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capslocked · 7 months

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run.

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you.

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst.

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth:

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?"

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven.

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks.

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music.

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart.

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

#wooah smut #nana smut #kwon nayeon smut #el7z up smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember #woo ah smut #woo ah nana smut

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dbh-bb · 2 months

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More questions

Why is the minimum length 10,000 words?

For some of you, this might be your first Reverse Big Bang. (Or your first Bang in general. Welcome!) We’d like to offer some context as to why this year’s word count minimum is, and will remain, 10K.

First: the event has already started, and artists have signed up in good faith knowing they will receive at least 10,000 words about their idea. We don’t think it’s fair to change that with so many people already signed up.

Second, as we say in our FAQ, Big Bangs traditionally focus on a longer time frame to produce longer fics and more arts of higher quality all around. The first ever Big Bang event had a fic minimum of 50,000 words! (Check out the history of the event) Most Bangs actually have higher targets; in many bigger and older fandoms, a Bang with a 10,000 limit would be called a “Mini-Bang”. We think that 10K is a reasonable target to produce a story (rather than just a scene) without asking too much of writers, whether it’s a traditional Bang or a Reverse one.

Third - and most importantly - what artists are providing in their concept is more than just a sketch. Artists will be coming in with ideas about the story that they want to tell with this art. An RBB works just like a BB - there is a story to be told with art that goes with it - it’s just this time, the artists get to come up with the ideas. Then writers and artists work together to make it happen.

Artist concepts are meant to be flexible, because this is a team event (rather than “order up fic on demand”), and artists may have more than one idea for their sketch that their author can choose from. Writers have over three months to come up with their story — that’s around 100 words per day, for those of you that like math. And, from the mod point of view, last year not a single person worried about hitting the word count once the ideas were out and the event started. There’s a lot to be said about excitement and momentum!

The mod team is considering a reduced wordcount for writers who pick up more than one art concept. However, because we expect fics to tell a story about the artist’s idea, we are unlikely to go lower than 7,000 words if we do decide to do so. We apologize if this makes you decide not to participate, and encourage you to find other events that aren’t Bangs to have fun with!

We realize writers are nervous about this event because Reverse Bangs aren’t as well-known. We encourage you to hang in there and give your artists a chance — there are so many good ideas coming your way!

What happens if we don’t have enough writers?

An RBB depends on the numbers more than a traditional Bang. We can’t make the numbers match (although we’re trying). So while artists are still allowed to submit two ideas, if we remain short on writers, we will only be able to guarantee one will be claimed, although we will match as many as possible. Sometimes, ideas surprise us and writers suddenly decide they want to grab more than one.

So what happens to any unclaimed concepts? Well, surprise! A month or so after we match up our teams, we’ll take all of the unclaimed ideas and release them to be claimed again, either by writers who have made more progress than expected and want to grab another prompt, or backup writers that feel like stepping in. In this case, since these ideas will have a shorter completion time, the maximum word count for fics will be lowered to 4,000 words. The standards for the arts will be comparably lower as well, due to the shorter time frame.

This part will be much more lax than the formal event, so expectations can be adjusted accordingly. We can’t guarantee your second art can be claimed, but we’re hoping with a wider pool and lower requirements, we can make everybody happy.

This accomplishes a number of things for us: artists that submitted two ideas get two fics, writers that can’t commit to the 10K requirement still have a chance to grab something, and all of us get more works at the end of the Bang. The mods think the additional work is worth the effort.

(This is not a chance to submit more than two arts — we will only be using art that wasn’t able to be claimed in the initial submission. Sorry!)

For more updates, to ask questions of your own, or even if you just want to hang out (and maybe consider picking up an art to do a 4k word fic without having to formally join the Bang), join the discord.

#fanart #detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh #fanfic #dbhrbb2024 #reverse big bang #big bang #dbh big bang #detroit become human reverse big bang

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robthegoodfellow · 10 months

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summer retrospective time because i'm feeling down about term starting up and not writing as much as i wanted to but I KNOW this is ridiculous and my goals were unreasonable.

so totally unasked for and unprompted here's what i got:

Chapters 8 and 9 of Upside-Down - 32k (total wip 118k) - E - Harringrove - Crazy long March chapter wherein an ominous phone rings and rings, Billy experiences some firsts (first time playing D&D against his will! first time fucking Steve! first time enduring a birthday party!), and Eddie drags Billy to a thrash metal concert. In Flayedville, the kids rally the troops to save Billy, he and Steve share body heat, and plans don't go as planned.

Two fics written for upcoming @strangerthingscharityzine totaling 4k words in their original state, trimmed down to 1.5k words each for the zine edition. Idk if I'm allowed to summarize but one of them made Remy cry!

That Bartender Sure is Something - 1k - G - Harringrove - Sideways scene rewrite from alt character's POV wherein I try to lay groundwork for why Steve's parents are out of town so often (aside from my need to give boys safe space to fuck and be super freaking domestic).

Chapters 11 and 12 of Only One Bed - 13k (total wip 59k) - E - Harringrovesoningham or whatever Steve/Billy/Eddie/Chrissy is called - Chrissy POV and Eddie POV chapters wherein Chrissy and Billy bond and then Billy/Eddie/Chrissy navigate their dynamic as asymmetrical polyamorous triad. Mostly cute!! Minimal angst!!

¿Por qué no los dos? - 18k - E - Harringroveson/Metalsandwich - What was supposed to be an excuse to make Steve and Eddie thirst over Billy in space buns becomes unexpectedly harrowing exploration of aromantic experience for me and apparently others, some of whom may be entitled to compensation. But there's smut... at the end?

Drafted aaalmost first half (7k) of @bigbangharringrove fic wherein Steve flirts with necromancy and necrophilia and NO STOP where are you going it's all gonna be fine!!! See, Billy died in this contemporary fantasy version of Hawkins where magic and supernatural creatures are just kinda there and so Steve tries to revive him but he imports the wrong file. The wrong Billy. Because there happens to be a lust demon that goes by the same name as Steve's dearly departed husband and let me tell ya he is NOT jazzed to be here. Working with @LucaDoodleDoo who is awesome AND so far has not run away!

Drafted 1.5k of fic for upcoming @harringrovezine. Still on track to be way too long but I WILL trim it down. Not sure what else I'm free to say but I'm excited how it's shaping up?

what follows is me convincing myself i did a good job

And that's... that's it. About 76.5k in all. Which is more than I realized (and also according to haphazard math is more than last summer by maybe 10k?)

I'm not usually fixated on word count much (aside from like laugh-crying when a fic just balloons way bigger than anticipated), and more words does not equal better words by ANY means, but I think this gives me a reality check about getting down on myself. I didn't finish the major things I originally set out to finish but... yeah, such is life when you have more than one WIP in which you are painfully invested 😅

And it's not like I won't EVER finish them which is prob my biggest fear because i had a rep growing up for all my grand plans and projects just losing steam and going nowhere. But I am capable of finishing fics because look ma, there's 3 whole multi-chap fics with the little green check mark (please actually DON'T look, ma).

I'm just babbling now. When work starts I'll be back to writing in random libraries after last bell and my output will slow, and I'm sad about it. But wow you know what I did shit out a bunch of words in like 2.5 months so at least there's that.

(Hesitant to post this because I'm sure it looks like flexing or fishing or something? Or like I'm implying that unless you too are shitting out words you suck? Which uhh I am not! The intent is more for Present Me to flex on Past Me, maybe? And fish some reassurance out of cold hard numbers to more easily put things in perspective.)

Mostly this did work, though! I feel better about the summer. If you need a boost, look over what you've done across a certain span of time using whatever measurement suits you and talk yourself into a pat on the back.

Pat, pat.

#rob rambles #a summary of quarterly whatevers #billy hargrove #my beloved #harringrove #mungrove #harringroveson #harringrovesoningham #that name won't even fit on the side of the ship what are we doing #strangerthingscharityzine #harringrovezine #spin me right round #only one bed

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catboy-sinister · 4 months

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2, 3, 23 & 25 for Sinister

EHEHEHEEHE

2. Favorite thing... it's between a lot to be frank. I love his design. I love his personality. I love his convoluted history. I think I'll go with his 'personality' on this one.

3. Least favorite canon thing:

do I even need to go into the weapon x concentration camp plotline. do I need to. every day I resist making a 10k word post frothing at the mouth. i shall elaborate no further

23. Fav picture

I actually added one of my favs up there fjekmskws, it's from my folder of over 1k pics. He was drawn beautifully in most of Immortal Xmen, and of course Silvestri's og art always has me scratching up the world. Plus the Sinister London era. AND ANIMATED SERIES!

this one always makes me laugh

25. What was your first impression/how about now?

Okay so the first time I saw him was in the Animated Series and... I didn't like him 😭. Ofc I was rooting for the X-men to win and I just thought he was a creep. But then as I rewatched it I got more and more fond of him. And yeah now he's been my favorite fictional character ever for... idk I don't like math.

#THANK YOU FOR FUELING ME #sinister posting #asks

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syokurususwife · 7 months

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Contracts.

This is the status of my commissions and a list of their completion! Please refer to this if you are interested in buying!

Commission Status: CLOSED. Rules + Dos and Donts

Current Works:

Bottoms Up

start: 02.14.2024 end: TBA word count: 10k+

You were the new Home Economics teacher at Gyoshin Private High. Rosho Tsutsujimori is the socially awkward math teacher. You liked him. You think he likes you. So naturally you said yes when he invited you out for a drink.

Tags: Drunk Sex

Link to the Fic

Tart.

start: 02.17.2024

end: TBA

word count: 7k+

You won a raffle hosted by a Camboy you loved tuning in to see! You would get to be on stream with him, allowing him to use your body in anyway he saw fit. It would be his first ever partner stream too… But when you got to the meeting place, you were shocked by the familiar face that greeted you.

Tags: Camboy!AU/Light Choking/Size Kink

Link to the Fic

“Mom Friend”

start: 02.17.2024

end: TBA

word count: 10k+

Deuce has your best friend since you’ve been attending Night Raven College. So when he invites you to hang in his home town for Spring Break, it’s not really that shocking. But, you start to feel differently once you meet his mom. His mom who is single.

Link to the Fic

Best Friend’s Brother

start: 02.20.2024

end: TBA

word count: 10k+

Ace asked if you wanted to come to his place during Spring Break. No point in kickin’ back in Ramshackle if you don’t have to! Unfortunately for Ace… You were paying extra attention to his older brother.

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Completed Works:

The Princess of Briar Valley

start: 08.06.2022 end: 09.24.2022 word count: 10k+

You had to write a report and learn the teachings of the Thorn Fairy for a report due in three weeks. So, you were shipped off to stay in Diasomnia. But when you arrived, Malleus seems more interested to talk about the sleepy princess instead.

Tags: Yandere!Malleus/Size Difference/DubCon

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Sew Me Up Tight

start: 08.08.2022 end: 08.17.2022 word count: 2k+

Ruggie knows how to sew, and offers to fix something for you.

Tags: Fluff

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Foggy Lenses

start: 10.02.2022 end: 11.12.2022 word count: 5k+

You attend the camp with Grim once more! A storm is approaching, but Trey was currently M.I.A. He must be at the lake. You left Grim hold down the fort (your cabin room) while you went out to retrieve the Vice Housewarden. Once you did, the storm truly began, and the two of you ended up soaked and lost... At least there was a cabin nearby you two could shelter in for a bit! It's too bad you're so cold...

Tags: Size Difference/Make Outs

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I Had No Idea!

start: 11.20.2022 end: 03.02.2023 word count: 3k+

You were so in love with him, even though he was so far from your reach. All of your affections were pushed through a blue screen as you wished to one day become closer. That was, until you scored the last VIP ticket out of three from a co-worker. You were ecstatic. Getting up close to the stage to breathe his air, even feel him under your hands before your private meet up. He’s just so different meeting him in a closed off room. You feel so anxious… So tense... So, The Great Lilia Vanrouge of Twilight Dilema, offers to loosen you up with a drink.

Tags: NonCon/Drug Use

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The Queen of Card Tricks

start: 01.28.2023 end: 07.05.2023 word count: 10k+

Accidents happen. It's natural. It's human. But when being asked to help the Magishift team ended with a concussion, Headmage Crowley apparently had no choice but to ship you away to Royal Swords Academy for a few days to recover. But why? Ace and Deuce will do their best to help you find the answer while you're stuck at the Royal Swords Academy. And they're still at Night Raven College.

Tags: Gaslighting

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Proper Training

start: 06.08.2023 end: 08.28.2023 word count: 5k+

Leona has reminded you plenty that Vil wants nothing to do with you. Why? Simply because you are unskilled. With a bit of help and training, you feel as though you can finally please the one you adore the most! However... Vil doesn't seem very happy finding out that you've been spending time with someone else...

Tags: Yan!Vil Schoenheit/Stalker!MC

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Username: Cream.Together1025

start: 06.06.2023 end: 10.31.2023 word count: 5k+

You had become infatuated with a camboy streamer, tuning in every weekend to see him. Well, the parts of him you could see. He seemed so familiar too... You just didn't know how.

Tags: Mutual Masturbation/Camboy!AU

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A Lion and A Lizard

start: 03.05.2023 end: 02.24.24 word count: 20k+

Why? Oh why did you get paired up with the two people in all of Twisted Wonderland that hate each other the most? Was it a cruel twist of fate? The Seven testing your tenacity and patience? Whatever the reason was, didn't matter. You just needed to focus on not getting caught in the crossfire. So, you used the 'Divide and Conquer' method. But it seems both Leona and Malleus took this with a different context in mind.

Tags: Jealousy/Threesome/Monster Fucking(?)

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#demonic. contracts #devils. eat. doves #angelichikikomori

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bispacecadet · 3 years

Text

I’ve got 1600 words of this fic written <3

#I plan for it being around 3k/ 3.5k and I'm about halfway done with what I want in it? so I'm happy #it's already 100 words longer than the sp*rk fic I posted #I've been mostly writing whenever doing more maths makes it feel like my brain is on fire but my meds are still working #and I'm working on the big ''rodney gets sucked into an alternate timeline'' fic whenever I'm bored of writing fun things #but that one's got only like 600 words so far and it's gotta be at least 10k i think. just as a fun inconsequential personal goal #which is a great way to avoid guilt at not using them 'fully even though I'm usually sitting at my desk all day doing my little calculations

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joyfulhopelox · 3 years

Text

Food Wars | KNJ

Pairing: Swimmer!Namjoon x reader (college!au, e2l)

Genre: fluff, romance, smut

Warnings: (changed a bit since the teaser I am sorry) language, mentions of alcohol, sexual themes (oral m receiving, fingering, food play, unprotected sex - do not do it, nipple play, creampie)

Summary: You’re not the best of cooks if you were to admit it to yourself, but you prided in being a great baker. What your bechamel lacked in consistency, your chocolate ganache made up for it. Taking extra credits this year was a must to fulfill your graduation requirements, so you naturally picked the easiest of courses - cooking. What was meant to be an easy mark turns into an episode of Hell’s Kitchen when you get paired with the worst possible student in the class for your final project.

Word count: 22k (10k+ than estimated I am so sorry)

rating : 18+

A/N: This is my final assignment for the College Enemies 101 collab hosted by @btshoneyhive. Thank you for this amazing collab, it’s been amazing to be part of it. I am handing in my work as i did before in college - not quite on time but at least it's finished and it's only 4AM. I hope everyone enjoys this mess of a cooking centered fic. Please go check out everyone else’s work as it is all so good and they all deserve the highest marks for it! As per usual thank you my shadow beta @notyouroppar for once again saving me from this editing mess and happy birthday you amazing best friend. I owe you everything. (There is one more person I wanted to thank but I will do so anonymously but I am extremely grateful for their support) Time for some 🥚 citement! 💜

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner

Taglist: @bringmetheksj @chimchoom @sweetjellyfishland @sunshinejunghoseokie

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

Sᴏɴɢ: Uɴᴅᴏɴᴇ - Tᴀʏʟᴏʀ Oᴄᴀɴᴏ | Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ - Sᴀɴᴅʀᴏ Cᴀᴠᴀᴢᴢᴀ

“Right, listen to this.” You pulled out a list of carefully crafted pros and cons, your finger pointing straight at the first one. “Economics?” Your voice sounded hopeful as you looked at your friend for approval.

“It’s math Y/N.” Hana said with a deadpan voice and your mood instantly deflated. “You know I am not going to approve anything that involves math.”

You were both sitting in the cafeteria, after a long day of reacquainting yourselves with the campus and getting your curriculum. The wide space is filled with students either buzzing to start their year, (the quickest way to know they’re freshmen), or students whose moods have seen better days– students like the two of you. Papers sprawled in front of you, faces scrunched up in concentration, you’d been trying to figure out which classes could work for the better part of an hour.

“Besides,” she leaned in, her head pointing towards a group of students to the right of you. “Is that where you want to be?” Following her gaze, you shuddered as your eyes took in the sight of your peers dressed to the nines. Shaking your head adamantly, you returned your attention towards the list, your teeth gnawing at your lips.

“Look Y/N, relax. It’s only an elective!” Hana exclaimed, unable to comprehend why you were so meticulous about the whole situation. You froze, your pen in mid air, and with a deep inhale your eyes rose to meet hers.

“It’s not just an elective Hana. I need this class to pass my whole degree.” You looked at her pleadingly, hoping she’d understand your plight. All you got was a sympathetic nod and a pat on the back– a clear sign that no, she didn’t get it and probably wouldn’t ever get it. She hadn’t changed degrees like socks as you had done. With her family owning a business it was clear that her path had been set from birth. And whereas the idea terrified the crap out of you, she didn’t seem too bothered by the thought. So you never brought it up again.

You, on the other hand, had shifted degrees like a professional driver shifts lanes. Recklessly and with speed. Which meant that you found yourself in the awkward position of having to pick electives to supplement your grades. And the prospective list looked bleak. You divided them by what you would like to do, versus what you should do; needless to say you haven’t even glanced at the should do side of the list. Well, except economics. But Hana was right. You needed to pick something easy to pass instead of trying to look smart.

Scanning the list again, you were ready to give up when something caught your eye and with a glint of satisfaction you turned back towards Hana. “What about cooking?”

If someone asked you further down the line what your proudest moment in life was, you’d definitely have this one in your top ten. Having just taken a sip of her coffee, your question made her sputter it out, the overly sweetened beverage spilling everywhere. With a frown of feigned disgust you handed her tissues, making sure she was alright before you continued.

“Look, it may sound stupid. But you know I am good at it. Well, baking. But how difficult can cooking be? I can cook a decent meal.” You stated matter of factly. The more you spoke about the idea the more appealing it sounded.

“But–“ Hana coughed once more as you patted her back, cooing at her empathetically. “You and cooking. It’s what you do most of the time! Can you not find something less,” she gestured as if to swat the idea out of your head. “Less domestic?” You couldn’t help but laugh at her attempt to dissuade you. You both knew your mind was already made up though.

“You said an easy pass right?” Getting up you took the list with you, making sure everything was put back in your bag. “This is certain to be an easy pass. What could go wrong?”

Making your way out of the cafeteria you smiled to yourself, the taste of your graduation sweet on your tongue. If you had confidence in anything, it would be your cooking skills. You may not be the best chef out there, but your abilities were decent enough to get you a good mark in this class. Baking on the other hand, was a whole different story. After years of pestering your grandmother into the kitchen whenever she would make her tartes, millefeuille and other delectable desserts, you could say you’ve picked up an unbeatable talent. You were damn good at it, and you wouldn’t ever see yourself as less.

Still grinning, as you passed by the rambunctious group of freshers, you shook your head at their excitement. Almost feeling sorry for them, your eyes trailed to the back of the cafeteria whereupon you were greeted by the sourest of faces you could’ve ever encountered. Halting in your step, your smile awkwardly frozen on your face, your eyes met with the unmistakable frown of a very old acquaintance.

“Namjoon?” You couldn’t help but choke on your own spit. The surprise of having seen your former next door neighbour, not only in the same city as you but at the same university, froze you on the spot. Staring at him for a second too long, it took your brain a moment to figure out that he was staring right back, and that frown was directed towards you. You shook yourself out of your stupor, the smile on your face slipping into a grimace. Before you could slip and yell something less than tasteful at him, you turned around and made your way out of the cafeteria, hoping it was the last time you encountered him. A split second too quick – too quick to see the spark of recognition morphing into a crestfallen expression on said man’s face.

A minute earlier, Namjoon had been sitting at the table with his newly made friends, a group of loud boys, who shared a similar interest in literature, art, and music. When he spotted you, he’d just been thinking how mellow this year would be for him. Only, as soon as his eyes locked on you, the frown he sported deepened, a pure accident caused by one of his friends teasing about him being there. True, he was similar to an ‘exchange’ student. Only, he was not from abroad, he grew up not far from here. But going to university in Canada, and doing a year back in this city clearly made it seem as if he was a ‘stranger’.

Your frozen form, and obvious displeasure at encountering him, made his heart drop. He’d hoped you would be able to talk to each other again after years of not having any contact. But the look on your face made it clear that it was not the case. So before he could do something stupid, like jump up and chase after you, he turned back to his friends hoping it wasn’t the last he saw you.

=====

Sometimes you wondered what you’d done for the universe to punish you in such a way. Maybe karma had it out for you, maybe in your previous life you’d done something irreversible and you deserved such punishment in this life. But to you it felt unfair, it must have been something incredibly awful. Because to be sitting in your newly elected cooking class, and to be staring straight into Namjoon’s dark eyes and dimpled smile as he sat down a few rows away from you, felt like torture.

Here’s to hoping, my ass. You shook your head, deciding to ignore the six foot broad chested man seated a few rows behind you. Somehow, even though your luck seemed to have ended somewhere along with entering your final year of college, you hoped that you still had a shot. Maybe this is a theory class. Try as you might, you knew it wouldn’t be. There was no such thing as an actual theory class in cooking. Sure, you may learn a few new skills verbally taught to you, but cooking was a hands-on experience. Cooking was all about getting dirty in the kitchen. And getting dirty in this kitchen, staring at Namjoon’s stupid face, was not something you wanted to do.

“Good morning everyone.” Your teacher sauntered into the class, a thick binder under their arm. “Today is just an introductory lesson, so everyone can relax.” She turned around laughing under her breath. “This is a cooking class after all. There is no need to be so tense.” Gesturing to the first row of students who looked a bit worse for wear - probably freshers who had very little sleep and too much alcohol, she propped herself onto the desk.

“I would start with introductions,” she started and you hear a couple of loud groans, tempted to follow them. Why did lecturers insist on making you introduce yourselves, it was beyond you. Not like you were incapable of making friends in class. Turning around you scanned the faces around you trying to see if there was someone you recognised, but when your eyes met a certain pair of dark ones you quickly turned back to facing the front. Well maybe except one. “–but I find them boring.” Your teacher continued and you could feel the tension lift from your shoulders and if the hoots following that were anything to go by everyone agreed with you.

“So instead I am going to make you pair up in groups and have you play a game.” She clapped her hands excitedly and you felt as if the rug had slipped from under you with such force, you swore your heart would stop from the impact.

Not only was Karma intent on laughing in your face today, but apparently your teacher sided with it. As she directed people from sides of the room into groups the only thing you could think of was not to be placed with a specific person. But of course, as if life was not hard enough on you, (yes, you were being overly dramatic), you found yourself face to face with a broad chest and a sharp angular jaw.

“Kim.” You greeted, trying your hardest to slip out of the already made group, hoping that the teacher would think she missed you and assign you to another group. Of course, stepping around a six foot door of a man was not as easy as you thought it would be. Not when he stepped to the same side as you, blocking your path completely. “Can you move?” You narrowed your eyes, not ready to start an argument in the middle of the class, especially not when you had a higher authority in the same room as you.

“Y/N.” He greeted you as if you hadn’t just spat an insult at him. “Still as pleasant as ever I see.” His small smile looked genuine, and for a second you stared at him, thrown off by the agreeable attitude that he had towards you. Last time you spoke, he was less than pleasant, and you would never forget his words. Hopefully this is the last time I see you.

Those words haunted your soul for years to come. Those words affected you so much that every other person you encountered would be met with resistance and mistrust. After years of pining and years of picking up the shards of your heart because of him, you began to agree. You hoped you’d never see him again.

“Oh, me?” Your eyes widened innocently and you would’ve patted yourself on the back for your acting skills. “Always pleasant, just not to assholes.” You kept your eyes on him, enough to see his jaw go slack, and with satisfaction buzzing underneath your skin you sidestepped around him looking to speak to your teacher.

You found her in the middle of the second group, letting everyone know once more that this was a cooking class, something you were definitely bound to have fun with and you grimaced to yourself. The knowledge that there was a particular six foot man not more than a dozen feet behind you, made you think that she was off her rockers for even suggesting that. Still, with hope blooming in your heart that you may actually have fun if only separated from said man, you approached her as she was preparing to move onto the next group.

“Uh–“ You looked at her unsure of how to start. There is an asshole in my group and I would like to be nowhere near him? That didn’t sound like a plausible excuse. Especially not one to present to your own teacher. Your friends later, maybe. If you found the need to shoot yourself in the foot and place yourself willingly under their scrutiny. But you’d spent your last few years charming your professors, so with a quick self reassurance you formulated a decent excuse in your head.

“Ah, Y/N. Right?” She nodded at you and you froze, any thought yeeted out of your mind. Nodding dumbly at her you tried hard to think of a reason as to why she’d even know your name only to come up short, until she continued. “You won that baking competition in your first year.” She supplied and it finally clicked, she had been one of the judges during it. To your credit, it was a first year folly, when your overconfidence and pride in your skills as a baker made you enter it with no qualms. Even though the cooking society was all enrolled in said game, and your friends kept questioning your certainty, you adamantly insisted that your skills were up to par with theirs. If not even better.

Turned out that your carefully thought out lemon creme millefeuille that you slaved over for months that year, almost not passing your compulsory classes because of it, was good enough to surpass anyone’s expectations. And so, with your pride intact and your certificate in hand, you proudly showed everyone up.

“Ah, yes.” You mumbled, unsure of your plan and whether it was going to work anymore.

“I am excited to have you in this class.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled widely at you. There was a spark in her eyes that made you think twice about your decision. You weren’t one to please teachers, but you remembered her, and her encouragement when you presented your pastry to the judges. Asking her to change your group or even drop out of the class felt as good as kicking a puppy. “I hope you don’t mind,” she leaned towards you, her voice dropping below a whisper, “ I added you at the top of the list as one of the best cooks in case we need some balance in the teams that we have.” You nodded dumbly at her, still unsure of what she was implying.

Staring at you expectantly, her brows furrowed when you showed no comprehension and you sincerely hoped she didn’t think you were stupid, you just had a very bad tendency to not interpret things the right way. “Means, Y/N that if there is someone lacking in this class you will be helping them out.” She further explained. “Is there anything that you needed?” You may have been bad at interpretation, but the rapid downturn of lips and the lack of emotion in her question told you that she was done talking to you. Shaking your head at her, you turned round to make your way back towards your group before she stopped you.

“Y/N, do remember though, cooking is not the same as baking.”

If someone watched you closely as you made your way towards your six person group, they surely would’ve seen a very accurate representation of a dog with its tail between its legs.

“Got told off?” Namjoon questioned, the quirk of his brow setting you off as soon as you sat down.

“What’s it to you, Kim?” You bit out, narrowing your eyes at him. You knew that your little spat had already garnered the attention of everyone in the group, but you found it hard to care. Not when all you could see was Namjoon’s stupid smirking face and his goddamn dimples.

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Just heard you were the best cook around so I am just surprised to see you not getting your way.” He sounded so blasé that it gave you a hard time deciding whether or not he was mocking you.

“Are you saying I'm kissing the teacher’s ass?” You tried to muster all the strength in you to not burst out in a string of curses aimed at his face. Instead you chose to huff and mumble under your breath something that sounded akin to “shove it” and “piss off.”

Before he could respond, the teacher’s loud voice interrupted him and you were grateful for the respite. Despite your aversion to him, you were more than excited to start the course and get a chance to display your abilities in the kitchen.

======

You were both seven when he and his family happened to move in next to your home. You could distinctly remember the moment; it was the first sweltering hot summer in a while. Sometimes if you closed your eyes and tried hard enough, you could still imagine the colour of your bike as you rode down the road heading back from your swimming lessons. The moving truck that was in the way of you reaching your destination was a mild inconvenience. And it proved to become a bigger one as you swerved to pass around it onto the sidewalk, almost knocking into the unsuspecting body crouched down to the side of it.

The boy fell on his backside as you tried to get a hold of your bike, only for your breaks to cause you to slam right into the pavement in a heap. The explosion of pain coming from your newly bruised knee was only shadowed by the irritation you could feel bubbling up inside of you at the careless person. Sniffling, you glanced around in an attempt to get a good look at whomever caused you to crash so inelegantly only to spot a boy, no older than you, as he tried to get ahold of his bearings.

“Watch where you are going.”

He paused midway from getting up, his eyes narrowing in your direction.

“Why should I? It’s you who needs to watch where you’re going! I wasn’t even moving!” He rose to full height, chest puffed, hands on his hips – an attempt to look intimidating.

Taking him in from head to toe you tried not to snicker only to fail as a snort escaped you. He looked ridiculous, in his baby blue shorts and short sleeved shirt, socks pulled up to his knees and sandals.

“What?” He sounded indignated and mildly closer to you than before.

“I- just… nothing.” You covered your mouth quickly, a physical attempt to stop your giggles from hurtling you back onto the floor. “You look ridiculous.” As soon as the words escaped you, it was as if the dam had broken. The laughter that shook your body made you unable to carry on with your plan of getting off the pavement, your head hung low as you developed hiccups.

“I don’t!” You couldn’t see but you could swear he stomped his foot onto the ground, and just the imagery itself was enough to send you back into laughter. “Stop laughing!” He huffed, pausing as his eyes took in your bleeding knee.

“Are you a masochist?” He gasped out. That was enough to stop your laughter straight in your throat. You thought for a second of his wording, your brain trying to decipher what he meant only to come up short.

“A what?” Finally calm enough to get off the floor you got up, your full height almost as tall as his and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“A masochist.” He added simply and you could tell by the way the corner of his mouth lifted that he was feeling smug about a word he knew and you didn’t. You narrowed your eyes at him. You didn’t know him at all, but you decided then and there you didn’t like him.

“No.” Trying to sound confident you mimicked his stance, hands on your hips chest puffed. Seeing him about to refute and deciding that you were done with him showcasing his brain, you countered. “Why are you so short? You are a boy. I thought boys were meant to be tall.”

“You-“ stopping before he could even get his words out his eyes widened. “It doesn’t matter whether I am a boy or a girl or what my height is!” He tried to sound smart only for your mocking laughter to spur him on. “Besides, you may just be freakishly tall! You masochist! Who laughs whilst bleeding?”

Mid laughter his words registered in your head and before he could continue insulting you, you threw a quick glance at your knee, the long scrape finally making itself known to you, the stinging sensation hitting you like a freight train. Biting your lip you did your best to not burst into tears, not allowing your weakness to be displayed whilst you were trying to put this showoff in his place. The pain made it more difficult and without your consent, two stray tears made their way down your face. Embarrassed and humiliated you let your head hang low.

“Are you…ok? It’s not too bad. Stop crying. Look, my name’s Namjoon and I just moved here.” The boy sounded too close for comfort, you could almost feel the heat radiating off of his body, the warm summer sun heating the both of you up like eggs in a frying pan. Sniffling, you intercepted the hand that was ready to be placed on your shoulder.

“Just leave me alone.” You spat at him, at Namjoon. You didn’t know why, but his words made you feel even more irritated. “This is all your fault.” You sniffed trying in vain to get a hold of your tears.

Namjoon stared at you, mouth wide open trying to make sense of what you were saying. The blame that you threw on him stifled his worry giving way for annoyance to replace it. “How is it my fault!? You went onto the pavement with your bike, I was just sitting there!” He tried to defend himself.

“It’s your stupid truck. Why did you have to move here?” You stomped your foot looking up at him, your teary eyes catching him off guard as he reeled back at the sight. “I hate you Namjoon.”

That was your first meeting with the boy, maybe you should have taken it as a warning. A warning to not let yourself get too close to him. But when you have little to no friends around and your movement is limited, what can you do but seek solace with the next door neighbour.

At first, the scrawny boy with jet black hair that used to run around the backyard, one that was connected to yours, was of no importance to you and your group of friends. Namjoon’s antics were not of your concern, and you made it clear to all of your friends that he was not to be trusted. Then as summer passed and your friends one by one decided to befriend Namjoon outside of your back garden play time you had no choice but to forfeit. In your defence it wasn’t your idea, you just had no one else to turn to.

The last days of summer were bleeding into the crisper autumnal weather when you finally spoke to him without feeling the need to kick him in the shins. Sat behind an old oak tree, right outside your house, you were sighing the minutes away, your foot impatiently tapping on the ground. Your friends told you they would meet you to go to the park on your bikes, yet it’s been hours since that was meant to happen and they had yet to make an appearance. Finally when the once bright blue sky turned into the light colour of peach as the late afternoon rolled by you decided you’d had enough of waiting for them. Before you could sit up, you heard a door slam. As you spied the lanky boy next door he casually made his way towards you, hands in his pockets.

“You’ve been waiting for a while.” He commented, his frame towering over your seated one. Crouching down next to you, you quickly shuffled to the side – God forbid he touched you.

“No I haven’t.” Your rebuttal came without you thinking about it. You didn’t know what possessed you to lie to him. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t want him to mock you on your friends not showing up, maybe it was the fact that you were embarrassed at having been left alone for so long. You didn’t know, but you could certainly feel the heat creeping up towards your cheeks.

“It’s ok, Y/N. You don’t have to be brave. They’re not coming, but that is their loss.” He shrugged and your eyes snapped towards him in confusion. Sensing your gaze on him he turned his head and smiled lightly at you; as if he had no knowledge of daily worries places about his shoulders. Motioning towards the sky he simply shrugged. “Look.”

You didn’t trust him, not by a mile, but when he motioned for you to look up you did without questioning him. What you witnessed left you breathless.

The sky had turned into the deep rich colours of pink and dark blue as nighttime decided it was time to make an appearance. The colours were specific for this time of the year, the atmosphere making it possible for stars to litter the canvas above you.

“See, it’s beautiful and they’re all missing it.” Namjoon spoke smartly from next to you. Closing the mouth you didn’t realise had fallen open as you were marvelling at the sight you felt a small smile creep up.

“Do you make it a habit to diss your friends Namjoon?” You looked at him teasingly, taking your eyes off of the gorgeous sight before you. The way his skin glowed in the last hours of light, the light cast making his eyes sparkle brighter than the stars above you; you decided this sight was just as pretty.

Namjoon sputtered and fumbled with his words, his hand rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “No- I mean…” Your carefree laughter at his display made him pause, eyes fixed on you, mouth slightly agape.

“What?” His intense stare burned holes into the side of your face, and you felt the heat creep back over your face as you swallowed uncomfortably.

“Ah- uh- ah! Look, there's Ursa Major!” Namjoon pointed a bit behind you, his attempt to diffuse the situation successful as you looked to where he was pointing. The sharp intake of breath made him smile gently, your amazement at the simple things he was showing you warming his heart until he felt it close to bursting with emotion.

“Are you interested in stars, Namjoon?” You asked as you looked back at him and this time, it was his turn to flush. Nodding he cleared his throat.

“Yes, uh, I– it’s a favourite pastime of mine. Aside from swimming.” He added quickly and you giggled.

“Tell me more.” You said excitedly.

You didn’t know when you shifted closer towards him, or when your tired head leaned onto his shoulder, what you did know was that from that moment on, you and the scrawny boy shared an odd relationship. You weren’t friends but you weren’t at each other’s throats either and when you discovered you were both going to the same school, you sought each other’s company more than your friends would’ve thought you would. Still bickering, still ignoring each other, still miscommunicating; yet somehow this worked well for you. There was a deep understanding between the two of you. An unbreakable one. You were the epitome of frenemies. You even went as far as to cheer him on during his swimming competitions. Until that day–

=====

“Y/N?” The voices of your peers broke you out of your daze, the memories from the past itching in the back of your head like an old wound. Blinking rapidly you turned to glance at them, quick to avert your eyes when Namjoon’s concerned face came into view.

Thinking about it he had indeed changed a lot since you were children. He was taller than you, and definitely not as scrawny. Still the same intelligent man, and as hard as you tried you couldn’t refute that, he was always a step ahead of you, and you knew that your aversion to him was partly due to that fact. He was always a step ahead of you and the calmness and ease with which he seemed to do it definitely rubbed you the wrong way.

“Sorry, I must have spaced out.” You apologised, the familiar heat enveloping your cheeks in embarrassment. Refusing to make eye contact with the man sitting right opposite you, you turned towards Mina, the girl you remembered from your freshman competition. Leaning in towards her you whispered, “What were we talking about?”

Mina smiled at you and for a split second you thought you saw something flash in her eyes before she theatrically flipped her hair to the side. “God Y/N, why are you so ditzy? The whole idea of this game is to get to know your classmates. You can’t even be bothered with that?” She finished her sentence with a display of a perfect poster girl smile.

The feel of everyone’s eyes on you made you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. You’ve only once in your life felt as humiliated. Throwing a quick glance at Namjoon and seeing the downturn of his lips you decided that was not a memory you wanted to revisit. You didn’t know whether it was the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you or the clear upset at you that you saw flitting over Namjoon’s face, but the feeling of unease turned into crippling embarrassment. Opening your mouth to respond you choked, finding yourself short of words.

“–Wait, I’m forgetful. Where did you say you were from and what specialty dish was famous there?” The deep tone of Namjoon’s voice broke the silence and it was one of those rare moments when you felt the gratefulness ooze out of you. The question he threw at Mina made everyone’s attention snap towards her. Breathing easily you chanced a glance at the man who saved you. His eyes were solely focused on you, a look of understanding etched into his irises, the deep brown colour reminded you of chocolate ganache, and the spark of warmth that you witnessed in his eyes, hot chocolate on a cold winter’s eve.

The seconds that passed between the two of you felt like eons, and though the thought terrified you, for the first time you never wanted them to end.

======

Unfortunately for you, those seconds were more than enough for the teacher to single you out. You don’t know what you looked like from the outside and you didn’t want to know. What you did know was that before the end of class, after you’ve bravely managed to be in the same group as Namjoon without any serious accidents happening between the two of you, life decided to further test your patience.

“As you all know, this is an elective.” The teacher announced loudly as everyone shuffled back to their seats. “But that doesn’t mean that it can be an easy pass.” You resisted the urge to scoff, the only indication of your disapproval being a roll of eyes. “That being said, it won’t be a nightmare either. Let’s call it a happy medium.” She laughed merrily at her own joke, a few students following suit. Teacher’s pets. Grumbling, you took back your seat.

“It’s not nice to mock a teacher Y/N.” Forgetting how close the row behind you was, you nearly jumped out of your skin when Namjoon bent over to whisper in your ear.

“I’m not mocking anyone Kim. Mind your own business.” You refused to turn around, your pointed whisper carrying across your shoulder to him.

“Like I should have earlier?” He retaliated and you could feel the heat rising in your blood. You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the smugness in his tone. Sharply turning around, not calculating how close the two of you may be you would’ve almost bumped noses if not for his quick reflexes.

“I said mind your own business. How dumb of me to think you would just do something out of the goodness of your own heart.” You said as you swallowed thickly. Your faces were still too close for comfort, the position you were both in making it easy for you to see in detail how smooth his skin was, the slight crookedness of his nose and the slight dip where his dimples were. Namjoon was handsome, he will always be in your eyes – that didn’t make him less of an asshole.

“Y/N and Namjoon, you seem to already be getting on well. If you two are a pair for the project you wouldn’t mind would you?” The teacher’s voice sweetly called out to you. You froze on the spot not knowing how to react, your eyes widening at the same time as Namjoon’s smile did. Looking away from you he slightly leant to the side to address her.

“Not at all. I’m an awful cook, but I know Y/N can balance it out.” He sounded too proud of himself. You didn’t know what the project was, but you would find out later. You couldn’t risk being caught not paying attention again.

“Good, well then since Y/N is an amazing baker as we know, you both should be up there in the running. I am so excited to see what you both come up with.” The teacher laughed pleased with herself. Gulping you turned back towards the front of the class, your eyes catching Mina’s for a split second. The chill you felt from the prospect of having been paired with the worst cook in the class felt like a gentle summer breeze compared to the one you felt just then. Chalking it up to the overall anxiety of the day you all but slammed your head onto the hard wooden surface of your table. This year will just be a nightmare.

Your exit from the class was worthy of the drama club, your feet pounding the corridor loudly as you did your best to make your way through the stream of people. Normally you wouldn’t have been bothered by the slow flow of students happily making their way out towards their next class or free period, but right now you were on a mission. You weren’t in a rush to get out of the class, you were in a rush to get away from Namjoon’s stifling presence.

The way he kept glancing at you as you responded to the questions asked by your peers, with such gentle and curious eyes – his whole body was stiff as if he was hanging onto every word he could, trying his best to get to know you.

“Y/N.” Cursing under your breath as a surprisingly warm hand pulled you aside by your forearm you turned around to face the man whose face you would’ve been more than happy to not have to see ever again. “You–“ he started but you held your hand up interrupting him.

“What do you want from me? Can we just pretend we didn’t see each other? That we don’t share any sort of past? I was invisible to you back then, can we make sure to keep it that way now?” You burst out struggling to get a hold of your emotions. Frustrated you tried to pull your arm out of his hold, but when his grip only fractionally tightened on your arm you paused, finally raising your gaze to meet his.

“Is that what you want Y/N? To be invisible to me?” The intensity in his eyes made you reel back, his hold on you being the only reason you were still this close to him.

You did your best to ignore how well he’d filled in from a scrawny swimming obsessed teenager to– your eyes squinted involuntarily, this. His height towered well over you, his broad shoulders and the contracting muscles you could see as you followed the path from where he held you were a clear indication he was still doing some sort of sports or hitting the gym more than your average.

“You didn’t seem to want to be invisible when you confessed in the middle of my swimming competition?” You wanted to believe you would’ve been able to keep your cool had it not been for the tone of his voice. The drawl that signalled mild annoyance and the slight mocking stance he took as he reminded you of the past did a great job of transporting you back to that particular day he was referring to.

You’d been young and dumb, and infatuated with him. Having been neighbours for a decade and even if you weren’t the bestest of friends, you never thought your confession would play out like a flaming car crash scene in a movie. You may have missed the mark when you did indeed yell it out as he stepped down from the podium where he received his gold medal, however, you didn’t particularly think it warranted the mocking laugh and ignorant behaviour. People chalked it up to you being a crazy fangirl, which as hurtful as it was, when you realised you were not going to get more than that from him you accepted it. Have you moved on from it? You wanted to say you have, but the sight of him standing in front of you, towering over you as he mocked you for that day and your strong aversion to seeing him made you realise that no you actually hadn’t.

“What would you know about being invisible? You were a coward.” Namjoon’s mouth fell slightly open at your accusation, the grip he had on you slightly slackening enough for you to pull yourself away from him. “I don’t want to see you as much as you don’t want to see me. So let’s keep this as it is. We’re not children anymore. We need to figure out a way to coexist. Especially if we are in the same class.” You said as demurely as you could crossing your arms over your chest. “So do me a favour and stay as far away as you can from me, Kim Namjoon.” You narrowed your eyes at him not waiting for a reply as you pivoted on your heels, making your way through the slight gathering that had formed around the two of you. Spotting your friends a few feet away from you, you inwardly sighed. You were probably loud enough, and you had a feeling you were in for one heck of a questioning.

=====

When your friends sat down next to you at the table in the library, all eyes and ears, you could feel the interrogation in the air. Trying to make yourself look busy just in case they decided that harassing you with their gazes was not enough, you pulled the nearest textbook you had piled up in front of you.

“Y/N.” Hana tried, her voice sickly sweet. Ignoring it you continued to skim through the book, cursing under your breath when you kept missing the page that caught your eye. It wasn’t as if you even acknowledged the one you had picked up, the words dancing in front of your eyes, unable to be comprehended by your brain. You just hoped that you looked interested enough in it to not be bothered by your friends.

“Y/N.” Hana tried again, her voice dropping some of the sweetness. With prayers that they would leave you alone if you carried on ignoring them, you closed your eyes and counted to ten. After all, wasn’t the saying, if you can’t see it it’s not there, true? You nodded with a noncommittal hum and flipped harder through the pages, not entirely certain whether your aggravation stemmed from the fact that you couldn’t find what you were looking for or from the earlier encounter with the dimpled man.

“Y/N.” Hana sighed, pulling the book away from you just as you found the page you were looking for. With a displeased grunt you made grabby hands at it trying to get your shield back.

Flipping the book closed, Hana showed you the cover, her deadpan expression making you flush in embarrassment. “You do realise this is Jia’s book right?” Indeed, the title read Inorganic Chemistry, a class you knew all too well. But it was definitely not your book.

“But it’s interesting.” Even though you’ve been caught redhanded you tried to defend your scattered brain and actions, if only to buy yourself some time. “Look, we need to get our heads in the game. This year is our last, and I am not ruining this for myself.” You declared as you stood up, the carefully crafted list of books you needed to get out of the library clutched in your hand. “Especially not if I have to also get over Kim’s presence in my face.” You added bitterly, the words slipping from your mouth without a second thought. Freezing in place, you carefully glanced at Hana and Jia, whose satisfied grins told you that is exactly what they’d wanted; You to slip about your connection with the insufferable clumsy giant. Unfortunately for them, that is all you were willing to share, intent on not thinking about him anymore. He occupied precious time and you couldn’t afford that.

“I am going to-” Before you could carry on with your escape plan Hana grabbed your hand and pulled you back roughly.

“Nuh uh. Cat’s out of the bag now. How do you know the hottie?” She wiggled her eyebrows at you making Jia laugh at your disgusted reaction.

“First of all, I don't know him. Second of all he is definitely not a hottie, and third of all, we need to get these books out before someone else beats us to it. And I don't know about you, but I am not willing to wait another month before I can get my hands on them. And I don't have the money to buy them.” Your weak attempt at trying to free yourself from your friend’s clutches went unnoticed and you slumped in your seat resigned. Hana and Jia would do very well within the task force, their interrogation skills beyond professional at this point.

“Look,” You gestured with your free hand. “We were neighbours once upon a time. That is that. Nothing else.” The finality in your voice silenced them, and for the umpteenth time that day you had to force a smile on your face as you felt the heat take over your whole complexion. You definitely despised being put on spot like that, especially on a subject which you refused to dwell on more than you should. However, as much as your friends complied with your request to not touch sensitive subjects, your brain refused to cooperate.

Thinking of Namjoon felt inevitable, and you should have known that. Especially now that he was to be a constant in your life, even if you adamantly refused to, there would always be a small part of you that wandered towards the tall broad man with soft dimples.

“Fuck it.” You cursed under your breath, slamming the books onto the table ready to scan them. The glare you were throwing at the stack of unsuspecting academic material felt warranted, yet they were not the primary source of your misery – not like anyone needed to know that. Counting backwards in your head you closed your eyes for a brief moment only to open them when a flash of the past managed to break past your barrier.

“So, are we going to that frat party later on?” You sighed in relief as Hana’s voice broke past the awkward silence that settled between you. You hadn’t intended to go to the party, but now the prospect of getting drunk and not being aware of anything other than music and dancing seemed like a brilliant idea.

“Oh, sure. I think it would be fun.” You nodded a bit too eager, earning yourself a distrustful look from your friends. “What? I haven’t been to a party in ages and it’s the first one of the year. Our last year, mind you - when else would it be a good time to go?” You defended your choice, your voice going an octave higher than intended.

Not fully convinced, but happy enough that you agreed to something you normally wouldn’t both Hana and Jia nodded, starting to spout out ideas for outfits and what they wished would happen at the party. As it was a last minute decision for you, you didn’t particularly care what you would wear, and anything past having fun with your friends didn’t interest you.

=======

What made you think that a party was a good idea? You never went out for more than a few drinks with your close group of friends. Now you’ve managed to land yourself at a frat party where a few drinks became a few too many. Suddenly the loud music and sweaty people grinding against you felt restrictive. Looking around desperately trying to find a quiet corner in which you could hide you came to the disappointing conclusion that this frat party went a bit overboard. The masses of bodies occupied every corner of the room. In need of fresh air you tried to slither yourself past everyone aching to get out.

The atmosphere became more suffocating, it felt as if the more bodies you pushed to the side the more appeared in front of you. Stopping for a second as you craned your neck trying to spot your friends in case anyone decided to hang around, you felt yourself pushed further into the crowd by the constantly moving bodies. Where at the beginning the pump of the bass served as a way to hype yourself up, now it felt deafening. Continuously searching for an escape either in the form of your friends or an opening in the crowd you locked eyes with the deep chocolate irises that seemed to haunt you. For a split second you felt yourself relax, the tension in your shoulders loosening up and the small breath you took in felt as fresh as if you were in the middle of the forest not in the center of a drunken crowd.

Blinking the feeling immediately disappeared when you remembered who it was that you spotted– and you could barely call Namjoon an acquaintance let alone a friend. You couldn’t count on him to keep you level headed. Even if he seemed to do a very good job at it. Not bothering to acknowledge him you swerved as much as the sandwich of bodies allowed you to carry on with your plan to escape.

The feel of a hand wrapping itself around your wrist made you jump slightly. For one, despite being touched from every vantage point by people pushing past you, you were not ready for direct contact. You were not drunk, but you had enough alcohol in your system for your body to be tense. You were also not sober enough or strong enough to fight off whoever decided to make you their target for the night. So with all that in mind you froze, hoping that the person that grabbed you was either a friend or someone who grabbed you in passing to keep their balance.

“Let’s go.” Even though it made your eardrum tickle from its closeness, the shout over the loud music and the yells of various people barely reached your ears. When it did, you prepared to pull your arm away ready to make it known you were not interested.

“Come on Y/N, the music is changing in a second, now it’s the time to move.” The deep tone of the voice made you stop for a second. Something in your brain shifted. You would recognise that voice anywhere.

“Namjoon?” You could barely be heard over the vibrations shaking the walls but you didn’t need him to respond. Within the next second he took the lead as he pushed past people dragging you with him. He was right, the music stopped for a split second and you felt your eardrums buzz with the quietness that settled over the room. You couldn’t help but stare dumbfoundedly at his back, the broadness of it reminding you of his performance as a swimmer, and you found yourself wondering if he had kept it up. Lost in thought you didn’t realise he’d managed to push his way through until the fresh breeze of the nighttime air hit you.

“Finally.” You heard him mutter, the muted booms from the music inside barely audible as you made your way further from the house. His voice shifted something in you and without warning you pulled your wrist away from him, the buzz in your system making you stumble over your feet.

“Woah- steady!” Namjoon turned around, almost making you topple over.

“If you’d stop being so-“ You paused. In the light coming off the streetlamps you could see the eyebrow he had cocked and sighed. “I– thank you.” You resigned, knowing that no matter how little time you wanted to spend with him and how much you wanted to loathe him, he’s still the one that got you out of there.

Namjoon’s gaze stayed fixed on you for a second, the weight of his stare making you feel less uncomfortable than you’d thought it would. What terrified you was the heat growing underneath your skin – a heat you didn’t think you would experience under his watchful eyes. You felt yourself stand up straighter, the corner of your mouth pulling slightly into a taunting grin – the way you would’ve if you were intentionally flirting with someone. Catching yourself in time, you cleared your throat.

“What- what were you doing in there?” Your gaze flitted around looking anywhere but at him. You feared that if you would settle your eyes on him, the pull you felt would draw you in and you’d have no escape from him.

“It’s a party. Good way to meet people.” He shrugged as if it was the most obvious response and you couldn’t help but snort.

“It’s a frat party. The last thing you do there is get to know people. Unless you count sweaty grinding and checking someone’s tonsils out with your tongue as getting to know someone.” You sounded snarky even to your own ears but he didn’t even flinch, the amused smile making itself a permanent feature on his face.

Neither said a word as you slowly made your way further from the deafening sounds that made the ground under your feet vibrate. You had a sneaky feeling he was walking with you only to get the alcohol out of your systems before you returned back inside. The sight of a bench made you stop. the prospect of sitting down letting your feet rest after having been subjected to the gruesome shoes you were wearing, one that you couldn’t pass up.

“I’m going to sit for a bit.” You announced and he nodded following you. Not expecting him to want to be in your presence for more than necessary you glanced at him, your breath catching in your throat when you discovered his eyes were trained on you.

Less than a few centimetres away, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his. The swirling galaxies in them pulled you in further, compelling you to want to search for each and every single one of them. His eyelashes felt like guardians as they cast a dark shadow across his irises.

“I only thought stars existed in the sky, why are you holding them in your eyes?” You blurted out, your mind hazy from the alcohol, your voice barely above a whisper. Freezing on the spot your eyes widened briefly as you realised what you’d just said.

Namjoon’s breath sputtered, his heartbeat increasing until he felt it beat in his ears. He wanted to say something just as meaningful back yet he found himself unable to utter a word. Frustrated at himself, he decided he was never going to drink again if only to be able to clearly see the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you became embarrassed. He wanted to map your features until he engrained them in his heart so with a resigned exhale he leant further in accepting his wordless self. If he couldn’t say anything he would show you–

“I want sweets.” Your random outburst stopped him dead in his tracks.

The brief moment of awkward silence that settled over you broke when he started laughing. For you it did nothing to ease the tension in between the two of you, his deep rich laugh vibrating through your body reaching all the way to your core making you shift uncomfortably at the way your legs tensed. You could only imagine that voice moaning out your name–

“You haven’t had enough jello shots yet?” He meant to make it sound light hearted, but his hooded eyes told you his mind was on the same track as yours was.

“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.” You said smartly, the amused grin making it clear you were not serious about it.

Touche.” He nodded. “Well-“ getting up from his position with a grunt he offered you a helping hand. “As you said, it’s a frat house. They have a kitchen, hopefully everyone is drunk enough by now to be out of it.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his unconvinced grimace. “We’re bound to get something from there. That is not jello shots or cheap orange juice.”

Laughing you accepted his hand pulling yourself up, counting down from ten in a completely different language hoping you would get yourself under control. His guttural grunt and the strength with which he pulled you up to your feet did very little to calm your aching. The slightest buzz present within your brain, you knew you couldn’t chalk it up to the alcohol. This one was on you and your inability to unsee the way Namjoon’s eyes darkened at the way you bit your lips earlier, or the way his hand lingered for a bit longer onto your wrist, or the way his breathing deepened in tandem with yours as you stood toe to toe.

Without thinking you let yourself go, your arms wrapping around his neck pulling him down towards you. The clash of his warm wet lips against yours felt like molten chocolate cake left you craving for more. Moaning into your mouth it seemed like he did too, as he wrapped his arms around your waist bringing you in closer to him. You couldn’t help but let yourself be guided, your lips opening allowing him to explore. You felt on fire, your skin prickling with electricity wherever his hands would start exploring, his palms wide against your back fingers digging deep into your skin as your fingers grasped at his shoulders, neck, and finally burying themselves into his smooth hair.

Feeling satisfied with your response, Namjoon pulled away from your lips, your breaths intermingling, the inevitable wetness left glistening in the artificial light from the garden lamps. He didn’t waste any time and you barely had the chance to groan out his name before he changed tactics, his mouth attaching itself to your jaw, trailing wet kisses down the length of your neck finally reaching your sensitive spot. Trembling you pulled at the hairs in between your fingers, the heat rising in your blood until you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. You wanted to take everything off, to feel him against you, in you.

No sooner than that thought made its way into your head, he bit onto the sensitive flesh causing you to gasp when the distant sound of his name being called pulled you out of your trance.

“Namjoon.” You tried to sound level headed, your fingers digging into the muscles he developed from swimming. You tried not to think of how he would look like without the inconvenience of his top, otherwise you would not step away and would let him fuck you in the open in the middle of someone else’s garden.

As much as he wanted to carry on tasting you, reveling in the knowledge that your knees were shaking because of him, he pulled himself away from you with a final lick of his lips – that was enough to make you want to reconsider your decision, he did it so deliciously as if you were the best meal he’s ever had. And you probably would have suggested you go somewhere else for more privacy if once again his friends hadn’t called his name.

“They are looking for you.” You whispered, still unsure whether letting him go was the best or worst decision you’ve ever made. A part of you wanted this, you have been crushing on him for so long, the other part of you regretted even letting it go this far, and you refused to blame it on the alcohol. Its effects had worn off for a while.

“I– I better walk you back to your dorm.” His voice sounded strained and you smiled lightly at him as you shook your head. He looked beautiful in the light, his skin glowing, the gentle look in his eyes making him seem almost angelic.

“It’s ok, you need to get back. I can make it on my own, it’s not that far.” You argued pointing your finger in the direction of your dorm. Truthfully, it wasn’t a long walk and you could see the lights from people’s bedrooms from where you were standing. “But thank you.” You turned around, telling yourself not to look back as much as you craved it. Before you reached the end of the driveway, you felt the pull in your stomach, your heart clenching and against all better judgement you glanced back over your shoulder. Seeing the garden empty behind you, you felt your smile drop and you shook your head knowing it was better this way.

Namjoon stared after you from a distance, his vantage point allowing him to observe you for a while longer without you noticing. Watching as you turned around your eyes searching he almost gave himself away his want to walk you home, make sure you were safe but his friends’ insistent shouts and your hurry made the decision for him. He sighed wondering if it was better this way.

======

Entering the suffocating atmosphere of the swimming pool did very little to calm your nerves. You already felt something akin to a hand wrapping itself around your neck, the nervousness of having to address a situation you didn’t know what to make of was too much for you. But you knew that for the sake and sanity of your project and your grade you needed to get this over and done with. You couldn’t work with him with a dead goose hanging over your heads.

It took all the courage that you had to approach one of his friends to inquire where he would be at this time of the day. It didn’t surprise you when they smiled knowingly at you, just motioning to the humongous building where you knew the gym to be. What came as more of a surprise was not the fact that he’s kept up the swimming, but the fact that he was there on a scholarship solely because of it. You remembered he was good but you hadn’t expected him to take it beyond high school.

Lost in thought you passed by the lockers, the smell of the chlorine getting stronger and stronger and you scrunched up your nose. If the building was a huge maze, the pool would have been the first place you found. It occupied the whole of the lower ground level, its sheer olympic size needing the space for not only one basin, but three. Wandering around aimlessly, the thought of having to find Namjoon having completely slipped your mind. Too preoccupied with the sheer size of the space you didn’t even notice the entry to the pool until you almost walked into a half naked unsuspecting body.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You apologised raising your eyes to meet the amused ones belonging to Jungkook. Trying your hardest to noy ogle at his naked upper body you focused on his shoulder. “Oh, you’ve got a tattoo.” You slapped a hand over your mouth cursing yourself for your lack of filter until Jungkook’s laugh echoed loudly in your ears.

“I do, and I’m planning to get more.” He shrugged unbothered.

“Really? I’ve been debating on getting one but was always unsure. Didn’t it hurt?” Your eyes widened in excitement wanting to hear more about his experience with getting a tattoo.

Smiling at your enthusiasm he showed you each one individually. “These didn’t hurt, this one –“ he motioned to the inside of his forearm, “hurt a lot.” At your wonderous expression he hurried to expand. “It wasn’t too bad, just–“

“Jungkook, it’s your turn to do lengths.” So caught up in your conversation the reason you found yourself inhaling chlorine in a warm damp gym had completely slipped your mind. Same reason that now clung onto the side of the pool closest to you, his goggles lying on the tiles and hair mussed from his swimming cap. “Y/N?”

Finally noticing you he furrowed his brows. “What are you doing here?”

Without giving you a chance to reply he grabbed onto the ledge and pulled himself up, almost putting you at risk of a heart attack. Swimming did wonders for his body and you could easily tell as he unashamedly displayed his naked torso, water dripping down his body in rivulets. Yelping, you jumped to the side to avoid getting splashed and to put enough distance between the two of you so you could breathe easily.

“Well see you, don’t stare too much.” Laughing at your reaction Jungkook winked at you before he heeded Namjoon’s warning and rushed to get himself back in the pool.

Staring after the younger man you gulped realising you were alone with the person you’ve almost slept with the night before. A shirtless wet vision of Namjoon flashed before your eyes until you remembered it was not your imagination. Namjoon was standing right in front of you awaiting your reply. Deciding it was now or never you, took a deep breath in words tumbling out of your mouth.

“Namjoon, about last night…being drunk–“ You stuttered. You found it incredibly hard to concentrate on the words you wanted to express as you took in the sight of his glistening bare chest, droplets of water running down towards his happy trail. “Actually, nevermind.” Deciding there is no way you could mutter anything intelligent as he busied himself with wiping himself dry you prepared to backtrack. In hindsight you didn’t know what possessed you to come to the pool to talk to him. None of your previous pool interactions seemed to end up well.

“Doesn’t matter.” He coughed lightly running his hand through his wet hair to get it off his face. “Drunk or not, doesn’t matter to me.” Shrugging his shoulders dismissively he dropped the towel onto the floor.

Staring at him, mouth wide open in stupor you could barely utter a word. You didn’t know which hurt most – his words or the fact that your heart dropped to your stomach in response to hearing them.

“Truth is –“ His voice softened but before he could continue you felt yourself burst in anger, the hurt long washed by your need to express the pain that’s been festering in your heart for years. Pain you thought went away until this year.

“Always knew you were an asshole, but that is a new level.” You grit between your teeth instantly recoiling from him. As unfair as you knew you were being by holding this grudge, you were hurt and you wanted him to know it. Reading the alarm in his eyes as a need to defend himself and his words, you decided you were too tired to listen anymore. “It doesn’t matter so please stop mentioning it. We’re going to pretend it didn’t happen.” Hoping you sounded less hurt than you felt you mimicked his shrug arms wrapping around your middle as if that would help protect your already damaged ego. “–And maybe it’s better this way.” You sighed. “I should stay as far away from you as I can.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let me put it another way, you’re a dick. And I can’t believe I even considered the thought of liking you.” You pointed at him accusingly, completely ignoring his crestfallen face. Aware that you wouldn’t be able to hold in your tears if you stayed any longer you turned on your heels rushing out knowing that the suffocating feeling in your throat was not just from chlorine.

======

The weeks that followed up to your project and midterm evaluation felt gruesome. Neither you nor Namjoon spoke for more than a few seconds, the tension between the two of you as tight as a rope during tug-o-war. The effort you put in trying to keep your emotions at bay along with your other commitments drained you so much that your life outside of your dorm, library and kitchen became nonexistent. As soon as your head hit the pillow, at whatever hour you decided it was enough for the day, you would be out as a light.

Unhelpful as ever, life also decided to throw you a curveball in the form of your project being more complicated than it needed. In the words of your teacher, “you were capable of withstanding the complexities of an en croute dish.” As capable as you felt in dealing with the food, you didn’t think you were equipped in the patience department. Especially not when your partner’s opinions and skills left much to be desired.

“Duck!” You jolted out of your seat when the slime landed smack onto your cheek. The repulsive feeling made you recoil from the table desperate to grab some napkins.

“Namjoon, what the fuck?” Finally locating the sink you rushed to wash off, completely flabbergasted at the green paste that fell off your face with a wet plop. Side eyeing him you narrowed your eyes at him. “What is this?” You demanded pointing at what could only be described as a forest snail. Shuddering you turned off the water side stepping past the sheepish man handing you a towel.

“It’s duck.” You threw another glance at the being in the sink trying to determine which part of it was duck. It felt silly as nothing, shape nor colour, made it seem like it was duck. “…and spinach.”

The game of ‘spot the object’ carried on for a few seconds, at least until you determined that he’s managed to congeal the bird and spinach together so nicely that it became a consistency akin to slime. “I thought by yellin duck you meant me to duck duck.” You grumbled absentmindedly rubbing at your temples in frustration.

“I did mean for you to duck the duck. But it’s also duck.” Namjoon replied seriously, his hands on his hips. Locking eyes with him, the spark of amusement dancing in it made the dam burst as you keeled over in laughter.

Looking at him for a second, the ridiculous way the bright yellow apron contrasted with his bright orange jumper – a jumper that regardless of how large it was, did very little to hide his broadness. Not after you’ve seen it twice. Swallowing your laughter, your eyes followed the trail up to his lips, the memory of them on yours and on other parts of your body causing your breathing hitch in your throat.

“Right- back to-“ You went to talk at the same time as Namjoon took a step towards you, the towel he had in his hand outstretched. Before he could reach you, the one small puddle of water existent on the floor seemed to happen onto his path as he stumbled into you. His weight compared to yours managed to push you back into the counter, a small yelp escaping your throat at the small burst of pain from your spine hitting the hard surface.

“Shit, are you ok? I’m sorry.” Namjoon fretted, his voice sounding as if he was going through a slight panic attack.

“Get off of me.” Your hands that got trapped between your bodies tried to push in vain at him. During this disastrous exchange it took very little for you to realise two things, your heart jumping out of your chest as if chased by a hound was not loud on its own. With his chest so close to you, and your palms over his heart, you could feel the strong rhythmic pounding against it. This knowledge did little to quench your misplaced feelings for him. The second revelation came in the form of a missing recipe.

“We don’t have a recipe.” You stated, your voice sounding strained.

As Namjoon parted away from you, you did your best to ignore the mumble of protest coming from him. “That is the first thing you think about?”

“We’ve been following a generic recipe. But it won’t work.” You spoke louder, trying to get your bearings together. “We need something more–“ Sucking in a deep breath you let it out loudly. “Special.”

If the discombobulated way Namjoon looked at that moment didn’t give away his inability to follow your trail of thought, his shrug did. Shaking your head at him, you pointed towards the chairs gathered around the counter.

“Sit down. We have a lot to work on.”

======

You hadn’t spoken to your friends much, the time you spent trying to perfect your recipe ranking higher in your list of priorities. Normally you wouldn’t have cared as much, but you had something to prove, to yourself, your teacher, your peers and your insufferable partner.

It was easy to tell your friends were worried about you. Hana had tried on more than one occasion to check up on you, her attempt at getting you to wind down, coming under the guise of her gushing about Jungkook and what his group of misfits has been up to. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t be opposed to a bit of gossip between you, however the group of misfits normally involved a certain Kim and you were seeing his face enough in your own time to not be reminded of his existence.

Jia didn’t even bother trying to get you to talk, her worry coming from her mother-like attitude which prompted her to leave you cooked meals and text you to drink water. You chuckled at the thought of your poor eating habits, you were in the kitchen twice a week trying to come up with the perfect soufflé and en croute recipe, yet you were barely concerned about what went in your mouth.

The singular interaction with humans you happened to have was with your teachers, and your cooking class partner – which you doubted was human sometimes. The nickname God of Destruction seemed to fit him well, you’ve tried in vain to get him to a decent level of cooking, and you were more than surprised that his inability to cook was not coming from his incapabilities, but from his clumsiness. More than once if he followed a recipe and knew what he was meant to do he surprised you with a dish you deemed more than acceptable. But when his bad luck would come in and he would cut the vegetables in the wrong way or forget what the steps were – the slimy green duck was not the worst thing that was made by his hands. You tried your hardest to be patient as you knew your grade depended on him, if not fully then partially.

However, his clumsiness and your inability to keep your feelings at bay around him were the last straw.

=======

“Namjoon, no!” You watched in slow motion how he picked up the container of salt and dumped it in your batter. The batter you spent hours perfecting, the batter that only needed a pinch of salt and a spoonful of sugar. The sugar which you specifically placed next to him, even pointed at it telling him to add it in after he’s finished mixing the contents in the bowl. Yet, he still reached for the salt placed far away at the other end of the counter. You didn’t know whether it was because he really hated you or if he was that bad at cooking. All you knew was that the hours you spent creating this recipe have all been for nothing.

Your incredulous look at the now ruined batter, created a comical resemblance to a fish and Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like Nemo.” He pointed at you snickering under his breath. His commentary did nothing to amuse you, instead the rage that was slowly bubbling up inside threatened to explode as you fixed your glare onto him.

“Do not even go there! How can you be so-” Arms raised in frustration you were seconds away from pulling out your own hair. “Ugh!” Before you could say something else, and before the spatula you were carrying in your hand could become a handy weapon, you stalked angrily toward the bowl on the counter and picked it up.

“Ok Y/N, calm down, it’s just a batch! It’s fixable!” He raised his hands in front of himself in an attempt to protect himself from your wrath and maybe even pacify you. “You don’t need to get your panties in a twist.” He scoffed you and you prayed to all the cooking Gods that were out there that he stopped talking before you attacked him with the bread mixer.

“I am not getting my panties in any twist Namjoon! You had one job to do!” Pointing your finger at him, you approached him menacingly, your nostrils flaring. “I specifically pointed at the sugar!”

If Namjoon were to admit, he should’ve recognised the tell-tale signs of an argument brewing in between the two of you. However, the need to retaliate and protect what little was left of his pride and cooking skills made him act. “How is it my fault, they look the same! And if you weren’t so anal about these things, you wouldn’t have decided to put them both in the same type of bowl!” Despite his exasperation he didn’t raise his voice, the neutral tone with which he responded to you putting fuel on the fire. Ready to strike back with another comment at how his lack of skills matched his lack of perception you made your way towards him, the spatula still firmly gripped in your hand as you waved it around like a sword.

“This is not Master Chef Y/N, you’re not the best cook out there nor do we need to make this a cooking show! It’s just a stupid class we need to pass!” The hurt that flashed in your eyes at his statement made him pause and his heart clenched, the verbal diarrhoea he was about to unleash completely stuck in his throat.

Namjoon realised he needed to put an end to this before things got out of hand and what was said in between the two of you left your relationship irreparable. What he didn’t realise was that his spatial awareness was as bad as his cooking skills. For the second time in the span of ten minutes you watched horrified as your efforts were egged with a swipe of the giant man’s hand. Pun intended.

Namjoon knew he’d fucked up the moment his elbow hit the container of eggs. He had a split of a second to determine whether or not he was going to run and hide or face the consequences of his actions. His fate already decided when his feet refused to move, he closed his eyes as your voice pierced through his eardrums. Despite the commotion, there was no big explosion nor was there a significant sound other than the splatter of the eggs. He wasn’t sure if you’d carried on shouting or if the sound of your voice reverberating through his skull was a result of the silence that settled over the both of you, but it only made him more anxious to open his eyes. When a few seconds had passed and he hadn’t been attacked with a spatula he decided it was safe to open his eyes.

“Y/N?” His voice sounded unsure, your hunched up form was a sight he was not expecting to see. “Are- are you ok?” He approached you cautiously, in case you decided to strike with the kitchen utensils at him. The closer he got to you, the clearer it was to him that your quivering form wasn’t a sign of anger. Instead your soft whimpers triggered his instincts immediately. Recognition dawned on his face and his face scrunched up in remorse. What had he done?

“Y/N, I’m sorry I-” He crouched down next to you, his hand hesitatingly reaching out for yours. He did sound apologetic, his face dropping at the sight of your red and blotchy one. In that moment you didn’t care how bad he felt, or how the butterflies you’ve harboured in our stomach reacted to him. You hated him.

“You’ve managed to single-handedly ruin not only my efforts and the hours I’ve spent trying to come up with this recipe.” If looks could kill, Namjoon was certain he would be buried under 6 feet of dough by now. “But you’ve also destroyed any chance we may have had at passing this class!” You could feel the frustration and anger bubbling deep in you and before you could stop the words, they tumbled out of your mouth so effortlessly it scared you.

“I hate you Kim Namjoon!”

=======

For the next few days you refused to set foot on campus - not even to go to classes, let alone go to the library or the cafe where you had spent endless hours pouring over your recipe with Namjoon in tow. You knew that if you dared to even be within a mile radius of the place you loathed more than anything odds would not be in your favour and you would definitely come into contact with the one person you didn’t want to see. That day after declaring your hatred towards the man who had been nothing but a thorn in your side, you stormed out of the cooking lab a cloud of flour left in your wake as the door slammed shut behind you. The whole way back towards your room you huffed and puffed, completely oblivious to anything happening around you.

Somewhere along the way you think you may have dismissed a group of freshers who approached you for tutoring, you may have even blanked your friends earlier as they tried to get you to go with them to their society activities. You could barely remember the stretch of grass that you would normally bask in as it was the most beautiful part of the campus. All you could see was red and the conflicting emotions raging up a storm inside of you. Thoughts crashing and colliding made your skull feel as if it was about to explode.

Once you reached the safety of your room, with a courteous slam of your door, mentally apologising to your floor mates, you beelined straight for comfort. The softness of your pillow and the embrace of your duvet were enough to lessen the anger you felt. However, when your soul got stripped of the one pillar holding it up, you found yourself coming undone. Your whole foundation crashing to the ground, you buried yourself into your comforter and you wept.

You wept for your wasted time, you wept for your grades and most importantly you wept for the hope that sparked in your heart at the time you and Namjoon shook hands when you were assigned this project. Feeling nothing less than dumb you berated yourself for hoping that something may have changed. As your whole body trembled with hiccups and your phone kept vibrating almost kicking itself off the table you realised that maybe something has changed. But knowing that it could never be hurt even more. And so that night you cried yourself into a restless sleep filled with pastries and dimpled smiles.

========

You refused to think of anything that had to do with that moment or the way your whole being screamed at you to go back. Most importantly, you adamantly prohibited yourself from remembering the last few moments before you slammed the door and your goodwill behind you. Because you knew that if you thought about that moment and the way Namjoon’s dejected face pulled at your heartstrings, you would crack once more.

Your voluntary self-isolation continued. The even greater act of rebellion against your own thoughts was your refusal to be on campus, even going to lengths of telling your friends to meet you outside, in the park or the cafe. Your excuse, the weather was still too nice to be cooped up inside a dusty library. When Hana would present you with the option of studying on the patch of grass in the field by your dorms, you completely ignored her. Your excuse, the campus was boring now that you were in your final year. You needed to expand your wings, make the most out of the city that you barely got to see as you had very little free time to spend outside of campus. And when you did have time, you’d be on your way to visit family and friends.

It seemed like you had managed to craft all the perfect excuses. And you had to congratulate your friends for not questioning you further than that. For a few days your avoidance tactics worked. But what would you do when a situation made it so that you couldn’t play that game any longer? That was something you hadn’t thought about, and it was probably going to bite you in the ass later on.

“Hey, Y/N, how was your cramming session?” Jia sat herself right beside you, her body shivering from the cold autumnal breeze. You weren’t fairing better than she was, your light jacket doing very little to protect you against the weather’s attacks. It was the sheer stubbornness that kept you rooted to your spot on the bench.

“Could have gone better, I suppose.” You shrugged, knowing that you fluked it badly. Your brain has been too preoccupied with thoughts of your project to be able to multitask. You tried in vain to make it submit and start concentrating on the subject you had a midterm in, only for it to rebel and start replaying a specific kitchen scene like a broken record. In the end, you gave up, and allowed it to wander on that dangerous path hoping it would get to the same result that you have. Kim Namjoon was an ass, and has always been one.

Unfortunately for you, like the rebel you’ve trained it to be, the only conclusion that it managed to come to was a far cry from that. Kim Namjoon was considerate, and a good friend. Just not to you. And by allowing these thoughts to take root and fester inside your brain, you managed to not only give yourself a headache, but also scrape at the walls you’ve put in place. Sooner or later you knew you would crack. You just hoped you graduated before that could happen.

“Hey, where’s Hana?” You questioned, noticing that the third important person was missing. Normally her and Jia would be stuck together, as they had the majority of classes together. Yet, here you were, one friend down and close to hypothermia.

Still looking around for your friend, as if she was going to pop out from under a rock, you missed the way Jia’s face contorted in a wince. “Uh- she may have… spent a study session with the Lit group.” Jia blurted out, hoping that if she got the information out quickly you wouldn’t lash out.

“Okay?” You looked at her, your brows furrowed in confusion. “Why do you look like you haven’t gone to the loo in hours though?” You leant in observing the way her cheeks reddened and her awkward stance became tense.

“Because well, since they were so nice…” she stuttered, “we thought we should invite them to study with us.” She sighed, eyes closed waiting for an explosion from you.

Still very much confused at your friend’s odd behaviour you let out a loud laugh, not understanding what she meant. Why would having a bigger group of people bother you? Unless…

Wait.

Your eyes widened, and your whole body tensed. “You mean–“ You couldn’t finish your thought, you didn’t want to finish your thought. Once again, it seemed like fate had it out for you, because no sooner than your brain got to process the situation your friends have placed you in, that you heard a very distinct deep voice greet you.

“Ayo, Y/N! Long time no see.” Taehyung plopped himself right next to you, his wide toothy grin signalling his pleasure at seeing you. To your chagrin, a chorus of hellos followed, and you felt yourself nailed to the bench until a voice that seemed to haunt your thoughts indefinitely, spoke from behind you.

“Taehyung, you’re taking up the whole bench.” The sigh that followed was the switch that you needed to make you move. With a slam of your hands onto the hard wooden table you started packing your bag, hands trembling, praying that no one could read the desperate look in your eyes.

“Y/N?” There was a twinge of hesitance in his voice and you had to stop yourself from flinching. You could feel his presence behind you, as if he was a furnace burning and you got too close to the flame. His gaze on you burnt holes into the back of your head and you couldn’t help but gulp, the thought of facing the one person who has plagued your thoughts terrifying.

“Namjoon! Here, sit down.” Hana who appeared out of nowhere and sat herself nestled into you slid further down the bench, landing next to Jungkook. Watching her make space for the person you declared loudly you hated earlier, you did your best impression of a grinch glare at her. It could have been the rays of the late autumn sun in your eyes, but you swore you saw her blush and small glance downwards when Jungkook greeted her. Now highly suspicious of the reason she chose to spend so much time with the ditzy handsome group of Lit boys, you shut your mouth and sat yourself back down. Hana was your friend and if she needed you to be there for her whilst she flirted with the pretty fresher, then who were you to ruin her chances?

“Partner.” Namjoon acknowledged you with a small smile as he turned towards you. Giving him a glare you scoffed.

“Partner my foot. We’re barely marked together.” You countered, ready to spring up and leave. Hana’s laughter at something Jungkook had said followed by the rambunctious laughter of the rest of the group reminded you why you were still there. Resigned you felt your shoulders slump.

“In fact, it’s only 33% of the whole grade.” You carried on, happy that your mathematical knowledge came in handy. “So don’t get your hopes up Kim. But then again it’s not Master Chef so it shouldn’t matter that much.” Quoting back the words at him didn’t give you the sense of peace that you’d hoped it would. Not when you noticed the slight fall at the corner of his mouth or when the furrow of his brows made you mirror him subconsciously. Feeling the need to say something else only to soften the harshness of your words from earlier you opened your mouth, only to be interrupted.

“Hey Joon.” A distinct feminine voice called out from across the yard, and you felt the man next to you tense as his body swiveled round towards the source of the noise. Feeling like you're intruding you tell yourself to not look behind you. But one look at the table and everyone’s heads turned towards the person who willingly put themselves into the limelight, and you decided that if curiosity killed the cat, you had eight other people lined up in front of you.

Following everyone’s gaze, you found yourself staring at Mina, the second year student who happened to be in your cooking class. You had rarely interacted with her since the group game, and you’d barely seen Namjoon interact with her. Not that you kept track of that. You’ve encountered her around some of your gatherings with your societies, which told you that you may have had more in common than you thought. Smiling at her, you waited along with everyone else to see what she would have to say to Namjoon.

“Thank you for that night - at the party.” She cheerfully called out to him, winking, but not before her eyes met with your with a triumphant sneer. “Y/N it’s a shame you left the party so early, you missed a great finale. What could be better than Kim Namjoon walking you home.” Leaving the group dumbstruck she left in a flurry of pastels not waiting for a reply.

You felt frozen, the memory of what had happened at the party revisiting you like an unpleasant family member that you always tried to avoid. You could feel the dreadful sting of your waterline as your tears started to gather at the instructions of your clenching heart. Not daring to look at anyone, least of all Namjoon, whose body became as cold as ice – or maybe that was just the feeling that settled between the two of you, your fingers twitched. The rough material of your bag underneath your hand reminded you there was a way out, and without a second thought, you took it.

Namjoon could only blink at you as you grabbed your bag in a flurry ready to pack up. Your friends calling out your name woke him up from his daze, his hand shooting out as he placed it over yours stopping you from carrying out your plan. He didn’t have a plan, and as you ceased any movement, your cold eyes meeting his, he couldn’t help but freeze. The split second he took trying to find the words that his mind had no problem conjuring, but his mouth couldn’t utter, was a split second too long for you.

“Y/N-” he cursed at himself inwardly for being such a coward. He wanted to ask you to stay but the grimace you pulled as you glanced between where his hand was covering yours and his defeated gaze stilled the words in his throat.

“Don’t, just don’t.” You spat out with a glare, this time having had enough of his big head. Namjoon stared at you, unsure where this animosity came from. You were not about to start a scene in the middle of an open area, but you would not force yourself to sit back down and pretend that every second spent next to him didn’t hurt. Your adamant refusal to not only acknowledge what may have happened at the party but also suspect a scenario that may have happened between him and someone else, urged you to move. Hurriedly packing your bag and refusing to acknowledge any of your friend’s pleas for you to stay, you rushed off back to your dorm. You could feel a stray tear making its way down your cheek, and with that tear, you promised yourself this would be the last time you cried for Kim Namjoon.

==========

Panic. Panic with a capital p was an understatement of what you were feeling at the moment. This was it. It wasn’t the big day, but it was the first evaluation in class. This could potentially make or break your grade depending on what the teacher deemed your dish was. Unfortunately for you, the remnant scars of the encounter earlier not only left you with a bitter taste in your mouth as if you’ve chewed on too many lemon peels, it also left you without a recipe to fall back onto.

The memory of the changes you’d made to your recipe were barely there. Having poured over it for a whole night straight, deemed it a hazy image of the scribbled page. Funnily enough, as if life was mocking you, you remembered more the sight of it soaked in eggs rather than having written it. Was it herbs that you put in the batter? Or in the pate? Both? Uncertain you entered the class, your feet feeling like lead. Every fiber of your being was telling you to run the opposite way.

Not daring to look up at anyone, your mind still trying to remember the recipe you’ve slaved over for days you didn’t notice the student that cut you off until it was too late.

“Oh, I’m-” Prepared to apologise you found your words stuck in your throat as your eyes fell upon the cream coloured sweater that seemed to swallow Namjoon’s form. Mouth wide open you cursed yourself for the way your heart sped up at the sight of him. “Can you please,” clearing your throat you motioned for him to step aside. When he didn’t move or bat an eyelid you furrowed your brows at him ready to give him a piece of your mind. You weren’t about to play more games with him, and you weren’t rested enough to hold yourself back for appearance’s sake.

“Namjoon-” You warned. His silent treatment and refusal to get out of the way only served to irk you more until he reached out his hand to you, a crumpled piece of paper set in between his fingers. You looked confusedly between him and the paper unsure of what he was trying to tell you. “What is this, I swear if this is another one of your schemes to piss me off...”

“Just take it.” He sighed, his voice sounded hoarse and tired and upon closer inspection you realised that not only were his eyes sunken in but his whole demeanour seemed worn out. As if he spent too much time bent over his desk drinking too much coffee and having little rest. Hesitantly you took the paper away from him quick to unravel it.

Your eyes widened when you read back to yourself the recipe that you had come up with, intact as if it hadn’t even been touched by remnants of food or other liquids. The only difference being that everything was written neatly instead of your

“What is this?” Reading the crumpled piece of paper over and over again, you looked up at him. “How is that possible though?” You didn’t need for him to answer to put two and two together; his tired expression and the piece of paper in your hands said it all. “Did you stay up all night getting this rewritten?”

The sharp inhale and the slight reddened cheeks confirmed it even before he could respond. Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck he gave you a hesitant smile before answering. “I did, I messed up so I thought I should do something to help instead of constantly messing things up.” In those few seconds of him admitting to his mistake, carelessness, the slight glow of his embarrassment – he’d never been more beautiful to you.

“Namjoon.” You sighed not knowing what to say, but before you could fully form a response he placed a hand onto your forearm.

“It’s ok, I’ll be over there.” Motioning to the furthest station on the other side of the room he chuckled. “I’d rather not risk ruining something else.”

Mouth wide open you stared after him as he slowly walked away from you. In a sudden rush of adrenaline you called out his name making him turn around in surprise “Thank you.” You smiled at him hoping that maybe little by little the wrongs of your relationship would be mended.

Not waiting for his response you took a deep breath in glancing around at everyone seated at the stations. Your emotions may have been lighter than when you entered the room, but you still had an assignment to finish. Time to get this over and done with.

========

You turned around sighing to yourself wondering if this day could just end quicker. You were already at war with yourself having had to refrain from approaching the tall man sitting on the opposite end of the room. The man whose piece of paper sat neatly onto your station top along with the ingredients that you would need for your recipe. However, no matter how desperately you tried to make sense of what had just happened, you couldn’t concentrate on anything but his expression as he admitted he had spent the whole night fixing what he had made a mess of.

When the teacher called the start of the assessment you forced yourself to concentrate on your own dish but you found yourself every so often glancing towards Namjoon making sure he was alright. The first time you locked eyes with him

You turned your head just in time for you to witness the way Mina approached your table, the container of salt in her hands. Confused at her actions, you prepared to head over to let her know you didn’t need more salt as you’d just added it. The scene that unfolded in front of your eyes seemed so unreal you found it hard to believe. Before you could even take a step closer towards your station, Mina’s hurried flick of the wrist over your food, the salt container open in her hands, had already done the damage.

The shout of surprise that escaped your throat got drowned by the students milling around rushing to get the ingredients for their final touches but as you glanced around desperately trying to make sense of what happened you locked eyes with Namjoon. His wide eyes told you he’s also witnessed Mina’s transgression.

Still flabbergasted about what had happened you took a staggered step towards your station. Eyes wide you approached your dish, thoughts swirling through your head, going through every possible way to fix the situation. The time was ticking and you knew you had no chance of actually getting it fixed or redone. You glanced at the clock, your heart clenched and the sting of tears making you sniffle being the only indication of the gripping tendrils of anxiety that washed over you.

“Y/N.” Ignoring the oddly familiar deep voice you whimpered, shoulders slumped ready to curl into yourself in hopes that you disappeared.

Without a thought Namjoon ignored your desperate whimper and grabbed the plate away from you. In your haste to salvage what was left of it you hadn’t realised that he had approached you, his tall frame towering over yours.

“Y/N.” He tried to get your attention, but your desperate mutters prevented you from hearing him. Namjoon stood silently behind you, waiting for the opportune moment to get you away from the disaster your dish has become. He could easily see your devastated face, his body stiffening at your distress. When you finally stepped to the side, your hand too short to reach across the counter for the herbs, he saw the opportunity – hand outstretched he immediately picked up your bowl.

“What-” You were not quick enough for your brain to understand the implications of Namjoon taking your plate and switching it with his before the teacher called time out. Desperately staring at his back as he made his way towards his station, your ruined dish held firmly in his hands your thoughts in disarray. You wanted to reach out and stop him but you weren’t fast enough before the teacher called time.

Watching helplessly as she made her rounds taking in and tasting everyone’s dish, her appraisal of your own was a distant memory. You felt dipped under water, your reflexes slow to process what was happening around you.

“You’ve done a good job Y/N, not your best dish, but I can see the thought and work you’ve put in it. The herbs added made it so much better than your usual.” The praise barely reached your ears as your brain kept trying to think of a way to tell her that whereas it was your recipe, it was not your dish. It was Namjoon’s.

“It’s not my dish.” You blurted out just as she was about to turn away from you. Surprised she looked back at you only to nod appreciatively despite your efforts to get your point across.

“Yes, you are right, it’s yours and Namjoon’s, and you’ve done an amazing job. But you cooked them individually, and that is what you get a third of your mark for. So you should own up to what you have managed to cook.” She smiled at you before moving away towards the other end of the room.

“No it’s-” You tried once more, only for your voice to crack. Panicked, you watched as she made her way towards Namjoon, cursing yourself for letting him walk away from you. Your eyes widened when he caught your gaze for a split second before he nodded reassuringly as if to let you know that it would all work out.

You couldn’t hear what words were exchanged between them, his station the furthest away from you. His sombre demeanour gave nothing away, his back straight, gaze focused on the counter before him as he silently took the feedback from the teacher in stride. Your heart squeezed with hurt as you witnessed the discrepancy between the teacher’s reaction and his. He looked like a scolded child and you knew that if he were to look up you’d only see understanding. The knowledge that the dish he was getting marked for was yours and the gravity of what he’d done in order to spare you from getting marked down paralysed you. Wondering if he had failed his mark, you were determined to get a hold of him before he could leave the class - if only to confront him about his reasoning behind his actions.

As the noise in the corridor increased and you were told you would be emailed your grades before the end of day, you debated whether or not you should stay behind and talk to the teacher or rush after Namjoon. Your decision was made as you saw him quickly rush past you, his eyes focused on the ground mumbling his apologies as he bumped into people on his way out. Rushing to pack your bag you ran after him. Before you could even approach him, your pathway got cut off by everyone trying to exit the class, relieved that this assessment was over. Desperate to get his attention you called out to him.

“Namjoon!” Standing on your tiptoes trying to catch his eye, you let yourself be carried away through the doorway into the corridor. Easily spotting his backpack a few feet away from you, you tried to hurry after him, your legs not as fast as his, your calls to him getting drowned in the noise reverberating through the corridor.

“Y/N!” Hana’s voice reached you before her form cut you off and you whimpered as Namjoon’s form took a right turn disappearing from your view.

=======

You could have left it, you definitely could have not stormed out in the middle of the night out of your dorm to sneak into his. You could have talked to him like a normal person the next day during lunch. Shaking from the cold air you pulled your top closer, wrapping your arms around your midriff in an attempt to keep yourself warm.

Realising what you were about to do, the sight of the boy’s dormitory made you gulp. Never having been inside, you had no clue where you were meant to go. The building didn’t seem much different than yours, in fact it seemed like the exact same replica of your own dormitory. Cheering internally at your own luck you knew that each floor consisted of a number of rooms with a communal kitchen and bathroom. Thanking Hana for having a loose tongue and Jungkook for being smitten with her, you knew at least the floor number where Namjoon’s room would be situated.

You rapidly made your way past a rowdy group of students seemingly heading out to a party. As it worked in your favour you were not in the least concerned about the lack of security for the evening. Unsurprisingly, no one questioned you sneaking in – not even the discombobulated student you brushed past to get into the lift. Apologising profusely you rushed to press the button for the seventh floor taking the time to catch your breath as the doors closed and the lift made its way up. Running through different scenarios in your head, wondering if your talk with Namjoon would go as horribly as it always seemed to happen, you watched as the numbers slowly changed from one floor to the other.

When number seven rolled around and the lift slowed down you took a deep breath in as you exited. Not bothering to check if the coast was clear you rushed down the corridor prepared to hide until you figured out a way to determine which one was the correct one.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Namjoon’s voice rang loudly in the corridor and you immediately rushed to shush him before realising how ridiculous that was. You were the intruder, barging into his dorm yet he was the one getting told off for yelling out into the corridor.

You stood with your feet firmly planted onto the carpeted floor, eyes wide and thoughts running a million miles per hour. “I don’t know…” You sounded resigned, your shoulders slumped and the weight of your decision finally dawning on you. Everything you’ve prepared to tell him completely slipped out of your mind as soon as you took a look at him; his tall wide frame taking up most of the width of the corridor, his boy shorts doing very little to hide his muscular thighs and the top he wore clung to his frame as if it was sown on him.

“I need to talk to you.” You swallowed, uncertainty gripping at your heart. His stoicism at the sight of you did very little to reassure you that your talk would go well. “Fuck, this is not how I planned it to go.” Muttering to yourself you went to turn around prepared to leave ignoring the parts of your brain that were pointing out how wrong abandoning ship was.

“Come in.” You could have missed the softness in his voice if your ears hadn’t been straining for any sign of him acknowledging your presence. Your feet weighed down by lead, you slowly turned around, almost certain you resembled a deer caught in headlights. The gentle smile on his face caught you by surprise, confusing enough for you to follow after him willingly.

“In here, there’s no one in as the monthly frat party is on today.” He shrugged as he entered the open kitchen area.

Looking around you almost whistled, impressed with how clean the space was. You’d imagine with so many boys on one floor the space would be a mess.

“Seokjin cleans it and Jungkook and Yoongi are too neat for their own good.” Namjoon explained, answering your unvoiced question.

“Why are you not at the party?” You inquired not daring to look at him or touch anything. You were more than prepared to be told to leave, aware that Namjoon may not want anything to do with you.

“Why are you here?” Instead of answering he decided to fire his own question, his hesitant step bringing him closer to you.

The chills from the outside still lingering in your bones immediately let up as he placed a hesitant hand on your shoulder. Tired of games and tired of pretending like your feelings for him didn’t occupy a good majority of your brain you decided it was now or never – and this time you meant it.

“Namjoon I–“ You didn’t get the chance to finish as his arm sneaked around your waist and you were pulled into him, your body immediately responding to his warmth. Burying your head into his shoulder you slapped him slightly. “Let me finish.” You all but whined wiggling into his hold.

“I don’t think I can. Y/N, do you know what you do to me?” He said, voice as strong as his grip on your hips. Inhaling, you felt your throat constrict the thought of him being as affected by you as you were by him making your whole body tense up. Shaking your head you didn’t say anything you couldn’t risk saying anything.

Pulling you further into him, his hips grinding on yours you moaned, how could you have missed that? The bulge that pushed into you, a clear indication of his want, made you weak to the knees. Without a word you rose on your tiptoes, your breath warm against his neck and you rejoiced in the shudder of his body as you whispered your consent to him.

“Then take me Kim Namjoon, I am all yours.”

Not missing a beat you dropped to your knees, fingers doing a quick work of his trousers as you pulled them down along with his boxers. Banking that information for later as he definitely didn’t seem like a boxer type of man, you focused on the hardened member in front of you, its red veiny shape, tip dripping with precum, enough evidence that he wanted this as much as you did. Taking a hold of his dick, your fingers smeared the fluid, making it easier for you to slide your palm along its length, you ignored his pleas for you to grasp him fully. Smirking up as you locked eyes with his hooded ones, you let the tip of your tongue peek out in between your lips, the only warning he had before you leant in mapping him with your tongue, starting from the base all the way to the tip, following the veins that seemed to be pulsing underneath your touch.

“Y/N fuck.” As much as he wanted to keep himself together he couldn’t. Looking down he felt his dick lurch with an influx of desire. The feel of your warm wet mouth wrapping itself around the head of his cock, sucking him in your mouth until he could feel the back of your throat combined with the sight of you before him, looking up, hand wrapped around the base of him pumping what you couldn’t fit in your mouth he knew he wouldn’t last long. Running a hand through your hair letting himself get lost in you hollowing your cheeks pulling him further in for a few more seconds before he decided he’d had enough. Eyes focused on something onto the counter opposite him, he smirked. If it was a cooking class that brought you two back together, he may just as well.

“Baby.” He bucked against your mouth one last time before he gently pulled away from you, bending down to pick you up. Thankful for his strength, he carried you to the opposite counter, ignoring how his cock jumped at the sight of your wet red lips, the desire to taste you and make you writhe under him stronger than his need to come.

As Namjoon carried you, your hands placed tightly onto his shoulder, holding yourself to him you let the confusion take over the hazy lust in your brain. Unsure of his plans and whether or not he changed his mind, you were prepared to question him until he placed you on top of the counter by the sink, his lips attaching onto yours in a brief harsh kiss as his hands slid underneath your top immediately attaching themselves to your breasts. Shuddering at the coldness of his hands you bucked into him, your pussy clenching at air, your panties already clinging to you as he trailed his fingers over every bit of skin he could find before he found the hem of your top. His movements as he pulled it over your head ripped a loud moan out of your throat. Not wasting time in finding your hardened nipples, sucking them into his mouth as he would a straw, your hips bucking at the sensation.

“Namjoon, shit, touch me please.” You begged , back arching and fingers digging into his shoulder desperate to feel more of him.

“Be patient.” He mumbled against your breasts, his hands sliding down to the elastic band of your bottoms, making quick work of them. The feeling of your panties clinging to your pussy lips before he pulled them down made you moan desperate for his fingers on you, in you, anywhere near your entrance. “First,” he bit roughly on your nipple making your head fall back at the pinch of pain travelling down your spine. “I need to taste your honey.”

His words would have been enough to turn you on if you weren’t already soaking wet by then, but the sight of him pulling away from you, his eyes dark with lust his hair mussed from where your fingers gripped at it made you bite your lip, a grumble of need stuck in your throat.

Reaching out past you, you could see the neckline of his top getting wetter by the beads of sweat running down the length of his throat, and you reveled in the knowledge that he was as hot for you as you were for him.

“What are you doing?” Witnessing the jar holding the clear amber coloured honey it didn’t take long for you to process what he had in store for you. “Fuck Joon, you better not–“ You were unable to finish your thought a whimper spilling out of your mouth as his lips attached themselves to the nape of your throat, his teeth latching on as if tasting you was his only source of sustenance. Lapping at the red marks he left you found yourself completely distracted from his plans as his hand easily found your wet core, fingers slipping easily in between your pussy lips.

“So wet and ready for me. You’re hungry aren’t you?” He mumbled between nipping at your skin and licking his way down between your breasts.

You pushed into his hand, desperate for him to fill you having been teased enough to want his fingers deep in you.

“Joon please, make me cum.” Your pleading voice was laced with want. “Make me cum around your fingers.” Dismissing your pleas, Namjoon chuckled. Pulling his hand away you almost whined at the loss of contact before your breath got stuck in your throat as he guided his fingers to his mouth, tongue peeking out licking a long strip from his wrist to the tip of his finger. His eyes locked on yours he smirked showing you his hand.

“Look how wet you are, you’ve soaked my entire hand.” You bit your lip as you felt your muscles clench at the sight of your juices coating the palm of his hand running all the way down. Grabbing it you mimicked his actions licking away at the wetness moaning at the taste of yourself. “Fuck Y/N, you’re honestly going to be the death of me.” The last warning before he snapped, hand gripping your thigh sliding it once more between your lips. This time he let you know he was done playing games too, two fingers finding your entrance easily sliding in deep to the knuckle making you yell out in pleasure.

“You’re sweet Y/N, but I prefer my desserts even sweeter.” You didn’t know when he’d opened the jar, but when the hand that wasn’t knuckle deep in your pussy slid down your forearm grabbing a hold of yours guiding it into the thick sticky honey you jolted at the sensation.

“Do you like that?” He grunted as he pushed his fingers deeper into your cunt. You nodded, unable to respond, his thumb pushing ruthlessly on your swollen clit combined with the feeling of his digits digging deep into you made your toes curl in pleasure. Clenching your fingers around the jar of honey, the thickness of the sweet treat coating your skin providing a whole new feeling as it slipped through your enclosed digits.

“It’s not as good as the feeling of you clinging to my fingers like a hungry whore.” He rasped out pumping his fingers faster into you hard enough that you found yourself unable to keep up with his rhythm. Letting your legs drop from the counter you leaned into him, completely surrendering to the feeling of your cunt pulsing around his fingers.

“Fuck Joon, I’m close. Don’t stop.” The sweat clinging onto your skin made it hard for you to stay in one place, the shiny surface of the counter now slick with your wetness aiding with your position as it rocked you enough to ground your clit onto his thumb.

“Come for me baby, coat my fingers like the honey is coating yours.” Feeling his words deep in your core you felt yourself spasm, the beginning of the high of your orgasm overtaking you. You clung onto what you could dismissing the jar of honey that rolled away from you, your sticky fingers gripping onto the hand into your cunt as you came spots of white dotting your vision.

“Fuck that was hot.” He breathed out a moan, his fingers interlacing with yours, the honey dripping in between them onto the counter. “But I’m not yet done.” He warned before he brought his honey coated hand onto your nipple smearing the sticky substance on it. “I’ve had my dessert but I want seconds.” Struggling to catch your breath from the intensity of your orgasm, your muscles still spasming with the aftershocks, you jolted as he bent down, his mouth sucking in your coated nipple, teeth grinding at the sensitive nub.

“Joon, harder.” Despite how sensitive you felt, you revelled in the feel of his tongue lapping at the sensitive nub.

Still latched onto your breasts he aligned himself with your entrance, his stiff member teasing your lips as he rubbed it against you coating himself in your cum. “Can you come for me one more time?” He pulled away from your nipple to look at you, the suction sound of his lips reverberated through the empty kitchen.

Not caring if you sounded desperate you breathed out a moan, his tip teasing your entrance too much for you to bear. “Make me cum one more time Joon.” The way his eyes darkened with lust before he slammed his hips into you, burying his dick into your cunt was enough of a promise. Not wasting any time he pounded into you ruthlessly his force pushing you further onto the counter until you’d slipped so far he couldn’t reach you without straining.

Groaning he pulled himself out of you and you immediately pushed yourself off turning your back to him.

“Let's switch shall we? Fill me up.” You smirked at him over your shoulder as you bent over the counter.

The sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, your bottom red from the friction with the counter and your wet pussy peeking at him from between your legs prompted another breathy moan out of him. Slowly approaching you he enjoyed the view for a bit longer his hand wrapped around his dick pumping himself ready to sheath himself in you once more. Taking his time he bent over your form pulling his top over his head. With no barrier between your skin and his you shuddered his warmth over your cold and sticky flesh.

“Joon, hurry.” You wiggled impatiently under him, desperate to get him back inside of you.

Sucking in a deep breath, he dug his hips into you, flattening you against the countertop. He Aligned himself with your entrance at the same time as his eyes settled on the jar of honey a few centimetres away from your hand. thrusting roughly into you he reached out sweeping the droplets of sticky syrup with his fingers before he wiped it on your back.

Your breath hitched with a moan stuck in your throat. Savouring the feel of his length filling you to the brim at the same time as the honey dripped over your sensitive skin you arched your back into him, your walls clenching around his dick.

“Mmm, I need more.” Your lustful whines increased in volume as he pounded into you, the slick sounds of your wetness and skin slapping against each other, echoing throughout the room.

“Look at you, you’re so messy, we have to clean you first” Namjoon smirked. Pulling your chest slightly off the countertop and towards him, he began to lick your back clean. The feeling of his hot wet tongue sloppily sliding down your back made you squirm, and your head lolled back down to the countertop in ecstasy.

Feeling himself close to coming he pulled you into him, his fingers digging into your shoulder. “I’m close baby, are you ready to cum?” He crooned into your ear, as his free hand trailed down to your clit.

As he pressed down onto the sensitive nub you choked back a sob, your nerves on fire, the heat pooling in your stomach increasing in intensity. “Joon, I’m close.” You rasped desperate to catch your breath, every muscle quivering in pleasure.

“Just like that baby girl, come for me.” He ordered, the speed of his fingers thrumming against your clit increasing at the same time as the pace of his dick thrusting into you did.

The sound of his deep raspy moans in your ear drove you to your climax pulling a final wail out of your raw throat, writhing with the intensity of it, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes.

“That’s it baby, come all over me.” With a final thrust Namjoon gripped your shoulder as he enjoyed your walls milking him as he reached his peak, spilling himself deep inside of you.

The aftershocks of your orgasms left you panting over the counter, skin slick with sweat, honey and your own cum. For a few seconds neither of you said a word as you caught your breath.

“Well, that was… something.” You chuckled, letting the cold countertop cool your heated forehead.

Namjoon pulled himself out of you, careful not to hurt you. “Are you ok?” Instantly reverting back to the slightly shy and awkward man he helped you up, eyes checking for any sign of distress or pain.

“I am ok.” You reassured him, eyes taking in the mess you’ve made of yourselves and the kitchen. “Though, this needs a clean.” You laughed gesturing at the room.

Following your hand Namjoon snorted as he reverently bent down, hands safely placed around you as he picked you up. “Later, first we need a clean.”

========

Letting yourself be carried to his bed wearing his shirt, the warmth and scent of him enveloping you made you feel drowsy. Despite the afterglow of having orgasmed and the hazy feeling of sleep waiting to overtake you, you knew you still had a few things to clear up between the two of you. Judging by Namjoon’s perched position on the bed, his hand wrapped around yours and a pensive look in his eyes, he too seemed to not be keen on resting.

“Why did you do it?” It seemed stupid to start this conversation after having had sex in his kitchen, yet it was something you needed to know.

“Hm?” Namjoon’s distracted voice let you know he was in a world of his own. Taking a hold of your hand, his long fingers slotting next to yours as if they’d always belonged there, he readjusted himself on the bed so that he was facing you. You fought down the flustered feeling and the butterflies swarming in your stomach, a feeling that seemingly never went away whenever he was around you. His sole attention on you and his unwavering stare made you wonder if he’s always looked at you like that and you’ve just never noticed.

“Why did you do it? You know, the recipe, putting your grade on the line for me?” You tried your hardest to hold his gaze but found yourself short for words as his gaze softened his hand pulling onto yours bringing you closer to him. He wrapped you in his arms, the heat of his body providing the comfort you needed to carry on with this conversation.

“There isn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for you.” He mumbled head buried in your hair and you were more than grateful that your face was hidden from him. You settled for a mock groan as you pinched his side.

“Stop being cheesy.” You chuckled. Not able to fight the giddiness threatening to burst out of you, you let out a laugh as he retaliated, his fingers ghosting over your ribs. “Namjoon.” You whined trying in vain to capture his hand. “I’m being serious.”

“No you aren’t, your name’s not Black.” He quipped in reminding you of the obsession he’s always had with the British books. You couldn’t help but snort at his terrible pun. Pulling away from you, his eyes searching yours, your breath caught in your throat when realisation dawned on you.

“You mean it.” You whispered and he nodded seriously.

“I do.”

“But those times when you didn’t– I…” You sputtered finding it hard to believe that all the times he’s laughed in your face or criticised you were a figment of your imagination.

“You came to confess in the middle of my swimming competition when I was barely a teen! I didn’t know what to say, the girl I’d crushed on for years confessed, in front of my friends might I add.” He defended himself and you found yourself unable to refute that.

“Still. You’re better with words than I am, you could’ve done better than that.” You grumbled, salty for the years you’d wasted thinking he’s never even liked you let alone crush on you.

“I’m sorry, as good as you think I may be with words, I am still human. And you drive me insane every time you’re near. I’m lucky if I can string words together to sound coherent.” He said it casually but for you, those words meant everything. Smiling to yourself, your heart warm and full you brought yourself closer to him, your fingers digging into the smooth skin on his back.

“Mm’like that. Carry on.” You purred in satisfaction making him laugh.

“Don’t make it a habit of breaking and entering like that.” He warned but the light tone in his voice made it sound less threatening and more of a jab.

“For your information, I had important stuff to do. Also, the pool doesn’t count. That is open for all!” You protested feeling the heat rush to your cheeks remembering having caught him exiting the pool.

“Admit it, you just like the sight of me naked.” You couldn’t help but scoff at his preposterous affirmation.

“I’m the cook, not the swimmer, Joon. I’d rather you naked in an apron than you naked in a pool.” You responded, the thought of him in an apron already making you hot underneath the sheets. Namjoon seriously regarded you for a moment before he pulled you into a kiss.

“It can be arranged.”

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

#namjoon #kim namjoon #bts #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #collegeenemies101 #namjoon romance #namjoon smut #collab #btshoneyhive #btsgoldnet #bangtansorciere #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #houseofincantations #silverspoon #bangtaninn #e2l #college au

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gukyi · 4 years

Text

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur.

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks.

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all.

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode.

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments.

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did.

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself.

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half.

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you.

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off.

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything.

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds.

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you.

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated.

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly.

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly.

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you.

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years.

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost.

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about.

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless.

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together.

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest.

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you.

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement.

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows.

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click.

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why.

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair.

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems.

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you.

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship.

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it.

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio.

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic.

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since.

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have.

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in.

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once.

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this.

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right?

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins.

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing.

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention.

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind.

Another voice breaks you from your trance.

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide.

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes.

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to.

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you.

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you.

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you?

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence.

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them?

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met.

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor.

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook.

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this.

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you.

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief.

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it.

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it.

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory.

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away.

You wonder what he sees.

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders.

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door.

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door.

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left.

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind.

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side.

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet.

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive.

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them.

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted.

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing.

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter.

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash.

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them.

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him.

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card.

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black.

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body.

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is.

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you.

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown.

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back.

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further.

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you.

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him.

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet.

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment.

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester.

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there.

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that.

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk.

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room.

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world.

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well.

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen.

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written.

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page…

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling.

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom.

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else.

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head.

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease.

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart.

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you.

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving.

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless.

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating.

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him.

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain.

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing.

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure.

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth.

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about.

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out.

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process.

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world.

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious.

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side.

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her.

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Promise Me (It’s Yours)

Part Eleven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10K

Warnings: OMFG might be the first chapter of rough day to not need any warnings, can you believe it?? I mean of course there’s language, a splash of smut, and just the briefest reference to suicide, but pretty PG-13 this time my guys I apologize

A/N: I’m sorry I know people show up for the smut but I was feeling soft in this Taco Bell parking lot so here this is, I hope y’all like it. I guarantee none of the math is correct but please go with it

***

You jerk awake to the sound of whimpers.

It’s late. The bonfire is nothing more than glowing coals, and your back is resting against a scratchy log instead of a long, comfortable chest. You blink rapidly, trying to figure out where that noise is comi—

The kid. Fussy in his crib, his gasps starting to turn into quiet sobs.

“Hey,” you murmur, aiming for soft and comforting, but the sleep sits right in the middle of your vocal cords and splits your voice in half, making you sound like an exhausted demon. Weirdly enough, it seems to chill him out (did a demon actually teach him how to choke people without touching them?) and you sit up to blearily look around. Where’s Din? “Where’s—” you rub your eyes and squint around once more, “—where’d your dad go, bug?”

The clearing is bare. The field is, too—no path, excluding the one you three made on the hike here. Nothing in the distant forest, and the black duffel bag sits somewhere near your feet.

Alright, no worries, maybe he just… went to take a leak or something. Really… oddly far away. That’s fine. Sometimes humans have to do that—maybe he has a. A shy bladder. Or something. You’re totally fine. The kid blinks back at you through equally tired eyes, his head tilting as he seems to be taking cues from you right now in the absence of his father. You both should just try to go back to sleep…

Or you can wait up for him. That sounds like a better plan. Don’t panic, just trust him. Give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s the least you can do.

You take a second to look around again, still coming up empty. It’s dark out, but the moon is suspended high in the sky. The fire doesn’t even give off much light anymore, just dying embers. Your eyes scan the ground again, catching on the black bag at your feet.

Was that there when you went to sleep? No, the last person who had it was Din, and he was sitting over there, in front of the boulder behind the kid’s shield.

You blink down at the stationary bag for a few more seconds, studying it like it’ll spill all of its secrets if you glare hard enough, but then something sparks in your memory. Something odd, something you only noticed for a second last night. There was a red light that reflected off Din’s helmet when he reached into the bag for food earlier, wasn’t there?

You think back on it, try to isolate the hazy memory. If it was a laser sight, you would’ve recognized the bright beam and panicked, but you didn’t. It was unfocused, dim. Flashing.

Had… had Din brought a tracking fob with him from the Crest? But why?

Maker, it’s like your mind knows it should speed up but it’s still too stupid to actually do it. You should… you should check the bag, right? Just in case… you don’t know. You’re being ridiculous.

You reach out to catch the dark bag nonetheless and then unzip it, rifling through it for a particular item you figure should be in here somewhere. Food, food, more food…

Somewhere…

—It’s not here. No tracking fob here. No red light to be seen of.

Had you been imagining it?

No, you determine after a second. No, because you remember thinking it was odd—you specifically noticed it, clearly recognized it but didn’t contemplate too much into it at the time.

Alright, no worries, maybe he… maybe he went on a quick little hunt while you were both sleeping. He must’ve gone back to the ship to grab his armor and guns and then set off. That’s fine, there’s more food in the bag. He said he’d be here when you woke up, which most likely means morning. Right?

Cool. Cool cool cool, you can wait until morning. You can just settle back down against the log right here and find a comfortable position—there we go—and just wait for the sunrise, wait for the inevitable return of your missing party member. Party leader, arguably. He’ll come back, he always does.

Your body begins to relax, even though something still seems… strange about this. Like there’s something important you’re still missing.

… The field is bare.

You instantly sit up and turn back to study it in the moonlight, study the single path you left on your way here. You remember hiking at least… a grand total of two hours to get here from the Crest, maybe? Granted, you took quite the detour, but that just means he would’ve carved a distinct, new path on his way back—

Would he… would he really go on a hunt without going back to the ship first? Would Mando truly venture out—without telling you—to go collect a quarry without any weapon on him whatsoever? Any piece of armor besides a helmet?

Does that seem right to you?

Fuck, you suddenly feel wide awake, and the baby starts gasping out troubled cries again. You push yourself up to your feet and stumble around the dying flames to go comfort him, dropping to your knees next to the reflective sphere. Your head stays on a constant swivel as you quiet him, brushing the pad of your thumb along his wrinkled forehead and shushing him as you keep looking out at the breezy field of grass, trying to see if you missed anything.

Fuck, maybe you’re just overreacting. What direction is the ship? Which way did you…? You think back, trying to piece together limited information of what you can remember about today. Glancing back down at the log you slept on and then the path leading away from the clearing, rapidfire calculations start going off in your head. No, you realize after a second of frantic thought—no, the sun would’ve—if you walked…

Eventually, you’re able to pinpoint a general idea of where the ship should be, and if you’re right, then he definitely would’ve left a new path to get back to it. You don’t like this. It’s out of character for him. It sits too weird with you, and the kid rarely starts crying unless something is bothering him.

Alright, alright, don’t panic. Din is a professional. He must’ve left on purpose—you would’ve woken up if there was any sort of struggle, or even just an exchange. Odds are, he grabbed the tracking fob and just… went to go get the quarry.

Without waking you. Without telling you. Without bringing anything else with him. No armor. No guns. Just the fob.

Some strange sense of dread begins to fill you, one that feels all the worse when there’s no clear explanation for it. You won’t pretend like you’re an expert, but to a Mandalorian, that seems like it could be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it? What reason would he have to do this?

The field continues to wave, undisturbed, in all surrounding directions except one. You look over at the clearing leading to the dark forest, the treetops too thick to let anything but traces of crystal moonlight through. If he left… he’ll have gone that way. The only direction that wouldn’t leave a path.

Okay. So there's a decision that needs to be made. You can either stay here, in the middle of this wide open field until the sun comes up, and hopefully he comes back by then. Or… you could. Go check if something went wrong.

The forest is gorgeous from here, you can see that. Thick treetops, drifting gently in the breeze, steady and quiet and picturesque. Admittedly, you can also see a haunting, looming nightmare of darkness warning you to stay away from whatever it’s hiding. This is an unfamiliar planet. You know it’s safe, this is the most isolated sector and Din said practically no crime happens here, but. He also said he’d be here when you woke up.

Hang on, wait. Something catches in your peripheral. There—right on the other side of the kid’s crib, you see—

A glove.

… He left the glove. Whether on purpose or by accident, Din left his glove. The one connected to the vambrace, the one that houses all his controls.

The one that houses the comm link.

The piece of armor is already in your trembling fingers before you realize you even went to grab it. Anxiety, stress, dread—you don’t know which weighs on you heavier while you slowly rotate it in your hands, trying to understand what’s happening right now. He left his emergency communicator. The only chance you have at contacting him unless he decides to come back.

Panic suddenly constricts in your chest, and you make your decision blindly. The kid continues to squeak out little whimpers as your arm sinks down into the leather and you pull the gauntlet up almost to your elbow, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling your heart beating in your throat. The controls are fairly basic, it doesn’t take much time to figure out which button he synced with the hovering sphere, which command he uses to lock the two locations together.

“Chill out, kiddo,” you whisper, doing your best to calm your own raging uncertainty. Conviction is key, you think. You made your decision. Not wanting to waste any more time in case something went awry, you sling the bag over your shoulder and set off in the direction of the trees, feeling… woefully underprepared for whatever may potentially face you.

The forest is quiet as you finally make your way past the first few trees marking its beginning, or end, and you need a second to blink and adjust your vision. It’s dark—if you thought it was dark when you awoke, it’s nothing compared to this. The treetops are thick and barely allow any moonlight to pass through their dense leaves whatsoever, just bits and pieces scattered here or there. There’s no path, no trail, just nature. Fallen logs, moss, rock and boulder formations you have to avoid.

You shush your agitated ward again, wanting to control yourself because you’re getting the kid worked up into baby battle mode with no visible threats to see. He reads energies—he’s capable when he wants to be, when he deems the situation fit. Right now he’s quieted somewhat but he’s still on high alert, recycling your inner panic outwards until you feel the air shifting around you, an… unexplainable phenomena you can’t even describe properly.

Well, you figure. If anything, he’s far more dangerous than any weapon Din typically carries with him. You tend to forget, most of the time. He’s never hurt you, no matter how boisterous the tantrums sometimes are, and you find yourself very rarely thinking of him as anything other than an innocent, helpless baby you’re tasked with protecting. Though it appears that most of the time, he’s been the one protecting you.

What are you saying? There’s no need for protection right now, you’re simply searching for your absent ally. You’re not being brave—no matter how quickly your heart is beating or how much your hands are sweating, you’re not being brave because bravery implies facing something you fear. You have nothing to fear, it’s nothing more than an abandoned forest. A backdrop for your endeavor.

Though… though now that you think about it, this setting looks eerily similar to one you’ll have seared into your memory forever. The forest on Corellia.

You will the thought away with a frantic shake of your head. Naboo is safe, Naboo is safe—it’s not like Corellia. It’s not crawling with people desperate for food and credits, desperate enough to resort to kidnapping and slave trade. Naboo will economically prosper no matter what threat befalls the galaxy, its industry comes from tourism and resorting.

You stop for a second, needing a breather. Just for a second. You haven’t been walking more than fifteen minutes but the terrain makes your feet hurt. Sure, there are clearings between trees and the ground isn’t complete overflowing with obstacles, but they’re still present. The scattered rocks dig in under your shoes and some of the bushes you pass by have sharp leaves or thorns—but it’s the sprawling root systems that prove to be the worst. They crawl across the ground like they can’t decide whether they want to be part of it or not, and more than once you stub your toe on a hidden tube arching a few inches out of the mossy soil.

A part of you almost has to remind yourself that you’re here because you’re looking for somebody, rather than being trapped here trying to evade something. The adrenaline and fear are starting to get the best of you, make you too antsy, warp your senses. You’re deep in the forest now, but not enough to feel the wind disappear yet—you can still hear it rattling around above you, leaves slapping against each other, branches creaking as they tower over you. You almost wish it were quiet. You don’t feel comforted by the breeze anymore, it doesn’t feel like an ever present reassurance as much as it does a burden that masks the noises you could otherwise be hearing. The snapping of twigs that could potentially be there. The crunching of leaves under feet that aren’t your own.

So. You should probably admit now that this was actually a horrendous idea. Because you’re fucking stupid for not realizing this earlier, but. Din ventured into this hellscape to find a quarry, did he not?

A… wanted criminal.

Shit. What the fuck. That’s a hell of a fucking thing to register this late, isn’t it?

You can turn around, you figure. You can turn around right now and head back to the campsite—actually, that sounds like a great idea. You should do that.

You spin around and begin retracing your steps… which, you figure out about five minutes later, is an impossible feat. None of your surroundings look familiar—or shit, maybe it all looks familiar. Like… trees. And fucking rocks. Trying to distinguish landmarks is almost impossible now, and there’s no way to tell which direction you’re going with no visibility overhead, no celestial body to guide you.

You don’t immediately panic, not until you (quite literally) stumble upon a small stream of water flowing through some stones under your feet.

Well, okay. That’s not good. Okay, well, no, you suppose that could be good. It’s water—it’s a landmark, sure, the tiniest little landmark you've ever seen, but that’s exactly the problem. You’ve never seen it before. Which means you’re most definitely not going in the right direction.

At this point, the only option you have is to turn around again. Maybe you can unintentionally make the same series of stupid mistakes once more to start you right at the beginning. The kid is still glancing around in his cradle, making sure no harm comes to your useless ass, but then you freeze when you begin to hear something in the distance.

It’s an unfamiliar sound—a deafening one, even from this far away. Long and echoing, a giant chorus of… something. Something you’ve never heard before, something you can’t place.

Your heart is thundering as you walk closer to the source of it, moving slowly and cautiously forwards and having no clue what it could possibly be. It doesn’t seem to amplify much as you travel closer, which means it must be a ways away still. It’s terrifying nonetheless—the anticipation, how sweaty your hands are, the way you’re very aware of the muscles in your stomach for some reason.

The baby coos softly at your side, but the suddenness of the gentle noise nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You gasp and look down at him for the first time in what feels like ages, clutching at your chest, but then—

—then footsteps rush you from behind and something grabs at your shirt.

You react completely on instinct, your body nearly throbbing with adrenaline as you whip around and launch a mean jab aimed at the dark silhouette behind you. It slams directly into his solar plexus hard enough to bend him in half and ripple through your whole arm with the blowback. Your other fist pulls back and instantly goes for him again, but he just barely manages to jerk his arm up and block it in time—

And thank the Maker he does. Because you were just an inch shy from colliding your knuckles against the side of his head in your wild stage of panic. The one currently covered in devastatingly strong, shiny metal, the helmet just barely visible in the dark forest.

It’s like it doesn’t even register with you—you’re already going to hit him again when Din’s hand hooks around your arm and he yanks you forwards. Your body slams into his and then he’s wrapping himself around you and holding suffocatingly tight. Everything inside you still wants to struggle against him, gasping into his shoulder as your heart continues to gallop with terror no matter what your logic tells you. But he holds harder than steel and the sound of his voice eventually returns to you after a moment, repeating harsh words at you through a familiar vocal filter.

“—me, it’s me, it’s me, I’m right here, stop it, stop it, stop—”

You blink desperately against black fabric, letting the familiar scent, touch, and embrace bring you back down again. He’s so solid—has such a strong hold on you, absolutely no give to be found, and the devastatingly tight embrace manages to quickly settle you.

But he doesn’t wait long. As soon as you stop fighting him, he releases you in favor of grabbing your shoulders and shoving you out at arm’s length, frantically jerking the helmet up and down your body and twisting you back and forth while he looks. Your arms dangle with the inspection and you readily let him move you around like a rag doll, not having enough sense to register anything beyond safe. You’re safe. Everything seems to exist in a box right now, far away and yet compact at the same time. The visor snaps back up to your face and you blink dazedly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately tell him, voice pitched high and awkward, “woah, hah—whew, ahah—I’m sorry, I-I’m just—“

His fingers hook at your chin and he pulls it up, tilting your head back and forth, allowing the small patch of moonlight beaming through the treetops to catch the water in your eyes. It glints in shameless betrayal, and you try unsuccessfully to blink it away despite the damage already being done. Din drops his arm and you lower your chin without the platform propping it up.

“You just—you just—” you gasp out, delayed relief suddenly filling you and making your voice wobble dangerously, “—y-you went on a hunt but you left your armor. You left your guns, you left everything. I didn’t know—what could’ve happened, I—why’d you do that? W-Why—why didn’t you t-tell m—”

He wraps his hand behind your head and pulls you into his chest once more, not saying a single word. This hug is just as tight as before, just in a different way. He still uses it as a way to calm you and it still squeezes the air from your body, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s entirely for your benefit anymore.

It takes you a few more seconds to realize his hands are trembling.

You go to pull back, but he tightens, anchoring you to him. “What’s—” you gasp against the fabric covering his shoulder, “—what’s wrong? Are you okay? Where’s the quarry? What’s—what’s making that sound? Are we safe?”

Din takes slow, shallow breaths, and you hear it almost too well with your ear shoved against his body. Little by little, he loosens his grip on you. Both of you are still panting by the time you’re able to wrench back and look up at him.

Bare, shaky hands push your hair back away from your face, eventually coming to rest framing both of your cheeks. They’re warm and strong where his fingers wrap around the bend of your jaw, securing you in place, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s been through hell and back.

“Don’t ever,” Din whispers brokenly, tugging a little bit to make sure you’re listening. “Don’t ever—ever run away from me like that. Ever again. Understand?”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and dumb, unmoving. Is that what he thinks? That you were trying to… to run away from him?

“I—I wasn’t running,” you immediately stutter out, blinking rapidly at him and trying not to let the confusion show on your face. “I’d never run—I-I told you I wouldn’t—”

“I came back and you were gone,” he breathes, his quivering thumbs brushing along the height of your cheekbones. “I—my kid, he was gone, everything was gone, I-I…” The helmet shakes back and forth the slightest bit, and then he drops his grip to clamp down on your shoulders, clearing the fragile turmoil from his throat and hardening his tone. “Listen, you can’t do that—you can’t take my kid and just… just disappear like that, please, promise me you won’t do that agai—”

“You disappeared,” you accuse with a whisper, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.

“Promise me,” he urges, shaking you enough to make your head bobble just slightly, and the quiet plead of his voice through the modulator compels you to acquiesce without a second thought.

“I promise I won’t disappear,” you vow to him, unwavering and earnest. “Now promise you won’t, either.”

Din stares at you for a moment, his body tense and completely stationary. He’s still breathing heavy though, his chest rising and falling hard enough for you to count. One, two, three… Seven. Seven whole breaths, before he finally responds.

“I promise,” he eventually declares, before taking a step forward and crowding you, pulling your shoulders in and slowly tilting his helmet down until it rests against your forehead. The cool metal feels like ice on your burning skin—but you ignore it and allow him to get as close as he can possibly be, to hold you tight and keep you there. “I promise,” he goes on, “that if you ever—that if something ever happens to you two, and you just… just vanish on me like that again—then I’d—I’d…”

And then his next words steal the air from your lungs, wipe your head clear of any thoughts whatsoever—the hushed, vehement sincerity in his voice. Yet… calm. Certain, composed, and with purpose. Almost as if he could only get you to understand one thing, then he would want it to be this.

“Then I’d tear this whole galaxy apart to find you,” he tells you quietly, tightening his hands on your arms and swearing an oath to you. “Both. Both of you. I’d—I’d never stop. I’d rain hell. Tell me you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you finally murmur, and Din quickly pulls you to his chest and wraps himself around you once more without another word. His fingers tangle in your hair and encourage you to rest your face in the crook of his neck, so you do. Even though his helmet jabs uncomfortably at your cheek like this, you do your best to just settle down and breathe him in, bring your hands up to rub at his back and wait for his heart rate to slow.

Eventually it does. It seems like it takes ages, but eventually he's able to unwind his large stature from around you, letting you have a bit more of your own space. He doesn’t take his hands off you, though—his palm drags down your elbow and catches your bare hand in his, gently tugging.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, beginning to lead you… somewhere. Probably out of the forest and back to the ship, but you don’t question it and completely forget about the low rumbling still echoing in the distance. You follow directly behind him and away from the mysterious sound, the fingers of your right hand still laced with his left, knowing there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Din,” you whisper, but he doesn’t need anymore prompting.

“I thought I’d be quick enough,” he admits, pulling you along by your hand. “It’s barely been a couple hours.”

You stay silent and focus on your feet, letting him go at his own pace. More than once he plays bodyguard, standing in front of wickedly sharp branches while you and the kid pass, and there’s never anything said beyond a quiet ‘thank you’ every time he does it.

“I’ve…” he says after a while. “I’ve been doing this job for awhile. And there are things… things you learn. Quick. Ways to predict people, ways to get in their heads. Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry. Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people. Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring. But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists. The ones that don’t ever put up a fight. Watch your feet.”

You blink and stumble over a hidden root nonetheless, trying to keep up both physically and mentally. Din tightens his grip and catches you by your elbow.

“This one was like you,” he goes on, pulling you up and leading you forward once more. “Wasn’t trying to run. Just wanted to spend his last few months hiding out on the most beautiful place in the galaxy before he got caught.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up? Why’d you go in the middle of the night?” You whisper, not upset anymore. Just trying to understand. “You couldn’t have waited until morning?” But Din just shrugs.

“I didn’t want to remind you.” His sentence is short and stunted, yet serves to answer all three of your questions without providing any information beyond that, the unspoken sentiment barreling forth and smashing into you full force. He didn’t want to remind you. He wanted to leave while you were asleep and then return before you woke up, never letting you remember that responsibilities exist beyond this gorgeous planet for the time being.

You’re a bit shocked, to be honest. In hindsight, though, you suppose it makes sense. Din was the one who navigated to this sector, kept the bag out of your reach the whole day. If the kid had decided to wake up just an hour or two later, he would’ve been back by then, and you would’ve never known any different.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, and a wave tiredness suddenly grips you. Fuck. Too much thinking. “The quarry went willingly, they always do when their last wish is to chase down a pretty landscape. Nice guy. Found him camped out by a giant—”

Din suddenly goes oddly quiet, and you’re too exhausted to push it. You’re starting to drag a little bit. You woke up in blind panic and have been on edge ever since, and now that you know things are okay, your body just wants more sleep. The trees blur as you keep moving forward, zoning out and knowing you likely have another few miles of walking before you’re back.

You almost trip over him. You don’t even notice he’s there until you nearly run into him. In your defense, the only visible part of him is his helmet; the clothing is too dark under the thick treetops to see anything else. Still, it takes you a second, and you blink down at Din’s crouched figure in front of you, blocking your intended path.

“Up,” he turns to mutter over his shoulder when you ultimately fail to comprehend.

…There’s no way.

Hesitantly, you lift one of your knees to his side and feel his arm firmly hook under it. Emboldened, you lean down until your forearm can wrap around the front of him, and then you do a stupid little bunny hop along the curve of his spine. Din easily catches your other leg before rising up.

He bounces you higher on his back once he’s upright, and you’re automatically resting your chin on his shoulder and clinging to him, your heart filling with butterflies as he begins trudging forward.

It’s… oddly comfortable. As long as you keep your arms wrapped tight around his chest, you can bury your face into him and drift in and out. He goes out of his way to keep you as level as you can possibly be, trying to soften his steps so your jaw doesn’t bounce on top of him while he steps over fallen logs and ducks to avoid low hanging leaves.

Later—you’re not sure how long it’s been, his voice comes through the modulator, ringing with your ear pressed against the helmet no matter how quiet he tries to be.

“How’d you know I went on a hunt?” He asks, and there’s a soft reservation in his tone, as if he doesn’t really want to speak but needs to ask you anyways.

“Mmm?” You slur into the fabric stretching over his shoulder, probably drooling on it a bit, too. “Hmm?”

His voice increases marginally in volume, but still maintains a gentle undertone that lulls you into relaxing deeper. “You knew I left to look for the quarry—how?”

“Fob,” you tell him tiredly, not having much energy to spare the words. “Wasn’t in the bag.”

You’re too out of it at this point, it takes a moment to realize Din has abruptly slowed down. “How’d you know there was a tracking—”

“You’re… reflective?” You ask, though you don’t really know why you’re asking. “S’to your detriment. Sometimes.”

That seems to stun him somewhat, halting him in place for the time being. The biggest response it gets from you is the tiniest little eyebrow twitch inwards, wondering why the steady movements of your transportation seems to have temporarily stalled. “How’d you know I left my armor?”

“Hmm?” You ask again, not really hearing him.

“Hey, stay awake for a second,” he bounces you and you groggily mutter something under your breath that even you can’t comprehend. Din glosses over it while you blink your eyes open. “Tell me how you knew. You didn’t go back to the Crest.”

You drag your head off his shoulder and squint around, looking around at the edge of the forest and the flowing grass beyond and trying to think with your stupid, tired brain, really needing to focus on the question. “…No?”

The curiosity in his voice can’t be masked, not by him nor the filter through which it’s processed. “So how did you know I left my armor on it?”

“You would’ve left a trail,” you shrug. “The grass is tall.”

“I could’ve just taken the path we made earlier,” he eventually proposes, still completely motionless in the middle of the relatively sparse number of trees leading to it. “Gone back to the ship exactly the way we came.”

“Y’could’ve,” you admit with a yawn. “But the ship is that way,” you lazily raise your arm and point a good fifty or so degrees to the left, and Din follows his own outstretched gauntlet you’re still sporting around your hand with the visor.

“I’m impressed,” he finally says, shifting you on his back but perfectly content to keep his feet rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think you had a good sense of direction. You know where the Crest is on this planet but not when we were on Canto Bight.”

You snort a laugh. No, no you have no such thing—you got lost as fuck in this forest. A good sense of direction counts as a solid survival skill, and you’d say you still very much lack most of those. Besides pulling water out of thin air, you can’t claim to know much of anything at all in that department.

“Mmm. No, that was just—“ you shake your head. “Y’know, jus’ some… panicked? Math? That’s all.”

“Panicked…” Din repeats slowly, “…math.”

You nod, frustrated that he’s still not moving, clearly waiting for you to explain your rapid, chaotic thought process from earlier. Still, you do your best for him, trying not to slur your words too much. “We… walked towards the sun this morning to get to the field. I remember, because your shiny ass was blinding me the entire time, what must’ve been like. A whole fucking hour? At least. And… and then we walked a little less to get here, forty-five minutes probably, then me ‘n the kid watched the sunset leaning up against that one log, which was at a solid angle—little more than fifty degrees to the right from the path. You could’ve retraced your steps from earlier if you really wanted to, but taking the shortcut would’ve shaved off about...” you snuggle your face into his shoulder deeper for a moment and think really hard about it. “Thirty minutes? Or an hour round trip. Give or take, since the kid slowed us down.”

He still doesn’t move, and you huff quietly, feeling like you’re on top of a stubborn blurg that just can’t be fucking bothered. Should you squeeze your legs around his middle? Will that work?

“You… went on a hunt, sweet girl,” Din finally says, bluntly, after way too long of a pause. He sounds vaguely impressed for reasons beyond that of your comprehension right now. “In your own little… panicked way. How does it feel?”

“Unsuccessful,” you breathe, burying your forehead into his shoulder once more and blinking your eyes shut. Too much thinking, too much thinking. You need to sleep.

“You were on the right track,” he hums, bouncing you up and setting off again, and you can’t help yourself. It’s completely involuntary, tumbles out of your mouth without thought.

“Craziest bounty hunter in the guild,” you slur, and Din doesn’t give you even a shred of the laughs that deserves.

“I should make you walk just for that,” he threatens instead, though he does no such thing. He just keeps leaning forward in a position that can’t be comfortable for him and lets you fall asleep on his back, holding you tight to his body as he finally breaks out of the last trees and continues hiking through the familiar field to go back home.

***

You rouse twice. Once, when hands allow your legs to slowly slide down a firm body and settle on solid metal. He spins around to catch you before you can collapse, and then slowly eases your exhausted body down to the floor.

A bare hand cradles the back of your head until that finally settles down, too.

The second time, you can’t quite be sure of. One of those moments where you’re barely conscious, drifting to the point where everything around you could be part of your dreamscape, where you can’t trust your own ears or mind to differentiate between what is real and what isn’t. All you’d need is a single person telling you this didn’t actually happen and you’d accept it without question.

Pacing. Quiet footsteps moving back and forth across the floor as you sleep, pausing every once in a while to stand in front of your slumbering figure. Something unintelligible is mumbled as he walks away, the hollow thunk of boots clambering up a ladder. Engines rumble to life under your ear, and gravity gently pushes you deeper against the flat metal supporting your body.

The footsteps soon return and start to pace around once more.

***

“Hey,” a quiet voice murmurs, your shoulder rocking back and forth slightly. “Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open to a familiar visor looking down at you, his hand quickly leaving your shoulder and brushing a gloved thumb across your cheekbone when he sees you’re awake. “Mm? Din? Wha’s—” you glance around you at the dark hull of the Razor Crest, before blinking your tired gaze back to him, “—s’going on? Wha’ time s’it?”

“Late,” he whispers. “We’re in the air. I had to wait until the kid was asleep, but I want… I want you to see something.”

“What is it?” Still blinking blearily, you sit up, but then Din grabs your hands and keeps your momentum going until you’re slowly dragged to your feet. What you do when you’re standing upright doesn’t really qualify as standing or upright—you just sag against him with exhaustion as he wraps his forearms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tight against him as your ankles drag uselessly against the ground.

“Use your feet,” he reminds you quietly, and you harumph in a grumpy response. Maker, you want to go back to sleep. You’re sure you tell him as much, but he just shushes you and encourages you to hold yourself up, letting go while you steady yourself but hovering his palms a few inches away from your arms just in case. “I want you to put my helmet on.”

“Excuse me?” You ask him, swaying slightly and rubbing one of your eyes, not feeling amused. “Is this some kind of… power trip? Or something? Because you’ve spent the last few days literally beating me up, I’d assume that would be enough for y—”

“I let you beat me up,” he grumbles under his breath. “How are you ever gonna take a punch if it hurts you that bad to just throw one, sweet girl?”

“I’ll punch first,” you respond groggily, trying to move forwards so you can lean on him again, but being stopped by a firm grip on your shoulders.

“I know you will,” he mutters, letting go after a second to brush your hair away from your squinty eyes. “Listen, I want you to put my helmet on, okay?”

You nuzzle your head into his leather palm and hum, giving it some thought. “Are you gonna… turn on the light thingie?” You clarify, not being able to remember what the setting is called, and he nods.

“Yes,” he tells you very seriously. “There’s a… stars, a ‘noise thingie’ that I’ll turn on, too. You won’t be able to see or hear for a little bit—you’ll have to trust me.”

“Is this for sex?” You blurt as soon as the thought occurs to you, and Din sighs heavily, letting his head drop to his chest in exasperation. “Like some sort of a… sensory deprivation thing? Because if so, I can like—I mean I can get into it.”

“If I say yes, will you put it on?” He tries, and. Well, that question shouldn’t wake you up nearly as much as it does. You blink at him, actually registering the sight of the mirrored visor this time. Your gaze drops to see he’s back in full beskar regalia, his body looking even larger and broader with it on.

“Oh,” you say quite suddenly, remembering the question. “Oh. Shit yeah, I will.”

He shakes his head. You’re getting better and better at reading him—becoming more fluent in helmet, one could say—and this head shake says he can’t believe he’s actually surprised that worked. “It’s not for sex,” he tells you immediately, deadpanning the delivery even more than he typically would. “Will you still put it on?”

You look at him blankly, wondering why this is even happening. He said you’re in the air right now, and there’s… something he wants you to see? Whatever this is, it’s spur of the moment. Something he felt the need to wake you up for, but likely won’t push if you decline.

“Yeah,” you nod, “'course I will.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up slightly in the dim hull so he can watch. Since they already want to do so regardless of the gentle command, your lids readily dip shut and you wait patiently as his touch leaves you for a moment.

You’re already sagging a bit by the time one of his hands returns to your cheek, and then plush lips press gently to yours. The sigh you give him is completely involuntary—aching and quiet and longing as you let it go right in his mouth, your expression narrowing with concentration.

But he’s quick. He leans back before either of you can get lost in it and reminds you with a gorgeous, rumbling baritone, “You’ll have to trust me.”

You nod in confirmation and soon his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head. This is the second time around he’s done this—and you suppose if you couple that with your still lazy demeanor, the silent darkness that comes along with it doesn’t bother you as much as it did a few months ago. The padding still grips your cheeks and you still feel disconnected from your surroundings—even more so now than the last time he put it on you—but it’s welcoming, in a way. Giving you a reason to cling to him and tilt your head with the unfamiliar weight, breathing slow and easy while isolated in your own little pitch black world.

Oh Maker, you could probably fall asleep again just like this, so long as he keeps holding you up. But Din has other plans, clearly. He eases you backwards, continues to walk you back and back and back some more, and you have no problem just going with it. He’s strong, taking almost all of your weight and somehow instinctively knowing how to hold you so that you’re fully supported no matter how you’re positioned. He shifts you to one arm at one point, does something with his free hand that you can’t really figure out but aren’t really bothered by either.

He guides you both a few more steps backwards, and you start to wonder how long the hull actually is. But then he suddenly grabs you tight—tight enough to make your eyes pop open to the black void in front of you and panic slightly, before he tilts you back even more and suddenly the ground is dropping out from under your feet, the air rushing silently around your entire body.

Okay, now you full-on panic.

He doesn’t let go, thank the stars, even when you scramble up to straddle and cling to him, heart clanging hard against your sternum at his fucking audacity. The jet pack? Are there just no fucking rules anymore?

Sure enough, the thrusters kick in and he’s good enough with the phoenix to counteract the gravity shift as much as possible, making it a gradual thing instead of a rapid change in motion. You’re almost confident you would’ve slipped out of his grip and gone slamming to the ground had he not done the preventative maneuver.

Regardless, you’re gonna fucking kill him. You’re going to murder Mando and get your own bounty puck, one with your name on it. It won’t end well; everyone after you will have a personal vendetta considering you offed one of their own. If you survive the confrontation then you’ll likely get taken to mine spice somewhere for the rest of your miserable life, probably Kessel—that is, assuming he doesn’t kill you first, within the next however many minutes.

And oh, he seems like he takes his sweet fucking time, hauling your fuming, decapitated ass along on a late night joyride. Every second he continues to allow you to fly in blind, deaf isolation is another butt whooping you’re vowing to give him, and it pisses you off even more that you can’t even express your righteous fury because you can’t let go of him. You’re a parasite in midair, clinging to his metal body while he slowly descends, navigating you both down until you feel his boots finally meet solid ground.

You carefully reach for the ground with one foot and try to feel it with your tippie toes just in case he’s somehow tricking you, until Din drops you down and your feet mercifully meet dirt. As soon as you find your balance, you shove an open palm against the metal of his chestplate in anger and Din quickly catches your wrist, the beskar shaking slightly under your hand like he found the whole thing rather humorous.

You don’t have much time to fuss. He spins you around and then his hands settle on your shoulders, and for some reason… you only notice it now. The fabric covering your torso and legs is gradually becoming damp for some reason. You can’t feel any real splashes of water—no raindrops or anything, but it gets worse and worse the longer he holds you steady in front of him.

His hands eventually drag down your arms and elbows, until they’re catching your wrists and slowly pulling both of them up. Din cradles the backs of your hands as he presses your palms against the cold metal helmet around your head, and then he gradually begins to pull it up, and—

—Loud.

You stop for a second.

… Tears spring up.

Din keeps pulling.

What starts out as a dull hiss continuously amplifies as the beskar slowly lifts, growing louder and louder in volume until it’s a deafening, violent, thunderous roar.

Yet still, you don’t open your eyes. You just… listen to it. Let the sound of it fill your heart, the same sound you caught earlier in the forest but now amplified exponentially, almost surrounding you with reverberating white noise. Your whole body is practically drenched in water by the time you finally open your eyes and blink through the heavy mist.

He said no oceans, and he was right. It isn’t an ocean—it’s… something so unbelievably beautiful that you don’t even have a name for it. You don’t want one, not really. There isn’t a name that would be good enough. It’s easily—by and far, in your measley handful of decades of existence—the most majestic thing you’ve ever seen. A gigantic, enormous cliff dwarfs you on three sides, with tens of thousands of tons of water arcing over their sharp edges and plunging into the rocky lake below.

The cloud of droplets ricocheting from the base of the jaw dropping cascade is massive in and of itself—easily taking up a good quarter of your field of view even from this distance away. The shore sits close enough but the spectacle is still somewhat distant, remaining an untouchable heaven, a gorgeous lake separating you from it and rippling with waves that settle to lap at the sand.

The rest of the setting comes later, after you’re able to process the main event. You’re in the middle of the forest from before—familiar colossal trees wrap around the shoreline and vibrant shrubbery blankets the edges of the falling water, evergreen and fed by a constant nourishing mist. The sun is also beginning to come up. You can’t see it yet, but you can see the way the sky is starting to gradient itself from a starry midnight blue to pale lavender, the first rays beginning to peak over the treetops.

You feel yourself take a few, slow steps forward, but leather catches your hand from behind and gives it a firm squeeze before you can move completely out of reach. You don’t even have to look back at him to know what it means. The sentiment transfers seamlessly—be careful, he says, before dropping it and letting you continue forth.

Reaching the shore brings even more beauty to a backdrop you didn’t think could get any better. You have to carefully step over—oh, heavens—small, transparent crystals tinted every color you can imagine to reach the water, sparkling under the gently lapping waves. They’re like thin, flat shards of glass, and you know that if the sound of the falling water wasn’t so deafening, you’d probably be able to hear the muted crunching noise they make shattering under your boots with every cautious step. Jagged edges and multicolored powder is all that’s left in your wake, no matter how careful you try to be.

You almost don’t want to move since they’re so delicate and everywhere, probably blanketing the entire floor of the lake, but you push forward with purpose until you’re just close enough to squat down and dip your fingers into the cool water. It’s crystal clear and reflects the lightening sky with every gentle ripple and disturbance. You study the pieces of glass as the repetitive waves distort their shape, the colorful shards turning to smooth, round pebbles the closer they are to the water. A large green one catches your eye—circular and comparatively tiny, but standing out amongst all the rest.

You pluck it from the shore and let the almost perfectly round emerald sphere roll around in your palm, scanning the shallow water once more. Then, ah—there, you reach out and grab a slightly larger, heavier, unassuming brown one that you have to hold up to the gradually rising sun to see its sparkle. It’s got harder edges and feels rougher in your hand but you like it that way. You like that there’s a bit of a warm amber at its center when the light hits it right.

Perfect. Taking another moment to study your choices, you eventually end up finding a gorgeous, slightly pearlescent piece that sits just between the size of the other two in your collection. It’s tinted a pale, off-white amongst a sea of color and there’s something gentle about it that speaks to you, something that feels right about the gradual sloping curves and how it sits in your palm.

Carefully pocketing the three pieces of fragile glass and rising up, you glance back to see Din standing there, helmet on once more and frozen right where you last left him.

He looks… awkward, almost. Holding his hands behind his back, all his weight shifted to one foot while the other twists back and forth against the ground just slightly. Nervous, for some reason. Feeling unsure of his place. The posture tugs at your heartstrings, as well as the spectacular gesture, and you soon make your way back to him.

“Where did you… where did you find this!?” You have to yell over the rushing water once you get close enough. “I didn’t see anything on the navcomp—”

“—wasn’t—navcomp—” he replies, barely just loud enough for you to hear. You miss most of it, but you’re able to piece together the gist based on what little you can catch. “—quarry—isolated sector—uncharted.”

Uncharted. It’s uncharted, the navcomp wouldn’t register it. Untouched by millennia of progress. Plenty of people have probably seen it before, but apparently none of them have ever told anybody about it. The universe is vast but it’s also old—it’s unbelievable that cartographers have plotted almost the entire galaxy but they still missed something like this.

The roar of the marvel is so deafening, it takes you a moment to realize he’s still speaking

“—nobody—yet—it—” he nods the helmet out at the spectacular landmark, “—it’s yours—you want—”

“My what!?” You bellow, but he doesn’t clarify or add anything new. He just spins you around again, extending his arm out over your shoulder to point at the breathtaking view and then dropping his helmet down next to your ear.

“Yours,” Din repeats firmly, resolutely. Nothing more to be said.

You’re not sure if you’re crying yet, there’s too much water in the air to tell. All you can do is just instinctively lean all your weight back into his chest and let his arms lace around your body, and you have to blink the droplets away as they start to trail down your forehead and into your eyes. He keeps you like that until the rising sun begins to reflect off the cloud of mist at the rocky base of the monument, scattering light in all directions and splitting it into a beautiful spectrum that reflects every color.

You wonder if Din can see it. You wonder if there’s a filter on his helmet that isn’t infrared or night vision, where a computer isn’t constantly alerting him to movement or sudden changes in atmospheric pressure. Just… pure, unobstructed, visible light. You know there’s probably all sorts of tracking measures programmed in, you know he can zoom and spot a sniper from a vast distance—you know he sees things you don’t. Things you won’t ever see. But you also hope the visor isn’t shaded too dark—you hope there’s a setting that works like a one way mirror, if only so that he can also see the beauty of this planet the same exact way you can.

You eventually turn in his arms and take one small step away from him just so you can look at him, and sure enough, the visor is tilted up towards the natural beauty. Your eyes study every inch of him as if you’ve never seen him before, as if he may as well have taken the helmet off right in front of you. This is thoughtful. It’s so fucking thoughtful of him. For being such a mystery, this right here… this is soul bearing. It’s not an ocean, it’s a million times better than one and the fact that he not only remembered you telling him something like that, but he actually flew you out here to see it. It makes your chest ache with an unknown feeling, one you still have trouble recognizing. It settles down right in the softest part of you, makes your mouth open and give it a four letter name.

You say it so softly, confess it knowing he’s not looking, knowing he’d never be able to hear above the sound of the cascading rapids crashing against the rocks below. You can’t hear it either, but you can feel it. The way the word lilts off your tongue, the simple truth in it that’s impossible to hide from any longer.

He glances back at you, before doing a double take. Gently, Din pushes at your shoulder and urges you to face forward again, to take all of it in while you still can, and yet.

All you can see is him.

His head slowly turns back down to face you, and your eyes keep shamelessly scanning every bit of him, watching the mist droplets chase each other down the reflective metallic curves and contours of his helmet. Din slowly leans in, carefully eases his arm under yours and wraps tight around your lower back to bring you closer to his side. You sigh and press up against him, your palm creeping up the damp fabric wrapped around his throat. The visor doesn’t leave you, even when your temple comes to rest against his pauldron. No, he just allows the smooth metal covering his forehead to gently touch yours for a moment and hold there. Both of you tucked away in the middle of a hidden paradise, standing in front of a gorgeous monument crafted by the hands of the Maker himself.

And, like the two starry eyed idiots you are, neither one of you can seem to look away from the other.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, hoping he can read the heartfelt candor from your lips. Something tells you your message was received, because his grip tightens. As if in slow motion, his whole body lazily drops down just enough to scoop you up with an arm hooked under your knees—before Din suddenly rockets upwards.

You squeal and cling tight to his shoulders as he lifts you up higher, and higher—he slowly rises across the considerable length of the lake and closer to the falling water. You’re already beyond drenched but as he gradually approaches the base of the falling water, it starts raining down and splashing you in buckets.

Once he’s near enough to the powerful, arcing column pouring over the long rocky edge, Din carefully spins around and hovers until his back faces it, which means you can hide your nose and mouth from the splashes against the armor shielding his shoulder. He slowly rises up the length of the natural landmark and lets you watch the rushing water up close behind the safety of his body, sacrificing his own view so that yours can be all the better.

Eventually the falling waves break and you look down at the broad, gorgeous rapids flowing out towards you, the sun casting its dawning light over their foaming peaks. Din spins around and you adjust yourself accordingly against his chest, knowing you’ll never have a view like this again. He flies low along the river and you can see the colorful glass sparkling through the strong, yet completely transparent current. Soon he levels out and you cling tight to him, burying your face in the soaking wet fabric of the cowl wrapped around his neck and sighing, unable to recall a time you’ve ever been happier. It swells in your heart and warms your entire body even as it’s drenched in cool water, and you wonder again how he could’ve ever thought you were running from him. How could he ever think you’d run from him when all he’s ever done is give you wings?

***

The Crest hurdles through hyperspace while Din silently removes his armor and then strips you both of your sopping wet clothes. You remember your glass souvenirs at the very last second and carefully remove them from your pockets despite your closed eyes, reaching out to hand them to Din without looking. His palm catches the pebbles with the quiet sound of them clinking together, and you feel him pause for a second, probably studying them as he cradles them in the dim, single fluorescent light he left on.

You feel him leave you momentarily, hear him gently set them down someplace safe without a word. When he comes back and his warm arms snake around you once more, he lowers you down to the blankets and then proceeds to make the softest love to you he knows how on the floor of his ship.

A small part of you wishes you were still on Naboo, but somehow. Somehow, despite the dead quiet hull, it’s better than anything you can remember.

His naked body presses tight to yours, his mouth always open and tasting wherever you’ll let him venture, never letting you forget for a single second that he’s just as bare and exposed as you are. Your hands take full advantage, feeling everything. The strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself over you, the soft hair curling at his nape, the length of his spine shielding you from the rest of the ship, allowing you the opportunity to pretend you’re somewhere else if you really tried. If you tried, you could convince yourself you’ve got a mattress beneath you instead of a blanket draped over hard steel. You could convince yourself your eyes are open while he kisses you, despite knowing it’ll never be allowed.

But… you don’t. You don’t need to. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

And then at one point, his mouth is between your legs and you see a flash of his forehead on complete accident.

To see it on any other person would be nothing, it would mean absolutely nothing. It’s not like it somehow makes him anymore recognizable to you—plenty of people share the same exact features, you still wouldn’t know him out of a trillion different faces. He could walk right by you and you’d never know. Technically, it’s not even his face—it’s just a small fragment of it. But to you, the quickest glimpse of dark, wavy locks curtaining over the smooth, golden skin just below his hairline… it means everything to you. You sear it into your memory, right alongside the sight of crystalline water roaring over an enormous cliff edge.

You never tell him you saw. He never finds out.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #fanfic #reader insert

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sarahlevys · 2 years

Note

For your clueless au!

1-15 thanks love u❤️❤️

you're so extra 🤪❤️

Rollin' With the Homies

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

it just happened! haha. i knew the movie had a first person narration and i expected to just do that for the very beginning and end, and then it felt weird to stop and suddenly switch to third... so i kept with it!

i also did some backwards math, assuming that alexis is 30 in 2018, and decided to set the fic in the 2000s instead of the 1990s, like the movie, because that's when the characters would've been this age.

2: What scene did you first put down?

i outlined and wrote everything in the order of the fic, so the beginning's the first!

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

Between you and me, a lot of people like to treat me like I'm stupid. And I don't know why, since I'm perfectly smart! I just don't care to, like, worry about stuff that doesn't matter. But Twyla looks at me like the things I have to say actually are important, and that they aren't dumb. It just means a lot.

i thought a lot about how alexis would describe her relationship with twyla, since the fic was written in first person. i didn't want the narration to feel forced, like something she wouldn't say, and i also wanted it to ring true with the theme of 'being clueless' from the movie. i really like how this turned out.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

"The truth is that I have been in love with you since that first weekend we spent together, when Mutt came into the picture but then you came home with me. I am so crazy about you, Twy, I swear I can't stop thinking about you. You make me feel like – like I'm not totally clueless, you know? Like I could be better. Like I could be the way you see me."

in the movie, cher doesn't really have a big romantic declaration to josh, but twyla's the tai character in this AU and part of alexis' journey in SC is how she learns to be brave with her emotions. so i always knew i wanted to write something like this. i like how it ties into the snippet from #3.

5: What part was hardest to write?

honestly, i wrote this fic super fast and it flowed really easily... it's probably the fastest i've ever written a fic. i think basing it off of a movie i knew really well and having a pretty detailed outline helped. i was writing 700+ words in 15 minute sprints 😅 that said, it was also exhausting to write so quickly, so i'd say deciding to take on a new fic and writing almost 10K in one week, while the fest was going on, was the hardest part.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

the first person narration! i don't think i'm going to do it again, but i'm really happy with how it ended up.

7: Where did the title come from?

the classic brittany murphy scene from the movie, of course! given that twyla's tai, it was a no-brainer.

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

i based a lot of miscellaneous details about this fic on being in high school during the early 2000s, just like alexis and the gang.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

nope!

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

why not?! haha. @schittposting requested this au a long time ago and it always stuck in my mind. and i'm a sucker for a happily ever after with a/t, d/p, and s/r, so it had to happen.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

i think it's fun to read! i wanted to write something fluffy and light and hopefully this delivered on that.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

i wish it was shorter, because i was busting my butt to finish it, lol, but i'm glad it turned out the way it is. i also wish i had more alexis and david moments in it.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

anything from the early 2000s!

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

that alexis and twyla are meant to be? 😌

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

movie aus are fun!

(ask me questions about any of my fics!)

#usersteen #danieljradcliffe #fic: rollin' with the homies #meme repsonse

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dylanxmin · 4 years

Text

we were strangers | knj

part of ‘The Chronicles of Y/N’ Collab. - @heartsforbtsnet

pairing; kim namjoon x reader

genre; fluff, humor, and angst, strangers to lovers au? high school au

rating; pg15

warnings; slight swearings, light angst where can be harsh for someone (but not THAT harsh)

word count; 10k

summary; y/n recieves a love letter in her locker

a/n; this fic suppose to be a ‘short’ one but, it turned out as 10k, and i don’t know how this is happened. it was out of blue guys i swear! lol,, i hope you are all can enjoy while reading this fic, and love it as well. thank you for reading, and feedbacks are always appreciated by me, just for the records! love you, all ♡

You’re feeling the pressure of the hands as they met with your skin to hold you safe from not knocking off the ground, familiarly holding you up, pushing you until your feet’s lost the touch of the ground, as your back tightening with the tension, also with a little fear of from hitting to the ground, but you’d never admit that to yourself or anyone who knows you.

After the last push, while goosebumps taking over your body, frequent throbbing of your pulse hitting you by the neck, finally you were able to feel the ground on your feet now.

“Okay, I guess that’s enough for today,” you said before clapping hands for two times, and your gaze wandered on your teammates while panting in sweat, slightly dripping on your forehead. Your friends who were covered in white and red uniform, cheered up a little, imitatively clapped after you, all breathless under their wet uniforms. “I don’t know what possessed you today, but you were hard on us Y/N,” whiney boy, started to walk towards to you, as the others were walking the opposite direction from you, most of them were mumbling somethings you shouldn’t hear, but you could manage to hear all the curses for you, gossip about how strict you were today, and it was like they did it on purpose to be hearable by you.

“We need to practice more as the matches are soon,” you repeated the words that you said on the last practice, “Do you want to fail, in front of the other teams?” as you continued ironically, your friend’s eyes rolled at you, nodded his head for a couple of time. “Yes, yes. You said these words before Y/N,” he murmured under his breath, hearable enough as he was getting closer to you, but his attitude didn’t irritate you because this was his usual behavior towards you.

Yes, you were a little tight for these couple weeks, but it’s for the best, as you wanted to look good when you are going to present your moves and all. Maybe you were being hard on them, but it’s for the best, and they should be thankful for your efforts on this team, rather than hating you or, gossiping about you. At least, you thought like this, but the others were thinking that you were being a pain in the ass, as they were slightly right.

“Jungkook, I just want to be better, it’s not something bad, am I wrong?” your friend gave a response to you by nodding his head, as the meaning of an agreement. He was standing in front of you know, eyes were looking at you in irony, but you choose to toss it. “I don’t think it’s just because you want to be better, but okay, I’m not going to dig it up.” You watched him as he shrugged, holding his hands beside his body but in return, you rolled your eyes.

Jungkook was talking beside you as you were walking to the showers because you were in sweat and a little dirty due to touching the ground while practicing. He was talking about how he found ‘the one’, describing her, talking about her while you were sinking on your thoughts, and of course, you love to talk with him, but this wasn’t the first time that he thought that he found ‘the one’, which you were sure it wasn’t going to be the last one.

He always finds a new girl that he convince himself about that she was the one, but after a couple of weeks, they would split out, due to the news that she wasn’t ‘the one’, as always. It’s never changed because he was susceptible when it’s come to relationships and you never understand why or, how can someone be like this. You never had a first love or, anything like that. Yes, you had relationships and yes, you had crushs but love was something different, it was more serious than a little crush, and dating for two weeks.

Before taking a shower, you stop at your locker to take your little bag that includes your hair products, but Jungkook was still there, talking about his love, constantly. “I’m telling you Y/N, this time it feels right,” he was excited and talking with you while his eyes sparkling in happiness, brushing his hair for a couple of time, moving on his feet as smiling widely, and you couldn’t help but smile in return, nodding.

As soon as you opened your locker, little brownish paper falls at your feet, taking you by surprise as your friends shut his mouth while scowling his brows. “Is that a letter?” he implies, but you shook your head, kneeling quickly to take the paper before him, “No, no, it’s mine,” you reassured him, with a simple tone for not alarming him, but he was still scowling his brows at you.

“It’s mine Jungkook,” you slightly hit his shoulders as he was exaggerating the situation, but in the truth, he was right and it was a letter.

You didn’t know who put it in here or, why they did it, but still, the last thing you wanted to hear from your best friend that it was a sign for true love or, something close to that.

Luckily, he shrugged and distracted by your teammates as you put the letter at your bag, quickly before getting his attention to yourself. Now, you have to wait to take a shower to read the letter, but you know that it was going to be hard for you because even now, curiosity takes over your body. You couldn’t stop counting the time, as you want to read that letter as fast as you can, taking a shower never felt this long before in your life and you quit showering shorter than your normal routine and if you had to imply this, you didn’t even use your third balm for your face and yes, that’s how much you were dying to read that letter.

Freshly combed hair of yours spreading on your shoulders, it was still wet and dripping water slowly, while you sitting on the bench in the locker room, eagerly taking the brownish paper from your bag, it was wrinkled on the corner and before opening, you tried to fix it but it was useless.

“Here we go,” you said. Panting in excitement, your cheeks already heating up with the feeling of this mysterious letter giving you, and you open the symmetrically closed letter, gently. You paused for a second, as the owner’s handwriting was obviously stunning, and it surprised you, but without wasting another moment you start to read the letter.

‘’

I don’t know how to start this, and I’m not even sure if I’m going to give this letter to you but, here ya’ go.

Y/N, I really like seeing your smile, even if you are not smiling for me, your giggles that appears when you heard a good joke, even they are not mine, I love hearing it, and it fits you so good. Wait, is this getting creepy? I don’t want to sound creepy. This is supposed to be a love letter, not a creepy stalker’s letter.

I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable right now, but after three years I had to tell you about my feelings at this moment because I don’t want to graduate if you are not going to be my date on the ball. L/N Y/N, I love every little detail about you. When your eyes nearly disappear while you are laughing at something, pouting when you get mad at someone or, even something. And mostly, I love seeing you acting bravely, even though you fear from height, you go there and take that jump, while closing your eyes wide shut, clanging your nails to your palm.

As I said before, I love every little detail about you, and I want you to be my date, only if you want it of course, but please don’t just ignore me. At least, you can give me a change right? I’ll be waiting for you,,

‘’

Disaster. It was nothing but a disaster for you. Of course, it's not because someone gave you a love letter, it was a disaster because that person knew your fear of height, and it was unacceptable for you, as no one knows about this. You purposely hide this from everyone because let's be honest, who would let a girl into a cheerleader team as a leader when that girl has acrophobia. Even hearing it was ridiculous, and everybody would make fun of you.

Even your best friends didn't know this information about you. Who is this person? You needed answers, but have no idea about how to get them, but what if you reject this person, what if everyone learns your fear? This is highschool for sake, they would tear your reputation apart. The one you build in years. ''Fuck,'' you sighed, cursed a thousand times under your breath, but the pity hours come to an end, as your eyes reach to the end of the paper, which now you were able to see that there was one part that still staying unfold.

Your blood starts to quicken in your veins, maybe there is a clue about the person who writes this, so you cursed one more time but it was for you this time. How could you not realize that there is more to read?

What is this?

You cursed yourself for nothing, at least you decide to that as your eyes blankly stare the numbers at the end of the letter. Okay, you were not terrible at math, but it wasn't your stronger subject, you sighed in defied. You'll never know who wrote this, and everyone probably will learn about your fear, then they'd mock you all the time. Wonderful! Now you have to learn how to get through your last year without being a dropout.

''-and then I broke up with her. Bro, I'm telling you, it was vicious.'' Jungkook start to laugh, violently shaking while laughing so he ends up kicking the table, bringing you back to the living's world.

''Aish! Can you chill a little?'' you whined.

''Not that you are not right about Jungkook, but what is going on with you lately, Y/N?'' Jimin's curious stares placed on you, while you try to steal his rice from his bowl but he cuts you off, you whined twice. ''I'm okay. There is nothing to tell.''

''I'm serious. The only important thing is Jungkook's break up at the moment, and how he is not devastated after this break-up, huh?'' you tried to change the topic, don't want to be in the spotlight right now. It was the last thing you want at the moment, but as always, your friends were persistent to suffocate you. ''Y/N, we are sitting here almost for twenty minutes now, but you didn't speak for once. Even when Jungkook stole your Kimbap.''

''What?'' you take your eyes from Jimin, furiously landed on Jungkook and his dirty mouth, the mouth that has stains of your food.

''Ahh! Did you have to hit that hard? Off,'' Jungkook, start to rub his arm, where you hit mercilessly, but he deserves that. It's not that you feel hungry, but hitting Jungkook makes you feel better, and honestly, you didn't have any problem with taking your anger on these boys because they had have done worse things than this, so it was okay. But Jimin was right about something that was going on with you.

One week had passed after you find that letter, but there was no progress on finding the one who wrote it, and you were freaking out every moment, fearing that someone will learn about your secret. Maybe, it wasn't a big deal for other people, but this topic was extremely important for you, and you were tense about it.

''Uhh, come on Y/N, tell us already.''

''Okay, okay!'' eventually, you gave up and reach to your backpack for taking the letter. ''I think she is going to stab us?'' Jungkook whispers to Jimin, his eyes looking at his friend wide open, and Jimin replies to him with a simple head shake. Even though you heard his stupid question, you let it slide by your ears, and after finding the letter, you turn to them while pouting.

''Here.'' your friends stared the brown paper that you just throw at the table, their sights wander between on you and the letter, so you sighed before explaining them.

''Do you remember a paper fell from my locker, and I said it was mine?'' Jungkook nods, knitting his brows. ''It wasn't mine.''

''I know it!'' While Jungkook jumps on his chair, standing up while pointing you with his finger, Jimin's stares lands on both of you, confusedly looking at you two. ''Can someone explain this to me?''

''You, my friend, looking at a snake at the moment. She is smooth and would bite you in the right moment.'' With wide-open eyes you stare at him, brows raised in surprise but it didn't last long. You pull him back to his seat before starting to talk, as everyone was looking at you three, and you didn't want this kind of attention at the moment.

''Stop exaggerating the situation, idiot! Just read the damn letter.'' after you, they attack the letter. You just wished for the letter's sake, as you need it as one piece.

While their eyes go right and left swiftly, you take your gaze from them to land on your nails, taking your nail file in your right hand to amuse yourself when they’re reading the letter. Maybe you were exaggerating the situation, and nothing bad would happen if you can't find the one who wrote it, as this was a love letter and that's mean the one who wrote this loves you, so wouldn't do something bad, something that could bring your repetition down. Maybe, this was all your overly working imagination, and everything would be fine.

''What are these numbers at the end?'' Jimin sounds so confused as his eyes were reflecting it, looking with a wide gaze.

''This is the weirdest love letter that I ever seen.'' you nod as a response to Jungkook, even though it was your first love letter. You have no idea about how love letters should be.

''And you received lots of love letters?'' Jimin scoffs.

''Well, I don't think this is the importing thing at the moment, but if you need to know, I did send lots of love letters.'' Jungkook crossed his arms on his chest and landed his gaze on Jimin, confidently.

''Bro, this is not something you should be proud of,'' watching them while they are mocking, provocating each other always made your day better, and for one second, letter vanished from your mind with your anxiety. So you just waited until they finish roasting each other before getting distracted by the letter, and turning their eyes at you.

''Okay but seriously, do you know what are these numbers?'' you shrug your shoulds, taking the letter from the table in your hands, looking at the numbers with blank stares. ''I have no idea, and I need to find this person, but I have no idea about that either.''

''Wait a second. You afraid from height?'' Jungkook's voice echoed in the cafeteria once again, and you immediately shut his mouth with your hand, covered on his lips. Your eyes start to wander on the people whose eyes were landing on your table, confusedly looking at you three.

''Shout again and I will punch you.'' you threaten him, while his wide eyes looking at you, nodding swiftly before you take your hand from his mouth. This is why you kept it as a secret. You knew that he would spill it to everyone, and probably would think it was not something to be shy about, but it was exactly like that for you.

''Yes, I'm afraid of it, but I don't want to talk about that right now, okay?'' both of them nod in surprise but you appreciate it as they agreed with you. You didn't want to talk about it right now, both because you were tense about this topic, and you were at the school cafeteria, where someone can easily eavesdrop on your conversations.

''Okay, so I am heading to numbers, then.'' Jimin reaches to your hands to take the letter, knitting his brows while checking the letter. ''What if they are some kind of a code that reveals the one who wrote this?''

Oh god.

Why you never think of that before?

Actually, this is a good idea, and your heartbeat quicken with the tiny lead. If you could crack the code, then you could find the owner. But there was a little problem with cracking the code.

How?

''Even if it's a code, how are you two going to solve it? I don't think you guys can do it. No offense.''

Jungkook looks at you and Jimin in disbelief, smiling at his own words. Even though he was right, he irritates you with his annoying attitudes.

''We can't do it, but you can?'' Jimin scoffed once again, and Jungkook's smile starts to fade, turning into a rage as he looks at him with slit-eyes. You clapped your hands while laughing, and it made Jungkook angrier, as he starts to pout. ''Who would crack it then?''

''Wait a minute. There is a boy in his senior years who understands computers and all these code things, right?'' Jimin's eyes starts sparkling, asking you but you had no idea. ''O-Oh! Yes, yes. The boy with good grades right? The nerd.'' Jungkook answered him in excitement, leaving his anger aside. Both of them nodded in excitement, but still, you had no idea about who they were talking about.

''Who is that?''

''What was his name? I guess it starts with N? Aish,'' Jungkook starts to scratching his head with knitting his brows, trying to find his name. While you were waiting for an answer from him, a loud voice echoed once again, and you jump in your seat. ''What the hell Jim-''

''Namjoon. Kim Namjoon!'' but before you can finish your words and yell at Jimin for hitting the table this loud, the name spilled from his lips.

Kim Namjoon.

You feel like you heard this name before but can't recall the boy's face. Fortunately, you'll see his face, as you are going to him desperately, and begging for him to crack this stupid code, or whatever this is.

It wouldn’t be an exaggerating if you say that you could faint from nervousness, as it was true. As you were standing on the hallway where it’s covered with lockers, which you were laying your back to the particular one. The locker that belongs to Kim Namjoon. Your future savior or, you wished it would come out that way.

You hoped that he could crack the code, -which you even weren’t sure if it’s a code but still-, and find the person who wrote that letter. Because you need to find that person, as you need to know how that person learned about your fear. It was long forgotten that it was a love letter, which had been sent to you, basically asking you to be his date on the ball, but you didn’t care about it.

Jungkook and Jimin reassured you very well that boy named Namjoon was really good at with computers and cracking codes and even, making a code. They even said that he helped a lot of people with their problems with computers and all, as you surprised at how you couldn’t recall him. His face was a mystery for you, and after learning his locker from your friends -which they learned from his best friend’s, Jung Hoseok. Another person you can’t recall-, you immediately run here, after your practice with your team to meet with this boy.

While you were staring at his plain gray locker, students start to fill the corridors, noises start to reach your ears, and your heart starts to beat swiftly. You were one step closer to find that person. Your fingers start to wander on the locker, you feel the relief on your chest, as you are going to find the owner, and talk about your fear.

“Can I help you?” a thick voice, scared the hell out of you, as you jumped before turning to the voice. But while waiting to meet his face, you just met with the white school uniform. In shock, you look higher.

Okay, he was tall. Yes, you were tiny but of course, you wouldn’t except it so easily, and the height differences only caused because he was so tall. Not because you were the size of a bean, not at all.

“Ye... yes you might help, if you are Kim Namjoon.” you stopped staring at him and do the talk, as he was starting to look at you with furrowed brows. His light brown hair separated from the left side of his head, a tip of his hair falling on to his right side of his forehead, above from his darker brown brows, which they were raised in curiosity at the moment. His upturned nose, placed symmetrically above his plump lips, glowing in light pink.

“I am Namjoon but what do you want?” beside your estimations, he wasn’t kind or kind of a lame guy, as your friends called him nerd more than one time. So, automatically you assumed that he was a shy, introvert guy but, clearly you were wrong, as he didn’t look like it.

“Well, probably you know my name but I am L/N Y/N, and I need your help with something,” you said confidently, holding your chin up.

“Yes, I saw you a couple of times, laughing very loudly at the library, but no. I didn’t know your name.” he shrugged his shoulders, while you staring at him with an ‘o’ shaped mouth.

How disrespectful.

You were the leader of the cheerleader team, and he didn’t know your name? Everyone knows your name, and even though you sound annoying, it’s the truth.

“Are you sure that you belong to this school?” you ask in irony, but he simply scoffs while telling you to go back with his hand gesture, so you step back.

“The one you were staring and completely blocking me from reaching is my locker so yes, I belong to this school.” you gasp at his answer. Why he was acting so rude towards you and most importantly how? You weren’t a girl who looks down at people just because you were popular, but you deserve to be acted respectfully from others as you had dignity and reputation that you had build in years.

“I guess it’s fair,” you said under your breath, while he opens his locker, blocking your face as it stops inches away from your nose. Your brows furrowed immediately, couldn’t believe how he ignored you. You let out a tiny fake cough, as trying to get his attention on you, but he didn’t even bother to look at you.

“Don’t you going to ask me why I needed you?” you stretch out your head, before talking to him. Your annoyance could be hearable from your voice, but he only looks at you after taking his books from his locker and shutting it.

“I’m listening.”

“I... I heard that you are good with cracking codes.” you paused for a moment but he remained silent, staring. His eyes, looking into yours but you could swear that he sees more than that, and it irritated you. Unintentionally you crossed your arms above your chest, uncomfortably. “I have a code that waiting to be solved.”

“I’ll do it.” heavyweight lifted from your chest as he started to speak, a smile placed on your lips but it didn’t last long.

“You have to buy me dinner.”

“Wait, what?” you tried to speak but he raised his brows, starts to speak before you do. “I guess you don’t need my help after all.”

“Okay, okay. Dinner it is.” you grab his arm, as he tried to turn his back at you. His stares placed on your hand, where it’s standing on his arm, tightly that fingertips turn into white color, so you take it back quickly. Both of your cheeks go red, and you couldn’t understand why he starts to blush, as you were the one who made an awkward move.

His confident expression vanished in second, mouth opened and closed for a couple of times, as you stared him in surprise.

“Are you available at the moment?” you ask, but his eyes not looking at you, rather, placed on the lockers. “Yah!” you tried to poke him, but he takes a step back quickly that surprised you once again.

“I..I am.” he starts to walk, leaving you behind.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” after a moment of pause, you start to follow him, but he was acting fast and comparing your leg heights, it was hard for you to reach him so easily.

You start to speed up. You were almost running right now, and your homeroom teacher’s voice reached to your ears, as he was telling you not to run on the corridors, but you bowed a little without stopping running. “Sorry,” Normally you would listen to your teachers but right now, there was something more important than obeying the rules. One second you thought that you lost him, but after looking to the right and left, your eyes catch him, entering the study room.

You enter it after him, tried to speak but it was useless for a moment as you needed to gather your breaths. “Why are you running from me?”

“I am not.” he looks at your pointed finger, then takes a seat on one of the tables.

“You asked for my help so I come here to help you.”

“You!” you stopped as your voice come out louder than you imagined, but thankfully there were no other people which it was quite strange, as this place always filled with people who studies for 7/24.

“You did run away,” you speak with your normal voice now.

“Do you want my help or not?” one brow raised, threatening glance of his lands on you. You afraid that he wouldn’t help you with the code, so you start to shake your hand in front of his face. “Okay, okay. I want your help.”

His grin appears on his face, as you dropped the topic, in a way you let him win this round.

''What do you mean it would take two weeks to crack?'' your voice came out louder than you think but you didn't mind that as you were feeling a bit of disappointment. ''Aren't you the nerd who solves these codes and things like that?''

''The nerd?'' his face reveals his annoyance of your words, which you didn't mean to hurt him, as you talk before thinking once again. The worst habits of yours, talking before thinking, not that you don't care about the feelings of people, but mostly because you were stupid, and had no control over your tongue.

''I didn't say it as a bad thing or, to insult you. I mean, I heard that you are smart and very good with this,'' you waved your hand, showing the letter, emphasizing your words with a gesture.

''Yes, I am good with these things but it takes time. As you are not the 'nerd' one, you can't understand that, right?''

''Rude,'' you said as he was looking at you with a glance that challenging you.

You had never been so insulted in your entire life, beside your friends but they didn’t count, as you insult them more than they do. Hence, you were surprised at his words, how he chooses to mock you and bother you, intentionally. He crossed his arms on his chest, shoulders doubled with the action, muscles visible now under his uniform, and you couldn't stop thinking how huge he is. You were not saying only comparing him to yourself, but as you think of your friends and every boy in this school, damn, he was huge.

''Are you trying to find a way to sneak up on me or, something?'' you jump on where you’re standing, distracted from your thoughts.

He scared the hell out you with his thick voice, mocking you and brows furrowed with locked eyes on your face. Heat starts to fill on your cheeks, hands sweating and you wish that he can't understand your situation at the moment while wiping your palms to the side of your legs. ''No.''

''Then stop looking at me like a creep and buy me a dinner.''

Creep?

You did not look at him like a creep, of course. He is just one boy who exaggerates everything, and you could say that after knowing him in two days. ''Did you crack the code?''

''No? I said it would take two weeks. Aren't you listening?'' he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

''You get your dinner, after cracking it.'' You are not some dumb girl who would spend her money on nothing. He has to learn that he could not take advantage of you or your money.

''I can't work with an empty stomach, right?'' his grin starts to appear on his lips, while yours fades away. This boy would be the death of you with this kind of bratty attitude, but he was the only person you could lean on about your problem.

''Fine!'' you gave up eventually, throwing deadly stares at him before turning your back to him, start to walk.

One dinner and your problem would be solved.

Unbelievable.

It was just unbelievable how he could eat this much food. I guess the mystery of his huge body solved after seeing his eating habits. You start to scan the boy who takes a sip from his bowl, nearly finishing his Kalguksu, as well as your money. His appetite manage to surprise you every time you bought dinner for him, as this was your fifth time. He always finds a way to trick you into buying him dinner, mostly he relies on you, needing him for that stupid letter.

You cursed yourself more than one time for taking your friend's ideas about asking for his help and agreeing with the dinner thing. As you were sitting at the study room, for the fifth time, waiting for him to solve this code, but every time he would say that he got hungry and couldn't work on the code, so you had to buy him food, sneaking it to the study room.

He would thank you with a big grin, and you would hold your eager to punch him every time, only smiling and saying 'it’s not a big deal'.

In fact, it was a big deal.

It's been almost two weeks now but he still did not finish solving the code or, told you how it was going. You didn't even know if he was close to solving it or, not.

You knew nothing, as your anxiety raising in you almost every day that someone would find out about your secret. You were afraid that the one who wrote this letter would get sick of and starts to tell about your secret to everyone, only to get revenge from you, as he could think that you ignored his confession.

On the other hand, Jimin and Jungkook would tell you that you were so stupid, and no one would care about your fear, but little did they know that this was high school and everyone tries to tear each other apart?

Plus, Namjoon had surprised you in the first time you met with him, and never stopped surprising you with his attitudes. When Jungkook called him a 'nerd', you thought it was a piece of cake, but you couldn't be more wrong.

He always finds a way to trick you, mock you, and make you feel vulnerable around him. You always end up blushing, can't find the right words for giving him a good response the way you do it with your friends, and your heart would go crazy every time he stops what he was doing on that computer, and starts to stare at you. Goosebumps would surround your body, and you would end up yelling at him for him to stop staring at you.

As you were staring at him while he was eating his food, you couldn't realize that he has already finished his meal and his eyes focused on yours, brows raises slowly as you start to get blush all over again. ''Is it fun to stare at me or something?''

''Uh-huh. So much.'' you shake your head, not looking at his smile.

How did he catch you while you are staring at him, again.

Well, maybe if you bother to stop staring at him, like constantly, maybe he wouldn’t be caught you all the time. You weren’t the only one who always yell at him to stop staring at you, as it’s obvious. To be honest, you got caught more than him, when it comes to staring. But you just couldn’t understand how he could be like this.

He was supposed to be a nerd that who would be shy around you, flinch every time he sees you and acts like a god damn introverted person, rather, he would be bossy around you, mocking you, and would look really good while smiling as his little dimples would appear on his cheeks, fills your heart with the familiar warmth, as you feel it every time you see him on the school corridors, study room, and while he was waiting for your practice to be done at the benches.

You couldn’t figure it out, why your heart flinched every time you see him or, you would try to ignore these feelings most of the time, but he wasn’t of much help with the ignoring plan while sitting across you with his stupid dimples. “Well, you are still staring,”

“I am not!” you take your eyes from him, cheeks filling with heat, getting red with the unbearable emotions, while his eyes widening, brows of him raising. You were completely in denial, but you are not going to accept it, not while getting red under his sight, silly grin standing on his face. “Are you not done with the code yet? Should I find another person for it? Because it looks like you are stalling me and-“

“I cracked it!” his voice caused you to shiver visibly. It it was louder than before, and his jaw twitches with his sudden rage. You couldn’t find a word to say to him, you wanted to yell at him, as he fooled you with this shitty games, told you lies all these days, but rather you couldn’t say anything, while his burning glares wandering on you. “I..you..”

“Why are you so obsessed with finding the one who wrote this letter?” just like before, your mouth opened only to be shut down once again. Yes, you were obsessed to find him and yes, it is all because of your stupid phobia and even though he knew about the letter and probably the phobia part, you didn’t want to say this out loud, but most importantly you didn’t want to tell him out loud.

Yes, you know that this sounds really childish but maybe he just skipped the part where all the confession happened and minded to look only to the code. So, if he didn’t read that part, which you were deeply wished for that, you didn’t want him to learn it. He was already making fun of you more than you can handle, and already makes you feel vulnerable around him, crashing your walls down, -which no one could ever manage to do that in years-, and if he learns this, he may say things that probably crash you, hurt you deep down, and you didn’t know why you were so afraid to look bad in his eyes, but you were.

“Did the code revealed his name? If it’s, tell me his name.” finally, you found the last pinch of strength in deep down on your heart, you tilt your head, brows raises in the excitement that you’ll finally learn something about the boy. While Namjoon remains silent, your mind starts to work about what would you say to him or, how would you turn him down and convince him not to tell your secrets to everybody in this school. It was something obvious that you’re going to turn him down, because you had no feelings for anyone, and you wouldn’t go out with someone that you feel nothing, as you promised yourself after your stupid relationships.

They ended very awkwardly, as you lost interest in them because it was nothing more than a silly crush, and eventually they would notice it, and it would get even more awkward for both of you. A text would ensue and you would become single again. So, it is clear that you are going to reject him, but you have to do it gently, as your reputation depending on this.

Not a long after you realized that you were sinking on your thoughts and Namjoon staying still ahead of you, chewing his bottom lip, and scanning your face.

''So? Say it,'' you stated once again, his silence irritated you, but he just settle with licking his lips, where he was chewing before. ''Yah!'' you called out, rising from your chair to show him how serious you are, but it turned out as a lame move, when he slowly gets up from his chair, eyeing from very above you, and you felt so tiny under him.

''Come with me,'' he replied while starting to walk towards to exit of the study room, an empty box in his hands, eaten kalguksu's remains were still visible.

''Where are you going? Hey, wait!'' you exclaimed as he continues to walk without looking at you for one second, and you hurried, catch the door before it closes.

You promised yourself that when this is all over, you're going to beat the hell out of him, but between in your thoughts, you start to speed up as his presence fades away with every step of him, and boy. How he could walk this fast, while you were nearly running to get closer to him. And this was another reason why you were going to kill him, as he always finds a way to make you run behind him, yelling at corridors, and scolded by your teachers. Ugh. You could even hate him if he wasn't helping you to find the boy you are looking for.

When you finally pass through the final door, cold breeze hitting your face with fresh air, your eyes landed on his body, standing right beside his bike and waiting for you to find him. You reach out to your hand to him even though he was standing far away from you, poking out your finger at him while your other hand resting on your knee, blissfully you remain in that pose for a while, as you tried to make your breaths go stabile from all these running, but at least you find him.

''If you do this again, I swear-''

''You should be thankful, instead of threatening me. I keep you in shape, you know?'' his grin gets wider in the same way your eyes do. You clench your fists, nails poking your flesh but your annoyance clouded the pain, rage starts to raise by your chest, getting away in your breaths, every time you exhale. ''Did you call me fat?''

''I..I did n-not,'' his grin fades away, letting its place to fear, his eyes twinkled more than once. Your anger starts to leave your body because he looked very amusing to your eyes, seeing him like this always made your day brighter.

''Good.'' you stated with a smile on corner of your lips, it's amused you how things changed in a moment. How his confidence shrink, and he turned out as the boy who is blushed around you, and run away from you when you touch him on the arm.

One time after he made you very mad that you needed to placed a slap on his arm, and even though the slap wasn't hard enough to hurt him, all of a sudden his cheeks start to get pink, eyes of him wandered around everywhere but you, and eventually he just ran away from you, and you followed him while shouting at the corridors, just like today. It amazed you, how his moods can switch in a flash. One second, he is the boy who mocks you, insults you, but when you tried to get close to him, or simply touch him, he would freak out.

''I.if-'' he stopped after failing to speak, his lips flatten in jadedly. Meantime you start to chew your lower lip, you don't know why but this time seeing him like this did not cause you joy, moreover, you worried about him. His head looking down, eyes darted to his fingers, as he was playing with them. He looked like a lost puppy, which this attitude was very foreign to you. An itch starts to build in you to hug him, but as you know him, even a bit, he would flinch and start to run away, all over again. Instead, you choose to wait.

''I will tell you if you come with me Y/N,'' finally he manages to speak, his posture changed in a minute, straighten his back and look at you with furrowed brows, doe eyes met with yours, forcing you to say yes. Eventually, you replied with a plain yes, nodding your head and not looking at him, but you could take a peek at the corner of his lips curling up, giving a shy smile. ''Hope on,''

''Hah! No way.'' you mocked while his hand patting his bike's back, showing you where to sit.

''Can't you just say yes for one time?'' he groaned, shaking his head in disbelief.

''Well, technically I just said yes to come with you.'' you rolled your eyes while emphasizing the very last conversation you just had with him.

''Just..get on, please.'' his exhaustion on his voice, keen on his big, bright eyes just poke something in your heart, so you decided to tag along with him, for this time.

''Okay. I'm going to 'hop on'.'' you teased but once again, you were happy to see his lips curled. You were sure about to regret this, all tagging along with him, but still, your heart felt softer than ever, while his dimples taking over his cheeks, making your stomach wiggle nervously. Ugh. Why would you feel this way you had no idea, but you let it slide from your mind while taking your place on the back of his bike, clenching your fingers to his uniform, avoiding to touch his back. Boy, it was going to be a long road.

Remember you saying that this road was going to be long?

Woefully, you were right about that. He gave a ride for two of you, but after leaving the city behind, buildings were nowhere to be seen, and trees filled your vision, you two had to use your legs to reach the place he was taking you. The harsh wind continuing to sting your arms and your face while your legs were droopy, do not want to take another step to go further, but Namjoon kept saying that you were close.

''Aish!'' while worn out from all the walking, finally you decided to give up. You let your body take its place on the ground, leg muscles start to pound with the sudden relief.

''I can't walk anymore. You have to say it right here because this body goes nowhere,'' you whined to the boy who can't be seen by your eyes, as your focus placed on the starry sky. It was getting dark and supporting your tiredness with the fact that you were walking for almost half an hour now.

''Hey, don't be dramatic this much. We have been walking only for twenty minutes, Y/N. Get up.''

''No. More. Walking.'' you stated, emphasizing every word to make sure that he understands how serious you are. You had a rough day, okay? Practicing on the field almost for two hours, stressing over not to kiss the ground with your face and of course, dealing with this boy named Namjoon. Forget the two other factor for your tiredness, Kim Namjoon can make you feel lifeless after spending only one hour with him. He is gifted with this special ability to make you suffer and suffer more.

''Hhm. No more walking,'' he imitated, you heard something different in his tone, rather than participating with you, he was after something.

After one second, his face covered your sight, his eyes darkly shined above his smile, contrast to dimples, his smile was never in the neer of being cute, but more likely appeared mischievously on his lips. Shit. You know that he was going to do something, and before you could protest, his hefty hands grabbed your wrist and lifted you without showing any effort. Before he could place you on his back, you cried out due to the rapid movement. ''At least, no more walking for you,'' he chuckles like he said the humorous thing in the world.

''What the fu...What are you doing?'' you yelled, try to pull your wrist from him, but his grab tightened around your wrists, and you protest against his ear.

''Just shut up and let me help you. I know you are tired because of your practice because you are always trying too hard, test your limits, and push too much. So stop kicking my legs and hold on to my shoulder, for god sake!'' a whimper slipped by your lips but you shut them firmly, tightened your arms around his shoulders, and tried not to choke him even though you want it badly.

''Thank you.'' this was the only thing you could hear from him for the next ten minutes. His right hand holds the bike while he was walking. Due to the sloppy road, the bike couldn't make it, and eventually, it's wheel gave up. So this is how you end up on his back, resting your chin on his shoulder, arms wrapped around him, all thanks to his bike.

The scent of fresh cocoa stirred in your lungs, easing your mind. You felt more relaxed than before, and unintentionally your nose gets closer to his neck, where his hair ends. You take a tiny breathe, as you didn't want to be heard by him, but the scent was too irresistible at the moment, so you had to do this. Soft fragrance, filled in your nose and lungs one more time, your lips curls up with the wiggle on your stomach. But your cute moment cuts short when he decides to drop you to the ground. ''Woaa...Be gentle you-''

''Did you just smelled me?'' he leered, brows of him furrowed snidely. If you had one wish on this lifetime, you would spend it to vanish from this particular moment. You moped the ground, trees, and basically everywhere other than him with your eyes. ''I.. did.. not?'' heat starts to fill to your cheeks, chew your bottom lips with uptightness. It was kinda funny how you two switching your moods, opposite to each other.

A couple of hours ago, he was the one who stuttered and gets all pink on the cheeks, but right now, you were the one who can't have a glaze on him.

Ultimately, you summon up your courage and eyed him, while he was being cheeky and your palm starts itching, in a need to punch him or at least smack him on the arm. You hate being like that, but no matter how hard you try, you always end up getting blush, and silent. You didn't know how he manages to rule over you, but you were pissed off so bad about this fact.

''I heard the little sound that your nostrils do, Y/N,'' he exposed, brows raised while tilting his head.

''Did you like it?'' normally you would think that he was mocking you or, trying to fuck up your nerves, but he seemed sincere with his wide open, blissfully glowing brown eyes. You choose to believe him, for some reason.

''Well... mm... I like... it?'' you confessed, and his dimples appeared once again, under a firm smile. You could understand that he was trying not to smile widely for not to irritate you, and you were thankful for that.

''Imm... Okay,'' he mumbled, take a deep breath after clenching his hands to each other. ''As we started to confessing, maybe... uhm... you would like to do another one?'' he suggests, brooding over his words.

''Do what?'' you hesitated, couldn't be sure what he was talking about or, asking.

Your eyes widened, blinking in fear at what just came into the corner of your mind. The idea of him mentioning the thing you most abstain to talk over.

''Look around. this place is very special to me. I only come here when I feel down or when I... need to shout out the things that I'm keeping as a secret. The things that I don't want anybody to hear.''

''No,'' you whispered. The only thing you can do at the moment, the only voice that could come out from you was whispering. You opened your mouth, dare to speak but it was useless for a second. ''Y/N, I know...I know that you have-''

''Stop!'' you growled at him, cut his words before he could say anything. You just didn't want to hear it from him, you didn't want his pity on you or, his stupid windy eyes staring at you.

''I don't want to talk about this.'' your heart starts to pounding heavily on your chest, while tears filling your eyelids. It was none of his business and neither your god damn letter. Why did you include him in your life in the first place? Why did you listen to your friend's advice in the first place?

''Y/N.. Y/N just look at me, okay?''

Namjoon's face comes out in front of you, but you couldn't see him clearly, as your tears were blurring your sight. You couldn't notice his closeness as well as your cry. When did he get so close to you, or when did he start to wipe your tears away from your cheeks. When your eyes met, warmth starts to fill in you from his dark brown eyes.

''I have a secret too, you know?'' he muttered softly with a husky voice.

You shake your head slowly, as you didn't know what was his secret about. You start to ease under his warm breath hitting your face, passing by your neck. You shivered.

''I came to this place, more than a couple of times, just to shout that secret out. Whenever I overwhelmed by the feeling that secret caused me.'' he speaks once again, thoughtfully looking at your eyes, sweet chocolates in deep thought.

You sized up his face, his expressions change the way you never see before. His brows softly raised, looking at you with his sweetly intense orbs, tracking every emotion that you put into your face. He wasn't the boy who always mock you, or irritate you out of blue or the boy who gets shy around you, abstain from you and run away, which you were still couldn't understand why he was starting to run away from you like that but right now, he was neither of them.

''What is... it?'' you breathed.

His crow's foot appeared as well as his dimples, when he starts to smile, his thumb gently rubbing against your cheek. Under the soft touch, alarming your butterflies to move in your stomach, you blinked a couple of times before shutting your eyes. The only thing you could feel at the moment was his silky finger, caring your cheek above your throbbing pulse and his breaths that tickling your skin. You didn't know why, but for some reason, you felt too droopy to open your eyes, too afraid that he might be stop. You didn't realize until now that you want him so close to you, hands on your cheeks, chest panting hysterically just inches away from you.

And for god sake, you never noticed how bad you needed him in this way.

On the other hand, Namjoon starts to get closer, reaching your ear. You feel that you were getting tense, with every minute you get closer to your edge, while mind clouded, eyes were shut, and the only thing you could feel his warm breath, hitting your neck.

''I am the one... who you are looking for.''

Either the time has stopped running, earth stop turning or, you were feeling everything at full speed. You didn't know how to feel. Angry? Confused? Anxious or maybe even joyful? Once again, your eyes met with each other, unlike your brooding gaze he was observing your face, hearty eyes looking deep inside of you, soothing your nerves, but not enough.

''Y... you? Why didn't-When?'' your voice come out squeaked, and you just decided to stop. Even if you wanted to continue, you couldn't due to your lack of energy. You felt drained.

How could he say this, how could he plan all of this? Did he know that you would go to see him for his help? Did he want to mock you and drill your soul with every joke? Did he enjoy your suffering? All this time he knew that you were afraid of the idea of your secret wandering around, but he only stood there and watch you go crazy? So many questions starts coming to your mind out of blue and you start to feel trapped, anxious, but from inside of these questions, there was the only one that matter to you.

Did he really like you or, he just wanted to see your suffering?

''I know, you are probably want to kick me right now, and I swear I will let you do it, but before that please listen to me for just one time, huh?'' he begged.

Fingers still caring your cheeks softly, pleading eyes giving you the hint of his sincere, so you just go with a simple nod. You couldn't find your voice to reply to him, anyway. His mesmerizing brown orbs relieved after you let him, he sighed before starting to talk.

''I put that letter in your locker, and I added that code because I knew that you would come to me for help. I did help your friends more than once, and yes, I know that they would suggest my help. And then you came. You really came to me and it all worked out just like how I wanted. I had some doubts that you wouldn't-''

''Did you meant those words or, after learning about my secret you came out with some kind of a plan where you can easily insult me? Did you enjoy how I was terrified with it? Someone out there knows my secret and probably would spread it to everyone. Did you enjoyed how I feel miserable and... and,'' while you trying to find the right words to continue, he groaned. Start to wipe the tears from your face, you weren't aware of them fallen through your cheeks, until now.

''No. Fuck sake, Y/N. Of course, I didn't send that only to mock you.'' he was pained with what you implied, brows furrowed.

''I do like you, Y/N. I really do. I wasn't lying about having feelings for you almost four years now. I tried to find a way to talk to you, open up my feelings to you from the middle school, but I never had that courage. And how could I manage to do that exactly, look at you. You are beautiful, smart, and brightest girl in the universe. You are in the cheerleader team, everyone either loves you or wants to be you, Y/N.''

''Namjoon, stop-''

''And look at me. Who am I? The school nerd for you. I guess you can figure it out why I couldn't say it before. It's not that hard.'' he finished while panting. One of his hands left your face to scatter, pass through his hair. His words and his sullen eyes made your heart ache, itch with full of woe. You'd never imagined him like this, saying these words to himself, talking nonsense.

Yes, you didn't remember him right away or when Jungkook said that he was a 'nerd' you thought different things but looking at him, you couldn't be more wrong with your expectation of him, as well as him.

He has a large, muscular body where surrounded with broad shoulders. His brown, untamed thick hair fallen to his forehead, only to make him look more charming than already. Heart-shaped face, completed with almond-shaped dark brown eyes and plumpy lips, settled between his dimples. He could be a nerd, but he wasn't a smart one. Because no one could resist to fall for him, not to feel goosebumps on the neck and butterflies in the stomach. The one who can't resist falling for him was none other than you.

All this time, you tried to fight back with these butterflies, goosebumps, and heat on your body whenever you see him, but as one can understand you were very unskilful for this.

''Do you really like me? Me?'' you doubted. It's not that you see yourself down, or not good enough but it was because of him. You never imagined a scenario that he had feelings for you, as he always finds a way to irritate you with his mean comments and attitudes.

''I really do, Y/N.'' his shoulders slouched, lips pouted at the end of his words. He couldn't look cuter than this, even if he tries. Your heart merely starts to melt, the warm feeling filled in your stomach, as you lifted your chin up. ''You did plan all of this, knowing that I would come to you desperately and you knew that I would fall for you?'' you asked, knitting a brow.

''Y/N, I swear I never intended anything bad, how could I? I was going to say when the first time you came to me but I just couldn't, you know? I... I afraid that you would say no, and I waited for so long and I- Wait... what?'' you enjoyed while watching his face, lips taking an 'o' shape, staring bug-eyed straight at you. You tried to hold your smile back but, it was hard.

''Wait, did you just say that you fall for me?''

''You are not a smart nerd, aren't you?'' while he was still looking at you with the same silly expression, your fingers take a track to his pants, landed on his belt to pull him, but the one who moving was you. His soft chuckle singed to your ears and you didn't mind looking stupid in front of him anymore.

''Is that means you are going to come with me to the ball?'' once again, your face was cupped inside of his palms, gently caring by his thumb. You act like considering something, while he was waiting for an answer. ''Maybe, I would... if you kiss me.'' your eyes focus on his sweet pink lips, eagerly waiting for them to meet with yours.

His body slowly leans on you, face getting closer and closer while you could feel your pulse on your throat, beating jovially. And your mouth dried, fired up by the idea of his lips, touching yours. Between in a heartbeat, his smooth, wet lips touched yours, sending a shiver on your stomach, white lights burst in front of your closed eyes, as his hands moved to your waist only to pull you closer.

Your heart nearly stopped with the idea of kissing the boy who tormented you for almost two weeks, and now, you were standing on a cliff where you could see the city lights clearly, kissing while hands on each other. In a million years, you wouldn't see this coming, but it was and you felt truly happy about this. Of course, you were going to beat his ass for lying to you, and suffering you for the past weeks, but before that, you wanted to taste his lips. And you knew that kissing him once or, two times would never be enough for you, as you want to kiss him more and more right in this moment.

Unfortunately, you had to separate from him as you both needed to fresh air on your lungs. You were both panting, but wide smiles hang on your lips, and the only thing in your mind was kissing him more, again, and again.

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