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weareapackofstrays · 3 months

Text

A Work of Art

Genre: Non-Idol graduate school au, Strangers to lovers, Fluff

Pairing: Sangyeon x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Drinking, Mention of su!cide in reference to a painting. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 5,709 + text messages

The lecture hall is buzzing with students waiting for your professor to show up. Once he finally enters, everyone quiets down and takes a seat for the lecture. Your class only meets once a week, while the rest of the class is taught online. So when your professor announces at the end of class that everyone would be paired up per his choosing for a project you were kind of surprised. Everyone in this classroom was practically a stranger. You may have interacted with a handful of them weekly for your online discussion board homework, but you couldn’t identify a single one in the room. You can see everyone looking around wondering who they were going to be paired with. A few students making eye contact, hopeful to be partnered together.

“Each of you will go to a museum in the area to write a minimum 1000 word essay together on the museum’s management and collection and why or why not it is successful. Partners who wish to do a presentation instead are also welcome, but you must let me know ahead of time.” Your professor pulls up the requirements on the projector to review while students snap pictures of the board with their phones. “And before you get any ideas, I will be requiring proof of your attendance, such as a ticket.” A few students groan while the professor smirks and continues. “I will email everyone tonight with your assigned partner. See you all next week!” The sound of chairs scraping the floor punctuates the end of class. Curiosity and excitement seems to fill the auditorium as everyone makes their way to the exit.

Later that evening you open your laptop in anticipation of your Professor’s email. You could feel yourself getting antsy so you pour yourself a glass of wine. To avoid refreshing your email every few seconds, you start to pace around your living room knocking back your drink. Why were you so nervous? You ask yourself. Probably because you’re a bit of an introvert and while you do alright in social settings, the thought of having to interact with a complete stranger gives you a little anxiety. You walk up to your laptop after polishing off a third glass and refresh one last time.

Professor Moon Subject: Partner Assignment 10:00 PM

Ungracefully collapsing into your chair, you grab hold of your mouse to click on the email. You read through your professor’s words before landing on the name Sangyeon Lee as the person you have been paired with.

“Hmm,” you say aloud. Their name wasn’t familiar to you, not that it mattered since you had no idea who was who in your class. You're curious if they’re a man or a woman. Reading through the syllabus, you notice your professor CC’d Sangyeon as well to initiate communication. You give your neck a stretch and get to typing.

Dear Sangyeon,

Delete, delete, delete

“This isn't a formal letter, Y/n.” You pause to take a sip of your wine, swishing the cheap red in your mouth like a sommelier. Crossing your legs in your chair to get comfortable, you continue to type.

Hi Sangyeon, Congratulations!

“No, they probably won’t find that funny.”

Delete, delete, delete

You start again.

Hi Sangyeon, I’m your partner for the museum paper. My number is 285-543-2351. Feel free to text me your availability. -Y/n

“Short and sweet.” Satisfied, you close your laptop and head to the couch to turn on the tv. Just as you are getting into the Gilmore Girls theme song, your mobile pings interrupting your slightly drunken impression of Carole King. You pick up the device and see a text message from an unknown number. You swipe the notification to respond.

“Great first impression, Y/n.” You smack your palm to your forehead. Speaking of the blessed cheap boxed wine, you look over at your kitchen counter and debate pouring another glass. What the hell, why not? You think.

After taking a shower and doing your hair, you peruse your closet wondering what to wear. Flipping through your choices you decide to keep it comfortable. You inspect your outfit in the mirror before deciding to change again. Then again. And one more time just for good measure. The nerves were starting to get to you and this was beginning to feel more like a first date than a class project. Finally, you settle on some heeled brown leather boots, a mid length jean skirt with a slit up the sides, and a light cream colored cardigan tucked in. Better to make a good first impression, you think. You’re applying some mascara when your phone chimes.

A black jeep pulls up to the curb of your apartment and you look down to your phone screen to see a here from Sangyeon. The butterflies have started to cha cha slide in your belly and you want to consider making excuses, but instead your shaky hands send Sangyeon a quick text that you’ll be down in a moment. After making sure everything is off then checking it twice and thrice, you take one last look in the mirror before leaving.

As you approach the jeep, Sangyeon opens his door and pops out. You stop dead in your tracks as your eyes process the gorgeous stranger in front of you. You suddenly feel like you're in a drama as a warm breeze blows through his brown hair. He flips his head to the side slightly to move the hair from his eyes and you feel your mouth gape open. He is wearing a white linen button up with dark slacks. He walks around the front of his jeep to the passenger side to greet you.

“Y/n?” He points to you twirling his key ring on one finger.

“Who?” How to words? You try to remember.

“What?”

“Sorry, I mean yes, hi! I’m Y/n.” You stretch out your hand to shake his and he takes hold of you. You like the roughness of his calluses on your soft palms. “Um, Sangyeon, I assume?”

“You assume correctly.” He looks down at your still connected hands and laughs. You notice and immediately release him.

“Oh sorry.” You tuck some hair behind your ear and adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder looking away nervously. Sangyeon tilts his head to look you over briefly while you're turned away. He finds you beautiful. Interesting. Not what he was expecting, but quite possibly the prettiest person he has ever seen. He finally speaks.

“Should we get going then?” You nod and smile weakly. You’re so taken aback by this handsome man that you have to remind yourself how to walk, hoping your face isn’t giving anything away. He opens the door and beckons for you to get in. Once you're inside, Sangyeon grabs the buckle and tugs it forward to hand to you.

“Safety first.” He softly chuckles.

You take the seat belt from him, accidentally brushing his finger. “Thank you,” you say a little too shakily. If Sangyeon feels anything, he doesn’t show it. He heads to his side and you take out your phone to distract yourself. He turns the car on and starts punching in directions to the museum. As you’re absentmindedly scrolling through your phone you miss Sangyeon swiveling in his seat, looking in your direction. With one hand on the steering wheel, he places a hand on the back of your headrest. You smell his cologne first before you look up at him surprised to meet his eyes. He looks down at you and smiles. His eyes turn into crescents and you can feel your heartbeat quicken in your chest. Sangyeon turns his attention to the back window and backs the car up from the curb. While he looks behind you, you take the time to visually trace and memorize the shape of his features. You notice he has the nose of a Roman god and the jawline of a Greek one. You shake your head and force your eyes away from him just as you land on his Adam's apple. Sangyeon faces forward and shifts into drive, watching you from his peripheral. He tries to think of something to say and clears his throat.

“So, have you been to the High before?”

You put your phone into your purse. “I have, but I admit it’s only been a few times. I think the last time I came was when Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Mirrors was here.”

“Wow, I wish I could have seen that.”

“It was amazing.”

The nerves start to subside as the two of you get comfortable making small talk on the way. Once Sangyeon parks, he runs around to your side to open the door for you. While he helps you out the car, you feel his thumb brush over your knuckles. You wonder if he meant to do that or if it was accidental, but you try not to think anything of it.

The two of you grab a map of the museum and make your way up the spiral pathway. The sun beams through the large glass windows and Sangyeon notices the way your irises illuminate when the rays reflect in your eyes. He watches as you admire the atrium, your jaw slightly dropping as you take in the sight. Sangyeon smiles to himself as he feels his cheeks begin to bloom. You look back down to review the map and plan your course of action.

“Okay, over here is European artwork and ceramics. We can start there and work our way up.” You notice he is looking at you when you face him to confirm the plan, the smile never leaving his lips. You have to tell your heart to keep it down while he nods and gives you a salute.

“You lead the way, Captain.” He pauses, holding his hand out in front of him signaling for you to enter the first gallery. You bow your head slightly in thanks and walk past him. You make your way through the exhibit stopping briefly by a few pieces to look over them. Sangyeon slowly trails behind you, keeping a little distance so he can watch you. He knows he should be looking at the artwork, but he finds you to be more fascinating. He likes the way you get so close to the artwork your nose almost touches the canvases. Security has had to tell you to back up at least twice now. He also notices the way you pout in concentration as you read the descriptions of the pieces, mouthing each word.

While admiring a Matisse, Sangyeon swallows hard as you make an “o” with your mouth. Warmth travels through his body and he has to mentally swat away the burgeoning dirty thoughts.

“You like Matisse?” he asks.

“I do, especially his sculpture. I didn’t know they had one here.”

“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” You look at him confused by his question.

“Of course, don’t you?”

“Sure, but not in the way you do. I should maybe appreciate all of this more.” He chuckles. Sangyeon later discovers a Rodin sculpture and calls you over.

“Y/n, take a look at this. They have a Rodin too.”

“Wow! It’s beautiful!” You clap your hands at his discovery. He loves how excited you get, almost like a child.

“There's a lot of amazing artwork here. I really didn't know.”

Nearing the end of this exhibition, you finally arrive at the painting you have been hoping to see again. Having been distracted by a piece of ceramics, Sangyeon loses sight of you and looks around. He turns the corner and finds you staring at a small painting intently. The light above you cascades over your golden hair creating a halo. He tentatively approaches, almost sad at the thought of disturbing your entranced state, but too eager to be close to you to keep away. He walks up behind you, so close that he gets a whiff of your shampoo or perfume. He discreetly smells you and feels his heart clutch at the hints of florals and tropical scent. Your hair looks so soft and inviting and all he wants to do is plant his face in its strands. Your skin tingles as you sense Sangyeon’s presence. The warmth from him engulfing you. He takes his place next to you once he notices your attention on him.

“You’ve been staring at this one longer than the others.”

“Have I? Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was just wondering what was so intriguing about it.”

“It’s called The Funeral of Atala by Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson. It is a New World retelling of Romeo and Juliet. Chactas, the man,” You point to the dark haired man on the left wearing a red sash and continue. “Is mourning his beloved Atala who committed suicide so she wouldn’t break her vow of chastity to her dying mother.”

You watch as Sangyeon’s expression falls into a frown. “Why would she do that?”

“The artist wanted to create an inspirational piece in support of Christianity during the time of the French Revolution, which promoted ideals such as secularism.” You smile as Sangyeon nods his head, listening though you can tell he is still trying to understand. “While it doesn’t have that effect for me, I have always been really drawn to this painting because of its tragedy. Maybe it's the hopeless romantic in me.”

“But she’s dead.”

Laughing, you try to explain yourself further. “True, but look at how he clings to her. It’s his final goodbye. His last chance to touch her, feel her, look at her. I hope to be loved and missed like that one day.” You drop your hands to your sides and Sangyeon mirrors you. His fingers brush yours and you feel a current of electricity from his touch. Sangyeon feels the same energy flow through his body and he wants to take hold of your hand. You wonder if he feels the same heaviness building between you that you feel, not knowing that he’s struggling just as much as you are. Needing to break the tension, you decide to turn away and head to the exhibit upstairs. Sangyeon continues to follow behind as you both make your way to the American and African Art sections.

You catch Sangyeon looking at a few pieces by O’Keefe and Gorky, before he stops at Duet by Adolph Gottlieb. You observe him as he squints to examine the work more closely. This was the first painting that seemed to pique his interest out of everything you had seen so far. Abstract art is not something that often appeals to you compared to other genres, but you want to understand what has captured his attention. You stand beside him and nudge his shoulder gently, stirring him from his concentration. He looks over at you curiously, lifting an eyebrow.

“You seem to like the more abstract and surreal work then?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you didn’t seem as interested in the European work from before.”

He holds his chin and nods in thought. “You’re right, I suppose I don’t really get paintings of people.” He turns his attention back to the piece. “It’s like looking at your dreams. As soon as you wake up you start to forget them so your mind tries to piece it back together while you try to interpret the many meanings behind it. And the end result is something like this.” He points to the Gottlieb piece in front of him. “An abstract memory.” You want to kiss him. He feels your eyes on him and faces you. The two of you get lost in each other’s gaze. You try to swallow, but feel it catch in your throat. Sangyeon looks down at your lips and wets his subconsciously. Now it was his turn to distract himself from grabbing hold of you. Sangyeon pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

“Wow, we’ve been here for 2 hours?” He places his hand on his stomach. “No wonder I'm hungry.”

“Do you want to get a bite to eat?”

“Sure, I think I saw a few restaurants down the road when we pulled in.”

“Okay.”

The two of you arrive at a small bistro a short walk from the museum. Once you take your seats, the server asks for your drink order.

“I’ll have a sweet tea, please.” You smile at the server.

“Water is fine for me.”

“I’ll be back with your drinks. Let me know if you have any questions about the menu.” You both thank the server before turning your attention back to each other.

“Sweet tea seems to be a really popular thing here.”

“Yes, in the south it is, but the preference of how you take your tea varies per region.”

“And you like it sweet.”

“I do.” He looks out to the busy street and admires the way the city is cast in a fiery glow. While he looks at the cityscape, you admire the way the setting sun falls across his face.

“You never told me what that gif was from.” He startles you from your staring.

“What gif?” You ask blinking. Sangyeon mimics the waving Tom Hanks gif and you giggle from his attempt. “Oh, that gif. It’s from a movie, Forrest Gump. It was popular when I was a kid.”

“Oh, that does sound familiar now.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know that one, but you knew Wayne’s World.”

“Who doesn’t know that movie? Especially the Bohemian Rhapsody scene.” Sangyeon starts to rock his head back and forth while playing the air guitar. You laugh.

“How old are you?”

“27. I will turn 28 soon though.”

“Ah, that explains that then.”

“Explains what?” “You’re a lot younger than me.” You can tell he wants to ask your age so to spare him from feeling embarrassed, you answer for him. “I’m 34.” He just nods his head and you wonder if he’s intentionally keeping his reaction stoic. In truth, Sangyeon didn’t care that you were older. You could have told him you were 45 and he still would have found himself enraptured by you.

“That’s not that much older than me. Plus, in my defense. I did not grow up here.”

“Touche.” The server returns with your drinks and takes your food order. After they walk away you turn back to Sangyeon and change the subject.

“So,” you stick your straw in your tea and mix it a little. “Why are you pursuing your Masters?”

“Really doing this for a promotion at work, if I am being honest. I hope to return back home eventually once I graduate and can land something. And yourself?”

“Similar. I work at a smaller museum in the metro area and I’m trying to break into a space like the High or better yet, somewhere not in this state.”

“You don’t like it here?” “I don’t mind it, but I have lived here for most of my life and wouldn’t mind an excuse to escape it.”

Sangyeon stares at your hands and reaches out to grab hold of you. You blink at him, surprised by the sudden action. He rubs his thumb over your rings.

“I like them.”

“Oh,” You can feel your body ignite while the butterflies start to dance again. “Thanks.”

“What are they?”

“Tiger’s Eye for courage, Sunstone for motivation, and Moss Aquamarine for clarity.” You point to each ring. Still holding your hand in one, he takes his free hand and taps on the Tiger’s Eye.

“I like this one.” He shifts his gaze to yours. “It looks like your eyes.” The server interrupts the two of you, but Sangyeon doesn’t release your hand until he is handed his plate. His attention was really getting to you so you were relieved to get a break to eat.

As you work through your meal, he notices something peeking out from where your cardigan sleeve is bunched up on your forearm. He gently shifts your arm and pulls the sleeve up more, spotting a tattoo. He traces the outline of the art and goosebumps spread across your skin. Sangyeon grins as you involuntarily close your eyes from his touch, feeling satisfied that you might be just as affected as he is.

“It’s pretty.” You hum in response, still focused on the way his fingertips feel on your skin. Once he removes his hand you try to speak to calm the pitter patter of your heart.

“Do you have any tattoos?”

“No, I would like some, but just never brought myself to do it.”

“Well, there’s still time. The body is a canvas.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he thinks of your body being a canvas for him.

The two of you finish your meals and walk back to the car. Sangyeon contemplates holding your hand again, but he wonders if it might be too forward.

“I had a lot of fun today.” You interrupt his anxious thoughts.

“Me too.”

“I was actually really nervous.”

“Nervous? Why?” He asks, amused.

You shrug. “What if you had been a serial killer? Or just not very nice?”

“Well, I promise I’m not a murderer, but hopefully you think I’m nice?” Sangyeon approaches the passenger side of his car and opens the door for you. You have to duck under his arm to step inside. He lingers for a moment and once seated, you face him.

“Yes, you’re very nice, Sangyeon.” You grab hold of your seatbelt and he closes the door for you. You watch as he walks to the driver side, grinning. The car ride home is mostly quiet. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but you can feel the air in the car grow thicker as you get closer and closer to your apartment.

Sangyeon arrives and pulls into an open parking spot near your building. You fidget with your bag and he makes no moves to rush you out.

“Thanks again for today…and for driving.”

“You’re welcome.” He lightly drums his fingers on the steering wheel thinking of something else to say.

“Well, I guess I’ll go then. Have a good night.”

“You too, Y/n.” His heart sinks as he watches you turn away to open the door, but you pause your hand on the handle. Sangyeon senses your hesitation and looks at you. You look back at him and chew your bottom lip for a moment. His fingers now tighten on the steering wheel in anticipation.

“Do you want to come up?” He nods and you hear him unclick his seatbelt in disbelief at his lack of hesitation. You open the door and climb out of his car, meeting him on your side. The walk up to your floor feels long and neither of you say anything. You arrive at your door and grab your keys from your purse.

“This is me.” You insert the keys and enter the dark apartment while Sangyeon follows closely behind you. His body almost flush against yours. You drop your keys in a bowl and bend over to remove your boots. He slides his shoes off as well. Flipping the light on, you try to think about your game plan. You hadn’t thought much farther after inviting him up, other than wanting to feel his skin on yours. When you turn around to face him, you nearly bump into his chest. He places his hands on your shoulders to steady you and you have to take a step back to speak.

“Um, can I get you a drink?” You can hear the nerves in your voice.

“Okay,” is all he can get out. Sangyeon was more nervous than he expected to be. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding in his ears since you invited him upstairs. Actually, since he first saw you when he picked you up earlier. The two of you head into your kitchen and you open the fridge. He leans his back against the counter behind you while you scour for something to drink.

“Let’s see…I have water, some beer-”

“And boxed wine,” he interrupts.

You smile and laugh. “Yes, that too.” You look to him for his choice. His eyes trail up your body before meeting your gaze to answer.

“Just water is fine since I have to drive.”

While you plan to grab a bottle of water, you find yourself feeling bold and reaching for two beers instead. He smirks at your defiance. You pop the tops off and hand one to him.

“Stay,” you whisper while looking down into your beer shyly. He takes hold of the drink and searches your eyes, hopeful. He watches as you wrap your lips around the bottle for a sip and can’t help himself from wondering what your mouth would feel like around him. Deciding he can no longer skirt around things, Sangyeon places the bottle down and grabs hold of you, finally bringing you in for a kiss. It takes you a moment to register what is happening before you are wrapping your arms around each other. His lips feel soft against yours. Sangyeon pulls away after a moment to look over your face.

“You’re so beautiful.” Blushing, you laugh nervously and try to hide in his chest. He takes hold of your chin to face him again.

“Don’t. Please don’t ever hide yourself from me.�� He places feather soft kisses on the apples of your cheeks to soothe you, before capturing your mouth with his again. Sangyeon pushes you into the kitchen counter and trails his lips down your neck, nipping your skin with every peck. He settles into your sensitive spot, where your neck and shoulder meet, and inhales, finally committing your smell to memory. Craving to feel him, you unbutton his shirt and drop it to the floor, revealing his beautiful sun kissed skin. You slowly brush your fingers down his toned abdomen until they meet his waistline. He flexes under your touch.

“Can I remove this?” You point to his belt and he nods as he cages you in. You remove his belt then move on to unzip his pants. Once undone you push his pants down and he steps out of them.

“Your turn,” he whispers into your neck and your body tingles in response. He takes hold of your cardigan and pulls it up to untuck from your skirt, lifting it over your head. Sangyeon unbuttons your jean skirt and lets it fall to the ground. Next, he unclasps your bra. You watch his Adam's apple bob as he admires your breasts. His hand moves up from your waist and takes hold of your nipple between his thumb and index finger. You throw your head back at the sensation. He pulls you in to a kiss you again, pushing his tongue in between your lips. You part them to invite him in and swallow his moan. The two of you eventually have to breakaway to catch your breath. While he continues to familiarize his hands with your body, you trace a finger down the bridge of his nose, then place a chaste kiss on the tip of it. A breathy laugh escapes him at the sweet gesture.

“I want you.” Humor is suddenly replaced with hunger.

“Tell me what you want, baby. Use your words.” You could have folded at the sound of his deep voice calling you baby right then and there, but you remain strong.

“I want to feel you inside me.” He groans and moves his hand down your waist, making his way to your core. You wrap your arms around him to bring him closer to you. He slides two fingers beneath your panties, collecting your wetness as he explores your folds. You exhale into his neck at the relief of his touch.

“Baby, you’re so wet,” he whispers into your ear.

“Mmm, for you. Only for you.” He removes his fingers and settles his hands on the back of your thighs.

“Let’s take this to your bedroom, yeah?” You nod eagerly and place your lips back on his. He lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist. He walks you to the bed and gently lays you down before standing to admire you. Sangyeon looks over your exposed body and shakes his head, his breath catching in his throat. You are the most beautiful work of art he has seen today.

“I can’t believe you're real.”

Who is this man and how is he real? You wonder. No one has ever spoken to you, looked at you the way he has tonight. He makes you feel like you might actually be beautiful, at least in his eyes. And his eyes are all the matter right now.

He places his palms on either side of your head and leans back down for a quick kiss to your lips then starts trailing kisses down your body. He latches onto your hardened nipple swirling his tongue slowly, making you squirm. He uses his body to part your legs.

“Sangyeon, please,” you cry out. He lets out a chuckle as he continues placing kisses down your stomach. Your body tensing in pleasure from each touch. Finally reaching the waistband of your panties, he loops his fingers into the sides and pulls them off. His stare at your aroused middle makes you feel shy as you try to close your legs. He stops you.

“Don’t hide from me, remember?” You nod and part your knees. “I can’t wait to taste how sweet you are, baby.” You whine when you feel his breath on your wet pussy. Sangyeon kitten licks your lips, teasing you and you buck into him. He wraps his hands around your legs, pinning your hips down as he presses his tongue harder into you, licking and sucking. He prods your entrance and you hiss in pleasure.

“Ahh, Sangyeon.” You comb your fingers through his hair, pushing him into you. “More.” He removes a hand from your hip and slides two fingers inside of you. “Yes, yes! Fuck!” You tighten around his digits with each thrust amazed at how close you are to coming. He curls his fingers to push against your spongy spot and you cry out. He sucks just above your entrance near his fingers while his nose rubs into your clit repeatedly. You can hear your wetness and your cries grow louder.

“Faster, Sang. Please, baby,” you shout. Your begging nearly sends him over the edge. He grinds into your mattress for relief while he continues lapping your pussy and increasing his pace. “I’m gonna come, Sang! I want to come!”

“Let go, sweetheart.” His soft tone, while face deep in your pussy, guides you to the edge and you feel yourself release. Sangyeon licks up your juices while you come down from your orgasm. Once he’s done, you lift him off you and bring him to your lips before pushing him back again. You point to his briefs and snap them.

“Off, please!” His cock twitches at your request. Sangyeon slides his briefs down his hips freeing himself. He’s so hard and sensitive that the cold air elicits a moan from him. You watch him close his eyes from pleasure and you can feel your arousal grow again. You take hold of him and softly stroke him up and down, feeling the weight and warmth of his cock. His whole body shudders. You scoot closer to him and wrap your lips around his tip to suckle. Before you can put more of him into your mouth, he pulls you off making you pout.

“Baby, I don’t think I will last if you keep that up and right now all I want to do is feel you coming on my cock.” He pushes you back down onto the mattress. Sangyeon slips his tip through your folds for lubrication then aligns himself with your entrance. As he pushes in, you both release a moan at the feeling of him stretching you. His eyes roll to the back of his head at the feeling of you sucking him in and you think this might be the hottest thing you've ever seen in your 34 years.

“You feel so fucking good, Y/n.” He stills once he can't go any further trying to savor the feeling.

“Move, Sang, please. I can’t take it anymore. I need you.” With one hand by your head, he places the other on your waist, gripping it tightly for leverage and rocks into you. He doesn’t hold back and it’s not long before your bed frame is knocking repeatedly into your wall. You wonder if you’ll get a complaint, not that you care right now.

“I’m so close to coming, baby,” he calls out breathlessly. You run your fingertips down his back, feeling every ripple of muscle while you bite into his neck.

“Come inside me.” Sangyeon drives harder into you at the demand and you can feel his thrusts start to stutter as he approaches his high. You tighten your legs around him to push him further into you. Sangyeon lets out a whine as he finally climaxes. The feeling of his warmth filling you triggers your second orgasm. You scream out his name as the two of you slow your movements and catch your breath. He lays his entire weight onto your body and you hold him closely, stroking his hair.

“We should probably clean up,” he says as he tries to get up. You stop him from pulling out and shush him.

“Not yet, please.” He lays his head back onto your breasts, too tired to protest. You continue to brush your fingers through his hair and he starts to doze off listening to your heartbeat. You’re not sure if you have fallen asleep or not, but Sangyeon’s raspy voice rouses you.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

Sangyeon lifts himself up to face you and places a soft kiss on your forehead as he speaks. “To be honest,” Then places another kiss on the tip of your nose. “I wasn’t originally looking forward to this assignment.” Then on your cheek. “But I’m glad we got paired together.” And finally leans in for a kiss on your lips.

You smile into the kiss then meet his eyes. “Me too.”

A/N: Just a very self-indulgent one shot inspired by a dream I had recently. Listening to Daylight while thinking of Sangyeon definitely devastated me lol. Also, I just needed to get this quickly out of my head so apologies for any mistakes. Hope you like it! Graphics by @saradika-graphics!

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davidfarland · 8 days

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David Farland’s Writing Tips—Do You Want to Be an Apex Writer?

First, I wanted to have a little shout-out. I was on Facebook on Saturday for a few minutes and noticed that some of my past students had made some major accomplishments:

Martin Shoemaker’s hard science fiction novel The Last Dance hit #1 in its category on Amazon.com and stayed high through the Christmas season, garnering 722 ratings—the vast majority of them being 5-stars. For those who don’t know, hitting over 500 ratings is a major milestone. It ensures that Amazon’s algorithms will bump up the book’s publicity. I’m interested to see how high his sales climb over the next few years. He’s a dedicated writer with a very promising career path.

Monalisa Foster got a novel contract and an acceptance check for Christmas. Great timing!

Rebekah R. Ganiere’s romance novel Rekindling Christmas is being made into a film and will start shooting this week! I’m excited for her. Well deserved!

James Dashner, whose successful Maze Runner movies series recently ended, is getting ready to spring some major news on us. I’m hoping he’s graduated to the level where he has a book-movie joint announcement.

Brandon Sanderson went to his local Barnes and Noble on Saturday and was asked if he would sign some of the books on his “wall.” Now a lot of popular authors get a little extra shelf-space at the bookstores, but you’ve got to be moving huge numbers of books to merit your own wall! I’m including a picture of it. Wishing him great success!

While on Facebook, though, I happened to see a post by a young woman who had set a goal of publishing her first fantasy novel in 2020. She asked how to go about it and was getting lots of bad advice. Yes, some of the advice would lead her to get published—either self-published or traditionally published, but not published well.

If you do it wrong, getting published can be dangerous. Going to a small publisher who can’t get distribution into bookstores, for example, might cause you to make nothing in royalties, lose your rights to your novel for as long as you live, and waste years of your life. Going to the wrong agent—one who is crooked or just plain incapable of connecting with a publisher, can once again waste years of your life.

Even self-publishing may be a total bomb if you don’t know how to go about it.

I really wanted to help her negotiate the path ahead.

Yet this poor young woman had dozens of tips from people who had no idea that their advice sucked. I suspect that much of it came from people who had never published.

So, I suggested that she go to my website to read some of my posts on the topic—and was blocked by the site administrator for “self-promotion.”

I could have offered the writer a free video that might be helpful. I have a seminar on how to publish in 2020. (It’s in my writing Compleat Writer’s Program but hasn’t been put up for sale elsewhere.) But I suspected that the site administrator would have deleted that post, too.

I realized that I often feel blocked. I don’t want to tell you when another author is giving you bad advice. They’re my friends and peers, after all, and they’re trying to be helpful.

There are things that publishers, film distributors, bookstore chains, agents and social media companies do that are kind of dangerous to talk about—but that you need to know.

I’ve decided that I need to start a closed group. How cliché. It seems like everyone who works in a counseling business starts something with a lofty title, like “The Billionaire’s Club,” and they usually charge an arm and a leg for it. So I’ve been resisting the idea for years.

I want to share this information only with authors who are driven, who are ready to take the steps forward, who are trustworthy, and who are also willing to share information.

I’m going to call it the Apex Writer’s group. The goal of the group is simple: I want to help take you from wherever you are in your career, (whether you’re just beginning or are in your mid-career, to become an Apex Writer). An Apex Writer is one who sells books by the millions, whose books get wide advertisement, and who understands how to leverage the advertising from the film industry to make major deals before their books are even released.

One study years ago said that it took the average writer seven years to break into publishing, and it took another seven to become a bestseller. What if you could do it in three or four years? What if we could save each other a decade of struggle? I think that we can do it.

It will take more than just good advice. You’ll need to be in a closed group of writers who are learning how to work within the system, and it will be easier if we share information and work as a team.

Now, you might think, “Ah, but I want to self-publish. I don’t want to work in the traditional publishing field.” That’s fine. But you need to understand that even if you’re a self-published author, you’re working inside a field controlled by Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google, and other mega-corporations.

It won’t be expensive to join the group, but there will be a small charge because, heck, there are costs. There’s my time and expertise, maintenance for websites, and costs for administration. So it will cost a couple hundred per year.

You will have access to a closed group on Facebook, to my Compleat Writer’s Program, to the new bulletin board system going up this week, to regular meetings held online—and to further program benefits as it grows.

If you are interested in applying to become an Apex Writer, simply reply to this email with one word: Apex. I’ll send you an application to join, let you know if I think that you’re ready, and tell you what would be expected.

(note: to apply to Apex Writers, visit apex-writers.com )

For more on David Farland's Writing tips, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/writing-blog/

And you can also click here to get your David Farland Daily Meditations.

#writing advice #writing tips #writing help #writing tips and tricks

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ink-stained-clouds · 11 months

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Hi, it's thesis anon! First off, congratulations on your graduation!!! I'm so excited for you, do you have any plans yet on what you want to do next (no pressure to answer at all!!!)?

I decided to take a leave for the rest of the semester, so I'll have time to do my thesis. Do you have any tips for the whole thesis process -- from researching the whole thing, to doing the framework, etc.? I'm starting from the beginning, with just the topic that I have so I have a very long way to go. I'm very anxious about it because I won't have any advisor supervising me (for now, because I'm doing this before the start of the semester) and I won't really know if I'm going the right way plus I am not very confident I'll figure it out. Any tips for this self-doubting thesis anon? All tips are appreciated.

Thanks!

first of all, lmao, sorry about ^ it is definitely not June 1st

Anyways, thank you!! I'll be starting my PhD in the fall, I'm very excited

I'm so glad your thesis stuff is working out!! I absolutely have tips, I'm gonna write down everything I can think of right now but I'll reblog and add to this if I think of anything else!

My biggest tip is to give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You're going to become the expert in this, your supervisor, unless by some very strange coincidence, will not have even close to the depth and breadth of knowledge on your topic as you will. You're so much more capable than you think you are

As for researching, keep your notetaking and organization consistent. I'd highly recommend something like Zotero which I did not use for my thesis and regret immensely. But whatever you choose, consistency will really help when you're writing and need to find information you know you have but don't know exactly where. Having to search eight different word docs with 75% the same info as the last word doc you looked at is exhausting, ask me how I know 😅

Start broad with your literature review and narrow in on your topic as you outline/write. The best advice my advisor gave me was that the literature review should literally lead you to the research question. I think of it as like an upside down triangle, at the top you have the foundational theoretical literature/methods, then you get more and more specific until you come to your research question at the point of the triangle. Not sure if that makes sense, I can give you pictures of outlining I've done if it'll help

When I started reading for my literature review I kept a doc which I read all the abstracts and noted articles I wanted to read in full, personally that worked pretty well for me

Going off of that, when you read full papers, do your citations at the same time. At the top of the page or however you keep notes, write out the full citation for that paper so that you have it when you do your bibliography, also keep page numbers for any quotes you find, even if it feels tedious. If you think to yourself "I can always find it later" that is the devil talking, do not listen

Take! Breaks! This applies to every stage of any project but especially theses. You need days where you do something else, you need to read things that aren't for your thesis, you need to give yourself time to decompress. Forgive me but I can't remember your exact topic, mine was personally very heavy (I was reading a lot of hate speech online) so if yours is emotionally exhausting, find a way to come down from all of that, give your brain a break

If you find yourself getting stuck consider you need to switch up your environment. I found that when I got to the last week of edits I literally could not work in my apartment, ended up going to a cafe almost every day. Bad for the wallet good for the thesis. I really should've thanked them in my acknowledgments

I found I was most productive working in blocks of like 3 or 4 hours so I would set aside roughly that amount of time with nothing on either side (so I didn't feel pressure to finish working so I could go to a meeting or hang out with friends). Personally, dedicating a few hours of good quality focus and work has always been more effective for me than trying to spend all day on something. The work will expand to fill the time you allot yourself

If you're doing qualitative research, just a heads up, you will feel like an imposter. I remember telling a grad student I'm friends with, when I was analyzing my data, that I completely believe in the strength and validity of qualitative research but that everyone else was doing it right and I was doing it wrong. That's just not true, I promise. No advice, really, just a warning lol

I remember you saying you don't have to defend but I found it very helpful to kinda just,,,, talk to myself about my work. It helped me fill in gaps and put analyses into words when they were only existing vaguely in my head. You don't have to talk to yourself, either, you can always rope a friend into listening. Pets also work too but they ask terrible questions. Mine just wanted treats which was beyond the scope of my project

Oh also, if any scary smart people (e.g., professors) are asking you questions like "are you doing xyz?" or "did you look at [something you definitely did not look at]" just say it's beyond the scope of your project, another pro tip from my advisor

I know I already said it but remind yourself that you are the expert on this. Do it periodically, even when you aren't doubting yourself

Also remind yourself why you chose your topic, why you enjoy it, why it interests you. I was afraid I would lose sight of this, and sometimes I did, but I always found a reminder that this was the thing for me and it really made a difference

Oh, and if you're doing qualitative research which I think you said you were, bear in mind that it tends to change. This was something my advisor warned me about several times and from very early on but it really is true. Let it change, don't feel bound to something that isn't working or doesn't make sense with what you have data-wise

Find what helps you work. For me, personally, periodic snack breaks, a fun little beverage, filming time lapses of me working when I can't focus, Lizzo's music (not kidding, I know every word to every song now), also lo-fi, getting out of my apartment to work (god bless public libraries 🫡), pomodoros (25-5 and also 45-15)

As your think of things, write them down. Little bits and pieces of analysis can often become useful later on. If inspiration strikes, go ahead and ride it

That said, be ready to part with things you right. You don't have to delete them, copy and paste them into another document but learn to let them go

Ask some friends ahead of time if they'll be able to get their eyes on drafts. I could not have written my thesis if it weren't for my friends who read countless drafts, I literally owe them my degree

When I was coding my data, I had trouble staying focused on what I was looking for. I wrote the key patterns on a sticky note and stuck it to my laptop, it was weirdly useful

Keep your to do lists achievable and specific. Sometimes that looks like "edit analysis section paragraphs 1-7" sometimes it looks like "20 minutes of work on methodology section" but don't let it look like "do some editing" or "finish literature review"

Remind yourself that you can do this (again because eventually it sticks). Remind yourself that you have done things that have scared you before and things that you thought wouldn't work out and they did. Remind yourself that that's how life usually works

Learn to deal with imperfection. If you try to make any one section or paragraph 'right' before you move onto the next you won't get far

You should also prepare to get comfy with people seeing your bad writing. In the past, even when professors asked us for our free writes or rough drafts, I would edit mine to near grammatical perfection before sending them in. This is not possible with a thesis and you have to face that fear (if you somehow do not have this fear, congrats but you scare me). I somehow got very comfortable with my advisor reading some very bad and weird shit, I got to the point where I wasn't even deleting the word little notes I left myself before I sent them off to her and she never minded once

Use your resources!! If you're having trouble starting your research and finding literature, book an appointment with a librarian at your school. You almost definitely have a subject librarian for your area, they can help you navigate research databases and find keywords to use in searches, they are literal gods and are a criminally under utilized resource in research

Everything looks rough in the beginning. There are going to be times where you look at everything you have and the idea of it being one, cohesive paper is literally laughable. I don't think there's any way around this, I think it's just part of trusting the process. Eventually you will have a thesis, it will fall short of your expectations, you will be able to list all the things you wish you did differently or had the time to include. But a good thesis is a done thesis and you will finish

I hope at least some of these help, thesis anon! I am very excited to hear about your thesis journey, please keep me updated. I was literally just wondering how you were doing when you sent this ask in lol

I also look forward to hearing your tips when you finish your thesis because I will be doing another one in the next two years and I'm already nervous

Good luck!!! - Inky

#ask #anon #answered #thesis anon

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sinopiner · 2 years

Text

The hidden map

#The hidden map plus#

#The hidden map series#

My first novel for teenagers was THIS MUST BE LOVE, which retells Shakespeare’s play A Midsummer Night’s Dream in a modern-day high school, from the POV of the two heroines, Hermia and Helena.Īnd now I'm writing in a new project called SEEKERS! It's a children's book series that I'm writing with Erin Hunter. Derelict ships and hidden bunkers will often have debris or furniture that can be deconstructed for. This section covers any crashed ships, crashed satellites, abandoned facilities, underground bunkers, etc. The Planet Crafter Crashed Ship and Hidden Bunker Locations. MEET MO AND ELLA is tough to find now, but FUN WITH MO AND ELLA should still be out there somewhere. This map reflects that design decision by also featuring East at the top. My first two official books were beginning readers, part of Grosset & Dunlap’s “First Friends” series for kids learning to read. During her travels, she meets a lone Scottish explorer who had stumbled upon this mysterious land of secrets years earlier. The game is a 2D level pixel game in which objects and characters are frozen in the picture, you have to find 20 different objects. An American-Armenian granddaughter of exiled genocide survivors dares to venture to their lost ancestral homeland to uncover long-buried truths. In which you need to find objects with a certain design in beautiful locations, and click on them with the mouse. Much to my parents’ relief, I abandoned my theatrical aspirations after college for the far more stable and lucrative career of fiction writing. Find the objects that are hidden on the map. I graduated from Williams College in ’98 and I currently live in Boston with my husband, my perfect new baby, and my adorable yoodle Sunshine (what’s a yoodle? A puppy that’s three-quarters poodle and one-quarter Yorkshire terrier, of course!). because it was artistically fulfilling, yes.) The blast door map discovered in Lockdown is a map of DHARMA Initiative facilities on the Island discovered by Locke at the Swan. I was born July 31 (same birthday as Harry Potter!) in Caracas, Venezuela, and lived in Asuncion, Paraguay Miami, Florida and Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, before moving to New Jersey in high school, where I started doing theatre-mostly backstage work, because (a) it was fun, and (b) you got to hang out in the dark with cute boys. Among the many great things to come out of New Zealand (the Lord of the Rings movies, cats that paint, my mom) is a bird called the tui-not as well known as the kiwi, but a heck of a lot noisier! Tui? What kind of name is that? Is it short for something? Now to the the next part of the last five weeks.Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Kill 1 enemy while in a dinghy motorboat. Two challenges of the same week emphasize this idea: No need for any additional content or game. The map is fully packed, soundscapes included. In order to find these hidden rewards players must either conquer the entirety of the maps, or know beforehand where to look for them. A collection of official maps made for The Hidden, as well as fan made ones. There are three Conquest maps in MLB The Show 22 that include hidden rewards, such as packs, stubs, and XP. These external rules might also give away a potential theme of the map with focus on air and sea. This guide will show you all Conquest map hidden rewards locations in MLB The Show 22. I dont know if this is the final name, a working title or just a placeholder, but its part of a Tides of War challenge ('Win 1 round on The Pacific Ocean') and the word 'on' confirms that its not just a game mode (at least not a regular one).

#The hidden map plus#

Therefore a potential launch in week 8 isn't totally unrealistic and then the cut after week 7 in the menu would make more sense.Ī few very specific settings in the files confirm the map's existence and determine numbers plus repawn time of the following vehicles: There seems to be a new map called 'The Pacific Ocean' coming to the game. This challenge is located in week 9 but last thursday I could already see a few weeks not being in sync with the order in the files. I don't know if this is the final name, a working title or just a placeholder, but it's part of a Tides of War challenge ("Win 1 round on The Pacific Ocean") and the word "on" confirms that it's not just a game mode (at least not a regular one). The pack of maps of the hidden: source maps and more. There seems to be a new map called "The Pacific Ocean" coming to the game.

#The hidden map

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kiribaku-queen · 3 years

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Hiii congratulation for 1000 followers! U deserve it! So i was thinking of bakugou!prohero a reader where he's always busy and always hv this photoshoot with these hot models or hot pro hero that made reader feel left out. And the last straw was when a newly magazine publish of him kissing other girls cheek (or mouth) (u do u;)) and thats when they had a bad fight that caused reader to run away. I would like it to be heavy angst with a happy ending. I love angst but after a heavy angst i like a happy ending to soothe my heart 😂 if u do choose this, gudluck!

Blinded by the Fame

Angst

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Thank you so so much for this request! I was actually so excited to do this piece because I already had an idea I wanted to use and this scenario was PERFECTO~! So painful yet so good!

Thank you for the congratulations and I hope this request met your needs! Please let me know your thoughts!

Who said dating an upcoming hero was going to be easy? It certainly wasn’t easy, not in the slightest. You definitely had hard days. There were times when it got so difficult that you wanted to quit. But was loving the hero worth it and fulfilling? Absolutely.

Bakugou Katsuki was the love of your life. Relationships were never easy. Couples always have obstacles and challenges they have to overcome. Even when you were in tears, screaming at each other at the top of your lungs, even if you gave each other the cold shoulder the entire week, nothing could replace the warmth that was Bakugou’s arms. You would never much refuse his touch every tine, but that wouldn’t stop Bakugou from having you in his arms every night, whispering sweet nothings in your ears despite all the things he said prior. And you would forgive him. Of course you would. How could you not?

But being with a rising hero came with bearing a lot of burden that you had to keep to yourself. You didn’t like how he was working all the time. You didn’t like how he came home bruised up, sometimes not even going to the hospital if it means not being able to see you for the night. You couldn’t bare seeing him like that. But that was part of his job and that was never going to change. So no matter how much you absolutely hated the sight, you let him do his hero work because that was what he loved to do. You couldn’t interfere with his dreams of becoming the number one hero.

But the thing that itched you the most was when Bakugou was forced to promotional shoots to get his name out there. The memory of when he first started made you laugh. Being the Bakugou that he was, he flat-out refused to do it. He didn’t like getting his picture taken. He’ll dress up once in a while, and when he does it’s real clean, but he wasn’t a fan of constantly dressing up. But when he finally let go and tried it once, he saw how much fan votes and popularity he was getting and eventually, would do more here and there.

And you didn’t mind if the shoots were by himself, but most of the time, they were with other pro-heroes or very attractive models. And that you feel insecure. How could it not? Your boyfriend getting close to other women while you looked nothing like these women? You didn’t have the body, the face, the money, or the fame these women brought to the table. You would never admit it, but you hated when other women were in the picture. And you hated when one of the women would be touching him. It left a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. You were so sure that he was going to leave you for one of them. But he proved his love by dropping down on one knee with the most gorgeous ring.

“Come with me to the shoot,” Bakugou proposed but you hesitated.

“I can just meet you at the restaurant,” you decided. The mention of being on set for one of his photoshoots seemed like a bad idea.

“I want to go together. It won’t even take long. One hour tops,” he swore and brought you by the waist, your body flushed against him. He takes your face in his hands and gently puts your foreheads together.

“I know you’ve been wanting to go to this restaurant forever. Let’s go together,” he whispers and you couldn’t help but fall for that voice over and over again.

“Okay,” you whispered back. He smiles at you, places a small kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before taking your hand to lead you to the car.

The set of the shoot was intimidating. People were running around everywhere, cameras were set in all positions, lights were blinding and hot, the space just looked so busy. And you felt like you didn’t belong. But Bakugou was so used to this kind of scene. He leads you to where the photographer and the director were talking.

“Ah, Pro-Hero Dynamite, you made it!�� the director greeted your boyfriend. “Your stylist is in the next room. Go ahead and get changed and we’ll get started.” Bakugou nodded and turned to you.

“I’ll be right back,” Bakugou said and kissed you on the forehead. You watched as your boyfriend disappeared in the sea of people and then you were left all alone.

This was fine. You would just wait in the back patiently for him to be done. And then you two could enjoy a nice evening out at that fancy restaurant you’ve always been wanting to try. Just relax. You closed your eyes and took deep, but slow breaths. There was nothing to get worked up over. Afterall, it looked like Bakugou was doing this shoot by himself.

But you spoke too soon. Bakugou had appeared from the dressing room, looking all dashing and handsome. You felt your heart skip again. He was wearing a red shirt that was unbuttoned to the third button, exposing his broad and muscular chest. Over, he wore a black jacket with leather gloves and pants. His hair was styled slightly back, forehead showing. He was mesmerizing to look at. But shortly after his appearance, two women walked out behind him. Two gorgeous, fit, and slim women who wore skin tight, elegant dresses were doing the shoot with him. And for some reason, your heart began to hurt. The pang in your heart was constant that you had to beat at your chest to calm yourself down.

They were beautiful. And you had recognized one of the women: Pro-hero Miruko. You knew their history together. Bakugou had worked under Miruko during his school days and eventually worked along side with her after he graduated. You knew she was a flirt. She flirted with everybody. And that was fine, until she got alittle too touchy with your boyfriend. And that bothered you. But Bakugou was so used to her behavior that he didn’t even notice.

You couldn’t say anything. They are old time friends and co-workers. What? Are you supposed to say that he can’t be friends with her anymore just because you didn’t like it? And then you would look like the possessive girlfriend? You were fine with him being friends with other women, but they did make you nervous. Nervous because all the women he’s surrounded by are so unbelievably good looking, it put you to shame. Why would he want to be with you when he could have all these women to choose from?

But you tried to shake these negative thoughts away and playfully tugged at the ring on your ringer. There was a reason why he chose you. There was a reason why he gave you this ring. You shouldn’t think this way. But you couldn’t help it. You tried not to let it bother you, but in the end, it did. It really did. It bothered you so much that you couldn’t stop fidgeting.

You watched at Bakugou sat on the couch with both women on each side of him. His arms were lounging on the back of the couch while one girl sat next to him and Miruko stood behind him. Looking at his facial expressions, he didn’t seem interested in any of the girls. Which is a good sign?

And so the shoot started. Nothing else could be heard besides music playing in the background and the loud click of the camera. Everyone else was watching the shoot take place. Everything looked okay so far. Their outfits were scandalous but nothing scandalous was happening. The only directions the models were given was to look sexily at the camera. Bakugou delivered that perfectly with his go-to signature look. But now the photographer wanted more.

“Can the two women get a little closer, please?” the photographer asked and put his camera up to his face once more. The girls did what they were told and Bakugou didn’t even flinch. But you were growing nervous. There was more skin happening, more touching and it was making you uncomfortable. You gasped when you saw Miruko grab Bakugou by his chin to lift to towards her direction. Then she leans in, her lips ghosting over his ever so slightly, like they were about to kiss. Tears were spilling out and your cheeks heated up in anger until you finally exploded.

“Stop!” you yelled, stopping all production. Heads from all around turned to you. Mirko looked at you shocked and Bakugou was wide eyed with curiosity and concern. You gripped the handle of the purse that was slung around your shoulder, feeling anxious now that everyone was looking at you.

“Sorry, give me one moment,” Bakugou apologized to the staff. He got up, rushing towards you. He takes your hand and brings you in the dressing room. The door slammed shut and Bakugou turns to you in a huff.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed. With tears streaming down your face, you were shocked by his reaction. But you were going to stand your ground.

“I don’t like how she was touching you,” you say.

“It’s my job,” he sighs in exasperation.

“Well she should learn her boundaries, whether it’s a job or not. And if you respected me at all, you would tell her no,” you stated firmly. But all Bakugou did was roll his eyes.

“You’re overreacting.” You scoff and it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I’m overreacting? Is it wrong that I don’t like when other women are touching you?” you started to raise your voice and talk back.

“Do I have to say it again? It’s my job. If I’m going to make it big, I have to do it. What? You think I like her? You think I was going to let her kiss me? It’s just for the pictures. Geez, how sensitive can you get?” he stabbed you right in a sensitive topic. You stayed silent because you weren’t expecting him to say that. The moment you think he’s going to stop there, he keeps going.

“I might need to save lots of women who are in danger. What? You don’t want me touching them? You’re going to get jealous because I’ll have some stranger in my arms? You’re afraid that she’s going to cling to me for dear life because I’m saving her? You don’t like that?!” he was practically screaming now.

“No! I don’t like that!” you screamed right back, giving back the same amount of energy. The tension in the air was so thick, anyone could feel it. Hell, they were all listening from outside and they felt uncomfortable with the ambiance of the situation. Both parties’ chests were heaving up and down from the labored breathing. And you just glared at each other. Bakugou turns away from you, breaking the ice.

“Fine. If you’re going to be this jealous, then maybe… maybe we shouldn’t be together,” he said. That was it. That was when your heart broke into a million pieces. You felt like if you stood there any longer, you would have suffocated.

“Fine,” you whisper. He doesn’t even spare you a glance. With teary eyes and a heavy heart, you tighten your jaw as you take off your engagement ring, wiggling it off your finger and then setting it down on the counter beside you. The sound of the metal hitting the hard desk was loud enough for Bakugou to hear, but he still chose not to turn to you. You thought that maybe, just maybe, if he turned around and said he didn’t mean it, then you would have been okay. You would have forgave him for those mean things he said. And then you would have apologized to him. But he looked set on his decision.

Without another word, you turned around and sped out of that building, tears never stopping. Everyone saw you go. Miruko laid her sad eyes on you and her broke for you. Shortly after, Bakugou walks back to the couch, plopping down with a huff.

“Let’s continue,” he says begrudgingly. But nobody moves, still shell-shocked about yousr argument. But this causes Bakugou to explode.

“Are you not going to start? Let’s get on with it!!” he hollers and everyone rushes like mice to get back to production. Bakugou lets out a long sigh, face in a permanent frown.

Miruko sits on the back of the couch and looks down at her old friend. She could tell that he was hurting just as much as you, if not more.

“Idiot~” Miruko sang.

“Ha?” Bakugou glared up at his past mentor. Mirko looked at her nails, not paying mind to the hot head who was on the verge of exploding.

“You need to go apologize,” she told him, more like ordered him to.

“Like it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t take her feelings into consideration,” Miruko pointed out, silencing Bakugou on the spot. “If she was feeling a little jealous, then her feelings are totally valid. You need to do something about it and make her feel like she doesn’t need to worry about anything.” Bakugou was only getting more annoyed.

“Whatever. It’s just business. If she can’t understand that, then we don’t need to be together,” he tried to convince himself. But that only hurt himself more.

“Whatever my ass. Then if you can’t be a good boyfriend and comfort her instead of making her feel insecure, then she doesn’t need you. She can find a better man who treats her good.”

“I do treat her good,” Right?

“Oh yes, I can tell,” Miruko said sarcastically. But in all seriousness, she knew he was hurting and she was trying to give advice from a woman’s perspective, but he is so stubborn and hard-headed that he doesn’t want to admit that he was in the wrong.

“Look, you let her go home like that right now, you’re not going to get her back. Go after her,” she advices on a serious note. Bakugou takes a moment to think but it’s all too much. He ruffles his hair and shoots up from the couch.

“Fuck this shit. I’m not doing this anymore,” he announces and storms out of the building. But not before shoving the metal jewelry in his pant pocket.

You didn’t know where you were going. You just walked and walked until you wind up somewhere. And god, you were so hungry. But you couldn’t go to that fancy restaurant that Bakugou had already made reservations for. God forbid he walks in while you were eating. And with another woman? How embarrassing. You couldn’t use his name or his fame anymore. You didn’t want to go back home. What if he shows up at your place? It probably wasn’t likely. He said he was done with you. You left the ring back with him. You guys were over. He wouldn’t show up uninvited. He has no reason to. You didn’t have money on you. You didn’t have any mode of transportation. The only think you had was your phone but the battery can only last so long. So you continued on walking until you hit a park and sat down on one of the benches. You were left alone to bathe in your thoughts until the set sun.

“Where the fuck did she go?” Bakugou mumbled to himself. He checked all the alleyways, in between streets, high and low, but he couldn’t spot you. No matter how he was frustrated he was feeling, he started to get nervous. He wondered if you were okay and safe right now. You hadn’t eaten all day. Wait. There’s no way…

“Hi. Reservation for 2. Under Bakugou,” Bakugou told the hostess. He arrived at the restaurant, in hopes that you came in. But when the hostess said that you hadn’t shown up, his shoulders deflated. Back to square one. So if you weren’t here, then where were you? Had you eaten yet?

Trying his luck, he went to your apartment, but after many attempts, you didn’t open the door. You could either by ignoring him or you weren’t home yet. Knowing you, you probably weren’t home. Then he was going to wait until you came home. Taking a seat next to your door, Bakugou waited. And he was going to wait until he could see your face.

You watched as happy couples and families walked by you, having the time of their lives. You smiled sadly seeing all their smiles and laughter. How you wish you could be like that. But now you don’t even know if or when that was going to be possible. That was all you wanted. Was to be happy. You didn’t want to be in this rabbit hole of sadness. You didn’t want anybody to pity you just because you were crying. But you did long for somebody to listen to you. For somebody to tell you that it was going to be okay and that you are loved. Love… You wanted someone to love you. He just wasn’t the one for you. Then who is? Will you ever find it? Was this your only chance and you ruined it all just because you couldn’t help but feel jealous?

Stupid.

Stupid (y/n).

You always ruin everything in your life. The one time you got something good, it’s gone in an instant. You knew it was too good to be true. But there’s no going back now. It already happened and now you have to move on.

By the time you noticed, the sun had already set and darkness fell upon you. You wanted to stay longer. You debated whether or not you were going to sleep on the park bench. But after recalling new articles of kidnappings happening around the country recently, you decided to go home.

It took you a while to go home. You walked as slow as you could, taking your sweet time returning back to your apartment. All you want to do is snuggle up in bed and go to sleep. You were so exhausted. Mentally, physically and emotionally. You just needed some rest and then you can worry more in the morning. You were coming up to your apartment and saw a person sitting on the floor what looked like in front of your apartment door. No. But there’s no way.

Blonde hair.

That was all it took for you to turn back, go down those stairs and back to the park. You couldn’t face him right now. You were already broken up so why was he there? He said all he needed to say so why was he there?

You thought you were being sneaky but Bakugou caught you. He saw you going back down those stairs and he immediately got up and chased after you.

“(y/n)!” he called out to you but you ignored him. The sound of his voice made your heart clench.

“(y/n)!” he called again, but louder. Again, you continued to ignore him.

“(y/n)!” he called for the last time, this time grabbing your arm. But you shook him as fast as he grabbed you.

“No, leave me alone,” you managed to say. Just keep on walking. Maybe if you walk long and far enough, he’ll give up. But he wasn’t giving up.

“(y/n), stop!” he grabbed you again, yet this time tighter so you couldn’t escape. Then he traps you in between him and the wall, forcing you to face him.

“Stop! Let me go! Leave me alone!” you cry. Your tear stained face and puffy eyes broke Bakugou’s heart. He did this to you. Fuck. He was the worst. You thrashed around, forcing him to let go, hitting him to push him away. Anything so he could get away from you.

Bakugou let you hit him. He deserved it. Every hit that you take at him, he deserved. Slowly but surely, he pulled you in for a hug. You were so drained that you let him. And as soon as you were in his embrace and your cheek hit his chest, you cried. You let it all out and didn’t stop. Bakugou didn’t say anything. He just held you, patting your head until you calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He kissed the top of your head and rested his head there. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He continued to say. Your cries were muffled by being buried in his chest.

You held onto him tight, continuing to cry your heart out. You thought you were never going to see him again. You thought you were never going to hold him again. Or smell him. You world was crashing down on you but was slowly being put together again.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asks you softly. Your voice was too hoarse and sore from all the crying, so you nodded your head, not letting go of him. Bakugou got the hint and picked you up princess style and led you into the house. There was going to be a lot of talking happening soon in that tiny apartment. It was going to be a long night.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou imagine #bnha imagine #bakugou angst #1000+ follower event

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generallybrontidefeelings · 3 years

Text

Stressed

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Brought to you by this post. I'm tired and sleepy and don't want to make any decisions. The degree is an actual MS you can get from American University in DC. U of Tennessee’s anthropology dept. hosts what’s called a body farm. It's a lab for forensic pathology students. Do NOT I repeat DO NOT look up pictures.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Marcus Pike is an associate faculty member at your forensics college. You ask him to be your second reader for your thesis, even though you have a huge crush on him. Nothing is better than something, right? By the time you pass your exam, you're so pent up you could scream.

Warnings: cadaver talk, pining, age difference, some power dynamics?, annoying college talk, sex, dirty talk, a God awful metaphor curtesy of Blanche Devereaux, 39

“Take a deep breath.”

You huff in a small shallow breath. Then let it out, and take in a longer, fuller one.

“Now let it out.” You let your cheeks puff up as cool air streams past your lips. “You’ve made huge improvements, and you’ve studied hard. The paper exam will be easy, and the oral will be a cinch.”

You gulp. “I know. It’s just...pre-show jitters, you know?”

He gives you a full smile, and flips the document shut. You hand him the binder clip, accidentally brushing his fingers when you do.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

You swallow, fiddling with your paper edge. God you feel like a twelve year old. You're fucking twenty-seven and about to apply for the FBI, why are you such a sap? He’s not available. Not even remotely. He will be gone in a year, back to the Bureau. There is no reason to nurse a crush. And you curse yourself for asking a man you’re attracted to - you, idiot, idiot! - to spend more time with you. Even if it is reading your dull chapter.

"No, I have everything I need, thanks."

"Then scoot. I have to read like...thirty pages of Tanner's chapter before he gets here."

You pull your bag to your shoulder. "you're not going to get that far," you scoff. The tensing in your shoulders relaxes a little when you stand to leave.

"We'll see," he says. He opens the door of his office for you. You glance back once more, and he's still in the doorway watching you go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you." Your mind swirls back and forth between thoughts of Mr. Pike, your thesis, Pike, your oral defence, your paper exam in two days, Marcus crossing his ankles in his reading chair. And you walk. Straight ahead, not looking back. But when you get to the door handle you turn around. And he's still there. Watching.

You've never been so stressed in your life.

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You met Marcus Pike on a muggy afternoon in August deep in the heart of Tennessee. The air warped off the pavement as you drove together to the School of Anthropology to visit your cadaver lying relaxed and prostrate in the middle of a fenced field. The air is already warm, then lightning flashes in the clouds to your right, and plopping rain drops scatter across the lawn, and dampens A-0017’s second hand suit. His raisinette hands lie against the grass almost like he’s communing with the earth. You watched the water hit his face, and permanently closed eyelids, and shaved head.

You had no business being so fidgety while kneeling next to a cadaver. Agent Marcus Pike and the facility director chat a couple feet away, leaving you to your business with A-0017. Pike had never been to the school’s mysterious forensics lab, even though he had plenty of time to when he was earning his own masters. That’s what he said in his email to you three weeks earlier. He’d heard a first-year student was running a fibrous material experiment and asked to tag along. And you said yes. Why not? He was faculty. It wasn’t unheard of. His email was so polite too, letting you know if you weren’t comfortable he understood. Pike. The name rattled a memory somewhere. So you emailed him back, and the next morning he sent you his itinerary: he would meet you in Tennessee. He’d even pay for the rental car.

You sent your advisor a quick text to ask if he was ‘crazy.’ She’d sent back the laughing emoji. No, she said, Marcus Pike isn’t a crazy. You’ll like him.

You did like him. He was waiting for you at the Hertz desk, and heat licked up your skin when you realized - he was striking. He was the type of man you’d make eyes at in a bar without any hope of even getting a number. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a softness brought on by a light scruff that didn’t hide his dimples. You barely registered that he was apologizing for not getting to introduce himself before flying out, but promised he was who he said he was. Even pulled out his credentials.

“Bureau?” you said to his badge. “I thought you were an associate professor?” You want to smack yourself.

Oh, “I am,” he replied. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a campus ID that matched yours. “I’m taking an interim year. I thought teaching would be a nice way to ease into DC life.”

Now he was here, sweating under the storm clouds while watching you unbutton A-0017’s shirt, and half listening to the director tell him all about how they kept the lawn looking green despite, ahem, fluids. You sternly told A-0017 to be on their best behavior while you pulled their shirt back to examine some fiber swatches stapled to his rubbery chest.

On the flight back Pike asked you all about your thesis plans. You stuttered as you began. He waited, patient. You were writing on how the FBI could contribute to cultural repatriation efforts internationally by returning art pieces. Do you know what it could do to boost scholarly opportunities? The doors it could open! Why put it in cold storage when it could revitalize movements? Art breathes, after all. You were exhausted by the time the plane landed. Both from answering questions, and from keeping a steadily building tension under wraps. You hoped he didn’t notice how you crossed your legs.

“I’d love to read it.” He handed your backpack down from the overhead bin.

“Maybe you should be my second reader.” You got serious when his face perked up. “I still need one.”

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That was nine months ago.

Your exams are in a week, and instead of thinking about preparing, all you can think of is that once everything is turned in, you probably won’t see Marcus again. He’s been your anchor these last months, and you’ve gotten used to his solid presence and encouraging platitudes. You cup your hot cheeks because it’s a dirty thought.

He lets you work in his office for a couple hours a week every week. The crammed little space is tight quarters, but he makes room for your laptop anyway. Sometimes you worked together heads bent for full time. Sometimes he read pages from your thesis, and you help him grade some papers from his first-year art history course. And sometimes you drink three pm coffee together and don’t work at all. It’s your favorite time of the week. The glow his praise gives you is embarrassing. And he’s an easy companion - nope, colleague. Your heart beats and your mouth waters every time you’re fifteen feet from his office door. The cold door knob jolts you took. You harbor a secret. Keep it warm in your belly. It swirls hungrily deep in you.

But now it’s a problem. You’re so distracted. Every time you leave his office, you’re tense from want. Your body is already over-caffeinated and achy from sitting in hard library chairs so long. But you keep going. Every time an anxious heat lights up the alarms in your head your instinct is to ask him what to do. You have to rest your hands in your head and remind yourself: he isn’t your babysitter, he’s a grown man who doesn’t have boundless time to tell you what to do. You have to figure it out yourself. Even if you really just want him to tell you what this or that section needs, is the title here misleading, is it lunch time, do you think the tone here is condescending?

What do you think? What do you want it to look like?

You think you want to grab his dumb button down collars and bite his lip. You want it to look flushed and tousled and desperate. You want to ride him in his reading chair with the door locked. It just isn’t fair.

The night before your first exam you take z-quil, drink lavender tea, and read a chapter of your favorite book to relax. Your phone buzzes at nine. It’s Marcus: good luck! You’re going to do great! Well. Better take some more Z-quill now that your heart is palpitating.

You pass both tests in excellent standing - MS in International Relations: complete. Pike attends the oral exam. Your skin goes hot when he smiles at you when the committee declares you exceed expectations. He invites you for a celebratory drink in the next couple days, which means you have two days to sternly wrangle your crush back into the dirty corner she came from.

You fail miserably.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Look,” he says, setting his beer down on the glass bar counter. “I know it’s not my business, but you still look stressed out. Are your grades bothering you?”

The rim of your gin and tonic is wet with condensation from where your finger circles it. “No, they’re great.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Then what’s the damage? You’re jumpier than a…” he trails off thinking a good metaphor. He squints at you a little.

“A virgin at a prison rodeo?” you supply. He inhales sharply, eyes wide. “You can laugh.”

“I didn’t know you watched ‘The Golden Girls,” he says. His tone is admiring. “I was going to say jumpier than a graduate student giving their defense.” You purse your lips when he raises his eyebrows at you. “Can I help at all?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he takes another sip of his beer. The soft orange lights in the bar spill around his jaw and throat, they flicker in his irises. His face in three quarter profile is august. You’re utterly exhausted from the polite ‘student mentor’ dance you’ve had to do for months while keeping your desire at bay. And more than that, you didn’t want to answer. You wanted to show him and let him decide. The sultry washboard and piano music give you that last boost.

You make sure he’s watching you, then you slowly reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist.

Then you wait.

Marcus pauses from lifting his beer bottle, eyes glued to your hand on his wrist. It’s petite against him. He stares at your baby blue fingernails pairing beautifully with his Stirling watch - and he feels himself harden.

All the skin on your body stands at attention when he meets your eyes. Everything in them tells you he wants you just as bad. There’s a hesitant curve above his eyebrow though. You get it. You were his student - he’s such a sweet man he wouldn’t even dream of using a power dynamic like that to get laid. Your breath comes in short heaves.

“The semester ended thirty-six minutes ago,” you say over the music. He takes a deep breath. You aren’t his student anymore. Not according to the school, anyway.

You want him to decide. If he doesn’t, you’ll go home and fall apart under your fingertips thinking about how hot it would have been to lift your dress and sit on his cock while wearing your thigh highs.

“Do you want to leave?” You nod, resisting the urge to bite your lip.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Marcus’s apartment is homey. Streetlights flood the floor of the living room through the street facing windows. You turn this way and that to inspect the dark areas that look like bookshelves while he hangs up your coat. You squeeze your hands at your sides, because this is happening. You’re in his house. The hardwood floor is cold under your stocking feet.

You jump when he puts his hands on your shoulders from behind you, holding you a mere inch from his body. You bite your lip when his nose bumps into the back of your head.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You already asked me that,” you reply, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. You want so badly to tell him to tell you what to do. That you don’t want to make any decisions. Brain is worn out. That you want to please him, and not think. Oh, to be a freshmen simply sponging up information.

“I know,” he slides his hands to your biceps and turns you around. “I can check in again, can’t I? He cups your face when you nod. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” you have to stop yourself from saying something incriminating, like mister Pike, or sir, or professor.

You clutch the front of his button down to anchor yourself when his lips brush yours. His mouth is soft. It coaxes you to open so he can dive into you, his tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you respond by pressing into him. You stay pliant under him, letting him lead. Your legs feel on the verge of collapse when you break away. You can’t stand it anymore.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Both of you freeze. For a second you wonder if you’ve given him a heart attack. But you watched his thighs on the car ride back and couldn’t stop thinking about kneeling between them. Your mouth waters. Marcus can’t breathe. He’s straining against his zipper. After your declaration he wants it too.

“Okay, honey,” he breathes. He brushes your ear with his thumb. “If that’s what you want, we’ll do that.”

He tries to draw you backward toward his room where he can turn on a lamp and properly pay tribute to your body, but you pull him back. You tug him to his mid-century armchair - he has the twin to it in his office. His mouth goes dry. You have to know. He looks into your face, and from the way you’ve averted your eyes, you know.

“Please?” you say. It sounds like a sob.

From this close you can smell the vanilla and bergamot of his soap. He sits, waiting for you. When you don’t move he holds his hand out for you to take.

“Come here, honey,” he draws you close. The top of your dress swings a little and he groans when he sees the break of your dress to what he thought were tights. Marcus studies your face in the second hand street light - your mouth parted, your eyes blown wide. Your hand in his is hot. “Hey, if this is overwhelming, or not what you want-”

“It is,” you correct him.

“Tell me what’s wrong then,” he requests. You feel pained. If you don’t say it now you never will.

“Tell me what to do.” Your head aches from the stress of carrying it for so long. “I’ve had to make my own decisions for months, and I don’t want to anymore. Just - for five minutes-” you bring your hands to your cheeks and press them against your hot skin. You watch as he realizes what you want. He nods in slow motion.

“Okay,” he says. “Kneel for me.” He gets even harder when you sink to your knees. Your hands rest in your lap. Waiting. He can’t believe this is happening. Thank goodness he’s going back to the Bureau in three months. He couldn’t face the other faculty - fuck, your advisor - after this. Leaning forward he cups your chin and kisses you. You squeeze your thighs together. He kisses your ear and says lowly, “take my cock out, honey. I want you to suck me off.”

When you take him in your mouth as far as you can, you look into his face. His mouth has fallen open. His ears have turned red from flushing. It’s indescribable. It makes your mouth water further around his hard length. It’s heavy on your tongue. You move up and down his shaft leisurely, trying to savor it. Letting saliva run down onto his skin as your tongue works the spongy head. You reach up to work the base with your hand when he tells you ‘no’.

“Just your mouth.” Fuck. You moan around him as a ripple pulls from deep in your core. The vibrations of you moaning make him jolt and heave. For a few moments he apologies while you breathe deeply, then resume. You take a mouthful of him. It’s feasting. It’s mindless.

His fingers brush the side of your face, and tenderly cups the back of your head. You want to make him understand this is what you want. So you slide down as far as you can comfortably, and wait. Swallowing thickly around his length

“Fuck, honey,” he groans. He gets it, taking both hands and moving your head the pace he wants. You can tell he hasn’t been asked for this often. Maybe ever. You close your eyes and just feel. His cock filling your mouth. Aches forming around your jaw. Tears leaking out of your eyes from your concentration. Your pussy wetting through your underwear. Marcus pulling your hair. You swallow hard, then he stops. And pushes you off.

You whine in protest.

“I hear you, honey,” he says softly. His voice is hoarse. “Another time. I want you to unwind right now.” Your pussy clenches.

He takes you back to his bedroom and helps you undress. He lifts your dress over your head, and kneels to help you out of your thigh highs. One day, if you’ll let him, he’ll fuck you with them on, but he likes to see all of a woman the first time he does anything to her. He kisses the bit of skin above the waistband of your panties before standing to kiss your lips. Your help him push them down your hips until they fall to your ankles. The soft gasp he lets out at the sight of your underwear and bare body is nothing short of gluttonous.

“Lay down.”

He strips while you watch. He does it without taking his eyes off of you. There’s hunger in them. This man has an appetite, you know it. The fabric rustles pleasantly between the sound of both of you breathing. Far away, ambulance sirens blare in another neighborhood, but here in his apartment the wet sound of cars passing in the rainy street are the closest accompaniment.

“I want to touch you here,” he tells you, palming your sex and making you squeak. It’s so forward.

“Do it,” you breathe, and part your legs further for him. He leans in and kisses your temple, murmuring ‘good girl’ and you swear you could black out.

You’re already so wet when his fingers part your folds to greet the new territory. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He sounds amazed. He tastes one fingertip before putting it back to tease your folds. “I wonder how wet you would be just holding it in your mouth while you read.”

“Oh-” a ripple works down your spine. He smirks. The tip of his finger brushes just inside your lips to tease your entrance.

“I’m going to put my fingers in you. You,” he pauses to kiss your cheek, “relax. You earned it.” He rubs his nose up and down yours, and you nudge him back just as he slips one long finger into you. You’re glad he’s being sweet like this. It’s the perfect blend of firmness and care. You want him to dominate you one someday, maybe, but right here and now, the combination of his low voice and steady fingers is ideal. Marcus kisses your cheek and mouth as he works his finger in and out of you. It’s thick and reaches further than you ever could. You spread your legs even further to tell him, more.

Without removing his hand he moves down your body to lick your clit. He sucks and flicks it as he coaxes more wetness out of your leaking cunt. Carefully he pulls the finger out and presses his wet hand to the inside of your thigh to keep you open. He laps into you, covering the muscles with lubricant because you’re going to need it. You see his face just as he decides you’re ready; it’s contemplative, like he’s concentrating. Then he slides two fingers deep into you.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so fucking good,” your voice crescendos. You reach for his shoulder as he comes up to lie beside you. His skin is warm under your palm. You buck your hips looking for something else, seeking, wanting-

“Stay still.” You still immediately. “Just feel it, baby. I want you to be ready for me.” You know what he means. His cock is thick and smearing against your hip. He was big in your mouth, he’s going to be big while pushing into you. His fingers keep moving while he kisses the tips of your nipples. When he takes one between his teeth and tugs you break. Your mouth opens, and your legs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Your pussy gushes around his fingers - you can feel it. You can feel how his movements change from a drag as a slide. He keeps pumping. He doesn’t give up until he’s sure you’ve felt every aftershock. He’d love to take his time and work a third in one day - if he can - but tonight, he wants to move on. After you swallowed his cock in his sitting room chair he’s been thinking of rewarding you.

You feel him slip his fingers out, and roll away to the nightstand. He looks back at you, and his eyes soften a little before he asks, “do you want me to use a condom?”

“No,” you say and reach for his bicep to pull him back toward you. He comes willingly. “I have an IUD. And I’m clean.” He smiles, flinging the packet over his shoulder. It makes you giggle, but it sounds hysterical to your ears. You watch him reach down and pump his cock with the hand that was just inside you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes snap open. Marcus crashes his lips on yours. The hand not dripping from your cunt cups the back of your head. “I want to see your eyes while I fuck you.”

His blunt head breaks into you, you lose all thought. He sinks further in, until you’re squirming on his length because he’s stretching you. You suck air in and will your body will stay still like he suggested for his fingers. You look into Marcus’s eyes the whole time, trying to tell him how good he feels. You can’t make the words leave your throat. He pulls your head to him, kisses your mouth until you compose yourself and lie still. Then he gets to work. The breadth of him stills you anew. For the first time in months you fully relax, hardly making a sound as he thrusts steadily. You stare into Marcus’s eyes while your mouth falls open as he slides into you, and listen to the wet sounds of your pussy and the bed frame creaking.

Then he starts talking.

“Do you know how good you look in those blue trousers? I want to grab your ass every time you wear them,” he rumbles. His pace picks up a hair, and he feels harder in you somehow. He drops to his forearm. “I love watching it when you walk out of my office.” You knew it. “And that damn cardigan you never wear a shirt under? Those buttons slip right open, don’t they?” He punctuates it with a deep thrust that makes you squeak. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Wear it over for dinner. I’ll bite your tits through it.”

He fucks into you harder, sending shivers up your spine with every thrust. It moves you up the bed until you have to reach a hand up and press back against the headboard. You clutch him with the other, looping around his shoulder to feel the muscles in his arms pull and tug as he moves in you, working you up to another release Soon enough, the coil in your belly tightens and he reaches to worry your clit with deft fingers. His eyes never leave you. You think this man could make the hardest fuck feel like making love.

“I need more,” you tell him. You’re too embarrassed to ask for what you want. A tear leaks out of your eye because his thickness is so good, but you want something else too. You always underestimate him. He grins because he knows - he’s a detective. He figured it out. He leans down to rest his forehead on your temple.

“You’re doing so well,” he says. You arch up into him, your breasts brush his chest. “Your wet pussy is so sweet. It’s taking me so well. Are you gonna be respectful? Gonna listen?” You have to hold your breath as your hips tense. “Be good and come on my cock.” Oh fuck. “Say it.”

Your voice is wet with joy. “Yes, sir.”

“Such a good girl.”

Sparks lick up your back and through your cunt, forcing Marcus deeper into when you lift your lips. He slows to let you enjoy all your release. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips. Then when he hears your content sigh, he buries his face in your neck and chases his own release. He comes with an accompanying rumble from deep in his chest. You moan in return and lift your lips to catch him as he slumps, barely holding his weight off of you.

Water runs in the washroom as you tug the sheets back. The light clicks off, and Marcus appears with a washcloth. His dimple appears when you lean back and let him clean your tender flesh. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your hips, running his knuckles on the soft side of your breast.

“Stay the night,” says. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

“Hm,” you say, mock contemplative. You run your fingers down his chest. He preens under the affection. “I will. I feel really good.” Your cheeks tingle at the admission. He smiles wide and bright.

He comes back from putting the cloth in the hamper. You roll so he can run his hands the length of your side

“Thank you,” you murmur. He lifts his face from where he’s been peppering your waist with kisses. His brow is furrowed in amused confusion. “For being good to me. For caring about what happened to me.” You’ll tell him the horror stories your friends have from their college another time.

He sighs and cups your cheek. “I like doing it. You’re bright. Supporting you is a privilege. Especially when I know that brain is going to put us all to shame one day.” You could cry.

“I’ve liked you since the body farm,” you admit. He wrinkles his nose. “I know. Not very romantic.”

“I liked you since you thought my campus ID was more official than my FBI badge.”

“I didn’t think that!”

“Get some sleep,” he says. A wicked glint comes to his eye. “I am going to wear you out before lunch.” You wiggle to get comfortable in the sheets and he curls over your back to hold you to his chest.

Orange light peeks through the gap in his blackout drapes. You eye him over your shoulder then settle into the pillow. All the tension in your shoulders is gone.

part 2

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #reader insert #fanfiction #writing #the mentalist fanfiction #I took some liberties with UT's school of anthros forensics lab #it does exist #DO NOT LOOK UP PICTURES #IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH #DON'T DO IT #I AM NOT SQUEAMISH AND DO RESEARCH WITH CADAVERS #BUT IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH #DONT #DO #IT

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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Flatmates - Harry Styles

i listened to kiwi while writing it so i strongly advise to listen to is while reading as well. without any further ado, i present you this flatmate!harry fic with some steamy smut!

word count: ~9k

warning: smut

masterlist

You were desperate to find a place to live, to say the least. You’ve always had trouble remembering deadlines and important dates, and thanks to this charming trait of yours, you successfully missed the deadline of the college dormitory applications. After a day of solid panic you started looking for cheap apartments, but living off campus seemed to be something only rich people could afford. Rents were ridiculously high and you were certain you couldn’t afford to spend thousands of dollars for a room smaller than your pantry back at home. You watched ad after ad, making calls all day for a week straight, but at the end, you always went to bed with the thought that you’ll have to live under a bridge through the first semester of your freshman year.

It was until a friend of yours, Rita, who was mature enough to apply to the dormitory in time called you with the best news you could receive.

“This friend of my future roomie is looking for a flat mate. You gave me his number, maybe you could give him a call and see if the room is still available. Just tell him Kimberly gave you his number, I’m sure he’ll offer you the room on a nicer price.”

“Oh my God, you just saved my life!” you gasped, almost feeling like crying. “I owe you big time, Rita!”

You called right away, not wanting to waste any time and maybe have the room already rented by then. A deep, male voice answered the call in a soothing British accent.

“Harry Styles,” he said in a calm tone.

“Hey! My name is Y/N and I got your number from Kimberly. I’m looking for a place to live from September and I was told you have a room to rent?”

Harry sounded a little hesitant at first, asked a few questions about you to have a better picture of you, but eventually offered the room. You quickly agreed that you’d be able to move in at the end of August. You were thankful you had one less worry about school finally.

August rolled around the corner faster than you expected and in no time, half your life was packed up into boxes and suitcases as you and your dad drove two hours on a Saturday to get you all settled in your new home. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen Harry just yet. Though you did search up his name, but he was the kind to never post about himself, but mostly about guitars, landscapes and animals. His Instagram was dry, no trait of what he looked like or even the slightest hint about himself. There was only one photo that featured the outline of a guy, which makes it clear that the person was fully naked, no trace of any clothes hanging on his body, but it was completely dark, so nothing could be really seen. However the tag on the figure made you think it wasn’t him, so it didn’t matter. His Facebook seemed even sadder, barely any posts, not even a decent profile picture. You were surprised to see there are people who don’t really use social media, but you didn’t take it as a bad sign. Harry must be a private person and you had nothing against that.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to move in with a guy you’ve never met before?” your dad asks as the two of you are unloading the car in front of the apartment complex. Glancing up you shrug your shoulders with a little excitement, knowing that you are only minutes away from finally seeing the person you are gonna spend your next months living with.

“He sounded like a decent person, and I really don’t have any other choice, dad. Or do you want me to sleep in a park or something?”

“God, no. You really should be more careful about those deadlines next time,” he sighs kissing the top of your head before shutting the back of the car once everything is set on the ground.

“Don’t worry, I already bought a calendar so I can keep better track of everything.”

When you first told your parents that you’d be living with Harry, they didn’t seem to be a fan of the idea, but they realized you weren’t really swimming in options at the moment so they eventually come to peace that their daughter is going to be living with a guy. They didn’t make a big deal out of it, knowing well you were an adult now practically who can make choices for herself.

The two of you manage to bring everything up to the third floor and you ring the doorbell since you don’t have your keys yet. You immediately recognize Harry’s British accent as he calls out a “coming!” from the other side of the door and a few seconds later it opens, revealing him.

Your first thought is that he is tall. Very tall and oh my! How handsome! His green eyes find your gaze and his dimples come out as he smiles at you happily. This man is surely a nice sight, you think to yourself, but you quickly bring yourself back to reality as he takes a look at all the stuff surrounding you.

“Y/N, why didn’t you call me that you were here? I could have helped you!” Taking a step outside he stretches his hand out for your dad. “Nice to meet ya, you must be Mr. Y/L/N. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” your dad nods at him shaking his head before Harry grabs a box from the floor himself, holding the door open for you.

“Come on in!”

The three of you quickly bring everything inside from the hallway and you finally have a moment to look around. It’s not a big apartment, but seemingly perfect for two people. Walking in you have a small kitchen on the left and a little dining area on the right with a simple table and four chairs around it. Further inside is the living room, it’s nicely furnished very bright thanks to the large windows across the front door. On the left there’s a door that leads to the bathroom and on the right there’s a small hallway, two doors on each side. The two rooms are exactly the same size, so there was no need to have a discussion about who is getting which room. Not that you were gonna go against Harry when he literally saved your life with letting you stay with him.

The place seems tidy and neat, it’s clear that Harry takes good care of his home and that is for sure a relief.

Your room has a double bed, a desk with a chair, a dresser and a built in little closet. Everything is white or a light beige color, nothing extreme and you already have plans about how you want to decorate it to make it cozier.

“I left two shelves free for you out of the three. I have a few hair products, but I figured you’d need more space,” Harry tells you when you put a smaller box into the bathroom that has all your toiletries.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

Your dad sticks around a little longer helping you unpack some of the bigger boxes, then you walk him down to his car before he leaves.

“Please call your mother often. You know how much she worries about you,” he asks as he pulls you into a quick hug.

“Will do.”

“And call us anytime you need help. Two hours is not that far away, I can always come and get you.”

“I’ll be alright, dad, but thank you.”

You watch him climb into the car and he rolls down the windows waving in your way as he leaves from the parking lot. You stand there until he disappears on the corner and then go back up to your apartment.

Harry is sitting in the living room when you get back, some quiet music playing from the Bluetooth speaker as he reads a book. He glances up at you and you flash him a smile closing the door behind you.

“Your dad seemed quite okay with you living with a guy.”

“He had time to get used to it. They’re not that strict though.”

“That’s cool. I was thinking, maybe we could order some food when you’re done unpacking and just get to know each other a little more.”

“That sounds great!” you smile, but can’t ignore how fast your heart is beating in your chest. Harry surely has an effect on you that you’ll need to gain control over if you don’t want to make living together hard for yourself.

It takes quite some time to unpack everything and find the right place for your stuff, you don’t even finish by the time the food arrives so you decide to leave the rest for tomorrow.

The Chinese food is all set on the table when you walk out and Harry is getting two plates for the two of you.

“Settled in?” he asks as you take one of the chairs and he sits across you.

“Not fully, but I’m getting there,” you chuckle as he hands you your order. “Thank you.”

You talk over the food, just getting to know each other and you finally get a better picture of Harry. It’s his third year of college, he is studying music and pedagogy, intending to one day use music as a helping tool for kids who have learning difficulties. He is a big fan of collecting vinyls and quite passionate about trashy rom coms.

“Really?” you chuckle when he mentions how his Netflix queue is filled with romantic movies.

“Guilty pleasure,” he nods smirking.

You tell a little about yourself too and he seems genuinely interested, which feels nice. You would have hated if he found your interests boring and negligible, but that’s not the case.

“How come you couldn’t find a roommate for so long?” you ask the question that’s been in the back of your mind for quite a while now. Both of you are done eating and you’re cleaning up the table.

Nothing really stood out about Harry just yet, it’s quite a mystery for you why he couldn’t find someone to live with him.

“Well, you could say I’m a little picky in this field. Lived with my best mate first year, and though I absolutely love him, he was horrible to live with. Felt like his personal maid the whole time. When Niall moved in with his girlfriend and I had to move on my own I promised myself I would choose carefully. Lived with a PhD student last year, he was pretty great, but he moved out when he graduated, and I couldn’t really find someone I liked since then.”

“Glad I passed then,” you chuckle as you take the dishes and start washing them while Harry stands next to you, leaning against the edge of the counter.

“You seemed like a decent person to live with, I hope I won’t be wrong about that,” he chuckles, but you can tell he is still a little scared you might turn out to be a total asshole.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be too much trouble. I’m quiet like a mouse and clean up after myself.”

“That’s all that matters,” he smiles. “Alright, I have some things to finish, I’ll be in my room if you need help with anything.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

He waves in your way before disappearing in his bedroom.

You spend most of your Sunday unpacking what was left and running errands, buying groceries so you don’t have to go to the store every other day during the week. You occasionally meet Harry in the kitchen or the living room, but you both just do your own thing and it’s totally fine by you.

School starts quiet smoothly, Harry was kind enough to give you a rundown of where you’ll find your lecture halls so you don’t really get lost around campus, easily finding your way.

Friday afternoon you and Rita are sitting at a café near campus to discuss the first week of school. You don’t have any classes together, so only grabbed lunch two times all week, but didn’t have more than twenty minutes together before one of you had to run to a class. Now you are both comfortably sat in a booth with two cappuccinos and plenty of time to talk.

“So, how is living with Harry?” she curiously asks.

“He is great! Though we don’t meet that much. He has a band so he has practice three times a week, spends the rest of his time at home reading or watching TV.”

You ate dinner together twice this week, but you haven’t really had the courage to join him in the living room when he was watching TV. It sounds stupid but you figured maybe it would bother him if you were out there with him. And since he didn’t invite you either, you just stayed in your room mostly.

“Kimberly told me he is hot, is that true?” she asks with a smirk as she takes a sip from her hot drink. You immediately feel your cheeks heating up.

“Well, he surely is a good looking guy,” you breathe out.

“Lucky you! There’s not much of those in an all girls dorm,” she pouts and you chuckle. “So are you gonna make a move on him?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you shake your head laughing.

“Why not?”

“Because we live together and if he rejects me that would be so awkward for the rest of our time living together.”

“But you can’t know for sure if he would reject,” she points out, but she can’t bring up one thing that would change your mind.

“It’s better not to take the odds. I don’t want to end up on the street.”

As the days go by, things start to get busier in your everydays. Assignments and papers start to pile up so you have to start working on them if you don’t want to leave everything to the last moment. You become a regular in the library, the atmosphere is great for you to get into the flow and get a lot of work done.

It seems like Harry is in the same shoe, he is often in and out of the apartment, sometimes only spends home just a couple of minutes before he leaves again. However they slowly get accustomed to each other, learn the ways the other likes things and work up a schedule for things. Harry learns that Y/N likes to take a shower twice a day and washes her hair usually on Wednesdays and Sundays, so he doesn’t try to take too much time in the bathroom on those days. He also notices how she doesn’t have time to wash the dishes after herself on Thursdays when she just runs home to have a quick bite before she has to leave for another lecture, so they came to a silent agreement where Harry cleans up after her on Thursdays while she takes up on the dishes on Saturday when Harry leaves to band practice at eight.

They work well together and soon enough all of Harry’s doubts about Y/N fade into nothing and he realizes he has made the right choice with her.

Usually she stays at the library until seven on Mondays, but this week they are closing early because they are rearranging a whole department, so Y/N leaves a little after five. She pays a quick trip to the grocery store before she heads home. Opening up the door she immediately hears the music playing, one of Harry’s vinyls is twirling around in the record player and she hears the water running in the bathroom. Setting her bags on the counter she starts unpacking the groceries.

The music and the running water pushed the sound of her arriving down, Harry didn't realize that you were home early when he opens the bathroom door, singing to himself wearing absolutely nothing as he wants to go and grab a pair of clean underwear, but he is shocked to see you standing in the kitchen.

“Shit!” he snaps, hands immediately flying to cover himself as he sprints back to the bathroom quickly grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

Your cheeks are heating up immediately even though you didn’t see anything you weren’t supposed to, the counter top covered him just right above the critical line, but it’s the first time you’ve seen his upper body completely naked.

Even though it was just a spit second, the sight of his many tattoos and the defined V-line leading down to his crotch burned straight into your mind, leaving you flustered and shy all of a sudden.

“Sorry! I should have let you know I was coming home early!” you call out turning around, as if he was about to walk out naked again. Harry chuckles lightly as he returns, this time a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Don’t be silly, you don’t have to check in when you come home. It was my fault, I shouldn’t just walk around naked assuming you wouldn’t be home.”

You should, you think to yourself gulping as you turn around and dare to look at him again. You don’t see less than just a few seconds ago, his chest is glistening from the dampness, his curls are still wet and you are having a hard time not to stare at the tattoos on his lower stomach, so you busy yourself with the rest of your groceries as he walks into his room and returns in a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asks disappearing in the bathroom, but he leaves the door open and you hear him shuffle around, probably fixing up his hair. He uses some kind of mousse that keeps his curls perfectly and also happens to smell like mango and some kind of citrus.

“Um, not really.”

“We’re playing at this bar with the band, wanna come and watch us?” Walking out of the bathroom he switches the light off before walking to the couch and opening up his Netflix account on the TV. His invitation surprises you, but it also feels nice he wants you there.

“Oh, sounds fun! Can I bring someone?”

“Of course! I can have a table reserved for you, if you’d like,” he smiles at you before turning his attention to the screen.

“That would be great, thanks.”

You feel like after your little encounter it’s probably not the best day to join him at the TV, especially because you can’t stop yourself from blushing every time you look at him. The sight of his naked torso pops up in your mind every time and there’s no way you can just casually sit on the couch with him without your body lighting up on fire.

Rita is excited when you tell her about the invitation, you don’t even have to convince her to go with you since she is dying to finally meet Harry. When he leaves in the early afternoon on Saturday he assures you that there’s gonna be a table reserved under your name, and off he goes to practice, leaving you alone for the rest of the day since he tells you he won’t be back before the concert tonight. Rita comes over around six and the two of you get ready together.

“You have to wear something spicy,” she wiggles her eyebrows at you while you sit at your desk applying mascara to your lashes.

“I don’t want to overdress, it’s just a bar.”

“Yeah, but Harry invited you. I bet he wants you to see him play.”

“Of course he wants, why else would he invite me?” you ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“You don’t get it,” she chuckles turning to you, hands on her hips. “He wants you to see him play because it feeds his ego. Maybe even turns him on.”

“Stop acting like there is anything between us. We are flatmates and that’s all.”

“I think he wants to be more, you’re just too pussy to make a move yourself,” she shrugs turning back to your closet.

“Stop calling me a pussy for not wanting to make it awkward for the two of us to live together. I’m pretty sure Harry doesn’t see me as anything more than just the person he lives with.”

“Then we have to change that. And I think this is the perfect dress for that.”

Rita pulls out a little black dress you bought about a year ago, but never really got around to wear it. It’s so tight, pushes your tits up way too much for your liking, you’re not even sure why you bought it in the first place.

“I’m not wearing that,” you shake your head.

“Are you afraid he might get a boner from you in it?”

“Rita!” you snap at her, but she just chuckles.

“Look, if you’re so sure he doesn’t want you like that, why does it matter what you wear?”

She has a point. It’s not like this dress will change anything and it would be nice to wear at least once in your life this stupid dress if you bought it.

Grabbing it from her hands you throw it to the bed and start undressing as she claps in victory.

You remembered right, the dress leaves close to nothing to the imagination when it comes to your figure. The fabric hugs your figure tightly, and you put on a lacy bralette that peeks out at the top of the dress, kind of covering some more from your skin, since the dress doesn’t do much in that field itself. Rita tries to convince you not to take a jacket, but you throw your denim jacket on, feeling the need to have something give you the slightest sense of being covered.

You arrive at the bar twenty minutes before the concert starts and it’s a good thing Harry reserved a table for you, because the place is packed. You’re not sure if it’s because of them or it’s just a regular Saturday evening.

The little stage is all set up, but you see no sign of Harry anywhere as the two of you settle at your table with a drink. Luckily, the bartender did not ask for an ID, he was too busy looking at your chest. At least there’s one good thing in this dress.

The drum set at the back has the name of the band on it and you smile reading it. The word ‘Stylish’ is printed on it with bold blue letters, referring to Harry’s last name, who is most likely the front man of the band.

The place is buzzing and the two of you enjoy being out at a bar concert. When the lights go down you finally spot him walking out of the back followed by a guy and two girls.

“Welcome, folks,” he greets the audience, his accent filling up the place over the chatters. A round of cheering answers him, making him smile. “Thank you for coming out tonight, we hope to entertain you in the next hour. Our name is Stylish and now let’s get down to business,” he smirks and just as he takes a step back from the mic, the band starts playing. Harry grabs a guitar himself before stepping back to the mic and then he starts singing.

They play a mixture of covers and original songs, the transition between them is so smooth you sometimes forget it’s a whole different song that’s playing. Harry is clearly enjoying the spotlight, his presence on the stage is so natural and capturing, you often catch yourself forgetting about the rest of the band.

One song follows the other and you don’t even realize how fast this hour passes by. Harry sometimes stops in-between songs, entertaining the audience with small jokes and just casually interacting with them.

“Our last song is up next, so let me take a moment to introduce the band,” Harry speaks into the mic while softly playing the guitar so it’s not completely quiet as he talks. “At the drums, the amazing and talented Sarah Jones!”

A round of applause fills the bar as Sara waves around smiling widely, before Harry moves on to the next member.

“Playing the piano, the wonderful Charlotte Clark!”

Charlotte plays a short melody on the keys matching up with what Harry has been playing, before she also waves at the audience.

“The guy who is a way better guitarist than me, Mitch Rowland.”

Harry’s comment makes the audience laugh and Mitch just nods shyly, a smile pulling on his lips under his mustache.

“And this handsome Brit who sometimes acts like a comedian,” Sarah starts leaning closer to her mic. “Harry Styles.”

It’s no surprise that Harry gets the biggest cheering and he smirks sweetly, his fingers still strumming on the guitar. The clapping and screaming slowly dies down and as Harry steps back to his mic they start the last song.

It’s quite an upbeat, funky song, you just can’t resist dancing around on your chair and seemingly Rita is enjoying herself as well, cheering with her beer in her hand. The song comes to an end and they all line up at the front of the stage bowing down together as the whole bar cheers on them as one person.

“Woah, this was… something else,” Rita breathes out once they disappear at the back and chatter fills up the place once again and the lights come back.

“They smashed it!” you nod in agreement. You figured they are good if they get asked to perform, but this was way beyond what you were expecting.

Looking around you are hoping to see Harry somewhere, but they must be celebrating somewhere at the back. Maybe he won’t even come out, you think to yourself as you finish up your beer.

“I’ll get us another round,” you tell Rita as you make your way to the bar.

There are quite a few people waiting to be served, so you squeeze yourself into the crowd and hope to get to the front soon.

“So how did you like it?”

You jump in surprise when you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind you, and turning around you see how close he is standing to you.

“Hi! I didn’t even see you sneak up on me,” you chuckle making him smile as he squeezes himself next to you. The two of you finally reach the front, but the bartender is serving someone a little on the left so you have to wait. “I loved it, you were like a proper rockstar up there!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles and his dimples show up on his cheeks. The bartender finally gets to you and Harry is quick to order for the both of you. “’S probably better if I place the order since you’re not twenty one just yet.”

“Didn’t have any problem ordering the first time,” you smirk smugly and Harry raises his eyebrows at you before his eyes wander down your body for a second.

“I bet you didn’t in this dress.”

Suddenly, you’re very aware of how daring your outfit looks, so out of reflex, you pull your jacket tighter on yourself, Harry’s smile quickly fades as he realizes that he made you uncomfortable with his comment.

“I meant that you look really pretty. Definitely makes you appear a little older though.”

“My friend wanted me to wear it, I would have been fine with something else,” you admit as the bartender places your order in front of you and Harry pays for the whole thing.

“Glad she convinced you,” he grins down at you and you can feel your cheeks heating up once again.

He helps you carry the drinks to the table and Rita quickly puts her phone away when she sees who you are returning with.

“Harry, this is my friend, Rita. Rita, this is Harry,” you introduce them and Harry shakes her head smiling.

“Nice to meet you,” he nods kindly.

“Oh, same goes for you,” Rita smirks and you roll your eyes at her.

“I’ll go get the rest of the band, do you mind if we join you guys here? There are no empty tables.”

“Sure,” you nod smiling before the crowd swallows Harry.

“For fuck’s sake, you have to make a move on him, Y/N!” Rita turns to you as soon as he is gone.

“Would you stop?” you chuckle.

“No! This dude is so hot I forget my name when I look at him! And you live with him! You can’t miss this chance, Y/N.”

“I’m not missing anything. We live together, it’s not worth it.”

“Not missing anything?” Rita looks at you as if you were mental. “You are literally missing everything!”

“I’m done with this conversation,” you tell him just when Harry appears again, this time with two of his bandmates, Sarah and Mitch are following him smiling, hand in hand.

“Charlotte had to leave early, but this is Sarah and Mitch,” Harry introduces them as they join the two of you at the table. “And this is my flatmate, Y/N and her friend Rita.”

You all shake hands as Harry sorts out the extra beers he has ordered so everyone has a drink on their hand.

It’s no surprise, but Sarah and Mitch prove themselves to be just as cool as they seemed up on the stage. And the best thing is that they don’t shy away from sharing funny stories that include Harry.

“So have you been looking for a new place to stay, Y/N?” Mitch jokes. “I’m sure you’ve had enough of Harry by now.”

“Very funny,” Harry laughs at his bandmate’s comment.

“To be honest it’s pretty fine so far. He is a pleasant person to share your home with,” you say with a soft chuckle.

“What’s one thing you hate about living with him?” Sarah asks and Harry pretends to be hurt over the question.

“Who said there’s anything she hates?”

“Shush, I was asking her!” she hushes at him making you laugh.

“I really can’t point out anything in particular. Maybe he has been very careful, luring me into believing that he is the perfect flatmate so I get stuck with him.”

You stay for a while, just chatting and having a good time until the bar starts to empty out and you decide it’s better if you head home as well.

“We have to take care of the equipment, are you leaving or do you want to wait for me?” Harry asks you.

“We’ll just call an Uber, don’t worry about it,” you smile at him.

“Alright, see you at home.”

You say goodbye to Sarah and Mitch and part your ways with them as you and Rite head outside.

“I hope you noticed how Harry was looking at you,” Rita smirks at you when the two of you are sitting at the back of the Uber.

“What are you talking about?” you sigh leaning your head against the seat.

“I caught him staring at you quite a few times.”

“He was just probably looking at me when I was talking. Don’t try to talk something into it that’s not true.”

“Alright, I’ll stop,” she replies holding up her hands. “But I still think you are missing out on some amazing dick.”

You awkwardly glance at the driver who is hearing everything you say, but Rita seemingly doesn’t mind that you’re not alone.

“You know what? We should give Tinder a try.”

“What? Why?”

“If you don’t want to make a move on your hot flatmate, we need to get some satisfaction from others.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Oh, you are not,” she chuckles. “But you will be when you match with the hottest guys on campus.”

You let Rita believe that she convinced you to sign up for Tinder, but you get out of the car with the intention of never downloading the app, like ever.

Walking into the apartment you grab a clean, oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties since your sleeping shorts are all dirty, but you were planning to do the laundry tomorrow. You decide it’s not a big deal and the shirt will probably cover enough of your body.

You take a quick shower to get off the thick smell of the bar that’s stuck on your skin, taking your time moisturizing yourself once you’re done. When you get dressed you see that the shirt does cover your bum, but if you lifted your arms up it surely shows a big portion of your ass, so you’ll have to be careful if Harry arrives.

You’re lounging on the couch watching a rerun of House M.D. and scrolling through your phone when Harry arrives.

“Hey there, rockstar!” you greet him teasingly and he just chuckles shyly.

“Is it gonna be my new nickname?”

“Well, you really were one tonight, so I think yes,” you nod making him laugh. Walking further inside his eyes stop on your bare legs and he is quick to notice that you’re not wearing any pants, like you usually do. You immediately tug on the end of the shirt to cover more of your skin, but it’s not really working.

“Ehm, I’ll go and take a quick shower,” he informs you before disappearing in his room first and then rushing into the bathroom.

Looking down at your attire you decide it’ll be better if you threw on some sweats. Harry clearly got a little uncomfortable seeing you so bare, so it’s better to cover up. You’ll just take them off when you go to bed.

Harry doesn’t take too long in there, and when he joins you on the couch you are pretty sure he took a cold shower since no steam followed him when he left the bathroom. His eyes flicker to your now covered legs, but he doesn’t say anything, just makes himself comfortable next to you.

“You like it?” he asks nodding at the TV.

“Yeah, he is such an asshole, but it’s funny,” you huff. “Hey, I took a few pictures tonight. Wanna see if you like any of them?”

“Sure,” he nods pushing himself up a little as you unlock your phone and show him the photos you took of him and the band while performing.

Some of them ended up really cool, you were able to catch the lights and their movements just the right way, especially one stands out where he was holding out a note, basically screaming into the mic, he really looks like a rockstar on that one.

“Can you send me this one?”

“Done,” you smile at him and glancing over you see that he opens the Instagram app on his phone. You watch him crop and adjust it a little bit, then tag his bandmates and finally, he posts it.

“Wow, this is the first picture on your page with you actually on it,” you tease him.

“So you’ve been stalking my profile?” he smirks at you.

“I wanted to check you out before I moved in, but your social media was no help in that.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of posting that much, but this was a cool picture.”

“It’s an honor to know that I took the first one featuring you.”

“Actually, this is the second one, but it is the first one where my face is visible,” Harry tells you before turning his attention back to the TV, but the gears start to turn wildly in your mind, trying to remember which picture could be the other one.

Later, when you’re lying in your bed with your door closed, you pull up his profile and stat scrolling down. Most of the pictures fall out, because they have absolutely no trace of any human being on them. But then you stop at the one that features a black silhouette of a man, the one you thought wasn’t him.

Opening up you tap on the tag and see that it leads to Mitch’s profile, but now that you’ve met him, you’re pretty sure it’s not him in the picture. So you take a closer look and as you go over the small details, like the line of his neck, how wide his shoulders are and the untamed curls, you soon realize that it is indeed Harry in the photo.

You push down a moan when realization sets in, because that means that you’re staring at the naked silhouette of Harry and it immediately starts a fire between your legs.

“Jesus,” you whisper as you let yourself stare at the photo a little longer. You weren’t expecting it, but it’s surely making you feel some kind of way.

Locking your phone you throw it to your nightstand before you bury your head into your pillow. You have to press your thighs together quite tightly to make the throbbing sensation stop so you can finally fall asleep. Well, it takes some time before that happens and it’s quite torturous.

Unlike how you planned, Rita finally gets you to download Tinder and give it a try. She helps you set up your profile, and though at first it feels incredibly awkward, you slowly adjust to being out there on the virtual market.

You start swiping left and right whenever you are bored during classes or you’re having a break from studying. Your matches start to pile up and soon enough you start getting messages as well. You reply to the ones you like or find funny and creative, giving them a chance, but not many end up going too far. Somehow the conversations always die down and you lose interest in the person.

Only one guy gets as far as asking you out and getting a yes as an answer. Jordan is a physics major and seemed like a nice and funny guy through the messages, good-looking too, so you decided to give it a go.

So Friday evening you dolled yourself up, put on a nice blouse with your favorite skinny jeans and black heels, ready to head out to your first ever Tinder date.

As you walk out of your room you find Harry in the kitchen in his basketball shorts and a simple black t-shirt making himself a cup of tea. The shorts are hanging low on his waist and as he reaches up to get the hones from the cupboard you get a glimpse of the soft skin on his lower waist. You quickly look away before you could have any further thoughts about what else is under the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, where are you heading all dressed up?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I actually have a date,” you admit nervously as you grab your keys and put it away in your purse.

“Lucky guy,” he smiles and you can feel your cheeks heating up again. There’s just something in the way he compliments you, it makes your knees go jelly.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later? I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” you tell him grabbing your jacket from the hanger next to the front door.

“Have fun,” he nods before you walk out.

Jordan proves himself to be quite frankly the same guy you got to know through messages. He takes you to this Mexican themed bar and you are just chatting over some exciting looking cocktails, but you find yourself zoning out sometimes.

What is Harry doing right now? Is he staying at home? I should have asked if he had any plans. Maybe he is hooking up with someone right now.

You find yourself thinking about way more than you probably should and it’s making you lose your shit. So maybe this is why, or because Rita told you to just go with the flow, but when Jordan asks if you want to go up to his place you say yes.

It’s as awkward and bad as you were expecting, unfortunately. There’s a reason why you don’t hook up with every random guy you go out with once. You are totally on different pages, but when you are lying under him on his bed, you just know there’s no way out.

It’s not that he forces you, because you’re sure he would have stopped if you asked, but it would be so awkward to just walk out because you weren’t feeling the vibe. So at least one of you should enjoy it.

You should deserve an Oscar for that orgasm you fake, it’s so believable. Jordan doesn’t seem to notice that you felt absolutely nothing, just frustration and impatience, he tries to make you stay the night, but you save yourself with a lie that you have to wake up early in the morning so it’s best if you head home.

Your frustration just grows on your way home. You were really hoping to get laid tonight, so maybe that could stop you from fantasizing about Harry, because your thoughts have been wild since you found out that he is the one on that Instagram picture. It doesn’t help that he has been walking around shirtless quite a lot.

Shameful or not, you even touched yourself once thinking about him. You were home alone after a particularly boring day so you thought you’d just get yourself off. Before you could realize where your thoughts have wandered, you were moaning his name as you came hard. You couldn’t look into his eyes that day when he came home, he probably thought you were nuts, basically running away from him.

It’s almost midnight when you get back home, you were expecting Harry to be asleep by now since he has band practice in the morning, but you are surprised to see light coming from his room. As you close the front door, kicking your heels off he walks out, of course, without a shirt, his glorious body on full display.

“Hey, how was your date?” he asks as you step to the fridge to get yourself something to drink. You’ve been so damn thirsty since Jordan was… done with you, you could have asked for some water at least, but you just wanted to leave as fast as possible.

“Ugh, don’t even ask,” you whine, leaning against the counter.

“That bad?”

“Worse,” you roll your eyes and Harry chuckles softly.

“Come on, it couldn’t be that bad if you came home so late.”

“Well, it did start off nice, but I shouldn’t have said yes when he asked if I wanted to go to his place.”

“Oh.”

“Worst sex of my life, I wanted out the moment we arrived, to be honest,” you honestly say, feeling a little weird that you’re talking to Harry about it, but you just want to get it off your chest.

“Then why didn’t you just leave?”

“Dunno, I just… I was hoping for just a little satisfaction, but I guess I asked for too much,” you sigh finishing up your water and you walk past him with the intention to grab your pajamas and have a shower that would wash away the happenings of the night, but Harry’s voice stops you.

“Not everything is lost just yet.” Turning around you give him a puzzled look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He bites into his bottom lip and lets his eyes travel down your body, his intent gaze sends a shiver down your spine. When his eyes return to your gaze your heart is wildly beating against your chest.

“I mean that… I can make you feel good, if you want.”

Your mouth hangs open and your eyebrows shoot up at the blunt offer he just made. At first you’re not even sure you heard him right, but as you replay his words you realize that you indeed heard him crystal clear.

“Are you messing with me right now?” you ask, feeling like it’s all just a joke. He did not just offer to satisfy you because you complained to him about how bad your date was.

Harry takes a few steps closer to you, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“Not really. You want to get off and I would love to be the one to help you with it.”

“But… we live together,” you say and realize how stupid this just sounded, but you hope he gets what you were trying to say.

“So? Does that mean we can’t fuck?”

The way he said that makes your legs go weak for sure. You’ve been fantasizing about things similar to this, but those were nowhere near to actually hear him propose the idea of fucking.

“But… it’ll be weird, won’t it?”

“Only if we make it.”

He walks closer, closing the distance between the two of you and he cups your cheek in his hand as his eyes flicker down to your lips.

“Harry…” you breathe out, but you already know you gave in. There’s no way you can say him no, not after weeks of dreaming about the exact same thing.

“Just stop thinking,” he tells you before pressing his lips against yours.

He kisses you hard and you gladly let his tongue push into your mouth within a second, kissing him back with the same passion. You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands travel down on your sides until they reach your ass and they give it a bold squeeze, making you moan into his lips. You feel him grin as his hands move over to your thighs and he urges you to jump and so you do, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Though you keep your eyes closed, kissing him hard, you can tell he brings you to the couch, laying you down to your back, holding himself up above you. He starts kissing down your jawline and neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and you lift yourself up a bit so he can pull it off, throwing it away to somewhere behind the couch. While his lips are sucking on your breasts wherever they are bulging out from the lacy bra, his hands work fast on your jeans, undoing the button and the zipper, tugging them down until you can just kick them right off.

“Matching set? You were really counting on having a good time tonight,” he mumbles against your tummy as he kisses his way down on your body.

His right hand reaches up and cups your breast before it slides under you and easily unclasps your bra. You quickly slide the straps off and throw it to the side, so now you are lying under him only in your panties, whimpering and panting at every kiss he leaves on your body.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he hums glancing up at you, sitting between your legs as he slides just one finger over your soaking wet panties, running it along your throbbing center.

“Fuck, I want you,” you breathe out.

“How exactly do you want me?”

“Jesus, just eat me out, Harry!” you shamelessly moan and he smugly smirks before he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down, throwing it to the ground.

Now you’re lying completely naked in front of him, and he pushes your knees farther apart, looking down at you with lustful eyes.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he growls as he gets closer and without a warning, he licks into you.

You moan in sensation as he starts sucking on your clit, his tongue working perfectly against your bud. Your hands find their way into his hair and you grab a handful of it in each. Oh, how many times you’ve thought about doing this!

“Harry!” you cry out when you feel him push a finger into you, slowly pumping it in and out a few times before he adds another to it. He quickly picks up his pace as he keeps sucking on your clit, getting you closer to your orgasm with every lick.

“Fuck, I’m so close!” you moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to even breathe.

“Cum for me, baby,” he mumbles against your wet clit and just a few more pumps later you came, screaming his name.

“Fucking hell, Harry!” you breathe out when he climbs up on you smirking.

“You think you can handle another one?” he asks, pecking your lips softly. Looking down you see how hard he is and even if you were on the verge of dying you would have said yes. There’s no way you let him get up from this couch unsatisfied after the orgasm he just gave you.

Instead of saying anything, you push on him until he is sitting on the couch and you have your knees on his sides.

“I think you are a little overdressed, aren’t you?” you ask teasingly as you bring a hand down to his erection, cupping it through his shorts and underwear.

Harry cranes his neck so his lips could meet yours again as he lifts his hips up, pushing his shorts down along with his boxers. You sit back down to his lap and his erection presses against your wet folds making you moan into his mouth.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” you ask breathlessly, but Harry shakes his head.

“I would last, I just want to fuck you,” he growls and you swear to God that was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Condom, we need a condom,” you tell him, still kissing his lips.

You get off him and he quickly runs into his room, shortly returning with a condom between his teeth. He rips the package on his way and falls back to the couch, rolling it on carefully. When he is done you swing your leg over him and get on top again, holding onto his broad shoulders. He grabs the base of his cock and lines himself up to your center and you give yourself a moment to admire his naked beauty right in front of you.

You look into his sparkling eyes and leaning down you kiss him hard as you slowly ease down to his length, his cock slowly filling you up fully.

“Oh fuck!” he moans at the feeling of you around him. His fingers dig deep into your waist as you stay still for a few moments, adjusting to his length. “You alright?” he asks breathlessly. Your eyes meet his and you nod a little before you start moving.

It takes a few moments to find the right pace and get yourself comfortable, but when you finally do, you just can’t stop. His hands are on your ass as he guides your hips a little and you feel the rings on his fingers against your heated skin. He buries his face into your neck nibbling and kissing on the soft skin wherever he reaches.

“Fuck, you look so fucking hot, Y/N,” he grunts when you let your head fall back, feeling your orgasm slowly building up again.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum again,” you pant, picking up a faster pace, desperate for release.

“Cum for me, baby. Let me make you feel good!” he moans wrapping his arms around you as he holds you still, stopping you from moving, but instead he starts thrusting into you, his cock buries so deep into your pussy, your eyes roll back into your head from the feeling.

“Yes! Don’t fucking stop!” you scream as he keeps fucking you hard.

It doesn’t take too long until you fall completely apart and cum again, your legs basically turning into jelly. Just a few thrusts later Harry cums as well, thrusting deep into you a few more times as he moans into your neck.

You lie completely numb on him, his fingers gently stroking your naked back as you try to come back to reality. When you lean back and your eyes meet again you are still speechless.

“I’ve literally wanted it since the day you walked into this place,” he admits with a soft chuckle.

“Really?” you giggle shyly.

“Oh, really. Seeing you around, sometimes without a bra under your shirt completely killed me most of the time.”

Your cheeks are heating up, you didn’t think he noticed when you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Don’t be so shy, you have amazing tits, you are not allowed to wear a bra anymore around here,” he teases you grinning as you laugh and leaning down you kiss him shortly.

“I had quite a few fantasies about you too,” you admit making him raise his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Mhm, especially after you walked out of the bathroom naked, even though I didn’t even see your dick then.”

Harry chuckles lightly as he pushes his hair back from his forehead, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“So…” you shyly start, ”what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… we live together and we just fucked. What does this mean for the future?”

“Well, I thought that next time we could do it the right way. I could take you out on a proper date, and then fuck you on the kitchen counter.”

You laugh at how blunt he is, but you love the idea he just proposed.

“Okay. Sounds fine by me.”

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles flatmates au #harry styles friends to lovers

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ichigoromi · 3 years

Text

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐩 | 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 | 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

I'm up for another Sakusa angst... Yay?

I guess, I hope you guys enjoy reading?

I'm sorry if I made you cry...

All characters are aged up!

Sakusa Kiyoomi

It has been exactly 11 months, 11 days, and 11 hours since you two have decided to end the relationship.

The break was inevitable. You were studying in the States, and he is a professional athlete who has little to no time to visit you.

No matter how much you want to fix the relationship, it was beyond repair.

You started to count the days that you two have broken up for as a way to cope, but it was unhealthy for you, mentally.

Sure, your studies were going better after the breakup, but you ended up drinking till your wasted in your tiny apartment.

Seeing how happy he was on his social media platform makes you wonder if you were the one who caused the break-up after all.

Even though you two agree mutually to the breakup, it was harder on you.

You lost so much weight, and your complexion was too pale to be considered healthy.

Roll in the best friends; they practically filled your fridge and made sure you were eating your three meals.

After you gained back to a healthy weight, they took you out for a makeover trip and got you a closet makeover as well.

You got back into your school life and leaned on your friends for support, but how could you ever forget the good memories that you made with Sakusa as well.

Your friends helped you pack any momento or gifts that he gave you into a box and send it back to him since you two have broken up and as a proper closure for you two.

But there was just one thing that you can't bear to part with, his personal hoodie that he first gave you when you two started going out in high school.

Your friends had a hard time trying to persuade you to part with it but gave in to you.

Inside the box, you included a letter address to him, your one last letter to him.

It goes likes this...

Dear Mimi or Kiyoomi,

This would probably be the last time that I address you like that. I know we have decided to end our relationship, and it's all my fault even though you said it's no one's fault. I'm going to return these because these were the gifts that you gave me. You can burn or throw them away; it's all up to you. The break-up was rough, but thanks to it, I grew a lot from it. I know you recently got a new girlfriend, good for you, you look genuinely happy with her, guess I held on to you too long? I'm sorry for breaking the promise first. I'm sorry for breaking your heart; I'm sorry that I cannot be there for you. Thank you for the wonderful memories that you left me. I never stop loving you and will always be there for you.

With love,

Your first.

You wiped away the tears and signed off and place it on top of everything, and prepared to mail it.

For the first time after your break up, you felt some kind of relief.

After you mailed it out, you and your friends went for some good old Korean barbeque and tons of alcohol.

You were so drunk that your friends carried you home, and all of them stayed in your apartment, in case something happens to you.

You posted some pictures of you having a good time with your friends and knocked out from the huge amount of drinks you had.

He thought he would live his life as normal after the breakup, but he couldn't.

Everything just was not the same. The routine that he has built around you, he has to change it.

You were not in his life anymore.

Atsumu tried to cheer him up by setting him up with some of his friends, and sure they had good personalities, but they were just not you.

After months of trying to date, he finally met the one.

He was finally able to smile and be back to the normal him.

His team was relieved that he was not in his depressed state and living well.

Atsumu and Bokuto still keep in close contact with you, following you on their social media platforms.

When they thought he was not listening, he could listen to them calling you and face timing.

Based on Atsumu and Bokuto's reaction, he can tell that you are doing good.

He knows that your graduation was in a few weeks and you would continue to further your studies there.

Bokuto and Atsumu, along with some of your high school friends, were going to fly to the States to attend your graduation.

He wants to go to, but he has a new person in his life now.

A few days later, he received a box from your address.

He went to open the box in his dorm room, and it was the gifts and the letters you two exchanged since high school.

When he read the letter that you wrote him, he broke down.

You were his first love, the very first person that he made friends with, the very first person that made his heart skip, and the very one that made him the person that he is today.

It was bad. The feelings that he thought was once gone came back again.

He never stops loving you, and he will continue to love you as long as he can.

He needed some time away from dating and some time to heal.

The last gift he could give you was something that would last till you guys meet next time.

Graduation came faster than you expected, and finally, you graduate successfully after going through all those obstacles. Your family and friends from Japan are here to celebrate this joyous event with you.

You took pictures with everyone, chatted with a few of your fellow graduates, and managed to make some new connections.

"Oh my god, why is her campus so big? Did we made it in time?"

"Of course not! What did ya think?!"

Your two favourite people are here too.

"Tsumu! Bokkun!"

You waved them over, and they were carrying a bouquet of flowers and a bunch of gifts.

They threw their arms around you and pulls you into their embrace, and it was heartwarming and suffocating. Imagine getting bear-hugged by two professional volleyball players.

"L-let me go!" You managed to squeeze out a call for help, and they immediately let you go.

"This gift, open when you are alone."

It was a small bag, but you could not help but wonder who gave you that gift.

- - -

After getting lunch with your family and friends, you went back to your apartment alone to start packing up for your new journey.

You were going to move to Korea for your Master's program. Most of your close friends knew about this and hook you up with their close contacts in Korea so that you would have some form of support in a foreign country.

While packing, you remember the gift that Bokuto and Atsumu told you to open when you are alone.

You grab it, and it was a letter and a blue velvet ring box.

Immediately you recognised the handwriting. That neat and clean handwriting would belong to none other than Sakusa himself.

Congratulations on your graduation.

I have received your mail, and there's so much that I want to say. I apologise for not making it to your graduation, but those two idiots are there to represent me. After receiving that box from you and that letter, I immediately broke up with her. I realised that my feelings for her were not genuine, and I was just using her as a rebound, and I break things off because I don't want to hurt her further.

I'll wait for you. I know this may sound far-fetched, but will you marry me?

I don't expect any replies, but please accept the ring if you agree to marry me.

If you reject me, you can return the ring to Atsumu.

I'll be waiting,

Sakusa Kiyoomi

This man...even he is at the other part of the world, he still manages to make your heart skip. You open the box and inside one of the most dazzling rings you have laid your eyes on.

And you recognise it.

It was a Harry Winston.

You used to joke to him in high school that you want it to be a Harry Winston ring when he proposed.

Now, it's not a joke. You slid the ring onto your left hand, and it fits perfectly.

You dialled the number that you know it like it's the back of your hand.

"You idiot, do you still love me after all this time? What's with the proposal? It's s-so lame." You sniffled over the phone.

"Really? Does that mean you are not taking me back? In high school, you said that you were going to kick my ass if I break up with you. You wanted a proposal with a Harry Winston, right?" Hearing his voice, you broke down.

"I-I m-missed y-you so much! Why do you still have so much effect on me? You bad man!" You wailed into the phone and hear his deep chuckles.

"Oh my, you became more of a baby after we broke up. Do you want to see me now?"

"What? You mean facetime?"

"No, come to the park near your apartment building."

You grabbed your coat and rushed out of your building. There's no way he is here. No way. How could it be...

And he was there. With his arms wide open and a small smile on his handsome face.

"H-how? I-What? You idiot!" You threw yourself into his embrace, and he wraps his arms around you, and you sobbing in his chest.

"I flew in, of course. I got the timing right." He cups your face gently to make you look up to him. Then he saw the ring on your left hand and kisses you on the lips.

You shut your eyes and savours the kiss that was needed after being apart for so long.

"Sakusa Kiyoomi, you are one crazy man." You shook your head and kiss his lips again.

"Yeah, I'm crazy for you." He kisses you again for a long time.

I can't end it with a sad ending; I'm sorry to you guys if you wanted a sad ending. I'm crazy for soft Sakusa.

I love him.

I hope you guys enjoy reading this!

Thank you for reading!

Stay safe and take care!

With love,

Rosalie🍓

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a pretentious ass - that's the only way you could possibly explain the man. That being said, you needed a job to help pay for grad school, and the position of being his TA was the only thing available. You'll suck it up and deal with it, but the last thing you'll do is let this man get inside your head in the process.

WC: 1131

Rated: M

Chapter Tags: laszlo is very to the point with his expectations.

🧠

Monday morning came too quickly. There was no need to dress super professionally as a TA, but you still found that you wanted to at least look presentable on your first day with the devil himself. One less thing for him to judge you on, right?

The hall in the Psychology wing was quiet, only a few students could be seen shuffling to their early morning classes. A tall guy walked past you, offering up a pity-smile in your direction as he saw where you stood. If what you had seen on the professor over the weekend was any real indication, you felt bad for the psych majors. Even so, you would do your best to withhold judgement until you met the man.

You stood outside his office. The dark mahogany door was shut, a gold “Dr. L Kreizler” placard adorned the wood. Pulling out your phone you check the schedule for the tenth time this morning.

Schedule:

MWF 8am-12pm

TTH 3pm-7pm

You lick your lips and look at the clock on the wall - 7:59. The second the hands switch to 8 you knock on the heavy wood. There is a muffled “come in” from the other side.

You don’t know what you anticipated as you entered the office. Taking a minute, you examine the decor he has set up. It felt like walking through a time capsule; as though you were transported to the gilded age. Rich, dark colors of wood and tapestry filled the space. Large bookshelves had tomes that looked to be at least a hundred years old, well worn and rubbed off of their titles. Small artifacts, pictures, and old scientific instruments line the shelves. The room is massive, not something you would have anticipated. He does not use the fluorescent overhead lights, instead having a series of tall warm-toned lamps scattered around the room. There is even a couch along the back wall, decorated with swirling filigree carved into the arms and legs. A laptop and second monitor on his desk bring you back to reality.

In your admiration of the office you pay no mind to the man it belongs to. Finally, you notice him as he stares at you from his chair, looking annoyed at having to wait for your introduction.

Even with the less than pleased look he’s giving, you can’t help but notice how attractive the man is. The picture had done absolutely nothing to show off the depth in those brown eyes, the softness of the delicately styled hair, the fullness of his well-groomed beard. He was much younger than you anticipated too. If anything you figure he’s maybe early 40s. And fuck, he’s just your type. Too bad he’s an asshole… and your boss…. you think belatedly.

“Oh! Sorry, um, I’m the new TA,” you introduce yourself and tell him your name. “It’s very nice to meet you professor.” You reach out to shake his hand. He does not move to return the favor, but instead keeps his calculating eyes on you. The silence tics on as you wait, hand outstretched. Clearing your throat you drop it back to your side.

Finally, he speaks in an accented voice. “You may call me Dr. Kreizler. I have space for you there,” he gestures with a nod of his head to a desk in the corner. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a list of expectations for you. Should you have any questions or concerns I expect that you address them with me directly. You’ll note that I have included my personal number for work purposes only. I expect you to provide me with your own should I need you outside of contract hours. Do not contact me while you are intoxicated or you will be dismissed from this position.” To the point then, you blink at his directness. And presumptuous as hell to assume that you would even consider drunk texting him.

He briefly explains your role and clarifies some of the less detailed points on his list. The entire time he’s speaking his focus is on whatever work sits in front of him, not you. A beat passes once he’s done.

“Sounds great, thank you.” You had done your best to remain civil and polite, ignoring the ill-reviews in hopes to create your own opinion. Quite frankly, he wasn’t faring well so far.

He looks up at you; his eyes are piercing. Does he always look like he’s picking apart people like they are a specimen he’s studying?

“I suspect you have done your research on who I am, yet you are still present today. That is promising. But tell me, who are you?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.

You’ve never been good at talking about yourself when put on the spot. “Well I’m 26 years old, I graduated magna cum laude with a dual degree in history and political science. The last few years I’ve been working with the graduate studies program to get my doctorate in history. My thesis is on 1960s shifting cultural norms and the development and impact of countercultures on American society.”

“Have you considered the emerging role of sequence murderers in your studies?” He almost looks interested as he asks.

“Some, not as much as I would like yet, though. I suppose a perk of taking this position means you can give me some insight on that since you teach about it.” You give a little smile-shrug, hoping the statement will earn you some points with him.

He ignores it. “And what background in psychology do you have? Or do you even have any?”

You are a bit taken aback by his tone. “I took an introductory course with Professor Stratton during my undergrad years.”

“Hmm. That will have to suffice. In the meantime I would suggest you make haste with the reading I’ve left you. It’s best you spend this week with that so you can be most useful to me this semester.”

Looking through all the contents he’s left on your desk you see two books, a textbook, a few slide show print outs, and his syllabi - each marked up with his cursive and colored tabs to mark pages of importance. Sitting down, you give an inaudible sigh; this is going to be a long semester. You pick up the first syllabus and get to work.

Noon rolls around after what feels like a lifetime. Packing up all the materials he’s provided, you wish him a good afternoon. As you are walking through the door he calls out to you.

“Next time, do not be late.” You give him a confused look, seeing as you got there exactly at 8am. “On time is late,” he explains curtly.

“Noted.” You don’t catch the door as it all but slams closed.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo my love #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #scuttle-buttle

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kuroos-babie · 4 years

Text

Falling in Love with a Single Mom HCs

Akaashi x fem!Reader | Daichi x fem!Reader | Oikawa x fem!Reader

[ Headcanons/MiniFic ]

Request: 🥺👉👈 if you could do more single mom headcanon-fic-things LOL SORRY IDK WHAT TO CALL THEM and w/ akaashi, daichi, and oikawa? THANK U i love u and your writing you're so sweet —anonymous

a/n: okay so strangely enough, i thoroughly enjoyed writing oikawa's and it's probably my fav out of these three 😳 thank u for giving me the chance to write these and thank u for the kind words! i hope u like it 👉👈

❀ he’s been noticing you more and more — sat on the corner of the cafe he frequents during his breaks

❀ you would always order the same drink and sit on the same table by the window, he would occasionally glance at you, admiring the way sunlight hits your skin and the way the cafe music seemed to be playing solely for you

❀ but you always left too soon for his liking, 15 minutes before 2 in the afternoon to be exact

❀ he never knew where you went or what you did outside of the little cafe he sees you in everyday

❀ but soon enough, he was given a chance

“excuse me, is this seat taken?”

he saw your eyes look up at him in surprise and your lips curve into a small smile, “oh! no, go ahead”

“sorry for the trouble, i didn’t expect it to be this packed today”, he said in an attempt to engage in small talk

“it’s no problem at all” you assured him with another smile, “i often see you here, do you work nearby?”

❀ the two of you continued to chat until akaashi needed to remind you of the time

❀ but of course before you could even leave he'll ask you for your number saying

"i'd really like to know you more, if that's alright with you"

❀ of course it's alright with you sjckskdks

❀ the two of you would meet at the café everyday, except the weekends — same spot and same time, until it became part of your routines

❀ keiji took his time getting to know you and openly expresses his admiration for you

❀ of course you liked him back, he was sweet and considerate, he was everything you would like in a partner

❀ but you just needed to make sure of one thing before diving headfirst into a relationship

"akaashi-san—"

"keiji", he corrected, reaching out for your hand

the warmth of his hand helped eased your nerves of bringing up something that may potentially be a huge deal breaker

"keiji, we've been meeting for a while and i thought maybe it's time i tell you,"

❀ when you said you have a daughter, you never would've expected him to say "can i meet her?"

❀ you almost cried then and there— it had always been a big deal to the guys you met before, you being a single mother

❀ keiji sensed your relief and squeezed your hand in reassurance that it really was no big deal to him

❀ well it was, but it wasn't something that would easily shake up his resolve of being with you

❀ meeting your daughter for the first time was set in the same café, on a saturday half past noon

❀ he smiled seeing the quiet four year old on your lap, curious eyes and a small smile as he held out the little bunny plushie he got for her as a gift

❀ weekend café dates became frequent with the three of you and soon became home dates— alternating between your and keiji's apartments

❀ your daughter loved when he read to her, having her sat on his lap with a picture book in his hands

❀ more often than not, you would catch him fast asleep on the couch— picture book on the floor and your child snuggled up against his chest

❀ during these moments, especially, you couldn't help but imagine spending every day with them both without having to part ways by the end of it

❀ and of course, when he wakes up, keiji can't help but think the same thing when he wakes up to you smiling softly at him and the little girl who kept a part of his heart inside her tiny little hands

❀ your son met him first

❀ he just got out of the police academy and was assigned near the elementary school gates

❀ kids would often come up to him with fascination in their eyes

❀ and it wasn't a different case with your seven year old son

"hey mister are you a policeman?"

"sure i am, why do you ask?" he answers with the softest smile, crouching down to the child's level

"that's so cool! mom said my dad was a policeman, maybe you're my dad?"

he watched the boy's eyes widen in realization and he couldn't help but chuckle

"sorry, bud, but i don't think i have a child yet neither do i have a wife"

"well do you want one?"

❀ that effectively painted his cheeks in red, standing straight up and ruffling the boy's hair, urging him to go straight home

❀ everyday your son would come up to him to ask him the same questions and saying the same things

"would you want to be my dad?"

"i think it'll be sooo cool to have you as my dad"

"let me ask my mom if you can be my dad"

❀ jesus help this man pls

❀ he found it all to be endearing and soon enough he looked forward to chatting with your son for a few minutes every afternoon on his way home from school

❀ your child would always brag about how nice you are, how pretty, and just how amazing of a mom you are

❀ an amazing lil wingman if u ask me

❀ it wasn't until one of his day offs that he met this wonderful mom that he always heard of— and boy was he stunned

❀ he was out grocery shopping, skimming the aisles when he heard the familiar voice of your son

"mama, it's the policeman i was talking to you about!"

before you even had the chance to react, your child bolted through the spice aisle and cling to this man's leg

you quickly caught up to him and was about to apologize to the stranger when you saw him get to your child's level and pat at his head

"oh hey, didn't know i'd catch you here"

"i'm with mama! now you can see just how pretty she is!"

❀ the comment made both your faces heat up but even moreso when daichi looked up at you, absentmindedly muttering a "she is"

❀ your son had the proudest grin on his face >:)

❀ the three of you went out for lunch then which you insisted to be for all the trouble your son has caused him— who so conveniently disappeared to the playhouse to leave you two to yourselves

❀ it didn't take a lot for daichi to be absolutely smitten by you— admiring how you could handle a child and a job all by yourself and still managing to have that pretty smile on your face

❀ he had to thank your son his little accomplice the next time they have their afternoon chat

❀ and maybe start planning on "Operation Get Mom and Daichi-san Together"

❀ started as students sharing a class and later on became inseparable best friends

❀ you two met in college

❀ tōru would rave on and on about how much better you were than "iwa-chan" whom he never lets you see during their facetimes bec you "might fall for him and choose iwa-chan over me"

❀ he was there to witness you going out with an orgmate, there to listen about the first time you got laid, and of course he was there to comfort you when your ex left the moment you told him you were pregnant during your third year in college

"do you want to keep it?"

tōru held you close as you cried, his soft voice mingling with your sobs

"i d-don't know"

you buried your face on his chest, prompting him to hold you tighter and rub comforting circles on your back

"whatever you choose to do, i'll be here", he promised "i won't leave you"

❀ the moment you decided to keep your baby was the moment it was decided that oikawa would co-parent with you

❀ during your pregnancy, he came to your apartment everyday and stayed over on weekends

❀ he kept his promise and never left your side even after you gave birth

❀ he practically moved in with you, staying up late at night to care for your child so you could get some rest, he changed schedules and skipped classes to let you continue going to yours

❀ it was alright, he said, afterall a pro volleyball team was already eyeing him— he was set even before graduation

❀ the both of you fell into a steady rhythm of domesticity

❀ eating breakfast together, taking turns changing your daughter's diapers, cuddling in the same bed and having sleepy conversations about the future and how you're both thankful of the other

❀ it was never established what you two were— you just knew that you were each other's constant and that you promised to stay with the other until god knows when

"what're you planning to do then?"

"i don't knoooow~ iwa-chan help me out here~"

"well, for starters, you should go and tell her— y'know, about argentina"

there was a moment of silence between the line, tōru mulling over his options

"i don't want to leave her" was his quiet reply

"i know you don't, but this opportunity may never come by again, don't let it slip"

❀ it was a few weeks before your graduation, your daughter now more than a year old, when he received the call inviting him to play for argentina

❀ on one hand he knew it was the chance of a lifetime, but when he looks at you in his arms with your daughter on your chest, he couldn't even think about leaving you

❀ it was less about the promise he made and more about how he couldn't imagine his everyday without the two of you

"y/n-chan~"

you only hummed in response but looked up to meet his eyes

"if i were to get invited to go to the other side of the world to play volleyball, would you come with me?"

he held your gaze with hesitation

"i'll go anywhere with you, tōru, i thought you knew that by now"

a small smile of relief graced his face as he exhaled, closing his eyes and rubbing his face against yours, "thank you"

the next few moments were spent in comfortable silence before he broke it with a chuckle, "is it too late now to ask you to be my girlfriend?"

"tōru, we're basically a married couple for the past two years"

...

"so will you marry me for real?"

#bro #i never knew i'd love oikawa like this #i am a Changed Woman #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #hq akaashi #akaashi hcs #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #hq daichi #daichi sawamura #sawamura daichi #daichi headcanon #sawamura daichi x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa tōru #oikawa x reader

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davidfarland · 10 months

Text

David Farland’s Writing Tips—Do You Want to Be an Apex Writer?

First, I wanted to have a little shout-out. I was on Facebook on Saturday for a few minutes and noticed that some of my past students had made some major accomplishments:

Monalisa Foster got a novel contract and an acceptance check for Christmas. Great timing!

Rebekah R. Ganiere’s romance novel Rekindling Christmas is being made into a film and will start shooting this week! I’m excited for her. Well deserved!

Even self-publishing may be a total bomb if you don’t know how to go about it.

I really wanted to help her negotiate the path ahead.

Yet this poor young woman had dozens of tips from people who had no idea that their advice sucked. I suspect that much of it came from people who had never published.

So, I suggested that she go to my website to read some of my posts on the topic—and was blocked by the site administrator for “self-promotion.”

I realized that I often feel blocked. I don’t want to tell you when another author is giving you bad advice. They’re my friends and peers, after all, and they’re trying to be helpful.

There are things that publishers, film distributors, bookstore chains, agents and social media companies do that are kind of dangerous to talk about—but that you need to know.

I want to share this information only with authors who are driven, who are ready to take the steps forward, who are trustworthy, and who are also willing to share information.

(note: to apply to Apex Writers, visit apex-writers.com )

For more on David Farland's Writing tips, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/writing-blog/

And you can also click here to get your David Farland Daily Meditations.

#writing help #writing tips #writing advice

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tefilovesreading · 3 years

Text

It’s a match! Part. 1

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem!Reader

Word count: +1,7k

Warnings: language, mention of alcohol.

A/N: This is a mini series, I’m not sure how many parts it’s gonna have and there’s gonna be some texts in between. LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED.

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland

MASTERLIST // PART 2 // PART 3

She felt her hands start sweating as she saw the small circle slowly filling up, letting her know that the app was being downloaded. She knew what a dating app was, how it worked and what was its purpose, but never created her account, not that she needed it before because she had a boyfriend. Her roommate, on the other hand, was well acquainted with dating apps, and they’d spent nights swiping through the profiles together.

Now that she was single for the first time since she graduated from high school, her roommate and best friend had convinced her to download Tinder and have fun.

“You don’t even have to go and meet the guy, Y/N,” Jo had said with a beaming smile to encourage her when they met for coffee earlier that day, “just have a look and see if you find someone you’d want to talk to.”

She nibbled on her lip when the circle filled up entirely and the icon appeared on her screen, bright and inviting. Putting her phone down, she decided she’d create her account later, for now, downloading it was more than enough.

In her sophomore year, she broke up with her boyfriend because they couldn’t find time to be together, too busy with classes, exams, and part-time jobs. But that didn’t last long, ‘cause they got back together after three weeks.

Those three weeks ignited a spark in her, suddenly things were more exciting to her, and she didn’t feel like she was acting how others expected her to. Y/N felt a kind of freedom that made her go on a date with her co-worker, sure they just went for a coffee together once and decided that they were better off as friends, but that small rejection made her want to make that spark disappear.

Being with Lance made things easier, they knew each other since they were little, and that meant she didn’t have to open up to let him know her flaws and fears, because he knew her like the palm of his hand. Being with him made her feel safe, even when they were apart during his first year of college since she was a year younger than him and was still in high school when he left for college, but that safety net vanished when Lance decided he wanted to spend time overseas after he graduated from college. And it was useless to wait for him if he wasn’t even sure he wanted to come back.

Eight months later, Y/N felt that spark reigniting again, making her feel like she was missing something. Ever since Lance left, she spent too much time afraid to put herself out there. How can you let someone into your life and trust them to not hurt you? After all, she trusted Lance for so long just to get hurt because they didn’t want the same things, and their paths went in different ways. But Y/N knew she couldn’t hide much longer, she wanted to go out, have fun, go on dates and meet new people, she just didn’t know how to start.

Her phone vibrated with a new notification from her best friend, and she snorted at her text.

Jo: Any matches yet heartbreaker???

If only Jo knew she still wasn’t able to bring herself into making an account. Maybe she could choose the pictures first, plan her bio, and then create it. Planning that out was definitely better than staring at the app icon.

Y/N: Not yet, but I’ll let you know ;)

After an hour of scrolling through her photos, Y/N chose five pictures where she looked decent. Hell, she looked really hot in one or two of those, and she wasn’t going to act as if that wasn’t true.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself after her account was finally set up.

It was a strange feeling swiping through the profiles, reading their bios, and rolling her eyes at some of them. But after a few minutes, she started enjoying it, not even feeling bad if she didn’t match with a guy.

She smiled at the simple bio on her screen and swiped right, not even bothering to go through his other photos. He was cute, he seemed like he liked to have fun, and even though he was cute, he was also hot. A dangerous mix, but a really nice one.

It’s a match!

“Honey I’m home!” her best friend sang, entering the living room.

“Shit Jo!” Y/N scolded the girl, “you scared me.”

“Why?” Jo faked an offended look, “were you sending dirty messages or something?”

“Oh shut up,” Y/N said, handing her phone over to her friend with a sheepish smile on her face, “check out my last match.”

“Okay, so he likes outdoor activities, he plays the guitar, and he has a cute smile,” her friend listed, swiping through his photos, “what are you waiting for, Y/N? Send him a message!”

“I was actually waiting for him to send one first,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up, “you know I suck with conversations over chat.”

“But what if he’s waiting for you to talk to him, and you don’t do it,” Y/N looked at her friend and knew she was already making up a whole movie in her head, about how they could be soulmates, but they would never know if she didn’t send him a text.

“Fine!” She huffed and took her phone from her friend’s hands, “Do I send him a hello or what?”

“No, that’s too dry,” Jo replied, “you should ask him about where he took that picture, the one where he’s in the snow.”

She bit her bottom lip to distract herself from the fact that she felt as if her stomach was tied up in knots. He was really cute, and she had a good feeling about him, almost as if the universe was telling her to go for it, meet up with him and have fun.

Hesitating at first, she let her finger hover over the little “send” button for a few seconds, before pressing the screen and sending the text.

Y/N: Hey! Where did you take the first pic? The place looks great

“What now?” Jo looked at her with one of her eyebrows arched.

“We wait, you idiot.”

“I need to do something,” Y/N locked her phone and got up, “if I stay on that couch waiting for a reply I’m gonna end up with no nails.”

“I did your nails last night, Y/N, don’t ruin my work,” Jo complained, “why don’t you cook dinner today?, and I’ll wash the dishes, so you can text with that guy if he replies to you by the time we’re done eating.”

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that it was your turn, Jo” she pointed out but made her way to the kitchen anyway, “and you better wash, dry, and put the dishes back in the cabinets.”

Cooking was the perfect distraction, and the glass of wine she drank while they were eating helped her loosen up just enough to check her phone without feeling like she was getting back some important results.

Charlie: It’s in Canada Charlie: Sulphur Mountain Trail! Charlie: I like your smile btw

She smiled with excitement when she opened the app and saw those three messages, and just as she was about to respond, Charlie sent another one.

Charlie: How was your day?? Y/N: It was good, pretty relaxing actually Y/N: Yours?? Charlie: Great! I went hiking with a friend, so now I’m just chilling at home Y/N: I’m assuming you’re into hiking, don’t you??? Charlie: Hahaha yeah you’re right Charlie: I guess I enjoy being outside, it keeps my mind occupied

Y/N: I get it, I’m not really into outdoor activities Y/N: I mean Y/N: I don’t mind going on a hike once in a while, but I prefer reading, painting, or playing some music Y/N: To keep my mind occupied

Five texts in a row. Was that too much? She didn’t want to appear intense, but she also didn’t want to send just one massive text and type it for way too long.

Charlie: You play an instrument?? Charlie: I love music Y/N: Yeah I play the piano Y/N: I just don’t have one with me now, so I haven’t played in a while Charlie: Oh! That sucks! Charlie: When I moved here I think I packed my guitars first and then the rest of my stuff

Y/N let out a soft laugh at his text, he did seem like the kind of guy to pack random stuff before things that he might actually need. She should’ve done the same, she missed playing the piano, and now that she was miles away from her parents’ house it wasn’t like she could just go and play. Especially because she didn’t even know how to drive a car.

Y/N: Should’ve done the same if I’m honest Y/N: Where are you from? You said you moved here

After reading his answer to her last question, she groaned in embarrassment because it was the most obvious answer, and yet she didn’t notice it.

Charlie: I’m Canadian

She lost track of time talking to him about things they both enjoyed doing, what was their favorite movie, favorite musician, and to her surprise it was so easy to talk to him about small things like that could help you a lot to get to know another person. Y/N got startled when Jo touched her shoulder to get her attention.

“I’m off to bed, babe,” Y/N dodged when her friend tried to ruffle her hair as if she was a little kid, “don’t go to bed too late.”

“I won’t mom,” she replied jokingly, “sweet dreams, Jo.”

With a heavy sigh, Y/N typed a message, telling him that she needed to get some rest and that she was hoping they could keep talking the next day.

Charlie: Do you mind if I ask you for your number?? Charlie: I’d love to call you or FaceTime with you if you’re okay with that

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered, wishing her best friend hadn’t gone to bed already. Of course, she wanted to give him her number, but was she supposed to give her number to the first guy she talked to on Tinder? “fuck it, I’m doing it.”

Y/N sent him her number and after telling him goodnight, she closed the app and got ready for bed. She really had a good feeling about this whole thing, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was, because the feeling started even before they even matched.

Maybe it was just fate doing its work.

#charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie x y/n #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie fanfic #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie fluff #jatp cast imagine #charlie gillespie

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tbzhours · 3 years

Text

love notes

sunwoo x you, fluff

[summary] sunwoo realizes he loves you [warning] mention of sex [words] 1.7k [a/n] happy birthday to sunwoo♡! who’s still crying over berry? :’)

You just got home after a long day with Sunwoo, going on a hike for a picnic on the hills and spending time at his place afterwards. Your heart was full, thinking back at how he let you know you were his first during the walk, despite sleeping together a few times already. He wasn’t used to touching you all the time but whenever he touched your shoulder or held your waist, he confessed about how it was turning him on. So he stopped touching you and just followed along the trail with you until you both found a good spot for the picnic.

You weren’t much of a person who feeds others but when Sunwoo reached his fork over to you, you couldn’t help to do the same back at him. Everything he did made your heart flutter and you really love how open he was. He was understanding of your time because he knew you had things to do outside of your dates. He adored that you’re a considerate person as well, being mindful of his study time since he was graduating this year. It was just a matter of weeks before he graduates from college.

Sunwoo was already accepted into law school, a dream of his since young. You could tell because his eyes shined whenever he randomly referenced laws in your conversations. Not that you mind. Passion always flows in the way he is, like the cooking book he brought to the picnic. It was about cooking for two (aka you and him). You found it cute, considering that he was into cooking and that he recently moved out of his friends’ shared apartment to live by himself.

He was excited not only because he could finally have some quiet time to study, but also because you could spend time with him without making too much arrangement around his friends’ time. Despite only dating for two months, this just meant he could explore more things with you, especially your shared interests and of course, in the bedroom.

You knew him from a year ago when you both were working at the same recreation center, monitoring workout rooms together but after you graduated, you hadn’t seen him since. Meeting him again almost a year later at a different building and finally exchanging phone numbers, you didn’t expect him to be interested in you too.

sunwoo: hey i dropped something in your bag before you left 😗

You tilted your head and remembered seeing something unfamiliar in your bag when you left Sunwoo’s place. You set your phone down, haven’t cleaned out the bento boxes from the picnic and pulled out the folded paper from your bag. You sat down on your couch and opened the paper. A card, seeming from a game, slipped out between the folds.

What do you love about your partner?

You looked at the written paper, noticing Sunwoo’s handwriting as your face flushed.

I love their smile, the way they listen to me as I talk. I love how considerate they are, giving me time to do other things that I need to do. I love how open they are when we have sex. I love it when they hold my hand. I love it when they share their world with me, though I might not understand it entirely. I love their good night texts knowing I sleep early. I also love their random 2am texts because it makes me smile when I read them in the morning. I love the pet names they use to call me as. I love many things about them, and their random kisses.

You couldn’t sleep all night, wondering if you had to write one back to him. He was such an old-fashioned type of person. You wondered where he got it from because he likes calling you through the phone, asking permission for things, writing poem-like texts, and just being upfront about what he likes and doesn't like. Again, everything he does made your heart race.

You closed your eyes to calm it. But wait, you hadn’t replied back to him since you read the letter and showered. You rambled off your bed to find your phone. As you checked the time after picking it up from the couch, it wasn’t too late yet. You sighed and finally wrote back.

you: i didn’t even see you put it in my bag! how did you do that? sunwoo: it’s a secret 😚 you: sneaky 😒 you: but ngl it made me smile… i just have a lot of thoughts running through me even though i was blushing too much over your cute handwriting and message sunwoo: thank you, i’m glad i did. that means you’re probably thinking about me you: i am sunwoo: i think about you too you: you sweet thing you: you sleeping soon? sunwoo: yes, as i’m thinking about our next date ❤️ you: i’m excited too~ you: good night, my love ❤️ sunwoo: good night ❤️

“Hey, you’re here.” Sunwoo greeted you when you knocked on his apartment door.

You rushed to his place right after work since your shifts didn’t overlap today. You smiled and greeted him with a hug. You hummed along, smelling his scent. “You changed your cologne.”

“You noticed?” He was surprised, chuckling when you pulled away. You really like his smell and seeing the smile on your face, he figured you might like this one too.

“Yeah.” Your nose crunched close to his in a tease. “I like it.”

“Good.” His smile stayed. “And I missed you.”

You gave Sunwoo a peck before he shut the door and led you into his house. You looked around, as if you hadn’t been here before then you set your things down beside the couch. You followed him into the kitchen and found the cooking book opened with ingredients around it. He was standing in front of you between the counter with his arms angling down to hold the edges of it. His black tee showed his body line, matching along with his curly hair. You couldn’t help to look at those pretty arms. Maybe you should have written that in your letter too.

“So, what’s the chosen menu for tonight?” You asked.

Sunwoo hummed, thinking even though you both had chosen it together through text. He sent pictures of some pages until you both picked a menu. He got all of the ingredients and your request for wine, and when he smiled with those thick lips, he answered, “A menu for two.”

So dinner was made with much laughter from following the steps. The kitchen was a bit messy from your little dances since he had music on. He turned it down when you both settled down to eat and chat about whatever came to mind. He suddenly thought of the time you mentioned about working at a ski resort for the season and suggested that you both go when it gets cold again. You wouldn’t mind teaching him how to ski too, even though you’re still a beginner since being a staff for rentals. He himself was getting into playing the guitar from a friend that he wouldn’t mind teaching you the basics he knew of too. That was something you both had in common: you both love learning.

As your laughs calm through the wine, you remembered keeping his written letter in your bag with yours and wanted to return one back to him. So you stood up after taking too many sips of wine.

“So Sunwoo, you know how you left your letter in my bag last time?” You started. He looked up and hummed, You shyly smiled, “Well, I wrote one back.”

“You did?” Sunwoo was surprised, watching you get up and came back to sit. You slipped the paper to him over the table. He opened it and started to read it. You could see how his eyes shined as they moved from word to word. His breath was calm and his smile was softly formed below those flowery cheeks of his. Once he was done, his breath was heard through his nose. It was hard to look at you when he finished reading your love notes. “Wow, this is so sweet. Thank you for writing back.”

“Do you feel the way I was feeling? Nervous? Blushing like crazy?” You chuckled, your face burning up from his big smile.

“Totally.” He set your paper down, eyes still lingering there as he thought back to his.

“There's one that stayed in my mind since I read it.” You confessed, still smiling as you could see written in your head.

“What is it?” He asked with anticipation.

You didn’t keep him waiting. “Sharing my world with you.”

He smiled, grinning actually. “When I wrote mine, I thought about how much--we haven’t said this to each other before but--how much I love you, and I really do. I love you, a lot.”

Sunwoo said your name after as your fingers fiddled over your thigh.

“I love you too, Sunwoo.” You confessed, then you sighed softly. “And I’ve been thinking about us- you know, like going to the next level from where we’re at.”

“Like being in a serious relationship?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled.

“It’s alright. I want that too.” He shyly smiled down, a soft chuckle following.

You were surprised because you both had only been dating for 2 months and you didn’t expect him to want the same. You both have had conversations about it before but as each day went by, his feelings for you grew and he wanted to love you more. You bloomed a touching smile. “Oh, Sunwoo.”

“We know a lot of things about each other and we know what we want.” He paused. “I would love to be more serious with you.”

“Me too.” You locked your fingers together and held them at your chest in excitement. “I can finally call you my boyfriend, wow.”

“You’re funny.” Sunwoo giggled then he smiled after a deep breath. “So day one, officially?”

“You bet.” You grinned from over the table.

“Bet on who’s going to clean these up?” He tilted his head, face pretending a confused look.

You shook your head with a laugh. “No, we’re doing it together.”

Sunwoo hummed and winked after. “Yep, later. Together.”

#the boyz #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #tbznetwork #deobiwritersnet #sunwoo #tbz imagines #tbz scenarios #fluff #kpop imagines #miss me? yeah me too :(#still working on the love-tri fic!#hope you like this ♡

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phykios · 3 years

Text

honesty and promise me, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

Update: Annabeth has not done what needs to be done.

August moves over into September, hot and sweltering days giving way to the first few hints of the coming autumn chill. One unseasonably cold night, Annabeth had gone to bed wrapped in one of Percy’s old Paris Opera sweaters, waking up with it and wearing it home to ward off the chill of the morning drizzle, like some a normal girlfriend would.

It’s a problem, she knows, but she just cannot quit this man.

And boy did she try, about a hundred different times.

One time, she spent an entire Tuesday before seeing him googling around until she found a picture. It was three years old, and it showed Mittie--oh, sorry, Her Royal Highness Margherita--at a soccer game in Moscow. Next to her is the handsomest man in the world. Percy’s hair is shorter, and something about his windbreaker reminds her of some of the crew boys she knew at Harvard. They aren’t touching, but they are both smiling. This is the kind of girl Percy deserves. This is the kind of girl he should want. His type. She reminds herself of it for hours before meeting him at a show. But the smile he gives her is nothing like the one in the pictures with the princess. And when he whispers what he wants to do to her that evening, she just can’t do it.

She even took him to his favorite pizza place once to soften the blow. But then she thought about how her dumping him would forever taint the magic of Antonio’s for the both of them, and she just couldn’t abide that.

So she kept putting it off. And putting it off. And putting it off.

And then he asked her to dinner with his parents again, on his one night off in three weeks.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to bring you something?” he asks for the fourth time, concern making his connection thin and tinny.

“It’s just a little stomach thing,” she lies, shaking out a ramen flavor packet. “I’ll be fine. You go have fun with your mom.”

“Okay. I’ll call later to check up on you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just going to be asleep.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Yeah.”

He clicks off. Her apartment is very quiet. For lack of anything else to do, she decides to check her mail.

Who even mails anything anymore, she thinks.

Rifling through the pile of wasted paper, she sighs at the banality of it all. Junk, junk, junk, NYCB brochure she needs to cancel, junk… Harvard?

She peers at it.

The red seal is unmistakable, as is her name, printed in neat, black ink. “Ms. Annabeth Chase.” Why are they contacting her? And more importantly, who the fuck gave them her address?

Hands shaking, she unfolds it. “Dear Ms. Chase,” it reads, “Thank you for your generous contribution to the Harvard Graduate School of Design. As one of our most promising graduates, we are so pleased and thrilled to receive your encouragement. With your gift, we were able to reach our fundraising goal of $2.5million, which will go to support the various operations of the school, so that we can continue to provide a top-notch education for your fellow students. You do make a difference for us, and we are immensely thankful for you!” And then it goes on. “As a thank you for your generous gift of $15,000, we would like to invite you to the Alistair Moore dinner for distinguished graduates and faculty. We would be delighted to receive you at...”

She can’t finish, dyslexia scrambling the words in front of her. Or maybe that’s just her, trembling so hard she has to sit down. Fifteen thousand. The Alistair Moore dinner. She knows it well, yet another fancy networking event, like the Eta Industries party. Bile rises in her throat. Who would…

The answer hits her like a freight train. Only one person would be so bold.

Crumpling the letter in her fist, she pulls out her phone, dialing the number she still stubbornly has memorized, despite deleting it off her contacts list.

She isn’t sure if she’s upset that she gets his voicemail, or relieved. “Hey, dad. It’s me,” she says, grimacing as she starts off like he wouldn’t recognize her voice. Like it’s any other phone call. “I got your message. The Alistair Moore dinner? I’m not going. I told you, I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. What I need,” she sneers, “is for you to butt out and leave me the hell alone.”

Then she hangs up, before she can chicken out and delete it.

She shoves the letter into her recycling bin, down to the very bottom. Out of sight and out of mind.

Well, her night is pretty much ruined.

Ramen growing colder, she lies on her couch, her head hanging over the edge, studiously not looking at her phone. She shouldn’t have left that message. She shouldn’t have opened that letter. She shouldn’t have rebuffed Percy’s invitation. Or maybe she was right, in all those situations. Who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares. Her leg bounces, frantic, stomach roiling.

Like a gunshot, her phone vibrates on her coffee table. Annabeth catapults herself up, reaching for it, nearly dropping it, even as her eyes begin to blur. Please let it be her dad. Please let it be anyone else but her dad. Please. Please. Please.

checking in, writes Percy. feeling any better?

With a sob, she hits call. He picks up after the second ring.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Everything okay?”

“Can,” she hiccups. God damn it. God damn her. “Can you please come over?”

She can feel his demeanor change over the phone. “I’ll be right there,” he says, calm and collected. “What’s your address?”

Her address is supposed to be a secret. No one is supposed to know where she lives. She doesn’t even like Luke knowing where she lives, and he might be the closest thing she has to family right now. But she tells Percy, and he promises to be there within thirty minutes. Throwing her arms over her face, she lies back down, breathing through her nose so she doesn’t vomit.

He makes it in twenty. here is the simple text, devoid of any hearts or emojis, and she buzzes him up. Less than a minute later, he knocks on her door. “It’s open,” she calls, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Softly, the door clicks open, someone smoothly and quietly stepping inside. “Annabeth?”

“Here,” she moans. She should get up to greet him. She can’t feel her legs. She can’t feel anything at all.

The couch dips as someone sits next to her, a warm, large hand on her shoulder, and she can’t help but open her eyes. Percy is there in his blue sweater that she returned the last time she had slept over at Nico’s apartment, his brow furrowed in worry, but he’s smiling a little, too, just happy to see her, to see that she’s safe. In his other hand, he holds up a plastic bag. “I brought you a cookie,” he says, gently. “Chocolate chip.”

Annabeth blinks. “It’s… blue.”

He nods. “It is.”

Blue cookies. His mom’s special recipe, he had told her, for bad days of aching feet, harsh dance instructors, and school bullies.

The dam breaks.

She launches herself into Percy’s embrace, sobbing. He tucks her head into his neck, his arms coming up around her. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I’m--I’m so sorry,” she gets out, in between heaving breaths. “I just--I didn’t want to be alone and--”

He shakes his head against hers, his nose in her hair. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

They sit there for a long, long time, him holding her as she cries, pathetic. She can only imagine what it must be like from Percy’s end: here he was, having a lovely dinner with his mother uptown on his night off, only to get a frantic call from his hookup, demanding that he drop everything and rush to her side. And he did. He even fucking brought her one of his mom’s special cookies.

She does not deserve this perfect, amazing man.

It’s that thought more than anything else that pulls her out of her spiral, her sobs abating somewhat. “There we go,” he says, sweetly. “I’m going to get you some water, okay? Be right back.”

Resisting the urge to hold onto his sleeve like some kind of child, she lets him pull away, stepping into her kitchen. Head aching and eyes puffy, she can’t even really register the fact that he is in her apartment right now. Her secret hideaway. Her sanctum sanctorum. He can see her tasteful couches and her expensive coffee maker and her giant TV screen.

But honestly? She doesn’t care about any of that right now. All she cares about is the long, solid line of Percy’s body next to hers as he sits back down next to her, handing her a glass of water. She drinks it down, greedily, falling back against him, his hand automatically coming up to her shoulder, and she turns into his side, drinking him in, just as desperate.

They don’t speak, just holding onto each other.

As she drifts off, there on her couch, her arm around Percy’s midsection, she only has one real thought in her head.

Forget the apartment--this is her sanctum sanctorum. This is her safe space.

***

Annabeth wakes up in a bed that isn’t her own, in an apartment that isn’t her own.

It reminds her, weirdly enough of her mom’s apartment, she thinks as she sits up in the soft, cream sheets, here in New York. She had only ever been a handful of times, whenever her mother deigned to claim her for their allotted family time. She doesn’t remember much about that place--mostly the skyline through the window, the low, uncomfortable furniture, the spotless, empty kitchen.

Across from the bed is a mirror, squat and wide. Annabeth has her hair back, her face devoid of metal. She looks tired, she thinks, and maybe a little older, dark, heavy bags beneath her eyes. She’s wearing a real, actual set of pajamas, rather than a sweater or an oversized shirt, pale pink silk tight around her body.

Shaking her head, she looks down, and spies a thin band of gold on her left hand, which rests on her stomach, sporting a slight, but noticeable curve.

Only then does she realize it’s a dream. She lets out a grateful sigh. Just a dream.

It seems like a pretty boring one, too. She’s older, a little fatter, and has a nicer apartment. Somewhere in the distance is the indistinct sound of a person singing. And beyond that the even more indistinct sound of the city.

Stumbling out of bed, her feet falling into a pair of soft, pink slippers, perfectly positioned next to her bed, she makes her way out into the apartment. The walls are cream, decorated with generic seaside landscapes, a nondescript sailboat in the background against an unchanging, cornflower blue sky.

The kitchen is empty. Breakfast is cooked, laid out on a placemat at the kitchen island, but no one is there eating it. No one is there cleaning up, or making coffee. The food looks delicious, like a magazine spread: a perfectly made bowl of granola and yogurt, a lemon poppyseed muffin, a glass of orange juice on the side. Nutritious. Small.

It’s weird. It’s really weird.

Moving on, she enters the living room. There’s a little girl on her knees, maybe three or four, she’s wearing a red pinafore over a white polo shirt and Mary Janes shined like the top of the Chrysler building. The preschool version of a prep-school uniform. She’s hunched over the glass coffee table, frizzy blonde curls bouncing as she moves her hand back and forth, scribbling with a colored pencil on a piece of paper.

All of a sudden, she notices Annabeth standing there.

“Mommy!” She jumps up, holding the pencil behind her back, her green eyes wide with apprehension. “I--I was--”

She hears whistling, and turns to see… well, it's Percy, but he looks nothing like her Percy. His hair is cropped shorter, parted and moussed perfectly flat. He’s in a three piece suit. He’s in trousers. Not a pair of sweatpants or a muscle tee in sight.

He stops when he sees her. “Sorry, didn’t know you were awake, wouldn’t have been singing.” Which makes no sense, Because Annabeth loves Percy’s ambient music. He looks around her, speaking to his--to the girl, “I told you you’d have to stop when mommy got up.”

Annabeth glances at the little girl, who nods too solemnly.

“Don’t worry,” this stranger wearing Percy’s face says, “She’s ready for school. She is ready for her Math qualification. I only said she could draw for a little, to calm herself down.” He glances at the girl again. “Put your things back in the art box, and we’ll go to school. I have an 8:30 meeting with the board.”

The little girl runs off. Holding her paper and her pencils close to her chest, like she’s afraid someone is going to take them away from her. Maybe someone is.

Percy turns to her. “I confirmed our reservations at 7 tonight at Sarabeth’s with your mother’s assistant this morning. And the nanny is going to stay late, so we don’t have to bring her.”

The her in question reappears just then. She’s so small. And she’s carrying a backpack. She looks like that breakfast, out of a magazine. But normally kids in magazines smile.

“Are you ready?” Annabeth’s voice finally says.

A beat, then she nods again. “Yes, mommy.”

“Good,” she says. Outside, the sunlight through the windows isn’t so bright anymore, but dark and cold, like a solar eclipse. “Make me proud.”

And she turns to go back to bed, but the floor has disappeared, and she steps on nothing, tumbling down into the void.

With a start, she wakes up again in her bed, to the smell of breakfast in the air. Which is confusing, because she’s pretty sure she fell asleep on the couch, and she usually doesn’t wake up in time for breakfast, let alone actually make it herself: she has Percy for that, now.

Right. Percy.

It comes back to her in flashes: the donation, the voicemail, calling Percy out of desperation. Inviting him into her room, her bed. Falling asleep in his arms.

She physically shakes her head, roughly scrubbing her face, forcing herself further into consciousness. The light coming through her window is grey and weak, doing absolutely nothing to help her out. The morning feels muted, for some reason, like it’s very far away. Maybe it was her nightmare.

She can’t hear Percy, Annabeth realizes. That’s what’s wrong. She can smell breakfast, but she can’t hear him puttering away. She doesn’t hear the clanking of pans as he tries to be quiet, or his off-key humming, or the dull thump of footfalls on her floor as he practices his steps.

God, how late did she sleep? If he has to leave for a morning class he usually makes sure to wake her up, first. For a kiss if nothing else.

But when she pads out to her kitchen, she’s stunned to find Percy still there, sitting at her warped kitchen table. There are two plates in front of him, eggs and bacon untouched and cooling. He’s fully dressed, too, in his dark jeans and stupid dance pun t-shirt: “Girls Just Wanna Have Buns,” his sweater on the empty chair. Annabeth had been weirdly looking forward to wearing that this morning; he likes seeing her in his clothes, and she likes seeing him without them. It’s a system that works for them, typically leading to a lot of smiles, a couple giggles, and maybe another round or two before he has to leave.

He’s not smiling now. His gaze is fixed on his plate, hands in his lap. “Morning,” she croaks, softly.

Percy lifts his eyes to her, unfathomable like the sea. “Morning.”

Something in her stops her from sliding into the seat across from him. Standing gives her strength, gives her power that she doesn’t want to give up. She may not be able to tell what Percy is thinking right now, but she knows when someone is gearing up for a fight. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“What’s the matter?”

He is uncharacteristically still. Annabeth has gotten so used to him expressing himself via his body, the stillness is unsettling. Percy holds her gaze for a moment, then sucks in a breath, sitting up a little bit straighter. “I kicked over your recycling by mistake, and when I was cleaning up, I…” He bites his lip, a little ashamed. “I accidentally read some of your mail.”

“Okay.” He can’t be that broken up about her junk mail, can he?

It’s only then that she sees it, laid out neatly next to the breakfast plate. The letter has been carefully uncrumpled, but the red Harvard seal is as obnoxiously bright as ever. “I don’t mean to pry, but…” Percy licks his lips, gathering his words together. “I thought you didn’t get into Harvard?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“It’s just--this is from the Graduate School of Design,” he continues, looking at the page as if to confirm it. “And the dean says you were one of their ‘most promising graduates,’ here, so. That means you have, what, a master’s degree? Right?”

Still, she doesn’t say anything.

Percy rubs a hand over his mouth, square jaw squaring further. “I guess I just don’t understand why you lied to me.”

“I never--” she blurts.

“I mean, were you trying to spare my New Yorker sensibilities by telling me you didn’t get in? Did you think I would actually care?”

There’s nothing she can say in response. So she doesn’t.

After a moment, he blows out a sharp breath. “So. Fifteen thousand dollars, huh.”

She sighs, looking away. It’s not like Annabeth doesn’t hate it, too. “I didn’t do that,” she says, crossing her arms. “My dad did it, he just put it under my name.”

“And, he did that… why? I mean,” he tilts his head, a little bewildered. “I thought you guys weren’t on speaking terms.”

“To try and get me to network again, probably.” She shrugs. “And I’m not on speaking terms with him. He just hasn’t gotten the memo yet.”

He hasn’t raised his voice at all. He hasn’t moved from his seat, or made any kind of threatening gesture, but like an approaching storm cloud, she can feel the anger rolling in, dense and crackling. “Does he do this a lot, your dad? Throw his money around for you?”

“It’s not like I asked him to.”

But he’s shaking his head, rueful. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. You know, I thought it was weird that you could afford an apartment in the East Village with a bedroom on periodic architecture contracts, but I’m guessing he pays for that, too?”

He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from bristling. “It’s a trust fund,” she snaps. “It’s still my money.”

“A trust fund,” he says, softly. “Right.”

Anger lances through her, cold and burning. Just because her dad had set it up for her didn’t mean that she wouldn’t use it. “Yeah, a trust fund. Is that a crime, now?”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then snaps it shut with an audible click. Pushing his chair out, he stands up, hands flat on the table. “I should go and get ready for my class. I’ll… I’ll text you later, okay?” Percy takes a step towards her, hands reaching for her on instinct, then pauses. “See you around.”

Percy leaves without so much as a look back, closing the door so quietly she can barely hear it over the roar of blood in her ears.

#my fic #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #ballet au #😈😈😈#darkmagyk #happy endings onlyyyyyyyy #percabeth fic #PJO

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moonbeamsung · 3 years

Text

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kisshim @radiorenjun

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

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