#I CALL IT MY FAVORITE/LUCKY HOODIE JUST FOR OCCASIONS LIKE THIS

[kittyundercover1]

I JUST CONVINCED MY MOM TO BUY TICKETS TO WILD KRATTS 2.0. SHOW

WHATS EVEN BETTER IS THAT IT COMES WITH MEET AND GREET TICKETS TOO, SO IM GONNA MEET THE KRATT BROTHERSSS

[thecuriousbeauty]

One more to love

(Famous!reader x Husband!harry )

Synopsis- You decide to surprise your husband for Valentine's Day. Harry's on Tour in Canada, not expecting you at all. You get back home after a few fun filled days with him and only when you fall sick does a doubt arise in your head. Can love making on the day of love lead to a baby?

This can be treated as part 2 to this, or you can read it as a stand alone.

Word count:6.7K

Warnings: Smut, some really sweet intimacy, praising. Lots of fluff, Harry being the sweetest husband, mentions of performance anxiety, pregnancy. Oh and watch out for best friend! Niall

_____________________________________________________

You leaned over the mirror as you swiped red lipstick over your lips. You reserve wearing red lips for special occasions. It was safe to say that today was one. You were in Toronto, to surprise your husband for Valentine’s Day! He was on tour, and you were busy with a few song recordings so neither of you could see each other in the last two months.

"Do I look okay?", you asked your friend Kiara, as you smack your lips together, before stepping away from the mirror. 

"Hell, you look amazing.", Kiara said. You were wearing a sheer black top, ripped blue jeans and boots. You let your hair down in waves, and you were pretty satisfied with your look.

"He's going to get hard from just looking at you.", she said, making you laugh. “You sure you can’t come along?”

Kiara, one of your best friends is a model. You had flown out to Toronto with her from London. She had some work here for the next few days.

“Wish I could, but gotta go babe.”, Kiara pulls you into a hug. “Have fun with your man, eh?”

“Oh I will.”, you grin at the thought of seeing Harry. “I’ll see you soon Ki, thanks for helping me get ready.”

“Of course. See ya!”

You were now alone in the hotel room, your car was going to be here soon, that’ll take you to the venue Harry’s performing at. While you were putting on your heels, you got a call from another one of your best friend’s.

"Hello Nialler!”, you answer. If it wasn’t for Niall, you’d be a complete mess whenever you felt sad and alone about Harry being on tour. Even though Niall always annoyed the crap out of you, you know you’re lucky to have him as your close friend. You can count on him. 

"Can yeh explain why there is a huge bunch of roses, chocolates and a big teddy bear on yeh doorstep?", Niall asks, making your face light up. 

“Aw! That must be Harry. He might have had it shipped.”

“Yeh, looks like. I forgot it’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“Wait, why are you at my house? You breaking in when I’m not around?”, you gasped.

“Not sure if it’s breaking in if the owner gave me the keys.”, Niall snorts. “And I’m just dropping by to search for my favorite hoodie I think I left here.”

“Can you please move all the things Harry sent safely into the house for me?”

“What if it’s not Harry? What if it’s your secret admirer?”, Niall gasps, and you laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, wait! There’s a card. Yes, it’s Harold, alright.”

“Of course it is. What does the card say?”

“You can see for yourself when you’re back.”, Niall says, and you hear noises of him moving things. “I’m gonna leave everything here except the chocolates. They look good, y/n.”

“No! Harry got them for me!”

After you convinced Niall to leave your chocolates alone, and he found his hoodie, he was locking your house and rushing to work. Your car was here to take you to the venue, and you took your bag having things you got for Harry, before getting in. Jeff greeted you backstage and unfortunately for you, the show started a little bit earlier than the scheduled time so your man was already on stage. 

Never mind, you could wait until the show was over. 

Your heart did a leap as you finally saw your husband. He wore a pink suit, hair perfectly done, and the crowd screamed as he moved around on stage. You loved watching Harry perform. He was in his element. 

Something was thrown to him onstage and he caught it. He got to know that it was a bra only when he looked at it and he shrieked, throwing it away. 

"Excuse me?", Harry said into the mic. "No throwing me bras, you know why?"

"WHY?”

"Because I'm a happily married man!", he did a dramatic hair flip and showed the crowd his hand bearing the wedding ring, making you giddy. That was your man right there. "The only bra I'd like to catch is my wife's and my wife's only!"

You blushed.

You hid when the team came off stage.

“Good show, guys, well done.”, Harry says as he makes sure to hug all his team members.

"Wait, Harry, we have a surprise for you.", Claire said. 

Harry turns to look at her, smiling already. He loves surprises. "I do?" 

"Yes.", she said. "Would you kindly close your eyes?"

"Why?"

"Mitch, please do the honors."

Mitch closed Harry’s eyes with his palms. “What the hell?”

Mitch just laughed in reply. You came out of your hiding place, and the people on his team who didn’t know that you were here gasped, some of them clapped waiting for Harry’s reaction. 

"What? Is it the President?", Harry joked.

As he stood there clueless, Mitch pulled away and you wrapped your arms around him. You were so happy to be in his arms again. You squeezed his waist, pressing your head against his chest. Harry quickly wrapped his arms around you when he realized it’s you. Only you could fit like a perfect little puzzle in his arms.

Harry hugged you tighter and kissed the top of your head. "y/n?”, he whispers.

"Happy Valentine's day baby!", you smiled at him and pulled away. Then you got down on one knee and pulled out a rose bouquet from behind your back offering it to him. His hands flew to his mouth in shock.

"F-For me?", Harry squeaked looking at the beautiful flowers. You beamed and nodded. Other guys might not like flowers so much, but Harry does, and you know it.

"T-thank y-you.", Harry stuttered and took them. He remained speechless with shock for a while and you let him take his time. You were still on one knee so he shifted the flowers to one hand and held your hand with the other, pulling you up. 

"H-Hi.", Harry blurted out and you giggled, kissing his cheek.

"Hey."

"Are you r-real?"

You laughed and stood on your tiptoes, closing your eyes before pressing your lips to his. Harry closed his eyes too, pulling you closer by your waist, feeling himself getting lost as the kiss deepened. As much as you wanted to keep kissing him, you were around others, so you pulled away slowly. “Does it seem real now?”

"Too much PDA!", Mitch complained, covering his eyes.

"Deal with it buddy!", you said. 

 Harry looked from her to Mitch. "Did you know?", he asked Mitch.

"We all did.", he said motioning to the rest of his crew. 

"See babe, Kiara had the fashion week here, so I flew with her to surprise you. I told these guys and made them promise not to tell you. I'm sorry for not answering your calls today, now you know why. Did you get surprised?", you explained, still in his arms.

"I-I yeah!", Harry said and you giggled and hugged his neck. 

"Oh H, you look like a tomato.", Sarah said. Harry shot her a glare. 

"Cute though.", you  kissed his nose. "I love you.", Harry whispered. He cupped your cheeks and stroked his thumbs on them, taking in every part of you, a smile tugging at his lips. His eyes fixed on your plump red lips, his favorite lipstick on you. “God, I fucking love you. You look incredible, love."

“Thank you, so do you! And, I love you too.”

Harry grinned. “Thank you so much for coming, this is the best Valentine’s day present ever. You! I’m so happy. Did you watch me perform!?”

“Of course I did! You were great!”

"Thanks! How long are you gonna be with me?"

"Um, four days. I go back to London Saturday morning.", you said softly, and his face fell. 

"I-Including today?"

You shook your head. "From tomorrow."

You know Harry still wished he had you for some more time.

"Babe, it's okay, we'll make the best out of what we have.", you said. "And soon you're going to be on the UK leg, so we can see each other more, cheer up now.", you said, poking his cheeks with your index fingers and he smiled, nodding.

“I’m so glad you’re here, I was going crazy without you.", he said, nuzzling his head into your neck. You ran your hand through his hair and smiled in content. "Me too, I will fly over anytime for you." Harry kissed your neck.

"These are beautiful. Wait, so you didn't get the ones I sent you?", Harry asked about the flowers.

"Sorry no, but Niall’s got it all safe in the house..", she said. "Aw, here, we'll share.", he said and took a single rose out and gave it to you. You chuckled. "Thanks babe."

"Give me a few minutes to freshen up and we can get out of here.", Harry said, already shrugging off the suit. You went to talk to the crew while Harry was gone. He got back in record time.

"Let's go?"

 "Yep." He kissed your cheek, as he took your hand in his. "How can someone be so pretty?", he wonders, making you blush. "Stop it, babe."

He laughs, nudging his nose against your cheek. "What do you wanna do tonight?"

"Whatever you want."

"No, your choice."

"I'm fine with anything."

"I am too."

"Harryyy.”

He laughed as you walked. “We could go out for dinner at some fancy place. Or we can go to the hotel room, just me and you there." Harry was leaning to the second option but he still wanted you to pick. He was already having a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

“Let’s go to the hotel room, I like me and you time.”, you winked.

So you made it to his hotel room, and while your luggage was being brought in, Harry kept the roses you gave him safely in a vase. Then he closed the door and tugged you into his arms, lips attacking yours again. You jumped a little so you could wrap your legs around his waist, and he hums in pleasure as one of his hands grips the back of your neck, and the other around your hip, keeping you steady. He bites your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, letting his tongue explore your mouth.

“I missed you so much.”, you breathe when he pulls away for a second. 

“I missed you more, kitten.", Harry moves his lips to your neck, making you moan softly as you arched your neck back. You loved that nickname he had for you. “What did you miss about me?”, he asks.

“Oh everything.”, your hands play with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Everything about you, Harry.”

“Yeah? Did you miss my cock?”, Harry asks, taking your top off with one hand. He tossed off your bra in seconds, groaning as he squeezed your breast in his hand. You moaned at the feeling, you missed being touched by him. “S-So much.” 

You could feel his dick getting hard, it was pressing against his stomach and your clothed center. “You miss my pussy?”, you ask him.

“Bloody hell, I’ve been dreaming about it every fucking day.”, Harry mumbles as he takes you to bed, lips leaving marks down your neck. “You gonna let me fuck your pretty little pussy today? As a Valentine’s day gift for me?”

“I don’t know, should I? You left me all alone to go on tour.”, you pout, gasping softly as you land on the bed, and Harry slides out of his pants before crawling over you. 

“I know, I’m sorry, my heart.”, Harry mumbles, sliding his hands to your hips. “I’ll make it up to you, yeah? Make you feel so good.”

“I’d love that.”, you smile, and moan as his lips wrap around your nipple. You move your hand to feel his crotch, making him groan. “Get it all off, let me see you.”, you whisper. Harry listens, letting your nipple out of his mouth with a ‘pop’ and quickly pulling off his shirt and his boxers. You slide down your jeans, while your eyes roam over his body. His broad tattooed chest was heaving up and down and his sculpted abs made you want to run your hand over them. Your hand dips lower to his dick, which was hard and standing up straight. 

“See what you do to me, kitten?”, Harry asks, fingers looping around the waistband of your panties. He moans as you stroke his dick. “I need to be inside you.”

“Yes, fill me up, babe.”, you lift your hips so he can slide your panties down your legs. “Let me see that pussy, been waiting for so long.”, he pushes your thighs apart and groans at the sight of your pussy. It was glistening, dripping down with your arousal. 

“Never seen a pussy this pretty.”, Harry collects the arousal, bringing it to his lips. “Oh. You taste so sweet, baby.”

You moan as he dips his fingers inside you. “I think your little hole has gotten tighter, sweetheart. Didn’t have my dick in it for two months, hm? Poor baby.”

“P-Please Harry.” You needed to feel full. 

“Gonna give you what you need, love. Always take care of you.” Harry circles his thumb over your clit, making you arch your back and let out another moan. “Did it feel good when you touched yourself, baby?”

“Y-Yes, but not as good as when you do it.” Harry smiles, capturing your lips in a kiss. “Don’t worry baby, I’m here to take care of you now.” 

Harry slips his dick inside your pussy, and you throw your head back on the pillow, moaning. He slowly pushed his dick inside, and you realized just how much you missed having him inside you. Phone sex does the job for both your needs, but the intimacy, the closeness that you get when you’re together, phone sex doesn’t give you that. 

“Oh fuck..it feels so good.”, Harry moans, hovering over you. He was letting you adjust since it has been a while. You pull him down closer, hands going to his back. “Y-You can move, babe.”

Harry thrusts his hips, and the rooms fill with sounds of pleasure. No other man has ever made you feel so good. You didn’t even know sex could feel so amazing, until you met Harry.

“Fuck you’re so perfect.”, Harry squeezes your boobs. “You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes, yes, all yours, fuck, right there....” His dick moved in and out of you at a steady pace, hitting all the right spots. He knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew exactly what you needed. You saw pure love and adoration in his eyes when you looked at him, and you brought your hand to the side of the bed, opening your palm. Harry grabs your hand, letting you hold it. 

“Shit, are you c-close babe?”, Harry asks, quickening his pace, making you curl your toes. “Oh yeah, yeah I’m gonna cum..”

“Cum around me, kitten, all over my dick.”, Harry presses kisses to your shoulder. You reach your high soon, and Harry kisses you through it. Harry couldn’t hold on any longer, he also cums right after you do. 

“I love you.”, he breathes, collapsing on top of you. You smile, holding him close, running a hand through his curls. “I love you too.”

He brings your tangled hands up to kiss the back of your hand. “M’ so lucky you’re my wife, and proud.” 

“Me too. Seeing all those girls going crazy for you today, and knowing that you’re gonna be in my arms later? No better feeling.”, you winked, and he laughs, pressing another kiss to your lips before lifting up on his hands and moving down on the bed, separating your legs again.

“I’m very hungry.”, he explains, looking away from your eyes and to your pussy. He hums, pushing some of his cum leaking out of you back inside with his fingers. “Gonna let me eat, kitten?”

______________________________________

“Those butter tarts were so good, I should have thrown some in my bag for later.”, you whisper to Harry as you walk back from the breakfast buffet, hand in hand. The plan was to go out sightseeing today, Harry said he could arrange a car. 

Harry hums. “They were good. Think Canada’s famous for them.”

"Good morning!" Mitch and Adam popped out of nowhere, just as you were about to step into the elevator. "Where did you guys come from?", Harry chuckled. "Oh we were just-"

"Hanging around.", Adam completed.

Mitch nodded. "Hanging around."

"Great, morning, we gotta go.", Harry said and you nodded, waving to them. "Wait.", Mitch said. "Did you have a really nice night yesterday?"

"Yes.", you both said in chorus. He smirked and exchanged glances with Adam as they giggled. "I could hear you guys even with earphones.", Adam said and you blushed.

"Oh shut up.", Harry said, waving him off.

"No kidding, I was this close to banging on your door.", Mitch said, showing a little bit with his index and thumb fingers. "How was your night Mitch?", you ask back. 

"Um, just like every other night, play video games after the show.", he mumbled.

"But yesterday was Valentine's Day.", you said.

"Uh huh so?"

"So, you’re just lonely cause you can't make a move on Sarah, how long are you going to keep saying you're friends?", you shoot back, making Harry and Adam burst out laughing. Mitch gave you a glare. 

"Roasted.", Harry whispered to him and kissed your cheek, continuing to walk. "That is not true!", Mitch said.

"Yeah right.", Adam said sarcastically. "Come on mate, she's right, you had the perfect chance to take her out yesterday."

"He should learn from me.", Harry said, slipping his arm around your waist pulling you closer. "Ask the girl out before she goes away, cause she might just be the love of your life."

"Is it?", you tease. "Mhm. I love you."

You kissed him. "I love you too."

______________________________________________________________

“Ok, lets play a game…”, Harry started.

“You have to shoot these grapes into my mouth and every time you miss I get to dare you to do something in front of all these people."

 “Ok but only if you play too.” Harry nodded. After some sightseeing, you wanted some place quiet and to be alone, so you found a place for a picnic, got a basket from one of the stores and sat by a lake. It was your kind of perfect.

“I'll go first.", Harry said while taking a grape. "Open wide." You moved a little away from him and opened your mouth wide. 

Harry squinted his eyes aiming and shot it into your mouth. “WOO!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and doing a victory dance.

"Yeah whatever, my turn." He grinned and opened his mouth. You carefully aimed and threw it, but it hit the side of his lips instead of going in.

"Nooo."

"Yeah!! I dare you to…hmm… go ask that little boy for his number.” he said, pointing to a little boy.

 “WHAT?! That's creepy, he's like 7 years old!", you said. "A dare's a dare kitten.", he smirked.

"Okay fine, watch me.", you ruffled his hair before getting up and walking to the boy who was playing football all alone. 

"Hey buddy?" You wave at him. He looked up at you. "What?" 

"I look at your shirt, it’s cool.”, you said and smiled. "Uh, thanks.", he mumbled in a Canadian accent.

"Hey can I get your number real quick?” You cringed at how that came out, but it was a dare.

He looked at you again, now checking you out. "Where are you from, pretty lady?"

You chuckled. "Um, London?"

"You can get my number on one condition."

"What?"

"You have to play soccer with me."

You smiled and nodded. "Sure, can we call my friend too?" You pointed at Harry giggling in the distance. "Of course."

"COME ON FRIEND, WE'RE PLAYING SOCCER!", you yelled. His eyes grew wide as soccer balls.. 

"FRIEND?  YOU ARE MARRIED TO ME!", Harry marched up to you and you laughed. The boy took your hand and looked at the wedding ring.

"That is not cool, you want my number after being married?"

"It was a dare, you are not giving her your number.", Harry caught up. You pinch his arm. "Come on babe, he's a kid."

"What's your name?", you ask the boy. "Dan.", he said. "Is the offer still up for soccer?" He grinned and nodded. "Foot ball.", Harry muttered under his breath and you chuckled and kissed his cheek.

"What's your name tattoo man?", Dan asked Harry and he scoffed, as if the boy was some competition to him.

"I'm Harry."

He grinned and pulled you off to play with him.

"What is it with you and kids? You're like honey, and they're like bees.", Harry said as he tackled Dan with the football.

"I'm quite likable, you know...", you say as Dan passes the ball to you.

"We're going to get arrested if his mum finds us and thinks we're kidnappers."

___________________________________________________

"I have a show tomorrow.", Harry said slowly, leaving kisses down your neck. You were cuddling in his bed.

"Uh huh, and?”

"And, I can have special guests on my shows."

"Who do you have tomorrow?"

He looked up and gave you a look. "How did I end up with you?"

You grinned, tweaking his nose. "I give an awesome blowjob?"

He smiled and bit your nose. "True that. And I was talking about you, you dummy! You can sing a few songs with me if you’d like.”

"What-no.", you began shaking your head. "Harry there are more than twenty thousand people in your shows, not all of them like me."

"They love you, darling. You don't have to worry about the few who are just in their own imaginary world. I’d really love if I had my wife on stage singing with me.”

How could you say no to that face? Harry jutted out his bottom lip, making him look all cute. "Jeff will talk to Mel, I'm sure she'll agree.", he says. Mel was your manager. And before doing anything that might send the public into a frenzy, you had to talk to Mel.

"What if I freak out at the last minute?"

"That's normal."

"How's that normal?"

He chuckled and kissed your collarbone. "For you it is. You freak out before going onstage, then when you get in your zone, you're wonderful."

You smiled and pecked his lips. "You'll be there, promise? And will you protect me if your fans throw their heels at me?"

He giggled and kissed the tip of your nose. "I will darling, promise."

The last time you sang with Harry on stage was during One Direction’s last show. You had been their opening act. That’s how you started your music journey. Singing for the boys was like a dream come true. It was the best opportunity you got at that time, when you were just starting out. That’s also how you fell in love with the curly haired, dimpled lad. 

_____________________________________________________ 

"Yeah but, I haven't sung in front of that many people in a long time, Ni.", you murmur as you talked to Niall on the phone while you got your makeup done. You had done rehearsals with Harry, and all was good, but you have a ritual of freaking out a little before going on stage. 

"y/n, you'll do fine.", Niall said. "And Harry's onstage with you, so what's there to worry about?"

"Yeah, you're right. And um what do you do with your hands when you're not holding a guitar onstage?" You were not going to have a guitar around you like you do on your shows. Niall burst out laughing. 

"I'm being serious!" 

"You're so funny. What can I say about doing things with your hands? I think you'd better ask your husband that." You groaned. "Niaaaaall."

He laughed. "Stop over thinking, y/n, it’ll be fine..”

"Right, see you soon.”

"Yep. Love you, all the best, you don't need it but just in case his fans throw eggs at you?"

You gasped. "WILL THEY?"

"I was kidding! No, they won't."

 "Hopefully. Love you too, bye Nialler."

“Bye love, tell Harold I said hi!”

You smiled and got up from the chair as the stylist handed you a beautiful dress. "This is cute!"

After you put it on, and got your hair done, you went backstage where the rest of the crew were.

Mitch let out a whistle as he saw you and Harry looked up who was fiddling with his ear piece. Harry's eyes widened and his lips spread into a smile.

"Do I look okay?", I asked him, who looked unbelievably good in that purple suite. 

"Okay? You look beautiful!", Claire squeezed your shoulder.  "Thanks, so do you.", you said back and she smiled and bowed. "Why thank you."

"You're stunning, darling.", Harry said. "That rhymed!", Mitch played a dramatic strum on his guitar. 

You saw Sarah shaking her head and smiling at him from the corner of your eyes. "Thanks, you look amazing." You said, pecking Harry's lips. "Thank you.", he beamed.

"Will you be mad if I mess up?", you ask.

He chuckled and kissed your nose. "You won't mess up."

"I might, you know."

"Baby you won't, trust me, I know. And no, I won't be mad, I'm really happy that you agreed to sing on my show, it's the effort that counts."

"Yeah right, say that when I mess up."

He laughed and tugged you into a hug. "Famous young sensation or not, you haven't changed one bit, love."

"Famous young sensation?" You laughed.

"That's what the media calls you!", he said laughing too.

You smiled. "You love me the way I am, why would I change?" 

He grinned. “Exactly, glad you know that. I love you, will you be okay?"

"I'll be okay."

"Don't go anywhere."

"I won't."

"See ya."

You kissed his lips and then his cheek. "I love you too, have fun."

"Will do." He grinned and kissed your forehead before he had to get going.

You did some vocal exercises in the meantime. You've dealt with some anxiety when it comes to shows, and Harry really helped you during your early days. He's helped you a lot, to get to who you are today.

You figured Harry prepared his set list for you, because it had all your favorite songs of his. You sang along with him from where you stood. He also sang If I could Fly, which he wrote for you during 1d days, and you got a bit teary eyed as he looked straight at you after the song.

Finally, it was time for you to be on stage.

"We have an extra song for you guys today." Screams just as he said that. "And a very special guest who has stolen my heart.”

You smiled.

 "PLEASE WELCOME, MY WONDERFUL WIFE Y/N STYLES!"

YouI took a breath before walking to the stage and the crowd started roaring. You waved with your hand not holding the mic. 

When you walked up to Harry, he smiled, hugging you gently and kissing your cheek. "SURPRISE?", he said to the crowd and you laughed as they shouted back 'Yes!'

"I thought so. She's here to sing one of her songs, also one of my favorites, with me!" 

You said hi to the crowd, and nodded at Harry, telling him you were ready. The band started playing the music and you started singing. Harry took his ear pieces out wanting to hear you.

His face broke into a cute smile as he swayed and looked at you while you sang. Harry didn't join you for the first verse and chorus. He sang the second verse. 

He looked at you while singing and you both eventually forgot the crowd and faced each other.

When you finished the song, Harry had a proud grin, like that’s my girl. You grinned back, wrapping your arms around his neck as you hugged him.

"I love you, y/n.", he whispered, kissing your hair. "I love you too, H.”

__________________________________________________

It was the day you were flying back to London. The last few days were so much fun and it went by so fast. Both of you were quiet that morning. You got some cuddles in, showered together, just enjoying each other’s presence before you had to part again. You were stuffing some of your last minute things into your bag with a sad frown on your face.

Harry was sitting on the bed, watching you. “Babe.”, he calls and you turn around to look at him. 

“Come here.”, he pats his lap.

You happily sat on his lap and cuddled into his arms. Harry held you close, kissing the top of your head. 

"So you'll come over and sing for free whenever I call you?"

"Hey, who said it was free? I need a hefty paycheck before I go.", you joked.

Harry laughs, kissing your cheek. "Think your manager has got it already."

"What? I was just joking, babe. I don't need to be paid for your show, you're my husband!"

"Yes, but you're also a gifted singer.", he squeezed your thigh. You press a kiss to his forehead. "All because of you. Thank you for everything you've done for me."

Harry shakes his head, smiling. "It's all you, love. Your hard work."

You played with the curls on the back of his head, as you remained quiet for a few minutes.

"Thanks for coming to see me even while having a busy schedule, love. It means a lot to me.”, he murmurs.

You kissed his neck. "Of course. We should do it again soon.”

Soon, it was time for you to go. Harry came with you to the airport, where you met with Kiara again.

"You shouldn't have come.", you tell Harry as you wait for the flight announcement.

"Why not? You didn’t want me to send you off?"

"Because I'll start crying in front of everyone."

He chuckled and squeezed your hand. "When has that ever stopped you before?"

"Not important.", your voice dropped a little. "Come with me?"

The bright green of his eyes faded. "You know I can't sweetheart, I would love to.". he said, putting his arm around you, and curling you to his side. You nodded, curling your fingers around his shirt.

"Hey,"he whispered, kissing your shoulder. "Don't be upset."

"I'm not.", you wiped under your nose.

"But don't lie either." You smiled a bit and kissed his forehead. "Maybe I am a bit."

He smiled back, brushing his fingertips along the skin peeking out of your top.

"If you need anything, seriously, anything, just call me. I don't care what time it is, or whatever. Even if it's just to talk, or take something off your chest, don't carry it around babe.", he said.

You nodded and ran a hand through his curls. "What are you going to do after reaching home?", he asks.

"Sleep and cry."

He chuckled. "Don't cry."

"You have no rights to say that after doing this to me."

He laughed again and pressed a kiss to your nose. "You’re so cute. I love you so much.”

______________________________________________

As soon as you got home, you saw the huge packages that Harry had sent you for Valentine’s Day. You began tearing it open. You saw a huge shiny red heart box. You opened it and out popped a teddy bear holding 'I love you'. You giggled and took it out. You set the box of your favorite chocolates aside to devour later. Then there was a super soft and fuzzy blanket which you rubbed against your cheek, instantly falling in love. Harry's the best. There was also a scented candle.

Then your eyes fall on the card Niall mentioned. The front is decorated with balloons and hearts. You knew Harry took the time to make it himself. You opened it. 

Hi darling, good morning, good afternoon or good night. I'm not really sure when you'll get this, you know. Happy Valentine's Day! 

So where do I start? I miss you, that's a good point to start. I miss you and I would do anything to be with you now but I am so sorry that I can't. I do want to cover you in kisses and hug you and never let you go. This is our first Valentine's Day after being married, and the third in total. This is supposed to be a day dedicated to your loved ones but I don't get it sometimes, my whole life is dedicated to you.

"Don't cry, don't cry, keep it together y/n.", you mumbled to yourself, while sniffling... 

Did you know you make me so happy that sometimes I actually forget to breathe? I'll be looking at you, my chest explodes and all I want to do is take you in my arms and kiss you. You're breathtakingly beautiful. My life found a new meaning and passion when I met you. The way you look at me, talk to me, touch me, hug me, kiss me, everything, makes me feel very special. I wanna thank you for always being there, for forgiving me whenever I have messed up horribly, for trusting me after everything you've been through and for loving me. I hit the jackpot when I found you, you're perfect y/n, so damn perfect, I swear. I could go on and on about you, you know, I have to wind up. I hope you like everything I sent you. I miss you and I love you, y/n. I'm always here for you, whatever you need, I'm here. 

P.S- Sorry if the drawings are bad, but I wanted to do it myself. If that makes you laugh then so be it, your laugh could cure diseases, that's how beautiful it is. I have to stop, god, I'm rambling even while writing. I'll call you as soon as the show is over. Have an amazing day my gorgeous forever valentine. 

Bucket loads of love,

Your sexy hot husband, Harry.

______________________________________________

1 month later:-

"Uh how about lunch?', Niall asked.

"I'm not hungry.", you whined and curled around in the blankets.

"But you have to eat when you're sick.", he said. You were in the couch, curled up. You’ve been feeling a bit sick since the past few days. 

"I might throw up if I eat.", you said.

Niall sighed. "Have you told Harry?", he asked, looking down at you in concern.

"No, don't tell him."

"Why not?"

"Cause he'll be worried for no reason and he can't concentrate on what he's doing.", you said. YouI just wanted to cuddle in your husband’s arms right now but of course that can't happen.

“Do you want me to go grab you some medicine or something?”, Niall asks. You smile and shake your head.

“I’m fine, Ni. You can go if you’re busy..”, you tell your friend, patting his arm. Niall was worried about you, so he dropped by to see for himself.

“I’m free today.”, Niall said.

"Can we watch a movie?", you asked hopefully. He smiled, ruffling your hair. "Course we can, if I get to pick.", he added. 

You talk to Niall as you watch the movie, and when Niall goes to get some snacks from the kitchen, you get a thought. You hadn’t got your period this month. Now, you were feeling sick. 

“Oh shit. No way.”, you gasped, and sat up.

“What’s wrong? You gonna puke again?”, Niall asks, munching loudly as he comes back with two bags of chips.

“No. I didn’t get my period!”

“Isn’t that good? You complain about cramps.”, Niall shrugs, sitting down beside you. You smack his arm, making him yelp. “Ow! What’s that for?”

“I-I could be pregnant!”

Niall’s big blue eyes widened, his munching slowing down in pace. “Wow.”

You stood up, your heart beating fast. So many thoughts ran through your mind. You know Harry wants to have kids someday, and so do you, but it’s not even been a year since your wedding and you both are so busy right now, with your careers. 

“Oh god..i-it can’t be, right?”

Niall sees just how freaked out you’re getting in, and he cleans his hand before keeping it on your shoulder. “y/n, look at me. Deep breath. You don’t know for sure. And if you are pregnant, I’m sure you both will figure it all out, okay?”

You nod, taking a deep breath like he said. “I s-should take a pregnancy test.”

Niall nods. “Do you have any?”

“I think I have one. I’ll get some more later. I-I’ll uh..be right back.”

Niall gives you a hug. “I’ll be here, hm? You do what you have to do.”

“Thanks Niall.”, you whisper, squeezing him before pulling away and heading upstairs. You had two pregnancy tests laying around just for emergencies like these. It wasn’t the first time you were having pregnancy scares.

You decided to use both the tests, and you waited anxiously. You’ve always wanted to be a mom, and Harry would make an amazing dad, no doubt. You were just worried about the timing of it all. 

Finally, it was five minutes and you took a look at both of them. Both showed a similar result.

Two lines.

“O-Oh my god.”, you gasped, your eyes welling up with tears. There was a human life inside you. You were going to be a mother!

_____________________________________________________

You were counting down days, waiting for Harry to come home. Tour would still go on once he’s back, but it would be the UK leg, so at least he’d be close. The only people who knew you were pregnant were your gynecologist, Niall and Kiara.You didn’t want to tell your husband the news over the phone, so you waited.

You thought of different ways to tell Harry you were pregnant, but then you decided just to show him the pregnancy test. You were too nervous for anything else. 

Finally, it was the day Harry was coming back home, and you rushed to get the door as you heard the doorbell.

There stood your tall, curly, handsome husband. He wore a black shirt with the first few buttons open showing off his tattooed chest, paired with his usual skinny black jeans. His eyes were bright, and his face broke into a charming smile as he took you in.

Even after traveling for hours, he looked like that.

He let his luggage drop to wrap you up in his arms. “I’m home, baby!!”

“You are!”, you giggled as he spun you around. He grinned as he kept you down, only to grab your face. “You gonna kiss me or what?”, you smirk, and he laughs, closing the distance between your lips’. 

You pulled him inside and closed the door. “Oh it smells so good, darling, and I’m starving.”, Harry hums, putting his arms out again. “Another hug, please. Missed you so much.”

You smile. “I have a surprise for you before that.”

“You’re surprising me every time we meet, kitten.”, he chuckles. You pulled out the pregnancy test from your pocket, and held it out. 

Harry’s jaw hung open and a range of emotions flashed through his eyes.You waited for him to come down from his state of shock and when he did, he choked out, “R-Really?”

You nod, smiling through your tears. “I-I’m pregnant, Harry.”

Harry laughed, but the tears were gushing out of his eyes. “W-We’re gonna have a baby. y/n, sweetheart, this is amazing.” Your head crashed against his chest as he tugs you into his arms again. 

“You’re happy?”, you whisper, looking up at him. 

“Of course I’m happy.”, he sniffles, touching his forehead to yours. “I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too, Harry.” Harry brings a hand to your middle, and you smile, placing your hand over his as he greets your baby.  “Hey there, little Styles. It's your daddy."

_______________________________________________

Taglist: @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan

Please let me know if you want me to add you to my taglist! Please Reblog and like to support my writing. Thank you so much for reading:)

[writercole]

Thief

Words: 363 Warnings: Fluff Credits: @therebeccaw for the gorgeous graphic again! She's literally the best. A/N: Look. We all know this is how it would happen.

A/N 2: I forgot to set this up for yesterday so you get an extra today! Don't forget about the new library blog where only my writing will be posted - no comment reblogs, no asks. @coleslibrary

Rhett shifted through the clothes in his closet - the one in the spare bedroom because her clothes took up the entire one in their main bedroom - trying to find a hoodie. A cold front had passed through overnight and it was a little chilly as he was heading out to start his work.

He huffed as he came to the end of his clothes, not a single hoodie hanging in the closet, not even the bright orange one he used on the rare occasion he went into the woods. “Angel, have you seen my hoodies?” he called as he walked back into the hall.

“Just wear your regular sweater and a hat. You’ll be fine,” she yelled back from the kitchen.

“You don’t know where they’re at, either?”

“No, I know exactly where they’re at, but I’m not stopping to go get one from my closet,” she responded quickly, swearing when she caught herself.

“YOUR closet?”

“Uh, no, no not my closet,” she called. 

Rhett heard the clattering of dishes as he hurried to the bedroom, throwing open her closet and finding six of his hoodies hanging, including the bright orange one. He shook his head and yanked a black one off the hanger, tugging it on as she burst into the room.

“No, that’s my favorite!” she pouted.

“It’s my hoodie!”

“But it smells like you.”

Rhett felt his heart melt as his shoulders relaxed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Well, Angel, now it’ll smell even more like me when you get it back.”

“But then I’ll have to wash it and -”

“Nah, I’ll leave it in the truck and bring the orange one instead. Let Perry run his mouth a little. I need a good reason to throw something at him,” Rhett chuckled as he held her tight.

“Thank you, baby,” she hummed as she nuzzled into his chest.

“Angel, what smells like it’s burning?”

“Oh, shit! Breakfast!” she exclaimed as she ran back to the kitchen.

Rhett laughed as he slipped on his boots, smiling at how lucky he was to have her in his life.

[milkiane]

Can I get a pietro maximoff blurb based off the song "Rude" by MAGIC! where the reader is tony's daughter if the blurb requests are still open?

rude

pairings: pietro maximoff x stark!reader

warnings: mentions of food, slight angst, dad!tony + boyfriend!pietro arguments, fluff really

word count: 1430

note: the fact that i actually really think that the song was made for pietro. rude // magic!

the sunlight was trickling through the window panes of pietro’s room.

his eyes slowly fluttered open, slowly blinking away the sleepiness. as soon as he adjusted through the blinding light, his gaze fell on you, your arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala.

he smiled softly, carefully stripping your hold onto him as he remembered the plans he had for the day.

pietro wasn’t usually the type of guy to dress with such effort. he mostly wears anything comfortable; sweats, shirts, hoodies.

though today was a different day, a special (sort of) day. so he wore one of his best suits-- one for stark’s occasional galas.

after approving of his neat and posh appearance, he bought two shawarmas from tony’s favorite shop, accompanied by iced coffees-- one black and one milky, you could guess whose is which.

pietro headed towards tony’s lab, but not before getting stopped by wanda, “what’s the occasion, piet?”

“i’m gonna do it,” he said, snatching his coffee from his sister’s grasp, “wish me luck.”

he knocked at the glass panes, even though he knows that he could just walk in like he usually does. he watched as tony gave him a weird look, and went ahead to open the doors.

“what do you want, sonic?” tony gazed at him from head to toe, “and did you just pomade your hair?”

he ignored him, handing him the exact order of shawarma he usually buys, “here,”

“alright, speak up,” tony eyed him skeptically, “do you need money? permission to shag my daughter? what?”

pietro looked at him with disbelief, “what the hell does shag mean?”

he blinked at the speedster, “i- nevermind,” he took a bite off his shawarma, “talk now, maximoff, i’ve got work to do,”

“i’d like to ask for your blessing to marry your daughter,” pietro said slowly. as if once he spoke too fast, tony would explode.

well, he didn’t exactly. he just stared at him and straight out deadpanned, “no.”

pietro placed his cold drink down, “what?”

“you’ll never get my blessing ‘til the day i die,” tony huffed, sipping on the coffee pietro bought, going back to tinkering his prototypes.

the maximoff boy scoffed, “is it really necessary to be rude?”

“tough luck, speedy,” tony shrugged, “now, go. thanks for the snacks, though,”

pietro sighed in frustration, ruffling his hair to wring the pomade which was holding his dirty white strands together. he was about to speak up again but decided against it, smiling rigidly at pepper as he left.

“you’ve got to take it easy on pietro, tony,” pepper murmured, “he’s a good guy, he loves y/n so much. he looks at her like she’s his world,”

tony massaged the bridge of his nose, “i don’t know, pep, y/n’s my only daughter. i don’t think i could let go of her just yet.”

pepper laid his important documents on his table, “you’ve got to do it someday, tony.”

pietro walked into the avenger’s common room, loosening his tie.

“hey, love, what’s with the suit?” you asked, eyebrows furrowing, “i didn’t miss an anniversary, right?”

he smiled, sitting beside you on the couch, “no, no. just… trying on a different style,”

you chuckled, “o-kay then, do you want breakfast?”

he nodded, closing his eyes. you looked at wanda and clint, silently asking if they want some, too. after getting the answer you needed, you strolled to the kitchen.

“what’s got you in a foul mood, pietro?” wanda asked.

“did he say no?” clint asked, frowning slightly. as much as he hates to admit it, clint has grown quite fond of the boy, especially after the battle of ultron.

he nodded his head, opening his eyes to look at them, “i don’t understand him. he knows that i’m gonna marry y/n one way or another,”

“it’s going to take a while, maximoff,” clint clapped a hand on his shoulder, “tony’s just protective of her, you know she’s the only family he has left.”

he hummed, “yeah,”

dinner rolled on quickly, thanks to you. you’ve prepared dinner with pietro, it was a special recipe of your mother’s.

the meal with the avengers is eventful like usual. witty banters, scolding from steve, exchanging lovely memories.

“supper’s amazing, y/n,” your father praised, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “it’s been years since you last cooked this, why now?”

you smiled softly, “just thought pietro and wanda would appreciate a little something from home,”

pietro looked at you with adoration in his eyes. he gave you a quick peck on the lips, much to tony’s dissatisfaction.

after eating, tony volunteered to clear up the table, leaving pietro along with him.

“come on, tony,” he prompted, “i cannot live without her. love me or hate me, we’ll both be standing on the altar,”

“pietro-”

“or y/n and i will run away and get eloped,” pietro offered, smiling lightly at the billionaire.

“don’t you dare,” he glowered, “you’re even lucky i allowed you to date her, maximoff.”

“tony, you know i love your daughter with all my heart, and i know that you know that she loves me, too,” pietro said sincerely, “i’ll go wherever she goes, and she will do the same, too.”

tony gulped, “no, pietro. go, you’re getting on my nerves.”

“hey, dad,” you smiled, walking into his lab, “are you busy right now?”

your father stopped what he was doing and turned to face you, “no, never for you, what’s up?”

“i just… when did you realize that you want to, you know, spend the rest of your life with mom?” you fiddled with your necklace as you sat down, “or pepper, perhaps?”

“what do you mean pepper? pepper- pepper is not-” he stuttered, but you cut him off, “c’mon, dad, i know how you look at her. it’s the same way i look at pietro,” you shrugged.

he sighed, “i’ve always known that i wanted to marry your mother the moment we went on that first date. i guess the universe wasn’t content with how my life was going, so they took her away from me,” he looked at you curiously, “why?”

you smiled sadly, “i don’t know, dad. it’s just that, i’m already twenty-seven, pietro and i have been going strong together for five years now,” you laughed humorlessly, “i don’t know, don’t you think that now would’ve been the right time for him to pop the question?”

your dad just stared at you in guilt, he wasn’t speaking, so you continued to talk.

“i- i know that i shouldn’t rush things, just go with the flow, i guess,” you paused, biting your lip in thought, “but maybe he isn’t ready yet? i mean, we’ve said the words tons of times, we’ve talked about the future. do you think he doesn’t want to settle down with me yet?”

tony widened his eyes as he saw the tears gather in your eyes, so he immediately rushed towards you, bringing you into his arms as you let the tears fall from your eyes.

“no, no, sweets, i’m sure he wants to, maybe he’s just nervous?” he winced, the guilt eating him up.

you chuckled, wiping your eyes, “i don’t know anymore, but thanks for listening, dad,” you sniffled, “i gotta go, i promised to help wanda for her date with vision.”

he kissed your forehead before letting you leave. he sighed, “FRIDAY, call pietro,”

and in a blink of an eye, pietro stood in front of him, “what do you need?”

“you have my permission,” tony muttered.

“for what, exactly?” pietro questioned, though he had the gist of what he was trying to say. he just wanted to tease him, “oh, wait a moment,”

tony rolled his eyes as he watched the boy disappear and appear with a recorder in hand, “okay, okay, and… go,”

“you have my permission to marry my daughter,” he said, scoffing as he watched pietro speed around his lab, “but if you hurt her, you’ll also have the permission to be buried six feet underground, got it?”

“got it.” pietro smiled, running out of the room with a cheerful whoop.

tony shook his head in amusement, turning around to look at the framed photo of a younger you and him. he smiled softly. you’ll always be his little girl, even if it means giving you away to the human form of sonic.

general taglist: @daltonacademia @inks-and-jinx @weasleyyy @oldschoolkiddo @accioweaslcy @inglourious-imagines @buckysbeloved @iwritesiriusly @fives-cup-of-coffee @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @band--psycho @marswilson24 @miraclesoflove @chokemepansy @spideyspixies @lolooo22 @justfangirlthingies

marvel taglist: @marswilson24 @magicalxdaydream

[sunnyville36]

First star I see tonight

Requested from anon

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Themes/warnings: **allusions to trouble sleeping, insomnia**, late night/early morning dates, Chan being a soft and tender boy™️, so much fluff like a LOT of fluffiness

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: This is not meant to be used as a model of behavior to support all those who have trouble sleeping or sleep disorders. Reader in this scenario knows what Chan's character deals with, knows he has treatment and support systems available if/when he needs or wants them, and behaves the way they do at the request of his character

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

There’s something special about that time of night, where one day turns into another.  You read somewhere once that people like you found comfort in it because it was the one time where everyone else was asleep, where you were free from the demands of others.  The part of the day you had control over.  And you suppose that theory was right in your case.

So you never have a problem waiting up for Chan.  You know he loses himself in his work; comes home sometimes too restless to fall asleep right away.  While you care deeply about him getting the proper rest, you never want to make him feel pressured by you.  So the two of you venture out, him in his hoodie and you in your woolen cardigan, usually to walk the paths along the Han river.

That’s exactly where you are tonight, following the path lit up by the light of the lamp posts.  When it’s this late (or should you say early) you never feel rushed, meandering arm in arm slowly down the sidewalk, taking in the city and each other’s presence.  His busy schedule means you don’t get a ton of time together, so you appreciate every moment you do, whether it’s listening to him gush about his latest project or simply holding hands in peaceful silence.

You come upon a fork in the path, and the grassy spot between the two diverging trails is covered in tiny bunches of white and yellow flowers.  Some might call them weeds, but you’ve always thought they were a sign of nature’s beauty, especially now, when the light from the lamp post is giving them a delicate glow.  Your companion follows your gaze, catching sight of the little buds, and plucks a couple from the ground, holding them out to you.  “Just like you,” he says, dramatically bringing the other hand to his heart, eyes glinting with mirth, “the light in my darkest of nights.”

“Channn,” you fake whine, blushing at his cheesiness and hiding your head in his shoulder.  He takes the opportunity to put the little flowers behind your ear, placing a kiss on your temple and whispering a simple “Thank you for being with me.”

---

It’s 1 AM and you’re heading over to Chan, planning to surprise him with some homemade food at the JYP building where he’s been holed up all day.  Making your way past the front desk and up to his studio, you knock lightly on the door, his head turning to see you raise your loosely packed bag of food.

“Up for a late-night snack?”

Down in the courtyard, you set out what you brought on one of the round patio tables, Chan sliding into the chair next to you with a blanket draped around him.

“Jjapaguri?!” he exclaims, eyes lighting up at the sight of your huge container of noodles.

“And mochi for dessert,” you answer, incapable of stopping the smile that takes over your face from his little fist shakes of excitement.

He scarfs up the noodles like you knew he would, raving about how good you’ve gotten at making them.  You tell him about the class you’ve been working on all day, about how you’re excited for the date the two of you have been planning for the weekend.  When it’s time for dessert, you each take your little mochi and hold them up, bringing them together to “toast” like you would champagne glasses.  In his other hand, Chan records your tradition on his phone like he always does, saving the short looping video before taking a huge bite into his ice cream.

His mouth is still full when you whisper, “You know what Bin would say about this?”  And after a moment of silence for him to swallow…

“You’ll get a stomach ulcer!” you declare in unison, both cackling at your rather poor impressions of Stray Kids’ resident wisdom-giver.

“I’d say these are worth it,” he says, extending the blanket to wrap around you as well.

You smile back, scooching closer to rest your head on his shoulder.  “I would too.”

---

It’s especially late for Chan to be out, but the boys have the next few days off, so you’re not too worried.  A few minutes later, you hear the sound of the door opening and his voice calling your name.

“In here!” you reply, and wait for your boyfriend to find you in the living room.

He comes around the corner of the hallway, and you’re immediately struck by how nice he looks, his loose white button up giving his skin a pretty glow.

“What’s the special occasion?” you ask.

“Oh nothing,” he replies nonchalantly.  “Come on, I want to show you something.”

He leads you out into the hallway and to the elevator, punching in the button for the top floor of the dorm.  You keep quiet, not wanting to ruin whatever surprise it is he has in store for you.  At the top level, he takes you to another tiny staircase that you assume leads to the roof, his hands coming up behind you to cover your eyes as you reach the door at the top.

“Okay, no peeking!”

He guides you out the door into the warm night air and across the roof a little before removing his hands with a “Surprise!”

You open your eyes to see a tiny two-person table adorned with candles and a thin-stemmed vase with flowers.  Two plates of food and a bottle of wine are set out, and soft music is playing from somewhere in the background.

“Chris…” you breathe out, almost lost for words.

“I got special permission to bring you up here,” he says, arms snaking around your waist.  “So we could have a real late-night date.”

This is the most extravagant, thoughtful, and romantic gesture anyone has ever done for you.  “It’s beautiful,” you manage to whisper as he walks you to the table, pulling your chair out for you.

“After you, my love.”

The two of you spend the next few hours on your special date, catching up on everything you’ve been doing and enjoying the serene quiet of the city at this hour.  The food is delicious, and you can’t bring yourself to take your eyes off your boyfriend for any longer than a few seconds, absolutely wonderstruck by how lucky you are to be with him.

You’re preparing to head back downstairs when Chan moves his chair closer to you, holding out his phone.  “I have a little something for you, Y/n.”  He places the phone in your hands and taps the screen, your heart beating in anticipation.

What appears is a video, a montage of photos and videos of the two of you from all of your early morning adventures over the last year.  The images are set to a soft instrumental, one that sounds very similar to one he played for you the other night that you mentioned was one of your favorites.  And overlaid with the music is Chan’s melodic voice, quietly reciting...

Star light, star bright

First star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have this wish I wish tonight

Some of the pictures you recognize; the obligatory thumbs up selfie you’d taken with the similarly-formed sculpture in Olympic Park just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, the mochi “toast” from your impromptu meal a few weeks ago.  But many are ones you’ve never seen before; ones of you.  One of you looking out at the sunrise from a grassy spot you stargazed in one night; one of you walking along the river, your form framed against the backdrop of the city lights.  You never noticed him taking these photos of you, and there’s something so intimate about having your partner catch glimpses of you no one else has seen, capturing you as a living memory.

As the video comes to a close, you hear Chan’s voice whisper one last line.

You are my wish forever Y/n

Near tears, you wrap him in the tightest embrace you possibly can, his arms circling around you to reciprocate.  You’re overwhelmed by the emotion of what it feels like to love a man like him and be loved in return, so you let him hold you for a long while, cherishing every second.  When you finally pull back, you take his face in your hands, wanting to make sure he hears what you’re about to say.

“Thank you, Chris.  You are my forever wish.”

---

Is there really a thumb sculpture in Seoul's Olympic Park? Yes!

As always, happy to hear your thoughts, and thank you for reading!

[gukyi]

if i told you | jjk

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

{friends to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst, we’ve got it all folks word count: 22k warnings: slightly underage alcohol consumption, mention of words that could be spoken on an crime documentary series but nothing graphic, ravioli-stealing, idiots to lovers, as per usual a/n: finally! here is the long awaited jungkook fic that i have literally been slaving over since the beginning of january. was this fic supposed to be 10k? yes. did i somehow end up writing 22k anyway? of course! in any case, please enjoy my absolute baby who i love and cherish!

check out the post-script drabble here!

Jeon Jungkook loses his job at the university call center on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year. 

You know this because on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 2:07PM, seven minutes after he normally starts his job at the university call center. 

He’s lucky that you’re the only one who doesn’t have class in the 2PM hour. 

“Y/N!” He shouts through the thin wooden door, his voice probably echoing down the thin hallway of your apartment complex. 

You open it before the second knock—you only rush to the door to get him to shut the fuck up, and not because you’re excited to see him, you swear—to see him standing on the other side, XXL university hoodie draped over his figure, down to his mid-thigh, baggy hood pulled over his head like a sad college-aged Star Wars character. He looks exactly like a jaded sophomore year college student would. He is beautiful. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the call center right now?” You ask in lieu of a normal “hello” or even a “what the fuck are you doing here, it’s 2PM”. Jungkook does not wait for you to invite him inside your apartment, immediately kicks off his shoes by the entrance and tugs on your apartment slippers that are a size-and-a-half too small for his feet, and marches over to your shared fridge to fish through the tupperware containers with your name written on Post-it notes for a mid-afternoon snack. 

Jungkook waits until he’s got an entire piece of frozen supersized ravioli shoved into his mouth before he responds. “I was fired,” he says over a mouthful of pasta and cheese.

“What?” You ask, eyes widening as Jungkook shuffles through your kitchen drawers for a fork, which means that the first piece of ravioli that he ate he did so with his bare ass hands. Like a heathen. Like a ravioli-craving twenty-year-old heathen. 

“I was fired,” Jungkook repeats. He stares at the microwave resting on your kitchen counter for a good ten seconds before he continues to eat the cold, unheated pasta. Every time he’s in your apartment (which is frequently), he tells you how it’s a fire, water, and explosive hazard to have your microwave on the counter like that. As if there is any other place in your apartment for it to go. Maybe out on the tiny balcony you have that overlooks the busiest street on campus. 

“Care to offer an explanation as to why?” You ask, coming up next to him. Jungkook is nearly finished with your tupperware of ravioli, and normally you’d shout at him for it, but seeing as he was just fired from his only source of income as a money-starved college student, you’ll cut him some slack. Just a little. 

“You remember that old, angry alumnus that told me that asking for donations in order to benefit low-income-slash-first generation students was selfish and rude of me, and that I wouldn’t be in college if it weren’t for what his generation accomplished?” Jungkook asks. 

You remember that vividly. Jungkook spent an approximate two hours and thirty-seven minutes on FaceTime with you ranting about this one “old man bitch” who he had to speak to during his day at work, all while you did your economics problem set to the sweet, mellifluous sound of Jungkook’s shrill shrieks. 

“The one you lost your temper at and shouted at for being ungrateful and elitist?” You ask pointedly. You have a feeling you already know where this conversation is going. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes. He finishes the ravioli (goddamnit, now you’re going to have to find something else to eat for dinner at 11PM tonight) and turns around to place it in the sink. For once, it is not piled high with dishes from up to a week ago, so Jungkook even squirts a bit of Dawn onto a sponge and washes the plastic container for you. “Well, as it turns out, telling an old racist elitist that he’s old, racist, and elitist does not go down well with my boss.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse. Jungkook sighs, walking over to where you’re taking it easy on the couch. “Oh no,” you say, eyes widening as he grins, plotting something. “Do not, Jungkook. Jungkook, do not!”

He jumps, catapulting himself onto the couch and landing on top of you with a thud. You let out a groan as the weight of his body hits you, foreheads nearly knocking into each other. Jungkook is a good foot-and-a-half too long for this dinky leather couch that’s always sort of smelled, feet and ankles hanging off the opposing arm rest just so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your shoulder like he always does. You hate when he does this. Hate when he jumps onto the couch while you’re casually reclining just so he can collapse on top of you. Hate the feeling of his body resting against yours, soft breathes against the skin of your neck. Hate how it always makes you want more, how it will never be enough. 

“Have you been working out?” You mumble against the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re more muscle-y than usual.”

“I added weights to my routine,” Jungkook tells you mindlessly. If your roommates walked into your apartment right now and saw the both of you on the couch, you’d never hear the end of it. “Taehyung said it would make me more swole.”

“As if you need to be any more buff,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jungkook’s the most athletic person you’ve ever met in your entire life. He could probably pick up your dinky couch with you sitting on it without batting an eyelash. Even Superman would tremble at the sight of him. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters into your skin. “God, what the fuck am I gonna do now? I need money to pay for everything in my life and my one source of income is now totally invalid because an old guy got what he deserved.”

“Are there any work-study positions still available?” You ask, hand reaching up to stroke at his hair, smoothing it down. Jungkook’s preferred cuddling position is big spoon, but he still demands that he be coddled as though he were the little spoon. 

“No,” Jungkook says with a huff, “they’ve all been snagged by try-hard freshmen who need money like me.”

“I distinctly recall you being a try-hard freshman who also needed money,” you tell him. “That’s why you applied to work at the call center, isn’t it?”

Jungkook sits up, the weight of his figure crushing your legs as he rests on top of them. If you stayed like this forever, you’d probably lose feeling in your lower body, but you’d also get to stay with Jungkook forever, which is a trade-off you would genuinely consider. “Yeah, but the call center hires everybody. You just need to be like… decent at communication. And I’m pretty decent at communication.”

“You never text me back,” you tell him pointedly. 

“That’s because I prefer showing up unannounced at your apartment or other places you frequent,” Jungkook reminds you excitedly. He’ll never let you forget about the time you were wrapping up a small seminar with your history professor and Jungkook burst through the doors with a whole thing of carrots and hummus because you had texted him that you were hungry. You could not look your history professor in the eye for the rest of the semester. “I’d say that’s pretty decent communication.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure out another way to market your decent communication skills to get another job,” you tell him. “Have you considered the boba place on Oak? You could get me employee discounts.”

Jungkook leans over just to pinch at your cheek, fingers gripping onto your face and pulling like a grandmother. “You just want me for my money.”

“You’re my best friend, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him. “Of course I do.”

This is what Jeon Jungkook’s obligatory university Facebook group introduction post read:

Hi, I’m Jungkook and I’m thinking of majoring in visual studies or computer science (really different lol I know)! I played soccer in high school but don’t think I’ll be continuing in college because I was pretty bad at it. I’m looking for a roommate and I’d really like to live in New East House, but anything works for me as long as it has a bed. Hit me up if you think we’d made a good match, but I like talking with everyone lol. 

I’m really into music and can play the guitar, drums, and piano. I like listening to all types of music (yes, even country which slaps kinda hard sometimes) but my favorites are The 1975, Frank Ocean, Troye Sivan, and Khalid. Will bop to Justin Bieber on occasion as well. 

I play Ultimate and am really interested in joining the club team here so hit me up and we can practice sometime because my skills are a little rusty. I also do a little skateboarding but I am definitely not a skater. 

Hit me up if you think we can be friends lol I’m excited to meet you all!

It was accompanied by several pictures, a couple of which are selfies at that anime girl angle, one of him with his friends at prom all doing that Frat Boy pose, and a couple of him with his family. To an outsider doing a very quick glance, it pretty much reads the same as a rather extensive dating profile. 

The truth of it all is, as you were scrolling through the hundreds of obligatory university Facebook group introduction posts in search of a freshman year roommate, you stumbled upon Jungkook’s intro post and you thought this: No. Way.

The moment you laid eyes on his first above-the-head angle selfie, you knew that it would be unlikely that you and Jeon Jungkook’s paths would ever cross. He played guitar and did Ultimate Frisbee, and you wanted to audition for your university’s symphony orchestra. He was beautiful but in that sort of college frat boy who can crush you at beer pong kind of way. Craziest of all, he was a computer science major, and you were walking in as an undecided humanities concentration. 

Impossible. There was no way the two of you would ever meet, and you accepted that right off that bat. At a school your size, you would go through these four years not knowing a majority of your class. Jeon Jungkook was just one of the casualties. 

On the very first day of orientation, Jeon Jungkook comes up to you on the sidewalk, wearing a white t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap, and shorts, and asks you if you’re here for orientation as well? He’s lost. 

Jeon Jungkook is the type of guy you imagine getting eaten up by any girl who meets him almost immediately. He’s charming and endearing the same way a baby deer is, but has no problem wearing clothes that remind you of how fit he is. He is, for lack of a better term, extremely good looking. 

“Yeah,” you had said on the sidewalk, squinting to look up at him since the sun was in your eyes. “I’m heading to the auditorium right now. Wanna walk with me?”

“Okay, sure,” Jungkook had replied, smiling with all of his teeth. Even in the sweaty summer heat, he looked even nicer in person. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Jungkook. What’s your name?”

You knew that already. How could you have forgotten? 

You had grinned up at him. The universe has always worked in mysterious ways. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

When Jungkook doesn’t know what to do, he stress eats. Most often, you are the single witness to this action, which has literally no effect on his body mass whatsoever since he immediately burns off every calorie (and then some) at his next gym session. 

That is precisely why you are sitting in the second-best dining hall on campus eating a pretty measly salad and french fries, while Jungkook returns from the serve-yourself cafeteria with his sixth plate of food. Next to you is your mutual friend Chaewon, a filthy rich international student from Korea who is probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. 

“I think I’ve called every cafe, bubble tea shop, clothing store, and paid internship within a five-mile radius of this place and nothing,” Jungkook says with a sigh, keeping Chaewon updated with his job-search antics. It’s been several days since he was fired, and while being keenly cognizant of your bank account isn’t necessarily a bad thing, when it means that Jungkook refuses to leave campus because he is in hyper-saving mode, it sort of rustles your jimmies. 

“Have you tried babysitting?” Chaewon supplies helpfully. 

You laugh aloud at the mere thought of Jungkook stuck in some middle-aged parent’s house with their toddler for hours on a night where he could be living it up on campus. Jeon Jungkook? A babysitter?

“Wow, what the heck is wrong with me being a babysitter?” Jungkook questions, offended. 

“First of all, you don’t even let me beat you in Mario Kart on your Switch and I am your best friend. If you ended up gaming with a four-year-old boy, your over-competitiveness would take over you and you’d crush the poor kid and his spirit,” you remind him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that the man cannot cook to save his life, and you can’t even entrust him with microwave dinners because of his irrational fear of modern oven technology. 

Jungkook pouts. He knows you’re right. 

“It’s not like you were going to look into babysitting, anyway,” you say with a shove, nudging his shoulder with your own. 

Jungkook sighs, and despite all of the shit you give him on a daily basis (part of the responsibility of being his best friend), you do genuinely feel bad for him. Even if his job at the call center wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating nor morally rewarding, he didn’t absolutely hate it and he made a pretty decent earning off of it. He unzips his backpack and fumbles for his laptop, opening it up to reveal a Google Chrome window with approximately thirty-seven tabs open of places to work on and around campus. Meanwhile, Chaewon’s phone buzzes on the table, and she heaves out a great, exasperated exhale before picking up and immediately launching off into incredibly speedy Korean. 

“If only the bubble tea place was hiring,” you lament, kissing goodbye all of the free bubble tea you had been dreaming about if Jungkook got hired. 

“I’m glad I don’t work at the bubble tea place,” Jungkook tells you with his eyebrows raised, “otherwise I’d have to see you every day!” 

“You already see me every day!” You should back, but it’s not like Jungkook doesn’t know that already. He’s the one always barging into your apartment or sitting down next to you in the library when you’re trying to study. 

“But maybe you should try drinking less bubble tea, otherwise you’re gonna blow up like a tapioca pearl like that one girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Jungkook warns, pinching your cheek as if to make your face round like a tapioca bubble. 

“I can think of nothing I’d want more than to be a tapioca pearl for the rest of my life,” you state simply. It would be much less stressful than to be a college student. 

“If you were a tapioca pearl, I’d eat you!” Jungkook says, and you, out of the security of both your head and your heart, choose not to think too much into it. 

As Jungkook teases you about your slight obsession with bubble tea, Chaewon finally puts the phone down after what very well was several minutes of angry Korean. She lets out this deep, long sigh, like all of the pent-up rage within her is exiting through her exhale. 

“You good, Chae?” You ask her, a little concerned. Even after knowing her since the beginning of your freshman year, you’ve never once seen her get mad, though she looks pretty close to it now. 

“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “My mom is having this stupid company ball here and she really, really wants me to attend.” It is obvious that Chaewon does not, in fact, want to attend. You’ve seen Chaewon nearly every day for over a year, and you’ve never even seen her wear a pantsuit. You couldn’t imagine her joy at having to dress up in a ballgown. 

“But fancy free food,” you point out. Even if she does have to be trapped in a penthouse ballroom with her parents’ stuffy business friends, the catering company will probably be god-tier. 

Chaewon pretty much bangs her head on the dining hall table. 

“Wow, I didn’t know someone could hate catered food so much,” you say, a little alarmed. 

“It’s not that,” Chaewon says, rubbing her forehead. The pasta on the plate in front of her has remained untouched for nearly ten minutes now. You wonder if she’s even hungry anymore. “My mom wants me to bring a plus-one.”

Your eyes widen. An excuse to dress nice and eat good food? Hell yeah. 

“And it can’t be you, Y/N, it has to be a date,” Chaewon says. It’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in dating whatsoever, no matter the gender of the object of her affection. You pout. Damn. “My mom said, ‘he can be whoever you want!’ but that means that he has to be an attractive Korean guy who’s got a future job in finance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of broccoli. 

“You will?” Chaewon asks. Jungkook just single-handedly saved Chaewon from a night of unbearable business talk with a boy she doesn’t know and cannot relate to. 

You scoff. “You’re just a regular Korean dude, Jungkook,” you tell him. 

Jungkook pouts, bottom lip turned out. “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

You refuse to answer that question. You’re afraid of what you might say if you open your mouth. 

“Seriously, you’d do that for me?” Chaewon turns to Jungkook with platonic stars in her eyes. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Sure. I’ve got a suit. I’ll ask my friend Jimin for a crash course in finance before the thing. When is it?”

And just like that, you and Jungkook’s weekly Friday Mario Kart night gets a rain check. 

 Jeon Jungkook is the sole best decision of your life. 

And it’s funny and twisted and wonderful, because he is the one thing you had failed to account for in your life. He stands there on the sidewalk in the blazing sun, black baseball cap nestled safely onto his dark brown hair, and in the split second it takes for him to open his mouth and say hello, everything changes. 

But no longer is the image you conjure in your mind when you think of him a picture of him on that very first day of orientation, lost and excited all at once. It is of him barging into your apartment and eating all of your leftover ravioli. It’s him laying on your dinky couch like it belongs to him, surfing through all of the Netflix shows available and eventually just settling on old Gilmore Girls episodes like he always does. It’s him standing in your closet to judge your latest clothing purchases and take back any items that you’ve stolen from him over the years. 

It’s imagining him not as a guest but as a permanent fixture in your home, in the place that makes you feel safest. Because that’s who Jungkook is, now. He is that place. He stands in your apartment rattling off a list of why microwaves are a severely underestimated killer, and it takes every inch of your being not to ask him to stay. To spend night after night cuddling on the couch, or make a home-cooked meal together on a Sunday evening, or get lost underneath the sheets on your bed.

Jungkook stands in your apartment like he belongs there. And only in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine that coming true.

Such is the case of that Friday night, when he’s supposed to accompany Chaewon to her terrible, awful, brain-melting parents’ business gala. You haven’t seen him all day, too busy with your club meetings to make time for him after your classes are finished for the week. College is never-ending in that horrible, unstoppable way. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when you hear the knock on your door. Two of your roommates are at a rush event for their sorority, and the other sleeps through your smoke alarm on a regular basis, so you are tasked with the job of opening the door. 

On the other side is Jungkook, as he frequently is. 

Your heart practically freezes in place, like his eyes have shot right through it. Instead of his usual baggy outfit and a bucket hat, he’s standing outside of your apartment in a crisp navy suit (complete with a pocket square), rings lining his fingers and hair tousled in that effortlessly-styled kind of way. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a young, successful CEO. Like the love of your whole fucking life. 

Coughing to distract from the fact that you’re practically drooling, you say, “Wow, you clean up nicely.”

Jungkook looks down at himself, almost as if he had forgotten he’s wearing a full suit entirely. “The pocket square is Jimin’s,” he explains, “but yeah. I didn’t want to let Chaewon down by not dressing up to code.”

He’s got remnants of makeup left on his face, having faded and smudged throughout the night. There’s a bit of black underneath his eyes from the liner, a smoldering effect that makes the dark brown of his irises even deeper. “You look tired,” you comment. “Why are you here, why don’t you go home, Jungkook? Get some sleep.”

Jungkook shrugs, looking over your shoulder to see if his arrival has woken up any of your roommates. “Your place was closer,” he says like it’s nothing. 

Like it doesn’t make your breath catch in your throat, stop in its tracks. He spends an evening dressed up in a stuffy suit and tie surrounded by old businessmen and their preppy daughters with whom he has nothing in common, and when it’s nearly two in the morning and he can finally relax, he drives to your place instead of his own. Like it means nothing. As if it means anything at all. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, and even knotted and messy it still looks flawless. “If I’m bothering you, just let me know. I know it’s late.”

It’s so hard to say no to him. 

“Just come inside already before you wake up the neighbors,” you tell him, sighing to pretend like it’s a minor inconvenience. And even running on barely any sleep with makeup smudged underneath his eyes, Jungkook grins as you let him inside your apartment, caving in, just like you always do. 

The first thing he does when he’s inside is take off his fancy loafers and peel off his suit jacket, resting it against the back of the couch. You fumble around in the kitchen for the kettle, instinctively starting to make two cups of tea. Routine. 

Looking up, you watch as Jungkook loosens his tie and takes it off, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his white dress shirt. By the counter, you turn your back to him so he doesn’t see you mentally combust. It’s impossible that he doesn’t already know what he does to you. 

The kettle finishes boiling the moment Jungkook settles onto your couch. He keeps the television off so he doesn’t wake your roommates, and scrolls on his phone with his knees tucked underneath his chin. Thirty seconds later, you’re joining him, handing him the cup of tea before sitting down next to him, severely underdressed in comparison. 

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” You ask. 

“The food totally slapped,” Jungkook tells you. “Chaewon’s parents really pulled out all the stops.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muse. 

“We spent most of the time lounging by the catering table and distracting each other by making up stories about all of the rich people there.” Jungkook laughs. 

“Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself, though,” you say. Perhaps Jungkook could withstand a few blows to his ego, but Chaewon’s future pretty much depends on her impressing her parents and their comrades. 

“No!” Jungkook tells you defensively. “Jimin told me everything I needed to know, but all of Chaewon’s friends and their filthy rich CEO parents thought I was so handsome that I didn’t even need to speak.”

You roll your eyes. Of course Jungkook wouldn’t give up the chance to remind you of his hellishly good looks. 

“You just stood there, looking pretty?” You ask. Not as if he doesn’t do that already. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Jungkook teases, a greasy smile sent your way, like he doesn’t know the answer anyway. 

You huff. “Dressed up like this? Anyone would.”

“Chaewon said I was like her fake trophy husband,” Jungkook jokes. “She did all of the schmoozing. It’s not like I could have contributed anything anyway. Unless everyone wants to hear about C++.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk all tech to me,” you tease, nudging him with your arm. “So sexy, keep talking.”

He laughs. “If we keep talking about Python I might get a little too excited.” He wiggles his eyebrows just for good measure and you giggle, holding onto this moment for dear life as you let it etch itself into your brain permanently. Times like these, you know you can’t forget, saving them for a rainy day thirty years down the line when you’re in love with someone that’s not Jungkook. When you look out the window and think about what might have been, if only things back in college had been a little bit different. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes on the table. He’s got two notifications, one from Instagram of Chaewon tagging him in a post, and another from Venmo. 

“Fuckin’ damnit,” Jungkook swears, letting his phone drop on the couch cushion. 

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him. 

“Chaewon just Venmo’ed me a hundred dollars,” Jungkook says with a sigh. And it’s not one of those times when you see your bank account balance go up and get happy because yay, money!, it’s when your friend pays you anything over what they actually owe you out of the goodness of your heart, and you refuse to accept it. 

“She did?” You ask, eyes widening. A hundred dollars? That’s more than Jungkook would make in three shifts at the call center. 

“‘Thanks for bailing me out tonight. You definitely deserve more than 100 but then you’d be mad at me. But please don’t be mad at me!’” Jungkook reads off his phone. “I just stood there looking like eye candy. I didn’t do a thing to help her, what the heck?”

You pull out your own phone to check Chaewon’s latest post. 

It’s a picture of them together in the skyscraper penthouse the gala was held in, Jungkook looking dapper in his suit with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Chaewon in a dress worth more than a semester’s tuition throwing up a peace sign like the trendy Asian she is. They look like a K-drama couple. Like two celebrities basking in their fame and wealth. 

Shoutout to my one and only Jeon Jungkook for being my fake date tonight! Thanks to your good looks and charming personality for impressing all of my parents’ rich friends and their daughters. Love you 3000 💕

“Wow, whoever took this picture of the both of you knows their shit,” you say, impressed. You had always thought it impossible for Jungkook to look better in pictures than in real life, but this photo is coming rather close. If you were any more shameless, you’d ask Chaewon if she has any more photos of him. Just him, preferably. 

It’s not as if she doesn’t know about your gargantuan crush on him anyway. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked that good in a photo in my life,” Jungkook says with a laugh. Impossible. He yawns, placing his empty mug on the little end table next to the couch. 

“You should set it as your profile picture,” you suggest, leaning your head on him and pretending like this is normal. He yawns again, stretching out as he rests his body against yours. “Hey, we should go to sleep. Unless you want to go home?”

Jungkook groans, snuggling in closer. “No, your bed is big enough for the two of us.”

And who are you to resist?

You wake up to the sound of a phone buzzing furiously on your bedside table. You crack open one eye just a sliver to see who the culprit is and immediately eradicate it, when the sun filtering through your Venetian blinds hits your cornea. You groan, shutting your eyes once more as you smack your hand around to get it to shut off. 

The movement, however, causes the bedsheets to shift beside you, and when you turn, you find Jungkook nestled up tightly beneath your duvet, an arm stretched over your side as he hums in his sleep. 

You’re best friends. 

This is normal. 

(The feeling of your heart beating out of its chest has become rather normal, as well.)

He’s wearing a raggedy old t-shirt of yours that has always been too big on you but fits him just perfectly and a pair of joggers that he keeps at your place “just in case”. Just in case he stays the night. Just in case you ever need them. Selfishly, you will yourself to fall back asleep, shutting your eyes tightly and pretending that maybe, if you never wake up, this moment will freeze in time, locking the two of you together for eternity. 

He mumbles to himself in his sleep, a murmur of nothing as he shifts over slightly, hand dragging up your side. 

God. 

Next to you, the phone begins to buzz erratically again, and wide-awake, you look over to realize that it’s Jungkook’s, and that it’s Chaewon on the other end. 

This is at least the second time she’s called, which means that, despite how tempting it is, you probably shouldn’t silence his phone and go back to lying in bed with Jungkook and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

Sighing, you pick up. 

“Jungkook!” Chaewon shouts on the other side. For a brief moment you wonder why on earth she’s so energetic so early, but it’s less that and more the fact that you are overwhelmingly lethargic rather late in the day. “All of my friends said you looked really good in those photos I posted of us. Do you think you’re free next Wednesday night? Seunghee wants you to accompany her to a double date her parents are forcing her to go on!”

“Chaewon—”

“Oh, Y/N! How’s it going?”

“I just woke up,” you mumble quietly as Jungkook stirs beside you. 

“Of course you did,” Chaewon says, and you can see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “Wait, why do you have Jungkook’s phone if you just woke up? Oh my God, don’t tell me—”

“Shh!” You hiss into the phone. Jungkook is slowly beginning to wake up, and you can only pray that he isn’t listening in to the conversation between you and Chaewon. “No, we did not. He got back after your thing and we promptly passed out in my bed, fully clothed,” you whisper loudly. 

“Jungkook went to your place last night? He was so tired, I thought he was going straight back to his. We even got dropped off outside my apartment.”

What? Chaewon and Jungkook live within a three-minute walk of each other. Your apartment is ten minutes away from both of them. 

“You did?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Who’s that?” 

You turn around to see Jungkook lying on his back, head resting on a nearly-deflated pillow of yours as he looks up at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is mussed, some parts styled and stiff with hair gel, and some parts tangled and unkempt. He looks like he’s been lying in that position for a while, hand resting behind his head as he gazes up at you. 

“It’s Chaewon,” you tell him softly as she laughs on the other end. “She just called your phone. Are you free next Wednesday?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook, still half-asleep. “When?”

“Next Wednesday,” you repeat, a hand on the phone like it’s going to do anything to stop Chaewon from listening to you two. “Chaewon says she has a friend who wants you to accompany her to a double date she’s been set up to go on by her parents.”

“Mmmrph,” Jungkook mumbles. It’s clear he hasn’t even thought about his plans for the rest of the day, let alone next Wednesday. 

“He’s not available right now,” you say into the phone. Chaewon snorts. 

“Fine,” Chaewon says with a sigh. “Can you pass the message on when you guys are done pretending that you aren’t fucking behind my back?”

You suck in a breath. “Chaewon!” You hiss. “We are not—” you quickly turn back to Jungkook, who, by the looks of his hooded eyes and bewildered expression, isn’t listening in, “—fucking!” You whisper. “You know we’re not!”

Chaewon laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Call me later, Y/N, we should grab ice cream or something.” She hangs up. 

“Who was that?” Jungkook asks sleepily, eyes still half-lidded as he sits up in your bed, soft skin, brown hair, pouted lips amongst a sea of white, bundled up in your thick duvet as if sitting on a cloud. 

“Chaewon,” you tell him. 

“Oh, why was she calling?”

“She wanted to ask if you were free next Wednesday.”

“To do what?”

Maybe you were worried about Jungkook listening in to Chaewon grill you about your relationship (or serious lack thereof) for nothing. 

“She has a friend who wants you to go on a parent-mandated double date, trophy boyfriend style,” you explain. Jungkook groans. 

“Pretending to know business is mentally, physically, and morally draining. It feels like I’m selling my soul to capitalism,” he says with a sigh, collapsing back against the mattress. “I just wanna stay here forever. It’s so cozy.”

“Come on, Kook,” you say, tugging the duvet off of him to reveal the rest of his body. He curls into himself at the exposure, refusing to budge. “You’ve encroached on my apartment long enough.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook whines, drawing out your name for good measure. “Noooooooo.” He reaches out to cling onto your wrist, which means that if you want him out of your bed, you’ll have to drag him out.

“Jungkook, you’re swole, you know I can’t tug you out of my bed,” you say with a pout. He knows every trick in the book to use against you, and worst of all, he knows you’re weak to all of them. 

“Good,” Jungkook says with a loopy smile, pulling you back onto the bed like it’s nothing. You yelp as you come crashing on top of him, your body bumping into his as he wraps his arms around you and flops back onto your bed. You laugh and shout at the feeling as Jungkook cuddles up in the warmth of the sheets, pulling you in tightly to his body. “It’s so warm here, let’s stay like this forever.”

“What about food?”

“You keep a stash of Clif bars under your bed, we’ll eat those,” Jungkook suggests. 

You attempt to wriggle out of his grip, hoping to escape before he holds you long enough to get addicted, hooked on the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours. But Jungkook is nothing if not persistent and clingy, and he wraps his arms tightly around your torso like a koala, warm and soft. “Come on, Jungkook. It’s nearly noon. Let’s be productive today.”

“Gross.”

“Let’s not sit in bed all day.”

“Grosser. Let’s just stay in your bed all day and pretend that we don’t have any real responsibilities.”

“Given that we’re in college, that may be slightly difficult.”

“Fuck that, your GPA doesn’t matter anyway. Unless you have plans on going to grad school?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, turning to look at you. 

“No way, I’m not paying for another four years of this shit,” you immediately declare. Let the capitalist system of higher education extort another two to four years worth of tuition out of you for the same degree? Absolutely not. 

“Then why move?” Jungkook says with a grin. 

“Because,” you say, stumbling for a real answer. 

“Not good enough.” He grins cheekily. “I vote to stay in bed.”

“I vote to do my readings, your CS homework, and get back to Chaewon about Wednesday.”

“God,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “What’s Wednesday?”

“Oh my God, you need to call Chaewon. Right now. Before you ask me what you have on Wednesday one more time after losing all of your brain cells lounging around in my personal bed and refusing to leave,” you say, eyes wide as you worm your way out of his grip, dusting yourself off and heading to your closet. 

“Noooooooo,” Jungkook says, reaching out a desperate hand. “Y/N, come back.”

“Call Chaewon. Call her!” You order, fishing around in your closet for some fresh clothes. You’ve been wearing the same one since Thursday night. You are disgusting. 

Jungkook groans but obeys, picking up his phone and pressing her contact. “Hey Chae, it’s Jungkook. Listen, I’m literally going to Venmo you back what you paid me because you? Literally didn’t need to pay me at all? And I’m actually mad at you for it? Wait, what do you mean am I up to getting paid on Wednesday—”

The phone call presents the perfect opportunity for you to dash out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, where you splash yourself with cold tap water like a model in a face wash commercial (who already has perfect skin, so why does she need this new face wash, seriously?) to clear your head. It’s been a weird twelve hours. Even weirder knowing that across the hall, Jungkook is sitting in your room, on your bed, in your clothes, under your bed sheets. Knowing that maybe, in another universe, on another timeline, you would be in the exact same positions, only everything would be different. 

You wash your face, hoping to wake yourself up. Convince your mind that the past twelve hours have been nothing but a dream, and that when you walk back into your room, Jungkook will have vanished. Or he would have never been there in the first place. 

You leave the bathroom and return to your bedroom to see Jungkook tugging on his suit jacket, wearing the same clothes he had on when he knocked on your door at 2AM last night. He’s still on the phone, wrapping up the conversation with Chaewon. 

“Yeah, yeah, tell her that I’m down. She can just text me, give her my number. I’m happy to do this for you and your friends, Chae. Plus, she’s gonna pay me and I feel less bad about it because it’s a service and she’s not a close friend like you are. Yeah, it’s all good,” he looks up to see you standing at the door, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, Y/N just got back so I’m gonna go. Maybe we can grab dinner or something tonight? Cool. Bye.”

“Dinner without me?” You ask with a pout. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. “You’re always invited.”

“Have you figured out what’s going on on Wednesday?” You tease him as you walk him to the door. 

“Chaewon has a friend, Soojin, who wants me to accompany her on a parent-mandated double date with a business partner’s daughter,” Jungkook explains. “Apparently all of Chaewon’s friends realized I make a pretty good fake trophy boyfriend.”

You rub his shoulder. He’d make a great real boyfriend too. Not that you think about that all of the time, or anything. “Gonna put that on your resume, big guy?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiles. “Dinner tonight? We can go to the ramen place you really like.”

“Sure thing, is Chaewon coming?”

“If she wants to. Otherwise, it’ll just be us.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him. “See you then.”

“Hopefully before,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night, by the way.”

“Anytime,” you say. Maybe one day, it’ll be true. 

Next Wednesday, there’s a knock on your door at midnight. 

Who else could it be?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. And then it was supposed to be just a two-time thing. And before you knew it, Jungkook’s number and his services were circling through the ring of wealthy international students, jumping from phone to phone as people crammed to get him to accompany them on their next double date, next business gala, next ballroom dance. 

You had always had a feeling that his charming, charismatic personality would eventually draw everybody towards him, so electric and magnetic that you couldn’t help but want to know him, make friends with him, be close to him. From the moment you saw his Facebook introduction post, you knew it was only a matter of time before everyone on campus knew his name.

[October 17th, 4:12PM] You: do u want to get dinner tonight

Jungkook: would love to but have to go to kim family business dinner with dahyun sorry :(

You: ok next time then!

[October 23rd, 1:03PM]

You: yo what r u doing You: i have so many readings to do rip You: do u wanna come to greene w me and study

Jungkook: heejin is taking me shopping for a fancy suit for her family’s event tomorrow i can’t :/ Jungkook: but i am going to get macaroons for u at the mall so we can see each other later!

You: yummm sure thing!

[October 30th, 9:58AM]

You: hey ik you’re asleep rn but we are still on for tomorrow right? 🎃 You: can’t let our one (1) year long halloween tradition of buying last-minute candy and watching the nightmare before christmas together die

[October 30th, 11:13PM]

Jungkook: omg i just saw this now im so sorry Jungkook: uh yeonjoo wants me to go to her sister’s halloween party tm so idk if i can make it this year

[October 31st, 2:02AM]

You: ok You: thanks for telling me

It’s no fun watching The Nightmare Before Christmas by yourself, you realize this Halloween. All of your roommates are out frequenting one of the hundreds of parties being thrown on campus tonight, and although you’d normally be up for getting drunk and dropping it low, you just aren’t in the Halloween spirit this year. Wonder why. 

Armed with the knowledge that your roommates probably won’t be back until three or four in the morning, you shut your laptop and decide to go to bed early. Early being midnight, but it’s early for you and that’s all that really matters. 

You don’t know why you’re being such a stick in the mud this Halloween. It’s always been one of your favorite holidays, never one to pass up free candy nor the option to dress up, but this one has been particularly lame. You don’t have a costume, your local drugstore is out of mini Skittles packets, and you don’t have someone to spend it with. 

Realistically, you have no reason to be sad that Jungkook isn’t available tonight. It’s not as if spending Halloween together is some ancient tradition from birth that binds the two of you together. You did it for the first time as freshmen, and you were foolishly hoping to do the same thing as sophomores. It’s not a tradition if it only happened once. 

You look in the bathroom mirror, stained with nail polish and dry shampoo and old skincare, and you sigh. Jungkook has every right to prioritize his current and only source of income over a night spent lounging on the couch doing nothing. It’s not as if you haven’t seen your best friend in over a month and this was the only night you both had free. Jungkook drops by after every single event he goes on. Every single one. He stands outside your door dressed in a fancy suit, or a silk button down, leather shoes and expensive jewelry bought for him by the girls he goes out with.

No matter the time, he knocks on your door and says hello, steals a cup of tea and a bit of your heart along with it, before bouncing out of your living room and off to his own apartment. He doesn’t stay the night anymore, doesn’t worm his way underneath your duvet and refuse to move until morning comes. It’s hard to tell if you’re grateful about it or not. 

Sluggishly, you peel off your clothes and wash your face, changing into some old sweatpants from the tenth grade and a t-shirt with an embarrassingly large hole in the armpit. This Halloween, you are dressing up as a lonely college student who is going to bed early on Halloween night because she has nothing better to do!

There’s a knock on your door. 

Your first instinct is to freeze up. When there’s another knock, your second instinct is to grab the closest object to you (which happens to be your water bottle) for self-defense. 

And then, you hear,

“You’re not watching The Nightmare before Christmas without me, are you?”

To spare yourself the shame, you won’t say that you practically leapt out of bed the moment you heard his voice. You calmly removed the covers, and casually walked to the front door. That is what you did. 

When you open it, Jungkook is standing behind it, grinning, wearing the greasiest police officer outfit you’ve ever seen in your entire life. This flew at a marketing company’s heir’s Halloween party? He’s even got what looks to be a fully-loaded water gun in his holster. 

“Don’t tell me this is what you wore to some fancy-shmancy Halloween party,” you say disapprovingly, eyebrows raised as you look him up and down and pretend that you aren’t just ogling his figure. 

“It was fine, Yeonjoo’s sister just graduated college. If anything, she was more okay with it than Yeonjoo was,” Jungkook says with a shrug. You don’t even need to let him in at this point, just watch as he tugs off his shoes and steps inside your apartment like it belongs to him. 

“What was Yeonjoo dressed as?”

“Princess Leia. We made for a very mismatched pair,” Jungkook says, chuckling to himself. “Ooh, did you guys get new tea?”

“You can have some if you want,” you tell him, shutting the door as he eagerly pulls out a box of teabags, turning on the electric kettle on the counter. “I think it’s Wild Berry Hibiscus.”

“Sounds good already,” Jungkook says, and he lets out a sigh that sounds so exhausted, so tired and aching, as he leans back against the countertop, head resting on the cupboards above it. 

“You could have gone home, you know,” you tell him. Even from the couch you can see the droop in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. He’s been going out several times every week for the past month, and he still has a truckload of CS assignments on top. He spends precious hours schmoozing with wealthy businessmen and women, shaking people’s hands and posing for pictures in the fanciest clothes he owns and then some. The selfish part of you wants him to stay. The part that loves him knows it would be better if he went home. “You still can.”

“No,” Jungkook insists, shaking his head. “We have a tradition to uphold, don’t we?”

Even though The Nightmare Before Christmas is seventy-six minutes long, the night ends long before that. You haven’t even reached “This Is Halloween” before you feel a head hit your shoulder, and crane your neck to find Jungkook having fallen fast asleep beside you, half-full cup of Wild Berry Hibiscus next to the laptop in front of you. He’s still wearing his stupid police officer costume, the navy blue uniform tight against his body. His lips are parted ever so softly, eyelashes fluttering as little non-sounds exit his mouth, hints, whispers of snores. 

He hasn’t slept over since the first time. You’re not sure if you want the trend to continue, or if you just want to be a little bit selfish tonight, greedy, taking and taking and taking. He’s so beautiful like this, so innocent and gentle and soft. It would be such a shame if you had to wake him. 

And so, gingerly, you rest your head against his own, breathe in the quiet little sounds that leave his parted lips, memorize the feeling. It’s not the first time Jungkook’s accidentally fallen asleep on you, but there is something about this moment, sitting on your couch a few minutes past midnight, as the rest of the world celebrates around you, that is so intimate. Like here, in your apartment, you and Jungkook have your own little bubble, tucked away in a corner of the universe far from the noise of the rest of the world. And it’s here that you wish you could stay forever, for once never wanting the feeling to end. Wanting time to freeze in its very steps, the clocks stop and the orbit halts, and it is just you and Jungkook, forever. Like characters in a movie, on pause for eternity.

The moment ends when Jungkook shifts beside you before eventually coming to, slowly opening his eyes as he turns to look at you. You smile at him, dazed and tired, as he sits up properly, staring down at your half-opened laptop and the half-full cup of tea next to it. 

“Thought you’d end up sleeping here again tonight,” you joke, even though it isn’t really a joke. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside you, in the crevices between your bones and the dark corner of your heart, you had hoped that he would stay. 

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Jungkook asks, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. It’s nearly two-thirty in the morning. 

“Just for a bit. I didn’t want to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to head back to your apartment or anything,” you tell him. 

Jungkook nearly jumps up off the couch at that, like he’s got springs in his shoes. Suddenly he’s wide awake, brown eyes blown open as he scrambles to gather his belongings, taking the cup of tea and quickly dumping it out in your sink. 

“Hey, don’t you want that?” You ask. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll come by some other time and have some, it was really good, I just fell asleep while drinking it,” Jungkook sputters, words moving a mile a minute as he tugs on his heavy black officer boots, scuffed at the tips from wear and tear. It’s as if he’s desperate to leave. Like your apartment has somehow offended him. Or worse, you. 

“If you want to stay, Jungkook, you can,” you tell him, standing up to run to the door before he pulls the damn thing off his hinges with how fast he’s moving. “I don’t mind. My bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“No, I should—I should get going. My… plants need watering. Right now. I totally forgot.”

It’s not a completely bullshit excuse. Jungkook has a fair few pothos amongst his other worldly apartment belongings, hanging from his ceiling or potted in old mugs and janky shoes. But it’s still a pretty bullshit excuse. It’s dark. Jungkook waters his plants every Sunday, and it’s Friday. It’s obvious he wants to get the hell out of your apartment for whatever reason. 

All you can do is hope and pray that it isn’t you who’s driving him away. 

“Oh—okay,” you tell him, opening the door as he furiously laces up his other boot. 

“Thanks for doing this. Next Halloween will be more fun, I swear. I won’t fall asleep on you. Or anything.”

“Okay, see you soon, then?” You ask, searching for a clue, a hint, anything that will tell you that it’s not you, that he hasn’t found you out yet. That you can still be friends, be best friends, because even if you want to kiss him, hold his hand, roll around in bed with him, loving him from afar is good enough. 

“Yes, yes, definitely. Dinner? Uh… sometime this week? I’ll text you. I have to go. Plants. See you!”

He dashes down the hallway. 

And you end your Halloween the same way you started it. Alone. 

Jungkook ran out of your apartment the other day like it was infested with cockroaches. Or the Black Plague. Or your microwave had just beeped. It was as if simply being inside it was going to scar him for life. 

Maybe your apartment is cursed. Jungkook does believe in ghosts. That’s another reason as to why he fears the microwave. Tiny ghosts could be living inside the microwave chamber and you’d never know. But Jungkook knows better. He knows that they’re there. 

“He just… ran out?” Chaewon asks, clearly bewildered. The two of you have been working on the first floor of the library all day, obviously doing everything in your power to not actually complete any of your assignments. 

“Yeah, something about his plants.” You sigh. 

Chaewon narrows her eyes, the same way she does when she’s plotting something. “Interesting.”

“What?” You ask, nudging her to see if you can worm a less mysterious response out of her. 

“Nothing,” Chaewon says with a nonchalant shrug. She clearly has something to say. 

“What?” You repeat forcefully. Chaewon doesn’t get to go all cryptic on you just because Jungkook ran out of your apartment like it had set fire. 

“I know I’ve only known you guys for, like, a year and a bit now, but you two have the strangest relationship I’ve ever seen,” Chaewon comments like it’s nobody’s business when it is, in fact, specifically two people’s business. 

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” She pauses, thinking. In the silence, she begins to pack up her belongings, shoving her laptop into her bag and gathering up the small pile of candy wrappers slowly amassing in front of her. “I’ve never seen two best friends have a relationship quite like yours.”

“Thanks?”

“What are you doing for dinner? I’m eating with Yoonji, but you’re welcome to join if you want,” Chaewon offers. Even though you have no idea who Yoonji is, Chaewon would never exclude you from eating with them.

“I’m getting Korean food with Jungkook, but thanks for the offer,” you say, only to be greeted with Chaewon rolling her eyes. He said he’d meet us outside?”

Sure enough, when you head out of the glass doors at the front of the library, Jungkook is waiting dutifully on a bench close by, headphones in as he nods his head and taps his feet to the beat of the music, lost in his own world. He doesn’t even realize that you’ve left the library until you’re two feet in front of him, when he recognizes your beat-up white sneakers and looks up at you in glee, eyes crinkled into crescents. 

“Ready to go?” You ask happily. Your stomach has been rumbling ever since Jungkook suggested you go out to eat this morning. 

“Hell yeah I am,” Jungkook says, putting his earbuds away as he stands up. “You coming, Chae?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m eating with a friend.” There’s nudge against your shoulder, and when you turn to face her, she winks. “But you two enjoy yourselves! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

Before you can publicly berate her for being so goddamn obvious, she’s rotating 180 degrees on her heel and speed-walking in the opposite direction, zooming off so you don’t get the chance. 

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” you comment mindlessly. Twenty-four hours away from Jungkook feels like a lifetime and a half. Forty-eight is a light year. 

“I’ve been busy,” Jungkook says vaguely, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Doing what, going out to fancy restaurants and galas?” You half-tease. It’s sad but true—Jungkook spends his nights living a life you could only dream of. And all of these rituals you share, from studying in the library until three in the morning to crashing at his place and taking naps on separate couches, get put on the backburner. 

“Hey, it’s hard work pretending to be rich,” Jungkook pouts. “Besides, the craziest thing about going to those things is that rich Korean people don’t serve Korean food at their fancy gatherings. They serve shit like caviar.”

“Is that why you’re so desperate to get Korean?” You ask pointedly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook emphasizes. “Man, I just want some tteokbokki.”

“Then we’ll go and eat all of the tteokbokki you can dream of,” you promise. You round the street corner and on the edge of the main road and an alleyway sits a tiny Korean restaurant the size of a bedroom, no more than six cramped tables inside. It’s run by a family who passes it down through each generation, dependent on the starving college students nearby to keep it alive. 

It’s Jungkook’s favorite place. The owner gives him a discount every time he sees him. 

(It’s impossible not to fall in love with Jungkook. Impossible to not be drawn to his presence, his personality. Like moths to a flame, you can’t help but come closer.)

“Ah, Jungkook!” The old man behind the counter greets as the bell above the entrance rings. “Sit! Sit!” He points to your favorite table, a round one in the far left corner that’s right next to the biggest window. “Usual?”

“Tteokbokki, too, please!” Jungkook shouts. The man gives you both a thumbs up and heads back into the kitchen. 

“It’s been a while since we came here,” Jungkook notices. You both usually eat lunch on campus and Jungkook has been largely unavailable for dinner. 

“Almost sounds like you missed it,” you poke fun. 

“God, I missed it so much,” Jungkook exclaims, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I didn’t realize that it would be so much work to get dressed up in a suit and look hot.”

“Don’t make it sound like such a drag.” You frown. Jungkook needs to put in literally zero effort to look hot. Sitting across from him in this tiny Korean restaurant as he wears nothing but a massive hoodie and black joggers, he looks hot. When he wakes up in your bed in a raggedy t-shirt, he looks hot. When you catch him at three in the morning in the library after eighteen straight hours of studying, he looks hot. 

Jungkook sits there and radiates light. Radiates warmth and joy and beauty. Laughter and hope. He’s the college version of a Disney prince. Perfectly imperfect and completely out of your reach. 

“I wish I could take you with me, you might enjoy it,” Jungkook sighs. “Plus, I have literally never seen you wear something fancier than business casual. Imagine you in a ballgown!”

“In your dreams, Jeon,” you rebuke. “Free catered food sounds nice but having to mingle with the 1% does not.”

“Touché,” Jungkook concedes. “I don’t know how Chaewon does it.”

“She’s a goddess.”

“Indeed.”

Jungkook pours you a cup of water from the pitcher that the old man dropped off, and then pours one for himself. “Chaewon said that I did well, though.”

Not surprising. Jungkook excels at everything he does. 

“Of course you did, you sexy beast,” you chide. 

“She said I’d make a good boyfriend.”

You choke on your water as the man’s son brings out your food, and you desperately attempt to avoid eye contact as you sputter and cough into a napkin, gaze pointed away from both a surprised waiter and a concerned Jungkook, who awkwardly thanks the man and leans over to pat your back. 

“You good?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

Coughing, you say, “I’m okay, I’m okay. It just—it went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Jungkook doesn’t buy it, and the little coughs escaping your throat don’t do much to corroborate your claim. “Seriously, Jungkook. I’m okay. It’s just water.”

“You looked like you were on the verge of death,” Jungkook frowns. 

“That’s just my face,” you fire back. “Just keep talking about what you were saying earlier. What was it?”

“Being a good boyfriend,” Jungkook says, and with no water near your lips to distract you this time, your mind bears the full force of his words, weighing down on your shoulders like a calculus textbook. 

It’s not as if you aren’t already aware that Jungkook would be the best boyfriend in the entire world, bar none. Not as if you don’t sit in bed and dream of a parallel universe, a life other than the one you’re living in right now, where Jungkook is lovely and wonderful and yours. He knocks on your door at a random hour in the afternoon with Chinese takeout from the local restaurant. He remembers your homework assignments when you forget them. He sits in bed with you and judges the Instagrams of the guys on the latest Bachelorette season. It’s as if he was already yours.

“Believe me,” you scoff. “The people know how great of a boyfriend you are.” 

“It’s fake, though,” Jungkook reminds you. “It’s only for a night. An evening, really.”

“Better than nothing,” you sigh. “If only I had enough money to rent myself a fake boyfriend for a night.”

“If only your parents were the CEOs of a multibillion dollar cooperation,” Jungkook adds on. 

“Truth,” you say, and you and Jungkook toast to that. Toast to knowing that some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Toast to knowing that some of those people can get for themselves something you can only imagine in your wildest dreams—a night with Jungkook. More than just a night. A night spent dressed up in your fanciest clothes, arms wrapped tightly around each other. A night spent as a couple, rather than you and Jungkook. 

Toast to knowing that even if you’ll never get to have him like that, you get to have him like this, and you’d rather it be like this than nothing at all. 

“You don’t need to rent a fake boyfriend for a night, Y/N,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve downed the water in your glasses (stay hydrated!). “You shouldn’t feel pressured to spend time with people you don’t want to spend time with.”

You don’t understand, you sigh. I’d give anything to spend time with you. 

Jungkook pays. He says that he’s made more money accompanying wealthy socialites—even ones that don’t go to your school, because word gets around—than he would in a month’s worth of shifts at the call center. He says he’s never looking back. He’s probably not going to give up the gig for a while, either. 

“Just because you have cash now doesn’t mean you get a free pass to pay for everything we do together,” you warn. You’ve always split the price of meals, split the price birthday cakes for your friends. In the beginning of freshman year, Jungkook ate a quarter of a bag of goldfish you had and paid you fifty-three cents to account for his consumption, which you immediately sent back to him. You still fight over it, finding surreptitious ways to incorporate it into the Venmo payments you make to each other. 

“I’m rich, I can do whatever I want with my money,” Jungkook proclaims. “And if that means treating my best friend to a meal, then that means I’m gonna treat her to a meal.”

“That’s very rude of you,” you tell him pointedly. “Zero out of ten, worst best friend in the entire world. Will not accept my Venmo payments.”

Walking down the sidewalk, side by side, Jungkook wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a side hug as you come to a stop at a traffic light. “You always do so much for me and Chaewon. You deserve to be treated once in a while, Y/N.”

“Why, ‘cause I go out to CVS at ten at night to get you Nyquil after you catch the common cold from some sweaty guy at the gym?” 

“That,” Jungkook nods, conceding, “and also because you’re one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. The people who know you are lucky to get to say your name.”

If only Jungkook knew that he was the exact same. It’s an honor to know him. It’s a blessing to love him. 

“What fancy clothes do you own?” Chaewon’s lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. 

“I don’t know,” you respond, brows furrowing. You get up from your desk chair to start fishing through your closet,  “I have, like, some business casual stuff.”

“How about a dress?”

You whip around suspiciously, eyeing Chaewon as she lounges around in your room and acts like she isn’t plotting something nefarious. “Don’t you think you could tell me what you’re trying to convince me to do before you ask me if I have the appropriate clothing?” 

Even lying on her back, Chaewon still manages to roll her eyes, sitting up to meet your gaze. “There’s a gala tonight to celebrate some big business deal being closed and I want you to come with me,” she says like it’s a chore, exasperated. 

“Me?” You frown. “Why not Jungkook?”

“He said he had some thing to do for some other girl,” Chaewon says. The topic clearly is not at the forefront of her mind. It’s a little too obvious that it’s at the forefront of yours. “Besides, I was given no date restrictions and you deserve to have a little fun tonight. It’s a Friday!”

“I just want to stay in bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you tell her. 

“You’re already out of bed,” Chaewon points out unhelpfully. 

“Well, then I want to get into bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you rephrase. 

Chaewon pouts. “Noooo, please? It’ll be fun, I swear,” Chaewon pleads.  “It’s a huge party and hundreds of people are going to be there. Everybody gets to bring a plus one. You won’t be the only person who doesn’t know anything about business and has to cling onto their date in order to survive.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me want to go so much,” you deadpan. 

“Seriously, Y/N. When was the last time you went out on a Friday?”

A while ago. You and Jungkook started having Mario Kart nights on Friday in the middle of your freshman year after you both came to the conclusion that every frat party smells, sounds, and tastes like the same fifty shades of college regret. You haven’t gone out since. 

“Not that long ago,” you lie. It’s been months.

“Yeah, right,” Chaewon scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t see your Bitmoji on the SnapMap sitting in your damn apartment on a Friday at 11PM,” she scolds.

“I’m gonna turn off my location,” you declare. You’ve had enough of Snapchat exposing you and your location. People can live in mystery about your whereabouts from now on. They don’t need to know. Chaewon certainly does not. 

“No excuses, you’re coming with me to the gala! You must have something to wear in that closet of yours, don’t you?” She slides off of your bed with a thud and joins you as you stand in front of your clothes. None of them scream fancy. None of them even whisper it. You stand back as she shuffles through your clothes, hangers squeaking as she shoves them along the rail. Chaewon tears through your clothing faster than you skim through your economics readings. “Aha! What do we have here?”

She whips out a dress from the very back of your closet, right behind the blazer you never wear because you’d rather be caught dead than in business attire. It’s old—you don’t think you’ve worn it since the beginning of your freshman year when you thought you actually had to dress up for parties. Needless to say, you dry-cleaned it the following Monday and never wore it again. You don’t even recall bringing it to college this year. 

“This is perfect!” Chaewon cries. “Really says ‘I can fucking dress myself’, don’t you think?”

“Are you implying that I can’t dress myself?” 

“You should definitely wear this,” Chaewon decides, dodging the question. “Gucci and Louis Vuitton are overrated, anyway.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.” Chaewon thrusts the dress towards you.

Chaewon shakes her head. “Of course you don’t.” 

Three hours later finds you one makeup and hair session later, standing in the lobby of a magnificent skyscraper wearing a dress that maybe could have done without the cup of frozen yogurt that you ate before you arrived. Now you remember why you haven’t really worn it since the beginning of last year. Has it shrunk?

“I feel like a loser, Chaewon,” you hiss as she bats her eyelashes and gets directed to the private elevator that will lead you both to the top floor. “A money-less, jobless loser.”

“At least you’re honest, Y/N,” Chaewon whispers back as you step into the elevator. Despite being nearly an hour and a half late (“Fashionably so!” Chaewon exclaims.) you are crowded into the back corner, several other couples stepping inside to join you, all of them wearing clothes that cost more than your tuition for all four years of college, combined. “That’s better than most of the people here.”

Nothing separates the rich from the poor like morality. 

When the elevator doors open, you and Chaewon are the last group to step out, milling about in the corner until the path is free. And when you turn your gaze away from her, you realize just why Jungkook’s so keen on going to events like these, why he never turns down an offer when it lights up his phone screen. 

In movies, rich people flaunt their wealth so extravagantly that it almost looks fake. From gigantic ice sculptures to ten-feet-tall chocolate fountains, entire orchestras and dresses worth thousands of dollars, it makes you wonder if rich people really do see those items as necessities when throwing a party. They rent out entire European castles and the press publicizes every one of their actions. To you, it looks contrived, unrealistic. Even if rich people have enough money to sustain the bottom 99% for hundreds of years, how could they spend their money on nonsense like this?

As it turns out, the ice sculptures and chocolate fountains are only half of the story.

At this gala, the hosts have spared no expense. The entire penthouse is made purely of glass, from the ceiling, to the floor, to the walls in between, giving you an absolutely breathtaking view of the city lights dozens of feet below you, of the stars millions of light years away. It’s as if you’re standing in a bubble, frozen in time, the world sparkling and twinkling and shimmering around you. You didn’t even know a place like this existed on Earth. The price to book it must be astronomical. The view, even more so. 

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, mouth dropping open at the sight. It’s a movie come to life. It’s a picture straight out of a fairytale. 

“Pretty sweet, right?” Chaewon says, clearly proud of herself for convincing you to join her. “The Parks and the Ohs really felt like celebrating.”

“No shit,” you say, dumbfounded. Chaewon wraps her arm around yours and leads you out of the elevator, her poise and grace akin to that of a princess. She’s been to this place before. She could do this in her sleep. 

“Pictures first, then we eat, and then we mingle,” Chaewon instructs, and you nod diligently. She’s the only way you’re going to make it out of this night unscathed. Without her, you don’t know what you’d do. 

On the average day of an average life of an average person, pictures means getting a stranger to take a single pic on your shitty iPhone at your worst angle, which you will begrudgingly post to your Instagram later after extensive editing. 

But this is not your average day, and these are not average lives of not average people. Pictures means professional photographers with entire setups, standing with their cameras held up to their eyes, poised and ready for the next shot. It means couples, one by one, stepping in front of a gorgeous backdrop and posing, over and over, as five photographers at once cram to get their best angle, the cleanest photo. 

You don’t know how to pose for photos. You barely remember what the proper formatting is for your essays, depending on the citation structure. And yet, Chaewon is ushering you over in front of the photographers, immediately striking one of her classic, perfect poses as you flail about, trying to figure out what to do with your hands. 

“Just relax,” Chaewon advises. Even standing beside you, she can see you panicking in her periphery. “And smile. You’re beautiful, so show them that.”

Eventually, as the photographers switch positions to get different angles, you stop worrying about your hands, stop worrying about your bag, your feet, your head tilt, and just grin. You may not have millions of dollars to your name, but it’s a Friday night and you’re living the life of a billionaire with no responsibilities. You deserve to live a little. 

When the next group comes up, Chaewon nudges you out of the way and whispers to one of the photographers, who nods dutifully in response. Wrapping her arm around yours once more, she guides you to the massive catering setup, tables and tables lined with delicacies from every country you could imagine. And of course, a gargantuan chocolate fountain in the middle of it all. 

Your stomach rumbles. Clearly, the frozen yogurt was not enough to hold you off. Or maybe it’s just because you’ve been eating college dining hall food for weeks now, and are probably going to throw up if you have to have dry beef one more time. 

“If you want to, you should try the caviar. It’s delicious. Avoid the eggplant, it tastes like foot, but the brussel sprouts are delicious. Kimchi’s good, too. Classic,” Chaewon instructs as you walk around the tables, placing servings the size of quarters onto your plate just so you can have a taste of everything. Chaewon sticks to some ribs, pan-seared salmon, and a vegetable so expensive you’ve never even heard of it before. 

“Im Chaewon, is that you?”

“Mrs. Kim!”

A strange older woman comes up to the two of you as you’re dishing up, and Chaewon’s face immediately lights up. The woman goes in for a hug, a barely-touching pat of the shoulders and hands. Over her shoulder, you watch as Chaewon rolls her eyes and pulls a face. 

“How are you, dear? You look so grown up,” Mrs. Kim says. You watch as the light slowly fades from Chaewon’s eyes with each second that passes. 

“I’m very well, Mrs. Kim. Did you get your hair done? It makes you look so youthful.” Chaewon’s a master. She glares at you when Mrs. Kim isn’t looking, raising her eyebrows as if to say learn, young padawan. This is how it’s done. They go on for a couple minutes, showering fake compliments on each other as you slowly begin to eat. You scrunch your nose up. Chaewon’s right. The eggplant does taste like foot. 

“And who is this?” Mrs. Kim asks, turning her focus onto you. You look up like a deer in headlights, a brussel sprout puffing your cheek. You were not meant to mingle and eat at the same time. 

“This is one of my closest friends, Y/N,” Chaewon introduces for you. You nod your hello, chewing the brussel sprout in the most nondescript manner possible in an effort to save whatever is left of your dignity. “She’s pre-law.”

You are not pre-law.

“Oh, how wonderful! You must have a lot you want to accomplish in life,” Mrs. Kim says. God, you couldn’t care less about how Mrs. Kim feels about you.

“Yes, definitely,” you say awkwardly. 

“We really must be going, Mrs. Kim. My parents will want me to make sure I do my rounds,” Chaewon says, a hand on your arm as she makes to get you both the fuck out of there. 

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Kim concedes, sending you and Chaewon one final goodbye before moving on to find her next victim. 

When she leaves, Chaewon seems to let out the biggest exhale of her life. “Holy fucking shit, I thought she’d never leave,” she exclaims, grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in a single go. “She’s an associate of my father’s, so she’s always trying to kiss my damn ass. Like, sorry that you need to brown-nose your boss and his daughter just so you bribe your idiot son’s way into college.”

“You like mingling, I take?” You joke. 

“Just murder me.”

“Have any tips?”

“Flex as hard as possible without actually flexing. Try to speak to people your age because they are usually more bearable than people older than you. The best conversationalists are anybody under the age of ten,” Chaewon tells you. She picks up another glass of Prosecco. “Want some champagne?” 

“You have it,” you tell her. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Chaewon shrugs. Not as if they’re running out any time soon. She gulps it down and places it on the tray of one of the caterers as they whiz by her. 

The rest of the night passes by in the same way the beginning of it did. Chaewon drags you around the penthouse, talking with her father’s business partners and associates and their sons and daughters and husbands and wives for no more than two minutes each before moving on. She’s got her technique down pat. Greet, compliment, shade, flex, compliment, say goodbye. It’s foolproof, because you immediately notice that everyone else in the room has adopted the same approach. 

Business gatherings like these are just one big game of who can be the most-liked and the least-liked at the same time. And the answer: everybody, all at once. 

Halfway through the evening, Chaewon collapses against the back wall, totally unafraid of the possibility of the glass giving out behind her. She doesn’t care. If it breaks, it breaks. 

“Tired?”

“I just need a break,” Chaewon declares. “Because everyone in here is so fucking fake, and you’re the only one I can talk to without wanting to rip out my eardrums.”

“I’m honored,” you say sarcastically. 

“When I say you’re the only honest one here, I mean it,” Chaewon says. You lean back against the wall next to her, looking out into a sea of people in fancy clothes with fancy food and fancy friends. “Look at all these people, Y/N. All these fucking people, and you’re the only one who’s true.”

And then, you spot him. 

He’s far away, standing in a group of people you don’t recognize, a hand on the small of another girl’s back. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, tight-fitting and tailored, a silver watch sparkling on his wrist as he adjusts his sleeves. One of the other young men in the group says something funny, and he tilts his head back to laugh, chuckling as the girl beside him curls into his arms. 

You suppose it would have been ignorant of you to assume Jungkook was elsewhere on a night like this, at a gathering where everybody who knows anybody is here. 

Jungkook must not know you’re here. He mustn't, otherwise he would have come over to find you. You must have entered at different times, spent the night wandering around different parts of the penthouse. Clinging onto Chaewon’s arms, you must have avoided his gaze, and he, yours. 

Chaewon hasn’t spotted him either. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better, if you’re the only one stuck with the knowledge that he’s here tonight. Chaewon would pity you. Other people would ask you how you knew such a worldly, experienced man like him. And you would spend the night wallowing in sadness, wondering why it’s never you that gets to spend the night next to him. 

From this distance, you can see Jungkook perfectly. The light from the moon shines down on him like a goddamn spotlight, catching the sparkling on his wrist, leaving a silver gleam in his slicked back hair. You watch as he laughs, smiles, talks, grins and beams and socializes. Of course he’s here. Of course. He’s so good at this, so good at being real and genuine and happy. 

Chaewon says the only person in the room who is true is you, but how can that be? How can that be when Jungkook, the most honest, wonderful, real person you know, is standing in front of you? You aren’t honest. You aren’t true and real and whole. You stand on the sidelines, a wallflower in a room of daisies and roses, and pine from afar. Watch as he pretends to date a girl that’s not you, wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek, and you act like everything is alright. 

It sucks, being trapped like this for fear of him seeing you. You know that would be worse—if he saw you standing alone and decided to take matters into his own hands. Seeing him up close in a penthouse like this, a movie set, shimmering and sparkling, it would be worse. Jungkook pulls the girl beside him in close to his side, smiling as he listens to someone else speak. She’s the perfect height in those heels, just tall enough to rest her head in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. You imagine them walking into the room together, hand in hand. Imagine them posing for the pictures like a real couple, a pair of celebrities. 

You suppose you have no reason to be jealous of her, of him, of what they have. Jealousy is when resenting someone for having something that you once had. You never had a life like that with Jungkook. You’ll never have a life like that with him. Never get dressed up to go out, never get to be his date to an event. Never get pictures taken of you as a couple, never feed each other candies and strawberries dipped in chocolate. You can’t be jealous of her. You were never in the running to begin with. 

“Ready to get back out there?” Chaewon asks, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. 

A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne flutes, offering it to the both of you. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chaewon tells you as she takes a glass for herself. 

You sigh, casting another glance over at Jungkook. He and his date are moving around now, joining another social circle on the opposite side of the penthouse. He looks so at ease, so comfortable. He belongs there, in the middle of it all, talking and laughing and grinning. And you? You belong back at home, underneath your duvet covers playing a game of Mario Kart. Not here. 

You shake your head. You could use a drink or two in this state. “I’d love one, actually. Thank you.”

That night, you stay at Chaewon’s place. 

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“Hello to you, as well,” you say with a scowl as Chaewon sits down across from you at the local ramen place. 

“Listen,” Chaewon begins, “I’ve been thinking. You need to confess to Jungkook.”

You nearly spit out the complimentary water you were served. “Excuse me?”

“You need to. You’ve been acting weird and that’s the only thing that’s going to fix it,” Chaewon declares. 

“What do you mean I’ve been ‘acting weird’? Care to explain?” You ask, offended. You haven’t been acting weird. Well, that weird. Maybe a little weird.

“Jungkook told me you haven’t seen each other for the last eight days,” Chaewon points out. Eight days? It’s more like seven and a half. Not that you’ve been counting, or anything. 

“So? We’re busy people,” you defend. It’s a good enough excuse. You’re sophomores in college. You have classes. Clubs. You have to meal prep. 

“So? You guys are best friends. You make time to see each other at three in the fucking morning if you haven’t seen each other yet that day. And you haven’t seen each other for eight whole days? What’s wrong with you?” Chaewon demands. 

“Nothing! What the heck, I invite you out to a best friend ramen date and you just blaspheme all over me like this?” You accuse. This is not how you imagined today to be going. This isn’t how you imagined this week to be going. “Besides, it’s only been seven and a half days. He’s over-exaggerating.”

“Seven and a—holy fuck, you are literally the worst. Can you just stop resisting? If you tell him, everything will be fine and go back to the way things were,” Chaewon says, blinking, flabbergasted. 

“No, they will not,” you hiss. “Everything will change if I tell him. We’re best friends, Chae. Imagine if I told you that I loved you. What would you do?”

“I’d love you back, that’s what!” Chaewon tells you. “You deserve to be loved back, Y/N. Nothing would change between us. I already love you. You’re one of my most favorite people ever. I would never regret something if it was with you.”

“It’s different with him, though,” you try to explain. You don’t know why—you just know that it is. The way you’re friends with Chaewon and the way you’re friends with Jungkook are entirely separate. You love Chaewon. You’re not in love with Chaewon. 

“Is it? How?” Chaewon says. 

“I don’t know, I just—it’s different with him.” There’s no way to describe it. Jungkook appeared in your life and it was as if everything just clicked into place. There isn’t a single thing in your life that makes more sense to you than Jungkook. “It’s always been different with him. With you, I—I knew that we would become really close friends once we started talking a lot more in the beginning of freshman year. But with him—I don’t know. From the moment I met him, I knew that I would fall in love with him. When he said hello to me, I was fucked. There’s never been any hope for me, Chae. I just have to live like this forever.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes. “No, you don’t. You don’t even see what the fuck is right in front of you.”

“You?”

“God, I’m friends with idiots. Literal idiots. How you guys have made it through nearly a year and a half of college is beyond me,” Chaewon says to nobody in particular. “Seriously, tell me, Y/N. What do you think will happen if you tell him? Just out of curiosity.”

“I don’t know—” you pause. A lot of things. He tells you he just wants to stay friends. He rejects you because he’s not interested that way and you can’t really be friends anymore because it’s weird now. He’s already interested in somebody else. He’s already dating somebody else and you never even knew. He’s not looking for a relationship right now. Things get awkward because you confessed to your best friend that you’re in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same. You end up never speaking to each other. You never see each other. You go through the rest of university seeing each other on the Green by chance and not knowing what to do. You graduate and move on with your lives. And suddenly, he’s just a past friend you used to have. No longer a part of your life. No longer given the chance to. “He rejects me. We never speak again and have to avoid each other at all costs. He lets me down easy and I feel like a total loser for having confessed in the first place. There’s a lot.”

“Jesus, Y/N. Aren’t you forgetting a possibility?” Chaewon says, eyebrows raised high. 

“I’m omitting a lot of them,” you tell her. Including the one where, in the next three years, you end up in a hellish dystopian wasteland and you have to band together to survive but it’s awkward and terrible because you love him still and he doesn’t feel the same, never has and never will, and now you have to fight off zombies and a corrupt autocratic government all while dealing with your own goddamn feelings. That may be the most unbearable one of them all. 

“How about the one where he actually feels the same?”

“Too unrealistic,” you tell Chaewon. It’s the truth. Why else would Jungkook be traipsing around with beautiful, rich, worldly girls on his nights off? He does it for the money, sure, but he likes it. He loves the experience, loves living that sort of life. You’d never be able to provide that for him. “You know that’s never going to happen, Chae. We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, he thinks that we’re just friends. And I’m not gonna fuck everything up by telling him that I’ve been madly in love with him for the past year and a half.” You can think of nothing worse. 

“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe he thinks that the two of you are just friends because you refuse to actually show him how you feel?” Chaewon asks pointedly, eyebrows raised in disapproval. She looks about ready to walk out of the restaurant. “You never do things to give him a reason to think otherwise.”

“Why would I?” 

When your ramen arrives, Chaewon takes a deep breath, downs the rest of her glass of water, and moves on. It’s clear that if she thinks about this any more, her head will explode. 

Nothing’s ever going to change between you and Jungkook. You knew, when you first met him, that it was always going to hurt like this. That loving him was something you had to sacrifice to stay close to him. He lights up every fucking room he walks into, and it’s all you can do not to sit there and bask in his warmth. You would rather catch a single one of his rays than be in the darkness. And if being friends with him means that friends is all you’ll ever be, then so be it. You’re lucky to have him like this. Why take the plunge? 

“Just—” Chaewon says as you begin to pull apart the noodles in your own bowl. “I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now. And you deserve to be happy, Y/N. You deprive yourself of all of these wonderful things, and I just want you to know that you deserve every single one of them. But telling him? That’s something that even I know would make you the happiest. You shouldn’t live like this, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re missing out on if you do.”

The streak of not seeing Jungkook ends the next day, when you come back from an evening grocery store run to find him standing outside your door, hand about to knock on the wood. He’s all dressed up again, button-down and slacks, hair styled and parted, and you watch as he takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s waiting for the best time to knock. 

“Jungkook?”

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lays his eyes on you. 

“Oh, Y/N!” He exclaims. “I was just about to see if you were home.”

“You could have just texted, you know,” you say jokingly, joining him at the front door as you fumble for your keys. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. 

“Well, make it up to me by helping me unpack these,” you demand, kicking the door open as you reach down to grab your reusable canvas bags filled with groceries. Immediately, Jungkook is leaning down to grab all of them for you, hauling them inside like they weigh nothing. You stare as he heads over to your kitchen without breaking a sweat, biceps clenching as he lifts the groceries up onto the counter. 

“What’d you get?” Jungkook asks, slowly beginning to take out the groceries. He’s in your apartment so often that he’s memorized where all of your food goes, from the correct shelf in the fridge for produce to the proper cabinet for cereal. 

“Just like… groceries. I saw a box of peppermint chocolate bars that I thought you might like, they’re in there somewhere,” you say mindlessly, pointing to a random canvas bag. Immediately, Jungkook abandons his putting-away-groceries duty to fish through each of the bags, hunting for the box of goodies. “And I got some cheap Trader Joe’s wine. You know. Just for emergencies.”

“Trader Joe’s wine and peppermint chocolate bars,” Jungkook comments, nodding in approval. He finally finds the box and tears it open sideways. “Sounds like a perfect dessert if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What, did you eat already?” You ask, busting out the wine and a couple of mugs, because you don’t own any wine glasses. Nothing says cultured like drinking seven-dollar wine out of mugs with kitschy sayings like “don’t talk to me until this is empty” or “coffee is my first love” written on them. 

Jungkook shrugs. He grabs the box and heads over to your couch, already kicking back and relaxing. “Yeah, I went to some restaurant for another double date,” Jungkook says. “It was one of those places where everything is so expensive but the portions are the size of my fist. Of your fist.”

“You sound hungry,” you note, filling up the mugs and joining him. “And mad.”

“I’m getting reimbursed for the money I spent tonight, so I suppose I could be angrier. But I’m starving. Let’s finish this entire box of chocolates and do nothing else.”

“Your words, not mine,” you say, although his proposal sounds more than appealing to you. 

You turn the television on for some background noise, switching to a channel showing old reruns of unsolved serial killer cases, because nothing sets the mood better than the words “then, slowly, he took the knife with which he killed her and began to slice away at her body”. Jungkook doesn’t seem to pay the television any attention, though, instead focused entirely on the chocolate in front of him, calling his name. 

He takes an enormous bite out of one before moaning far too sexually for your liking, tossing his head back in bliss. “Oh my God.”

“Good?”

Jungkook moans again in response.

“Please don’t orgasm on this couch. Who knows what other bodily fluids were on here before we bought it,” you ask calmly. 

“I’d say that’s nasty, but you guys did cover this with one of those couch covers, so it’s not like my body is coming into contact with other people’s body stains,” Jungkook reasons. The couch cover is the single best purchase you’ve made this entire year. Possibly your entire life. “But they’re delicious. You made a good purchase.”

“I thought you would like them,” you say. “You’re the only person I know who actually likes the combination of mint and chocolate.”

“People who say that it tastes like toothpaste are brushing their teeth with the wrong kind of toothpaste,” he tells you pointedly. “I don’t understand. This is God’s combination. It’s perfect.”

“As long as you love it, that’s all that matters,” you tell him with a pat on his back, breaking off a square of the chocolate bar for yourself. It is pretty good, even if mint chocolate ice cream does sometimes taste like toothpaste. But you’d never tell Jungkook that, of course. 

Jungkook takes a swig of the wine, picking up the mug and gulping down about half of it, the wine bitter on his tongue. “Goes great with this wine, too,” he jokes. You take a sip yourself. It’s… not very good. Actually, rather sticky. No wonder it was only seven dollars. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know it tastes like ass,” you tell him honestly. To be fair, you and Jungkook have both had worse. Compared to the shit served at frat parties, this may as well be beautifully-aged Malbec. 

“It only tastes a little bit like ass,” Jungkook compromises. “But it doesn’t not taste like ass.”

“Let’s finish it now so we don’t have to have any more of it later,” you decide. “You’ve probably had some of the best alcohol in your life this semester.”

Jungkook thinks back, tilting his head to the side as he begins to recall all of the instances in the past few months when he’s had anything to drink. “Soju’s still my favorite. But yeah, I’d say I’ve had wine that probably costs more than my textbooks for this semester if I hadn’t pirated them all.”

“The beauty of being a CS student,” you muse. 

“You know it,” he says, holding his half-empty mug out as a toast to himself. “But seriously, even if this Trader Joe’s wine literally tasted like garbage, it would still be better than all of that other shit.”

You turn to him, skeptical. Even the single night you spent with Chaewon, in a penthouse amongst the stars, drinking champagne and eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, was more than you could ever dream of. You woke up the next day on an air mattress in her bedroom and wanted nothing more than to go back to basking in the luxury, desperate for another taste. It was addicting. How could Jungkook ever prefer what he has right now to what he had last night? 

“Really? Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” you tell him. You can take it. Jungkook has every reason to prefer the fancy meals, the penthouses, the suits and ties to your janky little apartment and old clothes from high school. The two aren’t at all on the same level. They’re not even in the same goddamn game. If you could drop everything to have what Chaewon has, what the other girls and boys who pay for Jungkook’s company have, you would. 

“I’m not,” Jungkook tells you seriously. “I mean it. I would rather sit in your room, hunched over your tiny Switch because you lost the HDMI cord to plug it into the television, playing Mario Kart than out there, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“But it was fun in the beginning, wasn’t it? Getting to be rich without the moral ambiguity that comes along with being part of the upper class?” You ask. It must have been. Jungkook looked so happy when he first started doing these gigs, coming back to your apartment in a state of bliss, a little tipsy from the expensive champagne and steak. He’d knock on your door and tell you all about the night, from how older businessmen handed him their cards and offered him jobs, to the hundreds of ice cream flavors you could only ever dream of eating. Everything seemed so wonderful to him.

Jungkook shrugs, pouring himself more wine. “Yeah, I guess, but it gets so old after a while. Like, no wonder Chaewon was so desperate for me to go with her that first time. It sucks the damn life out of you. You walk around and mingle and pretend that you’re the greatest person on Earth, talking about yourself and kissing up to the other people for an entire night. Honestly, sometimes it’s worse than my CS homework. And I hate that shit.”

“Chaewon mentioned that the eggplant usually tastes like foot,” you add. Jungkook nods in agreement. 

“Yeah, it does. She warned me about it the first night and I, like a fool, tried it because I usually like eggplant. And it still tasted like foot. Never again,” Jungkook says, shivering at the mere thought of it. It’s funny, actually, because you did the exact same thing. “But the food is like, the one thing I pretty much don’t have the right to complain about. It’s delicious and usually free.”

“But I hope that you’re having fun,” you tell him honestly, because you do. When you’re sitting in your room, eating two different pints of Ben & Jerry’s, you hope that Jungkook, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, is enjoying himself more than you are. Because he deserves it. You never want there to be a time when he’s sad, when he’s unhappy or bored. Jungkook deserves to live the happiest version of life he possibly can. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I do,” Jungkook says. There’s a second half to that sentence. “I do—it’s just that… It's so fake, you know? I feel like such a goddamn actor when I’m there. I get to live this extravagant lifestyle for a few hours but in return I don’t even know who I’m looking at when I look in the mirror.”

Oh?

“Like, I pretend to be this business student, when I’m not. I pretend to have millions of dollars to my name, when I don’t. I hold hands and pose for pictures with people Chaewon is vaguely familiar with and nothing, literally nothing, feels real. I don’t know.” Jungkook takes another swig from the mug. “Even the relationships I have when I’m there are fake.”

“Do you hate it that much, then?” You ask him. If it’s so awful and terrible, then why does he keep doing it? Keep dressing up and going out, holding hands with and wrapping his arm around them?

“No,” Jungkook says, sighing as he leans back into the couch. “I don’t hate it. I just—I wish I had something real afterwards to come back home to.”

Real? Like what? Like you? You aren’t real. You sit next to your best friend and pretend that everything is fine. That nothing hurts. You’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since you laid eyes on him, and you’re doing everything in your power to make sure that he’s the only one that doesn’t know. 

“That’s why I’m always coming back to your apartment afterwards,” Jungkook says. He chuckles, but it isn’t his usual laugh. It sounds forced, contrived and fake. Jaded. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it almost immediately. Then, he breathes, long and slow. Thinks. The silence is almost unbearable. Waiting to hear what he has to say, even more so. “You’re the most genuine person I know. What we share—it’s real.”

Tonight is the least lonely you’ve felt in a long time. 

Even though Jungkook has something tonight, you aren’t aching to be by his side, desperate to spend more time with him. He told you that he was really looking forward to this one, that it wasn’t going to be some stuffy gala or blind double date. He said something about going to karaoke with the girl and her friends, singing Britney Spears songs and taking shots of soju for hours on end, screaming his voice hoarse. And even if you aren’t there with him, you’re happy because you know that he’s happy, that he’s genuinely enjoying himself. 

So, you aren’t that lonely. 

Content with the state of your life as it is, you take the night off, ready to prepare yourself for a weekend that will almost certainly consist entirely of just work. Chaewon’s voice echoes in your mind (“I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now,” she had told you), but it’s different now. Because you are happy. You are happy, because Jungkook’s happy. The two of you see each other just as frequently as you used to. He texts you about his terrible CS homework and the Shiba Inu he just saw being walked across campus. It’s all gone back to the way it used to be. That’s what you had wanted. 

You were prepared for this. You knew that it would eventually boil down to this, down to whether or not you could take Jungkook not knowing how you feel any longer. But right now, you don’t care. Jungkook not knowing has always been a part of your friendship. The love you hold for him, in the spaces between your bones and deep in the cracks of your heart, that has always been there. You see it, hear it, feel it, whenever you’re with him. Even when you’re not with him, it will remind you, appear in the silence, the emptiness. It will always make itself known, because it’s become a part of you. From the moment you met him, it had settled into your heart.

Staring out of the window by your living room, overlooking the ugliest parking garage on campus, you sigh. You can’t see the stars from here, not even in the dead of night, but that’s alright. There is something so peaceful about the navy blue sky. About how mysterious and unknown it is. It calms you. You put on a movie that you’ve genuinely been wanting to watch for a while, sit down in your bed, amongst your duvet and sheets, pillows and plushies, and enjoy yourself, for once. It’s a good night. 

And then, much like most aspects of your terribly convoluted, over-complicated and confusing life, it all comes crashing down. 

There’s a faint thud from outside, a soft little non-noise that you assume is coming from the street. Not wanting to interrupt your movie—she’s just about to confess, holy shit—you ignore it. It’ll go away eventually. 

Then another thud. You pause, leaning towards your window to see if you can figure out the source. Silence. You’re just about to press play, when you hear it again. And again. It gets louder and louder, making up in volume what it lacks in rhythm and order, until you realize it’s someone knocking on your door. And not just knocking casually. It’s as if someone is shoving their whole body into it, shoulders and chest and feet hitting the wood as they bang on it. 

“Y/N?”

Oh, God.

Pushing off your duvet, you tug on your slippers and wipe away the crust around your eyes as you rush towards the door. You know who’s on the other side. You’re not sure if answering it is the better or worse option. 

You’ve always had an uncanny ability to pick the latter. 

When you open the door, Jungkook, in a fancy sweater pulled over a white button down and black jeans that could almost pass for dressy slacks, is standing on the other side. 

Correction: he’s sort of standing on the other side. He nearly topples over when you pull open the door, having clearly been leaning on it, and you barely have time to reach your arms out to catch him. 

“Oh! Y/N!” Jungkook exclaims, as if he’s surprised to see you inside your own apartment. “I was hoping to see you.”

“I figured,” you tell him, laughing. You guide him inside, and even in his state he remembers to tug off his clean white sneakers, kicking them towards the shoe rack. “It’s so late, Jungkook, you should go home.” 

“No,” Jungkook whines. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“We saw each other this morning, Jungkook. And this afternoon, right before you went out,” you remind him. The words go in one ear and out the other, and he pulls you in close to him, wrapping his arms around you as he presses his body against yours in a sweaty hug. His grip is tight around you as he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing you in as if you’d been gone for years. Slowly, after a few seconds, you pull away from him, a hand on his shoulder to get him to look at you through his too-long bangs, hanging over his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? I’m right here, don’t worry. I never left.”

“I had a lot to drink tonight,” Jungkook tells you, blinking rapidly. “Like, a lot. They just kept ordering soju and I just kept drinking it. It was really good. Have you had strawberry soju? It’s delicious.”

“I might have had it once or twice,” you fib, not able to recall having it one way or another. “Come on, sit down,” you point him towards the couch, but he refuses, clinging onto you even as you make your way towards the kitchen. “Jungkook, please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“But I missed you,” Jungkook repeats. “I missed you a lot. I thought about you the entire time I was there.”

You can’t say you didn’t do the same. 

“Next time we’ll do something together then, hey? Something really fun, like going to an arcade or bowling,” you promise him with a pat on his shoulder. “But you need to drink some water, JK. Can you please sit down?”

“No, I want to be with you,” Jungkook says like it’s nothing. Like the feeling of him wrapped around you like this, holding onto you and telling you that he misses you, that he thinks about you, doesn’t mean anything. You don’t think your heart has beaten since you opened the door to see him standing on the other side. 

(You don’t think it’s beaten since you met him. Since he came up to you on the pavement, asking you for directions. Since you told him your name, and he told you his.)

“Ah, fine, just be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you concede, because it’s so easy to let him have his way, so easy to say yes to him. You manage to grab an empty water bottle and fill it up with what’s left in your Brita, too lazy to refill it after it’s left bone dry. Slowly, you make your way to your bedroom, out of view of the central living space, where your roommates could burst through the door at any moment and see you taking care of your drunk best friend on the sofa. 

Slowly, you settle on your bed, sitting off of the edge of it as you cajole him into drinking some water, whispering soft nothings to make sure he finishes the whole thing. 

“Does your head hurt or anything?” You ask him, already looking around for the stash of Advil you usually keep on your nightstand.

“No, no, I’m fine, Y/N, seriously,” he promises, even if you can see the glazed-over look in his eyes, the way his sweaty bangs stick to his forehead. “You’re too nice, you know? Always treating me when I show up at your place. Even when you don’t invite me.”

“You know I never mind seeing you,” you tell him. “You can come over whenever you want. I’m always here.”

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook says with a pout, and it makes you furrow your brows. When have you not been? Jungkook’s been going out to events ever since the beginning of the semester, and without fail, you’ve always been waiting for him at home, knowing he’ll turn up one way or another. Except, there was— “That one time a couple of weeks ago, I went to this crazy big gala with Eunha, there were so many people there, and I came back home afterwards and knocked on your door, and your roommates said they hadn’t seen you all day. Where were you that day?”

He had come? You didn’t know if he would. 

(Or maybe, you did. You knew he would show up at your door once he got back from that night, and selfishly, not wanting to see him after the fact, the leftover version of him, the part he leaves behind when he goes out. You knew he would be there and you couldn’t bear the thought of being the second girl he spends the night with. The other option. Maybe, you’ve known all along that you’ll never quite stack up to the girls he goes out with, and that sometimes, when you see him all dressed up while you’re in your hoodie and sweats, it reminds you is nothing more than a casual friendship.)

“I must have been out late with Chaewon that day, I’m sorry,” you apologize, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. “I didn’t know you would come.”

“I always come after my events. You know that.”

“I didn’t know if you’d remember to,” you correct. 

“I’d never forget about you,” Jungkook says, the alcohol erasing his filter. Making him honest. “I really missed you, that day. I had been waiting the entire night to see you.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you promise, and this one is for real. 

“You know, today?” Jungkook says, pulling his head back so he can get a good look at you, your eyes meeting his own. “Today, I was so sad on my way here. It was so terrible, because I was drunk and sad and I missed you.”

“You were sad? What happened?” You ask, leaning in. Jungkook? Sad? Who would do such a thing to him? Who would erase the smile on his face, his crescent eyes, and replace them with tears? 

“This girl and I, she was a lot of fun. We sang a couple duets together and we were pretty good,” he hiccups, “kept winning. It was fun. She and I talked for a long time. I definitely liked her the most out of all of the girls I’ve gone out with. Besides Chaewon, of course.”

“What happened? Did she do something you didn’t want? You know you can tell me, Jungkook,” you ask, a hand on his arm. 

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t know. She was fun and I was drunk. We were on our way back in the Lyft when she leaned over and kissed me. And I kissed her back, and it was kind of nice. I haven’t really kissed someone like that in a while,” Jungkook tells you. And even though you’re hearing these words from him, hearing how he had all of this fun with a girl who isn’t you, how he kissed her in the backseat of a car, you rally, blinking away the tears you can feel forming in your eyes. It’s none of your business, you tell yourself. You and Jungkook aren’t together. You don’t get to feel bad about him kissing someone else. 

“Did you like it?” You ask, each word a pin in your chest. 

“It was pretty nice,” Jungkook admits. “We, uh, we made out a bit in the back of the car until we got to her place. And then we got out of the car and she asked me if I wanted to go back with her, to her room. And—and I almost said yes.” Jungkook looks about ready to combust. At his side, his fists are clenched so hard you’re worried he’ll pop a vein. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you tell him, looking him in the eyes so he knows that you don’t mind, that he can tell you these things without worry. Jungkook may be the love of your life, but he’s your best friend, first. He’s always been, before anything else, your best friend. 

“But there is!” Jungkook cries, standing up in anguish. “There is, Y/N, you don’t understand! I almost had sex with her!”

“You’re allowed to, Jungkook!” You assure him, standing up to reach out to him. 

“No, Y/N, you don’t get it,” he tells you coldly, pulling his hand away. “Why aren’t you mad? Aren’t you angry that I nearly had sex with her?”

“No, what the fuck, Jungkook, why would I be mad?” You shout back at him. “You can do whatever you want with your body, it’s not my job to police it! I’m your friend, not your mom!”

“But don’t you want to be more, Y/N?” He rounds on you. “Don’t you want to be the one kissing me, fucking me? Why aren’t you jealous?”

“Were you trying to make me jealous, Jungkook? Is that what you were trying to do? You wanted to get a reaction out of me because my best friend nearly fucked someone else and then didn’t? What the fuck, Jungkook? What do you want from me?”

“I just want you to tell me you fucking love me back!”

“Jungkook, what—”

Jungkook, eyes dark and furious, pushes you against your closet door as your lips part, feeling the breath get knocked out of your lungs. He’s so close. He’s right there, you can see him, watch as he looms over you, hands clenched in your hoodie as he presses you against the wall. And then, wordlessly, he’s leaning down, crashing your mouths together. 

Suddenly, your heart starts. You gasp into the kiss, the feeling of his mouth on top of yours. It’s fervent, hot and angry and passionate, his body against your own as your hands reach out to press against his head. You seize up at the feeling, almost as if in shock, before melting into his touch, leaning into him, desperate. You can feel his breath mixing in with your own, feel the way his chapped lips meet your overly-moisturized ones, feel how his hands drift from where they’re bunched up in the front of your hoodie to your waist, your hips, your thighs. Jungkook kisses ruthlessly, kisses like he’s trying to prove a point. Holds onto you like he’s afraid to let go. 

When you part, gasping for air, Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, blinking. 

“Jungkook, you’re drunk—” you tell him firmly, refusing to let get your hopes up if what you have in front of you is really just an intoxicated best friend. Your heart is beating miles a minute, about ready to thump right out of you, chest heaving and mouth agape. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook argues back. “Even when I’m sober I love you. Don’t tell me I’m confused because I’m drunk.”

“You show up at my place at one in the morning, tell me about how you made out with some other girl and almost slept with her just to get me angry, kiss me, and tell me not to tell you you’re confused?” You demand. “Jungkook, I’ve never been more confused in my life than right now, can you please just—”

“I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook says, and even though he’s angry, red in the face and sweaty, when he says it, it’s soft. It’s a whisper, a murmur. He says it not to convince you, but so you know. “I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long, ever since I fucking met you. And I thought you might like me back but you never did anything about it, and so neither did I.”

“You need to go home, Jungkook,” you tell him, hiccuping. When you blink, you feel the warm tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them. “You can’t just come into my apartment and tell me shit like that. How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” Jungkook asks, looking you in the eyes. He’s angry, that’s for sure, but even underneath, you can see the desperation, see how he’s just waiting for an answer. 

“Go home, Jungkook. Please. Let’s talk about this when you aren’t drunk, okay? I’m confused and I need to clear my head,” you plead, pushing him towards the door. “Please, okay? Be safe, too. I’ll call Chaewon to give you a ride,” you tell him, grabbing your phone. 

Jungkook puts a hand on your wrist. “I’ll be okay, Y/N. I just… Please, tell me. Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it did, but Jungkook, I can’t—”

“It meant something to me, too,” he tells you firmly, lets the words sink into the air around you.  He heads for the door, pulling on his shoes. He looks so sad. “Good night, Y/N.”

You place a hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Jungkook.”

It’s barely nine in the morning the next day when a knock wakes you up. It’s soft at first, one every couple of seconds, before it gets progressively louder. Slowly, you get out of bed, trying to tame your hair as you rub the sleep from your eyes. 

“Y/N’s in her room. Is that for her? That’s so cute. Yeah, she’s probably awake. You can just knock.” It’s your roommate. 

You scramble to make your bed, pouring some water from the water bottle by your nightstand into your hand and splashing your face, wiping it away with an old t-shirt as you run towards the door, pulling it open just in time. 

On the other side is a much more tired, much less drunk Jungkook, one hand raised and about to knock, the other holding a bouquet of daisies. 

“Hey,” he says shyly, mouth breaking into a smile the moment he sees you. 

“Hey,” you say back. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, head hurts like hell, though,” Jungkook says. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, s-sure, of course,” you say, stepping aside to let him into your bedroom. 

“These are for you.” Jungkook holds out the bouquet towards you, wrapped up neatly in cellophane and tied at the stems with a bow. “So you don’t have to keep Febreze-ing your room all of the time.”

“They’re beautiful, Jungkook,” you tell him, grinning as you take them from his hands. Today feels different from yesterday. It feels lighter, fresher. New. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I—” He pauses, taking a second to think, “I meant what I said, yesterday. Maybe not all of it, but. Most of it, yeah. I meant it.”

“Why did you try to make me jealous, Jungkook?” You ask him. “Why did you think that would work?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “I shouldn’t have, and I fucked up. I just got so… so tired of waiting to see if you’d ever come around. I just wanted you to tell me. And then I guess I got so fed up that I told you instead.”

You place the bouquet on your dresser before walking towards him, reaching a hand out. “Yeah, that was a pretty big asshole move of you,” you chide, grinning to yourself. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs. 

“But I’m happy you’re here,” you tell him. “And happy that you meant what you said. Maybe it could have been said in a less angry way, but hearing it made me happy.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” Jungkook grins. “You’re my favorite person, Y/N.”

“When you asked me, yesterday, if that kiss meant anything to me? And I said it did?” You begin, Jungkook nodding in front of you. He’s positively beaming. “It still does. I want to do that every day, Jungkook. Every hour. Every single second for the rest of my goddamn life.”

“You do?” Jungkook asks. 

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. From day one, it’s always been you.” You smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Feels like you’re fucking flying. Like you’re weightless. 

“I love you, too, Y/N. I never want to be away from your side,” he declares, and like a cheesy, rom-com movie, like the shitty novels you used to read in eighth grade, he pulls you in close and presses a kiss against your lips. Wraps his arms around your waist as he holds you tight, kisses you in the middle of your bedroom, in your hoodie and sweatpants, a bouquet of daisies on your dresser. He kisses you because he can, because for every second of every day for the rest of your goddamn life, he can kiss you, over and over and over. 

“We owe Chaewon an apology,” you tell him when you’re parted, sitting on your bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

“Hell yeah we do,” Jungkook agrees. “She’s been on my ass for ages about telling you.”

“Mine too.”

“She’s such a great best friend,” Jungkook comments. “Knew all this time that her two friends were madly in love with each other and didn’t say a damn word to either of us. That’s loyalty.”

“We should do something for her, to make up for it all,” you suggest. 

“You know,” Jungkook says, grinning, “I know this guy who made bank this semester by going on fake dates with a bunch of really rich girls. Maybe he could help.”

“I know him, too,” you joke. “He’s the love of my fucking life.”

Jeon Jungkook quits his job on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 7:18PM, eighteen minutes after he normally heads out on one of his many dates. 

“Y/N!” He shouts, banging wildly on your door. You rush over to open it, letting the pasta water on the stove boil over and sizzle on the heat. He’s barely gotten in a second knock when you turn the doorknob to reveal your smiling boyfriend in his oversized hoodie.

“Don’t tell me you’re blowing someone off for me,” you say, inviting him inside. He places a kiss on your cheek on the way in, taking off his shoes and coat as you rush over to take care of the pasta.

“Me? Blowing someone off? Never,” Jungkook says, mock offended. “I actually quit the dating thing, this afternoon. A girl asked if I was free and I said that I wasn’t, because I have to go home to my girlfriend making me a meal. Don’t you love the sound of that?” He asks, pleased with himself.

“You quit? I thought you liked doing that stuff,” you say, using the spaghetti fork to move around the linguine. “Hope you’re cool with boring old pasta for your meal tonight. You could have had caviar if you hadn’t quit.”

“I don’t care, it smells so good,” Jungkook tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he stands behind you, watching you cook from over your shoulder. “Look at you, being all domestic and shit. It’s very cute.”

“Stop rubbing in the fact that you’re the better cook, I get it. Pasta is all I got right now.” You pout, turning down the heat as you move to pour yourselves two cups of tea. Jungkook follows you the entire way to the kettle, grip on your waist never faltering. “You can keep going on those dates, you know. I don’t mind. I get to see you in a suit when you get back, and then I get to take it off of you. It’s a win-win.”

Jungkook pinches your waist in response. “If you have a thing for suits, you can just tell me, you know. I won’t be mad.”

You turn around to whack him with the spaghetti fork. “I do not!”

“Alright, Y/N, guess I won’t wear a suit next time you call me at two in the morning—”

“I never said you couldn’t,” you interrupt, making Jungkook laugh. 

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” Jungkook coos as you begin to dish up the pasta, making sure to add peas because Jungkook loves peas with his spaghetti. “But I quit because I have enough money to sustain me for the rest of the semester. I’ll work over break and get a new job next semester when the new work-study positions open. Don’t worry about me,” he assures you. 

“But didn’t you like going out and everything? Getting dressed up and drinking fancy champagne?” You ask, setting the plates down at your dinky kitchen table, a single scented candle lit in the center. 

Jungkook thinks about it for a split second, and then he shakes his head. “Nah. I like hanging out with my girlfriend more.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” you reason with a grin. 

Jungkook laughs, leaning over the table to plop a kiss on your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you pea-eating loser,” you chide, “I love you too.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[sunnypogue]

rafe plays college hockey (headcanon)

for all y’all who requested college hockey rafe. i’m just tryna manifest something over here.

warning: cursing, drinking. the sunnypogue special.

y’all met because of hockey.

okay actually y’all technically met because of your 8 am american lit seminar, but the only reason y’all spoke to each other was because of hockey

it was 7:57 am on a Thursday, you had a hangover from your weekly wine wednesday event (which always devolved into walking two streets over to your favorite bar, ordering a round of shots, and getting absolutely shitcanned), and your big ass mouth got you in trouble when you sat down.

“we have a hockey team?” you whisper-yelled, nudging your equally hungover friend as you pointed towards the sweatshirt in front of you

your friend laughed as the guy in said sweatshirt turned around (and his friend next to him, also wearing a UAH HOCKEY hoodie). “your reading comprehension is off the charts.”

you gaped, half embarrassed, half enraged - “okay, well don’t blame me for being surprised - it’s alabama for christ sake.”

“we’re like the token school in the south with a hockey team - how did you not know that?”

you, refusing to back down, argued with him until your professor came in - he got the last word, “alright, well we have a game tomorrow night. might be time for you to branch out and try new things outside of whiskey row.”

(you waited until he turned around before flushing and quietly asking your friend if you still smelled like booze - her answer was an unequivocal yes.)

anyways, that’s how you found yourself at a hockey game, alone, in huntsville, alabama, on a warm october night.

you were NOT dressed for the occasion (fully planning on leaving at whenever it was they took a break to meet your friends at whiskey row) rocking a little flowy halter and high waisted flares - instantly freezing your ass off as you sat on a bleacher towards the back.

he caught your eye immediately, one of the taller ones on the ice, “cameron 19” sitting on his broad shoulders, bucket loosely clasped as he skated around the ice

the game started quickly, and despite your shivering, you rather enjoyed yourself, picking up the cues on when to cheer (this crowd LOVED it when the players checked each other) & when to boo (literally whenever the refs breathed) - it was fast, and fun, and that asshole from your lit class? he was GOOD.

you didn’t even realize you had stayed the whole game until the buzzer sounded, signaling a UAH win. the boys on the ice were hanging around, chatting with local fans - you pocketed your phone (which was blowing up with texts from your friends, wondering where you were) and mustered up the courage to go say hi to the guy from your class

he skated up towards the glass as he saw you descend down the bleachers - grinning and gesturing to shift over to the empty bench, where you wouldn’t be obstructed.

you hugged yourself. “good game, I guess.”

his tongue slid over his teeth before he smiled one hand holding his helmet, the other pushing his sweaty hair back. “you guess?”

you huffed. “I mean, I don’t know, it was my first hockey game and it was really fast and really cold and I didn’t know what the fuck was going on but...yeah. it was good.” you paused, before looking up at him through your lashes. “you were good.”

you rolled your eyes as you watched his chest puff up - men - before you continued, “well, I gotta go...I’m freezing my tits off in here. but thanks for the kinda-invite, I guess.”

you started to turn, when his voice called out “hey! you know, we have a game next week. same time - consider this a formal invitation.”

and that’s how you found yourself at your second-ever hockey game, dressed slightly more appropriate (although the girls were still perky - had to show a lil something), cheering rafe on (you finally got his name after he asked you for your number after class) as he sped down the ice like a wrecking ball, slamming opposing players into the boards, cross-checking when the refs weren’t looking his way.

you were dying - how had no one told you how hot this sport was? you actively had to stop yourself from biting your lip every time he hit someone.

and then he scored - and you were a goner.

after the game, you went to meet him (per his instructions) outside the locker room, friends in tow

“must have been your lucky day, ladies, this guy never goes bar down!” a guy you knew as “top” yelled, arm hooked around rafe, who was a little red in the face.

“gotta show off for your fan club, huh cameron?” a voice crowed from just inside the locker room.

“shut up, kelce.” he yelled, pushing the door shut, before turning your way. 

you gulped, looking up as he towered over you in his skates. “hey, uh, thanks for coming girls.”

your friends giggled, offering their congrats, before gracefully bowing out - “come meet us at whiskey, babes!”

you blushed. “you had a great game. and, uh, a great goal. y’all call them goals, right?”

he laughed, tugging on his gear. “yeah, we call them that. thanks again for coming. who knew you had two hockey games in you?”

you smacked him on the arm, before giving him a coy smile. “hey, after that performance, I think I have a couple more in me.”

he couldn’t ask you fast enough to come grab a bite to eat with him. - “I’ll be out in like, 10...like 8 minutes.” he said, already heading towards the door to the locker room. “just wait - wait here.”

(he was showered and changed in 7 minutes - you were impressed.)

he took you to a local mexican place, known for their beeritas and carne asada tacos - y’all sat there for three hours, getting to know each other.

(you learned he was from the outer banks, fell in love with hockey because of his mom’s dad - a huge rangers fan - and ended up at UAH because it was the only school that recruited in north carolina. he had two sisters - one he tolerated, one he adored - and had a pipe dream of making it to the show one day)

he offered you his sweatshirt (the same one that you had made fun of, that one morning) and drove you home (his huge hand spanning the width of your upper thigh, a light, possessive grip the whole ride)

you kissed him twice (once in the car, soft and sweet, and once on your front porch, where he pinned you to the wall and slipped his tongue into your mouth, long and slow, biting your lip when you finally went to pull away) and spent the rest of the night curled up in your bed, still wrapped up in his warm hoodie, thinking about him.

you kept thinking about him the whole weekend, exchanging texts (some naughty, some nice) & FaceTiming once (you were hammered in the whiskey bathrooms, whining about missing him - he laughed, before reminding you to be a good girl)

it wasn’t until your tuesday 8 am when you saw him again, chest going all warm at the sight of him (rocking a patagonia instead of his usual hockey hoodie, which was laying at the foot of your bed)

he offered you a wink as he walked in, making his way over to his seat, before turning and sliding something on your desk

it was a magnet, with the UAH hockey 2020-21 schedule on it, his face one of the centerpieces. you giggled.

“hey, didn’t know if you had heard, but UAH has a hockey team - wanna come to a game?”

[ushijimaenthusiast]

oiten birthday fic/date night

[ao3]

Satori is so good at reading his boyfriend that he doesn’t even open his mouth before Satori is tightening the arm around his shoulders and leaning in, whispering, “Chill, babe. It’s fine.”

Tooru’s back straightens as he gives Satori a side-eyed glare. “You don’t even know what I was going to do.”

Satori just grins, shuffling them a little further in line. “Sure I do. You were gonna talk shit.”

If possible, Tooru’s glare turns even more vicious.

“They deserve it. If I don’t say something, they’ll just think it’s okay to keep doing it.”

“But are they really worth your time? I’m not bothered by it, so you shouldn’t be.”

“But you should!” Tooru’s shout draws a few glances their way, but he’s so heated he doesn’t even notice. Satori doesn’t care. “They’re being fucking rude and should be put in their place because if not they’ll continue to do the same thing and it could be towards someone who’s not as strong as you are.”

Satori’s smile falters a little at that, unused to such a compliment, but it’s all the hesitation Tooru needs before he’s spinning around to the couple in the opposite line who’ve been giving them dirty looks since they walked in the door. Satori’s not sure if it’s because of the way they’re dressed (Satori in comfy sweats and a tattered hoodie and Tooru decked out in his tightest pants and crispest button-up), or if it’s because someone as hot as Tooru is practically clinging to someone like Satori. Either way, Satori has learned to ignore such looks, but Tooru hasn’t.

He’s not used to how judgmental and negative people can be just for how one looks. He’s never been ostracized or called dirty names for the way he dresses or for acting too weird in public. He’s always been a prim and proper sort of boy, someone who uses words to sort things out instead of hiding behind a hand. Satori doesn’t fault him for feeling protective and wanting to set things right; he just wishes it was warranted.

“It’s not like we ever even said anything,” the woman butts in, knowing Tooru is about to attack. Her voice is high and nasally, and it instantly grates on Satori’s nerves.

“You didn’t have to. Your face reads Judgmental Bitch to anyone looking at you.”

She sputters as a few chuckles rise around them. Her partner looks too stunned for words, and Satori takes that pause to tighten his grip around Tooru’s waist and draw him closer to his body, shutting him up momentarily.

“Listen,” Satori says lazily, hardly sparing them another look, “just keep your eyes on yourself and we won’t have any more problems, m’kay?” He ends it with a leer, and tugs Tooru down the line as they shuffle forwards. Some of the other customers give them appreciative glances, while others glare just as rudely as the couple. Tooru gives one more glare at the couple before huffing and facing forward, curling tighter around Satori.

Without any hassle they buy their popcorn and drinks, steering clear of the couple as they make their way to their designated theater. Tooru relaxes even further when the couple goes into a separate one.

“Happy now?” Satori asks as they enter the darkened room. Trailers haven’t started yet, so it’s eerily quiet in the wide-open space, especially since there are only two other groups in the room. They head for the back row, both happy to see it empty.

Tooru huffs, and Satori sees him shrugging. “I coulda said a few more things if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“Oh, I know,” Satori chuckles. He slides into the row first and heads towards the middle. “But then we’d probably have gotten kicked out and wouldn’t be able to see this movie we’ve both been waiting to see for ages and would have to wait until it’s available to stream or find a way to illegally download it and where’s the fun in that? Besides,” Satori kicks down his seat and plops in, draping one arm over the chair Tooru sits in, “you shouldn’t let people like them get to you. They’re a waste of everything.”

“I don’t know how you handle it,” Tooru mumbles. “It makes my skin crawl.”

Satori lowers his arm from the back of the seat to Tooru’s shoulders, drawing him closer so he can place a faint kiss at his boyfriend’s temple. “And that’s what makes you a better person than them and me.”

“Shut up,” Tooru mutters, swatting at Satori’s chest. “You know I think you’re great.”

“And that’s all that matters.”

Tooru just sighs and snuggles closer to Satori as the lights dim and the trailers start to roll.

Satori doesn’t know how he got this lucky. How someone as beautiful and loyal as Oikawa Tooru, an ex-volleyball player and all-around Good Guy, managed to fall in love with the batshit weirdness that is Tendou Satori, a college dropout and general waste of space. Even with the years between them, Satori still finds it hard to believe that Tooru loves him, that he’s willing to put time and effort into their relationship, despite the onlookers that speculate and judge whenever they’re out in public.

Like tonight. Satori knows his attire could have been less sloppy, but he likes to be comfortable when watching movies. And no matter where they go, Tooru likes to dress up for dates. Tooru doesn’t hate him for not putting more effort into his wardrobe, and that’s something Satori appreciates immensely. He also has no qualms about complimenting his boyfriend’s choice of clothes and how they make him look, since complimenting Tooru is one of his favorite things.

There’s so many things about Tooru that Satori considers his favorite that he has a little black box in pocket that’s burning a hole against his thigh. He’s carried it with him everywhere for the last year, unsure of when he wanted to pop the question or if it’s something he should even ask. He’s still not even sure if Tooru’s birthday is a good time to propose, not even sure if it’s something his boyfriend would want to happen. The subject has come up sparingly, and even though Satori wishes he could say there’s no way Tooru would reject him, this is one guess he’s loath to make.

Satori loves Tooru and would take whatever Tooru is willing to give. Marriage isn’t the end all be all of a relationship. They’ve been happy and content without this label, so there’s really no reason why Satori has to take this next step.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the movie, as his mind continues to wander towards what’s supposed to come after. He promised Tooru a movie and a surprise, and they both know Tooru doesn’t like surprises. He can’t help it when his palms start to sweat and he has to pull away from his boyfriend on more than one occasion so he can feel like he can breathe again, pointedly ignoring the tiny looks of concern Tooru throws at him each time he does it.

By the end of the movie, though, Satori can feel Tooru’s anger radiating off him. He doesn’t even wait for the lights to turn back on before he’s springing out of his chair and moving down the aisle, attempting to escape the theater quickly.

Satori can’t even run after him like he knows he should. He just sits there, ignoring the way the lights aren’t coming back on, and a post-credit scene rolls. All he can focus on is Tooru’s retreating figure and the pounding of his heart, not sure what the hell he’s supposed to do.

Eventually, he’s kicked out long after the lights have come back on and the theater attendant needs to prepare it for the next showing. Satori walks slowly towards their parked car, his heart racing a mile a minute as he sees it’s actually still parked here and not long gone.

Tooru is leaning against the passenger side door, his foot tapping wildly with his arms crossed over his chest. He catches sight of Satori approaching, but turns away and ignores him. Satori knows that’s acceptable, knowing he deserves the anger that’s brewing from his boyfriend.

He unlocks the car slowly, belatedly realizing that’s why the car and Tooru are still here because Satori had the keys, and gets in the driver’s seat. Tooru makes his entrance loud, making it clear he’s unhappy.

But Satori doesn’t start the car. He doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to drag this out any longer. If for some reason in his anger, or just in his heart, Tooru rejects his proposal, then Satori can hand him the keys and he’ll walk--somewhere. He’ll give Tooru the night to cool off and they could discuss things further tomorrow--

“Will you just tell me what's wrong with you already?” Tooru demands.

Satori blinks and turns to stare at Tooru. He does look angry, rightfully so, but there’s hurt there too. Confusion and worry are dancing behind it all, and Satori hates himself a little more for putting it there.

He sucks in a breath, knowing it’s now or never and not wanting to drag this out any longer. Without saying anything he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the box, offering it to Tooru.

“I was getting nervous,” Satori starts, not really liking the way Tooru’s face closed off at the sight of the box, how he’s not even breathing, it seems. “I wanted it to be perfect, to be romantic, but then I started over-thinking and now you’re pissed and it’s not really the best time or maybe even the best idea and I can see your answer already and I’m sorry, I’m sorry if this isn’t something you want. I can--I can take it back or, or something. I’ll--I’ll, I don’t know, I’ll just--”

“You’ll shut up, is what you’ll do.'' The demand is so calm it has Satori’s jaw clacking shut as he stares at Tooru. His boyfriend--maybe ex?--continues to stare at the box before slowly taking it from Satori’s still outstretched hand. He opens it slowly, stares at the ring for what feels like years, before he closes the lid and finally looks up at Satori.

There are tears in his eyes.

The information has even more panic running through Satori. He’s fucked up, he’s messed up so monumentally somehow that he knows this’ll be the death of him. He’ll remember this moment forever as the day he--

He’s being kissed. Sweetly, tenderly. Tooru has a shaking hand cupping his cheek as he tries to kiss Satori again. Maybe it takes too long for Satori’s brain to register what’s happening because then Tooru is pulling back and wiping at his eyes.

“Do you really mean this?” he whispers. He’s still holding onto the box, but all Satori can focus on are the tears building in his boyfriend’s eyes.

He nods, still too numb to speak.

And then Tooru is lurching forward, wrapping his arms around Satori’s neck in the tightest embrace they’ve probably ever shared.

“You’re a fool if you thought I’d reject you,” he whispers against Satori’s ear. He can feel tears sliding between them, but he doesn’t care. “You’re stupid, and I love you, I love you.”

“Yeah?” Satori manages to say. He pulls back from Tooru enough to look him in the eyes, despite his own vision going a little blurry.

“Of course, dummy. It’s only you.”

“Always you,” Satori mutters back, part of the saying they’ve adopted over their time together. Only you, always you. Satori always figured it’d be a limited sort of saying, and there’s still that possibility, despite a more permanent label. But he’ll take it. He’ll cherish it for as long as it lasts.

Satori pulls Tooru back in again, kissing him on the cheek before burrowing his face against the side of Tooru’s neck. He can smell his cologne, popcorn, and a little bit of sweat. He breathes in deeply, loving everything there is to love about Tooru and hoping he’ll get to love it for many more years to come.

“Happy birthday, Tooru.”

[kiirokero]

Emacity (PJM)

Emacity: The desire or fondness of buying

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!

Masterlist

Pairing: DeliveryBoy!Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, mutual pining (kinda) 

Note: April will be my hibernation month lol

Summary: Whoever invented online shopping? A genius. Whoever hired Park Jimin to be the town’s delivery boy? An even bigger genius.

Word Count: 2.2k

      You wouldn’t call yourself a shopaholic. It’s not like you had an addiction to the point of needing an intervention. You knew what was a dumb purchase and what was a personal purchase. You actively searched high and low for coupons and discounts. You never bought something that you knew would end up in the garbage after one use. You were a responsible shopper. But shopping was like a hobby. 

      You were lucky enough to have the money to spoil yourself. You worked a well-paying job as a translator for businesses that are trying to branch out to new countries while also offering online language classes to international students. Switching between Korean, English, Spanish, AND French usually gave you a headache. And trying to translate a word that didn’t really exist in other languages was exhausting, but it paid well. 

And it gave you opportunities to see Jimin. 

      Park Jimin, Bangtan Village’s delivery boy. Worked at the post office seemingly 24/7 and is always voted employee of the month. Has a smile that’s permanently painted on his face and is as kind as a saint. What’s not to love about him? Besides that fact that his eyes sparkle with the same elegance as polished amber. Or the fact that his skin is perfectly smooth. Or that he emits an aura of confidence and stability. 

      Not that you know, but you can feel it. You and Jimin exchanged few words on the occasions when you get to see him. Simple, “Hey! How are you?” ’s and “Long time no see!” ‘s. But each word that reaches your ears are pieces of gold to you. You and Jimin didn’t really know each other, but you’d like to say that if you waved to him out in town, he’d wave back. 

      Your friend, Namjoon, liked to call you a lovesick idiot. Whenever you gushed to him about how Jimin smiled at you, he’d shake his head and say, “You’re a hopeless romantic and it’s tiring to me,” And today was like no other. 

      “I’m telling you, Namjoon! He has the cutest smile,” You sighed, watching your best friend work on his current project, Yoongi’s car. “I know, you’ve told me several times before,” He groaned, lifting his head from the machinery under the hood and looking at you with an unimpressed look. Absentmindedly wiping off his oily hands on his black stained hand towel. 

     “Why don’t you just talk to the dude? You know several languages yet you can’t communicate to a boy who speaks your native language?” He pointed out, leaning his hip up against the black car. “I may be able to chew you out in French, but I don’t speak ‘extrovert’” You argued back, a sly smirk on your face. 

    Namjoon rolled his eyes with a small smile, “You’re impossible,” He chuckled, “But you really should talk to him. You never know~ He may think you’re cute too~” He teased, dodging the spare hand towel you threw at him. “Stop teasing!” You whined, “You know I can’t, I’ll make a fool of myself and end up confessing to him in Spanish or something,” You groaned, slumping in your seat. 

     Namjoon tilted his head in confusion, “How do you accidentally switch to a whole other language,” He asked. “Trust me... It’s happened before...” You cringed, shivering at the less-than flattering memory. “Well... Maybe you should express it non-verbally?” He suggested, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he went back to tampering with Yoongi’s car. 

      “I appreciate your advice, Joon, but I don’t think I can even work up the courage to confess, verbally or not.” You sighed, giving Namjoon a somber look to which he responded with a comforting smile. Namjoon went back to work and you checked the time on your phone. 2:22pm. 

    “Shoot, I gotta go,” You said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “Why? I thought you didn’t teach on Wednesdays?” Namjoon asked, still working on the car. “I don’t but, I’m expecting a package,” You smiled to yourself. “You memorized when Jimin comes to deliver your packages? That’s kinda creepy Y/n,” Namjoon insinuated, squinting his eyes at you.

     You gasped, “Is not! I’ve just noticed that he always comes around 3pm... and I want to be there when my new keyboard comes.” You crossed your arms in defence. “Mhmm, go on then,” Namjoon chuckled, and you stomped your way out of his workshop back to your house. 

     You wait anxiously for a knock on your door. You sit on the couch, fiddling with the blanket that was draped over your lap. If you were being honest with yourself, you were more excited about seeing Jimin than getting your new peach-pink keyboard to complete your soft pastel desk setup. 

      You knew Namjoon was right about you being a lovesick idiot; you were in deep, and you haven’t even hung out with the man! You scoffed to yourself, shaking your head at the way his smile made your heart rate pick up and palms clammy. Maybe you could take Namjoon’s advice and invite him on a date. Not necessarily come completely clean and admit you were head over heels, but ease your way in instead.

Only problem is, you didn’t quite know how to do that...

      The long awaited knock finally sounded through your tiny house, and you stood up quicker than you should as blood rushed to your head, making you feel dizzy. Shaking it off, you go over to your door, opening it to reveal the very man you’ve been wanting to see all day. “Hey! What’s up Y/n?” Jimin greeted you with a smile, a small brown package under his arm. 

     “Hi Jimin, I’m doing good... What about you?” You asked, leaning up against the doorway. “I’m good, it’s a nice day out today,” He sighed, handing the package out for you, “Here you go! Your weekly package,” He joked, making you give him a lovesick smile that made you look like the woozy emoji. “T-Thanks,” You chuckled nervously. 

      “No problem,” Jimin said. “Hey um Jimin...” You called before he could walk away. “Yes?” Jimin inquired, raising an eyebrow. Shoot, what do you say? You didn’t think this through you.. You can’t just invite him out like a normal human, what if he says no? “I um- What’s your... favorite food...?” You asked, cringing at how pathetically shy you sounded. Jimin’s eyebrows knit together in confusion and he chuckled. “I like strawberry Pocky’s a lot,” He stressed, licking his lips at the thought. 

     You nodded, writing that down in your head for later. Maybe you could do something with this. “Cool, cool. Well, um, have a nice day!” You said, walking back into your house, package in hand, leaving Jimin confused and amused. “What a girl...” He whispers to himself, smile, like always, never leaving his face. 

     You continue to buy little things online just as an excuse to talk to Jimin. Who needs a mini cactus? You, apparently. And that chick plush you saw on Instagram? Boom, it now lives on your bed. Whenever he comes around, you take the opportunity to ask him questions like what his favorite color was or if he was allergic to anything. 

    You were planning something for him, and he was catching on. Sure, your questions were usually unprompted, but he’d humor you any day of the week. He may not know exactly what you were planning, but all he hoped was that it would change his life forever. And it would. 

     You were almost done with Jimin’s mini basket of favorites. A blue basket that held his favorite snack foods, stickers from his favorite shows, and some of those chunky rings he likes. Sure, maybe it was a bit excessive. Maybe this was teetering the line of weird and sweet, and you knew that bribing your way into a relationship was definitely not the way to go. But you just wanted to be nice. 

     Maybe buying things for others was your love language, or maybe Jimin was just worth spoiling. It was probably both. Whatever the real answer was, it didn’t matter to you. You just wanted Jimin to be happy. 

     Even if meticulously fiddling with the basket made you want to pull your hair out as the bow never looked quite right. Realistically you know it wouldn’t matter in the end and that Jimin would likely take the bow off after he received it, but you still adjusted it until it was perfect. 

     “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, Joon,” You sighed as you heard Namjoon hysterically laughing on the other side of the phone. “You’re going to bribe him into going on a date with you?” He asked, out of breath. “No! I just want to be nice,” You bit back, rolling your eyes even if Namjoon couldn’t see you. “Wow, the irony of Jimin delivering the gifts that your going to end up giving back,” Namjoon chuckled, finally calming down. 

     “Look, I’m just trying to follow your advice,” You whined, finally giving up on the navy blue bow and leaving it be. “True, I was thinking about a banner or something though. Like a cheesy promposal,” Namjoon said, and you could hear the undertones in his words. What he really wanted to say was, “How dramatic could you be? This is too much honey,” 

     Groaning, you flopped down on your couch, mumbling into the cushions. “I think I’m going to give it to him today, I have another mini cactus coming today,” You said, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness swirl in your stomach at the thought of finally asking the man you’ve been pining over out on a date. “That’s great! He’ll definitely say yes,” Namjoon said excitedly, trying to keep your fragile spirits intact. Knowing that if anything goes wrong, you’ll chicken out immediately. 

     “Yeah, I can do this,” You smiled, looking at the clock on your oven. “It’s 2:30, I have to go prepare. I’ll call you after!” You said, exchanging your goodbyes with Namjoon and hanging up the phone to go clean yourself up a little bit. 

    You weren’t terribly worried about your appearance. Jimin had seen you in coffee stained sweats and hoodies. There wasn’t anything worse than that. So you opted for a simple t-shirt and legging combo, washing your face and touching up your hair a bit. “Now to wait,” You whispered to yourself as you sat on the couch with the basket in your lap. 

     While you waited on the couch for Jimin to arrive, you looked at the mini cactus that sat on your coffee table and chuckled. Usually you bought things that may seem random to an outside person. A mouse that looks like a cat's paw, a throw pillow that doubles as a blanket, random earrings. But never a mini cactus. 

     After you asked all the questions you could think of and bought everything that you thought Jimin would like, you didn’t have an excuse to keep seeing Jimin. So, like a normal person, you bought little knickknacks. Hence the mini cactus and it’s new friend that’s on the way today. 

Knock knock knock

“Well, your new buddy’s here lil’ cactus dude,” 

     Taking a deep breath, you stood up and walked over to the door, hiding the basket behind your back. “Hello, Y/n,” Jimin smiled as you opened the door for him. “Hey,” You smiled back, tightening your grip on the basket behind you. “Here you go, another odd stationary?” Jimin guessed as he held out the package for you and you took it with one hand, placing it down behind the door.

      “I guess you could say that,” You chuckled, nervously shifting on your feet. “Speaking of... I have something for you,” You mumbled, but loud enough for Jimin to hear. “Is it another impromptu question? You haven’t asked one in awhile,” He chuckled, his cute eyes upturning into crescents.

“Close your eyes to find out,” You said.

“Close my eyes? Is this the part where you murder me?” Jimin teased, causing you to playfully roll your eyes. 

“No... just close them,” You whined. 

      “Alright, I’ll close them,” Jimin relented, closing his eyes at your request. Taking another shaky deep breath, you took the basket out from behind your back and held it in front of you. “Open...” You whispered. 

      Once Jimin opened his eyes, he let out a cute gasp, eyes lighting up at the sign of the gift. “W-What’s this?” He asked, looking up at you with a huge smile on his face. “It’s um, all your favorites. Jimin’s basket of favorites,” You declared, holding the basket out for Jimin to take, which he happily did. “Y/n, this is amazing. What’s the special occasion?” He asked, looking down at the assorted gifts and snacks. 

      “You’re always making me smile, so I wanted to return the favor,” You shrugged in an attempt to look casual about it. “Really? I make you smile?” Jimin smirked, making your cheeks heat up. “Y-Yeah you do...” You admitted, kicking at the rocks on your porch. “You’re such a sweet girl, Y/n, cute too,” Jimin whispered to you, causing your breath to hitch. 

“C-Cute?” 

“Yep, you’re a cutie,” Jimin said, booping your nose.

“Would you um... Let this cutie ask you out to lunch?” You asked. 

“Most definitely,”

“Park Jimin, do you want to grab lunch sometime?”

“It’s a date, cutie,”

[ceruleanmusings]

First and Foremost

Fandom: Big Time Rush Pairing: James Diamond x Mickey Mason (OC) Word Count: 5.7k Summary: Mickey goes to cheer James up after a brutal verbal beating by Gustavo. Contents: mild flirting, teasing, show-standard humor, sadness Tag: @mystic-scripture​ @foxesandmagic​ @witchofinterest​ @perhapspearl​ @raging-violets​ @lareiism​ @ocfairygodmother​ @ocappreciationtag​

The bright orange vinyl began sticking to his cheek, trapping his heavy sighs against his warm skin but James didn’t care. Why should he care? It wasn’t as if he had a modeling gig to run off to so the inevitable red line pressing into his cheek could stay. It wasn’t as if he had an acting gig to prepare for so he could continue to lay flopped on the couch, feet dangling off the edge, wrinkling his clothes. It wasn’t as if he had a solo moment in a song to rehearse for so he could let his throat roll an agonized vocalization around in his chest.

He'd left Rocque Records hours ago and yet he still heard Gustavo’s shouts echoing in his head: “Stop smiling like that, I hate it!”, “A garbage disposal has better timing than you!”, “I could replace you with a mop and it wouldn’t make any difference!”, and his favorite, “Okay, do it again, but this time, SING ACTUAL NOTES!”

Clearly, Gustavo was wrong. …He had way better hair than a mop so, actually, it would make a difference!

James uttered another body wrenching sigh.

It just wasn’t fair. He spent so much time rehearsing, getting his vocals warmed up, loosening his muscles to better execute dance moves. He put his all into being a pop star! Okay, sometimes he could get distracted by the lights and the glitz and glamor but who wouldn’t? Pretty people wanted to dress him, sculpt his hair, perfect his image (not that they had to do much on that front), have them joint their ranks, put him in the spotlight where he belonged. Why was it a bad thing? When it came down to it, he wanted this. He always wanted this!

Kendall, Carlos, and Logan didn’t get it. He loved his buds, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see their eye rolls, hear their scoffs, or feel their dismissive aside glances when he talked about a potential modelling job or how he was, in fact, the best person to lead a song (or sing the whole thing, why split hairs?), or when he shared his dream of buying a house to turn it into a personal salon/display museum for his bandanas. (It makes sense to keep it all in one place!)

All he was trying to do was make his dreams a reality. It wasn’t as if he was pushing his buds off a cliff to get there. It’d happen eventually. It was inevitable. (The recognition, not the cliff-pushing.) He had the face, he had the voice, he had the talent, he had the body, he had the face. He was born for this life. He was meant to be doing this!

But no one else seemed to notice.

Groaning, James turned onto his side, tucked his arm beneath his head and curled his knees up to his chest. If Katie were around, she’d point and laugh at him, maybe say he was being a big baby or some other phrase with big words he didn’t understand. Thankfully she, the guys, and Mama Knight were off at an LA Kings game. He’d been looking forward to the game for weeks but going didn’t appeal to him after the day he had. He’d taken enough hits to watch other people get tossed around like a ragdoll.

Sometime later he heard the distinct sound of someone climbing the stairs to get to the swirly slide entrance and yet he still didn’t move. Instead, he watched dust motes float and around the shafts of gold light seeping in through the blinds.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Ordinarily James would’ve jumped up at the sound of Mickey’s voice, double-checking his reflection in his lucky pocket mirror to ensure he was presentable and his muscles were at their peak. He couldn’t let her see him at anything other than his best. He was James Diamond! He didn’t do mediocre! This time, though, he stayed still, listening as she came down the swirly slide, the rubber on her docs tapping against the ground on her dismount. It was the only time she didn’t knock before entering. The door was always open, and people came and went as they pleased, but not Mickey. She made sure to knock every time. It was polite, she explained, looking at them all as if they’d been raised by wolves.

He mentally followed her footsteps—always with that cute little bounce to it—around the back of the couch heading to the island until she came into view. She dressed comfortably as always: dread locks pulled back into a half updo with gold rings and cuffs, her favorite cropped white *NSYNC hoodie depicting the image of their first album cover, dark skinny jeans, pale blue docs and a makeup-free face. She never wore makeup except for occasions where it called for it such as appearances, interviews, and photoshoots. James never thought she needed it.

“I’m just picking up my Tupp…er…ware…” He watched as Mickey’s eyebrows collided and she leaned to the side, peering at him as if she didn’t recognize him on the couch. He didn’t blame her; he was sure he wouldn’t recognize himself if he could see himself right now. “James? Are you okay?” she asked, taking a few steps closer, tucking a lock behind her ear.

James’ lips pushed out another sigh. “I’m sad,” he replied. No sense in hiding the obvious. His lower lip already dropped to a pout upon uttering the words and he couldn’t fight the wave washing over him, dragging his mood further (if that were possible).

Shoving her hands into the front of her pockets she approached. “’Cause of Gustavo?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

He blinked. “That’s it.”

Her eyebrow arched. “No it’s not. I can see it all over your pretty face.” Sliding a hand out her pocket, she wiggled a pointed finger at him, motioning in circles around his face.

“Hmph. At least you think it’s pretty,” he mumbled.

She sat on the floor in front of the couch, turning her knees to the side, propping her elbow on the cushion and her cheek on her fist while turning to him. He looked back at her, taking in her freckle dotted nose. Her dark eyes squinted for a moment, mimicking the small pull to her mouth until they both relaxed. “What’s up? Besides the Gustavo part. I was wearing soundproof headphones while recording my bass lines today—I still heard him through it. And while that sucked, I know that’s not the only issue.”

“Maybe I just wanted to be alone.”

“James, you can’t go an elevator ride without needing someone to talk to.” Her mouth quirked in the corner, bolstering the tease to her words. He managed a small smile. “Speaking of which. Where are the guys?”

“They went to a Kings game.”

“Are you meeting them there?”

“I didn’t want to go.”

Her eyes widened, dark brown lighting to reflect her surprise. “You didn’t want to go to a King’s game?”

James twisted his mouth to the side, shrugging. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. Of course he wanted to go. Everything about hockey appealed to him: the crisp air filling his lungs, the crackling excitement plucking his energized nerves, the sharp snap of wood smacking against rubber, the scuffing of sharp blades on the ice, the cold adding a natural blush to his cheeks, the hot girls dressed in jerseys, the warm nacho cheese sliding down his throat, the way the bright lights lit him on his good side (both of them). But, even with the Kings and Ducks matchup, it wasn’t enough to get him off the couch.

“Well, what about hanging by the pool? It’s Golden Hour.” She reached out and poked his cheek. “Your favorite time of day.”

That was true. Nothing made his selfies better than the effect of a filter without actually having to use one. He thought about it for a second, shook his head, and sighed again. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Wow.” Her lashes fluttered due to her rapid blinking. A hum sounded behind her turned down mouth and she reached out, squeezing his knee. He felt a tug somewhere in the pit of his stomach at her touch, like a cork easing its way out of a bottle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Silence. Then: “It just doesn’t make sense!” And it all came pouring out, the frustrations and grievances. Not just from that day but from the past year and a half, from the start of it all. How they didn’t want him, they wanted Kendall. How no matter how hard he tried it wasn’t good enough. How, even though he had the talent, and knew it in his bones, it didn’t match the “fire” they looked for. How he was dragged along to form a group in a business he’d always dreamed of being in. How he was constantly shuttled back and forth between his parents, passed along like a discarded accessory. How he was overlooked time and time again (which he still wasn’t even sure how that was possible with his height and face and style.) How he was dismissed and taken as being “dramatic” when he opted not to go to the Kings game.

It was that feeling, the want—or lack thereof—which kept him glued to the couch. It seemed everyone could direct it towards anyone and anything else but him. No one chose him. No one wanted him.

The entire time he spoke Mickey stayed quiet save for the occasional hums to accompany her head nods. By the end she offered up a clicking tsk and a welcomed, “Aww, dude, I’m sorry you had to deal with all that.” She looked at him and he looked right back, wondering for a minute if they were having some sort of staring contest until he got cross-eyed and had to blink. Her shoulders shook with a quiet laugh, lips curling upwards in the corners. Silence stretched between them. James’s eyes widened slightly, taking on a pointed look.

“Is that it?” James finally prompted.

“Is what it?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“…Yeah.”

“You’re not going to tell me I’m being dramatic? You’re not going to give me some advice? You’re not going to give me some pep talk?”

Mickey snorted. “And what kind of advice could I give you? To just get over it?” James nodded rapidly. “You’re upset. Telling you to get over it won’t change that. Besides, I get it.”

“You do?”

“That feeling you have to work twice as hard just to get the recognition you feel you rightfully deserve only to be overlooked?” She let out a little bitter laugh, twisting the end of one of her dreads around her finger. “Yeah. I know that feeling a little too well; life made sure of it.” A second later her eyes widened and then squinted, as if seeing something in the distance. Her eyebrows furrowed and she clicked her tongue. In a flash, she got off the floor and James watched her make quick strides to the door, opening it with a flourish only to pull it shut behind her. He stared at the swinging jackets hanging off the key shaped holder, an incredulous expression popping onto his face.

“Well thanks for the talk, Mickey! I feel so much better!” James called out to the closed door. He rolled onto his back, unfurling his legs, staring up at the tall ceiling. Geeze, first Gustavo, then his buds, and now Mickey. He thought people cared about him but clearly he was wrong! Why did he even like her in the first place?

A knock sounded on the door. Uncurling himself, James sat up, head tilting in curiosity. A second later the door opened, and a sheepish Mickey stepped through it. “Forgot, I don’t need to knock for myself,” she muttered, rubbing her palms down the legs of her jeans.

Nevermind, she came back. He liked her again.

She drummed her fingers against her thighs and then headed for the kitchen. “I’m thirsty. Do you want a juice box?”

James’s head bobbed from side to side. Now that his chest didn’t feel as if it would cave in, it felt “Yeah, I could go for one.” She pulled one from the fridge and tossed it to him. He easily caught it with one hand as he swung his legs down from the couch, settling on the middle cushion facing the tv. He popped off the straw and stabbed it through the foil-covered hole on top. He didn’t pretend it was Gustavo’s face beneath the straw. Not at all. He took a long pull of the watermelon flavored drink and swallowed. It helped, but only a little.

He watched as Mickey closed the refrigerator and started opening and closing a few cabinets. She pulled a few bowls out of one and set them on the counter and then pulled open a few drawers, taking out measuring cups and spoons and knives.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Well, there’s really no point in bringing back Tupperware that’s empty is there?” She asked, eyebrows lifting. “It’s downright blasphemy.”

His stomach quivered at that. Food? She was making food? As much as a small part of him still wanted nachos from the Staples Center, he could trade it for whatever she made. If magic existed, she possessed it with how good her food turned out. Not that Mama Knight’s wasn’t a great cook herself, nothing beat her cheesy potato soup or Fishstick Fridays or her amazing snickerdoodles, Mickey just tended to make more on the dessert side. And while his body was a temple and he treated it right, sometimes the temple wanted a big fat slice of pie. To please the Gods. (Him, James was the God. No matter how much Logan disagreed, the peasant).

“What are you making? Can I have some?”

“It’s a surprise but sure. It’s gonna take me some time, though.”

James reeled in his pout and protest, as much as he hated having to wait history showed it tended to be worth it. Shifting off the couch, he opened the cabinet beneath the tv and looked at the array of DVDs staring back at him. He bypassed his usual go-tos—Die Hard, Bring it On, the Entourage series, Fast and Furious, Step Brothers, Zoolander, Marley & Me—stopping at the smaller cases on the end, holding white discs with Mama Knight’s handwriting scrawled over the surface depicting dates from a few years back. James shuffled through the cases as if they were a deck of cards, stopping on one he remembered from freshman year, near the end of the season.

The Meadowlark High Coyotes were 7-9; they needed to win at least four more games to make it to the playoffs before their season was cut short. They were down by three points at 4-6 against Willow Grove High’s Rams with ten minutes left. Kendall had been benched for fighting after getting his face smashed into the plexiglass on a breakaway (it was a cheap hit). Carlos was ejected for leaving goal to bum rush the player who executed the hit, trying to pants him. And Logan sat on the bench, his nose buried in his roster book, scribbling away, making notes for the coach to review after the game. That left him the lone wingman to turn the tide on a penalty shot and any scoring chance he obtained afterwards. Yes there was another wingman, but he may as well not have been on the ice with James taking the lead.

He popped it into the DVD player and fell back into the memory of the day, sank into the swell of cheers, the shrill whistles, the thudding beat of his heart in his ears, the rush as he glided over the ice, carrying the puck to the goal shot after shot after shot. And the chanting, oh the chanting, it may as well have been tattooed on his heart: Dia-mond, Dia-mond, Dia-mond! Only his stick slapping against the puck broke the cheering. Crack! Crack! Crack! James rushed the goal and sent the puck sailing through the air, nestling in the top right and left corners of the net, lighting the lamp. The crowd went wild. His team rushed the ice, lifting him up in the air as sirens and whistles went off.

James paused on the zoom on his face, the light in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. Someone had yanked off his helmet so they could ruffle his sweaty hair, which still looked good compared to the others, thank you very much. (Helmet hair was not something he ever had to combat, he made sure of it.)

They won. They chose him and he won. When he was picked, they all succeeded. That was the point.

He scanned backwards, watching the play in reverse, pressed play, and watched their victory unfold. Again. And again. And again. Forward, back, forward, back. Shoot, score, repeat. Every watch brought back another shot of exhilaration, another round of satisfaction pulsing through his veins. Gustavo had drained that feeling right out of him.

“What’re you watching?” Mickey’s head hung next to his as she leaned over the back of the couch. “Is that you? Oh, you were all so teeny!”

James pouted. He wasn’t teeny. Yeah, he was a couple years younger than now and had a bit of a rounder face but all the days playing hockey he’d shed his childhood weight. And he’d hit his growth spurt, so he was already taller than the guys in their class. Despite the slight sting of the comment, he answered, “Freshman year hockey game. Against our rivals, the Rams.”

“Did you win?”

James scoffed. “Of course we did!” Big Time Rush didn’t lose. Once they all joined the team, they were a force to be reckoned with. “All thanks to me, even. Kendall and the guys were benched for ‘unsportsmanlike behavior’.” His finger quotes stabbed the air as he rolled his eyes.

“Why? What’d they do?”

“Watch.” Within a few seconds the scene unfolded again: Kendall on a breakaway, for all intents and purposes prime for a good shot. Then someone from the other team bashed into him, clearly committing a foul. Kendall bounced off the plexiglass as sharp whistles and booing jeers filled the air. Cheeks red, either due to the cold or anger, Kendall threw down his stick and gloves, whipped off his helmet, and charged for a Ram. He managed a hit on one before two Rams came up, grabbed him, threw him into the plexiglass again, and squished his face against it, dragging it from side to side. Mickey sucked a hissing breath in between her teeth, face scrunching up to a look of pain.

“That looked like it hurt.”

“Hurt worse when the guy wasn’t even called for it—the refs were from their town,” James explained at the look of disbelief crossing her face. “But I get the penalty shot and score more goals to clinch the win for us.”

“Bet that felt good.”

He shrugged. Good wasn’t the right word. Amazing wasn’t the right word. He didn’t think a word existed to properly encompass how that day felt. He paused the video and scanned it backwards again, his thumb hovering over the play button as his eyes took in their reflections on the tv screen. Namely how close she leaned to his head. Turning to her, he eyed her close-up profile. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could just say so,” James said with a flirtatious smile. Motioning to her with the remote he added, “You don’t have to come up with an excuse to get close.”

Her head tilted to the side, her studying him this time. “Would it make you feel better?”

He blinked. Uh…what? That wasn’t what she was supposed to say. That wasn’t how things went with them. He’d flirt, she’d rebuff him, he’d try again later. That’s how their friendship worked, among both agreeing blue was, in fact, a flavor (suck it, Logan!), her helping him with English homework while he helped her with vocal work, taking trips to the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients (her for her cooking, him for his organic, clean, homemade facial mask), and splitting the s’mores skillet at Fun Burger on his cheat day. Not that he didn’t like this turn of events, he wasn’t stupid. Okay, so he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the spotlight, but he wasn’t that stupid.

Still, he shook his head and pinched his arm to be sure this wasn’t some sort of dream, that she had, in fact, asked if kissing him would make him feel better. His fingers pressed into his skin and a pinch of pain shot up his arm. His eyes widened. He was definitely awake!

“Uh…sure?” He mentally admonished himself, hearing how unsure he sounded. Who talked like that? Not him, that’s for sure. He was much cooler than that. He cleared his throat, deepened his voice, turned his eyes to smolder, and said, “I mean, yeah. We could give it a shot.”

“Okay, close your eyes.”

He did as he was told, eyes slamming shut. James’ chest swelled and relaxed as he took in and let out a long breath. Not that he was nervous. He’d kissed plenty of girls before. Hell, once he’d kissed three girls in a half hour (thank you spin the bottle!) So this was nothing to worry about. No big deal. It’s just Mickey. Just the girl he’d been into for the past year. His palms sweating had nothing to do with it, that happened sometimes. Not a lot. Okay, never. Not when it came to kissing girls. So it had to be some sort of new medical condition he’d need to get looked at. Along with the shaking. And his heart thudding against his chest. He made a mental note to get that looked at too.

He felt her hovering in front of him, close enough for that strange sensation to itch and curl beneath his skin, anticipation cracking like a livewire. A strong swoop lurched in his stomach when she asked “Ready?”, so close he smelled something sweet on her breath. Vanilla? A lock of her hair brushed against the side of his face, sending a shot of something pleasant down his spine.

He nodded, swiping his tongue against his bottom lip. (Not too wet, not too dry. Couldn’t have her thinking his lips were like sandpaper.) Breath? He thought back. Last thing he ate were a few ants-on-a-log back at the studio. Peanut Butter wasn’t what he’d go with, but it would do in a pinch.

Okay. You’re James Diamond! You’re in a world-famous band! You have great hair! You have great style! You have great lips! They’re perfectly pouty and pink and fantastic. It’s just a kiss. You can do this. Annnd….go!

James leaned forward, pursing his lips. Something touched his lips. His eyebrows lowered. Huh, her lips were a lot colder than he’d imagined. Just as smooth, though. And a little…pointy? What? Before he could react, something gave way and shot between his teeth, heading to the back of his throat. He coughed, the object shooting forward, bouncing on his tongue.

His eyes popped open, granting him the sight of Mickey and her shit-eating grin. His tongue rolled the object around in his mouth, smooth on all sides except for one point. A rush of chocolate swarmed his taste buds. A Hersehey’s kiss. He blinked, staring up at her.

“Did the Earth move for ya, honey?” she asked sweetly, her soft southern accent igniting the teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“Very funny,” James grumbled, chewing the cold bit of chocolate into small pieces. It melted fast on his tongue. Pushing a hand through his hair, he flopped back against the couch, doing his best to avoid her gaze. But that smile, so bright and satisfied, drew him back in and he found his frown lifting upwards.

Still grinning, she dropped down on the couch next to him. He noticed the plate in her hands, the surface covered with an array of purple swirls and designs resting atop white sponge dotted with color.

Funfetti cupcakes. His favorite.

She was forgiven.

------

“She moves left, she moves right, she goes left again-oh! Fake out! She’s on a breakaway! There’s no one standing between her and the net! Will she make it?” With a lunge, Mickey slapped a pretzel rod against the Oreo in the middle of the table. James dropped to his knees, opening his mouth in time for the cookie to slide against the smooth surface, coast past his teeth, and land on his tongue. Goal! “She does! She scores! And the Missles are the table hockey champions of the world!” Throwing her arms into the air, Mickey danced a little victory jig, chomping the pretzel rod in her hand as if putting an exclamation point at the end of a sentence.

Chuckling, James chewed the Oreo. Ordinarily he would already be mentally preparing his routine at the gym the next day to counteract all the sugar he’d eaten but he could skip it for one day. Tossing his own pretzel rod onto the table—he wasn’t going to make an exception for sodium, not when bloat could set in—he stood, brushing any miniscule bit of dirt off his knees. “Why didn’t you go to the hockey game again?” he asked.

Mickey’s eyebrow arched and she waved her hand around the room, motioning to the table, the leftover cupcakes sitting on the kitchen counter, and Bring it On playing on the tv in the background “And miss out on all this fun?” She winked and took another bite of the pretzel rod. “Not a chance.”

James smiled, a rush of warmth spreading through him.

The door burst open; Carlos, Kendall, and Logan rushed in, hooting, and hollering, waving towels and hats in a flurry. Katie and Jennifer entered behind them, wearing identical expressions, half of amusement and half of wariness.

“Hey guys,” Mickey greeted them, walking around the table. “How was the game?” Her answer came as a wall of sound when Kendall, Carlos, and Logan screamed in her face. Blinking rapidly, she wiggled a finger in her ear as she leaned away from them. “That good, huh?”

“It was awesome!” Carlos shouted. “First the Ducks were in the lead and then the Kings caught up to them but then the Ducks were in the lead again! And during the ice cleanings Bailey and Wild Wing came out and got into a shootout. And then they played musical chairs which is silly, you know, because why would animals need to sit on chairs—ooh! Cupcakes!” Breaking off, he made a dashing dive for the kitchen counter.

“Those are mine!” James shouted, making Carlos freeze with a cupcake halfway to his mouth. A whimpering sound fell out of his mouth as he looked back and forth between James and the cupcake.

“Be nice, there’s enough for them to have one,” Mickey said, rubbing James’s arm. “Go ahead, Carlos.” She barely finished her sentence when Carlos stuffed it into his mouth, paper still attached.

“Dude.” Kendall bumped James on the arm with the back of his hand. “We had to keep Carlos from tackling Bailey the lion for thumping Wild Wing’s bill in the stands. Could’ve used you to hold him back.”

“Is that the only reason?” James asked.

Kendall scoffed. “Of course not! I had no one else to cringe with when they messed up the National Anthem. You weren’t there to list off every stat for the Kings or the Ducks—down to what conditioner they most likely used.” James pushed a laugh out of his nose. “After the game ended, they let us skate around for a bit. T’somethin’ I always dreamed about, skating one of the biggest NHL rinks. Wasn’t the same without my wingman there to catch my passes without fail.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “We’re sorry we didn’t take your feelings seriously. Gustavo was rough on you today. We should’ve stayed with you, made sure you were okay.”

“You didn’t think I was being overdramatic?”

“Oh no, we totally did,” Kendall said, making James roll his eyes, “but halfway through the game I remembered that you get like that when it comes to things that are important to you. And it’s not fair for me, for us, to push that aside. So I’m sorry. We cool?” He extended his hand,

“We’re cool. You know I can’t stay mad at my bud,” James replied, clasping Kendall’s hand to pull him into a quick hug.

“And on that note, it’s time for me to go,” Mickey said, squeezing past them. Clutched in her hands were two Tupperware containers filled with cupcakes. “Are you feeling better?” Kendall’s eyes quickly ping-ponged between the two; he mumbled something about needing to polish his hockey puck and backed away.

James’ mind quickly scanned through a list of things he could say to keep her around a little longer. He came up with nothing. “I am, yeah,” James admitted. “Thanks for sticking around and keeping me company, Mickey.”

“Any time. If you ever want a rematch against the Missles, you know where to find me. We’ll be ready for you Diamondheads.” Leaning past James, she called out “see you, guys!” only to get distracted hand waves back from Kendall, Carlos, Logan, and Katie as they watched the game highlight on the news. She shrugged. “See ya, James,” she said, quickly tilting her fingers at him in a rippling wave.

He waved back, watching as she left the apartment. The door closed with a soft click. James turned on his heel only to stop in his tracks, noticing every pair of eyes in the room pointed on him. Eyebrows crinkling, his head tilted to the side. Usually he deserved attention, basked in it even, but he wasn’t sure what he did to get it this time. “What?” he finally asked.

“You were here with Mickey alone all afternoon,” Kendall said. “What happened?”

James shrugged, approaching the couch. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. We talked, watched some hockey, and messed around.”

“So you never hit on her?” Logan asked.

Kind of. “No, not really.” Hershey kiss substitutes didn’t count.

“Dude! This was your chance!” Carlos sprayed bits of uneaten cupcake out of his mouth as he shouted. Uttering a noise of disgust, Logan wiped the side of his face, shooting such a scathing look at Carlos it made him behind Katie. James laughed at the sight.

“Yeah, that’s not like you, James. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Kendall said.

“I’m feelin’ great, guys, really,” he assured them. “Gimmie another cupcake.” As he reached for the plate in Katie’s hand, he spotted something white under the pillow Kendall leaned against. He yanked it out with one strong pull. “Oh shoot,” he muttered. He got a series of asynchronous what?s answered him. “It’s Mickey’s sweatshirt. She forgot it.”

“Give it to her tomorrow. She’ll be at the studio,” Kendall pointed out.

James took in Kendall’s nonchalance with an incredulous shake of his head. He couldn’t do that. Well…he could but he couldn’t. Even if the built-in excuse for her to come back to the apartment was enticing, he wouldn’t feel right holding onto it. Not when he knew of her attachment to it, not just due to how soft and comfortable the sweatshirt was but to the band as well. When he thought about not having his Lucky Comb on him, even for a second, it sent shivers down his spine.

“No, I’ll just try and catch her at the elevator.” Clutching the sweatshirt tight in his hands, James dashed for the door. It barely opened far enough for him to fit through before he found himself out in the hall. He ran around a corner, nearly clipping it, slowing when he heard Mickeys’ voice.

“Thanks again for being so understanding. I know it was last minute…”

“Girl, it’s okay,” Jo said back. Hmm? James peered around the corner, spying Mickey and Jo standing in front of the elevator doors. She clutched a rolled-up script in her hand. “We can always go another day. It’s no big deal.”

“Thanks. James just looked so…defeated.” Mickey’s nose wrinkled. “It’s weird. I’ve never seen him like that before. I just…I didn’t want him to be alone.”

“I get it. I’m not going to be mad at you for being there for a friend,” Jo said, waving her hand in the air. “Buut…you’ll also be extra forgiven if I can have a cupcake.” Her eyebrows wiggled as she tapped a quick rhythm on the Tupperware lid.

Mickey laughed, popping the lid. “No problem.”

Jo eagerly dove for a cupcake, peeling the paper off halfway before taking a bite at the base of the treat. She brought a finger up to her mouth as she chewed, wiping away a stray smear of cream cheese frosting. “So…you must really like James to cancel going to that pie making class you’d been looking forward to for weeks.”

What!? James pressed his lips together, biting on them. The pulse of pain fell into sync with his rapid heartbeat. Jo’s lips curled in the corners and, beneath the hallway lighting, James swore he saw devil horns pop up on her head.

Mickey rolled her eyes. James squinted. Was that a blush on Mickey’s cheeks or a trick of the light? “Don’t even start with me, I gotta deal with all that at home.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Mickey stepped backwards into the elevator, jabbing at a button with her elbow. “…And I don’t not like him. But don’t tell anyone that!”

Jo mimed zipping her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Swallowing the yelp fighting to shoot up his throat, James turned and headed back to 2J. He slipped into the apartment under the noise of aliens and troopers getting blown up in Biohazard 5 and Carlos’ jeers as he held his hand in front of Logan’s face.

“Did you catch her?” Kendall yelled over the noise, eyes glued to the tv.

“No, I missed her.” James made a beeline for the bedrooms, a soft smile sitting upon his lips. “I’ll see her tomorrow.”

[beware-of-you-98]

Random Assortment of Cute JJ x Emily Headcanons :)

Requested by @arcutalion (I accidentally deleted the ask by mistake so if I missed one let me know 😭💔)

At the movies :)

They don’t go out to the movies often because of work or they’re spend time with the boys at home

(They like to consider movies as their date nights away from the kids, which, again, doesn’t happen often)

When they do go to the movies, it’s almost always to the local theater to watch whatever film that the theater is airing that week

(JJ doesn’t really like going to movies anyway, but she knows Emily has a soft spot foreign films and loves to go just to spend time with her girlfriend)

Emily always gives her the English translation of the book or play the film is based off of so that the blonde isn’t completely lost when they go to the theater

JJ studies them as if they’re scripture and spends her free time during the week before reading and asking Emily (or Spence, if he’s around) about particular parts she doesn’t fully grasp

When they do go to the theater, JJ ends up watching Emily most of the time

The brunette’s expressions, the way her eyes light up at specific scenes and the way she subtly mouths along to the dialogue is too precious, so how can JJ justifiably watch anything else

Sometimes, she’ll rest her head on Emily’s shoulder and watch the film

She follows along, not just because she read the play/book a week before, but also because Emily translates the film for her lowly in her ear

JJ brings a hoodie with her because she knows Emily will get cold halfway through the film

(It’s always one of her hoodies; Emily likes the way the blonde’s clothes fit on her)

Emily’s favorite snack is the gummy worms

JJ’s is the rainbow twizzlers

Disaster girlfriends painting a house

They both decide after years and years of dating to move into a new home together

It’s a simple light gray with white detailing that contrasts to the main color of the building withh the wide glass windows, it makes the home look really inviting and domestic

The first floor of the house has a grayish blue paint that they fall in love with

Then they go up to the second floor and are greeted with ugly, mustard yellow walls

It’s... so, so bad

It’s so bright and they don’t understand why

Immediately they go to the nearest hardware store and pick out a new color

(It ends up being just a nice light gray that matches the outside of the house and it works well with the blue on the first floor)

The next day they’re both dressed down in baggy clothes, JJ in a simple old tshirt with the sleeves cut off and old leggings while Emily is in a long sleeve and short shorts, both in old tennis shoes

JJ’s hair is tied up on a ponytail and she has a bandana tied around her head to keep her hair from getting in the way

She’s very serious about getting the painting done, placing her hands on hips as she goes from room to room upstairs to see the work they got to do

She sets up the plastic on the floor, moves the furniture out of the way and puts on their favorite podcast before getting to work

Emily... not so much

To her credit, she does paint, but she keeps sneaking glances over at JJ and getting distracted because of how cute she is when she’s concentrated

Her brows are furrowed slightly, the strokes she makes with the paintbrush methodical and precise, and honestly, Emily just can’t believe how lucky she is that this is her life

JJ keeps catching Emily staring and always reminds her to get back to the task at hand, though her smile grows wider every time she reprimands the brunette

Emily dips her hand into the paint and leaves a handprint on JJ’s arm

JJ, in retaliation, leaves a smear of paint across Emily’s cheek

This ends in both of them having a small battle with the paint that leaves both of them covered in smears of gray on their clothes, their skin, and their hair

They both end up in the middle of the floor, breathless from their laughter

Emily has a handprint on her forehead and paint dripping from her hair

JJ has paint on her nose and both cheeks, her bandana covered in paint

They both just giggle and grin at each other until Emily pulls JJ in for a light, soft kiss that expresses just how grateful she is that this is her life and how happy she is to spend it with the blonde

Emily being a simp™️ for sportsfan!!JJ

They don’t normally go out and watch professional sports a lot

But Emily likes to spoil the hell out of JJ and the boys and always manages to find the best tickets for local games on special occasion

The boys get so excited for the games

Even if they end up at a baseball game in 40 degree weather, Emily’s favorite moments are simply just enjoying spending time with her family

They’ll sit with the boys sandwiched between them, watch the game and then go out for dinner afterwards (their go to is Sheetz— I don’t make the rules)

When the boys are with Will, Emily will surprise JJ with tickets to her favorite sports team’s games

(Her favorite football teams change every year; her most recent favorites are the Baltimore Ravens)

(She doesn’t have a favorite team for soccer, but she vastly prefers going to and watching women’s soccer games)

Emily doesn’t understand a thing about sports, but she loves taking JJ to games

JJ will get them both matching jerseys to wear on game day and will be so excited the entire day to get to the stadium

She gets really into the games—she’ll get pressed when the team she’s rooting for makes a shitty play, or when the referee makes an unfair call

She’ll hop out of her seat and bounce up and down when a particularly exciting play happens

She’ll cheer so loud her throat is raw by the end of the game

Emily just watched her with the most awestruck/lovesick expression on her face

Her heart melts and a huge grin will break out on her face when JJ gets excited

She’s practically swooning in her own seat when JJ tells off other ignorant fans when they say something inappropriate

(She’s always proudly thinking “Yes, that’s my girl” and “I can’t wait to marry this woman some day”)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 11: You Don’t Come Around No More]

A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait. Thank you all so, so, so much for your support. Every single reblog, message, comment, emotional rant, and/or screech of despair makes my day, and I couldn’t do this without you. 💜 Only THREE more chapters left!!!

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “More To Life Than Baseball” by Petey. 

Chapter Warnings: Language, angsttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

Word Count: 7.5k. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​​​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​​ @queenlover05​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​ @some-major-ishues​​​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​​​ @youngpastafanmug​​​​ @simonedk​

The Rain

I wish I felt empty.

I’m supposed to feel empty, right? I’m supposed to feel steeped in grey, oceanic misery; I’m supposed to dip in and out of depressive naps all day and sob delicately over creased photos and fading, wistful memories. I always envisioned heartbreak as a soft and inherently feminine sort of affliction: the hems of nightgowns and bathrobes sweeping along hardwood floors, Kleenex boxes and concave couch cushions, weepy phone calls to friends and aunts and mothers, Queen Victoria wearing black for the rest of her life after Prince Albert’s death, Mary Todd Lincoln sinking into dark and hushed obscurity. Women, hollowed out by despair, cross the history of the earth like lines of latitude.

I don’t feel empty at all. I don’t even feel sad. I feel razored by sharp, red, ceaseless anxiety. I am consumed by thoughts of what I did wrong, what I said that started the wheels of doubt spinning in his mind, if he had known how it would end from the start. I dream of white, clawed hands dragging me down through cold waves. I hear words scream to me as I toss at night in my suddenly too-spacious bed, words that now hit me like knuckles to the gut: Shhh, hey, it’s just me, don’t get up, as Joe slipped beneath the Arizonan blankets, wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my collarbone as I tumbled back into sleep; I love you to death, as his Subaru idled in Charlie’s driveway; Baby Swan, listen to me, nothing is supposed to hurt, okay, so if anything hurts, ever, at all, you tell me and we stop, deal? as we stood in the doorway of our hotel room at the Four Seasons in Chicago. And now...and now...

And now everything fucking hurts.

It doesn’t make any sense; and yet it does. Look at him. Look at me.

The Polaroid photo from Homecoming was still taped to the top of my full-length mirror. I peeled it free like a layer of translucent, friable reptilian skin, tore it straight down the center, burned both halves over a brand new three-wicked, lemon-scented Bath And Body Works candle—a gift from Renee and Paul—and closed my eyes like a child casting a wish over her birthday cake like a spell. I wished for my memories to vanish with the photograph. I wished to get hit by a truck and wake up in the hospital with no recollection of the past two and a half months. I wanted the Lees to dissolve into distant, enigmatic mystery; I wanted to join the rest of Forks in believing that they were nothing more than bewildering and yet harmless freaks, barely worth noticing, one of those glitches of the matrix that were better off ignored like liminal seconds of déjà vu. I wished to carve out every part of myself that they had ever touched.

And Joe’s voice came rushing back from where we stood by that star-lit fountain outside the Church of Saint Lawrence, accompanied by falling raindrops and a crooked grin: I can make wishes come true.

The three tiny flames flickered in the breeze that sighed through my open window. The bright, citrusy scent of the candle reminded me of Lucy. I couldn’t fucking win. What else is new?

I turned back to the mirror. I flinched when my gaze snagged on my reflection: bloodshot-eyed, swollen-faced, utterly unbeautiful, restless like a caged animal. Look at him. Look at me.

I ripped the last memento off the mirror—Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!!—and watched the yellow square of paper catch fire, curl up around the edges, become unrecognizable, turn to ash. And I wished over and over again, like a poem, like a prayer: Let me forget, oh god please let me forget.

Charlie keeps asking if I’m okay. The answer, of course, is no; but I can’t tell him that. So I wear a serene smile like clip-on fangs, a cheap polyester cloak, crimson smudges of lipstick like trails of spilled blood down the side of my neck. Every day is Halloween for me now. I dress up as someone who isn’t haunted, who hasn’t become a ghost.

And when Charlie turns up the World Series or I’d Do Anything For Love on his geriatric, staticky kitchen radio—the same radio he’s had since my mother was the one joining him for daybreak coffee and Pop-Tarts—I choke back tears like dragonfire.

Missing In Action (Revisited)

Joe wasn’t here. Neither was Ben.

Lucy, Rami, and Scarlett were sipping cups of tea at the Lees’ usual table, their eyes downcast, their voices low and murmuring, their pristine lunches neglected. Lucy and Rami were dressed in matching charcoal grey turtleneck sweaters; Scarlett had come from Fencing Club and was wearing royal purple yoga pants and a black tank top, her duffle bag of gear on the floor by her sneakered feet. Her hair was in a long fishtail braid. Archer hadn’t mentioned her since Joe broke up with me. That either meant that it was going blissfully and he didn’t want to injure me further, or that Scarlett had ended things as well.

Since Joe broke up with me. That sounds so fucking pedestrian.

I stared at the three present Lees, almost leered, commanding them to see me, to acknowledge me, to admit that I had once meant something to them, that this hadn’t all been some transitory delusion to fill the cavernous void of losing my home, my life as I knew it in Arizona. They took no notice whatsoever.

Jess kicked me beneath the lunch table. My attention snapped back to her.

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to go shopping with me and Angela tonight?” Jessica’s hands were folded just beneath her chin, her voice gentle, her eyes large and sympathetic and watery. This was her version of being supportive. I appreciated it...in a perpetually tormented and preoccupied sort of way.

“No thanks.” I forked my cold, sauceless spaghetti listlessly. I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I didn’t have an appetite anyway. I had deleted the GrubHub app from my iPhone and had no intention of using it ever again in my comparatively short and calamitous human life.

“You could come to temple this weekend,” Jessica pressed.

“Uh.” Mingling with a churchful of sociable, wholesome, marriage-obsessed adolescent Mormons sounded like the absolute last thing I’d want to spend my evening doing. “That’s a really generous offer, but I’ll pass.”

“Well you have to do something,” Angela said. “You can’t just sit in your bedroom alone all weekend and stare at the wall and wallow in self-pity.”

We’ll see about that. I turned to Jess. “How’s Vodka Boy from your Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class? Did he ever reappear? What’s his name again, Elmo? Ellington? El Chapo?”

“Ellsworth.” She frowned as she slurped her patron-drink-of-Mormons Sprite. “And no, he definitely failed out or overdosed or something, because he never came back.”

“Tragic,” I noted.

“But I’m pretty sure Mike’s coming over this weekend, so we’ll see if I can get some Netflix and chill action going.”

“Jess,” Angela chastised, widening her eyes and nodding to me subtly (but not quite subtly enough). No talking about getting lucky in front of the heartbroken single loser, that look said.

“I think I can be emotionally supportive without taking a goddamn vow of chastity, Angela!” Jessica hurled back.

“I gotta go.” I stood, threw on my backpack, discarded my nearly untouched lunch.

“You’ve barely eaten anything!” Angela protested. “You’ve barely eaten for a week!”

“I’ll live.” I picked my umbrella up off the slippery tile floor—peppered with muddy shoeprints and pearlescent drops of water fallen from coats and limp, sopping locks of hair—and headed out into the pouring rain. I hated the rain. I hated it. Maybe I had forgotten that for a while, but it all came hurtling back now like a hurricane, like a hand cracking across my face. I ached for the desert, for blatant and unapologetic heat, for palm trees and cacti and naked stars in the night sky. I had been researching marine biology graduate programs in the Southwest. There were good ones at UC San Diego, UC Santa Barbara, Texas A&M, the University of Southern California, UCLA. I would miss Charlie and Archer—and maybe Jessica and Angela on occasion—and absolutely nothing else about Forks. At least, that’s what I promised myself.

This is a no-giving-a-fuck-about-Lee-boys zone, I thought morosely.

Ben was brooding at our table in Professor Belvin’s classroom. It was the first time he’d shown up to Chemistry since that day Joe met me on the beach at La Push, since the place I’d once occupied in his universe had closed like a wound. I took my seat beside Ben. The window was shut today, the downpour outside torrential. Ben recoiled, just enough for me to notice; he was wearing his oversized black hoodie and practicing his Welsh, his handwriting messy and unbalanced.

“You could have warned me,” I said.

Ben didn’t glance up from his notebook. “Would that have made it any easier?”

“No,” I realized in defeat. I guess it wouldn’t have. I pulled my own notebook, my favorite pen, and a can of Diet Coke out of my backpack.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “You really need to know that. It had nothing to do with you. And none of us are happy with the current situation. None of us.”

None of them. That included Joe. “Interestingly, that didn’t stop him from creating it.”

Ben was thoughtful, debating his next words. “We’re probably going to be moving soon.”

“What?” I startled; my turquoise blue pen dropped out of my grasp and rolled across the table. Ben snatched it up and returned it to me. “Really?”    

“Yeah.”

“And what, just redo this whole college thing?”

Ben shrugged. “We’ll probably start our junior years over again. Gwil will say there was some horrible family tragedy and we needed a few semesters off. I could use the extra time to figure out Calc anyway. Parametric equations make me want to kill myself.”

I just stared at him. It didn’t make any sense. “But...why would the whole family leave Forks? Because of me? One pathetic, aggrieved human? Do you all pack up and relocate every time Joe fucks and dumps someone? That must be exhausting.”

“It’s better for everyone if we get some distance. Put more space between our world and yours.”

“But...” I tried to imagine never seeing any of them again: no Mercy humming merrily as she tossed handfuls of homegrown carrots to the alpacas, no Dr. Lee dabbing away my blood with an ageless sort of patience, no Scarlett or Lucy or Rami, no brief glimpses of Joe as he avoided me in the campus library. It’s exactly what I wanted; and yet it wasn’t. It so, so, so, so wasn’t. It keeps getting worse. How is that possible? My voice was flimsy and quivering, absolutely pitiful. Disgustingly pitiful. “Who will be my lab partner?”

Ben peered over at me with wide, confused green eyes. And then—gingerly, awkwardly, like holding an acquaintance’s baby for the first time—he laid his hand over mine. “I’ll miss you too.”

Professor Belvin lectured about coordinate covalent bonds. I didn’t absorb a word. I conjugated Italian verbs with my turquoise blue pen, sketched disordered whirlpools of ink, tried not to think about whether this was my last-ever Chemistry class with Ben, whether it was my last-ever weekend sharing Forks with the Lees. Those rageful, frantic thoughts were back. What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Why did he have to leave?

My nomadic gaze caught on a flier on the wall next to our misted window. I had assumed it was a leaflet for some club or protest or seasonal dance that I would definitely not attend, but it wasn’t. It was a missing poster.

Have you seen this student? the flier asked in bold, businesslike black font. It was urgent, but not quite despairing; not yet, anyway. I could hear a Dean of Student Affairs cajoling some affluent, strings-of-pearls-adorned mother over the phone: Yes ma’am, you have my full attention and I can assure you that we’re very concerned, but I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding...he’s probably gone backpacking or sailing with some friends and forgotten to call home. You know how college students can be. Beneath a large photo of a grinning blond kid—pink polo, flushed cheeks, clever crop job to nix a can of Natty Light clutched in one fist—was a name: Ellsworth Jonathan Griffin.

Ellsworth, I thought, my stomach plummeting. The guy from Jessica’s Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class. He hadn’t failed out. He was missing. Missing like a 20/20 episode or a true crime podcast, missing like the pregnant stillness before a murder is confessed in some glaringly florescent-lit interrogation room, before a distended and bloodless corpse washes up on shore.

I turned to Ben. He noticed me eventually, crinkled his brow, shrugged in that way that seemed so petulant if you didn’t know him well enough to not be offended.

I pointed to the flier and raised my eyebrows. Ben twisted around in his chair to look. Then he sighed, scribbled a sentence in the corner of a piece of notebook paper, tore it free, and slid it across the table.

Ben’s note read, in atrocious penmanship: Are you seriously asking me if I ate that guy?

Maybe, I wrote back after a moment’s hesitation. Maybe that wasn’t exactly what I was asking; maybe I just wondered if he knew anything about it.

In either case, Ben’s reply was swift and resounding, and underlined three times: No.

Sorry, I wrote, abruptly remorseful. I am a jerk. And I added a frowny face for good measure. Ben chuckled when he saw it, shook his head, gave me a drawn little smirk. His words tiptoed around in my skull, leaving searing imprints like footprints in the sand. I’ll miss you too.

I have to forget about them. I drummed my turquoise blue pen against my notebook as Professor Belvin drew families of molecules on the whiteboard with squealing dry erase markers. I have to find a way to make myself forget.

Jessica was waiting for me in the hallway after class. It was part of her convince-Baby-Swan-not-to-jump-off-a-cliff initiative. “Hey.”

“Okay,” I told her with steely resolve. “I’m ready for you to set me up with one of those guys from your church or temple or whatever. I’m ready to be a nice wholesome wife, pop out like six kids, learn how to scrapbook, give up caffeine and horror movies, do the whole white picket fence thing. Sign me up.”

Jessica blinked at me. There were flecks of fallen mascara on her cheekbones like ashes. “What?”

“You’re a Mormon, right?”

“Girl, I’m not a Mormon,” Jessica said, puzzled. “I’m a witch.”

Lucille

I found Joe where he usually was these days: sprawled on the sofa, engulfed in the same blue Snuggie he’d been wearing for thirty-six uninterrupted hours, gazing catatonically at the big-screen tv. A 90 Day Fiancé marathon was on. Some rodentish guy named Colt was apologizing to his gorgeous, aspiring-green-card-holding Brazilian love interest for calling the cops on her during their last screaming match. He was also apologizing for the fact that they lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his mother. I didn’t need clairvoyance to see where their future was headed.

“Hey,” Ben said when he spotted me. He was sitting next to Joe and occasionally tried to shove pieces of popcorn into his mouth, which Joe accepted passively like coins plinked into a gumball machine. Ben had been his shadow for the past week; he was perhaps the best equipped of us to understand this degree of melancholy, of hopelessness.  

“Ciao.” And then, to Joe: “How are you?”

“Terrible,” he replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv.

“I figured.” I squeezed between them on the couch, curled up next to Joe, rested my chin on his shoulder. He ignored me completely. I could hear Mercy tapping at her laptop keyboard out in the dining room; she was browsing through Zillow listings in Portland, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cleveland. Dear god, please don’t let us end up in fucking Cleveland. “Guess what.”

Joe stared at the tv for a long time before he answered. “What.”

“I had a vision of you. Just now, as I was doing laundry. Crystal clear and very scenic too, I might add.”

“Fascinating,” Joe said flatly.

“What happened in this vision?” Ben asked, far more invested, which I was thankful for.

“It was pretty far away, maybe a year from now. I saw you in the desert at night, under a full moon. There were cacti everywhere. The shadow of the Milky Way was threaded through the sky, and the stars were very bright. I could make out the constellations Pegasus and Cassiopeia. You were filling up a tiny glass bottle with dirt.”

“That’s remarkably helpful,” Joe said.

“It is, a little bit,” I insisted. “It means you get through this. That you have a future. I get nervous when I go too long without a vision of someone in the family. But now I know you’re going to be okay.”

The reflections of the feuding 90 Day Fiancé couples danced in his glassy eyes. “Being alive doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

“That’s dark,” Ben said. “Even I think that’s too dark.” He pushed a handful of popcorn into Joe’s mouth. “Are you gonna hunt at some point or what?”

“No.”

“You’re just gonna sit on this couch and waste away?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to bring you anything? Grizzly bear? Brown bear? Fuck it, I’ll get you a polar bear if that’s what you want. There’s probably some on the black market. Rami would know.”

“He what?” Mercy called from the kitchen. Her typing had stopped.

“Nothing, Mom!” I shot back.

“I don’t want anything,” Joe said. That was a lie, of course. We all knew what he wanted. Rami couldn’t stand to be around him; the thoughts were relentless, smothering.

I linked my arms around Joe’s neck, laid my head against his chest, sighed deeply and mournfully. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. But I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll help however I can. We all will.”

And I had accepted that Joe wasn’t going to respond at all when he finally whispered: “I just wish I could forget.”

Cato

My rolling suitcase snagged on the cobblestone driveway. The tiny spinning wheels bashed against concrete as I scaled the front steps. As the taxi pulled away, I dug around in my suit pocket for my keys, found them, unlocked the enormous front door, stepped inside the palace as my suitcase trolled along the marble floor.

“Cato’s back!” Charity announced as she breezed down the nearest staircase, beaming and embracing me. She was a lovely, innately warm woman from Pointe-Noire, Congo; she still wore the silver cross necklace her mother had once given her around her neck. “Did you have a nice flight? Wait, let me check.” She pressed the fingertips of her right hand to my cheek. I felt the memories rush up like blood to a flushed face: the bite of sipped champagne against my tongue, the thin semi-transparent newspaper pages gliding between my fingers, the husky voice of the bearded, bearish naval officer who sat in the seat beside me, the misted silhouette of Vladivostok as it rose up out of the Pacific Ocean. “Uneventful, but pleasant enough. You flew commercial?”

“The jets were otherwise occupied, apparently.” Charity could see things with the predictability and precision that Lucy so often lacked, but only the past. I pushed her hand away. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re not mad,” Charity declared, confident, impish, helping me shed my suit jacket and draping it over her arm. “You’re never mad.”

She was very nearly correct. “Where are the rest of the kids?”

“In the kitchen. Go say hello, they’ve missed you dreadfully.”

“I know the feeling.” I kicked off my Berlutis, ran a palm over the wiry fur of the Irish Wolfhounds that appeared to greet me before they resumed padding watchfully around the palace, and went to the kitchen, my black socks slipping a bit on the marble floors.

I could hear their voices before I reached the door: laughter, teasing, complaints, requests. The scents of pancakes and cold butter and maple syrup were thick in the air. Charity was one of our four newest recruits, and they all still had that energetic lightness of being human, a youthful enthusiasm, a relative normalness. I spent quite a lot of time with them. It was my job—to help with the transition, to keep them happy, to facilitate the welding of their individual parts into the beastly machine that was the Draghi—but oftentimes it felt more like a reprieve. Some would stay close to me as they matured, others would grow in different directions, like ambitious vines climbing the skeleton of a garden trellis. I usually missed them when they ‘grew up,’ so to speak...although there were exceptions. I had never liked Liesl. I had always liked Ben. I opened the door.

“Ah, you are home!” Ksenia cried from where she stood over the stove, a spatula in her right hand, bouncing excitedly in place on her small bare feet.

“Hey!” Max and Austin called together. They were both sitting with their shoes propped up on the unglamorous kitchen table. There was a massive formal dining room that could accommodate up to twenty-five guests, but we rarely used it.

“Good morning,” I said, aware that I was smiling for the first time in days.

Max groaned as he scrolled through his Google search results on a burner phone. “What the fuck. My name is one of the top five dog names again. I think I’m gonna have to change it.”

I ruffled his long blond hair, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate. Max had grown up a trust fund kid in Perth, Australia. His mother was old money; his father was a professional surfer. “Your name is fine.”

“Really, Kato Kaelin? Is it really? How am I supposed to intimidate people when I have a fucking dog name?”

“So make them call you Maximilian,” offered Ksenia in a heavy Ukrainian accent. She’d only been with us for eight months, but her English was coming along swimmingly. She flipped a massive A-shaped pancake on the sizzling griddle. That one was for Austin.

“Seriously?” Max said. “That is just way too many syllables. They’ll be halfway down the block by the time I’m done introducing myself. ‘Hey, come back mate, I haven’t killed ya yet.’”

“At least you aren’t stuck with a basic-white-boy-circa-1992 name for all of eternity,” said Austin Tyler McInerny, originally of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He was chomping on a multicolored Fruit Roll-Up, which swung from his mouth like a lizard’s tongue. He’d been working at an ailing skatepark when Larkin found him. He still enjoyed showing off his kickflips, and kept insisting that he was going to teach me how to ollie. I didn’t have the faintest idea what an ollie was.

“Do you want a pancake, Cato?” Ksenia asked, passing Austin his plate and wiping her hands on her pink apron. Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail with a matching rose-colored ribbon. She looked so young. She was so young, actually. Nineteen. And she would be forever.

“No, thank you dear. I’m alright.”

“I like Alaric,” Max decided. “First king of the Visigoths. Alaric is a name fit for a vampire. Creepy, yet dignified. Or maybe Silas. Or Draco.”

Austin shook his head as he swirled a river of viscous maple syrup over his A-shaped pancake. “Definitely not Draco.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the Harry Potter connection is unfortunate. People will hear Draco and think of that obnoxious white-haired kid from the evil snake-people house or whatever.”

“Oh, right,” Max sighed. “Like I said. Alaric would work.”

“So many A-shaped pancakes!” Ksenia poured a K on the griddle for herself.

“It’s good for you,” Austin replied, pointing at her with his fork. “We’re practicing English.”

“Alaric Luther,” Max mused, scrolling through his phone. I didn’t think he’d find that on any list of trendy dog names. “Alaric Lothaire...Alaric Lucian...”

“I like your name, Max,” Larkin said from the doorway. None of us had heard him arrive. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a deep maroon suit and a ring on every finger, grinning hugely. He was exactly as I remembered him: stunning, captivating, terrifying. The kitchen fell quiet. I could smell Ksenia’s pancake beginning to burn.

At last Max chuckled nervously, pushing soggy pancake hunks around on his plate with his fork, averting his gaze. “Guess I’ll keep it then.”

“I thought I heard you come in,” Larkin told me.

“It’s always a pleasure to be home.”

He nodded out towards the hallway. “Come. Regale me with the stories of your travels.” Then his eyes flicked down to my socks, and he grimaced—slightly, briefly—before turning away. “And find your shoes.”

I followed him through the hallway, the living room, the grand front foyer with the crystal chandelier, into the elevator. Larkin did not speak, but he hummed as we ascended: House Of The Rising Sun.

It hadn’t always been like this. It was difficult for me to pick out the details of what had changed—the tone of his voice, the proportion of wonder and gratitude I associated with him versus fear, the way this palace (or the one in Reykjavik, or Juneau, or Ivalo, or Murmansk, or any of the others) felt when I stepped inside it—but I knew something had. It had begun before Ben left. It was much worse now. Older vampires, in my fairly learned opinion, are something like the stars. They mellow as they age, temper their character flaws, grow wise and patient like Nikolai or Honora or Gwilym Lee; or they rage until they burn away every last atom of humanity, until they destroy themselves and take entire solar systems down with them. Increasingly, I harbored fears that Larkin was a vampire of the latter variety. And we were all his planets.

In his study, Larkin dropped into the chair behind his desk, brought a hand to his forehead, surveyed a disarrayed flurry of papers: letters, notices, deeds and titles, meticulously managed accounts of finances and disciplinary actions. Larkin had a laptop and burner phone, of course, as we all did; but he liked to work in paper as much as possible. That’s how he’d done things for centuries, since long before the name of the inventor of the internet (or harnessed electricity, for that matter) was a whisper on his parents’ lips. The sky outside was clouded and seeping soft rain.

“Things have been busy?” I ventured.

He frowned, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “I’m in purgatory.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Can I help?”

“The Lancaster coven says they’ll need an extension for their dues. That’s the second year in a row, now it’s not just an exception, it’s a precedent. If you let one coven bend the rules, others will follow. So something will have to be done. Then there’s Stockholm. Anders’ coven has eaten a few too many locals—including the mayor’s favorite niece—and now the city is launching an investigation. Fucking idiots. They’ll probably all have to relocate. There’s some new territory dispute in Lima between Alejandro’s coven and a group of strangers that just came out of the Andes. We’ll have to make their acquaintance, of course. And as if all that weren’t enough, Rigel accidentally fed on a heroin addict and he’s currently detoxing in a cell in the basement. Would you check on him for me? I’m sure your presence will be a...” He waved his hand distractedly, almost dismissively, searching for the words. “A comfort to him.”

“Of course.”

“How are the Lees?”

“Fine. Typical. Gwil’s putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. Rami’s planning to get another law degree. Ben is, uh, adjusting. Slowly, very slowly. He’s not particularly content. But he hasn’t murdered anyone that I’m aware of.”

“How nice.” Now his eyes darted up to catch mine: focused, luminous, unreadable. “Nothing new at all?”

And instantly, I wanted to tell him everything. I forgot why I had ever planned to blunt the girl’s existence, to conceal her talent entirely; I felt her name rising in my throat. And then I remembered again. I’m doing this for Gwil, for Ben.

I pretended to ponder Larkin’s question, as if it was so difficult to remember, as if there was nothing left to sift through but a trunkful of mundane details from the trip like a grandfather’s tattered correspondence and tarnished war relics. That was something an average family might have squirreled away in their attic, I assumed; I’d never met my own grandfather, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have had anything to leave me if I had. “Joe’s got some new girlfriend, but I don’t think it’s serious. I doubt she’ll be around long. You know how Joe is. Scarlett’s seeing someone too, actually. A Quileute kid.”

“Poor boy.” And Larkin grinned like a shark beneath burning eyes. “He’s in for a lifetime of disappointment. Who will ever be able to hold a candle to those memories?”

Larkin had a moderate preoccupation with Scarlett’s beauty, her...tenacity. Her lack of talent was a great disappointment to him, a somehow more egregious fault than Joe or Gwil or Mercy’s. What a shame, Larkin often said. And I believed I knew what came after in his mind, although never aloud: What a partner she could have been.

He was still grinning at me. His expression was hollow, vacuous. A shiver clawed down my spine. He was waiting for something. No, he was searching. I stared back, and I willed for that intangible, contagious harmony I carried around like a wedding ring to hit him like carbon monoxide or bromine: undetected and yet inexorable, knocking him off his path of inquisition.

What does he suspect? What does he already know?

“Anyway,” Larkin continued abruptly, turning his attention back to his paperwork. “I’m glad there’s nothing to worry about in Forks. Liesl will be back in the next few days, Rigel will be ready to work again, I’ll come up with a plan to handle all this and my mood will improve tremendously.”

And where has Liesl been? I almost asked; and then I didn’t. It was a good sign that she was coming home. I had looked for her once while I was in Forks. When I made up my mind to find someone—when that switch flipped in my skull or in the tangle of nerves of my solar plexus or wherever it lived—it wasn’t like poking around on Google Earth: zooming in here, scrolling over there. A goldish trail lit up on the floor, a ‘Yellow Brick Road’ Honora and I sometimes joked, and I followed it. And I had no way of knowing how far that trail might lead. A route heading dead east from the palace might stop in the next town over or continue across the Pacific Ocean; my search might last one day or a hundred. In Forks—as I perched in a soaring western hemlock tree in the forest outside the Lee residence on a cool October evening—Liesl’s trail had led north. North to Vancouver, to Victoria, to Dawson, to Alaska? Who the fuck knew. I was just relieved it hadn’t led to the tree next to mine.

“Well, as always, I’m happy to assist however I can,” I told Larkin. “Just let me know and I’ll be on the next flight out of Vladivostok.”

“I appreciate that, Cato.” He smiled, paternally this time. And then he spun his chair around to peer out the window into the episodic flares of lightning that illuminated great dark clouds like neurons in a celestial brain. I hate thunderstorms. They remind me of South Carolina. “But I think you’ve earned a rest.”

After checking in on Rigel—irritable, frenetic, pacing, and yet predictably pacified somewhat by my visit—I trotted up the main staircase to the second floor of the palace. I found her in our bedroom: sitting at her easel, a paintbrush held in one graceful hand, an image like a photograph on the canvas. I promptly pried off my Berlutis for the second time today and tossed them into the closet.

“Ciao, amore,” I said.

“Ciao!” Honora replied, beaming. Her curly brunette hair was pinned up and away from her face; wayward tendrils spiraled down to brush her bare shoulder blades, the back of her neck. “Just give me five minutes...I have to finish the shadow of this tree...”

There weren’t many in the Draghi who survived the transition from Nikolai’s leadership to Larkin’s, but Honora had. She was gentle to a fault, a hopeless warrior, turned into an immortal on her forty-fourth birthday when Rome was still an empire; and she was without any talents whatsoever, except for one which was useless in combat. Her paintings, drawings, and sculptures adorned every palace the Draghi owned. Each year, Larkin would ask her to paint all of us together, incorporating any new faces, erasing the memories of those who had proven themselves unworthy. One such portrait, I knew, hung in Gwilym Lee’s home office.

I went to the woman I called my wife, laid my palms on her shoulders, leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Take your time, love.”

“Everything’s alright?” Honora asked, looking hopefully up at me with large, wide-set jade eyes. No, not just hopefully. Trustingly.

“Everything’s alright,” I agreed, not knowing if I believed it.

Shadows And Spells

“He just...just...disappeared?!” Jessica sputtered, scandalized, gaping at me as she held a Styrofoam cup of spiked apple cider in her clasped hands.

We were on a quilt near the outskirts of the sea of beach towels and blankets that circled the bonfire. Women—wearing flowing dresses or robes or tunics or not very much at all—flounced around the flames banging tambourines and reciting chants that I didn’t know the words to. Some carried torches, beacons of heat and light in the darkness. Jessica was wearing a short black shirt, fishnet tights, and a black crop-top turtleneck sweater; I had opted for a bohemian blue dress patterned with stars, an old thrift shop find and the closest thing I owned to Wiccan festivities apparel. I had a cup of hot apple cider as well, enhanced with a generous splash of Captain Morgan, but hadn’t quite conjured up the rebelliousness to drink it yet.

I suddenly recalled Mercy bringing me an endless supply of virgin autumnal sangrias as Joe and I swam in the hot tub on the Lees’ back porch. As soon as you turn twenty-one, you can have the real thing. I frowned, shuddered, took a bitter and burning sip.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He told his roommate he was going to a frat party or something and never showed up and never made it back home either. The parents are blaming the university, the university is insisting he must be off with a girlfriend or on some hipster soul-searching nature adventure or whatever, it’s a mess.”

“Jesus,” she murmured. “What does your dad say?”

“He’s been helping the state police with the investigation. There’s really no evidence of anything. No witnesses, no footprints, no surveillance footage, no handy anonymous tips...”

“No body,” Jessica finished.

“That’s morbid.” I downed the rest of my cider. Was the world already beginning to list like a ship on choppy waves, or was that just my imagination? I guess it would be possible. I’d barely eaten all day.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well, one’s mind does tend to wander towards homicide under such circumstances.”

“It is the season of the dead.” She grinned wickedly, then took my empty cup. “He’s probably fine. I bet he wants to drop out to become a weed farmer and hasn’t worked up the guts to tell his parents yet. You want another?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” Jess rose to balance on black boots with five-inch heels and staggered off to the foldable table piled high with cans and bottles and snacks. I was getting the impression that her Wiccanism was more of a novelty than a spiritual commitment.

The season of the dead. Now that’s VERY morbid.

There were some guys laughing, smoking home-rolled cigarettes, and toasting glasses of red wine on a nearby mandala blanket, bespectacled intellectual types who were probably getting PhDs in Anthropology or Medieval Studies at the University of Washington. One of them—curly-haired, pale-eyed, wearing a sweater vest and a cautious smile—raised his wine glass in my direction. I waved back without much enthusiasm.

“He’s cute, right?” Jessica asked, plopping back down onto our quilt and shoving a full cup of spiked cider into my grasp. She motioned for me to drink. I did. “That’s Sebastian, but he likes to be called Bash. He’s twenty-three and speaks fluent German.”

“Charming.”

“He’s very...uh...gifted. I’m not saying I know from personal experience, but I’ve heard it from a very reliable source. And his parents own a beach house in Monterey. You could go skinny-dipping.”  

“In the ocean?” The world was definitely wobbling now. I was warm all over, numbed, fuzzy; it was becoming difficult to picture Joe’s face, to hear his voice. This was good. I kept drinking. “No thanks. Too many sharks. They have great whites down there.”

Jess tossed her long, loose hair and sighed impatiently. “I’m just saying that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So you should pursue that.”

“I’ll totally consider it.” I lied. I would not consider it.

She smiled, sympathetically, fondly. “I can’t believe you thought I was a Mormon.”

“I can’t believe I’m out in the Washington wilderness commemorating the Gaelic festival of Samhain, but here we all are.”

Jess glanced over my shoulder. “Oh my god. He’s coming over here.”

“Ugh.” I craned my neck to see. Sebastian—whoops, my mistake, Bash—was approaching. “Please distract him. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Also I’m pretty sure I’m getting drunk and I don’t want to do anything humiliating, like sob uncontrollably about how much I miss my ex-boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry. I gotchu, Baby Swan.”

“Hey Jess,” Bash said, but he was looking at me. He pitched his cigarette off into the trees. What the fuck, who does that?

“Only you can prevent forest fires,” I told him in a woozy, mock-Smokey Bear voice.

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Ignore her, she’s drunk,” Jess said quickly. “So what’s up? Come on, sit with me. Keep me toasty. Teach me some German...”

As they chatted and giggled and snuggled closer together—I’m starting to think that Jessica might have been her own reliable source—I studied the forest, watching to make sure the cigarette didn’t begin to smolder in the damp brush. The voices and crackling of the bonfire and sharp ringing of the tambourines faded into one muted, uniform drone. The trees reeled in the haze of the spiked cider; the cool wind moaned through them. And then, for only a second: a glimpse of something impossibly quick, something silvery and reedy and sunless.

What was that?

I blinked. It was gone. I blinked again, staring penetratingly. The swarming heat from the cider evaporated from my skin, my blood. There were goosebumps rising all over me.

What the hell was that?

I remembered how Calawah University students sometimes reacted to Ben: flinching, withdrawing, autonomically fearing him on some primal, evolutionary level. They knew he was a predator. They knew they were prey. It was chillingly similar to what I was feeling now.

I have to get out of here. I have to go home.

I shot to my feet. Oh, wrong move, that was too quick. I swayed, and Jessica reached up to steady me. “Are you—?!”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I gotta go home now.”

“What?! We just got here! Look, chill out, let me get you some vegan samosas or something—”

“No, seriously, I have to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Jessica conceded. “I’ll finish my drink and we’ll call an Uber, alright?”

“Really?” Bash asked, crestfallen.

“I’ll call an Uber,” I told Jess. “You stay, I’ll go.” Maybe she shouldn’t stay, I thought foggily, irrationally. Maybe it’s not safe.

“I can’t let you go alone. I got you drunk and now you’re a mess and if you end up murdered it would be my fault. There are unsolved mysteries going around, you know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Girl, there’s no way I’m gonna—”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get in the Uber and I’ll stay on until I’m physically inside my house, okay?”

Jessica considered this. Bash leaned in to nibble her ear. I could smell the red wine and nicotine and animalistic lust sweating out of his pores. And unexpectedly, agonizingly: a biting flare, a muscle memory, Joe’s fingertips skimming down the small of my back and his scent like winter nights saturating the capillary beds of my lungs. Stop, stop, stop. “Okay,” Jess agreed at last.

“Awesome.” I was already opening the Uber app on my iPhone.

My driver was a Pacific Northwestern version of Santa Claus: wild grey beard, red flannel, L.L.Bean boots, rambling about his upcoming trip to hunt caribou in British Columbia. I honored my promise to Jessica and kept her on speakerphone for the duration of the twenty-minute drive. I rested my whirling head against the seat, let my eyes dip closed, watched the intermittent streetlights appear and disappear through my eyelids. I let myself into Charlie’s house when I arrived, wished Jessica goodnight (and reminded her not to get pregnant), and meandered clumsily into the kitchen for a glass of water and a cookie dough Pop-Tart to ward off a possible hangover. Charlie was snoring quietly on the living room couch. I watched him for a while, smiling and achingly grateful, before heading upstairs to my bedroom.

My window was wide open; that’s the first thing I noticed. I didn’t remember leaving it that way. I was always neglecting to lock the window, sure—I kept forgetting that there was no one to leave it unlocked for anymore—but I hadn’t left it open when I went to meet Jessica this evening. Icy night air flooded in. The stars were bright and furious in an uncommonly clear sky.

“You trying to give me pneumonia, old man?” I muttered, thinking of Charlie. I tossed my iPhone down onto my bed and crossed the room to close the window. And as it creaked and collided with the sill, I heard my closet door open behind me.

Someone’s here. Someone’s in this room with me.

I turned, very slowly; it felt like it took a lifetime. She was standing in the doorway of my closet, sinuous and white-haired, wearing black leather pants and stiletto heels and a long-sleeved lace blouse the color of blood, the color of her eyes. And she was harrowingly beautiful; not like Lucy or Mercy, not like Scarlett. She was beautiful like a prehistoric jawbone, like a serrated crescent moon, like a blade.

The owl. The goddamn albino owl.

I recognized her immediately. I heard Joe’s words as he introduced each vampire in the immense painting hanging in Dr. Lee’s upstairs office to me, though I desperately didn’t want to: She’s literally Satan, only blonder.

Her name tumbled from my trembling lips. “Liesl.”

“Wonderful, we can skip the introductions.” Her voice was like windchimes, cutting and brisk, with a hint of an Austrian accent like a shadow. Now she was at my bedside and picking up my phone, scrolling through it with lightning-quick and dexterous thumbs. “Hm. No texts from any of the Lees in the past week. So we don’t have to worry about them dropping by, I suppose. Joe got bored with you already, huh?”

“Evidently.” My own voice was brittle, anemic, weak; just like my ineffectual human body.

“That’s quick, even for him. How sad.” She sighed, tucking my iPhone into her red Chanel purse. “There’s a private jet waiting at the Forks Airport. Pack a bag. You have five minutes.”

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” I whispered, scalding tears brimming in my eyes.

“Of course not,” Liesl replied with a savage, saccharine smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

[pilliepollie]

so like... do you have thoughts on day6 as affectionate boyfriends? TYSM! 🥰

I do have sum thoughts on HOW they would should their gf/bf affection in their own unique ways :D god I'm such in a fluffy day6 mood now 

How Day6 show affection

Sungjin

I think he would be the type to show you affection through food. Like he would always ask you if you were hungry or cook you your favorite food. It means a lot to him knowing that you’re never doing anything on an empty stomach. He may not show his love through physical touch or words that much but know that whatever he does it’s always for you. Late nights with him singing to you while playing his acoustic guitar is kinda your thing. Would always remind you how beautiful you are and how lucky he is to have you. Not a big PDA guy but when you guys are alone he likes to give you kisses on your head. On some occasions, he’ll give you big warm bear hugs, and maybe some cuddling after if he’s missed you a lot.  I’m so weak for Bear Sungjin omfg  

Jae

Likes to crack jokes and send you memes because he loves to see you laugh. That’s also what he does whenever you’re not a good mood. Likes to give you piggyback rides. Not really a gift kinda guy but will occasionally send you little trinkets and sh*t that have something to do with the inside jokes you guys have together. Gives you hugs and rest his chin on your head. Always has a spare hoodie in his car just in case you get cold on your guys’ date. Makes sure that you’re the first person to listen to his new songs and the first person to know whenever he has a collab. Sends you the most crackhead photos of him and the members whenever they have practice. I feel like Jae would be the kind of best friend that's also your boyfriend kinda thing.

Young K

The member to do the most “romantic” kind of gestures in the group in my opinion. Bring you flowers and your favorite candy kinda guy. Gives you cheesy nicknames and says the corniest pickup lines. Good morning and good night kisses every day is a must for Kang Younghyun. Takes a million pictures of you whether you’re asleep or working on something cuz to him you’re the cutest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. He is your literal hype man. When you try on new clothes: “WOOOO LOOKIN GOOD HONEY!” When you’re literally just walking towards him in sweats: “HOT DAMN WHO’S THAT SEXY FINE THANGGG!” Honestly whoever dates him, props to you for putting up with his annoying sh*t 😂. I guess they don’t call him annoying Brian for nothin.

Wonpil

Follows you everyone around the house to the point where it feels weird being alone at home. Lots and lots of kisses on the cheek from him. Cuddle time happens a lot cuz he likes to hold you in his embrace. Likes to listen to your voice so he just lets you talk on and on about your day or random stuff that’s been floating around in your mind. Sends you selfies or pretty aesthetic pictures of nature when he’s on tour with him saying “This reminds me of you”. I also feel like he would be the type to send you voice recordings of him singing to help you fall asleep when he’s busy in his studio late at night. Occasional slow dancing in your guys’ bedroom before going to sleep. Puts lil sticky notes with cute little sayings in it in various places around the house whenever he’s touring abroad. 

Dowoon

He’s the shyest member out of the group when it comes to showing any kind of affection. Likes to bring you to his drum practices cuz he likes to show off how cool he likes while he’s playing 😎, but ofc it fails cuz his ears get red knowing that you’re staring at him for a long period of time. bless this lil bub. Sends you selfies when he’s with Tori and his family. Let’s you win whenever you guys are playing video games together. Always remembers the littlest things about you even if you think it’s not that significant yourself. Likes to bug you by wrapping his whole body around you when your cooking or doing homework. Calls you babe or baby cuz he likes to say that you’re his lil baby 💗 ʅ（‾◡◝）ʃ .

I hope you like it my precious anon! I had fun thinking and writing about boyfriend day6 (づ￣ ³￣)づ.

[kyber-crystal]

I'm curious on what you could do with 15 and 8, babes! Love goes all to you

8. “Something tells me that’s not the only thing on your mind right now.” and 15. “I hope you didn’t think I was a bad kisser or anything...I did that after thinking a thousand times.”

It’s Okay to Not Be Okay - Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: ~2k Warnings: slight angst, fluff Summary: He’s always there for you when you need him. Even when you claim you don’t, he knows better than that. A/N: i threw in a harry potter reference and now i’m sobbing yAy

As it turned out, balancing a double life as head trauma surgeon for SHIELD while handling the duties of a superhero were much tougher than you anticipated. 

Of course, you knew exactly what you would be getting yourself into when you chose to go down the medical route. You knew what you would be getting yourself into as soon as you accepted the call to join the Avengers Initiative. but what you didn’t see coming was the immense effects it all would have on your physical and mental health.  

If you were lucky, you got a few hours of on-and-off sleep in between missions before you were called to the OR to perform emergency surgeries on injured agents, or were deployed for another few missions back-to-back. So you relished in relaxing on the weekends. It was a rare occasion in which you actually got to kick back and do whatever you wanted without the pressure of saving so many people in a limited amount of time on your shoulders. 

Steve noticed something was wrong from the moment you stepped out of the elevator and lazily slid your coat off your shoulders, hastily tossing it onto the sofa and setting down your duffel bag before trudging up to your room. He knew you had a long day, though, and wanted to help you unwind after your long shift. Chances were that you and him, or Natasha, would be sent off the next day and you wouldn’t get an opportunity to rest like this for the next week or so.

He silently prepared a steaming hot cup of your favorite tea, knowing you were most likely exhausted. Sixteen-hour shifts weren’t kind at all.

You tried to hide all the pills - pills that were supposed to treat your anxiety, the nightmares, the insomnia - but you weren’t subtle enough for Steve. You claimed you were fine, but he knew better. He knew you like the back of his hand - he could read into all those little signs you gave off, a skill nobody else on the team had except him and him alone.

Every inch of your body was aching immensely - the aftermath of rushing around and standing all night without a wink of sleep. Fatigue was tugging at your eyes and if it weren’t for the tiny last bit of self-control you had left, you would’ve collapsed right there on the spot. 

“Hey,” he said softly as you came back down, this time exiting the elevator in a pair of sweatpants and his black T-shirt. He smiled at the sight. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” you sighed, sitting down at the sofa and curling your knees up to your chest. He came over and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, gazing at you with genuine concern. “Fourteen-hour transplant operation and another two patching up other injured STRIKE team members.”

“From Rouen?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter over yourself. “Look, I’m fine...if that’s what you wanna ask. It’s just been a long night.”

His brow furrowed as he placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles across it. "Something tells me that’s not the only thing on your mind right now.”

“I told you, Steve, I’m fine,” you snapped, blinking rapidly to fight back tears that threatened to spill. You softened your tone as you noticed the look on his face. “Really.”

“No, you’re not,” he murmured, placing a finger beneath your chin and tilting your head up to look at him. “Come on. You really think I wouldn’t be attuned to your emotions by now? Just tell me what’s going on.”

You let out a shuddering sigh, briefly squeezing your eyes shut. You shook your head. “No. Steve, I told you-”

“Don’t lie to me. I know something’s wrong. Now tell me or I’ll have Bruce force the truth out of you.” His voice was commanding yet gentle at the same time. “Please, Y/N, tell me. I’m worried about you.”

You let out a sigh of defeat, shoulders sagging. You nodded and swallowed hard, “Fine. Today..I was in the ICU. There was a patient; an orphaned little girl who’d been brought in after a hostage raid on a HYDRA base up north- Scotland, I think? Katie was her name, I think. She was admitted about a week ago. But she’d been held captive for...almost an entire year. She was severely malnourished. She was losing hair, losing weight - she looked like a skeleton. It was only recently that I had diagnosed her with leukemia, but by the time the diagnosis was made there wasn’t much time left. But no amount of sickness could get rid of her contagious energy and adorable little smile. She reminded me so much of my younger self, it hurt.”

“She was dying. Steve, she was dying and I didn’t know,” you sobbsd, “I can’t believe I didn’t- if I had found out sooner, I could’ve helped. Now it’s too late. I could see the light fading from her eyes. Katies’ grip on my hand was growing weaker by the second and I just - I didn’t want to believe what was happening. 

“She died with me by her side...a mere three minutes later. She died holding my hand. She died without a family...she died, and I couldn’t save her-”

“But she had you,” Steve whispered. “You were there for her, and I’m sure she’ll always be thankful for that.”

“I could’ve saved her!” you yelled, voice cracking. “But I couldn’t! It’s my fault she’s dead-”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. You didn’t know. And you did everything you could. That’s all that matters.”

You shook your head wildly, feeling more burning tears slip down your cheeks. “I wish I could’ve spent more time with him -”

You tried to open your mouth to speak again but instead, a choked sob escaped your lips. It was like a suffocating pressure was tightly lodged against your chest and prevented you from being able to breath properly. Anything you tried to say came out in incoherent sobs and gasps - you felt so trapped, like you were stuck in a tiny little box with no way to escape. It was draining.

Steve did the only thing he knew how to do and carefully wrapped his arms around you, quickly pulling you into his chest. You slumped against him and continued to sob - burying your face within the fabric of his cotton T-shirt to further muffle the sounds of your crying. When he tightened his arms around your trembling frame you didn’t bother to writhe in his grasp and fight back. There was no fight left. You didn’t want to keep fighting. You were done with it all.

“Hey hey hey. Breathe, darling, just breathe,” he cooed, smoothing your hair back, “you hear that? Listen to my heartbeat, breathe in and out, that’s good...”

You took one shuddering inhale and exhale after the other, until slowly but steadily, the hiccups faded away and your crying eventually came to a halt. You knew you looked like an absolute mess - with puffy, red eyes and tear tracks staining your blotchy red cheeks.

But if he was being honest, none of it made you look any less stunning than you were. Despite your glossy eyes and tearstained face, you looked breathtaking to him - you always did, and always would.

And he gets so wrapped up in gazing down at you that he loses sense of the world around him, and doesn’t realize that the two of you are slowly moving closer and closer to one another until there’s essentially no space left.

Then, he kisses you.

He knows he could’ve picked a better time to do this. He knows. It was wrong of him to choose now out of all occasions - you were emotional and out of the loop. But he couldn’t help himself - he didn’t know what else to do. After months of suppressing his feelings deep down, he was sick and tired of keeping them from you.

So he went with his gut instinct - which was to simply go for it. And he did.

When his lips initially met yours you didn’t know what to do. But then, you found yourself kissing him back, your arms going around his neck and your eyes fluttering shut. He went to cup your cheeks and gently held your face in his hands for just a few more seconds but when you pulled apart, you were left with an aching feeling - wishing it would’ve lasted longer.

Then almost as soon as it started, it was over. Whatever warmth you felt was now replaced with an eerily chilly sensation that uncomfortably enveloped your body. And he felt it too. And he hated it. But he was afraid to make a second move - what if you didn’t react the same way you did as the first time?

Steve looked down at you and wiped the last of your tears from your face with his thumb and reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together. 

...

You now have Steve’s oversized hoodie on over his shirt you were also borrowing, a mug of tea in your hands as he sat across from you at the kitchen counter. 

You silently picked at the castella set in front of you on the plate as he delicately held one of your hands in his, rubbing patterns across your palm. It was soothing, almost distracting, in a way.

A full hour of silence had passed, and frankly, Steve felt a little relieved. He’d trade your tortured cries for radio silence any day - he hated seeing you in pain. It was like receiving a direct bullet to the stomach - and he knew those things hurt like hell. 

“I’m sorry,” you wiped at your nose with your free hand, “I look gross right now. I’m sorry you had to see all...that.”

“Hey...it’s okay,” Steve reassured you. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse. You remember that day a piece of scrap metal got buried all the way into Bucky’s calf?”

You shuddered and laughed sadly at the thought. You remembered having to treat him and Wanda holding him down as he struggled not to cry out in agony. “Yeah. That was a mess.”

“And you saved him. You’ve saved so many people, Y/N. Don’t feel bad for being unable to stop something out of your control. Think about how many people are out there, alive, because of what you did,” he reminded you. “You saved Bucky, you saved Peter. You even saved me once.”

“I saved your ass multiple times, you mean,” you snorted. He cracked a grin. “Three times, to be exact.”

“You definitely did, sweetheart. And I’m sure Katie knows that. That you’re a hero.”

You felt your heart twist in your chest at the mention of her name. “I really hope so.”

“She knows. Trust me, she knows you are.”

“Thank you...” you muttered, “...you know, you didn’t have to stay awake for me. You could’ve just gone to bed.”

“Without knowing you were alright? That’s not happening, darling,” he chuckled lightly, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your forehead. “I’m gonna be here and I’m gonna wait for you, whatever it takes. I’ll always wait for you.”

“Always?”

He squeezed your hand. “Always.”

Your smile widened ever so slightly - and you felt stirring in your chest at his words. 

Steve then raised an eyebrow at you. “I know this is off-topic and all, but...I hope you didn’t think I was bad kisser or anything. I did that after thinking a thousand times. Though my timing could’ve been better-”

“No, no,” you laughed lightly, “you’re all good. You’re not a bad kisser at all.”

“I hope you wouldn’t mind if I tried again, then?” He let go of your hand, and slid his hand up to the back of your head to pull you closer. 

“Not at all.”

Your lips met, and for the briefest moment in time, you could pretend you were okay - for a moment, everything seemed like it would be okay again.

[sleepy-exe]

Shapeshifter AU - 8

Iwaizumi x f!reader

<< Part 7 | Part 9 >>

Summary: After staying with Iwaizumi once again, Y/n let’s her guard down. She comes clean about being a shapeshifter to Iwaizumi. Not that she has a choice.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: angst if ya squint, there’s some arguing here but it's nothing awful, stress/minor panic 

Genre: sfw (18+ regardless), shapeshifter au, strangers to lovers 

a/n: I just know iwa is a softy that wouldn’t be able to stand seeing a girl cry. Also, there’s about a three week time skip between part 7 and part 8.

Part 8: Friend or Foe

Once again, Y/n had woken up on the sofa in Iwaizumi’s apartment, much to his dismay. He had offered again to swap places with her, but just as before she refused. Stirring as the sun began to shine through the living room window, she sat up and stretched with a soft yawn. Moving to her feet, blankets fell from her to the sofa revealing the oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder along with a pair of her own comfy shorts.

Like she had spent her first morning here, she watched the sun rise through the large window with the curtain pulled out of the way. She woke up much earlier than she had expected, earlier than her new friend, but at least she could see the beautiful colors of early morning.

After waking up more with the rays of heat shining on her face, she reached for her phone that was resting on the armchair she was standing next to. She caught the sound of steps coming from the hallway, eyes flickering to the sound as Iwaizumi entered the room. “Mm. G’morning, Iwaizumi.”

“Morning, Y/n,” he said, voice gruff from lack of use, walking through the living room.

Probably lingering on his frame a little longer than she should have, her eyes slid down his toned back and over the fit of his dark sweats as he made his way to the kitchen. Turning to face the window once more, she checked her messages.

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “You’re fox friend is going for a run during the day again.”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “i take it as a fox”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “is he at a park or something at least?”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “Yeah”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “I didn't think you’d actually be up this early.”

In her peripheral, she saw Iwaizumi had returned, taking a seat in the armchair. She looked away from her phone long enough to give him a friendly smile as he sipped at his glass of water.

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “glad to surprise you sometimes :)”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “if he’s in the woods it's fine. wild foxes are around here unlike wolves. it's not that weird”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “is it really that bothering you or did you just lose your human running buddy for this morning?”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “Maybe”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “If you’re up want to join me?”

“So what are your plans for today?” Iwaizumi pulls her from the text conversation.

“Well, I have work later, but I have tomorrow off so that’s nice. No plans yet though.” She watched as a couple of birds flew by the window.

“Aren’t office jobs usually nine to five?”

“Yeah.. I usually start late on days I work from home, then work until later in the evening. As long as early calls or online meetings don't prevent me from doing that anyway. I’m not much of a mornin’ person.”

He shot her a look of disbelief. He always woke up early, and yet here she was awake before he was, just like before.

She tilts her head in response. “So I guess nine to five.. or noon to eight-ish.”

He shook his head with a small grin.

Turning to walk around the coffee table and back to the sofa, she texted Sakusa back.

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “no thanks lol”

Not looking where she was going, she ran into the coffee table. Between the sound it made and knocking books and some papers off it, she jumped and let out a small yelp. Quickly, she muttered an apology and kneeled down to gather what fell. She could hear Iwaizumi take a few steps, likely to help her, but she had already grabbed the few items from the floor and sat them haphazardly on the short table and stood back up.

She heard something crash onto the floor, making her jump again and she turned toward the sound. She caught sight of a broken glass, Iwaizumi had dropped his empty water. Looking up to him, she was met with a shocked expression. Confused, she took a step forward to see what was going on, only to feel the fur of her tail brush against her leg.

Wait.

Shit.

Now she was the one looking like a deer caught in headlights. She stuttered trying to find words to - what - how could she save this situation? Best option seemed to be making sure he doesn’t run for the door or phone while her words fail her.

On rare occasions a sudden scare would bring forth a part of her wolf form, like maybe wolf ears that could pin down to hide in hair, or if she’s lucky under a hat or hood of her favorite pullover.

On even rarer occasions, a tail. Long and full of fur, reaching mid-calf.

Partial shifts weren’t unheard of amongst shifters, but it was generally done at will. How could she let her guard down and let this slip. This wasn’t ever in her plan.

What now?

But she heard him say under his breath, “It was you.”

Alarms went off in her head.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Game over.

Y/n kept eyes locked on him, olive eyes staring back into hers. Heart racing, she wills away her unwelcomed tail and he seems to not have noticed it disappear. Not that it matters at this point.

She spoke low and unsurely, playing with her fingers, “Y-you, uh.. wanna talk?”  

His eyes swept over her slowly, hovering momentarily where the now-gone tail was. “Uhm.. I think I need a minute.”

Quickly and gracefully, she moved between him and the front door to his apartment, but he headed the opposite direction, towards the hall to the bedroom. The sound of a door clicking shut followed shortly behind.

You know what.. Maybe some space is okay right now.

Y/n groaned to herself. What is she going to do about this? Quickly she dressed herself right there in the living room. Tossing his shirt over the arm of the sofa and grabbing her clothes from the bag she had dropped in the corner the night before, quickly throwing them on. Her boots were quick to get on and off so she left those alone for now. Slipping on her zip up hoodie, she checked the pockets to confirm her keys and wallet were still in it. She’s not planning to leave yet, but she’s ready if that turns out to be best.

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “how far are you from ikuno rn”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “Ikuno?”

Softly, she pads down the hallway and waits by the bedroom door. Carefully listening, trying to confirm he’s in there and didn’t exit via window. Catching the sound of footsteps heading for the bedroom door, she quickly, though light and quiet, ran for the living room before he could open the door.

Standing in the living room, somewhat blocking the path to the front door, she looked about the room, too panicked to act natural. The bedroom door swings open and Iwaizumi makes his way to the living room. Choosing to avoid looking at him, Y/n stares out the large window she found herself to love watching the sunrise through.

Still listening to his steps, and now hearing the sofa, she knows he’s taken a seat. He’s running a hand over his face as she turns to face him. Heat flushed her cheeks and chest. Without making eye contact he spoke, voice laced with something akin to anger and disbelief, “I really thought I had to have hallucinated that night. That my eyes had tricked me or something..” He looks at her. “But no. So.. are you going to tell me I’m crazy, that I didn't just see that, or what?”

She spoke weakly, the word barely audible, “No.”

He stared at her for a moment then looked away and patted the spot next to him on the sofa. She quietly walked around the coffee table and the broken glass on the floor and sat down beside him. He only looked forward, not at her, a hand covering the lower half of his face as his elbow rested on his knee.

She exhaled softly. “No, you’re not crazy.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked down towards their feet. “You.. saw what you saw. Just now and back then.”

“Is that what you’re going to leave it at,” he paused for her to respond but she took too long. “Think maybe you should explain?”

She squeezed her hands together and brought her gaze to his hands, now hanging down as both elbows sat on his knees. “What do you want to know?” He shot her a look and she quickly added, “Exactly! I- Uh, don’t know where to start.”

He leaned back into the sofa, now glaring at her. “Maybe start with the wolf I saw in the woods that I swear somehow changed into you? And the.. tail?” He muttered something to himself before looking back at her with less distress on his face.

“Okay..” She looked him in the eyes. “I can’t explain how it works exactly, but yeah, I can switch between-,” she gestured to herself, “and the black wolf you saw that night.”

At this point he looked confused, which, fair. She continued, “Uh, and the tail was an accident. You scared me, er, maybe it was-“

He cut her off, “So you’re telling me this is just normal to you? Do- Can other people do this? Why can you-“ He sighed heavily. “No, I- Why did you talk to me in the first place? And I saw a wolf out there once before I saw you.. you know, switch back,” he waved a hand in her direction, “Were you following me for some reason?”

And now she sighed. “No. I wasn’t following you around. I’m not a stalker or anything. At the forest, both times we saw each other by accident. Obviously, I had gotten too careless..”

He stared her down, determined to figure things out. “But what about at the bar then? Did you only talk to me because I saw you.. as a wolf? Did you know I’d be there?”

She hesitated, which did less than pleased him. “No. I didn’t know you’d be there. We both just happened to be there.. and I took that chance to talk to you because I recognized you and.. I didn’t know if you actually saw me or not.” Her brows furrowed. “I was hopin’ you hadn't.”

They stared at each other for a moment. “So what now?” He moved to get more comfortable, breaking eye contact. Her heart raced even faster. “I know. You know that I know. What happens now?”

He turned back to her and was met with the sight of her holding one hand over her mouth and the other pressed to her chest, tears threatening to fall. His frown fell and his eyes widened at the sight.

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and cleared her throat. “What will you do now?” She wiped her eyes with one hand while shifting in her seat, knee bumping his. “With this- With knowing.. That's why..”

She was scared. Just what she feared all along, that if he knew, what he would do. Would he get others involved and cause trouble for her and possibly other shifters in the area? She had other wolf and even fox shifters she cared about, though very few. She didn’t want them to pay for her carelessness, which is why she made a point to not mention these friends just in case. Would he try to hurt her? No, he didn’t seem the type now that she got to know him. Would she end up hurting him? She didn’t want to think of that as a possibility.

He placed a hand on her knee, making soothing circles with his thumb. “Why are you crying,” he spoke gently, “You’re fine.”

She looked up to him, one hand cradling the other against her chest. She spoke equally as soft, “I won’t hurt you.. You think I will, don’t you?”

He straightened at that.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

He shifted to face her more, removing the hand from her leg. “No.” He followed her gaze to find she was looking mindlessly towards the front door, then looked back to her. “I’m guessing people knowing is bad, right? I mean, they would freak out. Obviously. I’m sure with some people that.. could be a problem for you.”

She sniffled. “I do feel bad about not being upfront about it, but ya have to understand why. Right?” Tears welled up again but she fought them back. “I’m sorry to cause you trouble. I’ll leave ya alone. Okay? You don’t-“

He cut her off again, “I didn’t say anything about that.” He stood. “I’ll get you something to drink. Just stop crying.” And he left for the kitchen.

She wiped her eyes once more and took a few deep breaths before heading to the kitchen herself. He immediately turned to her as she walked up by the counter. He reached a glass of water out to her and she took it, idly sipping at it. Turning back to the counter, he rested both palms against it, eyes shifting deep in thought.

She drank half of her water before sitting it down and shoving her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, eyeing his arm closest to her. “So.. you’re not afraid of me?”

He scoffed. “No.”

She caught him rolling his eyes before he turned to put away some dishes that were left out, seemingly busying himself. Okay, so he was much bigger than her. And stronger. But the whole wolf thing had to be off putting. She murmured, “Okay then.”

“Yer the only one that knows..” She swiftly hopped up to sit on the countertop, legs dangling in front.

He lightly smacked the side of her thigh with the back of his hand before walking by to leave the kitchen. “No dogs on the counter.”

She gasped loudly, offended and shocked by the sudden comment. “What the hell! I’m not a dog!”

She slipped to her feet and took off to find him standing by the large window looking outside. She smacked his arm harder than the pat he had given her. He only eyed her as she plopped down on the armchair; he may have stifled a smile, but it was still visible in his eyes.  

“So..” He glanced down at her, then went to get a broom for the broken glass that had been forgotten. “The tail thing was weird. That’s not going to be a regular thing is it?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. That was an accident. Doesn’t normally happen.”

He returned and tended to the pieces of glass on the floor. “Uh huh. And what about when that happens in public?”

She blushed in embarrassment. “That’s never happened! I just- Sometimes when I’m home alone I’ll,” she held her hands above her head to mimic wolf ears, “Y’know. It’s just like a relaxed thing, I guess. I don’t know. I don't think about it.” She smacked her head into her hands fully embarrassed now.

Amused by her reaction, he teased, “So you’re just that comfortable here, huh?” Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he went to dispose of the glass before returning to the sofa again. She stayed silent with her head still in her hands. He cocked an eyebrow at the lack of reaction, “Huh.”

She huffed in her hands, muffled, “Don’t ‘huh’ me.” She leaned back in the chair and peered over her shoulder and out the window.

He paused before deciding he may as well ask now, “Why were you a wolf, uh.. out there?”

She snorts at his words. “The forest over there, people don’t go there typically at night. It's nice for running with minimal worry of someone seeing me.”

“Except the times I saw you,” he said dryly.

Her lips pursed. “That was my bad. I got too close to the edge of the tree line.”

He looked at her, now more curious than anything. “Okay, but why run there? As a wolf, I guess.”

She looked back at him. “We all need exercise. Same goes for- me. Using that form keeps it feeling natural. Plus, I enjoy it.”

He nodded in response. “So do you like,” feigning seriousness, “Eat animals, and people, out there?��

She groaned. “Wolves, the animals and shifters, don’t eat humans. And I prefer my meals cooked.” She smirked at him, but then a thump from the neighbors temporarily caught her attention.

“Shifters? Plural?” His brows furrowed.

Shit.

“I mean, do you think I’m the only one who can do that?” She added a playfulness to her tone hoping to throw him off. It’s probably best not to dump everything on him today anyway.

He squinted at her. “I guess.”

“I left my water in the kitchen.” She rushed off and he sighed. 

Part 9 >>

[stardustskz]

Stay As You Are

Title: Stay as you are

Word count: 1.3k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions about weight gain, insecurities about gaining weight, (cw) food

Member: Haknyeon

Description: A week since you last saw your boyfriend, you’re about to spend the new year with him and your family.

Notes: Dedicated to my dear friend, Coley! I’m your secret santa hihi. I hope you had a great Christmas and I’m wishing you an even more great of a New Year to come! I wasn’t sure on where to post it and I’m sorry if this is short! I’m not really a deobi so sorry in advance huhu and I think this would be the first and last that I would write about a member of TheBoyz

It’s been a week since the highlight of everyone’s year but the hype from Christmas Day never seemed to pass by, with you attending different family gatherings and doing charity works in the orphanage and home for the elders that you and your friends support. And today's December 31st and it so happened to be your father's birthday which means another dreadful day of tolerating and babysitting your little cousins that manage to engage in a fight every ten minutes. But this day also means that it’s the last day of the year and you’re lucky enough to spend it with the people you cherish the most. Of course, there are also more reasons for you to enjoy the various dishes that your mom prepared for this day alone. If anyone asked what you’ve been up to during the previous week, well, you spent most of your time munching and eating at every occasion you attend to. This day also marks the day where you get to introduce your boyfriend to your own family. With both your schedules overlapping one another within the past month, today was the only chance you’ve got. 

"Hey," Your boyfriend, Haknyeon, said, wearing a pair of jeans and one of his hoodies that you personally liked, the moment you opened the door, courtesy of his text that he’s already outside of your home.

"Hi," you greeted as you took in the lovely and sweet gaze that he gave you before leaning in to give him a kiss on his right cheek. 

"Come in," you said, clinging your arm to his right and dragging him towards where everyone is. You immediately caught their attention from your cousins who were currently playing with your brother by the living area. 

"Do you wanna eat first or meet my parents? They're kinda with the elders at the garden" you asked, he looked around noticing that everyone was still staring at him curiously as if he came from another dimension. 

"Uh, I'll meet your parents first, I guess? so I can give my gift to your father, food can wait" he said, leaning closer to your side.

"You know, the kids don't bite." you chuckled at his poor attempt of glaring at you, because honestly, it only made him look more adorable.

"You have a lovely home babe" he said, glancing around the house as you dragged him towards the garden area.

"Thanks, I did the interior" you replied, sending him a playful wink.

“Last time I remember, you’re a journalist.” he said, laughing at your glare after. You finally reached the glass door dividing the house from the garden and there, sat at a circular table were your parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents. Haknyeon can feel his hands get clammy as he stepped outside, following you. You can feel him get nervous as you faintly hear him take a deep breath. As a reassurance, you squeezed his hand that was holding yours before grabbing everyone’s attention,

"Mom, Dad, and everyone" your mother quickly stood up once he saw the two of you.

"I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Haknyeon" 

"Pleased to meet you dear" your mother said as she approached the both of you, giving Haknyeon a quick hug.

"Good Afternoon Mrs. (Last name)" your boyfriend said, you noticed your father also approaching the both of you as Haknyeon conversed with your mom.

"Just call me auntie" your mom chuckled and looked at the both of you fondly.

"Ah, Mr. (Last name)  Happy Birthday, sir." Haknyeon bowed and reached out his hand holding the paper bag he held since earlier. Your dad took it and pulled out the content, which turned out to be a wine.

"Has y/n told you that I don't drink hard liquors?" your dad asked, raising his eyebrow and easily intimidating the poor boy.

"Uh, they haven't told me" your boyfriend scratched his head in embarrassment, maybe a bit scared that he may have not thought of that.

"Dad, stop scaring him." you hissed at your father. He thinks he’s cool when he does that. He even scared off your friends when they first came for a sleepover.

"I'm not! Did I scare you son?" Haknyeon quickly shook his head in disagreement.

"Thank you and please, call me uncle. I love this brand by the way, great taste!" your dad said which had your boyfriend loosening up from his tense shoulders, but of course, only you had noticed. You continued to introduce him to everyone else at the table, following a long exchange of ‘nice to meet you’ alongside awkward laughter and before you know it, your mom was already leading you both to the dining area for supper. 

"Haknyeon, dear,  I'm sorry for all the introductions y/n made you do." your mom said, blaming you that it took long before the meals.

"It's fine auntie, y/n would probably do the same if i brought them home some time next year." your boyfriend laughed at the thought.

"Seems like it, I'll be leaving you two now, and please, make yourself at home, dear" your mom said then quickly left the dining area as she heard your brother's scream from the living room, maybe one of your cousins pissed him off again, whatever.

"Your mom's dishes are great," Haknyeon said, indulging himself with one of your mom's personal favorite dishes.

"I'll make sure to tell her that." you said, munching on a dessert, tiramisu, to be exact, since you've already eaten a heavy meal earlier, just before he arrived. 

"Is this the reason why you seemed to gain weight?" Haknyeon asked, catching you off-guard. You gasped in surprise as you looked at him in disbelief. Shouldn’t it be a silent rule to never speak of anyone’s weight specially during a meal?

"Are you saying that I'm fat?" you asked, glaring at him in the process. You weren’t that sensitive with the topic but it still concerns you. It doesn’t help that your father has also been teasing you about it for days now. Haknyeon pointing it out had your tipping point regarding some of your insecurities about yourself.

"Why? It's only normal to gain weight during the holidays" He said innocently.

“In front of my tiramisu? Really?” you asked him, albeit a bit annoyed. Yes you’ve been eating a lot these days and by a lot, it means you’re eating every time you think of food, and you think food every time you see it on your facebook timeline

“What’s wrong with it? I only noticed when you hugged me earlier” he said, now in a teasing manner because he can now see the glint of competitiveness in your eyes.

“Watch me lose weight after the holidays!” you challenged, encouraging yourself more than declaring it to your boyfriend, who laughed at your outburst.

“Why? I’ll still love you the same anyway” he said, putting his arm around your waist.

“Noo. I’m planning to do it anyway.” you whined, stabbing your tiramisu with the fork that you hold. 

“Seriously though, I don’t mind you gaining weight,” he turned you a bit in order for you to look directly in his eyes, letting you be aware of his sincerity. 

“I love you for who you are, and not for your appearance. Please don’t think more about it.” he said, placing his lips on your forehead, and leaving it with a sound.

“Really? Even if I gained 10 pounds within a month?” you asked, your lips forming a small pout. 

“Is that healthy?” he asked, eyebrows knitting up in a concerned manner.

“Probably not.” he chuckled with your reply as he leaned in once again to put away the pout that has formed your lips.

“You’re cute, you know that?” he said, making you blush and melt in his arms. He really has his way with his words and you sometimes hate that.