takes up most of your time now, so you haven’t been able to explore the city as much as you would like, but you can already tell your decision to make Vancouver your new home was a good one. The laid back and easy feeling you get from this city is completely different from the big east coast metropolis you had been living in before, and even though you’re working more than ever, you feel like you can actually breathe here.

Since your breakup with Owen your senior year at UND, you’ve taken time to take back your life. You try your best not to ponder on the past anymore, and you focus on your own future. It can’t be denied that at first it was hard not to remain bitter at the idea that you had so willingly given up many things in your life, for a boy who took them too eagerly. You worked through it though and took back your life by focusing on your own goals and working on furthering your own career. The past is the past now, and you were ready to start this new life in Vancouver.

“I actually can’t believe you’re wearing that.” Elias mocks at Brock as they step out of the elevator and into the lobby of Brock’s apartment building. Brock is sporting a bucket hat, and even though he knows Elias is joking, he wonders if he shouldn’t have just left the hat sitting on his kitchen counter. The two of them are bickering back and forth about their fashion choices, and Brock almost misses you as you walk past him. Almost. He recognizes you immediately even though your hair is longer, and your face doesn’t look so much like a kid’s anymore.

“Hey, nice to meet you.” Brock extends his hand, hoping he doesn’t seem too nervous to the pretty girl he has just been introduced to. He’s a freshman, and a star on the UND hockey team, which kind of makes him North Dakotan royalty. Since starting college, he’s learned what to say and how to say it, to get a girl’s attention, but he’s not the overly confident guy that his friend, Nick is. Nick lays it on thick and loves the attention he gets. Brock likes it, it’s fun, but he’s more laid back, and not as worried about getting the girl. He just likes to have a good time with his friends and doesn’t really need all of the extra attention.

He would however like to have your attention. He makes some friendly conversation with you over the course of the night, but you stick close to your girlfriends, and he can’t tell if you’re not interested or if you just aren’t catching what he’s putting down.

Later that night, when Nick tells Brock that he is going to walk you and your roommate home, he’s quick to tag along. Even though he lives in the same building, he probably would have stayed at the party a little longer if you hadn’t been going with them. On the walk across campus, the four of you make some small talk, and Brock knows that Nick definitely thinks he’s getting laid tonight.

Brock can’t help but hope that Nick getting laid will mean you will need a hideout for a couple hours while your roommate occupies your shared room. Even though he’d happily accept it, he doesn’t think he’ll be getting laid. Brock just hopes that he’ll have some time to get to know you a little bit better, maybe get your number, and then eventually ask you out. It’s right then that Nick asks why they’ve never met you.

“She has a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to having fun.” Maggie replies, and Brock can’t help but be disappointed. You had a boyfriend. So it wasn’t that you weren’t interested, well it was, but it was only because you were already taken. Maybe you had even caught on to his light flirting, and he can’t help but think how embarrassing that is.

This embarrassment honestly wasn’t as bad as what was to come next. Brock isn’t sure if his secondhand embarrassment is worse than the embarrassment that you’re probably feeling as the guy, who is presumably your boyfriend, yells at you for going to a party. He can tell that you’re trying to play it cool, you’re definitely uncomfortable with scene that is unfolding. Brock isn’t sure what to do, and him and Nick exchange a few quick glances as to say, “what the fuck?” And next, he’s incredibly thankful that Maggie steps in to tell you that they’re going to head into the building.

“What the fuck was that?” Nick asks as the three of them get out of earshot from you and Owen.

“Meet Owen, the illustrious high school boyfriend.” Maggie’s sarcasm is clear, and Brock is surprised that someone who seems so sweet could be dating a guy like that.

That hockey party his first semester at UND was the last time Brock spoke to you. He left after his sophomore year when he signed with the Canucks and before he left, when he would see you on campus, you were usually with the jerk he only briefly encountered that first night. When you would pass him in the hallway of your dorm or even around campus you would usually avoid meeting his eye or offer one of those awkward tight-lipped smiles. Brock would always smile back, and he would wonder if you were actually happy with that guy, and occasionally he would tell himself that he could make you happier.

You felt bad as you essentially avoided him for the first few weeks after that party, but it got easier as time went on. The two of you barely knew each other, but for some reason every time that you did pass him, you were still enamored by his kind eyes and generous smile that only made you feel worse for avoiding him. Over time your friends, like Maggie, would eventually fall to the waste side too as your boyfriend continued to control your life. Maggie stopped asking you to hang out and when you moved in with Owen after your freshman year, you basically lost all connection with her. Everyone probably thought that you were a massive bitch because they perceived your actions as you choosing your boyfriend over them. They weren’t wrong, but you didn’t know at the time, that your priorities were extremely misguided.

Brock’s little crush was soon forgotten when he dove headfirst into the NHL. He was busy trying to establish himself in the league, and he found himself in a few lackluster relationships that usually ended in a mutual agreement that it just wasn’t working. He was a good guy, and even though he wasn’t a saint, he preferred to get to know a girl and take her to dinner before anything else. The girls he dated usually fell pretty hard for him. He’s unmistakably attractive and his endearing personality make him incredibly charming. They knew that they couldn’t hold on to him forever and that he didn’t want to hurt them, so they let him go and hoped that they would find another guy that was half as good.

Seeing you now is like a breath of fresh air for Brock; his little crush immediately rising to the surface after being buried away for so long.

“Y/N?” Brock lightly touches you on your arm to get your attention. You’re lost in the email you’re replying to on your phone, and you’re more than surprised when you turn to see the same light blue eyes that you met your freshman year of college.

“Brock?” It’s the only thing that your brain can formulate right now. Brock Boeser is probably the only person you know in Vancouver and yet he’s standing in front of you right now. You haven’t seen or spoken to him in years, and you can’t believe that he even remembers you.

“Hey, I thought that was you.” Brock says, as Elias notices the big smile that’s plastered across his friend’s face. “What are you doing in Vancouver?” Brock asks, wondering how a girl from the east coast who went to school in North Dakota, somehow ended up in Vancouver.

“I um- I live here. I just moved for my job a couple months ago,” You tell him.

“Oh, no way! Vancouver’s great, I’m sure you’ll love it here.” He replies, still taking in the fact that you’re standing in front of him.

“Yeah, I like it so far,” you say. “Do you live here? – Or I guess, in the building?” You ask. You know that he lives in Vancouver, you’re aware of his hockey career, but you’ve lived here for a couple months and have never seen him around.

“Yeah, I’ve been back in Minnesota for most of the summer, so I just got back a couple days ago.” He tells you. You never really put much thought into where athletes go after their season ends, but it makes sense that they would go back to wherever they call home.

Elias nudges Brock to remind him that he’s still standing awkwardly beside him. “Oh, this is Petey,” Brock turns to introduce you to his friend that you already recognize, “It’s Elias, nice to meet you.” Elias says as he offers his hand to you.

“Yeah, I know.” You let out a light laugh and think about all of the Vancouver Canucks posters you’ve seen him on throughout the city. You’ve seen posters of Brock too, but you barely even know the guy, so it’s never really struck you as anything out of the ordinary.

“Are you a Canucks fan?” Elias asks.

You laugh a little, “Oh, no. I don’t follow hockey or really any sports, but everyone at work does, so I’ve been trying to learn a bit about it to keep up with the water cooler conversations.” You laugh again because it’s true. You’ve never really been tuned into sports, but your new office is basically all men, and they’re all huge Canucks fans, so your google searches of the team’s stats and roster have helped you become familiar with the team before their season starts.

“Well, you’ll have to come to a game some time.” Brock tells you.

“Um yeah. Maybe.” You offer back, mentally debating on if that would ever actually happen, but knowing that he’s only being polite. “I um- I’ve actually got to go, but it was great running into you.” You smile, and say goodbye to the two blonde boys and make your way up to your apartment.

Brock Boeser lives in your building. Again. You laugh, thinking about how funny it is that history is repeating itself. He’s just as cute as he was the first time you met, but the truth is you barely know each other, and you’re sure he remembers that you were probably a massive bitch in college who avoided him at all costs. You don’t let the thought of him linger too long and push it to the side to get on the realities of your life instead of continuing to mull over the past.

Over the next month or so, you continue to run into Brock in the elevator or in the lobby of your building. He always says hi and greets you with the same sweet smile. You make polite conversation and he’s so charming sometimes that it makes you blush. It starts off with awkward hellos and goodbyes, then you start to make small talk, and soon enough conversation between the two of you becomes pretty effortless. His little jokes are usually so dumb, but they make you laugh and you truly appreciate that he’s always so nice. You start to open up a bit more and aren’t as hesitant when he asks you innocent questions about your life.

You got to meet Coolie and Milo the other day, and Brock says that they are particularly fond of you. They both seem to be the sweetest dogs in the world, so you’re sure they’re just as good for everyone else. You see them ever so often when Brock takes them on walks around town, and he loves the way your eyes light up when you see his furry kids.

Brock usually asks you how work is going, even though your advanced corporate job goes way over his head, and you ask him about hockey, which you also have little to no knowledge of. You both usually give short and uninteresting answers like “great” or “it’s going.” Then, just as Brock is trying to find more ways to get to know you, you tell him that you’ve been trying to educate yourself more on hockey. You explain that you primarily work with men, and these men happen to be very keyed in on the sport and particularly on the Vancouver Canucks. Now, every time he sees you, he asks you what you’ve learned.

Your conversations are still fairly short, but you tell him when you’ve finally learned all of the NHL team names, and understand each of the hockey positions. You explain some of the penalties and you’re pretty proud of yourself when your explanation of offsides gets an approval. When he asks you who you’ve decided your favorite player is, you tell him you like “that Boeser kid,” but not as much as you like Elias Pettersson. This gets a big laugh from him, and he tells you he doesn’t disagree with your analysis. This is a turning point for the two of you. Brock can tell that you’re becoming more comfortable with him, and he likes seeing this lighter side of you.

One day when you pass him in the parking lot, he’s on his way to a game, dressed in suit, but with a beanie on his head. You’ve seen him like this a number of times before, and you really don’t understand why he insists on covering up his beautiful hair with various hats. You also don’t mind admiring how good he looks in his game day apparel. He’s good looking, and it’s not a crime to admire that.

As you walk toward each other in the parking lot he calls out to you, “Hey, you learn anything new this week?” You laugh, because he usually starts the conversation like this, asking if you’ve studied up or done your homework.

“Actually, I have a question for you.” You tell him as you come up, stopping before you would pass each other.

“Okay, shoot.” He says.

“Well, that’s actually your job, but my question has to do with goalie interference. I just don’t really understand it. I was trying to find videos of calls during games, but all of the calls seem kind of inconsistent.” You tell him, and he laughs at your shooting joke, leaving you feeling proud for a moment. He’s also laughing because you’re right. No one fucking knows what goalie interference is.

“Yeah, I’m not even sure what goalie interference is half the time. But if you figure it out let me know!” He answers. You laugh, and the two of you begin to part ways.

Before he makes it to his car you shout back, “Oh, Good luck tonight!”

He smiles and thanks you before opening his car door and on his way to the rink he thinks about all of the little conversations the two of you have had over the course of last couple of months. His crush has only continued to grow, and Elias keeps nagging him to ask you out, but he’s not even sure if you’re single. With his luck, you’re probably married to that asshole from college, although he hasn’t noticed you with anyone and he hasn’t seen a ring on your finger.

After that night Brock decided he needed to figure out if you were single or not, so that he could move on from his infatuation with you instead of wasting his time pining over a girl who was already taken. You’re always polite, and more recently you’ve become more and more comfortable joking and bantering with him, but sometimes you give him a look like you’re not sure what to say.

That look is the look you get when you contemplate how you got here. Years ago, you couldn’t have fathomed having a simple conversation with Brock, but now you see him on a regular basis and make conversation like you’ve been friends for years. You appreciate his willingness to talk with you, and you enjoy your interactions more and more every day.

Brock knows that on Sunday morning you usually go for a walk down to the coffee shop on the corner, so today he grabs Coolie and Milo and heads for the door, hoping he’ll be lucky enough to run into you. He makes it all the way to the coffee shop without seeing you and he’s praying that when he opens the door to the store that you’ll be waiting inside.

No such luck.

When he doesn’t see you standing inside, he decides he should at least buy a coffee instead of awkwardly walking out. After he picks up his drink he walks across the street to the park so that Coolie and Milo can get some exercise. For some reason, the gods are on his side today, and a few minutes into his walk he sees you sitting on a bench under a tree, reading a book.

He doesn’t get to secretly admire how pretty you look sitting there, with the sun streaming down through the limbs of the trees, because Milo and Coolie have spotted you and are actively dragging him in your direction. You’re stirred from your reading and when you look up you see two big fur balls running toward you, their owner not far behind them.

“Hey! Sorry about them.” Brock apologizes as he tries to calm the dogs down. You’re laughing and smiling because Coolie has jumped up on the bench beside you. Brock tells them to get down as they continue to try and jump for your attention, and they eventually settle at his side.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind at all. I feel the same way when I see them,” you say, and it gets a light chuckle from Brock. He loves that you get so excited to see them and he cherishes the way your eyes light up when you reach down to pet them. He’s not sure what to say now, and before the silence gets too awkward you ask him if he wants to sit while motioning to the spot next to you. He gladly accepts your offer, and he sits down next to you.

“What are you reading?” He asks, attempting to facilitate some conversation.

You turn over the book in your hand so that he can see the cover, “It’s called Normal People.” You say before giving him a brief description. You also tell him it’s a series on Hulu and he says he’ll opt to watch that instead of reading the book, earning another laugh from you.

“So, did you leave the boyfriend behind or did you bring him with you?” He asks referring to some of the plot points of the book you had described to him. The question surprises you because one, there wasn’t a boyfriend, and two, why would Brock think there was a boyfriend? Your mind works fast enough to figure he might think that you’re still with Owen, but over the last couple months you don’t think you’ve given him any reason to think you would still be with him.

“Neither I guess. I didn’t have a boyfriend to leave or bring.” You answer, looking over at Brock. You’re sure you almost hear what sounds like a sigh of relief from him, but it happened too quickly to tell.

“I guess you and that guy from college didn’t work out?” Brock asks cautiously. He’s trying not to seem too eager, but he’s dying to know what ever happened between you and that jerk.

You let out a light laugh as you think back to your previous relationship, “No, it definitely didn’t work out.” You say back. “We were obviously super young; we started dating when we were fifteen,” you sigh. “Anyway, I think it just took some time to realize I wasn’t going to marry a guy I thought was cute in my 9th grade biology class. We just didn’t have anything in common anymore. And he turned out to be a total jerk.” It feels surprisingly easy talking to Brock about this. You’ve felt so much shame and embarrassment for staying with this guy from high school for so long, but Brock’s eyes don’t convey any judgement or reason to feel ashamed.

After that you gracefully shift the conversation to Brock’s love life. It was only fair, and when you asked him if he had a special lady- or man in his life, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. It isn’t because you asked him if he was perhaps seeing a man, but because he was just so flustered by you and your questioning of his love life at all.

“Nope. No ladies... Or men for that matter.” He says with a little laugh.

“Really? A star hockey player like you doesn’t have girls lined up waiting for their chance to be with you?” You tease, as you can see, he’s still blushing a bit. You don’t think much of it, other than that he’s probably just shy about those things, but you don’t really feel too bad about teasing him. He continues to convince you that there aren’t any other ladies in his life, and eventually the topic of conversation is forgotten.

Brock walks back to the apartment building with you, and when you get in the elevator you remember that you’re going to be attending a Canucks game next week, “I almost forgot! I’m going to the Preds game next week!” You tell him, and his expression lights up hearing you say that you’ll be attending one of his games. “Some of the guys from work invited me to go with them. I think I’ve really won them over with my new hockey knowledge,” You tell him proudly.

Some of the guys from work who are particularly invested in the hockey team invited you to come with them to a game, and you happily accepted the invitation. You had proven yourself to them as a colleague and now as a hockey fan too.

“I guess we’ll have to get a win for you guys.” Brock replies confidently. The Canucks have had a great record lately and it looks like their winning streak is just getting started. “You better!” You say before the elevator stops on your floor and you tell him you’ll see him later, leaving Brock to think about everything he’s learned about you that morning.

It’s Thursday, and this week has been hell.

Sadly, you’re used to dedicating most of your time to work, but this week has been a total shit show, for lack of better words. A big account you’ve been working on decided at the last minute that they wanted something completely different, causing you and your team to have to work some crazy hours this week. By Thursday you’re practically a zombie due to your lack of sleep. The hours you have spent at home have been minimal, as you’ve gotten home past ten almost every night this week, and you leave in the morning again before 7.

The guys on your team have all been working crazy hours too, but you’ve been taking the lead on this campaign, so you’ve made sure to be there early and late every single day. They can tell you’re just about out of gas, and they send you home early, telling you to rest up for the big presentation tomorrow. You try to argue, but they’re right, you need a break. You surrender and head home after stopping to get some takeout, knowing that your fridge at home is starkly empty.

“Ms.Y/L/N, I’ve got a package for you.” Paul, the concierge of your building tells you as you pass him on your way to the elevators. You haven’t made any online purchases as of late, and you don’t remember anyone telling you they were sending you anything. Still, you wait patiently as he goes to the back room to grab it. When Paul returns he’s holding a decent sized shopping bag. You’re not sure what it could be, but you take the bag and thank him, too focused on getting up to your apartment and out of your work pants.

As soon as the door to your apartment is closed behind you, you drop your bags onto the kitchen counter and slip out of your dress pants. Your bra follows shortly, and you settle into your couch with your take out. The rest of your evening is spent lounging on the couch, catching up on your shitty reality tv shows and taking a break from work. When you look down at your phone and see that it’s only 8:30 you tell yourself it’s too early to go to bed, but you’re exhausted and you bed is calling to you. As you gather your dishes and clean up your kitchen you’re reminded of the package you picked up on your way in.

The bag is still sitting on the counter where you left it a few hours ago. You take a minute to think about what it could be or who it could be from, but nothing comes to mind. When you open the bag all you see is some blue fabric. It feels like clothes, so you dump it over on to your counter and come to find that the bag is full of what looks like Vancouver Canucks gear. You’re in surprised to say the least. There are multiple pieces of clothing laying in front of you, and you’re sure it’s at least a few hundred dollars worth of apparel. There’s a note too, but you choose to look through the other contents first.

First off, there’s a navy blue hoodie with the classic Cancuks logo. There are two t-shirts, one has the Canucks throwback logo on it and the other has the pride logo printed on the front. You smile at that, knowing that he obviously knew you would like that one. Next, is a Canucks beanie with a pompom on the top. Finally, you unfold a royal blue jersey. You’re expecting to see a number six on the back but instead your eyes land on the number 40. You can’t help but feel a little sad for a minute, knowing he didn’t get you a jersey with his number on it.

Alas, you unfold the piece of paper that was sitting in the bottom of the bag and it reads:

I figured you might need some gear for the game Saturday. I hope everything fits okay.

If you ever need anything I’m Apt. 859, *his phone number*

-Brock

P.S. Petey insisted that I include his jersey since he’s “your favorite.”

You don’t feel as bad about it not being a Boeser jersey now, and you use a magnet to hang the note up on your fridge before folding your new gear and heading to bed, grinning ear to ear.

Your presentation goes off without a hitch the next day and you and your coworkers are ready to let loose a bit for the Cancuks game the following evening. You meet up with them at a bar that’s not far from the arena, and you grab a round of drinks before you head into the game. The four co-workers you meet up with take note of your Pettersson jersey, and you smile, satisfied with their praises. A couple of them are sporting jerseys too, one with Horvat and the other with a Boeser. You don’t mention that you know the guy who actually wears number 6, and when he scores the game winning goal you cheer just as loud as everyone else, but secretly you’d like to think it was because he knew you were there in the stands.

When you get home after the game you shoot Brock a quick text.

You: nice goal tonight! i think this pettersson jersey is lucky! (10:54pm)

You: this is y/n btw (10:54pm)

You’re not sure if he’ll reply so you set your phone down and start to go through your nightly routine. A few minutes later you hear your phone buzz from your night stand.

Brock: petey didn’t even score tonight and you’re still talking about him? maybe i’ll just take that jersey back (11:01pm)

You: hey, no take backs. but it was a very nice goal! (11:03pm)

Brock: how was your first game? (11:07pm)

You: my second favorite player scored, my team won, and my co-workers were impressed with my vast hockey knowledge so i’d say it went pretty well! (11:13pm)

You spend some time debating on how to word your message, not wanting to send a reply too fast, and not wanting to seem to flirty, but you still let yourself tease him a little bit more before hitting send.

Brock: HAHA. very funny. (11:14pm)

Brock: i’m glad you had a good time. (11:14pm)

Brock: we’ll have to get you to more games. it looks like you might be good luck. (11:15pm)

Sunday morning is your time to relax. You try not to do any work and opt to take some time for yourself. This can take many forms, like lounging around the house or even reorganizing your bathroom. Today you opt for baking. You bake a couple dozen brownies and place them in a container before slipping on some shoes to head up a few floors.

You hadn’t given it much thought until you were standing outside of his apartment door, but the two really only interact in the hallways or elevator and you’ve never been to each other’s apartments. The brownies in your hand are probably getting colder by the minute, and you know they taste the best when they’re still warm so you convince yourself to bring your knuckles to the door.

The person who answers the door isn’t Brock. The boy who answers is shorter and has dark hair. You recognize him as Quinn Hughes. Brock told you once that they call him huggy bear, but you’re not totally sure you know why.

“Uh-“ There aren’t words coming out of his mouth, it’s more like an awkward sound that you think it is meant to convey some sort of confusion.

“Um, Is Brock here?” You ask, offering a smile to the boy in front of you.

“Oh, yeah. Um, come on in.” Quinn doesn’t really know if he should be letting someone into his friends apartment, but Brock made him answer the door so he didn’t feel so bad about inviting a stranger in.

You walk through the door and take in Brock’s home. It’s similar to yours, but slightly bigger. He lives on a different side of the building so the windows are slightly different too. You follow Quinn into the living room where you see Elias and Brock and Jake Virtanen sitting on the couch playing video games. The dogs notice you first as you walk in and Quinn nudges Brock telling him someone is here for him before he turns around to see you.

“Y/N! To what do we owe the pleasure?” He asks as he stands from the couch.

“I uh, I just wanted to bring you these. I figured it’s the least I could do since you got me that lucky Pettersson jersey.” He lets out a solid laugh at that. You liked it when he laughed like that. He lets his head hang back and his hand rests on his stomach.

“Well thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.” He says as you hand him the box of brownies. He walks over to the kitchen counter and pulls the lid off. The smell of freshly baked brownies starts to fill the room, and the other boys are at the counter before you know it.

“Oh shit. Those look good.” Jake says as he eyes the baked goods.

The boys are quiet for the next couple minutes except for some humming and “yum” sounds that escape between bites. A couple dozen brownies is apparently no match for four hockey players. You swear half the box vanishes in front of your eyes as they compliment you on your baking abilities. You mentally thank your mom for the perfected family recipe that you practically have memorized. They make friendly conversation, besides Quinn who has remained rather quiet, except for offering a few side comments or sounds of agreement. Eventually Elias asks you more about how your first game hockey game went.

Elias is observant and incredibly well spoken, and he’s making what could have been an awkward situation a very pleasant one. He guides most of the conversation as Brock becomes more comfortable with the dynamic of you being there with his other friends. It’s cute how close Brock and Elias are. Even just standing in the kitchen you can tell the two of them have a bond that’s different than the ones between the other boys. Brock is sometimes shy and blushy when the two of you talk, but with his friends he’s more bold and sure of himself.

The small talk is getting thin, and you’re about to politely end the conversation and tell them you should go when Jake asks how you and Brock know each other. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do, and you look at Brock who is standing next to you. Before you can decide how to answer Brock replies simply, “We went to UND together back in the day.”

“I guess we don’t really know each other very well, but we had some mutual friends.” You try to add and clarify.

“Oh cool,” Jake replies, not really giving it much thought. “So are you liking the city so far?” he asks.

“I like it a lot , I just haven’t had a lot of free time outside of work to explore. But, my co-workers finally like me since I know all about hockey now, and the one girl in our office is my best and only friend!” You laugh at yourself a bit, because you know it sounds a little sad that you’re a young twenty-something with zero signs of a social life. It earns some laughs from the guys too.

“You should come out with us next weekend, you gotta experience Vancouver’s night life! Plus, we’re celebrating my dog’s birthday!” Jake exclaims, and you can see Elias rolling his eyes and Brock and Quinn are both laughing while shaking their heads.

You look between the boys, a bit confused, “Your what? Your dog’s birthday?”

Jake laughs too when you seem so confused about it, “It seemed like a good excuse to go out. Gotta keep it loose, ya know?” He seems serious about this and you can’t help but laugh. The guys explain that they don’t get out too often during the season, and some of them don’t even like going out, but sometimes it’s good to just let loose with the boys. Jake is one who particularly enjoys a good night out, and so occasionally when the boys haven’t frequented a bar in a while, he comes up with “reasons to celebrate.” Elias sounds like a dad when he says that they all just go along with it to make Jake happy, and Jake looks like a little kid when he rolls his eyes at them. He’s also quick to make the point that they always end up having a good time.

“You obviously don’t have to come, but I think it’ll be fun, and you should bring your friend. Her name’s Jade, right?” You’ve talked to Brock about Jade a couple times in the past, but you didn’t really think he would have listened that intently or that he would remember your co-workers name. It’s nice knowing that he does.

“Yeah, it’s Jade. I guess I could ask her if she’s free and let you know.” You tell him, still contemplating if you even want to go out to some busy club on a Saturday night.

“So, uh— What are you doing this weekend?” You ask Jade, your co-worker as you walk into her office. She’s the only other girl in your office, and you’ve become good friends over the last few months. Her dark hair and dark features match her bold and strong personality. Jade constantly bugs you to get out more, especially on the weekends, but you usually curb her requests saying that you’re still getting settled into the new city. This excuse was wearing thin since you’ve been here almost four months now, and you knew you would have to give in to her requests soon. Instead, you’ve opted to invite her to go out with Brock and his friends this weekend. Or rather, pray she would go with you because there was no way you were going alone.

“I don’t know, probably nothing because my friend is a loner who doesn’t ever leave her house.” Jade looks over at you with a knowing expression causing you to roll your eyes.

“Your loner friend actually wanted to ask you if you wanted to go out this weekend.” You say mimicking her cadence. “That guy from college who lives in my building is celebrating his friend’s dog’s birthday, so him and some of their friends are all going out.” When you explain why Brock’s friends are going out you realize again just how ridiculous it sounds, and you know it’s not really why they’re going to a bar to get hammered, but you relay the information anyway.

You told Jade about “the guy from college” that you had run into in your apartment building, but you didn’t tell her that the guy was Brock Boeser. You were sure she knew who he was, even if she wasn’t shy with her discontent with sports. She’s just not a sports person, but anyone in Vancouver would immediately recognize the name of one of their biggest players. All you told her was that you had gone to UND together and that you had never really been friends, just that you had mutual friends.

She never asked more about who he was, but she did ask if he was cute. You couldn’t lie, it would be sinful to do so about a man who was as good looking as Brock, so you told her the truth. You also told her how good of a guy he was and that he never hesitates to start a conversation with you. Since then, she has asked for regular updates on your interactions together. Even though you withheld some crucial information, you still told her about how he liked talking about hockey and that he had gotten you some Canucks gear to wear to the game. When you told her about that she insisted that he liked you, and part of you wanted to believe that, but another part of you knew that you and Brock still barely knew each other.

He seems really sweet, but you can’t help but feel like he still has plenty of girls vying for his attention. Girls who are prettier and smarter and nicer than you. When you think back to those brief interactions with him it still gives you a feeling of anxiety. It’s the kind of anxiety that you get when you remember something embarrassing you did as a kid or when you’re trying to fall asleep and you remember that you said “you too” to the barista who said “come again!” Either way, you weren’t convinced that your limited interactions warranted any feelings on either of your parts, so you continued to try to suppress your growing feelings for him.

Luckily, Jade was happy to oblige your request of going out. She asked if your friend had any cute single friends, and while you weren’t quite sure if they were single, you said yes figuring that one of them had to be.

“Y/N, It’s me!” You hear Jade come in through your apartment door that you had left unlocked for her. It’s Saturday night and you’re getting ready to go out with Brock and his teammates. You still haven’t told Jade who he is, and you’re hoping she doesn’t freak out when she finds out.

“I’m in my closet!” You shout back to Jade as she makes her way through your apartment. She finds you sitting inside your walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear, “I’m having a crisis. I have no idea what I should wear.” You look over at her precisely curated outfit that’s perfect for a night out. She looks hot and it’s just enough to not be overdone. He hair is flawlessly sleek and her make up looks like an artist painted it on.

“Stop moping. You’re just nervous because he’s cute and you like him. Go make us some drinks and I’ll pick out your outfit.” You don’t put up a fight, knowing that she’ll probably be able to piece together a great ensemble that you never would have thought of. Your strengths were probably better suited for making cocktails anyway, so you go to the kitchen and whip up a couple of drinks.

On your way back to your room you turn on your “going out” playlist that hasn’t been touched in ages, and when the first drop of alcohol touches your tongue you automatically feel less anxious. She’s right, you totally have a crush on this guy, and you’re super nervous about going out with him and his friends. What’s worse, is that this was pretty much a pity invite, and him and his friends feel bad that you don’t know anyone else in the city.

Brock’s night was going somewhat similarly to yours. When Elias got to his apartment for the pregame he found Brock standing in only his boxers with a pile of clothes covering his closet floor. Elias couldn’t help but laugh at him. He hasn’t seen Brock act this way about a girl in a long time. Come to think of it, he’s not even sure if he’s ever seen Brock act like this. Brock was sensitive, but he wasn’t anxious like this. He wouldn’t get tied up in things like what to wear or what to say to a girl. He did however, have the issue of falling way too hard way too fast, ending up in situations where girls left him after they got what they wanted. Over the years he’s learned how to guard his heart a bit better, and his friends, Elias especially, were always there to protect him.

Elias likes you. He liked you the minute he met you. He was intuitive and was a good judge of character, which made him and Brock a good pair. Brock has a tendency to trust a little too much, but now Elias is there to help guide him toward the right people. When Brock introduced you to Elias, he could immediately tell that you were a good person. He could see it in your eyes, and in your genuine appreciation that Brock would recognize and say hello to you. Elias liked that you were sprightly enough to make a joke about knowing who he was. Most of all, he liked how Brock talked about you. Elias immediately recognizes when Brock has had a conversation with you before practice or a game. He comes in with a little pep in his step, that causes some of the guys to question if he got laid the night before, but now Elias recognizes that he must have seen you on his way to work. Brock gushes about your interactions and about how cute you are when you explain the hockey things you learn. The day that you told him Elias was your favorite player Brock was so excited to tell him. He wasn’t even mad, he just loved how light hearted willing to joke around you were.

Brock occasionally thinks back on the times he saw you after that first night at UND. He thinks about what would have happened if your boyfriend hadn’t been waiting for you outside of your dorm. It’s not that he thinks he would have gotten lucky or that you would have cheated on your boyfriend with him, it’s just that maybe if you had had a bit more time to get to know each other you could have at least become friends. And maybe that friendship could have grown into something more and you would have broken up with that asshole to be with him. Brock thinks about what could have been, but he also knows that hindsight is 20/20. He doesn’t consider himself a superstitious guy, but he can’t help but think that you came to Vancouver for a reason.

When your wardrobe crisis has been averted, you’re fully dressed in skinny jeans and a cute top that’s revealing enough but doesn’t exactly come right out and say “I want to have your babies right now.” (That’s how Jade described it, anyway.) The two of you have had a round of drinks and you decide that it’s probably an appropriate time to head up to Brock’s. You didn’t want to get there too early and be the only ones there, so you made Jade wait it out in your apartment until it was at least thirty minutes after the time he had said to come.

Brock texted you letting you know the door was unlocked, and when you get out of the elevator you can already hear music playing from behind his door. “I can already feel it. This is going to be fun!” Jade tells you excitedly as you reach out for the doorknob. You laugh thinking about how she has no idea she’s about to be drinking with a bunch of professional hockey players for the night.

When you open the door you see some of the guys you’ve met mulling about, most of them with drinks in their hands. Brock comes up to you almost immediately. Without even thinking he wraps you in a hug, and it feels so natural even though you’ve never had any sort of physical interaction with him. Your suspicions were right, he gives the best hugs, and you wish that you could stand there in his warm arms forever, but it only lasts a second before he’s pulling away and turning his attention to your friend who looks likes she’s surprised to see Brock Boeser hugging her coworker and Elias Pettersson coming up behind him to say hello.

“Okay, you didn’t tell me that “your friend” was Brock fucking Boeser.” She doesn’t even try to whisper it, and it’s kind of what you love about her. She just expresses herself freely, and it’s honestly so funny when she says it. It has Brock’s head falling back as he lets out a laugh.

Brock and Elias introduce you and Jade to the other guys who are in the apartment. There are a couple girlfriends among them and even though they all look like they just walked out of an instagram ad, they all seem genuinely nice and aren’t nearly as intimidating as you thought they would be. You don’t get too much time to mingle before Jake informs the group that the “birthday party” is ready to move to the bars, followed by packing into various Ubers.

When you’re all at the bar, a few other guys show up, some single and definitely ready to mingle, but to your surprise some have even brought their wives. The drinks are flowing and you’re actually having fun. You notice that Jade and Jake have spent a lot of time talking, and he offers to get her a drink before they head off to the bar. You laugh, and shake your head as she turns back to give you wink before heading off with the hockey player.

You turn your attention back to the guys standing around the table, when one of them asks you, “So, how do you two know each other? I feel like somebody said you went to UND?” It’s Brandon Sutter, you didn’t recognize him when Brock first introduced you, seeing as most of the photos you’ve seen of him include a hockey helmet covering most of his face. It’s probably the alcohol— no, it’s definitely the alcohol that has you responding to his question, “Yeah, we went to UND together, but we didn’t really hang out or anything, I think everyone just thought I was massive bitch.” You laugh, but you can see some confusion setting in on Brock’s expression. Brandon laughs too, not thinking much of what you said.

“What do you mean?” Brock asks. He never thought of you that way back in college. He knew that guy you dated was jerk. He dimmed your light, and that wasn’t your fault.

“I don’t know, I just figured you guys all thought I was kind of a bitch because I just hung out with my boyfriend all the time.” You don’t really know what else to say, thinking back to those days where you would follow Owen around like a lost puppy.

“I don’t think anybody thought that, we just thought your boyfriend was dick.” He says, and before you can say anything else he adds, “No offense. He just didn’t seem like he treated you very well. That night he yelled at you in front of the dorm when he found out you went to our party left a pretty bitter taste in my mouth.”

“Sounds like a dick, to me.” Quinn says matter-of-factly. You’re sure it’s the alcohol for him too, he’s been more talkative in the last hour than he has been in the two other times you’ve seen him.

“Yeah, he was.” You answer back.

“So I guess you’re not still dating this guy, are you?” Brandon asks. You can feel sets of eyes all resting on you now, like you’re about to reveal a big secret.

“No no, we broke up right before senior year of college. I dated a little in grad school, but when I found out I was moving to Canada I didn’t really bother with trying to find boyfriend.” You tell them, as they nod in response.

The rest of the night isn’t as serious. Jade and Jake tear up the dance floor, and when she nudges you to signal she’s leaving with him you tell her to wrap before she taps it, earning a laugh and wave goodbye. Brock stays by your side the entire night, neither of you wanting to join the others dancing. His arm stays perched on the back of the booth you’re in, while you listen to JT tell some elaborate story from their recent road trip.

When Brock sees you yawn for the third time in a row he asks if you’re ready to head home. “Yeah, I’m tired. I’ll probably just head home soon.” You think he might offer to go back with you, but you don’t want to assume. Instead of yelling over the loud music he just nods and pulls out his phone. He tells the boys that you’re both heading out and they all say goodbye before Brock nudges you out of the booth.

On the car ride home he asks you what you thought of the boys, laughing when your first response is that there are just so many of them. “It’s like trying to keep track of puppies. They’re there one second and then they’re off doing something else the next,” You laugh at yourself thinking about how many of them probably have undiagnosed ADHD, or maybe some of them are diagnosed. “But it’s cute, you guys are like a little family.” This earns one of those genuine Brock Boeser smiles. He’s proud of his little family. He loves them all, and he’s glad that you like them because he can tell they like you too.

That night out leads to a few more texts back and forth, and eventually to full on conversations that go one for days at a time. One night he asked what you were doing and you told him you were going to watch the Battle of Alberta game. You had heard a lot about this rivalry since you embarked on your hockey education, and you figured you should see what all the hype was about. To your surprise, Brock asked if he could join you, and the two you spent the night watching hockey from your couch.

You hadn’t watched a game this intense before, and when Matthew Tkachuk drops his gloves to fight Zack Kassian, Brock can tell you’re on edge. You knew there were fights in hockey, and you had watched a few clips on youtube, but it seemed more real watching it in realtime. You wondered what it would be like to see something like that in person. As the two players are ushered off the ice, you can’t help but wonder if Brock would ever find himself in a situation like that, and when you ask him if he ever fights during games he chuckles a bit before he answers, “No, I’m not really the fighting type. I think it’s better for everyone if I leave that up to guys like Zack and Jordie.”

You’re not totally convinced by this, and you don’t like that the thought of Brock in a fight makes you feel so sick. He can sense your hesitation and he wants to try to ease your mind, “When fights like that break out, it’s usually because both players have agreed to it. You can see that they’re talking right before, they’re asking each other if they want to do it.” He narrates as the fight replays on your TV. “Occasionally someone will still throw a punch even if the other guy says no, but that’s not common. It’s kind of an unspoken rule that you have to stand up for your team, so most guys who are asked will fight, but I’m not usually the guy in that position. I haven’t fought once in the NHL, and I plan to keep it that way. I’d get rag-dolled by both of those guys.” He says pointing back to where the players now sit in their respective boxes.

It’s nice to know that Brock hasn’t fought anyone before, but you still worry about him getting hurt. What if he was the one who got caught by a bad hit? You can’t keep thinking about things you can’t control, so you try your best to shift your attention back to the game.

You and Brock find yourselves in each others apartments more often after that. The two of you will make dinner and watch a game, or just watch TV for the night. Occasionally you walk down to the coffee shop on the corner together or walk over to the park with Coolie and Milo. You’ve started to become friends, and you feel like Brock is letting you get to know him more and more everyday. The conversation is easier, and the flirting is probably more noticeable than either of you thinks it is. Your positions on the couch have drifted from opposite sides of the couch to having your thighs touching while his arm sits, resting behind you across the back of the couch. He always greets you with a big hug, and lately you’ve noticed his arms lingering around your body a little bit longer than the time before

He hasn’t made a move yet, and you haven’t either. You think that maybe he just isn’t interested in getting closer, and you’re admittedly too self-conscious to try to make a move yourself. Tonight os just like any other night that the two of you spend together but you don’t notice that Brock is pretty far gone in his thoughts. That may be because you’re lost in your own as well. A few minutes later his voice brings you back to reality, “Are you okay?” You look up from where you’ve been staring down at the wine glass in your hand. You’re sitting at his kitchen counter, and he’s standing on the other side of the island looking back at you. You tell him you’re fine but you can see that he doesn’t buy it for a second.

“You know you’re like a really good guy, right?” You ask him, after taking another sip of wine.

He smiles back at you with a bit questioning in his eye, “I mean I’d like to think that I’m not too bad.” He says back.

“No, Brock. You’re like really good. You help old ladies at the grocery store, and you talk about your nephew like he’s your own kid, and you’re nice to me when you really don’t have to be.” You try to tell him just how genuinely good he is. You wish you could explain it more eloquently and you wish you could show him how good of heart he has.

“That just sounds like normal people stuff,” he replies with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

He would say something like that, and think that normal people were just as nice as he is, and maybe they were, but the people that you’ve met throughout your life have somewhat tainted that idea for you.

“I think maybe you don’t realize how good you are.” He says back, looking you directly in the eyes. “You’re a good person, and just because I knew you back when you dated some jerk in college, doesn’t mean that it has any impact on how I feel about you now.” He’s so serious in this moment, and not at all like the usual lighthearted guy you’re used to. Somehow he knew just where your insecurities laid. He’s so genuine and honest sometimes that it hurts and the butterflies you feel in your stomach are getting harder and harder to ignore.

The two of you don’t talk much for the rest of the night, and instead settle in a comfortable silence while Brock catches up on the episodes of Gossip Girl that Elias watched without him. Brock isn’t paying attention to what is happening on his TV. His mind is way too busy thinking of what he’s going to do next. The guys have all been pestering him to get a move on, saying that he’ll miss his window of opportunity with you, and he knows that they’re right. If he’s lucky he hasn’t missed his opportunity yet, but if not, he might just be screwed.

He doesn’t even notice when his eyes shift away from the screen and move to rest on you. He’s taking his time, studying every feature, taking in every soft curve of your face. He loves the subtle crinkles on the sides of your eyes that deepen when you smile, and it’s even better when it happens because of something he said or did. If he could, he would make sure that smile stayed on your face for every second of the day. Your hair flows naturally without being fixed and he knows that you often let strands fall in front of your eyes when you’re too concentrated on your work or like now, when you’re invested in the show that you’re watching.

Without a thought, and on instinct alone, Brock slowly moves his hand up toward your face and softly tucks the strand of hair behind your ear. You’re a bit caught off guard at first, but you remain still as you feel his fingers linger on the side of your neck. Eventually you let your eyes meet his and you realize just how close you are to him. The two of you stay like that for a minute, staring at each other, taking each other in. It’s too easy to get lost in Brock’s ocean-like eyes, and you swear you hear the enchanting sound of waves crashing on a beach.

You’ve been staring at each other for what feels like too long, and you’re about to pull away when you feel Brock’s hand on the side of your face again. He’s slowly inching toward you and his eyes are still glued to yours. He’s searching for any source of panic or concern in your eyes, but he doesn’t find any. Your heart has taken over at this point and you can’t keep yourself away any longer, before you lean in and your lips finally meet his.

Kissing Brock feels like everything good in the world. It’s feels like the first time you road a bike or the first time you tasted ice cream. It’s new and invigorating and yet you feel totally safe and secure. Before you know it, you’re deepening the kiss and Brock lets you lead him to where you’re comfortable. It just so happens that you find comfort when you reposition yourself so that your legs are straddling his and his hands are resting on your hips. It’s only when your hips shift on top of him and he can’t help but let out a deep moan that also he makes himself pull away from you. It’s then when you start to panic, and think that maybe this was a mistake, maybe he’s realizing that now.

“I don’t want you to think that I just want this.” He says as he motions to the small space separating your bodies. “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing…” he mutters out, like he’s a bit embarrassed, and nervous that you won’t want the same thing.

“Brock, the only reason I wouldn’t want this is if you didn’t want it. But if you do, then I do too.” You say steadily. Brock smiles and it’s one of those big toothy smiles he only shares when he’s truly happy. You can’t say anything because you’re just as elated, so instead you lean down to kiss him again.

It’s only been a short six months since that night on Brock’s couch, but now you get to call his bed your own, and when you come home to your shared apartment you’re greeted by your beautiful blond boyfriend and your two dogs. Brock insists that you’re their adoptive mom now, and to make it official he bought the two of you matching hats that say “Dog Mom AF” and “Dog Dad AF.” You both wear them when you walk your fury kids together and even though you tell him you think they’re cheesy he knows that you love them.

Brock is somehow everything you need him to be. He’s strong when you’re not and he makes you laugh when you’re sad, but most of all he’s your steady companion. It’s crazy now, thinking back to when you met him. You were just a kid, barely out of high school, and you really hadn’t had the chance to think about what you actually wanted for your life.

Then you graduated, went to graduate school, and started to find out who you were without a boy to dictate the ins and outs of your life. When you were given the opportunity to move to Vancouver you saw it as a new beginning, but you didn’t realize that it was going to be a gift to more than one part of your life. Your work life and your career goals were finally falling into place and that just left one more thing—your love life. You had stopped worrying so much about finding a boyfriend along the way as you focused on yourself, but when Brock Boeser reentered your life you couldn’t ignore it.

Brock’s reemergence was a surprise to say the least, but now you both see that it was a gift of a second chance. When you first met, neither of you were ready for the kind of commitment you now share with each other, and you know now more than ever that those years with Owen and the years you spent alone were all worth it, because when history repeats itself you have the power to change the narrative.

#brock boeser #vancouver canucks #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic #nhl #canucks

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oiksuga · 3 years

Text

come on and show me

prompt: smell of mint: “the strength of love and hate are one in the same.“ for @tooruluv | #tooruluv2kparty pairing: oikawa x f!reader tags: angst, misunderstandings, childhood neighbors to enemies (?) to ?, rated M for Makeout (so rated pg-13) warnings: underage alcohol consumption, ambiguous ending wc: ~4k synopsis: the one where you and oikawa grow up right next door of each other. complementary songs: unholy - hey violet // new girl - finneas // like real people do - hozier a/n: this fic had me biting my nails. i haven’t written in ages and to tackle something this long made me woozy. hope you enjoy it! (update: decided to turn it into a semi-angsty one-shot instead, maybe i’ll continue it as a side project, but for now, it is done!) no beta we die like men. i’ll proofread later.

You first meet Tooru Oikawa at the age of six. He had just moved to your street. The house right next door, no less. Quiet, shy, a bit of a crybaby. He clung to his mother for the entirety of that first meeting, a stuffed cartoon alien tightly clutched in his right hand. Your mothers, naturally, hit it off. You and Oikawa on the other hand, well that’s was a work in progress.

You tried to play nice, you really did. Your mother had told you about how it was just them two and his older sister. His father had died a little over a year before. So obviously you felt bad. You went over to his house on a few ocassions. His mother would welcome you with open arms each and every time. He was another story.

He had enough manners to come say hello, even inviting you up to his room to play with some toys (at the behest of his mother) but the minute she was out of sight, he’d go back to his own things, paying you no attention. Not that you particularly fancied playing with him, but if you walked this far to visit him, you would think he could acknowledge you for more than 2 minutes.

Tired of wasting valuable playtime sitting on the floor of his room, you take matters into your own hands and ask your brother for advice. He was a year older than you and Oikawa, so naturally you believed he held the secrets to the universe.

You approached him after dinner, and presented him with your problem.

“And I don’t know why he makes it so hard to be friends. And mom just keeps forcing me to visit him.” The huff of indignation only made him laugh.

“Well Y/n, you have to understand that he’s lonely. He is not very used to having others around him.”

“But if he is so lonely, wouldn’t hanging out with me make him feel better?”

“Remember how mom told you his dad is no longer with him?” you nod, “Well he has been living with other girls so much he probably wants to play with another boy. Guys don’t always want to play princesses you know?”

“So would he want to play with me if anothery boy was present?”

“Well, that is up to him, but it would interest him.”

“Then will you come with me tomorrow when I go over?”

“Sure”

And that is how you found yourself at his doorstep once again, brother in tow. His mother practically bounced off the walls seeing he had accompanied you. Did she also think he needed a boy to play with? She called Oikawa down, and you could hear some grumbling from his end. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, a confused looked ag the sight of two people instead of one.

Your brother went up to him first.

“Hey, uh Tooru right?” First name basis already?“I’m Y/n’s older brother. Well I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out with me and a couple of my friends today?”

Huh, so that was his plan. Your brother is the unofficial leader of his group of friends, comprised of various kids in the neighbourhood. Some his age, some more around yours. They like to cause trouble and torment other kids at times. Your mothers were close too. Unfortunately for you, none of them had any sisters your age. So everytime you were supposed to play with them, you were miserable.

After that first meeting, your brother and Oikawa had become quite the pair. He took him “under his wing” (as he liked to call it) and formally inducted him to his squad. They were over the moon to have someone new to hang out with (read corrupt). You, on the other hand, could not hate it more. Now that those two were buddies, Oikawa was always present in your home. Anywhere you looked he was there. And now that he had other people to be with, he came out of his shell. Gone was that snotty kid with the alien plush, now replaced with a self-absorbed bastard you wanted no relation to. Too bad he never took the hint. It got worse once you both turned 14.

“You know Y/n, I’ve gotten so many confession letter this week. But oddly enough, I have not gotten one from you. You need to hurry up before one of these girls wins your spot as my girlfriend.”

“Well good thing I have enough smarts to never feel the need to do something like that.”

“Ouch Y/n you are killing me over here. Whatever, I’ll just look for it in your room when you are gone.”

“What the- how are you going to do that? You know what don’t tell me. Just please get out.”

“Or you are gonna do what? Call your brother to-“

He was interrupted by the arrival of yet another nuisance in your room.

“Hey Oikawa, please leave the poor girl alone. Stop being such a pain”

Enter Hajime Iwaizumi. Ah Iwaizumi. The other half of the obnoxious duo. Not that you don’t like him. No, quite the opposite. He keeps Oikawa tame and off your hair, something which you are deeply grateful for. But he also has his habits of annoying the crap out of you. All of your brother’s friends do. But you like to think that deep down they’d do anything for you.

“Not now Iwa-chan, Y/n is about to confess her secret feelings for me.” He says, clearly aware of the growing irritation on his friend’s face.

“Don’t make me pull you by your hair again. We are going to be late for the movie.” He emphasized his threat by rolling up sleeves, a tell-tale sign he was about to beat the crap out of Oikawa.

“Alright alright Iwa-chan you are such a hard ass.” He now turns to you, taking a few steps forward and stands right in front of you. “I’ll see you later, m’lady.” With that nickname, he took your right hand and kissed your knuckles. You could only srunch up your face. Gross, how many of those shows are he watching.

You heard the downstairs door shut and with that, it was silent again.

Finally, peace.

Years went by, and Oikawa’s popularity only skyrocketed. Everyone around him found him attractive, so naturally they’d hang on to him. He was also really good in volleyball, so everyone would go to see him play. Your brother and him remained close friends. Hosting parties together, going on weekend long trips with all their friends. All things you were forbidden from participating in because, as your brother said, this is not the crowd you want to be with. Your parents still let you host your own events, but nothing of that magnitude.

Soon enough, years went by, and you began your senior year of high school. This was going to be your years. With your brother now gone, having graduated and gone off to college, it’s your turn to be the life of the party. No more “you can’t be there.” Now all eyes will be on you. And what a better way to make your debut than with a party. While classes didn’t start until a week later, it was your brother’s tradition to take over your parent’s beach house for a weekend and hold a last big major bash before the semester began.

Invitations were sent, music was chosen and all that was left to do was tidy up the place. You brought some of your friends with you to help you get the place ready before the chaos began. Sweeped everything, locked away valuables, and got them settled in two of the rooms so they could sleep comfortably after. As you were outside stocking up the bar area, you heard a collection of voices coming from the living room. It’s too early, why are there people coming already? As you walk back in, you are greeted with Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and their two friends, who were also part of your brother’s group, Hanamaki and Matsukawa, all too sitting too comfortably in your couch.

“I hope you guys know this is a respectable place.” You crossed your arms at the sight of them getting too comfortable in your couches. Feet up on coffee table like savages.

Oikawa spoke first. “Relax darling,” God you hated that nickname, “You do know we have been here more times than you right? The parties that have happened in this place oh man.” You felt indignated at his attempt to one up you in your own home.

“Well if I recall correctly, this is still my parentms place, so I can have you and your friends kicked if I wanted to.”

At that, the other three butted in, a chorus of “Oikawa what the hell man,” and the sound of Iwaizumi hitting the back of his head.

“Okay fine. I’m sorry Y/n that you are so jealous of me and my party animal ways.”

“God you are exhausting. But anyways, I am glad you guys are here because I need help hanging some lights outside. Iwa and Mattsun, could you pretty please come with me to hang these?”

You led them outside, before sticking your head back in, directing your gaze to the two remaining guys camping in your couch.

“And don’t think I have forgotten about you two. Kiyoko needs some help putting more stuff together, and the rest of the girls went out to order food, so please make yourselves useful and go.”

You play some music on the speakers, and get to work.

Soon enough, the party was in full swing. You swam through the sea of bodies trying to locate the kitchen. The sheer number of people was disorienting. But to your luck, the swaying crowd somehow guided you to your destination, slightly sticky from stranger’s sweat, but otherwise unscathed. You make way to the counter and try and lift yourself onto it. The drinks in your system making in a harder task than usual. You are halfway through climbing in a more unlady-like manner, when a voice calls out for you.

“Uh Y/n, need some help?”

You turn around to see Oikawa. His face was flushed, you assumed it was from whatever was in the plastic cup in his hand. Hair disheveled, forehead shiny from his sweat. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, and the lighting made his chain glint at an angle. If he wasn’t Oikawa, you’d admit he was attractive.

You become aware of your compromising position and stop your attempts of getting on the counter. The suddent movements make you wobbly, and you grab onto the counter to keep stable. You notice him walking over to you, and motion for him to stop.

“I don’t need your help. Just get me a water bottle from the fridge please.”

He obliges your request and gets some water for you, going so far as to opening the bottle, and hands it you. You are silently grateful, as you don’t think you have the coordination to do it yourself. As you are drinking, feeling the relief of the coolness down your throat, you notice he’s staring at you. This felt odd, there was something about the way he looked at you. You felt too vulnerable. It was getting awkward.

“So, you enjoying the party? I saw you doing a shots competition outside earlier. Did you win, Mr. Party Animal?” You made sure to emphasize the mock of his nickname.

He huffs indignantly. “Well Y/n-chan, cannot believe you doubt my abilities. If you must know, I did in fact win, with an impressive 5 shots down my system. And look at me, cool as a cucumber.”

You look at him for a second, brows furrowed, and then burst out laughing. “‘Cool as a cucumber’? God you are lame.”

All he can do is stare at you. You have never laughed like that. It’s always measured, not too loud, not too long. This is different. He likes different.

When you stop, you notice he is staring again. You feel small. As if you are under a million spotlights, all pointed at you. You are about to ask if he was okay, but seems like someone beat you to it.

“Hey Tooru~ I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you okay?” She notices the position you are in, and slightly grimaces, “Tooru who is this.”

He blinks, a bit too hard, and turns to face her. “Hey Sara, this is Y/n,” he motions to you, “you know, the one who organized this party.”

Sara. You know who she is. And she definitely knows you. You two met at the last student council election, a few months back. When you found out you were running agaisnt each other. She was the current president, and you held a lower position as secretary, so running for president felt like a giant leap. Though it seems that after a month of campaigning, debates, and a tiresome election you had won. A very exciting moment, and what felt as a good culmination to your high school career. You and Sara had an extensive talk about it over coffee, in which she assured no ill feelings towards you.

By no means were you guys best friends, but you also like to think you were not enemies.

“Oh Y/n and I know each other. Great to see you again, and amazing party, you really know how to entertain.” Well that answers that, she doesn’t hate you. Great. “Do you mind if I borrow Tooru over here? There are some things I need to talk to him about.”

“No problem at all, glad you are having fun.” You wave goodbye and with that they were gone. You were alone.

Now feeling more sobered up, you decide to go back to the masses. Your newfound energy leading you to the makeshit dancefloor, letting loose to Makk’s karaoke rendition of Pursuit of Happiness. What a movie moment. Everything letting loose in a beach house living room.

The thing that wasn’t a movie moment though? How much you needed to pee. How come no one ever informs you of the effects alcohol has on your bladder?

Once again, you venture through the bodies to find the bathroom. There was no line, which should have been a sign. But you made no thought of it, until you swung the door open and found, in the most cliche moment ever, the ever-present Tooru Oikawa passionately making out with Sara. That sobers you right up.

If they noticed, you wouldn’t know, because you bolt out immediately and go straight to your room. You go to the bathroom there, and as you are washing your hands, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Even though you only saw them for a second, the image of those two making out was burned in your brain.

There was something about the way he held her, pressed to the sink counter, hands on her waist, that made you feel something inside. You chalked it up to general lust and splashed cold water on your face, trying to stop whatever your brain was imagining. You left the bathroom, ready to take a break in bed.

That was, until the man in question made his appearance in your room.

“You know there are laws against trespassing right? So I don’t know what you are doing here but-“

“I came to apologize.”

Well that’s a first.

“Apologize for what exactly. You haven’t been an ass the entire night, if anything, I should congratulate you for that.” You say, tone more snarky than you intended. What were you even pissed about.

“Well I think you and I both know what you walked into. And I just wanted you to know that is not who I am, nor how I behave.”

“Well let me be the first to tell you that I don’t care who you suck face with, as long as it doesn’t happen in my presence.” What was up with you right now.

“What if it was with you? Would you care then?” He took a step towards you. You took one back.

“What are you talking about.” Why did he keep walking towards you. This room cannot be that big.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Your back was met by the wall at the end of the room, and Oikawa now stood in front on you, “Darling.”

Something about the way he looked at you, combined with the alcohol in your system and the muffled music you could hear from downstairs made your insides feel on fire. I must be going crazy, you thought.

Because as soon as that god-awful nickname left his lips, you pulled him down onto yours.

“As your big brother, it is my duty to protect you from all the evil things that are out there. You know that right?”

“That includes Oikawa right? He is such a meanie. I don’t know why you even hang out with him.”

“Well, Tooru is different. He means well, he just doesn’t express it how you are used to. Boys his age usually behave like that. But he’ll grow out of it. You’ll learn that eventually.”

“Well I don’t care. He’s mean and I hate him. I don’t care if he changes. I’ll still hate him.”

“Haha. Well I’m glad. Wouldn’t want you messing around with someone like him anyways.”

Curse the heavens. There was no denying it. Tooru Oikawa was an amazing kisser.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Grazing his tongue to yours every now and then. His hands, god his hands, his right one was holding his chin, while his left one slid up and down your waist.

Curse his perfection. This cannot be that snotty kid from all those years ago. This is a whole different person. Yes that’s it. This is not Tooru Oikawa. Because Tooru Oikawa is not capable of making you feel these things.

Like any normal person, you have to breathe, so you break the kiss. He has the audacity to whine at that. You look of to your side, because something tells you that if you look at him right now, lips swollen and pupils wide, who knows what’ll happen next.

He doesn’t like any of it.

He takes this opportunity to move his mouth south, landing on the flesh of your neck. He seems to have caught you offguard, if the sound you make at his action is anything to go by. He works his magic in the area. Biting. Kissing. Sucking. Anything that’ll draw out more of those noises. And you wish he’d stay there for eternity.

But you are you. A little selfish. And always wanting more more more. So you take him by his shirt and lead the two of you onto the bed, gently sitting him down and taking a seat directly on his lap. Now this is more.

But this also felt wrong. On so many levels. You don’t think you could ever look at your parents again if you have sex on their bed. But the desecration of their sleeping place is a small price to pay for the enormous pleasure you are sure he would bring you. Because if there’s one thing Oikawa Tooru believes in, is doing his best.

And he sure as hell will do his very best with you.

“Well well darling, look who is eager now.” He spoke with that sickeningly sweet tone he always uses. But there is something else behind it. You can’t really pinpoint it, but before you could ponder on that, he got a hold of your hips and started to drag you along his length.

Well if you are off to hell, might as well enjoy the ride.

You decided to be bold and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and onto the floor. You could sit here and wax poetic about how intimacy goes beyond physical appearance and his muscles are not important, but you are no philosopher. So you’ll say it. He’s hot. You knew the guy was ripped, having been witness to the arduous workouts he and your brother did over the summer, but this was something else.

Your brother. Ha. Imagine if he could see you right now. Actually don’t. That’s weird. But he would be dissapointed wouldn’t he. All those years being so put off by the mere presence of Tooru Oikawa and now you are sitting atop him, like some sort of worship. Oh the hypocrisy.

No you can’t think of him right now. No get out of there.

“Something the matter, princess?” Ah again with the nicknames. “I think you’ve had enough fun up here. Maybe it’s my turn to be on top don’t you think?”

You nodded. Because that is all you could muster. You feared that if you opened your mouth, all of your thoughts would slip out.

He rolled you to the side, off of him and onto the mattress. He stood up and groaned and god the way that made you feel. He kneeled on the soft surface, and leaned down to face you. Because he is the epitome of cliche, though, he makes sure to flash you the biggest smile you have ever seen. It looks different. It looks genuine. That’s new, a bit exciting even.

And before you know it, he goes back to work on your neck. He used his knee to put a slight pressure between your legs. You cannot keep your thoughts straight for long, because the next thing that comes out of your mouth is a moan of his name.

You’ve never used that tone with his name. He, of course, loves it.

“You cannot imagine how many times I have imagined of doing this.” While you are on your way to what could be a very mind-blowing orgasm, and you are incapable of coherent sentences, your hearing is very much okay. But there is no way you heard what you just heard. Because what the fuck.

“Stop.” It’s low, a bit above a whisper. He couldn’t hear you, you conclude, so he keeps at it for a bit, but when he feels the push of your hands on his chest, he pulls away immediately.

“A-are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you want to stop this?” For someone with the charm of a western hero he sure is insecure.

“What did you mean by that? What do you mean by ‘I imagined of doing this’?” Well of course you know what he meant. But what did that mean for you two? This isn’t something that should be happening. And you tell him just that. “This is not something we should even be doing.” Crap.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You might not be very fond of him, but you know him. So you know he is probably getting too much inside his head right now, so really you should have seen his next words coming.

Except this is all new and you haven’t been able to see any of this coming.

“You know what, you are right. I am sorry. I think we should leave. Actually, this is your room, so I’ll go.” You have to be imagining things, because there is no way he sounds hurt over this. Is there?

You want to ask if there’s a genuine chance he meant what he said. You really do. But you are scared of his answer. All your life he has been the kid you cannot stand, your brother’s annoying friend. But this changes everything. You have no feelings for him, that you know. But apparently there is chance he does. So what are you doing about that.

Before you can ask, you hear the door shut. In a flash, he is gone. How befitting.

And like that, once again, you are left alone. All you can hear is the boom of the speakers.

Your lifelong long was to have Tooru Oikawa out of your life. Now that you have succeeded, why do you not feel at peace.

fin.

#um hi there #i have not written in ages jesus #rip my ao3 fics i feel sad for not finishing them #haha i need help #tooruluv2kparty #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #tooru oikawa #oikawa x y/n #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff

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bunnysuit-femboy · 3 years

Text

The Worst Wingman - Dust and a Goddess

(Chapter 1 / 3)

Jean x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: mentions of homophobia

Summary: Jean knew you better than anybody else, so why was he so good at picking the worst people on the planet for you to go on dates with. You were persistent to find a boyfriend this year and you thought Jean could help you find the perfect man, but apparently he loves to watch you suffer. If only you knew the perfect man for you was the one setting you up on all of these dates.

Notes: I posted this on my Ao3 first, but I thought I’d post it here too. So, please enjoy!

First Saturday

Another Saturday night meant another shitty date with another uninteresting and weird guy. You knew Jean hand-picked these dates that he sent you off with, but it seemed he didn’t know you or them at all. Every single date was just another bust, undeniably and irrefutably.

And, this date was just another on the already long list of bad dates.

“So,” Your date said with a smile, “You’re good friends with him, aren’t you?”

You nodded with the wine glass close to your lips. He had asked you the same question nearly fifteen times in the last fifteen minutes. It was as if he couldn’t believe it himself. As if he were surprised, or maybe even a little bit jealous.

“Yeah,” You said with a fake smile, “We’re in the same friend group. I met him freshman year, when I became close friends with Mikasa and she introduced us-”

“How is he?”

“Huh?”

The redhead smiled wide, “How is Eren? What’s he like as a friend?”

You raised your eyebrows and placed your glass back on the table, “Eren?”

The redhead nodded excitedly. He was nearly on the edge of his seat, leaning towards you like a child about to hear a war story from his grandfather. It was odd that the boy had gotten caught on the idea of Eren being friends with you when you had just explained how Jean was the one who set you up on the date.

“Eren is- um,” You looked around the small restaurant, trying to find inspiration for a way out of this conversation from the other diners, “He’s cool.”

The boy is physically upset about your discretion, “And?”

“And,” You involuntarily continued, “He’s- uh, he’s very nice. He-uh he helps me with my homework, and helps me study quite a bit.”

It was all a lie, but only partially. Sure, somebody in the friend group was really nice and helped you with homework and helped you study, but it wasn’t Eren. It was Armin who was the nice one, but you didn’t know Eren well enough not to switch the two names when talking with the boy in front of you.

“That’s awesome,” The redhead said with an admirational sigh, “I bet he’s super helpful. He’s definitely the type to not give up until you know everything, for sure.”

“Oh.” You grinned at your empty dinner plate. “For sure. He’s the best. He’s super dedicated, and he always makes the harder information easier for me to understand. He’ll word it in ways that he knows I’m more comfortable with.”

“I’ll have to join you two, sometime.”

You looked at the boy with furrowed eyebrows, “You want to join me and Eren while we study?”

Boy, is he going to be upset when he finds out Eren is actually an adorable blonde boy with big ocean eyes who’s not nearly as blatantly mean. Also, it’s a bit strange the redhead wants to go on a study date with you and somebody else. Isn’t he at this date for you? But, all he’s asked you about all night is Eren.

“Of course,” The boy said with a smile, “I would just love to see him again.”

You giggled lightly to yourself, “Do you want me to get his number for you?”

Though the comment was purely a joke, the boy didn’t flinch nor smile. He just stared at you with a look of defeat in his eyes and he almost looked angry. His eyes never left your face, his mind not finding an ounce of humor in your question.

His reaction caused your smile to quickly falter, “Do you actually have a crush on him?”

The redhead rose from his seat, “I have to use the bathroom.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Right now?”

“Yes,” The boy’s voice came out harsh, “Right now.”

“Oh, okay.” You watched as the boy walked off towards the bathroom. And, once he was out of earshot, you pulled your phone from your purse sitting on the back of the chair and phoned Jean.

The phone only rang once before the call was picked up. He spoke a half-assed greeting above the sound of yelling in the background. You knew he was with Connie and Sasha tonight and you knew they were playing video games from the noise coming from behind his voice.

“Don’t hey me,” You spat angrily through the phone, “This guy is insane, Jean, he’s fucking weird.”

Jean was now laughing, “How is he weird?”

“He keeps asking about Eren.” You took a quick peek at the male’s bathroom door. “He offered to go on a study date with me-”

“That’s nice of him.”

“-And Eren.”

“Oh,” Jean said, “That’s weird. Eren doesn’t even study with you, he’d have to be smarter than you to be of any help.”

“I may have lied to him.” You took a quick swig of wine from the glass and then turned back to the bathroom doors.

“Aw,” Jean said with a smirk, “Poor Floch.”

“Floch,” You said excitedly, nearly knocking the discarded fork from your plate, “That’s his name! I forgot it about two hours ago, but didn’t have the heart to ask him.”

Jean was uncontrollably laughing on the other side of the phone. It wasn’t like these types of calls were foriegn to him. You normally called Jean in the middle of a crisis, and most of your crises these days happened mid-date when the boy did something weird and left to go to the bathroom.

“You’re a horrible date,” Jean said between his giggles.

“It’s not a normal name.” You held the wine glass to your lips. “I wouldn’t have forgotten his name if it were Brian or Nick. It’s his mom’s fault I forgot his name.”

Jean smiled into the phone, “Now, you’re blaming his mom for your ignorance, how cruel.”

You couldn’t help but grin as well, “Also, I think he has a thing for Eren.”

“Really?” Jean takes a moment to remember something. “That actually makes a lot of sense. I met him through Eren because they were in the same chemistry class last semester. He seemed reluctant to go on the date with you until Eren told him he should, then he was all for it. I thought it was weird, but not weird enough to be concerning.”

“It’s not weird nor concerning,” You said sweetly, “He just has a crush and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, it’s endearing.”

“He’s actively homophobic.”

“What?” You peek at the bathrooms and notice nothing has changed. “You set me on a date with an active homophobe?”

Jean shrugged, “I didn’t think about it.”

You shook your head angrily, “After this date, I am coming straight to your apartment and I am giving you a piece of my mind, Jean Kirstein.”

“Oh no,” Jean said with a smile, “I’m really scared, she used my last name.”

“You should be really scared. I’m bringing my baseball bat and everything.”

You took another peek at the bathroom and then checked the timer on the call. Seven minutes and fourteen seconds was how long you had been on the phone with Jean and how long Floch had been in the bathroom. Sure, it could be reasonable, but you still got a weird feeling from the whole thing.

“‘You okay?” Jean asked endearingly once the silence between you two had settled.

“He’s coming back,” You lied, “I gotta’ go.”

“Okay, just-”

The call ended quickly with one press of your finger. You put your phone back in your purse and let the bag fall to the side of the chair. You looked around the beautiful restaurant and tapped your fingers impatiently against the clothed table.

You leaned to your side in order to get closer to the couple beside you. At the table sat two people: one with long brown hair and wide glasses dressed in a tux and the other with short dirty blonde hair also dressed in a tux.

“Hi,” You said to the brown haired person to your immediate right, “Could I ask a favor of either of you? It’ll only take a minute, I swear.”

The brown haired person smiled widely, “Of course!”

“My date, a redhead, went to the bathroom nearly twenty minutes ago, and I can’t go into the boy’s bathroom-”

“You want me to go?” The brown haired person’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I can go see if he’s still in there, or if he’s sick, or if he’s dead - God forbid, but how interesting, right?”

You nodded with a smile, “Yes, thank you, please. I’m sure he’s not dead, but I’m just worried.”

“Don’t worry until I come back with news.” The brown haired person stood up and left, heading towards the bathroom.

You watched the nice brown haired person go off towards the restrooms. You watched them weave around tables, even stopping now and then to peek over diners’ shoulders, looking at what they had decided to eat for the night. They were strange, but in an endearing way - something you weren’t entirely used to seeing on these dates.

“You know,” The blonde guy spoke up suddenly, snapping you back to reality, “They’ve done that a few times on our dates before, as well.”

“Hm?” You turned to the brown haired person’s date.

The blonde guy smiled, “My date, they get interested in something in the bathroom and don’t bother coming back out for half an hour. The first time is scary, but you’ll get used to their curious mind.”

You grinned weakly at the nice man, “Yeah, I have a feeling there won’t be anything to get used to because there won’t be another date.”

The blonde boy furrowed his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“He wasn’t the best date I’ve been on, nor the best person I’ve been on a date with.” You turned towards the bathroom in time to catch the blonde man’s date making their way back across the restaurant with a frown. “In fact, he’s the first date to ever crawl out of a bathroom window to get away from me.”

“I’m sure that’s not what happened,” The blonde man said with a worried glance at his date. You weren’t sure how you knew it, but you were entirely sure of the redhead’s escape.

“He’s gone, dear.” The brown haired person placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as they sat back in their seat. “The window was pried open, I assume he crawled out of it.”

You nodded with a fake smile, “Thank you, for checking. I can pay-”

You reached for your purse, but the brown haired person shook their head, “No, no. Don’t even try to pay me. In fact, let us pay for your meals, it’s the least we can do.”

You shook your head quickly, “No, I can pay for them, but thank you.”

“No, he left you high and dry and-”

“You’ve already done enough for me tonight.”

“-You don’t deserve to pay for a meal you didn’t even enjoy.”

While the brown haired person was distracting you with a back and forth battle of who would pay for what, the blonde man waved down a passing waiter. He mumbled something to the waiter, pointing at your table over his shoulder. The blonde man pushed a small plastic card into the waiter’s hand. The waiter nodded pityingly, running off quickly towards the hostess’s table at the entrance.

“No,” You said with another shake of your head, “You don’t have to pay for a taxi, I don’t need one-”

But, you did need one considering Floch was your ride here.

“No,” The brown haired person continued, “Let me pay for your wine. In fact, have our wine. It’s the least we can do.”

“No, I don’t need more wine-”

The waiter was back and the blonde man finally spoke up over the argument between you and his date. He held two slips of paper in his hand and looked at you both with a small smile.

“Hange,” He said to make his date stop debating with you, “It’s okay, she doesn’t need your insurance card. And, ma’am, don’t worry about the bill, it’s already been paid for, and you don’t owe me anything in return. I’ve been in your shoes before, and I wish somebody would have done this for me.”

“Sir,” You said quickly, “It’s really not that big of a deal-”

“Not anymore,” The blonde man said with a smile, “Next time you come to this restaurant, just bring somebody you trust. I promise, not everybody is as awful as that boy.”

You bit your lip to keep the newly created tears from falling. You couldn’t help the overload of emotions happening in your throat and eyes. You didn’t normally cry so easily in front of strangers, but these strangers were overly generous. And suddenly, you were remembering the last ten dates that all ended just as horribly. It seemed like nothing was working out in your favor anymore.

“Thank you,” You said with a large smile contradictory to the tears that now fell down your cheeks, “I-I don’t know where to find those not awful people, but I really hope I will someday.”

“Oh no!” Hange said as they quickly wrapped you in a tight hug. “Moblit, look, you broke her.”

Moblit giggled with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry I broke you, dear.”

You shook your head into Hange’s shoulder, accidentally wiping the tears on the shoulder of their black tux. You couldn’t express to Moblit how badly you wanted to find not awful people, and how badly you wanted a date that didn’t end horribly. It was just more complicated than that, and it seemed awful people were the only ones Jean could offer you dates with and the only ones he thought deserved dates with you. So, what did that say about how he viewed you as a person?

You spent a few minutes crying into Hange’s shoulder, mumbling incoherently about boys and school and your pot-smoking next door neighbors who are way too loud when they have sex. They listened to your tangent intently, nodding along, as if they could understand any of your words.

Once you had wiped the tears from your face and thanked the couple profusely some more, you made your way from the restaurant. You knew you could call a taxi to Jean’s apartment, but the weather was nice and his apartment wasn’t too far away. So, walking seemed like a convenient money-saving way of getting the whole date out of your mind.

You walked down the street of town, but once you got to campus, you slid the heels from your feet and into your hands. You walked across campus with your shoes balancing on your fingers like the morning after a horrible one-night stand.

Eventually you made it to Jean’s apartment building and found your way to his front door within a few minutes. You knocked on the wood with your heel and weren’t too surprised when the door opened almost immediately. Jean stood in the doorway, still shouting at the other two over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Jean said once he finally turned his attention to you, “How was the-” You swung the heel swiftly into his stomach, earning a surprised grunt from the boy.

“Don’t mention this date ever again.” You said the threatening words with a glint of anger to your voice, but your face was pressed into a sweet smile.

Jean nodded slowly, “Will you at least tell us what happened?”

You sighed, “Later, I’ll tell you, but I know Connie will bully me for it.”

Jean nodded some more, “Later?”

“The least you can do is let me stay the night.” You raised your eyebrows at the boy. “Since you made me go on the worst date of my life with a homophobic jerk.”

“Okay,” Jean said with a grin, “But only because you’re practically begging for me.”

You swung the heel into his stomach a second time, but he grabbed it before it could give any damage. You both looked intently at each other, your eyes glaring annoyedly and his eyes admiring the sight in front of him. This was exactly what you expected from him, this is exactly how he acts after these dates. He’s always the one to pick up and put back the broken pieces once the doll breaks, even if he’s the reason the doll fell in the first place.

Once you walked into the apartment, you left your shoes and purse by the door, right beside Jean’s shoes. You waved a quick hello to Connie and Sasha - who were too distracted shooting zombies to see you - as you walked past them in the living room and found your way straight to Jean’s room. You knew the apartment like the back of your hand, you had been here a million times.

You walked across the small room to your drawer that Jean keeps all of your clothes in for when you stay. You pulled it open and picked out a pair of cheetah print pajama shorts and an old t-shirt from an now irrelevant ex boyfriend. You threw the clothes on his bed, getting ready to change just when the door suddenly opened.

You turned to the door with tired eyes and furrowed eyebrows as Jean joined you in the room. He leaned against the now closed door, physically keeping the others from joining as well. He crossed his arms against his chest, taking in the sight of him - you in your satin black dress you wore on nearly every date.

“So,” Jean said finally, “What happened?”

You sighed, “He crawled through a window.”

Jean’s eyebrows furrowed, “He crawled through a window?”

“Yes, when he went to the bathroom and I called you. He crawled through a window to get away from me.” You looked anywhere around the room but the boy. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Hey,” Jean moved from the door, coming across the room to you, “Nothing’s wrong with you. Something’s wrong with him.” Jean held you at arm’s length, his hands on your shoulders. “Not only did he leave you, but he has a crush on Eren of all people. I’ve seen birds at the park who are more attractive than he is.”

You grinned sadly, “I bet people don’t crawl through windows to get away from Eren on dates.”

Jean ran his hand down the side of your head, “Eren doesn’t give them the chance, I don’t think he’s ever been on a date.”

“But, people would go on one with him.” You finally looked up at the boy in front of you, trying to keep the tears from spilling the second time today. “He’s not undateable. I’m undateable. I’ve scared guys away every Saturday night for the last two months.”

“You’re not undateable,” Jean said sternly, “You just haven’t found the right one. And, you won’t find the right one if you don’t keep going on these dates. Every horrible date means you’re one more Saturday closer to your soulmate.”

“And, what if I don’t have a soulmate? What if I’m damned to die alone?”

“Then, I’ll die with you.” Jean brought you in for a tight hug, your face snuggling into his firm chest. Jean whispered his words, mostly to himself, “I’d give up 200 soulmates if it only meant I could die with you.”

You closed your eyes against the soft fabric of Jean’s shirt. It was hard to trust his words when there seemed to be so many contradicting factors. Maybe tonight was a total bust, but next Saturday was a new day. You could try again next Saturday, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that. And, every Saturday for the rest of your life until you found your soulmate, even if that seemed like a pointless mission.

You’d do it for both you and Jean, it was the least you could do.

First Sunday

You woke up in Jean’s bed with his body close to yours. It was a standard cuddling position for your friendship: face-to-face, his arms wrapped around your side, your arms cradled against your chest, and your legs intertwined. Despite the normalcy associated with the position, you still woke up with a dorky smile and butterflies floating around your stomach when you saw him sleeping in front of you.

Today was no exception.

You grinned ear to ear as you watched the peaceful rise and fall of Jean’s tanned chest under the thin fabric of his white t-shirt. You watched as his lips parted against the pressure of the pillow under his cheek, a small stream of spit rolling from the corner of his mouth and onto the fabric of the pillowcase below. Every Saturday night ended with tears and regrets, but every Sunday morning began with sweet dreams and a special sleepy boy.

You turned away from Jean, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. The only way to successfully grab the phone was to also pull yourself from Jean’s grasp and from between his legs. It was a horrible price to be paid, but it had to be paid nonetheless.

You checked your lock screen, reading over playful messages from your roommate asking about how good Floch was in bed - assuming you had stayed at his house since you hadn’t come home. And, a few confused messages from Eren asking you who Floch was, why he was texting him, and how he was connected to you.

You locked the phone and turned back to Jean. You were expecting the boy to still be napping peacefully, but he instead stared sleepily at you. Your face had been in a grimace from the mentions of your date last night, but Jean’s honey brown eyes quickly dissipated any negative feelings.

“Good morning,” You whispered, “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning,” Jean said as he shifted his head and wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth. He was hoping you hadn’t noticed the wetness and that you weren’t questioning the wiping motion he made at his cheek. “And I-”

You smiled, “From the drool spot on the pillowcase, I’ll have to assume you slept well.”

Jean’s cheeks turned rosy, you could see the physical embarrassment on his face. He wasn’t the type to accept humiliation so easily, he was always one to fight back. Just his humiliation isn’t enough, if he’s going down, he’s taking as many people he can take with him. So, you weren’t sure why you were surprised when he swiftly sat up, grabbed the pillow, and attempted to shove the wet spot into your face.

You yelped, rolled, and sprung from the bed only a second before the pillow could land on your cheek, right where it was heading. You were up on your feet quicker than you ever thought you could be, your body still feeling the aftereffects of sleep. You looked down at the boy in front of you, the pillow still tightly gripped in his hands and a mischievous smile smacked across his face.

“You little bastard,” You said with a shocked smile.

Jean smiled back, “I’m actually quite big.” The words were meant as a joke about his body’s size, but both of your dirty minds immediately jumped to the size of something else on his body. “In more ways than one.”

You shouted at the boy between the giggles escaping from your throat, “Jean! Seriously!”

Jean shrugged, laughing along at his own joke, “I’m sorry, I had to!”

“You didn’t have to do shit!” You made your way to the bedroom door. “I’m going home!”

“One bad joke and now you’re leaving.” Jean leaped from the bed, following you to the door. “At least let me make you breakfast first.”

You turned to him with an intrigued glint in your eyes, “Will you make me waffles?”

“Sure,” Jean said as he playfully shoved your shoulder, “I’ll make you waffles.”

“With chocolate chips?” He walked in front of you, leaving the room with you following behind him like a child.

“Yes, I can add chocolate chips.” Jean tried to hide the grin spreading across his cheeks. “Do you want bacon and sausage as well?”

“Shut up,” You said from behind his back, “You know that I don’t.”

His voice sounded sweet, “Yeah, I do know.”

You stood against the counter, only a foot away from where he stirred the waffle mix. You watched as he eyed the waffle box intently, then poured the four other ingredients into the bowl after the dry mix. He looked a bit confused as he moved the spoon around the bowl, as if he was deathly afraid of missing something but not wanting to give the impression that he’d be stupid enough to miss something.

You knew where the coffee was kept and how to work his coffee machine and while you waited for it to brew, you watched Jean with a weak smile across your face. He could feel your eyes on him. Jean tried to ignore the weight of your eyes, not wanting his cheeks to go red though his chest was already inflating from the action.

Jean spared a glance in your direction, only a few seconds before the coffee finished brewing with a loud splash. For those few seconds when both of your eyes were held on each other, time seemed to slow. You could read the admirational glint in his brown eyes and he could read the appreciative glint in your eyes. Before the moment could go much further, you turned away and grabbed the coffee pot and mugs.

You not only knew which coffee beans Jean preferred, but you also knew how he liked his coffee. You poured a little bit of his roommate’s creamer into his mug, and then the tiniest bit of sugar as well. After the coffee was finished, you handed him the mug with a quick smile.

Waffles eventually found themselves on plates and forks eventually found themselves in between fingers. You both ate breakfast against the kitchen counter, Jean leaning down farther than you had to. You moved your fork against the softness of the slightly underdone waffles - he didn’t know just how much batter was supposed to go into the waffle maker at once.

Jean suddenly spoke up by your side, “Are you free this Saturday?”

You turned to the boy, “I normally am. Who’s next?”

“I have a friend on the football team.” Jean ignored your initial grimace to the statement. “He’s nice and desperate, the way you like ‘em.”

You turned back to your waffle with a small pout, “Maybe I should give guys a break for a little.” Jean raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll just become a nun and write off men altogether.”

“You can’t do that!”

Your head snapped back to Jean, “I can’t?”

“No,” Jean said, “You can’t.”

“And, why can’t I?”

“You just can’t.”

A thick silence had settled in the room, the only sound being the scraping of forks against the porcelain plates. You wondered why Jean was against you becoming a nun. You assumed it was because he was the type to fight persistently, so possibly the idea of giving up on something indefinitely was foreign and upsetting to him. You knew he indirectly reflected onto other people, yourself included.

After a few more moments of silence, Jean started walking away. You watched him as he moved across the living room, heading straight towards his bedroom. Right before the boy could get to the door, he turned to you with a single raised eyebrow and a cocky grin.

“Hey,” Jean said from across the room, “Do you wanna go to the bathroom before I do?”

You looked around the kitchen with a confused look on your face, as if the apartment could give you any clue as to what he was implying with his words. You didn’t have to use the bathroom, nor did you ever insinuate within the last twenty minutes that you did.

You tilted your head curiously, “Why would I need to go to the bathroom before you?”

Jean smiled at the idea of his next words, already proud of himself, “Just to make sure I can’t crawl out through the window.”

Jean laughed as you pretended to throw your fork across the spacious apartment. He was proud of his joke, and you had to admit that you weren’t as upset as you should have been. Last night, the idea of your date crawling through a window in order to get away from you was the worst thing that had ever happened. But with Jean, it was just a funny memory.

Jean came back to the kitchen after a few moments, still giggling lightly about his joke he made nearly two whole minutes ago. You ignored his cockiness by trying to fight the smile forming on your face.

Jean leaned towards you, wrapping a muscled arm around your shoulders. Being pressed against his body in this way made you now realize how he smelled. He smelled of a rich cologne of rose and mahogany. You hadn’t noticed the cologne before he left for the bathroom, but it could have very well slipped past you.

Jean spoke from above you, “I’m glad you aren’t still upset about last night.”

“I never said that.” You looked up at the boy, his arm still around you. “But, I am starting to see the humor in the situation.”

“Good,” Jean said with a smile, “It’s not nearly as bad as that guy who asked if his mom could join you for the date.”

You cringed at the thought, “And, I said yes.”

“And, the one who asked for a vial of your blood.”

You shrugged at the taller boy, “At least he asked, there was the one guy who stole my hair scrunchie without asking first. I think he used it so he could clone me.”

“Yeah.” Jean quickly remembered another awful date. “And, the one who gave you a yarn doll of yourself as a first date gift.”

You smiled widely, “I’m nearly a hundred percent sure that it was actually a Voodoo doll. I’m glad I accepted it before I told him no to a second date.”

Jean grinned down at you, only an inch or two from your face. It was hard not to smile when looking at the boy. He was beautiful and reminded you of an ancient sun god. From his tanned skin, to his lively brown eyes, and his deeply inviting smile. It was hard to look at Jean and not feel your heart skip a beat, especially when you were so close to him.

“They’re all funny stories now,” Jean said, “So, that’s good.”

You moved deeper into his arm, “Funny stories that I don’t need.”

“But, funny stories nonetheless.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled sarcastically, “Thanks to you.”

“Hey!” Jean was pulling you into a quick bear hug as you laughed against his chest. “I try to find the University’s best guys for you! They are truly the school’s finest.”

“Then, why do they all suck?”

He didn’t answer your question because he wasn’t sure he knew why. He didn’t know why he threw these horrible guys onto you, under the impression of them being good matches. But, in his defense, it was hard to find somebody of your quality.

You were a goddess amongst mortals and these men could never be enough for you. And, if these men were mortals compared to you, then Jean felt he wasn’t even a mortal. He was the dirt hiding in the crevices of somebody’s shoe, he was the dust somebody breathed in before they yawned. Jean felt he could never equal up to you, but maybe these other guys could get close. And, maybe - just maybe - if he helps you get a boyfriend, then he wouldn’t think about you being a goddess so much.

Next Chapter

#jean x reader #jean kirstein #eventual smut #wingman jean #aot #attack on titan #x reader #modern au #college au #f/m

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