#always a great day when your ex that you thought everything was settled with TEXTS YOUR MOTHER because you blocked them??

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[btsgotjams27]

the back-up plan | jjk

summary: one drunken night leads to an agreement that if you and jungkook are still single by 30, you'd marry each other. the only thing is jungkook has been doing everything he can to keep you single.

💖 title: the back-up plan | one-shot 💖 pairing: jungkook x f!reader | 💖 genre/au: romance, fluff / friends to lovers(?) 💖 rating: SFW | 18+ | 💖 word count: 18.1k | 💖 playlist 💖 warnings: jungkook & reader are both 29, reader is a hopeless romantic (what else is new with my characters?), jungkook is always pining and head over heels in love, jungkook is sweet and in luvrrr but he’s bad at feelings and tells some terrible lies (don’t hate him—ok!!), reader has a skewed view of relationships and what's expected of her, jungkook calls her wifey, hot and seggsy neighbor!namjoon (yes, pls), shirtless namjoon (2x), kissing, hand-holding, some suggestive language, mentions of erotic art and positions, first dates, alcohol consumption, reader has her belly button pierced, talks of tattoos & getting them, mentions of needles, and idk some things may come off as cheesy??? but it's a romance story so idk take what you will, light angst (you should know me by now!!), jungkook gets a lil drunk (pls drink responsibly), jealous jk comes out, love confessions 💖 a/n: the plot is a bit ridiculous, but that's the point! it's fiction (lol), i hope y'all enjoy it for what it is. the idea came from a tweet I saw, but ofc, I can't find it! so thank you to whoever tweeted it! and, happy birthday to the loml, jeon jungkook (this was supposed to be out for his birthday, but my brain said no). i also have to thank holly (@alphabetboyluvr). i respect her so much as a writer and friend, and I was super scared to ask her to even look at my outline, but she's always so sweet and willing. i couldn't have done this without her help, her comments, and suggestions <3 (i'd also recommend listening to the playlist while reading :)) and as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts 💖

sunday.

Another day has passed, and it’s creeping closer to your birthday. They’re supposed to be joyous, celebratory occasions–and you love feeling special, showered with love and gifts. What more could a person want?

But you had a clear goal before hitting the big 3-0: get married–or at least be engaged to be married.

Most girlfriends your age were still having fun, enjoying life, and not ready to settle down. You’re unsure if your upbringing or society’s expectations distorted you, but you were fond of marriage and finding the one to spend your life with.

You also blamed the hopeless romantic in you when you dragged every one of your girlfriends with you to see the new romantic comedy, giggled, and kicked your feet when reading the latest best-selling romance novel.

The thing was, you were so close to getting engaged. You and your boyfriend, Theo, of eight months–well, ex-boyfriend–discussed it openly from the beginning of your relationship. And not even two weeks ago, he broke up with you out of the blue and gave no clear explanation.

You sat in bed debating whether to download your old dating apps again. Your birthday was in six days, and you knew you wouldn’t find a suitable mate before your birthday, but at least you could try, right?

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:27 PM Happy ‘almost 30th’ birthday.

You 11:28 PM 😭😭😭

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:28 PM Are you still crying over Theodore Boner?

You 11:29 PM It’s Bonner, not boner!

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:29 PM 🤣🤣🤣 You were saved from that one. Imagine having the last name Boner.

You rolled your eyes at the text from Jungkook, throwing your phone beside you as you curled under your duvet.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo Incoming Video Call

“What do you want, Kook?”

“You gotta admit, ____ Boner sounds awful,” Jungkook laughed as he pushed back in his recliner.

“I’m hanging up!” you threatened, getting ready to push the end button.

"No, no! I'm kidding. You would've made a great Mrs. Boner."

"Bye–Kook."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm done, I promise."

"I had a whole plan. What am I supposed to do now? My birthday is in six days," you groaned, covering your face with the duvet.

"You don't remember our agreement, do you?"

You brought the cover down. Curious about his comment. "What agreement?"

💖💖💖

Before this most recent one, your ex, Jimin, had broken up with you, and you were on the rebound, looking for a good time. Jungkook came to the rescue, saving you from your next mistake. He took you out for drinks, let you drown in your sorrows, and the two of you got pretty drunk. You could only remember bits and pieces of your conversation.

“Let’s get married if we’re still single by 30,” Jungkook suggests.

“You wanna marry me? But I’m such a mess.”

Your dating life, career, friends, and family were fine.

“Yeah, why not. We get along. You seem a little kinky in bed and make a mean spaghetti dish.”

“Is that all I’m good for? Sex and spaghetti?”

“That sounds like a bad porn film waiting to happen. No, but I'm serious. If we're still single, let’s get married.”

You wave him off. “Kook, you’re drunk. You’re just saying whatever.”

“Yeah, I'm drunk, but I'm serious about this.” 

He gets up, looks around, sees a straw wrapper, and ties it around your finger. He's on one knee before you.

“____, will you marry me? Hypothetically, of course, if we’re both still single by 30.”

You shake your head at your loveable friend. It was hard to say no. How could you?

“You’re so dumb.”

“See. You can write that in your vows,” Jungkook jokes, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, you are pretty cute, and I can stand being around you,” you tease.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

You smack his arm. “Is this how you’re wooing your future wife?”

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I can’t believe how beautiful my future wife is.”

You’re unsure if it’s the alcohol making you susceptible and vulnerable to your good friend asking you to marry him or if it was because you were on the rebound. But what’s the harm? If you couldn’t find someone by 30, then you’d get to marry a good friend.

“That's more like it. Why yes, Jeon Jungkook. I will marry you if I'm still single by 30.”

💖💖💖

You let out a cackle. “Oh shit–I agreed to that?”

Jungkook pouts and nods. “Sure did.”

But Jungkook’s messing around, right? He was a good friend and comforted you in your time of need. There’s no way he’d want to spend the rest of his life with you. Plenty of suitable women were fawning over him, and now you’ve noticed you've never seen him with a girlfriend.

“You’re–you’re not serious, are you?” You stumble over your words, going into panic mode.

Why would Jeon Jungkook choose you, of all people, to want to marry? He could have anyone at any time.

No, you shook off the thought. You couldn’t lock him into a loveless marriage.

Jungkook licks his lips, tongue flicking his lip ring back and forth.

You shifted in bed and cleared your throat. “Aren’t you seeing that one girl?”

It wasn’t hard to notice when she practically hung onto him like a lovesick puppy.

Jungkook makes a face, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s nothing serious.”

You give him a blank expression. “Nothing serious? Kook, she’s practically foaming at the mouth and shooting heart eyes when you’re around.”

Jungkook chuckles. “That could be you, too.”

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him.

“Just saying,” he adds.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to get in the way if it is serious.” You surely didn’t want to become a homewrecker.

He waves his hand. “Oh, no, no, no. I don’t back down from promises I make.”

Your lips turn into a pout, and you tilt your head, wondering why he’d ditch Clingy Chloe and commit to a drunken promise. “What’s in it for you?”

He seems offended by your question, so he scoffs. “I mean, I’m just trying to save you from a future where you’re an old lady with 50 cats, collecting newspapers that pile up from the floor to the ceiling, and then you show up on an episode of Hoarders.”

You chuckle. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“You’re not?” he questions hesitantly.

“I mean, marriage is a pretty serious thing, and we’re friends getting married because we have no one else?” The sentiment seems ridiculous once you say it aloud.

“What? You don’t think I'll be a good husband?” 

“No, I didn't say that. I think you’d be a great one, actually.”

“Then, what’s the problem? Don’t think you can handle me?” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes at your cocky friend. “I don’t know, Kook. What if I meet someone, or what if you meet someone?”

“You don’t think I can make you fall in love with me?” he asks, ignoring your question.

Your nose scrunches, and you laugh. “No.”

“Oh, well, that sounds like a challenge, and you’re lucky I love a little competition.”

He’s not going to let this go, is he?

You settle into the plush of your pillows. “Okay–tell you what, if you can make me fall in love with you within the week, I’ll consider marrying you.”

What would you have to lose? Being wined and dined by a cute guy? What girl would pass up this opportunity?

“Deal.”

💖💖💖

monday.

Your everyday routine consists of rolling out of bed, logging into work, checking your emails, and then sitting on the couch until you get a support ticket from someone who forgot their password for the umpteenth time.

It’s a great gig, and now you’re glad you went into the right field of work.

You’re on your random binge of rewatching The Fast and the Furious saga. Your friends always make fun of you, but you can’t help it. It’s a guilty pleasure of yours.

“You got some sexy legs. When do they open?” Roman says with a grin.

You burst out laughing. The dialogue is so bad, yet somehow, these movies keep getting made. You must be the target audience.

The doorbell rings and it’s 8:30 AM. Who is here this early? You didn’t buy anything online while you were drunk, did you?

You peek through the viewfinder, and it’s blocked by something yellow. You can’t see the delivery person’s face when you open the door.

“Special delivery for ___,” the person says in a deep voice.

“That’s me.”

And out from behind the flowers, Jeon Jungkook pops out. “Happy birthday week,” he says in a sing-song voice.

Your heart settles when you realize it's your friend or future husband. “What are you doing here?”

You notice two grocery bags on the ground next to him. He hands you the flowers and picks them up.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” He raises his eyebrow, scanning you from head to toe.

Real clothes and makeup don’t exist when you're working from home.

“Cute slippers,” he points out as you stare at your fluffy white bunny slippers.

You sigh, grabbing his arm to drag him into your apartment. As you’re about to close the door, you notice moving boxes outside the apartment next to yours. Hmm, someone new must be moving in.

“Is this what you look like underneath all that makeup?” he asks, making himself comfortable in your kitchen. The two bags are on the counter, and he’s going through the cupboards to find a vase.

“Top left above the sink,” you say.

He opens the cupboard, retrieving a clear vase.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting company. Otherwise, I would’ve put on some decent clothing.”

And a bra, you think as you cross your arms, covering your chest.

Jungkook shakes his head. “You look good in anything, and with or without makeup. You’ll be my future wifey, so there’s no need to look for good me. We can just be comfortable with each other, right?”

You purse your lips and raise an eyebrow. He’s serious about this, isn’t he? You suppose you wouldn’t mind playing along to see how far he would go.

A man ready and willing to commit to marriage? You must be living in your romantic film.

You nod. “Right, we’re friends, possibly moving onto more than friends–well, actually, straight to marriage,” you chuckle, "but I’ve always felt comfortable around you, Kook.”

He flashes a warm smile. “Good, then everything will be easy, peasy lemon squeezy.”

He’s cute, you think.

“I hope you like mimosas,” he says as he unloads the groceries from the bags.

Bread, eggs, bacon, strawberries, orange juice, and champagne.

“Are you making me breakfast?” you question, narrowing your eyes at the man in the yellow beanie and white Nike shirt.

“Consider it your birthday breakfast, wifey,” he jokes, peering in your cupboards for a pan.

“Right side next to the oven.”

“Ah, I gotta remember this if I’m gonna be cooking here more often.” He whistles, setting the pan on the stove.

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Don’t you have to work today?”

“Nah–called in sick. It’s my wife’s birthday week. I have to shower her with all the love.” He wiggles his eyebrows and puckers his lips.

It’s funny to see Jeon Jungkook act this way. He’s always been playful and flirty the two years you’ve known him, but this must’ve been his way of pulling out all his cards of wooing a woman.

💖💖💖

“Breakfast is ready,” Jungkook yells from the kitchen.

A support ticket from work came through, distracting you from your movie and Jungkook.

“‘Kay! Almost done.” You recheck your work emails, ensuring everything is complete.

This time, you put on a bra, change into a decent shirt, and put on a skin tint and blush to make yourself look alive.

You stroll into the kitchen, and Jungkook perfectly displays the sunflowers on the counter and two delicious breakfast plates. The champagne flutes are filled to the brim and topped off with a beautifully sliced strawberry.

“Thanks, Kook. This looks so yummy.”

He flashes a smile. “Anytime.”

The two of you sit beside each other, digging into the breakfast spread.

“What’s that one movie you wanted to watch again?” Jungkook asks before he sips his mimosa.

Your mouth is full, and you chew quickly to answer him. “The one on Netflix?” He hums. “Wedding Season.”

“Sounds like the perfect movie for us to watch this week.”

“You’re into rom-coms?”

“I love ‘em.”

“Shut up. You’re teasing me now.”

“I don’t know why you never ask me to watch them, but you’ll ask the girls.”

You look down at your food before catching his gaze. “I didn’t think you’d be into them, so I never asked. And you don’t seem like the hopeless romantic type.”

“I mean, growing up, I wasn’t. My parents didn’t have a fairytale romance, so I didn’t believe in love for a long time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So, someone must’ve changed your mind then?”

He hums, not wanting to admit who made it an exception.

You nudge his arm. “Are you gonna tell me, or will I have to pry it out of you?”

He chuckles, not saying a word.

You scoff. “You’re not gonna tell me? Keeping secrets from your wife already? Rude,” you tut.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he replies.

The two of you finish breakfast, and Jungkook insists on doing the dishes. You set your plate in the sink and clutch onto his arm, tiptoeing to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you.”

💖💖💖

tuesday.

You take the morning off to run errands for your upcoming birthday extravaganza. And you’re struggling to hit the lock button on your keypad while holding a heavy box of birthday decor.

When you finally hear the whirring of the lock and chime, you turn around, bumping into someone, dropping your box, and knocking over a handful of books.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” you say, quickly picking up as many books as possible, and he picks up your birthday decor.

The man reaches for the pink heart-shaped sunglasses and other pink-colored decor. “Someone must be celebrating big,” the man’s dimpled smile displayed.

Your fingers accidentally touch his when you switch his books for your decor. You clear your throat, trying not to ogle the man. “Um, yeah, it’s for my birthday.”

He perks up. “Oh?” He flashes a thin smile. “Happy birthday.”

A breath gets caught in your throat, and you struggle to get any words out. “Uh, my birthday is actually on Saturday,” you finally croak out. “But, you must be my new neighbor.”

“Yeah, I’m Namjoon. I just moved in this past weekend.”

Oh, this is bad. Really bad.

He’s tall, has beautiful tanned skin and blonde hair, and you could live in his dimples.

“It’s–it’s nice to meet you.”

“Sorry about bumping into you, and it’s nice to meet you too. I hope you have a good birthday,” he says before picking up one last book on the ground.

“Are you doing anything this weekend? You can come if you want.”

After you ask, you want to kick yourself in the bum. Inviting a man you just met. What if he’s a weirdo? But how can he be if he’s reading ‘A Bigger Message Conversations with David Hockney.’ You may have managed to peek at one of his books.

“Oh, no,” he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding! I’m inviting you, and you can’t say no to the birthday girl,” you tease, adjusting the box in your arms.

A low chuckle escaped his lips. “You’re right. It’d be messed up to say no to the birthday girl.”

“So, you’ll come?” you ask, and a smile grows from ear to ear.

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

The two of you exchange information before you leave to finish your errands. You’re beaming down the street while carrying your box of decor.

You didn’t expect to find someone cute and endearing so quickly. And you’re surprised he said yes to your party. Maybe he’s new in town and wants to make friends. It would be a good way for him to get acquainted, and a part of you hoped you’d keep bumping into him in the halls.

💖💖💖

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:27 AM Wanna do a movie night today? We could watch Wedding Season.

You 11:30 AM Sounds like a date.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:35 AM Is 6 okay? I can bring dinner too.

You 11:36 AM That sounds perfect.

It's six on the dot, and you hear a knock on your door. You suppose Jungkook is the type to show up right on time, which you greatly appreciate.

He holds a six-pack of beer and a pizza box when you open the door.

"Ready for movie night?"

It’s halfway through the film, and you’re enjoying it. You love the fake dating trope because you could always count on the two mains to fall for each other.

"Are you cold?" Jungkook asks when he sees you tuck your hands in between your thighs.

"Yeah, kind of."

"Come here."

He opens his arm to cuddle, and you blink expressionless at him. The most intimate thing you’ve done with him is hug him–a side hug.

He laughs when you don’t move. “What? Scared I’ll bite?”

“No—it’s just that cuddling is an intimate thing to do,” you admit.

Arms and legs become entangled. Bodies are warming up against each other. Possibilities of things progressing.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Do you have a throw blanket somewhere?” He looks around and sees a woven basket next to the couch. He grabs a white fluffy throw for you.

Jungkook gives you an out, and for that, you’re grateful.

“Thanks,” you say as you snuggle in the blanket.

He flashes a small smile. “No problem.”

Even though you rejected Jungkook’s invitation to cuddle, somehow, by the end of the movie, the two of you had fallen asleep—cuddling.

You didn’t pull away from him yet. You peered up at him, watching his chest rise and fall. Light snores escape his lips, and now and again, he puffs out a breath like a whale coming up for air, making you chuckle.

You rest your chin on his chest, giving yourself a few seconds to enjoy this before waking him up.

“Kook,” you whisper, gently shaking him. “Kook,” you repeat.

He hums, popping his head up while his eyes are still closed. He flutters them open and immediately sits up, wiping the drool that’s dried on his chin. He clears his throat. “Um—how long was I asleep for?”

You giggle. “We both fell asleep. I blame the beer,” you say, stretching your arms.

Jungkook can’t help but notice the shiny piece of jewelry hanging from your navel. “You have your belly button pierced?” he asks with a raised brow.

You quickly pull down your shirt. “It was a dumb thing I did when I turned 21.”

“It’s cute.”

You shy away from his comment. At times, you forget you have it.

“What else are you hiding, hm?” Jungkook asks.

You scoff. “Nothing. I only have my ears and my belly button pierced.”

“No tattoos?”

Tattoos are cool on other people, and you toyed with the idea of getting one. You were indecisive about what to get.

You shook your head no. “Maybe one day.”

“Get one for your 30th. I’ll go with you. I know a guy,” he teases, pointing out the ink on his skin.

“You gonna hold my hand the entire time?”

He grins. “Anything for the wifey.”

A tattoo, huh? You’ve always wanted to see how high your pain threshold was. “I’ll think about it.”

“Just let me know, and I’ll get an appointment with the guy I always go to. I only trust him.”

Jungkook stands, proceeding to clean up the mess you two made.

“Oh, no. Leave it. I’ll clean it up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s late. We should get some sleep.”

He looks at the clock. It’s nearly midnight, and he still needs to wash up.

You walk him to the door, holding it open for him to leave. “Kook?”

Jungkook turns to you. “Yeah?”

You’re unsure what comes over you, but you pull him in for a hug. Only this time, it doesn’t feel like a friendly hug. It takes a moment for him to register what’s happening, then he wraps his arms around you. Every ounce of his body presses against yours, and you fit perfectly into him like a puzzle piece. His fresh, clean scent invades your nose, and you wish it could linger for a bit longer while his hand snakes to the nape of your neck, fingers curling in your hair.

Why do you feel more vulnerable when sleeping next to him now than earlier? Is it because you’re awake and aware of your intentions? The question was, what were your intentions? Did you want this? Did you really want him?

You withdrew from the embrace, bidding him farewell. He gives a small wave before disappearing into the elevator.

As you enter your apartment and shut the door, you repeatedly knocked the back of your head against it, muttering, ‘fuck.’ You were playing along to see how far Jungkook would go before calling it quits, but you failed to see that maybe—just maybe you could be falling too.

Hoseok’s minding his business, eating his ramen when he sees his roommate walk in. Jungkook looks like he’s floating on cloud nine, beaming from ear to ear. There’s even a hop in his step. He twirls around, daintily sitting beside Hoseok.

Hoseok scans his friend, watching him as he breathes a happy sigh and stares into the distance.

“What’s going on with you?” He raises a brow and narrows his eyes.

Jungkook giggles and scrunches his shoulders. “I just came back from cuddling with ___,” he says as he continues in his reveries.

“Oh, boy. Everyone, can I please have your attention,” Hoseok cups his mouth into a megaphone, “Jeon Jungkook has officially gone off the deep end. He thinks being delulu is the solulu.”

Jungkook glares at his friend and kicks him under the table. “Yah–aren’t you supposed to be rooting for me?”

Hoseok slurps his noodles. “Of course, I’m rooting for you. You’re my best bud,” he says as he places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he pats Hoseok’s hand. “Now–be an even better friend, and let me raid your closet for ___’s party.”

Jungkook lies in bed; his bicep flexes when he moves his hand behind his head. He’s watching an array of colors flash across the vastness of his room. The northern lights and stars twirl and sparkle like the movements of butterflies and the ones milling around his stomach for days.

Is this what being in love feels like, he thinks. It’s like he’s living in the romance movies he’s watched. Boy meets girl, boy, and girl fall in love, and they live happily ever after.

This is it. This must be it. His chance to be with you–the one he’s fallen completely head over heels for.

If the Jungkook from four years ago were to see him today, he’d laugh and call him a simp, especially with how he’s at your beck and call.

But the Jungkook, from four years ago, was a cynic. He had no healthy or loving relationships around him until he met you through Hoseok. And, even though you were with someone at the time, he saw how kind and wonderful you were to your friends and could only imagine the kind of love you’d show toward someone special.

There were only a few more days until your party, and he was determined to make each day count.

wednesday.

Since Monday, Jungkook has surprised you every day with a gift. They were his attempts to make you fall in love with you, along with his random trips to your place. 

Today’s gift was a pair of pink seashell earrings. Jungkook tells you he spent hours making it from clay, then baked them in the oven. You shook your head, wondering how he got an idea like this. Nonetheless, it was a sweet gift.

He texted throughout the day, leaving cute words of encouragement or sending TikToks of funny videos he’d find. Maybe this was his love language, taking the time out of his day to let you know he’s thinking about you.

As your day winds down, you’re scrolling through YouTube, and what catches your eye at 7 p.m.? Dessert videos.

And that’s your worst toxic trait—thinking you can bake. It always looks easy enough. If they can do it, so can you.

That is, until you’re in the kitchen, halfway through a recipe, and notice you’re out of sugar. The grocery store is too far and will close when you get there.

See what happens when you decide to bake? It always goes differently than you want.

You could call Jungkook to see if he has any or walk over to your new neighbor’s place. The latter was plausible since Namjoon was only a few feet away.

You shook off the nerves, flattened your apron, and lightly knocked on Namjoon’s door. You could hear shuffling as he unlocked it.

Your eyes widened, standing like a deer caught in headlights. Namjoon’s half-naked, black shorts hung dangerously low on his waist. His forehead is glistening with sweat.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” you ask while trying to keep your gaze in line with his and not ogling his chiseled body.

Shit—maybe he had company over.

He cards his hand through his platinum blonde hair, but a few pieces fall back, covering his eyes. “No, you’re good. I just finished working out. What’s up?” he asks. His hand holds the door open as he leans against it.

You’re dumbfounded, unable to form words again. It’s like a giant hairball stuck in your throat.

Namjoon’s brows raise, and he calls out to you.

“Oh, sorry!” you say. “I’m attempting to bake a cake but I'm out of sugar. I wanted to ask if you have any I can borrow.”

“I think I do,” he ponders as he steps back. “Come in. Come in.”

You step into a squeaky clean apartment. Didn’t he just move in? How does someone unpack so quickly? Or maybe he had little to begin with.

His apartment was like a museum, with pottery, sculptures, and art prints adorning his walls and shelves. But what catches your attention is the translucent, cylindrical coffee table. It doesn’t seem like anyone should be putting anything on it.

Namjoon stands beside you, holding a jar of sugar.

“Ah, thank you so much! Now my cake batter won’t go to waste.”

“Anything catch your fancy?” he asks.

Granted, this man is still half-naked, standing beside you. You’re trying not to go feral over how broad and built he is.

“This, actually,” you point to the glass coffee table.

“That’s probably one of my most prized possessions.”

“It looks expensive.” You’d later come to find out it was worth $1.2M after you did an internet search.

“It is,” he chuckles. “It’s on loan from a friend.”

“On loan?” you ask, turning to him. Your eyes narrow and lips thin. “Can I ask what you do for work?”

“I’m an art curator.”

That makes sense now, considering the expensive and extensive art collection.

“Oh—you’re so fancy,” you tease. “I don’t know shit about art.” You could stand before a painting and feel nothing while looking at it. Maybe you were just going in with the wrong mindset.

Namjoon chuckles. “You can always ask me questions,” he notes before walking away to put on a t-shirt.

You’re a bit disappointed that you can’t ogle him anymore.

“Well, I can’t ask you questions if you don’t take me to a museum,” you flirt, turning toward him.

He grins, showing off his pearly whites and dimple deeply etched into his left cheek. “Are you asking me to ask you out on a date?”

You can’t help but play dumb. “Oh no, of course not! I would like your expertise to guide me around a museum, and if we happen to eat afterward, then I don’t know—would you call that a date?”

Namjoon licks his lips and nods, impressed by your boldness. “Are you busy Friday night?”

The cake wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either. You’d have to keep perfecting it and maybe keep asking to ‘borrow’ some sugar from your neighbor.

You debated whether you should tell Jungkook about your date with Namjoon. It’s a harmless date; Jungkook would be off the hook if it goes well. Besides, it’s a silly agreement you two made up while drunk.

But, you’d sleep on it and figure it out tomorrow. There was one more day before the date anyway.

As you were sitting in bed, doing your nightly scrolling through social media. A video call comes through.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo Incoming Video Call

You're on your side when you answer his call. “Hey, Kook,” you say before covering a yawn.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, shuffling underneath his duvet.

Your eyes scan the screen, and you notice his bare shoulders and collarbone on display. You never realized his tattooed sleeve reached so high on his arm, scantily kissing the top of his shoulder.

You cleared your throat. "Yeah, about to call it a night. What's up?"

"I just wanted to call and see how your day was. I was busy at work, so I didn't get to text you," he says.

Now that you think about it, the last text you received from him was this morning. And since the start of your little agreement, Jungkook has been texting and calling more than usual.

"I worked, then attempted to bake a cake."

He props the phone against something as he lies on his side, and parts of his hair still look damp from a shower. And you hate how cuddly he looks while he’s in bed and how you can see how much he works out just from the outline of his arms.

And no—you aren’t thinking about anything else. 

"How'd it turn out?"

You shook your head in disgust. "Not very good."

"Ah, I'm sure it was great."

"I'll stick to store-bought cake for now."

"Next time, we can do it together and fail."

He wants to do everything with you, huh?

You chuckle at his comment and then say what’s on your mind, "I never realized how far your tattoo sleeve went up."

He peers at his shoulder. "Oh yeah," he leans forward to show you, his bicep flexing as he moves.

"Cool guy."

He chuckles. "Hardly cool. Just bored," he says. "So, should I schedule you for your tattoo?"

Since the last conversation, you've been scrolling through Pinterest and Instagram to get some ideas.

"I think I want the birth flower for September."

Jungkook shows you his arm, pointing to his tiger lily tattoo. "This one is for the actual day of birth, but the flower for the month of September is pretty too. Have you thought about placement?"

"Mm, maybe on the back of my neck or the inside of my arm. What do you think?" You show him your arm, then the back of your neck.

"It would look great on the back of your neck. It could be a nice surprise when you have your hair up."

"Oh–I like that idea."

He props himself up on the side with a wide grin. "So, I'm booking your appointment?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, why not? We only live once, right?"

Turning 30 is making your confidence go up.

“Once you get one, you’ll want more. Trust me.”

“At least I’ll have a tattoo buddy for life,” you tease.

“Ah, see, I like the way you’re thinking. Well, I should let my wifey get to sleep,” he gives a small smile. He reaches for his phone, placing it on his chest. His other hand is behind his head as he watches you through the screen.

You hum in agreement. “Night.”

“Night.”

Daydreams are one thing, and when Jungkook lies in bed, he can't help but wonder.

Wonder how you’d look in his favorite t-shirt. Wonder which side of the bed you prefer. Wonder if you dream of him, too. Wonder what it’s like to be loved by you.

Jungkook doesn’t want to wonder anymore; he wants to make you his reality.

thursday.

The birthday festivities started early for you as you requested today and tomorrow off. There’s no way you’re spending your last few days of being 29 stuck at work.

Today’s agenda consisted of a pedicure. The toes have to look cute with your new heels, and as you’re ready to head out to your appointment, Jungkook is at your door when you open it.

You tilt your head, knitting your eyebrows together. “Did we have something planned?”

He shakes his head no and pouts. “No, I wanted to surprise you with another gift.”

He hands you a gift bag, and you take a small peek, reaching down to grab the gift. You pull out a peach-shaped heart bath bomb.

“Peach?” You raise a brow and give a smug grin. “What makes you think I like peach?”

Jungkook snorts. “Oh, pfft–I don’t know. Could it be all the candles or soap? Or how you always order any type of peach-flavored alcohol? Tea? Or–”

You suck in your lips, then give a thin smile. “Son of a peach.”

“Very cute. You’re also great at fruit puns. I’ll add that to the list of reasons why I like you,” he chuckles.

To be fair, everything in your apartment had a hint of peach–your candles, air freshener, hand soap, ChapStick, and not to mention a cupboard full of peach tea.

You chuckle. “Thanks, Kook. You didn’t have to.”

“I do if I’m trying to make you fall in love with me.”

You set the bath bomb back in its bag, then on the entryway table. You close the door behind you, forcing him to step back.

“You talk a lot about making me fall in love with you, but you’ve still failed to do so. It’s almost my birthday,” you tease.

What girl wouldn’t want gifts, but you thought he’d push a bit harder.

Jungkook smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He steps closer to you–close enough for you to smell his cologne. It’s a fresh, clean scent.

He’s inches away from you. Warmth is radiating off of him. Your heart is practically beating out of your chest. Your eyes are on his, then focus on his lip ring, then the freckle underneath his bottom lip. It’s the first time you’ve been close enough to notice it.

His eyes dart back and forth between yours. His tongue wets his lips, then plays with his ring. “I’m just getting started,” he says.

You close your eyes, fluttering them back open. There’s relief escaping your body once he backs away.

“So, what are we doing today?” he asks, stepping out of the way to let you lead.

“I have a pedicure appointment. Wanna come?” you ask. You wouldn’t mind having company around, and you’re curious how he’ll continue to sweep you off your feet.

You feel bad for the poor woman who has Jungkook in her seat, and you’re trying your best not to laugh as he’s squirming, clutching onto the armrests.

You clear your throat. “Is this your first pedicure?”

“What? No,” he counters, but he’s giggling non-stop, holding on for dear life.

“Sir–I need you to stop moving,” the woman warns.

You cover your mouth. Your shoulders are bouncing due to your giggles. “Kook, she hasn’t even done anything to you yet.”

“How the hell do women do this? This is torture.”

“Can’t handle a little torture?”

He perks up, shaking off the chills. The woman continues to scrub his feet with a pumice stone. He’s sucking in his lips, trying not to laugh and smile when she gets to the underside of his foot. Then his reflexes get the best of him, and he almost kicks her.

The woman gives him a blank expression but is professional and continues as fast as possible.

An hour later, Jungkook is coming out of the nail salon, sweating bullets from the endless torture of a pedicure.

You look at him and then his toes. “At least your toes are cute.” He let you choose the color, and you had to choose hot pink to match your birthday theme for this weekend.

He does the walk of shame in a pair of yellow flimsy flip-flops because he wasn’t prepared for a pedicure. You’ve been there, done that.

You link your arms to him when you catch up to him. “Hungry?”

Jungkook groans in delight. “You have to try this.”

He leans forward. A piece of his roasted chicken ravioli covered in pink sauce looks delectable. You open your mouth, devouring the pasta. You close your eyes, savoring it.

“See, what did I tell you?” He smiles, going back to his bowl of food. “How’s yours?”

You didn’t want to say you didn’t like it–but you hate it. “It’s good,” you smile and lie through your teeth.

You begin moving the ravioli around, pretending to make it look like you'll eat it.

Jungkook sets his fork down, pushing his bowl toward you. “Here, take mine.”

You look up at him. “What? No–I like my food,” you lie again, grabbing your bowl and clutching it closer to you.

He deadpans. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you don’t like something. Come on, I’ll finish your food, and you can have mine.”

You let go of your bowl. “Are you sure?”

Jungkook smiles warmly, his small dimple on display as he nods. He grabs your bowl and begins to eat it.

Your heart softens, and you’re enchanted by your friend/potential future husband, so it pains you to have this conversation. You tossed and turned the night before because you couldn’t bear the thought of locking your friend into something he'll regret later on.

“So, you might not have to marry me,” you say.

Jungkook looks up at you, tilting his head in confusion. “Damn, someone beat me to it?” he jokes.

You flash a thin smile and shake your head no. “Well, I have a crush on my new neighbor.”

He raises an eyebrow. “New neighbor?”

You nod. “Yeah, he just moved in.”

Jungkook nibbles on the inside of his mouth then continues to eat. “You barely know the guy, and you’re already tossing me aside?” He tuts, shaking his head.

“I’m–I’m not tossing you aside. You’re still an option, but I’m just saying if it works out with the new neighbor, then you’re off the hook. I'm sure there are better girls out there than me, Kook. You don’t want to be married to me.”

He sets his fork down, pushing his bowl forward. “Well, what can I say? You can’t see the guy?”

“So, you’re okay if I see him?”

Jungkook hesitates to answer. “Mm,” he hums with a nod.

“Are you upset with me?”

“Why would I be upset?” He shrugs. “I’m only a back-up.”

His answer gives you a sense of relief, but you also feel guilty about everything. “Should we end our little deal? That way, you don’t have to be stuck with me for the rest of your life. It seems silly now that we’re both sober and not drunk making promises like this.”

He hums and nods again. “You’re right. It does seem foolish.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I'll go pay while you finish up."

You watch him get up and walk to the register. His demeanor changes as soon as you mention ending the deal. 

Is he serious about this?

Honestly, you’re stumped by Jeon Jungkook and his intentions. If he did like you, why not ask you out like an average person? Why go through the trouble of marrying you? So that you could fulfill some silly goal you had for your life?

“I’ll walk you up,” Jungkook says as he turns off the car.

“It’s fine, Kook. You don’t have to,” you counter.

On the ride back, guilt has been eating you from the inside out. You’re unsure why you feel this way–maybe because you feel like a shitty friend. Saying one thing and then doing another.

But again, marriage is a serious thing for two people to consider.

Jungkook doesn’t waver in his decision and escorts you anyway. The silence is deafening in the elevator; the two of you stand at opposite sides, stealing glances. There’s an elephant in the room, but neither of you addresses it.

When the elevator doors open, you expel the caught breath in your throat. Jungkook follows a few steps behind you.

“Are we okay?” you ask, glancing at him before lowering your head.

He stuffs his hand in his pants pocket. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know. I feel like an ass because you’ve been such a good friend–especially after my breakups. And then this past week, you’ve been sweet and cute with all the little gifts and hangouts,” you pause to look at him.

His eyes are big and innocent, and his lips form a slight pout. He’s intently listening to your words.

“I’m trying to say I’ve enjoyed being with you this week, and I’m sorry how things turned out,” you manage to spit out.

Jungkook nibbles on his lip, showing off his pretty dimple. His eyes dart to yours as he flashes a thin smile. “Well, I’ll always be your back-up if this guy doesn’t work out.”

You breathe a sigh of relief that he can still joke about this situation. You close the distance between you, reaching up and draping your arms around his neck.

It takes a moment for him to return your hug, but he does–wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing you into him. He nuzzles in the crook of your shoulder, taking in your sweet scent and softness.

Your heart’s fluttering, your stomach is somersaulting and doing back-flips. Jungkook’s warmth is all-encompassing, encapsulating every fiber of your being. Neither of you let go, allowing this embrace to go longer than usual friends do.

When you pull away, your lips are so close to his. Close enough to explore what they taste like. Close enough to see how plush they are. Close enough to find out just how much you’d have to gasp for air afterward.

You almost want to give in. You almost want to see where this could go. You almost want him to make a move.

Jungkook whispers your name, and you hum, gazing into his eyes. “Are you sure about this? About the deal? You don’t want it anymore?”

You're becoming lost in the stars and galaxies contained in those doe eyes. Jungkook doesn’t lose focus, doesn’t break character, and doesn’t give you a chance to run away.

“This stops when you say so,” he utters softly.

He’s unrelenting, you think. He wants this, doesn’t he? He wants you.

So these next few words sting. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Jungkook doesn’t even realize when he’s outside his apartment complex. He sits in his car, zoning out. He’s so close to finally getting you, but now there’s someone else?

For two years, he’s been trying to buck up the courage and finally ask you out, and when he finally gets an opportunity, someone always swoops in and steals you away.

When he proposed the agreement, it was more of a joke, that is, until you agreed, and that’s when he knew he’d try whatever it took to get you to the altar.

A knock on Jungkook’s window breaks him from deep thought. He looks up to see his roommate, Hoseok.

He gestures for Jungkook to roll his window down. “Why do you look like you're on the verge of crying? Why don’t you go up to the apartment?”

Jungkook holds onto the steering wheel and groans as his head hits it a few times, muttering, ‘Stupid.’

Hoseok knits his eyebrows in confusion as he rubs his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go,” he says, opening the car door.

Jungkook drags his feet through the threshold and drops his backpack on the floor. He continues walking sluggishly, plopping on the couch, still in a daze.

Hoseok blinks at his friend. “What’s going on?”

“You know how I was trying to make ____ fall in love with me this week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, she likes her new neighbor.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “There's a new guy already? I swear this girl must have some kind of bat signal that’s beaming up into the sky that attracts men the second she’s single.”

Jungkook drops his head back, then rubs his face. “What am I going to do?”

Hoseok shrugs. “Maybe tell her how serious you are about being with her.”

“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t want to be with me?”

“So, you’re going to trap her in a marriage instead?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Make it make sense, my friend.”

Maybe that's what he wanted. It could be like an arranged marriage. Meet first, then fall in love.

“I know it sounds ridiculous!”

Hoseok rubs Jungkook’s shoulder. “This whole deal is ridiculous. Be honest with her, then she’ll have to choose between you and the new guy.”

He knows Hoseok is right. He should be honest and tell you how he feels.

Or he could get rid of the new guy, and the deal would be back on.

Decisions. Decisions.

friday.

Jungkook was determined to make this agreement work out in his favor. He wasn’t going to back down so easily.

He took off early from work, going straight to your favorite bakery to grab a cake. Thoughts are racing through his mind as he clutches the cake box and walks through the crowded street.

What if this was his last chance? What if this new guy was ‘the one’ for you? He couldn’t let you slip away again.

He’s even prepared a monologue. He’s mumbling it under his breath when he arrives at your door.

When the door opens, he doesn’t find you. Instead, he finds a half-naked man with broad shoulders and impeccable pecs.

Jungkook stands tall and puffs out his chest, back straight, when he sees this unknown man. His mouth is agape as he scans him from head to toe. Was this the guy you were talking about?

He clears his throat and stands his ground. “Oh, uh, who are you?”

“Hey, man. I’m Namjoon. ___’s neighbor,” he says.

“I’ll be right out!” you yell from the other room.

Jungkook clenches his jaw, and he’s trying to calm his nerves. There’s no way you were sleeping with this guy already, right? No, you can’t be, Jungkook shakes the thought from his head.

You sprint from the hallway, holding a shirt. With your clumsy ways, you spilled iced coffee on Namjoon’s shirt right before your date. You felt bad, so you offered to wash it for him.

“Namjoon, I’m so sorry! I’ve tried everything to get it out. I might have to buy you a new shirt–oh,” you gasp. “Hi, Jungkook.”

Jungkook walks in, setting the box down, and he doesn’t say anything else as he leans against the counter, watching you two.

Namjoon sucks in his lips, strolling to your side, looking at his stained shirt. “Don’t worry about it. It was time to get rid of that shirt anyway.” He gives a reassuring smile. “I’m gonna grab a new shirt, then we’ll be on our way?”

You hum. “See you soon.”

Jungkook’s eyes follow you and Namjoon as you bid him farewell. You lower your head and purse your lips when you approach Jungkook.

“Date night?” he asks, turning to you.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your date. Just wanted to drop off a cake I picked up for you,” he points to the box on the counter.

You see the bakery's name on the box, and it’s from your favorite place. You undo the tabs and unfold the box to reveal a heart-shaped cake with various shades of baby pink and blue, then sitting prettily on top is one of your favorite Sanrio characters: Cinnamoroll.

“Kook–you didn’t just pick this up.” A cake like this was ordered well in advance.

His eyebrows rise, and he gives a half-smile. He walks beside you. “Happy early birthday,” he says as his eyes flick to yours. “See you tomorrow.”

When the door shuts, you wince.

Namjoon has a brilliant mind, and that intimidates you. He's far too intelligent and reasonable for a hopeless romantic who lives in their daydreams and wants a ring on their finger by tomorrow.

The two of you come to a crowded spot in the museum. You look back and smile at Namjoon. He puts his hands on your waist, guiding you from behind. Your stomach somersaults from the affection, but you continue leading the way through the sea of people, trying not to focus on it.

An announcement reminds museum go-ers that they’ll be closing in 15 minutes.

“Should we head out soon?” you ask with disappointment. You thoroughly enjoyed hearing Namjoon talk even though you had nothing insightful to say about the numerous art pieces.

The corners of his mouth curve up. “But we have one more exhibit to see,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. He holds out his hand for yours.

You’re intrigued, so you don’t question and place your hand in his.

Everyone starts to file out toward the exit, but the two of you enter an exhibit hidden away in the back.

“Aren’t we going to get in trouble?” you ask.

He chuckles. “You’re cute,” he says before showing you his work ID and security badge.

“Oh,” you giggle. It makes sense. Namjoon did say he was an ‘art curator.’ He just never mentioned where he worked.

“Feel free to look around and tell me if anything catches your eye.”

You take your time, roaming around, going from piece to piece. Namjoon stays in place, waiting until you’ve found something. You tilt your head, examining the drawing.

[ frida castelli, milan ]

It's a woman. Her back is bare, and she's curling her hands into the bedsheets. The drawing is cut off right at the small of her back, and one can assume the rest. It's erotic–as this exhibit displays various works from modern artists.

Namjoon stands beside you. “Thoughts?”

Horny, you think, but considering this is your first date. You probably shouldn’t blurt it out.

“I like the position she's in,” you say, and Namjoon chokes on nothing. You cover your mouth and can’t help but laugh.

“I like that position too,” he adds.

You try to suppress your smile because now, you’re thinking about the two of you in that position.

"Should we keep looking?"

After a late-night dinner, you’re standing outside your door, not wanting to say goodbye to Namjoon. You’d invite him in, but tomorrow’s a big day, and you have an early wake-up call.

“I hope I was able to answer your questions,” Namjoon says, leaning his shoulder against the door, facing you.

You give him a small smile, looking at the floor, then back up at him. "I think you answered everything."

He hums and parts his lips. "Well, I have one question for you, if that's okay."

You nod.

"Can I give the birthday girl a kiss?"

You lick your lips. "It's not my birthday yet."

Namjoon steps forward, scanning your face. "You can consider it an early birthday present."

"Well, I won't say no to a birthday present."

Your heart is swooning over this tall, handsome man. He’s perfect. He's brilliant and well-spoken. Someone secure and confident, even emotionally available. You’d be a fool not to want this to go further.

Your gaze darts back and forth between his eyes and his lips, unsure how to respond. You've been wondering what they taste like all night and want to kiss the freckle underneath his lip. They look so rosy and pillowy, almost like kissing a cloud.

He softly presses his lips against yours. His big hands cup your face. His nose brushes against your cheek. His lips encapture your top lip, then your bottom. He lingers briefly before pulling away, his lips ghosting over yours, and you want to return for more–you’re not done.

“Do that again,” you whisper.

His breath is warm, and he smiles before going back in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Your hands are placed on his taut chest, fingers curling and tugging on his shirt. The butterflies in your stomach are yearning for a way out. The desire in you grows deeper. You’re breathless at this point, but you don’t care if you never breathe again.

First kisses always make you go weak in the knees, and you wish you could experience them over and over.

“Your lips are stained,” you notice when you pull away. 

Namjoon chuckles; his thumb swipes at his bottom lip. “That’s okay.”

He moves in to kiss you again, but you stop him by putting your index finger to his lips. “The birthday girl should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

You render him speechless—he made the first move, but you’ll have the final say.

You bid goodbye to him, trying your best not to linger and give in to your urges. Peering through the viewfinder, you see him smiling and shaking his head before he closes the door to his place.

You’re grinning from ear to ear as your back is against the door. The date couldn’t have gone better–though you probably couldn’t write a dissertation on Modern Art in Korea, you appreciated that he took the time to explain what he loves and why he’s so passionate about it.

Maybe he could be the one.

It’s midnight when you’re under the covers and still glowing from your date with Namjoon.

You check your phone to see text messages from Jungkook.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 9:22 PM Hey! I found some cool birth flowers. Do you like any of these? [ 5 images attached ]

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 9:27 PM And my tattoo guy had a last-minute cancellation for Monday at 6 p.m. I’m gonna book you for it, okay?

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 10:05 PM I can go to hold your hand if you’d like.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:11 PM I hope you had a good day. See you tomorrow, birthday girl.

This differed from how you wanted to celebrate your birthday week, especially not how you envisioned your friendship with Jungkook. Did you ruin it?

And that’s when your heart aches as you reflect on this past week. Jungkook has been so sweet, and you feel like the worst friend. Could he be into you, and you’re blind to notice?

But what about Namjoon? He’s undoubtedly checked off all the boxes you could want in a partner.

Plus, Jungkook’s just a back-up.

saturday.

The sun is peeking through, and the birds are chirping away. You’ve slept through your alarm because you’re still in dreamland.

You’re unsure who’s in bed with you. All you hear is a groan and shuffling as they reposition themselves. You peer over your shoulder, quickly turning away when they pull themselves closer to you. Then, as an arm comes into view, draping over you, you recognize the inked skin.

It’s Jungkook.

A buzz from your phone and a bang at the door awakens you. Missed notifications of calls and texts from Jenn, your best friend, flood your screen.

You sprint to the door, unlocking and opening it for her.

“Jesus Christ—I thought you were dead,” Jenn says after she brushes past you, setting several bags on your kitchen counter.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, babe,” she blinks, giving you the once-over. “You haven’t showered, have you?”

You shake your head no.

“Well, go! It’s your birthday, but we can’t wait all day for you.” She shoos you off to the bathroom.

When you’re out of the shower, Jenn’s sitting in front of your vanity, putting on her blush.

“So, how are you doing, babe? Still not over Theodore Boner?”

“Bonner,” you correct her.

You adjust your towel, tucking it securely. “There’s been some new developments,” you say, walking to your dresser.

Jenn slowly turns around. “Please don’t tell me you’re back with him? He was a walking red flag. Well, at the end of your relationship anyway.”

You press your lips together, shaking your head. “You know that time I was upset about my break-up with Jimin?”

Jenn hums and narrows her eyes.

“Jungkook and I went out and got pretty drunk.”

She leans forward. “Uh-huh.”

You cleared your throat. “I may have agreed that if Jungkook and I were still single by 30, we’d get married.” You turned around, opening the top drawer in search of cute underwear.

Jenn’s jaw drops. “You’re not going to marry Jeon Jungkook, are you?”

You laugh it off. “No, of course not! But he’s always been there for me after my break-ups.”

“Oh, how convenient that he also happens to be single by your 30th birthday,” she says dryly.

“Jungkook’s been a good friend, and if we were to get married, and that’s a big if, then honestly, I think we’d be pretty good together,” you explain.

You're not sure if you're attempting to persuade Jenn or yourself. You’re not going to lie. You’ve toyed with the idea this whole week.

“Why don’t you just date Jungkook then?” she asks, returning to add more blush to her cheeks.

You nibble on your bottom lip. “Err–well, because there’s a new guy.”

She whips her head back around. “I go on a solo trip, and you have not one but two guys who want to be with you?”

“Technically, I told Jungkook that if things work out with me and Namjoon, he doesn’t have to marry me.”

“Namjoon?”

“Yeah, he’s my new neighbor.”

“Shut up! Your neighbor?” Jenn stands, sprinting out your bedroom door. “Which apartment? I need to see this man.”

“Jenn!” You run after her, clutching her arm, trying to pull her back. “Stop it, will you? He’ll be at the party tonight.”

Jenn turns to you. “Babe–you have Jungkook and new neighbor guy vying for your attention? Sheesh. When can I be the main character?”

You grip your towel and drag her back to your room.

“At least tell me more juicy details,” she whines.

Jungkook checks himself out in the mirror. Hot pink usually is not part of his wardrobe color, but he does it in a heartbeat if it involves you and your silly antics.

He slips the hot pink denim jacket over his white shirt and matching pink cargo trousers. He adds a neon green necklace to finish off his look.

This outfit is Ken-esque, right? He sighs, wishing you could be the Barbie to his Ken.

His roommate, Hoseok, knocks on his door, breaking his focus. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Jungkook nibbles the inside of his cheek. This week’s been a rollercoaster of emotions for him. He was at an all-time high before you broke the news that you no longer need a back-up.

He’s gone back and forth, debating whether to fight for you or give up.

"I don't know yet," Jungkook responds. He glances at Hoseok through the mirror's reflection.

“Tell her how you feel. Be honest with her,” Hoseok says. He’s been telling Jungkook for two years now.

Jungkook turns around. “I can’t–” he pauses and huffs a breath, taking a seat on the bed.

Hoseok narrows his eyes and crosses his arms as he leans against the door frame. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve done too much shit by breaking up her relationships. She’ll never forgive me,” Jungkook explains.

Hoseok choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Remember Jimin and Theo?”

Hoseok hums.

Jungkook clears his throat. “I may or may not have told some harmless lies that ended up in them breaking up with her.”

Hoseok huffs out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell her right off the bat that you wanted to date her.”

“I’m an idiot, that’s why, and now it’s too late. She doesn’t want me. She wants the neighbor guy.”

Hoseok sits by his friend. “It’s either now or never. You can’t keep breaking up her relationships because you’re too scared to be in a real one with her. You don’t want to start it off that way.”

Jungkook flings himself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I know! I’ve just never done this before. I don’t know how to act. She’s the first person I’ve had actual feelings for.”

Hoseok blinks at his friend, ready to say something, but Jungkook interrupts him. “Don’t say shit about that–many people don’t meet the right person until later in life.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. “There’s no judgment from me, my friend. Just consider my words before anyone gets hurt.”

You swipe the lip tint across your bottom lip and repeat with the top. Glancing in the mirror, you adjust your dusty rose dress and tie your matching ribbon in your hair.

The theme for tonight's party is Barbie core, and individuals are encouraged to wear any shade of pink. You’re ridiculous, but you only turn 30 once–why not go all out?

Buckets of bubbly are filled with rosé bottles and floral ice cubes. Barbie-esque props, including heart-shaped sunglasses and cut-out foam lips, are ready to be used at the photo booth. You’ve spent too much time on Pinterest planning the perfect celebration.

It’s ten to seven and still too early for people to show, so you order a Malibu Barbie cocktail at the bar. Jin, the bartender, even tops off your drink with pink sanding sugar for this special occasion and throws in a little peach schnapps.

“There’s the birthday girl.”

When you turn around, you see Jungkook in a bright pink attire. Not every day you see him dressed in anything other than black or white, so you consider this a rare treat.

He offers you a warm hug, and you both act as if nothing has changed. It’s not like you’ve seen him every day as he’s dropped off gifts for you, or he willingly watched a rom-com and definitely hadn’t cuddled.

It’s like you’ve gone back to being just friends.

As you withdraw, you give him the once-over. “You look great in hot pink. I wish I got to see your matching toes.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I don’t think sandals would go with this outfit.”

You shake your head no.

“You look amazing,” he adds, taking your hand and making you twirl for him.

“Thanks, Kook,” you grin. Your hand lingers in his as he delicately caresses your skin. The back of your neck is warming up, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a mistake breaking off your deal.

“Ah, there’s our Barbie girl!” Jenn exclaims as she approaches you. Immediately, you let go of Jungkook’s hand.

“Hey!” you answer, rubbing the back of your neck. “What’s up? Did you need something?”

Jenn raises her brow at you and Jungkook. “I did, but you’re busy with Ken, so I’ll ask Hoseok to help me. Enjoy your night, babe.”

You take your drink and dash off with Jenn, telling Jungkook you’ll see him later. As you stroll behind her, you loop your arm around hers.

“Are you okay?” Jenn narrows her eyes, suppressing a smile.

You clear your throat. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It looks like you and loverboy were having a moment there before I interrupted,” she says, setting down the flower vase on the dessert table.

“He’s not my loverboy. I’m gonna start seeing Namjoon, remember?”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that. Look–all I’m saying is you should give Jungkook a chance. Anyone could tell he’s head over heels in love with you.”

You choke on your drink. “What? How come no one’s ever told me?”

Jenn laughs. “I never put two and two together until you mentioned your little agreement with him this morning,” she pauses, cupping your face. “And my sweet, innocent Barbie girl, he shoots heart eyes whenever you’re around.” She holds your chin, turning you in Jungkook’s direction.

Jungkook is leaning on the bar, attempting to find the perfect stance to appear cool, but he has no idea what to do with himself. He peers in your direction, catching your gaze, and quickly turns away, waving down the bartender.

She continues, “You’ve been with so many knockoff Kens that you were blind to the real one. He’s a bit of a goofball, but he seems sweet, and like you mentioned today, he’s always around when you’re in need.”

What if your decision was a mistake? Would it be too late to change your mind? You were sure Jungkook had already moved on after being rejected.

You watch while Jungkook drinks something–you figure it's vodka. A shot for yourself seems enticing, simply to settle your anxieties.

Your birthday is supposed to be filled with joy, laughter, and celebration, not you being torn between two great guys.

The party is in full swing–the music’s blaring, friends laughing, chattering, drinking away. Everyone has arrived except for the one person you've been looking for: Namjoon.

You giggle when you scan the room and see Hoseok and Jungkook dancing in the corner. When your eyes catch him, he gestures for you to come dance, but you haven’t had enough alcohol to make a fool of yourself.

He sprints to you, grabbing your hand and dragging you along. “You need a drink before you dance, huh?”

Your lips thin, and you think, how does he know you so well? 

You nod and follow him from behind. You stare blankly as his hands are loosely intertwined with yours. He’s leading you through the crowd, letting go once you’re at the bar’s counter.

“Do you still want that pink drink thingy you had earlier?”

“Surprise me,” you say.

“Two Pink Cadillacs, please,” he says to Jin.

As Jin gets to work on your drinks, Jungkook makes small talk to kill time.

“Are you having fun?” he asks, standing before you. He sways to the song's beat, grinning from ear to ear.

You’d have more fun if you weren’t thinking about him and Namjoon all night. Considering that Namjoon hasn’t even shown up yet, you appreciate that Jungkook’s a sweet and caring friend.

“I’ll be having more fun once I have this drink,” you say over the music.

“You’re not having fun with me?” he jokes, holding out his hand for yours, and of course, you take it.

He draws you to him, makes you twirl around, and then dips you. A slight squeal escapes your lips when you come back up.

Jungkook chuckles. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“No, I’m–I’m having a good time,” you answer his previous question.

“Are you sure? It looks like something’s on your mind,” Jungkook notes. "You can always talk to me, you know."

Even after breaking off your agreement, he's still willing to be a good friend to you. How'd you get so lucky with someone like him?

"I know," you smile, draping your arms around his neck.

"Two Pink Cadillacs."

You break away from him, grabbing your drink. The two of you sip on them, watching the crowd.

"Jungkook, one. Hot sexy neighbor, zero," Jenn whispers in your ear before walking away.

You clench your jaw and narrow your eyes at her. It’s been an hour, and Namjoon is still nowhere to be seen. Maybe something came up. Things happen. You get it.

"What's going on with Jenn?" he asks.

"Nothing," you reply as you move to stand before him. "You know how she is."

Jungkook takes another sip of his drink. “Hey, can I talk to you about something?”

Your eyes widen and flick to him. Have you been obvious about what’s on your mind?

“Yeah, of course–” you say before a hand slides on the small of your back. You turn to see the man who’s been MIA, Namjoon.

“Hey, birthday girl. I’m sorry I’m late! It was a lot harder to find a pink outfit than I thought,” Namjoon chuckles, then he sees that he may have interrupted something. “Oh–hey, man! Jungkook, right?”

Jungkook gives a small smile, and you mouth, ‘Sorry.’

“Can I steal you away for a second?” Namjoon asks, and you oblige.

Namjoon takes your hand, ready to drag you off, but you stop and return to Jungkook. “Can we talk later?”

He nods. “Yeah, of course. It’s your birthday. Go have fun. I’ll talk to you later.”

Jungkook looks on as you and Namjoon disappear. You laugh when he says something, and Jungkook can hear it–you always let out a tiny squeak, your shoulders bounce, and you cover up your mouth because you don't like how your teeth show when you laugh.

He rubs the back of his neck. He’ll have to find time to talk to you later.

Hoseok nudges Jungkook. “Who’s that?”

Jungkook sips his drink and inhales sharply. “Her neighbor.”

“They look pretty cozy to me,” Hoseok remarks. “Go say something before it’s too late.”

It’s already too late, Jungkook thinks. He’s lost you again. What’s the point if he tried with you and you didn’t want him?

He chugs the drink and orders another round for him and Hoseok. He might as well enjoy the booze while he can–at least it would get you off his mind.

Jungkook's vision is blurred, speech slurred. Even though he sees double, his gaze is still fixed on you and Namjoon, following you wherever you go: the photo booth, the bar, the dance floor. Namjoon’s hands haven’t left you, whether holding your hand or soft touches on the small of your back.

It should be him, he thinks, but he’s been turned down before. He couldn't imagine being rejected twice.

He leans on a high-top table, rhythmically tapping his fingers against it. A few of your friends drag you off to the photo booth for the umpteenth time tonight, and Namjoon is left waiting for you.

Jungkook waits and observes Namjoon, wondering why you’d choose Namjoon over him. He thinks he could take the guy in the boxing ring. He’s too big and sluggish to move as fast as Jungkook. Indeed, he could knock Namjoon out with his right hook. But if it’s not a physical thing you’re looking for, then it’s an intellectual thing.

He shakes off the self-deprecating thoughts. Why doesn’t he go over and chat the guy up? Get to know him. It won’t hurt to find out what kind of guy he is.

There's a queue of friends waiting to take individual shots with you, and you look over to check whether Namjoon is all right. You notice Jungkook approaching and breathe a sigh of comfort, knowing he'll keep Namjoon company.

Jungkook stands up tall when he’s beside Namjoon. “Lavish party, huh?”

Namjoon turns to him and chuckles. “Yeah, she went all out for her 30th.” He cracks his neck and adjusts his bright pink blazer.

“Since you’ll be around, you should get used to it. ___ throws parties like this all the time.”

“She does?” Namjoon’s eyes widened with concern.

Jungkook pouts and nods. “You think this is bad? Last year, she rented a private island, and everyone who attended had to buy a plane ticket to her party.”

Namjoon gulps.

“Man–and now that you guys are together. I'm wishing nothing but the best for you," Jungkook shakes his head. "The last guy was going through it.”

“Last guy? What happened to the last guy?”

Jungkook glances in your direction, then back to Namjoon. “Oh, you guys haven’t had that conversation yet?”

“What conversation?”

“Let’s just say there was a restraining order involved.”

There’s a look of relief on Namjoon’s face. “Man, that guy must’ve been a psycho.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Oh no, no, no. The restraining order was against her!”

Namjoon shifts his position, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Trust me, you don’t want to get on her bad side. Once, she took a bat to a neighbor’s car, thinking it was her boyfriend’s. Mind you, she was pretty drunk—and it was dark, but when she has an idea that you’re cheating on her, all hell breaks loose,” Jungkook tuts.

“Oh.”

Jungkook chuckles. “And don’t even get me started on her obsession with that one K-pop group, Seventeen. She practically has a shrine in her bedroom. Mingyu’s face is plastered on every square inch of her walls, and when they finally came on tour, she drained so much of her savings flying everywhere to see them—front row, I might add.”

Namjoon clears his throat. “I think I need a drink,” he says.

“But don’t worry, man, you’ll be fine!” Jungkook shouts as Namjoon walks away.

He lowers his head and rubs his face. He blames the alcohol for his stupidity. His string of lies is why you would never want to be with him.

Although Jungkook has spewed many lies to Namjoon, it doesn’t scare him off. The two of you are like two peas in a pod. And when he sees Namjoon jet off somewhere, Jungkook swoops in, hoping he’ll have a chance to talk to you before it’s too late.

“Hey!” Jungkook says out of breath. “Going home?”

“Yeah,” you beam a warm smile. “I’m pretty wiped.”

“I can take you home, and then maybe we can talk?”

You nod. “Mm, that sounds like a plan.”

You’ve always found it easy to talk to Jungkook. Even though he claims not to be good at chitchatting, he knows how to make you smile and laugh.

“Did you see Hoseok and Jenn trying to undress each other?” Jungkook chuckles.

“Jenn claims she thought Hoseok was a Ken doll,” you giggle. “I don’t know why they keep skirting around each other. They should date already.”

You two arrive outside your apartment. You unlock the keypad, leaving the door open. Turning back, you see Jungkook standing there. “Are you gonna come in or talk to me from out there?” you ask, shaking your head.

Jungkook walks through the door, closing it behind himself. He smooths down his pants and fixes the collar of his jacket. His gaze darts around the room as he prepares to say what’s on his mind.

“Can I change, and then we’ll talk?”

Jungkook nods, and you run off to your room.

With a heavy sigh, he takes a seat on the couch. He keeps shifting his weight, but nothing feels right. The sweat on his hands increases as the seconds pass by. He's never done it before, confessed his feelings.

Jungkook had rehearsed like he was up for a big audition but felt he’d stumble over his words and blurt out bleh-bleh-blahs.

You resurface a few seconds later, wearing an oversized t-shirt and what appears to be nothing underneath, but when you sit down, he catches a peek at your shorts.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah, about us.”

You cocked your head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Us?”

A knock on the door interrupts you. Your eyebrows knitted together, wondering who it could be this late at night. When you open it, you find Namjoon.

“Hey! You left your phone at the restaurant,” he says. He acknowledges Jungkook as he steps in.

“Oh, thank you! Ah–don’t leave yet! I have something to give to you, too.” You dash to your room, leaving Jungkook and Namjoon.

There’s a moment before Jungkook breaks the silence. He turns to Namjoon. “That shirt she’s wearing is from her ex-boyfriend. She sleeps in it every night because she misses him.”

Namjoon’s lips thin, and he nods.

“Trust me–you should run while you can,” Jungkook says, shaking his head.

He points to the small Seventeen merch collection sitting on a shelf in your living room. “See. It’s cute and innocent until it’s not.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Namjoon says reluctantly as he turns away, trying to focus on other things until you return.

You leave your room with a bag, handing it to Namjoon. “I washed your shirt and bought you a new one too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” he reaches for the shirt, taking it out.

“I know, but I felt bad about ruining it.”

Namjoon chuckles. "I like how you're giving me a gift on your birthday."

You wave off his comment. "It's nothing. Thanks for returning my phone,” you say, walking him to the door. “I’ll see you later?”

He flashes a grin; his dimples etched deeply into those cheeks. You pull him down to kiss him on the cheek, barely catching the corner of his lips. You let it linger for a second longer, ensuring Jungkook can see it.

“Bye,” you whisper, closing the door behind him.

You stand with your back facing Jungkook. Clenching your jaw and your fists, you huff a breath. Turning around, you stare at the one person you thought was your friend.

“This is my ex-boyfriend’s shirt, and I sleep in it because I miss him?” you deadpan, folding your arms across your chest.

Your glare silences Jeon Jungkook, and his deer-in-the-headlights appearance implies guilt.

You scoff and shake your head in disbelief. “Have you been sabotaging all my relationships? Tell me the truth.”

You remember Jimin and Theo and how conveniently Jungkook had been there after each breakup.

There’s still no word from Jungkook. He’s playing with the invisible hair on his chin before he stands. “Yeah, but it’s only because—”

“Because what!” you exclaim. Never in a million years did you think you’d be yelling at a good friend. “Because you want to marry me? Why didn’t you just ask me out, Kook?”

The nickname causes his heart to ache. His eyes darted to the floor, then at you. “Because...”

You lean forward, waiting for his excuse, but he doesn’t give you one. You’re only met with silence.

“Because you’re the kind of guy who lies and manipulates to get what he wants? Didn’t really think you were that kind of person.”

“I’m not—”

“You are! If you cared about me, you wouldn’t go around spreading lies. And to think I was going to marry you? God–you must think I’m fucking stupid.”

"No, I don't think that at all—" he counters, taking a step toward you, and you take a step back.

Licking your lips, you play with your bottom lip. "I—I don't even know who you are anymore."

"I'm the same person you met two years ago," he says. Jungkook steps toward you again, reaching out for you.

"Don't touch me," you warn. "Don't you ever talk to me again," you say, avoiding his gaze. "You should go, Kook."

Jungkook walks past you. He makes his way to the door—and when it shuts, you flinch.

Approaching your 30s, you figured you’d be crying because you’re likely to have a mid-life crisis and not because one of your good friends has lied to you for the last couple of years.

Jungkook has misled you throughout the week. You don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.

Your heart aches from the pain. Why did this hurt more than a breakup? You trusted him, even considered marrying him and spending the rest of your life with him. How could you be so naive? Maybe it was your distorted perception of love and relationships, and that’s how you ended up in this situation.

Maybe it's your fault and no one else's.

sunday.

It’s early. Too early for Jungkook’s taste.

He’s been tossing and turning all night. Wishing he could redo the last two years. Wishing he could’ve been honest from the beginning. Wishing you didn’t hate him right now.

Picking up his phone, he grumbles after seeing the time—six in the morning. There’s no way you’re up, he thinks. And there’s no way you’ll pick up his call either.

He assumes you’ve blocked him—wants nothing to do with him and doesn’t blame you.

The expression on your face is ingrained in his memory, and the lies he told are on a continuous loop. How would he win you back—if you’d let him, that is.

It’s that point in the romantic movie where the love interest finds the courage to go for it. Jungkook has nothing else to lose at this point. It’s now or never.

With your favorite iced coffee and pastry in hand, he’s ready to beg for your forgiveness. Beg for another chance to make things right.

Three knocks strike your door. No answer.

He gives it another moment before doing it again.

And nothing.

He pulls out his phone, searching for your contact. It rings several times and goes to voicemail. At least you didn’t block him, he thinks.

Should he wait here all day? In hopes you’ll leave your apartment?

Unless Namjoon has seen you or knows your whereabouts.

Jungkook figures, why not? What does he have to lose? He’s already lost his dignity.

Another three knocks, only this time it’s on Namjoon’s door. A few moments later, the lock unlatches, and the door opens.

Namjoon’s eyes widened at the sight of Jungkook. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“Hey. Have you seen or heard from ___?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, man. I haven’t.”

The corners of Jungkook’s lips turn down, and he nods. “Fuck,” he mumbles, lowering his head. He turns on his heel, ready to leave.

“Hey, Jungkook?”

He turns back and hums.

“If you like her, be honest with her,” Namjoon says.

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. “Did ___ tell you?”

Namjoon chuckles and shakes his head no. “I figured you were lying when you said she made everyone fly to a private island. She mentioned that she’s never flown before. So I put two and two together, and it was hard to ignore all the glares you gave me at the party.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, lowering his head. “I’m so sorry about all the lies I told you. None of them were true—except maybe the Mingyu thing. She does have an obsession with that guy.”

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry about coming between you two. But it’s no wonder she likes you. You have your head on straight, unlike me.”

A grin sweeps across Namjoon’s face. “It’s okay. I get it, man. I’ve been there before—not the lying, but I’ve been head over heels for someone. ___ is cool, and you seem like a good guy. Just…don’t give up on her, okay?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What about you guys?”

“Huh? Me and ___?” Jungkook hums. “We’ve been out on one date, and you’ve known her for…?

“Two years.”

“You have more history with her than I do.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell lies.”

Namjoon steps forward, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You’d be a fool to give up now. Trust me, you don’t want to live with the what ifs and what could have been.”

“Um, here,” Jungkook says, handing Namjoon the iced coffee and pastry bag. “I don’t want it to go to waste.”

He bids Namjoon goodbye, and as he’s driving home, he stares off into space, pondering Namjoon’s words.

What if you never want to talk to him again? What if he loses you?

He only wanted his chance with you; whenever he gathered the courage to do so, someone always came into the picture before him. He’s realized how much his lies caused more harm than good. He was cheating his way into your heart, which is unfair to you and him.

You peek out when the elevator doors open, ensuring the coast is clear. You've seen the missed calls and texts but needed more time to be ready to face Jeon Jungkook. That's why you've been hiding out at Jenn's all day. But alas, you had to go home and face your fears.

Your door accidentally slams when you go in. Shit.

It’s not like Jungkook’s been waiting around for you, right? Though, you didn’t want to make it known that you were home.

Not even ten minutes after you’ve arrived, there’s a knock on your door. Peering through your viewfinder, you check if the coast is clear and unlock your door. You grab Namjoon's hand, pulling him into the apartment.

"Whoa–miss me that much?" he jokes, setting down the iced coffee and pastry bag.

"What's that?"

"Jungkook dropped it off this morning, but you weren't here. Have you been hiding?"

You lower your head. "Yes."

Namjoon licks his lips. “He’s in love with you, you know?”

You ignore the coffee and pastry bag and sit on the couch. “It’s a weird way to show that you like someone by lying and sabotage.”

“I think it’s cute,” Namjoon chuckles, sitting beside you.

Disbelief is written all over your face: eyes wide, brows lifted, jaw open, which only makes him laugh harder.

“You gotta give the guy some credit. He went out of his way to make sure you’d say single so he could finally have his chance with you. That sounds like dedication to me.”

“Is this a weird ‘guy code?’ Am I missing something?”

He shakes his head. “I get where he’s coming from. Does it suck that he lied instead of saying what he wanted? Yeah, but maybe he didn’t know how to say it because he feared he’d say nonsense in front of you. I know the feeling–where you like someone so much, you’re afraid of looking dumb.”

You ponder Namjoon’s words, sipping on your iced coffee. “You seem chatty. Does that mean you don’t go dumb around me?” you ask dryly.

Namjoon laughs. “I get butterflies and excitement every time I walk out my door, hoping I’d bump into you.”

“But?”

“But you should figure things out with Jungkook, and then we’ll go from there.”

It’s silly—the glow-in-the-dark stars that are plastered on your ceiling. Half of them threaten to fall, and the other half are stuck on so tight it’ll take off the paint.

“You’ve never had glow-in-the-dark stars before?” Jungkook asks. “Let’s get some.”

The only reason why they’re up there in the first place is because of him. Jungkook was comforting you after your breakup with Jimin.

You throw your duvet over your head, screaming into it. How could you have been so blind? So stupid? How are you supposed to face him again with your friend group? Or alone?

This past week was perfect—at least, you thought it was. But you’re second-guessing every interaction, every conversation, every laugh, every touch.

If you hadn’t met Namjoon, could you have fallen in love with Jungkook?

The more you thought about it, the more you hated that you were falling for him. Maybe Namjoon was just an excuse not to explore a relationship with Jungkook. Maybe you didn’t want to ruin your friendship, but then again, what did it matter because it’s been sabotaged by Jungkook himself?

How would you get out of this mess?

monday.

A notification ding shows up on your phone.

[ Tattoo appointment - 6 PM ]

Shit. You completely forgot about your tattoo.

You go through your text messages, finding the Instagram profile of Kai, who’s supposed to tattoo you. You frown when you see a cancellation fee and that the cancellation should’ve been done two days before the appointment. Now, you have to mentally prepare yourself for getting your first tattoo.

The recommendations on your YouTube only show videos of ‘how much does getting a tattoo hurt.’ You know the pain that goes into a needle puncturing your skin. The question was, how high was your pain threshold?

When you walk into the shop, a bell chimes. It’s in pristine condition, as one would expect from a tattoo parlor. You’re greeted by a girl dressed in a black latex v-neck top. A sunray heart tattoo sits right on her chest.

“Hi, I have an appointment with Kai.”

She clicks through her computer and beams a warm smile. “For ___?” You nod. “Is Jungkook coming too?” she asks.

“Oh no. I don’t think so.” Was he planning on getting something, too? You didn’t think he’d show after everything went down.

“Kai is finishing up with a client, and he’ll come get you when he’s ready.”

You flash a small smile, taking a seat in their lounge. You’re picking at your nail beds and bouncing your leg. You’re trying to focus on anything other than what will happen soon.

A light noise of whirring fills the room. You close your eyes, concentrating on your breathing. It’s a small tattoo. There’s nothing to be afraid of, you think.

A part of you wishes Jungkook was here to hold your hand like he said he would. It's dumb even to want him to be here. But after spending so much time with him this past week, you admit you miss him.

"I’m ready for you,” Kai says.

You take a deep breath and follow him to his workspace.

“Nervous?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s my first tattoo.”

“You’ll do great. I know it,” Kai smiles, sitting at his desk. He grabs his iPad. “Okay, what are we getting today?” Kai asks.

“Um, I turned 30 yesterday, so I wanted to get the birth flower for September,” you say, showing him the inspiration photos.

“Ah, Happy Birthday,” Kai grins. “Birth flowers are a great choice. Any idea where you want it and the size?”

"On the back of my neck, I don't want anything too big. Two to three inches."

"Oh–a woman who knows what she wants. There was no hesitation," Kai teases. "Cool–so, I'll sketch out a few options, and then we'll go from there. Sound good?"

You press your lips together and nod. As Kai's working on your sketch, you stroll around his workspace, looking at the illustrations hung up. There's traditional and fine line art, and you recognize a drawing of a snake—it looks like the one Jungkook has on his arm.

“See anything else you like?”

“I, um, recognize some of your work. You’ve tattooed my friend, Jungkook,” you note, turning back to look through more of Kai’s sketches.

Somehow, your nerves have finally calmed down. The whirring noise from the tattoo gun is like white noise to you, drowning everything out. You’re lost in the intricate detailing of the drawings. Tattooing is true art, you think. But instead of a traditional canvas or paper, it’s forever inked on someone’s skin.

“Okay, let me know what you think of these.” Kai shows you the iPad with a few flowers drawn out.

“You’re so quick,” you comment as you review your options. “Let’s go with this one.” You love how delicate and dainty the tattoo looks.

“If you need a break at any time, just let me know,” Kai gives a warm smile. “I apologize for the weird positioning, but I’ll need you to lay on your stomach, and your head will hang off the table.”

Your lips thin when you catch his gaze. You remove your zip-up hoodie and place it on a chair with your bag. Kai prints the design on transfer paper, putting the placement on the back of your neck. He hands you a mirror, ensuring it’s in the correct spot.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he says.

Once you’re on the table, the once-soothing noise of the tattoo gun flips a switch, and sweat builds up in the palms of your hands. The blood rushes to your head as your head is hanging off the table. You can see Kai’s feet as he steps on the foot pedal, ensuring his equipment works correctly.

You take a deep breath, trying to exhale fear and anxiety, but nothing works. The tattoo gun sounds closer, and the needle inches away from you. Your fists clench up, and you close your eyes, hoping it’ll be over quickly.

You can feel the latex glove on your back as Kai’s ready to outline the design. You can do this, you think.

With eyes still closed, fists clenched—you’re ready.

The shop's bell chimes again, but you’re too focused on this needle about to prick your skin. You can feel another presence. Their warmth is radiating on you. You figure it’s just the girl from the front, so you don’t bother to open your eyes.

Your fist unclenches, and not because of your own doing. It’s whoever is beside you. Opening your eyes, you see a pair of black motorcycle denim tucked into leather stomper boots.

“Hey—my man,” Kai stops and acknowledges. “Good to see you, Jungkook.”

“Hey,” Jungkook replies. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Nah, you’re right on time. We just started. I’m sure ___ appreciates you being here,” Kai notes, returning to tattooing you.

You didn’t want to admit it, but having Jungkook’s presence was comforting. A part of you wanted to be stubborn and pull your arm away, but considering that a needle was piercing your skin—it wasn’t a good idea.

Jungkook laces his hand with yours; his thumb lightly grazes over your skin. He leans forward, whispering, “Hi.”

You’re unsure if the shiver running through your spine is because of the needle or Jungkook.

While lying on this tattoo table, you’re at war with yourself. An angel on one shoulder tells you to stay strong and not give in because he’s holding your hand. The devil, on the other hand, is telling you you’re a simp and can’t resist when a man is fawning over you.

You hate that the devil is right, and you’re even considering Namjoon’s words, ‘You gotta give the guy some credit. He went out of his way to make sure you’d stay single so he could finally have his chance with you. That sounds like dedication to me.’

Was it dedication or delusion?

You won’t lie. You’ve done questionable things when it came to love, too, so you couldn’t blame Jungkook. Maybe you should hear him out and see what he says for himself.

You’re silent, letting Kai do his thing. He and Jungkook chit-chat about life and future tattoos. The buzzing mechanical hum from the tattoo gun is constant and annoying—you’re growing numb to it like you’re growing numb to the pain.

But Jungkook’s touch? It makes you tingle. You’re keenly aware of how his thumb strokes against your knuckle—the constant squeezes, reassuring your anxiety when the pain shoots down your spine.

Through the years, that’s what Jungkook’s always been—he soothes your pain.

Maybe he’s responsible for your current pain - the shattered relationships and this tattoo you’re getting, but he always has a back-up plan: himself. He’s the shoulder to cry on, the hand to hold—the constant, consistent one who shows up repeatedly.

He’s confusing but calming, and you’re annoyed at how much you don’t mind his touch. Your breathing slows, and your shoulders relax as you sink into the cushioned table.

“Almost done,” Kai notes.

That was fast. Fifteen minutes–tops.

Kai finishes cleaning the tattoo, and after you stand up from your awkward position, you’re face to face with Jungkook. Once again, Jungkook resorted back to his favorite color: black. He’s in an oversized long-sleeve shirt and jeans, and there’s a silver chain adorning his neck.

His doe eyes twinkle and the corners of his mouth curve up. “The tattoo looks good on you,” he says softly. “Do you wanna see?”

Even with a mirror, the placement makes it hard to see the finished product. You grab your phone, open the camera app, and hand it over to Jungkook. You turn around, facing the mirror, holding up your hair. You catch Jungkook’s gaze and look away. His hand gently touches the nape of your neck, removing a stray hair. He snaps a few photos, handing your phone back.

“It looks beautiful on you.”

You mumble a word of thanks, grabbing your things, attempting to flee from his presence.

Pulling out your wallet to pay for your tattoo, you head to the front, but the girl stops you.

“Jungkook already paid,” she says.

The nape of your neck warms up, and your nostrils flare. You nod at the girl. Bumping into Jungkook on the way out, you stuff your wallet back into your bag, and Jungkook follows you, catching up.

“Why did you do that?” you ask, glaring at Jungkook.

"Because it's your birthday present. I couldn't let you pay for it."

You narrow your eyes, giving him the once over. “Why? So you can tell the next guy I date how we have matching tattoos and scare him off?” you retort, brushing past him.

Jungkook cards his hand through his hair. “Come on, that’s not fair,” he shouts, running after you again.

He calls out to you, making you stop in your tracks. Turning around, you breathe a heavy sigh. “You’re right. It's not fair,” you give him a wry smile. “But doesn’t it sound like something you’d say? Mr. Liar Liar Pants on Fire.”

The third time must be the charm because he’s chasing after you again.

“Hey, can we talk, please?” he implores as his eyes scan your face.

You zig-zag around him.

He repeats by running and standing in front of you. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

“Watch me,” you retort, attempting to flee again.

Jungkook holds his hand up. “Just hear me out, and if you never want to talk to me again after that, then so be it."

You huff. “Only if you drop me off at home,” you say, crossing your arms. You don’t feel like taking the subway; it’s the least he could do.

With hands in your lap, you’re waiting for Jungkook to say something, but he’s as quiet as a mouse. He’s missed two exits and been driving in circles, going past your apartment complex for the fourth time. You wouldn’t be surprised if a police car starts following you, considering how suspicious the two of you look.

You can’t take it anymore—the endless dancing around this conversation. “I thought you wanted to talk?” you ask as your eyes flick in his direction for a moment.

He straightens his posture, gripping the steering wheel and focusing on the road. "I'm, uh, I’m sorry for telling all those lies. It was stupid of me. I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning.”

You bury your face in your hands before turning to him. “If you liked me, why didn’t you tell me?”

You had come up with many scenarios in your head and thought back to your conversations and interactions with him. Jungkook had so many chances to say something, but he never did.

Jungkook shrugs and looks at you briefly before returning to the road.

“It’s easy being your friend, but to be your boyfriend? That scares me.”

You get it. Opening your heart, being vulnerable, and giving your everything to one person is terrifying. Sometimes, it feels like days, months, and years are wasted with one person when it doesn’t work out.

“Scared you’d screw it up?” you ask, turning to him.

Jungkook hums as he pulls up to your apartment complex.

With a sigh, you admit, “You were on your way to being a pretty good boyfriend.”

You hate that you found him so sweet and cute, even after everything that’s happened.

“I was?” he questions with widened eyes and turns off the ignition. He shifts to face you.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. Your hand lingers on the door handle. “Walk me up?”

The two of you are on opposite sides of the elevator. Jungkook’s leaning on the metal bar behind himself with his legs crossed in front of him.

He hangs his head before looking up at you. "What if I had been truthful from the beginning? Do you think we would’ve been together?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “I don’t know, Kook. I guess we’ll never know.”

When the elevator arrives at your floor, it chimes, and you exit, and Jungkook follows. You stop outside your door, watching as Jungkook leans his shoulder against the wall, facing you.

You can tell when something is brewing in Jungkook’s mind. You’ve been friends long enough for you to notice some tendencies.

With an eyebrow lifted and his tongue poking through the inside of his cheek, he’s ready to lay something on you. He licks his lips, eyes flick to yours.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he says.

You can feel your stomach somersaulting when he doesn’t break eye contact. Your heart rate rises as you work harder to pump more blood than usual.

There were small, fleeting moments where you could picture yourself with him: weekend mornings with breakfast in bed and late-night cuddles on the couch.

“I’m trying my hardest not to feel something,” you confess. As much as he was scared to screw it up, so were you. You’ve never dated a friend. You’ve met all your ex-boyfriends through mutual friends. You’ve built fantasies of what a perfect boyfriend and relationship should look like, and Jungkook wasn't perfect–but neither were you.

Jungkook moves closer. “So you like me too?” His eyes dart from your parted lips to your eyes.

“I don’t not like you,” you say softly, stepping forward as you play with his silver chain.

"So where does this leave us?" He’s searching your face for an answer.

As always, your heart is at war with your head. The sensible thing to do is to stay friends. The foolish thing is to see how this could pan out. What if you could get your happily ever after?

"What would you do if I was yours?" you ask.

"If you were mine?"

You hum.

"If you were mine, I'd spend every waking minute with you. Asking anything and everything that comes to mind. I want to know what makes you happy and sad. I want to know what you love and hate. I want to know everything your heart desires." Jungkook eliminates the distance. "I'd pepper you with kisses all day–on your neck, cheeks, forehead, lips–everywhere,” he says softly as his eyes never leave yours. "If you were mine, I'd never lie to you again. I'd love you with every breath and never let you go." He’s eye to eye with you, hands cupping your face. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you. I was an idiot for not saying anything sooner. But if this is the only time I could be with you, I'll take it."

You gulp. Jungkook’s saying all the right things, everything a girl could want. You hate it. You hate that you’re a sucker for heartfelt moments and love confessions. Neverending cartwheels occupy your stomach. The little gymnast in there is going for the gold–doing back flips and leaps; there’s no way to stop them. Your heart beats faster for him than for anyone else–even more than Namjoon.

All it took was a silly agreement and a few lies to make you realize you didn’t want a perfect boyfriend or relationship. Forget getting married by a certain age. Forget the expectations of you instilled by society. This boy was a bit messy, a bit ruined, but a beautiful disaster.

Whatever it looked like, you wanted him.

You take another second to look at him because what you want to say next will change your friendship.

“Kiss me,” you say softly, your gaze dropping to his lips.

“Are you sure you want me to kiss you?”

You nod.

If there’s one more thing to add to Jungkook’s list of fears—it’s ruining your friendship.

“I won’t be able to stop if I do,” he whispers.

Restless is how you would describe Jungkook. Restless when it came to telling your exes lies. Restless in his ability to sit still. Restless as he chews on his bottom lip–it could be how he incessantly licks his lips or just lacks hydration. You’ve never noticed before how badly he needs chapstick.

But Jungkook’s within touching distance of your lips, and all you can think about is how much he needs chapstick. Your sweet peach one, you think.

Maybe you should offer him some.

“Then don’t.”

It’s slow and gentle when he kisses you. He’s taking his time. There’s no urgency. No tongue, no hands beneath your shirt, or roaming your body. Nothing like that.

It’s like he’s been waiting so long to do this. It’s like he’s forgotten any other mouth existed but yours. You’ll forget your name or where you are when you finally break away from his lips.

He consumes every thought you have, and this is what you were afraid of–that you’ll become addicted to his kisses. You’re unsure how long you can stand before he has to carry you to bed.

His breath is warm and sweet. You love him breathing life into you and taking it away over and over. Your hands curl into his shirt, tugging him as close as possible. Tilting your head, you open your mouth to catch more air before kissing him again. Lips upon lips are discovering each other.

Jungkook pulls away, his nose nudging yours. He kisses the corner of your mouth and your cheek. He’s on his tippy toes, kissing your eyelids, then your forehead.

“Okay–don’t stop,” you say, breathless, reaching for another kiss. “It’s for scientific reasons.”

He chuckles. “Are you researching how long someone can go without breathing?”

“Mmhm.” You reach again, but he pulls back, making you pout.

“You didn’t answer my question from earlier, ‘Where does this leave us?’ he asks.

You realize he won’t kiss you until you answer him. You cock your head to the side. “I like you, but it will take a minute for me to trust you again.”

Jungkook nods. “Mm, I get that. So…?”

“So–we should take this slow and see where it goes.”

He sucks in his lips, trying to suppress a smile. “What about Namjoon?”

The two of you hear someone clearing their throat, and you look in their direction as they appear from the hallway. It’s Namjoon, giving you a quick wave.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says as he walks to his door. “I saw you guys when I turned the corner, but then I ducked back into the hallway, waiting for you to…finish.” Namjoon presses his lips together into a smile.

You turn to Jungkook. “I’ll be one second.”

With a sprint in your step, you head toward Namjoon. “I’m so sorry you saw that.”

Namjoon laughs. “Why are you sorry? I knew I didn’t have a chance against Jungkook. I was waiting for you to realize you wanted to be with him.”

Your eyes widened. “You knew?”

His eyebrows raise, and he nods. “Mmhm.” He leans forward. “We had fun, but look at the guy.” Namjoon glances at Jungkook. “I would’ve felt like the back-up until you two got your shit together. You don’t have to worry about me. Go–he’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks Namjoon.” A sense of relief rushes over you, and you’re thankful he understands.

Returning to Jungkook, you’re no longer looking at your back-up plan. He’s the one you want to wake up next to, the one you want to laugh with, smile with–he’s become your first choice.

He extends his hand for yours. “So, should I get my tux pressed?”

You deadpan.

“We’re practically engaged now, right?” he jokes before leaning in for a kiss.

You press your finger into his taut chest, pushing him away. “Be fucking for real, Jungkook. We’re going inside and watching my favorite rom-com–While You Were Sleeping, so you can see the consequences of how lying gets you in trouble.”

“Oh, I love that one! It's the one where she pretends to be engaged to the guy in a coma, but she falls for the brother?”

You slowly turn to him, mouth agape. “You really have seen a lot of rom-coms, haven’t you?”

“I may have learned a thing or two from them.”

“Yeah–lying!” You scold him as you enter the apartment. The two of you continue bickering back and forth.

Who knew you’d be living in a romantic film of your own?

[missvelvetsstuff]

The Wrong One

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Reader meets Steve while he is on the run and stands by him through everything. Until he sees Peggy Carter again.

10. The Aftermath

Warnings: swearing, angst, difficult childbirth

Starting the next morning there was a barrage of romantic gifts showing up on her doorstep multiple times a day. Flowers, jewelry, candy, books by her favorite authors, knick knacks that Steve thought she would like. Constant texts checking up on her, phone calls where he sang love songs to her voicemail.

Y/N was already exhausted from her pregnancy and Steve's attentions, even though they weren't in person, just made it worse.

On top of that, the incident at the gala was all over the internet and gossip news sites and shows. Everyone was talking about Captain America's sudden reappearance and the confrontation with his very pregnant ex girlfriend and best friend.

Y/N woke up to hundreds of tags and notifications of articles, pictures and social media posts speculating on the meaning of last night's events.

Pictures of Bucky leaving her house as the sun was coming up. Putting a large bouquet of roses and a teddy bear with a Captain America shield in the house and stoically moving through the paps without saying a word. Even some pics of him jogging away.

When she tried to go for her morning walk, she opened the front door to find a mess of reporters still on her front stoop, keeping her from leaving. She could hear the sounds of cameras and was blinded by the many flashes.

Too many voices throwing questions out at her:

'Can you tell us what happened at the gala? Why did Captain America call you a whore?' 'When is your baby due?'

'Is that Steve Rogers child? If not who's the father?' 'Did you cheat on him?'

'Are you involved with The Winter Soldier?'

'Why is Bucky Barnes staying with you? Did he get into more trouble after the Flag Smashers?'

'Weren't you one of those pardoned after the snap? Do you think you deserved it?'

She felt overwhelmed and blurted out a distressed "No comment" and quickly went back into the house.

Y/N slammed and locked the front door then leaned against it and sank down to the floor, tears running down her face. She sat for a bit until she felt the baby start kicking up a storm. The movement reminded her of what was at stake. She laughed a little through the sobs and rubbed her belly.

"We're gonna be ok, little one. I don't know how we'll get there but I'll always be there for you."

Once she had calmed herself down, Y/N struggled to pick herself up from the floor, her large belly making the act impossible. She had to crawl across the floor until she reached a chair that she could use to support herself on her way up. As she was struggling to get up Bucky returned from his run.

He hurried over to her "Doll, are you alright? Why are you on the floor?"

He helped her stand up and pulled her into a hug when he saw that she had been crying. "What happened?"

Tears started forming before she could try to stop them "I was, I just I tried to go for a walk and th-th-they were all there, yelling and flashing and I couldn't-" she flinched and started panting, grabbing her belly.

She tried to curl up "Fuck!" She grabbed his arm "Bucky, it hurts" she whined.

Bucky's eyes grew wide and his heart sped up "Nonono, sshhh, you're ok doll. It's ok. Ivegotchu." He settled her on the couch and called Sam for a ride. While they waited for Sam he helped calm her down, breathing through the contractions.

She looked at him with tears in her eyes "Bucky, I'm not ready for this. Her room isn't done and I need more onesies. And, and I'm not ready to be a mom on my own."

He pulled her close and rubbed her back "I told you. I've got you. You aren't alone. If she's born tonight I'll get her room finished before you're ready to come home." He kissed the top of her head "You're gonna be a great mom. I just know it."

She nodded and calmed down enough to breathe through the contractions until Sam took them to the Tower. He waited in his office for them in case they needed a lift home.

Helen Cho was waiting and had Y/N hooked up to an assortment of monitors. As she relaxed Bucky held her hand and told Helen what had happened.

Helen shook her head "The press has been going crazy since Captain Rogers showed up at that party. They've been camped out in front but can't get into the parking garage. You might want to see about staying here in the Tower."

Y/N shook her head. "I just want to go home."

Helen pursed her lips "Well, let's keep an eye on you for the night and discuss what's next tomorrow. Remember we discussed the possibility of delivering early, especially considering how fast she has been growing. Try to get some sleep. Sargeant Barnes, you can stay in your quarters here tonight, she'll be carefully monitored."

Bucky shook his head "Not a chance, doc. I'm staying right here."

Helen shook her head "It's your back Sargeant. I'll see you in the morning"

Y/N looked over at Bucky with fear in her eyes but she tried to be brave "You don't have to stay in here all night, those chairs can't be comfortable. I'll be fine."

Bucky looked at her lovingly "Don't be silly doll. I'm not going anywhere."

She relaxed noticeably when he said that and whispered "Thank you Bucky."

He squeezed her hand "Anytime sweetheart."

She felt the butterflies but her heart clenched when she reminded herself he wasn't hers and eventually he would get tired of helping Steve's ex raise a kid that wasn't his. Even though he said he was fine with it she knew that couldn't last.

She tried to relax and get some sleep but it was a long time coming. When she finally did find sleep there were strange disjointed dreams with Steve and Bucky that she could barely remember in the morning, except for the feeling of unease they left her with.

Bucky woke early as he always did. He sat up and stretched without letting go of her hand. He sat and stared at her sleeping, in awe of her beauty. He couldn't wrap his head around Steve's actions. How could he leave this woman, she was so perfect. One of the few that didn't treat him like a monster.

As he watched he saw her stomach move and bulge he smiled, gently pushing on the spot that moved. He pushed softly and laughed a little when the baby pushed back. He spoke softly "My baby girl is an early riser like Uncle Bucky, huh?"

Y/N groaned, feeling the baby pushing on her bladder, and stretched. She felt Bucky rubbing her belly and opened her eyes. "Hey Buck, you sleep alright?" and yawned.

Bucky smiled "I'm fine, you're the one I'm worried about. How are you feeling?"

"M'alright. Contractions seem to have stopped." She looked at her belly and whispered "I really need to pee."

He chuckled "You need help getting to the bathroom?"

She shrugged "Probably." sat up and turned to the side, her feet barely touching the floor.

Bucky put his arm out for her and helped her to the bathroom.

Once she was settled back into bed he brought her some water.

They sat quietly for a little while before one of the nurses brought some breakfast. Helen showed up while she was eating.

Helen smiled as she entered the room "Good morning. How are you feeling today, Y/N?"

Y/N nodded "Much better. The contractions stopped."

Helen looked at the read outs "Your blood pressure is back down to normal, heart rate is normal and baby seems like she's good." She made some notes before sitting at the edge of the bed and looking back to Y/N.

"Everything looks fine now and you can be released. You have a couple of options. You don't need constant medical attention but the extra stress from a baby affected by the serum and Rogers erratic behavior are increasing your risks. I would recommend you stay in the tower. The sergeant has a room or there are some empty quarters we can set you up in.

You can go home but I really would feel more comfortable if you stayed close."

Y/N shook her head "I won't be able to relax in a strange room. I just want to go home. I can have Friday monitor me and contact you if there are any concerns."

She looked at Bucky pleadingly and he scratched his head "I don't know sweetheart, maybe staying here would be safer...." he trailed off, wanting her safe but not wanting to upset her any more.

He looked at Helen "I'll keep a close eye on her."

Helen shook her head "She needs to be on bed rest, no strenuous activity! And if the contractions start up again I want you to call me right away."

Bucky and Y/N promised to follow her instructions and Y/N dressed to go home.

When they arrived back at her home the press were mostly gone but the pile of gifts from Steve had grown. While Bucky helped Y/N inside, Sam cleared off the stoop, tossing Steve's gifts into a bag and shoving that bag into the coat closet for Y/N to deal with when she was up for it.

A few days passed quietly before they heard a loud knock at the front door while they ate breakfast.

Y/N, jumped at the sound and looked towards the front door with dread, who could it be this time?

Bucky went to answer the door, squeezing her shoulder, on his way to the entry, reassuring her that he's got it.

They knocked again, Bucky sighed as he reached the door. He tried to look through the peep hole but it was blocked, which made him consider leaving them out there. He decided it could be important so opened the door and was almost knocked down by Steve as he rushed in.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Rogers?" Bucky spat out.

"I'm here to check on my girls. Where is she?" He hurried to the living room where Y/N was struggling to stand up.

Her face turned to stone when she saw him. "Why are you here, Steve?"

Steve glared at Bucky "I'm here to check up on my best girls. Tell your boyfriend to back off."

Y/N scoffed "Your best girl died before the Blip. The only one here was just a sorry substitute. You're not welcome here."

Steve walked up to her and reached out for her hand, scowling when she pulled back. "Look, Y/N, I know I messed up but I'm here now and I want my family back."

She rolled her eyes "You have a really bad memory problem. You've already had your second chance and we are over. I won't be the one you settle for because I'm having your kid."

Steve tried to interrupt "I'm not settling honey, I made a mistake. Peggy was my dream, you're the reality."

She shook her head "So I'm the crappy wish version? I want to be with someone who wants me, who chooses me first not like some consolation prize." She was breathing heavily and feeling lightheaded.

Bucky moved quickly to her side to support her, murmuring supportive words into her hair. "Are you alright, love? You look a little pale."

He helped her sit back down and gave Steve a dirty look. "She is high risk because of the serum and doesn't need you coming in here stressing her out. We've already had one scare so you should just go. We'll let you know when she's born."

Steve shook his head "I won't let you push me aside when it's my fiance and my child you're trying to take away from me. You're talking like you're a couple, like it's your kid."

Y/N had it. "Enough! I am not your fucking fiance, Steve! All I am is your baby mama and that's all I will ever be to you. How many times do I have to say this?

Bucky isn't the one who deserted me without a warning. He has been here, by my side ever since he found out." She rubbed her temple "you're giving me a migraine, I'm on bed rest. Please leave you are stress-" her hand moved to her belly "owww, oh no. Bucky" she cried, panicking.

Bucky wrapped his arm around her shoulder, rubbing gently "Try to relax doll, you're ok and I- what the fuck was that"  the bottom of his pants suddenly felt wet.

She started hyperventilating "I think it's my water. My water broke." She looked at him scared.

Bucky rubbed her back "Don't worry sweetheart. I'm gonna take care of you, ok. Let's get you dressed and get your go bag. Ok?"

Y/N nodded nervously and went to her bedroom to take a fast shower and get dressed. She put her hair away from her face then threw on a pair of sweats, one of Bucky's t-shirts and a pair of slippers.

She returned to the living room carrying an overnight bag and noticed Steve was still there, looking concerned.

She pointed at him "Why are you still here, I told you to leave."

Steve shook his head "No. It sounds like you're about to have my baby so I'm coming with you."

She scoffed "Like you care. You can sit in the waiting area because I don't want you anywhere near me." Her face pinched and she growled "Fuuuck!" looking around to see Bucky on the phone.

He finished up quickly and went to take Y/N's bag and offer his arm in support, looking at her concerned "You ok honey? Remember to breathe. I spoke to Helen, we're meeting her at the Tower. I also sent a message to Pepper, she will check up on you after we get you settled."

Y/N nodded quickly and tried to remember her breathing while keeping a bruising grip on Bucky's arm. He flinched lightly and started walking towards the garage, leading her slowly.

Bucky realized Steve was still there and shouted back at him "We're going to the Tower, don't much care what you do."

Steve nodded curtly "I'll meet you there."

By the time they arrived at the Tower Y/N was crying, sweating profusely, trying to breathe between sobs "Bucky, this is too much, I can't"

He picked her up bridal style and headed up to the medbay "I know it hurts doll but you can, I know you can. Helen will help and you'll have our beautiful girl in your arms before you know it." He grimaced as she tensed during each contraction but didn't notice the blood until he set her down on the bed Helen Cho pointed towards it.

Bucky looked to Helen with wide eyes, scared for the first time in years.

Y/N felt like she was being ripped apart as the contractions increased until she barely had a chance to catch her breath in between. She had a death grip on Bucky's hand and cried in pain as Helen did an exam to see how far along she was, brow furrowed at the blood.

Helen spoke softly as she removed her gloves, calling for an anesthesiologist and faced Bucky. "I'm going to give her a spinal for the pain, her blood pressure is pretty high as well. I'm going to do an ultrasound to see where baby is because she was head up last time." She spoke softly to Y/N explaining what was happening next and assured her that the baby was not in any distress.

As Helen performed the ultrasound her face showed her concern. She kept her voice calm so as not to stress Y/N any more than necessary. "So, she's still head up so we're going to have to do a c-section. The umbilical cord is wrapped around her neck as well. She still not showing any signs of distress and I want to get her out before she does. Sargent Barnes, you need to scrub and get a surgical gown and we'll meet you in the OR."

Bucky nodded and tried to keep the fear off of his face when he spoke to Y/N "I'm gonna go get cleaned up and meet you in surgery, ok sweetheart? They're gonna hook you up with some pain meds so you'll feel better soon and we'll get your baby girl." He kissed her forehead and walked away.

After she was given the pain meds Y/N calmed down a little before she was prepped for surgery until the baby monitor started beeping. She looked at nurse "Whats that? Is something wrong? Is she ok?"

Bucky came in wearing a surgical gown/cap/shoe covers and took her hand to calm her down as Helen quickly went to work.

30 minutes later Y/N's newborn girl was placed on her chest. Bucky took a couple of pictures and teased her about her slightly stoned looking smile.

After baby girl was cleaned and weighed, and mom was all stitched up they were taken to a small room where they worked on nursing until baby latched on. Bucky was right there making sure she was comfortable, warm enough, had enough support, gave her drinks and couldn't have been more proud if he had delivered a baby himself.

Steve was in the waiting room and looked anxiously at Helen when she told him that baby and mom were in the first room if he wanted to see them. He almost ran there but stopped at the doorway. The scene in front of him broke his heart.

Y/N looking beautiful but very tired holding his daughter as she nursed while Bucky was sitting on the bed next to her, metal arm around her shoulders, talking sweetly to the baby as she gripped his finger, a look of love and awe on his face. They made a beautiful little family.

Steve couldn't stand it and left without saying a single word.

Chapter 11

[80s4life]

Little Dove*

Word Count: 3,949

Status: Not Requested!

A/N: Had a thought lol

Fandom: Karate Kid 1985

Relationship: John Kreese x Student!Female Reader

Summary: You had stayed around throughout all of his bullshit. Throughout the beginning of a forever-long battle with Daniel LaRusso, throughout losing all of his Cobra Kais, going through crippling debt, and now, more than ever, as he tries to put himself together. You’ve been there, the whole time. So why is it, that when a random man from his past appears, all of his problems are fixed without a glance your way? What does this Terry Silver have that you don’t (besides endless money and a history)? It’s unfair. It’s selfish. It’s Kreese.

Taglist: @intersellars-the-alien-of-human @snapessecretdiary

Warnings: smut, teasing, jealousy, age-gap paring, language, Terry being an overprotective cockblock, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), slight dubcon, daddy/little girl kink, degrading kink

Masterlist Karate Kid Masterlist

{not my gif, credits belong to @atmostories​}

I just love how innocent he looks here lol ^

Staring into the window of his office, you make no attempt in engaging in the conversation your peers were having, the people on the other side of the glass proving to be more interesting at the moment. Besides, it’s the same conversation over and over again, “Terry’s so great,” “The money,” “The brawn,” “The elegance,” you snort. All that Terry was anyway was trouble with enough money to pay off his stupidity. 

The other man, however, was different. He did not become as fortunate as his younger companion. He went through many hardships that Terry would simply never understand. The proof: you. You had been there, through thick and thin. You can still remember the fights, injuries, and brokenness of a man like a slideshow constantly playing in your head, haunting your dreams. You should’ve left a long time ago, but you didn’t. There were points in your life that made you consider dropping him and everything he was in contact with at one point. But, yet again, you never did. All you did was forgive and forget, most of the time without apologies.

But no matter how much you’ve tried, there was always one outlier that couldn’t be erased. 

Holding onto your brothers shoulder, you congratulate him on how well he’d done. He lost the tournament, but it was his heart that shined through it. Johnny was the one who handed LaRusso his trophy even as they were beating each other senseless moments ago. Pulling him in tightly, you whisper, “You did good, Blondie. We’ll get ‘em next year.” 

He smiles broadly at this, returning the favor, “You didn’t do too bad yourself, Tiny. Hell, maybe next year, you’ll be the one to beat his ass for me... That, or you’ll be the same height as him,” he ruffles your hair.

“Shut up!” you swat his hands playfully, shouldering his side, then making your way over to the man of the hour. “Congratulations,” you outstretch your hand, “You were tough to beat! I’ll get ya one day though!” you point to him smiling as Johnny pulls you out of the arena with him.

“Thanks...Oh, and I’ll hold you to it!” he yells back, lifting his trophy high above his head. You leave with a sly smirk and playful roll of the eyes, not bad LaRusso.

Walking outside, you smile at Kreese nervously, knowing that he wasn’t going to take the loss lightly. Ignoring you completely, he snatches your brother from your grasp within moments, pinning him the the nearest car in the parking lot. With Johnny under the weight of Kreese, you try to yank him off, no longer in fear of your actions but what could happen if you don’t act fast. Shoving you out of the way with a hard jab of his elbow to your eye, Kreese goes back to harming your brother, switching positions as he goes to tighten his arm around Johnny’s neck.

Tommy, fearing for his life, stands still, on the verge of passing out. Dutch goes to help you up, pulling you away from Kreese’s proximity, but not for long. Full of anger and disappointment, you tear you body away from Dutch’s, giving him a stern look that he acknowledges and respects, stepping back. You run towards Kreese once more, putting more force into your pushes and shoves. He catches your eyes for a moment, anger glazing over his own as he gets a good look at the utter helplessness and determination within your own. He doesn’t loosen up though, tightening his hold even more so as if to test you. 

Lunging once more, he blocks you from him and counters with a hard blow to your face. You fall again at Kreese’s feet, Johnny’s purpling face looking down at yours in fear and worry. As you go to make a final attempt, your prayers are answered, a man about your height grabbing Kreese’s fist in a vice grip. In a daze, Johnny is able to slip from his hold to the ground beneath him, falling into your outstretched arms as you lunge, again, to protect his head. Kreese, now turning his fury onto the short man, goes for a punch, missing and smashing the glass beside his target.

As the fight starts to get worse, Dutch gets a hold of Johnny, taking his weight off of yours and dragging him to safety. Jimmy and Bobby, going to help Dutch, leaves Tommy to help you up. Taking his hand gratefully, you are able to see Kreese’s demise clearly, a burning crimson decorating his now busted fists, no doubt shredded and in need of medical care. You turn back just in time for him to look your way, grief washing over your figure as you feel a sense of uncertainty. 

The boys get into Johnny’s car quickly, pulling out of the car lot. Tommy, silently turning his calming body to yours, questions you with his eyes. Shaking your head lightly, you signal for him to go with them, your head hazy with the brute force of numerous blows previously clashing with your face. He nods knowingly, smiling weakly, as if questioning your motives or even why you were considering the choice you’d made up. Johnny looks back at you too, but is reassured as the short man, Mr. Miyagi, places a hand on your shoulder. As they peel out of the lot, you sigh and all the strength you’d conjured dropped instantly.

“You need checkup,” the older man states, looking you over.

“Yeah, but I need to take care of him first,” you point at the man.

“Ah. Good heart always forgives. You come by dojo sometime.”

“I’ll think about it,” you answer, kindly excusing yourself as LaRusso runs over to Miyagi, leaving just you and Kreese left in the parking lot.

Slowly, you pace yourself as to not speed too closely, too quickly to the man, walking lightly and quietly. Upon entering a close proximity, he looks up, neutral expression catching you off guard. Blinking once, he looks back down at his continuously bleeding hands, acknowledging your presence but not daring to step the line of communication. He never does.

“Do you...Do you n- ...?” you start, at a loss for words as you try to rephrase the question in a way to still make him feel superior without appearing weak to himself, “Do you want my help?”

He doesn’t say anything as an answer, just simply stares at the reddening hands.

So, following his chosen behavior, you adopt it and act the same. Slowly, you take off your fleece sweater, soft and warm to the touch, and move closer to Kreese. As you move into his personal space, you don’t dare look him in the eyes, and go to rip a piece of the sweater in half. Silently, you carefully take one of his hands in your own, them swallowing yours in turn. Wrapping the now torn cloth around his fists, you slightly tighten the material around the injury to prevent further bleeding, tying off the ends to keep the sweater where you want it. Turning to do the same for the other hand, Kreese never winces, or sucks in a breath, or even grunts in anguish.

As you finish your duty, you step back, parts of your hands and some of your pants now coated in differing amounts of blood from the constant dripping mess he’d left it in for a while. Taking in a deep breath, you look at him directly for the first time of the night, “Get in the car.”

That was the first of many nightmares that litter your mind. You grew into a tough, headstrong, and independent woman not only physically, but mentally as well. You were no longer the child looked down from the tip of Kreese’s nose, and despite your height not making much of a difference, you had filled into your body, soul, and mind. You were a woman nonetheless.

You were understood by Johnny, but to an extent. As you had continued to serve Kreese, it was only right that Johnny distanced himself from him, and with that, came you as well. You accepted this, and knew that you were not at war with him, settling for calls and texts when you missed him most. Johnny still allowed you the time to talk about your problems like you did in high school, and even let you rant about the newest situation with Kreese. Everyday, he worried for you, but he knew that this was what you wanted. 

He knew you fell for him before you even had.

After that night, you went through phases with Kreese: sometimes he was happy and nice to you, other times was full of anger, arguments, and nonstop screaming at one another. You were like an old married couple without the ring, matrimony, and age. You didn’t pay any mind to it, the mixture of feelings for him stronger than the will to leave as you’d wanted to in your youth.

But overall was the feeling of betrayal, or at least a form of it. For 4 years, after the night of the failed tournament, you were with Kreese, and finally, when things started to clear themselves out, another problem arose. Although shit out of luck, Kreese was ready to give up the dojo, give it to the owner, and move on in hopes of wiping the slate clean. You were ready to forgive him. And then, Terry Silver, unable to let the past be the past, convinced Kreese to give it a second try.

Now as you sit in a circle with Dennis, Mike, and Snake on the mat of the dojo, doing some stretches before training starts, you couldn’t help but look at the men excluding you from something you had tried to keep alive as long as they had. Longer than Terry at least. 

Snapping sounds through your frustrated haze, knocking you back into reality by Snake’s fingers. Scrunching your nose in confusion, you look at him, anger now turned towards him instead. “You keep drooling like that and we’ll all be slipping around and breaking shit. Then how would we be at the tournament?”

“Fuck you, Snake,” you get up, stomping to the office without another word. He just turns a mock-offended expression to the boys who give confused ones in return.

Storming into the small cubicle deemed an office, you turn to the men standing side-by-side. “Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart? The boys not playing fair?” Terry teases, trying to push your buttons.

Face now reddened with anger, you spit, “We don’t pay for you to sit around in your office and play with each other’s dicks. You can do that on your own time.”

“You don’t pay period as far as I’m concerned. And last time I checked, you weren’t of much use here anyways, Shortcake,” Terry rebuttals.

“And last time I checked, you're just here to tie your hair back, paint your nails, torture a kid half your age and an man even older than you.”

“Why you-!”

“Terry!” Kreese warns, a hand placed on his comrades’ chest, “It’s not worth your time, just go get the boys readied up for practice.”

“Sure...sure Johnny, I can do that,” he says eagerly, leaving the room with a side glance your way and elbow to the shoulder as he passes by.

Getting up from the back of the desk, Kreese loops around to close the office door, going back to where he was previously. “Wow, you really have that dog under wraps huh? Ready to bark when you say ‘bark’ or growl when you say ‘growl’?”

“Y/N, not now. You better cut this shit out now or I’ll kick you out,” he warns.

“Oh, so now your protecting him?! You’re going to sit here, right now, and threaten me for what? Because he served with you? Because you saved him?! What a load of shit!”

“Watch your mouth! You have no right to raise your voice to me! What I do with this dojo is none of your damn business, and will certainly never concern you. Ever.”

“Oh yeah! For sure! What did he even do, huh? What’s so great about him that is worth protecting his ass for when he’s never had to do anything in return?! I was there John! I was! I dealt with your shit for 4 years! Not 1! Not 2! Not even fucking 3!”

“I never told you to! No one was stopping you from walking out that damn door when everyone else had! I would’ve done perfectly fine without your ‘help’ when all it did was provide extra shit to take care of!”

“Really?! That’s what it was? Nothing? I dealt with your anger issues, your screaming! The god damn punches, kicks, spits, screams, hell anything you wanted to do in order to harm someone else to make you feel better! But that wasn’t me... No... Of course it wasn’t, right?”

“I’ve got no time for this. Stay in this fucking room and don’t move. You even dare come out into that dojo and you’re out. I have a winner to make and not some little girl to argue with.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, tears pooling at the bottom of your eyelids as the door hides you from view.

For hours, you sit in boredom, listening to the repetitive “hut” or “ah” as blow after blow is thrown into the dummies and punching bags. If only they could do that to me, take me out of my misery for fuck’s sake. But, despite the utter pissed state you were in, you did not move from the desk, even deciding to take a nap. It wasn’t until Dennis’ unusually loud laugh is echoed within the whole dojo do you finally wake back up. Looking through the blinds, you see the boys getting packed up. Doing the same, you walk out of the office just in time for Terry to leave with the boys a few moments later.

Speeding across the length of the mats, you take long strides in order to storm as fast as possible out of the cage that holds the biggest chains around your neck. Going for the door, you are unable to catch yourself as Kreese grabs your hand and flips you onto your back, splaying your body on the mats beneath you.

Groaning, you move to sit up, watching as he goes to lock the door to the dojo, throwing the keys somewhere and closing the blinds of the big glass panes adorning the front wall. Getting up, the harbored anger floods your being once more, “I’m done with your bullshit Kreese. Let me the fuck out so I can leave this place once and for all. You seem to be doing ‘perfectly fine’ with your boyfriend, so let me go!”

Without answering, he grabs you by the neck firmly, but not enough to choke you. The memories of Johnny instantly flood your mind, causing you to grab his hand just as tight, eyes peering straight into his. Noticing your change in demeanor, he loosens his hold a little and pushes your back up against the closest wall to your back. As your back collides with the wall, his lips clasp yours.

Whining in surprise, you go to pull back only for him to pull you closer by the neck. Realization dawns on you after a moment, and within seconds, your leaning into his touch absentmindedly. You only break apart once your lungs beg for more air. “There. Is that what you wanted?” he asks you, voice gravelly.

Ignoring his comment, you grab him by the nape of his neck, pulling him into you once again, tongue battling his own. Your tongue dances around, observing every crevice and tasting every bit of his mouth, grazing his teeth, biting his lips, and even tangling it with his. Taking control back, he shoves your body back into the wall, separating your mouth from his, a trail of saliva the only thing connecting your bodies.

His hand, long forgotten and hanging loose on your neck, tightens the grip back up firmly once again and moves his other to pin your arms above your head. Now basking in dominance, he kisses you once more, pinning his knee between your legs in the most delicious way. Taking advantage of the placement, you attempt to grind your core against his thigh to relieve some tension. 

“Ah. Ah. Ah,” he warns, pulling his knee away and moving to unbuckle his belt instead, “On your knees, Slut.”

Obeying instantly, you do as he says and place yourself on your knees. Finally undoing the tie of his gi, he pulls his pants, alongside his underwear, down just enough to let his dick spring free. Gulping in admiration, you take in the view of his girth and length, precum oozing at the tip.

“Looks like your happy to see me,” you joke, loosening your tension in your shoulders.

Stepping closer, Kreese edges closer to your mouth, and, taking the hint, you wrap one hand around the base of his shaft. Your other hand, deciding teasing is the best get-back, wraps itself closer to the tip, thumb grazing the slit. Earning a shudder of pleasure from the man, he goes to move in closer again. Pulling your head away, you squeeze the tip loosely, staring up at Kreese.

At your locked gaze, his cheeks burn bright pink, enabling you to give the man what he wants now that he’s at a loss for words and flustered for you. Taking him into your mouth little by little, you stop just before the barricade of choking. Eyes locked onto his, you place your hands on either side of his hips for support, then take him in as fully as physically possible. Instantly, you are met by struggling moans of relief.

Swirling your tongue around and lapping at his veiny member, he struggles to control himself, the undying need for more consuming him. Pulling away just enough to keep the tip in your mouth, you nod at him, giving him the okay to do as he pleases. That was all he needed to start going, pulling your mouth around his cock again, and tangling his hands in your hair for a better grip. Thrusting into your mouth now, you try your best to breathe as you feel him start twitching, knowing you will be fine in a few minutes.

The closer he gets to ecstasy, the louder he gets, hips thrusting in any possible direction as his pleasure threatens to bubble over. “Look at me,” he orders, looking you in the eyes. Slightly confused, you do as told, looking at him through your eyelashes as he continuously uses your mouth. “That’s it, Good Girl.”

Without warning, he unleashes his load into your mouth, the hot and sticky cum shooting to the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow. Licking up the remains, you make a show of swallowing the contents as well, getting back onto your feet with a help of his hand. Pulling your body into his, he kisses you deeply, tasting himself.

You whine as you are still left in uncomfortable need for him, having not gotten your share just yet, the feeling of being filled a painful reminder. “Don’t worry, Daddy’ll take care of you.” And that, he does, getting to work on untying your gi and throwing the long-sleeved shirt over you head. Doing the same to him, you match his enthusiasm, pulling his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the room. 

Playing with your clothed breasts, Kreese slips a hand under your bra to pinch your nipples, twisting them between his middle and fore fingers. Moaning, you pull him into your chest nibbling his ear. Gliding his hands down your sides and to your waist, he slowly edges his fingers slightly underneath your pants, pushing them down with your panties. As he busies himself with your clothes, you move your hands behind your back to unclasp your bra, breasts springing free and instantly hardening at the new temperature of the room.

Fingers, teasing your entrance, catches you off-guard, moaning again at the first shocks of pleasure. “Kreese,” you start breathlessly, “Enough is enough. Mgh... Stop teasing me,” you try to order, impatient and horny.

“As you wish, Princess.”

Lifting up one of your legs and wrapping it around his hipbone, he lines himself up with your entrance, entering slowly. Together, you sigh in ease simultaneously. Nodding once, you lean your forehead underneath his chin, starting to thrust slowly. Knowing this isn’t the pace he prefers, and body adjusting to his shape, you pull him in closer, whispering in his ear, “Faster, Daddy.”

Jolting at the name, he fastens the pace, grinding in rougher strokes, rubbing every part of you body in the best way possible. No one’s ever filled you the way he is now, and it leaves you stunned in a trance of utter euphoria. Tapping your other leg, you hop up to warp both legs around Kreese. At the new angle, he thrusts upwards, the overstimulation causing you to shake in a new sensation. 

Squeezing his dick tightly, you try to hold your orgasm off for as long as possible, but the building want of release causes you to topple over the edge quickly, spilling all over the body still within your own. Without faltering, Kreese continues his assault on your body, causing you to scream out in the fury of pleasure being all too much for you. Shaking harder, you struggle to keep yourself around his body for long.

Seeing this, Kreese keeps himself sheathed in your cunt, laying you on your back against the mats of the flooring. Grabbing your legs, Kreese bends them until your thighs meet your chest. Then, thrusting at the same pace as before, Kreese is able to fuck you senseless without further issues. Moaning screams of ecstasy echo throughout the dojo, the combination of yourself and the slapping of skin being the only noises in the room.

As quickly as you’d built up the previous time, your orgasm and need of release forms again, your pussy throbbing in anticipation.  “Kreese..” is all you manage, the older man quickly teetering towards the edge with you. Thrusting the hardest he had the whole night, he manages only a few more before you both come at the same time, screaming as you pull him down by the neck and into your chest, your name falling from his tongue in multiples.

Sucking in as much air as possible, Kreese and you stay in the same position panting before he unsheathes himself and collapses next to you. Catching your breath, you cuddle into his side in a naked heap of sweat and satisfaction. “Are you still jealous of Terry now?”

“It depends, am I still as useless as before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Kreese giggles, “but if you pull another crazy stunt like that, I will really have to give you a good beating. Huh, Babydoll?”

“I like the sound of that,” you say, going to straddle his hips as he lays on his back, “How about round two and I’ll consider not ripping his throat out?”

“Deal.”

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: So, this is NOT the Angel fic I previewed the other day. That one (and the EZ fic) is STILL COMING, I PROMISE! This just jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave. And I wrote it with a speed I am heretofore unfamiliar with (heretofore? Did I use that right?) I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit. So, apologies in advance for that. 

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile). 

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. Also, the reader here speaks a bit of Spanish. I’m half Mexican, so I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.)

Word Count: 15.3K (HAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK all for a TWO AND A HALF MINUTE SONG, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????) of ANGST! (SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO ANGSTY) lyrical nonsense and the remnants of sticky, cotton-candy sadness … fluff that makes you feel empty. 

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, oral (male receiving), fingering and other nastiness -- so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry.)

Summary: You and Angel may as well be strangers now. But why? After all, you loved him once. And he loved you, right? Based on the song “Loved you Once” by Clara Mae. Listen here. 

--

We don't need to be best friends, we don't need to hang again. But tell me why we have to be strangers because I loved you once?

What were you doing here? You haven’t been back to the clubhouse in months. Not since -- well, you know. You hadn’t talked to him since then, either. But that wasn’t your own doing. 

No, Angel had erected a veritable wall of silence, and you respected him enough not to breach it. 

That was what relationships were all about, anyway, right? Mutual respect of the other’s needs? So when Angel had told you in no uncertain terms that your relationship was over, you were … upset. Understandably. You wanted to sit with him, talk about where this sudden insistence that you depart his life had come from, but he was resolute. With the absolute air of authority that comes with either a great deal of thought, or borne of virtually sudden external influence, with nothing in between. He clearly didn’t want to sit and talk about it. 

And so you didn’t. 

Ever mindful of his wellbeing, and when he was and was not receptive to communication. 

"It ain't working," he had said. You had settled for merely imagining the faraway look in his large, oilslick eyes, since he was much more interested in staring at his boots and the grooves in his floor, his forearms laid over spread thighs, unmoving and resolute from his spot at the end of the bed. Refusing to meet your eyes. 

From your seat next to him, you made to brush the arm closest to you with your fingers. When you touched, he gave no indication that you were even there. That he even felt you. Which you knew was bullshit. He always felt you. 

"Angel, what --" you hated the way your voice cracked as you tried to ask him what the hell was going on. You hated how you had sounded so small and quavering to your own ears. That wasn't who you were. You were clear, outspoken. It was always one of the things Angel said he loved about you. Loved.

You didn't know this, of course, but Angel hated it, too. How you’d sounded in that moment. Hated that his words had taken the fire out of yours, your voice unfamiliar in its timidity. 

"It ain't working," he repeated. "I can see it. Not my fault you can't." 

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

Not that you would expect an apology, or anything as cliché as a "let's be friends," from a steadfast man like Angel. Predictable in his volatility. 

You should have pushed back. Demanded an answer. You hated that you didn’t, the shock and sudden sadness morphing you into a silent, crystalline girl you didn’t recognize. Your eyes welled with tears, turning your head away from where Angel sat -- at least you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Even if you knew he knew the tears had spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks were of his own doing. 

You had arrived back at his place a day after your tense "conversation" to discover that your items you had come to reclaim were tossed into a box and left outside of the door. 

You had knocked once, in the hope that if Angel was home, he’d at least come to the door to shout through it, or, heaven forbid, would open it so you could look him in the eyes just once more while he shattered you. Your knock was met with silence, though you could have sworn you felt Angel on the other side of the door. 

In the months since then, you had cried (obviously), you had questioned (it was sudden, it wasn't just you; your friends were surprised, too), but most importantly, you had persevered. 

You had taken a bunch of new clients and inked some pieces you were incredibly proud of. You had gone out with your friends a few times, always with a wary eye on the door of the local dive, ya know… you never knew who would walk in.

Santo Padre is a small town, after all. And the cracks in your soul were nowhere close to healed. No molten gold to spill in and repair the fissures of your heart, rendering metamorphosis of something broken to something flawed, but beautiful. You sat, alone, still just… flawed. You had never felt less beautiful. Even after all this time. 

And your friend Aneesa, ever the supporter, would stop at nothing if it meant hyping you up enough to leave your cave of blankets, sheet masks, and comfort movies. Your only rule? All nights out with Aneesa were strictly girls’ nights. She was gracious and understanding of this rule, of course. She and Gilly had been together a touch longer than you and Angel. 

And if Angel had ever asked Gilly to ask Aneesa about you? Well… you never heard about it.

Not that Angel would do any of that. Shit like that was so middle-school. 

So, here you were. Back at the clubhouse after months of self-imposed exile for the sake of self-preservation. 

Coco had texted you -- the first you’d directly heard from anyone within Angel’s circle, inviting you to a patch party for some nameless, faceless newbie. The invitation had a string attached to it, of course -- the tattoo artist’s chair in the corner of the clubhouse needed a resident for any partygoers jonesing for new ink. Certainly, the new patch would need something decidedly “Mayan” to show off his new status. 

You had hesitantly agreed -- Aneesa would be in attendance of course, and offered herself as a human-sized buffer to separate you from people you were otherwise hoping to avoid. 

--

Now, perched near the tattoo chair, you busied yourself with setting out your portfolio of completed pieces, sketches and most-requested designs. You wiped down the chair a few more times than strictly necessary, but you wanted to be ready for anyone who might plop themselves down for a new piece of art. 

The main room of the clubhouse was sweltering -- a familiar blend of desert heat, cigarette smoke, citronella, and the smell of citrusy, foamy beer. The dim lighting and thundering bass giving everything a slightly blurry edge in your party-periphery. You glanced across the room at where Aneesa and Gilly sat together on a corner couch, thighs pressed together. Aneesa tossed her head back in a full-bodied laugh at something Gilly had whispered into her ear, swatting his arm -- Gilly’s reciprocal smile demonstrating his pleasure at having garnered such a reaction from his girl. 

A wave of cheers and noise accompanied the thwack of the clubhouse door swinging open -- more Mayans pouring in, jostling one another's shoulders, slapping each other on the arms, and good-naturedly cajoling. 

There was Coco, mid-pull of the cigarette between his lips, quicksilver eyes flashing around the room, taking stock of who was where. EZ followed, million-watt smile on full display as he gently guided a pretty girl with long, inky hair through the bottleneck at the entryway. 

If EZ was ambling his way in, then, surely, not far behind ...

With an arm around a tall, broad guy you hadn’t seen before, was Angel. Midway through a joke with the guy you assumed was the new patch, you took the opportunity to study the man you had once considered the moonlit orbit of your entire world. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, but he looked good… His arms still replete with thick, corded muscle. His hair was a tad longer on top than you remembered, slicked back and belied with cleanly-cropped sides. His smile as warm and blinding as the cruel light at the end of your better dreams, only for you to awake each day alone. 

As you continued your silent study, you were surprised to see -- still adorning his left arm … the tattoo you had given him on the day you had first met. You had thought he would have blacked it out by now … a cover-up on top of a cover-up. 

But there it was --- the soft, leafy greens creeping down his forearm on sharp vines, abutted with bursting blooms -- small, ornate gladiolus buds and a sprig of purpling rosemary. Such a flowery piece on the arm of someone like Angel might have been laughable. But if anyone dared, he would simply stare, stone-faced, with burning eyes and a set jaw, ready to ask just what they thought was so fucking funny. 

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

You had moved to Santo Padre from Oakland. Hardly an axis-tilting move, but significant enough to you. 

Your friend Oliver had offered you a seat at his tattoo shop. And you? You were positively itching to get out of the city. A few too many bad nights with a few people you could no longer in good conscience consider friends. 

So, here you sat, resident of one of two chairs in this corner parlour off the so-called “main” drag in sweltering, dusty Santo Padre. 

Your books were pretty clear … Not that you attributed much logic to the ebb and flow in any conceivable pattern of the tide that was tattoo shop patrons, but January seemed an agonizingly slow month. You filled the idle time with keeping the shop neat, disinfecting and re-disinfecting every surface, and organizing Oliver’s books. 

And if you weren’t dreaming up new sketches and designs for the more adventurous prospective client, you were jotting idle lines of lyrical poetry in the margins of your sketchbook. 

If the month dragged on like this, you were sure you could publish an entire book of moody, mid-winter prose that would make Charles Bukowski want to drown himself in stiff Cabernet. 

The dinging of the bell above the parlour door yanked you from your doodling stupor. You looked up to see who had come in, your gaze met with a towering, golden-skinned man donned in a leather vest, his boots squeaking on the shop’s linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk. He leaned over it and rapped his silver-ringed hand against the top with the ease and comfort of someone who had been in many times before. If the ink trailing his arms was any indication, he may as well be a regular, though you hadn’t seen him in before. There was no way you could forget that jawline, and those shoulders. 

“Yo,” he called in greeting, eyes flashing to where you stood, walking to meet him at the counter. You swore you saw his gaze dart over your form, giving you the old up-down. An easy smile graced his full lips as he made himself comfortable leaning against the counter.  

“Oliver here?” 

You shook your head, the action serving to answer his question and --hopefully-- clear your head of the foggy spell this man was casting over you with his presence alone.

“Nah, sorry. He’s guest-chairing at his buddy’s shop in L.A. Did you have an appointment?” 

“I look like the kind of guy with a datebook?” He chuckled at his own joke. “No appointment, corazón.” 

“Walk-in? Always a risky strategy,” you lilted. 

“What can I say? I’m a risk-taker,” he replied with the practiced ease of breezy flirtation. 

You smiled softly, grabbing Oliver’s calendar from the desk, flipping to the following week. “He’ll be back in next week, if you want to wait?” 

“That’s no good for me, babe, I’ll be out of town.”

“Ah.” You huffed a bit through your nose “Bike rally?” You asked, gesturing at his worn leather kutte, cringing internally a little at the teasing edge your voice had taken on. Were you always this bad of a flirt? 

The man looked at you shrewdly for a beat -- seemingly trying to discern just how much fun you were making of him before taking mercy on you and peeling back the slight layer of awkwardness the conversation had taken.  He scrubbed the back of his neck before confirming,

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he rumbled a chuckle. “Why? You wanna go?” He raised a full brow at you in a mild challenge. 

Your eyes widened at his seemingly-serious invitation. You took in the quirk of his lips, causing the slightest crinkle at the corner of his warm eyes -- the look of a man borne of good humor and who smiled often. It was endearing, and if you were honest, made you melt a little. Even if you now realized he was teasing you. 

“Sorry, guapo,” you cracked a smile of your own, gesturing at the empty shop. “As you can see, I’m a very busy girl. Highest of demand.” 

“Claro,” he replied. “So, I better get in while the getting���s good, huh? Your chair open now?” 

“Uhm,” you chewed your lower lip, now slightly nervous at the prospect of spending more time with this man. “¿Quieres esperar para Olí? I won’t be offended. You haven’t even seen any of my pieces.” 

A beat of silence passed between you both, the man seemingly weighing his options. 

"I mean," You broke the silence and leaned forward, lightly tapping a fingernail against his bicep. “What if my art style doesn’t suit the king of the bikers?” 

"Something tells me you'll suit me just fine." His smirk was full-bore now. He didn't miss a beat, did he?

You were silent, probably for a few moments too long. Was he actually flirting with you? You blinked. He probably flirts with everyone ... get over yourself, you internally chided.

"Angel," the man said, recovering the moment and holding out a large, ringed hand for you to shake. You gave him your name, shaking his hand firmly. 

You nodded your head over your shoulder, toward your chair. 

"Well, come on back, Angel, you can tell me about what we're doing today."

Angel followed you back to your station, and you could swear you felt his dark eyes on your form as you walked, the thought that this man was looking at you with any kind of discerning attention made your cheeks warm a little. He folded his long body into the chair you gestured toward, and you took the rolling seat next to him. He proffered his left arm to you, tracing down a spot on his forearm.

"Just wanna cover this up," he paused, letting you observe the offending ink. "It's about time." 

"'Clara Forever,' huh?" You took in the faded, loopy lettering down his forearm. "Who's Clara?" Your tone was gently teasing by nature, but he seemed to clam up a bit at the question, regarding your sharp tongue with sharper eyes.

"Well, it wasn't forever," he finally bit out, shoulders now a little more tense than before.

"Aw, cariño," you sighed in good-natured taunting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the number one rule of tattoo? 'Forever' is a certain jinx. And a name is almost never a good idea… unless it's your dog's."

You made a sweeping hand gesture over the rest of his person, your eyes noticeably cataloguing the ink adorning most of the real estate on his arms and what little you could see of the top of his chest. 

"How did anyone let you get this far without telling you the rules?"

He relaxed at the humor in your soft voice, comfortable now that he had confirmation that you were teasing him rather than seriously ridiculing. His posture relaxed once more, he waggled his eyebrows at you, also teasing,

"Le sorprendería saber que nunca fui uno para seguir las reglas?” He asked. Would it surprise you to learn that I was never one for rules? 

"¿Tú?" Your eyes widened in mock surprise. “Para nada.” Not at all.  

"Hey," he swatted your arm gently. "Cuidaté, niña. Insulting your customers? I can see why your chair is empty." He chuckled at his own little jab as you busied yourself gathering your supplies.

You turned and reached for him, holding his arm in one hand and running your now-gloved thumb over "Clara Forever." 

"So?" You queried, "What are we doing with this? How do you want to cover it?" 

Angel shrugged, the leather adorning his shoulders creaking ever-so-slightly with the movement. 

"Figured I would just black it out. I've been putting it off long enough. To hell with her anyway, yaknow?"

"Hmm…" you considered his proposal. "I could do that, if that's what you really want. Easy enough. But…" you trailed.

He shifted in the chair, arching an eyebrow at you.

"But?" He pressed.

Now it was your turn to shrug. You released his arm from your grip and gestured to the booklet containing photos of your most prized work. 

"Why waste the opportunity to give yourself something you really want?" You handed him the book. "Besides… from the looks of things, you have limited real estate left on this arm. May as well fill it with something… more you?” You made to hand him the scrapbook. “You can see what else I've done. See if anything sparks an idea." 

Angel regarded you for a moment. Leaning forward in the chair and slightly more into your space, eyes never leaving yours. He took the edge of the book, deliberately brushing his fingers over yours as he did so, making you hold your breath a little. If Angel noticed, he had the decency not to say anything. 

“Why not?”

You exhaled softly as he leaned away again, flipping his way through your book. 

As he scrutinized the photographic renderings of your pieces, you took the chance to really take him in. His strong jaw and full lips were objectively pleasant, abutted by deliberately-shaped facial hair. He had a prominent brow, something that would surely give away his feelings, even if he decided not to verbalize them. There was no hiding a frown or a smile on that face.  You fiddled with your fingers as he flipped through the pages. 

“This is some seriously top-notch shit, querida,” he voiced his approval, followed by a warm smile. He flipped his way through your minimalist renderings, floral pieces, lines of script, and one particularly involved piece with a burgundy phoenix and lifelike flames...

“Yeah?” You couldn’t hide the pleasure in your voice that he might think of you in a positive light. “Which one do you like?” 

He flipped the book to you, gesturing at a geometric planetary canvas piece you had etched down a prior client’s thigh. 

“Did you think of that one?” 

“The client had their ideas, I just execute, I guess… That was a fun one.” You shrugged, glancing at your shoes scuffing at the linoleum, suddenly feeling very shy under his scrutiny.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he leaned forward once more, his fingers gently brushing along your chin to bring your eyeline to his. “Don’t downplay your talent. You’re a badass. Own that shit.” He gave you a soft wink, releasing your chin from his grip.

Um, wow.

Was it always this hot in the back of the shop? Or were you just spontaneously combusting? Did that seriously just happen?

All you could do was nod. 

“Aight,” he crossed his legs at the ankles, making himself comfortable in the chair. “I’ve decided.” 

“Yeah?” You breathed, “What’ll it be?” 

As if he was doing nothing more complicated than ordering fries, Angel pointed at your book. “Dealer’s choice.” 

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t believe he was just going to trust you to cover up his ex’s name etched into his arm. “¡Oye! Did you hear nothing I said earlier about walk-ins being risky? Nothing about the rules?”

Angel scoffed. “About as well as you heard that I don’t give a shit about rules, babe,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You like rules, huh?” 

Oh. The rumbling tone his voice had taken on with his last question did not go unnoticed by you. If there was any heat to spare in this shithole desert-town, it was now one hundred percent flooding through your body. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had that effect on you… (although, let’s be real, he probably, definitely, already knew).

“Fine, Angelito,” the mocking tone had returned to your voice. “But unlike Clara, this one’s gonna be forever. If I find out you cover up my art, I’m gonna blacklist you at every shop in Southern California.” You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Can you live with that?”

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the moniker. “Vince?” 

“Yeah,” he seemed so assured in his own cleverness. “Like Van Gogh?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Van Gogh!?” You feigned offense, hand-over-heart, lashes batting. “Not even Frida? Come oooon, Angelito.” 

He chuckled. Shifting in the chair and offering his arm to you so you could get him ready. 

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

“Everyone’s a critic,” you sigh, shifting your focus and taking stock of the space on Angel’s arm and what you had learned of him so far.

Someone who was seemingly confident and breezy, whose rough exterior belied something softer that was just out of reach. Someone who clearly cherished things and people he adored, if the tribute you were now covering was anything to go by. And, by the same token, more than a little impulsive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, apparently literally. 

You gathered your inks and began to work, your playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the silence. 

It’s not like you had any reason to know it, but Angel considered you as you were working, admiring your focus and the intensity with which you afforded your art. Was he a little nervous about the fact that you were free-handing a design for him off the top of your head? Maybe... But what was life without a little risk? And he certainly wouldn’t mind a little risk with you. You were, it was obvious to him, very pretty. It was more than a little off-putting how easily you traded quips with him, seemingly unaffected by his presence and everything that came with it. If it wasn’t for the little hitches in your breath when he gently flirted with you, he wouldn’t have anything to go off of in terms of your interest. Something that was both respectable and maddening to him. 

He reached his other arm over to the side-table, grabbing your sketchbook and idly flipping through the etchings. 

Not only was the book filled with little designs, splashes of watercolor mixing with pen and charcoal, but he noticed the cramped words in the margins, perusing at his leisure and ignoring the itching buzz of the needle on the skin of his other arm.

“So, not only a Vince, but a Frost,” he broke the silence. 

You paused your work, wiping your brow with the back of your hand and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

He tapped his finger along the lines of prose in your book. “A poet,” he said. 

“Ah,” you said. “Uhm, more like a bad poet,” you chuckled, embarrassed. You made to begin again, when Angel gently gripped the wrist of your free hand. 

“The fuck did I just say?” He lightly tugged, forcing you to look into his maddeningly honey-dark eyes. “Don’t brush off your shit. Would Frida do that?” 

You regarded his eyes for a moment longer, darting your gaze to his pouty lips, resolutely set in their mission of imparting some of his confidence onto you. 

“Point taken, Angel,” you pulled your hand from his grip, which he released, trailing his fingertips over your hand as he did so. “I’m the greatest poet who ever lived, you’ve convinced me. Fuck William Shakespeare.” 

“Yeah,” Angel boisterously agreed, pleased to be bolstering you but surprising you with the little barking shout, “Fuck that dude!” 

You chuckled, shaking your head and silently returning to your work, the silence filled once more with the pleasant buzzing as you drew away. 

When you were finished, you released Angel’s arm, allowing him to inspect the clean lines of the greenery that you had drawn out of his former-love tribute. What were once loopy, cursive letters were now vines creeping steadily along his forearm, soft, yellow and red gladiolus buds emerging from where Clara’s name had once sat, neatly finished with the clean lines of the purpling sprig of rosemary along the edge of the piece. 

Angel was speechless, leaving you to marinate in your nerves. 

“It’s …” he started, “... flowery,” he supplied, lamely. 

“No shit it’s flowers,” you shot back, feeling a little defensive now, but wanting to make a quick recovery. “And they’re for you, Angel.” 

He seemed puzzled. 

“Gotta say, Vince, this is the first time a chick’s gotten me flowers,” he chuckled, “Guess they won’t die?” 

“They won’t,” you assured. “They really are for you, you know? Look at you, the rest of your ink. What it covered. You’re clearly a man formed by your experiences. It only seemed right, si? Gladiolus? They’re for remembrance. Rosemary? Symbolizes thoughtfulness and memory.” 

You continued as you began wipe the piece clean before wrapping it in new saran-wrap, “Your memories and choices make you who you are, sure. But you never know… something good could bloom from them, through the cracks."

His silence at the end of your little soliloquy was deafening. He hated it, you were sure of it. Fuck. Why did you have to get so fucking clever with him? You should’ve just done some black ink in something tribal, something masculine. What the fuck was wrong with you??

You dared to sneak a glance at his face, only to find that he was already staring at you, lips softly upturned in the hinting bloom of a smile, tarpit eyes twinkling with a good-natured mirth he would come to reserve just for you. 

“Fuck Shakespeare. That was damn beautiful, Frida.” 

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

You stripped off your gloves, and made to turn your way to the counter, gathering the aftercare sheet and balm for Angel to take with him. 

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

“Oh! Can I take a picture?” You held up your phone, shaking it lightly. “For the ‘gram?” 

“Sure thing,” Angel dutifully held his arm under the lamp you had used to work, letting the fresh ink and colors pop against the golden dunn of his skin. 

You took a few photos, deciding to scroll through your camera roll later on and post your favorite. You made quick work of wrapping his arm in a sheet of clean plastic wrap before relinquishing your hold on his arm, turning to walk back to the counter. 

“Uhm,” you trailed … the telltale squeak of Angel’s boots on the linoleum indicating he was following you back to the front of the shop. You assembled everything into a bag for Angel to take with him, grabbing one of your cards from the front card-holder, and quickly jotting your number on the back next to your where the instagram handle for your art page was neatly printed, hoping he didn’t notice your sneaky little move. 

Angel resumed his comfortable lean against the counter, turning and tilting his forearm, scrutinizing your work. 

“It’s gonna be a clean one-fifty, Angel.”

He looked slightly surprised at the figure, a light frown dusting his features. 

“You sure about that? For the size, and the color, and time and everything? It’s been, like, hours.”

You shrugged. 

“We’ll call it the friends-and-family rate.” 

He gave you a long look, very clearly looking you up and down now, a prolonged edition of the greeting he had graced you with when he had entered your shop mere hours before. 

“And is that what we are now, querida? Friends?” 

How was it even possible for his voice to reach such a low register when he said these things to you?

While your insides flip-flopped at the flirtation, you hoped your face was the impassive mask you were trying to school it into. You subtly brushed your slightly-sweating palms against the frayed hem of your shorts before bringing an elbow up to the counter, resting your chin in your palm, lightly batting your lashes at him before responding...

“Sure,” you replied. There! Easy, breezy, cool-as-you-please. How does it feel, Angel?

“One day with you and friends already?” He rapped his ringed hand gently against the counter. “Can’t wait to see where we’re at tomorrow.” 

He swiped the bag off of the counter, tossing a few crisp bills onto the countertop and a wink over his shoulder before exiting the shop. 

You counted the bills on the counter, watching as Angel left the building.

Holy shit.

Three hundred bucks. He had tipped you 100 percent of what you charged him.

Cheeky.

Maybe Santo Padre wasn’t so bad, after all… 

---

Now, staring at him from across the room made you feel like you were drowning in the sickly-sweet cotton candy of sugared dreams, now lost to time. The saccharine balm melted to acrid wax, leaving you with only the tinge of bitterness. 

You were jostled out of your reverie by the sudden appearance of EZ’s blocky frame, ambling toward you with the same girl from before on his arm. 

He greeted you with a slow wave and a soft smile. 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, clearly unsure of how much friendlier and closer he should approach you. 

You took mercy on Angel’s sweet, (big) little brother, opening your arms slightly for a hug. EZ took to the gesture like an over-excited golden retriever, scooping you up and spinning you once, before putting you back where he found you, slightly dizzier than you were before. 

He offered your name to the girl by his side, who looked pleasantly amused at the spectacle before her, her amusement melting to recognition at the name EZ had imparted to her. 

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

You tried not to let that realization sour your encounter, easing a practiced smile onto your features and offering your hand to the girl to shake. 

“Oh!” EZ chuckled. “This is Gaby -- er, Gabriela.” 

“Encantada,” you eased, gently shaking her hand before having a realization of your own. “Gaby, as in Leti’s friend?” 

She nodded, a warm smile illuminating her already sunshiney features. You could see why EZ obviously liked her. She had the practiced social grace of a debutante, but the friendly aura of someone you had known for your entire life. 

“I hope you’re keeping Ezekiel out of trouble,” you teased gently. 

“Only as well as I can,” she replied. EZ rubbed the back of his neck as you two gossiped about him like he wasn’t standing right there. 

“Listen, hermanita,” EZ began, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottle clutched in his hand as the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, “About Angel --” 

That was a hard no. 

“Coco!” You called as you spotted the lithe man prowling through the crowd after obtaining a drink from the bar, effectively shutting EZ up. 

Coco sidled over, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nodding in greeting to EZ and Gaby. 

“Wassup, chiquita? Over here with all the cool kids?” 

“You know damn well I was never cool enough for the cool kids,” you knocked your shoulder into Coco’s good-naturedly. 

“Dunno about that, pequeña,” Coco took a drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled. “I’ve got some pretty cool body armour thanks to you.” 

“All in a day's work,” you mock-saluted. You were doing great. Keep it light, keep it friendly. You may be able to make it out of this unscathed, after all. 

Gaby and EZ were speaking softly to one another just to your side, as you and Coco continued your conversation. 

“So, who’s the new guy?” You asked, nodding over to where Angel and the still-unnamed newbie were tossing back shots. You tried to ignore that each one had girls placed on each of their laps. Well, mostly you were trying to ignore one girl placed on one lap; tried to ignore as ringed fingers trailed up and down her thigh hypnotically as he howled in laughter at something the new guy had said. 

The longer you stared at the way he was touching her, the more You thought you could feel it on your own skin. And you knew all too well how that touch felt. Memories, make you, right? 

You blinked harshly, turning your face back to Coco’s, only to find his hawkish eyes trained on you as he continued to smoke. Now you were certain he had seen everything you had, and more. And you cursed yourself for slipping. Because nothing slipped past Coco. 

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

“Andres. He’s aight. You may not remember him from before, when he was just a prospect.” 

“Guess not,” you agreed, shrugging amiably, suddenly very interested in toying with the hem of your flowy little summertime skirt. 

“Mierda,” you heard Coco hiss, glancing up to see none other than the new guy -- Andres -- walk over, his arm around the waist of the girl from his lap, accompanied by none other than Angel Reyes, furnished with his own lap-turned-arm candy. She was giggling in his ear, popping her gum and bumping her hips against Angel’s as she walked by his side. 

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

The easy smile you’d had when conversing with Coco now felt positively screwed into place, settling unnaturally, a stranger's face made up of your own features. 

Andres smirked at you in greeting, eyes trailing over you -- the most unwelcome iteration of that gesture in this context to-date. 

“I hear you’re the girl to see about some ink.” 

You bit back the snarky response that rose to your tongue. You see anyone else here, tonto?

“Sure am,” you replied, cool as you pleeeeaseeee. Maybe a little too cool. The ice in your voice was obvious to everyone except the strangers before you. 

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

“Great,” the new meat brushed the girl off from his side, plopping unceremoniously into your chair. “You did that right?” He pointed behind you to where Angel was standing, gesturing at his arm and your miniscule mural of memorial greenery. 

“Cierto.” You nodded, sparing Angel’s arm the barest of glances.

“Aight, well, none of that girly shit, alright, sweetheart? Angel may have had the good grace not to say anything, but flowers ain’t really my style, yeah?” 

What the fuck.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Coco visibly tense next to you, obviously displeased at the uncalled-for critique of your work. Of a piece he himself had often admired. He would never admit it, but he thought the story behind it was even better. It’s like you had walked out of some shitty romcom Leti watched with her tittering friends and into Angel’s dreams, sinking yourself beneath Angel's skin like a dream he would recount to all of his friends. Coco knew the most about you by nature of Angel's second-hand stories when you were together. Although Coco thought, once he had met you, Angel's stories didn't do you justice. How wonderful and talented you were. How warm and welcoming.

Angel watched the exchange silently, clearly none too keen to defend the piece you had designed for him. That had come to mean so much to you. 

That stung.

You winced, almost imperceptibly. But you were certain Coco saw it, not much escaping his sniper’s eyes. EZ, with his owlish perception and photographic memory, certainly would have seen it, too. If Angel saw it, it’s not like he was going to say anything now. 

Where the fuck was Aneesa? Wasn’t she supposed to be heading this kind of shit off? You glanced over at the couches in the corner where your friend had previously been sitting with GIlly, and was now nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ typical. 

“Aight, no más flores." No more flowers. “What were you thinking, then?” 

That was you, ever the professional. 

Andres showed you his phone, a rendering of an old-style beastly cat, like a panther from an old folktale, pulled up in his image search. 

“Something for a warrior,” he puffed his chest slightly. “I was thinking here,” he shrugged out of one side of his new kutte, tugging the button-up to expose one side of his chest. 

“You got it.” 

You set to work, cleaning the area to be inked and getting your tools ready. The rest of the group drifted as the project progressed, clearly not feeling the need to stand there for the entire duration of a tattoo. 

You were acutely aware that Angel hadn’t stepped as far away as the others, circumventing the periphery of yours and Andres’ space, not close, but not far. And he still had yet to even look in your direction. Or acknowledge your existence. 

You tried your best to ignore the icy shard of Angel’s indifference that was currently wedging its way between your ribs and lodging itself firmly once more into your heart. At this point, you guessed it would never heal. 

“Sooooo,” Andres lolled his head to the side of his chair to face you, slinging back the beer from the bottle dangling in his free hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You were around a little bit when I was prospecting.” 

You opted not to respond, aware that Angel was likely listening, and you would need to choose any words carefully. Andres had no such reservation, clearly uncaring about who might be listening. He pressed on, each word more infuriating than the last. 

“You were Angel’s little sidepiece for a while, right?”   

You tried to keep your despairing sigh to a quiet little nothing. 

“Sure.” You offered lamely. “Sorry, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really work better when I’m not talking.” 

“S’alright, jaina. I can talk enough for the both of us.” 

You hmm’d nonchalantly at that, lip imperceptibly curling over your teeth in distaste at the moniker. You chose instead to focus on the piece. You wouldn’t give a shitty tattoo, even if this guy was a douchebag. And the pleasant buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe you were etching the lines a little sharper than strictly necessary. If he noticed, Andres gave no indication, continuing on with his diatribe: 

“So, what happened? I mean, Angel knocked that other chick up? Ouch, right?” 

You were now seeing red, the edges of your vision blurring slightly with angry, pinpricking tears. Thank fuck you were just about done with this. 

“But that’s the life right? I mean, we’re not exactly known for being steady with just one chick. You know how it goes ...” He eyed you up and down again, lingering a little too long on your legs before finishing his thought with a smirk “... Clearly.” 

You hated his use of “we,” like he was in any way, shape, or form worthy to be in the class of man EZ, Coco, Bishop, or, hell, even Angel, was. None of them would talk to you like this. No matter what Angel had done. 

You shut off the gun, pushing back from the space with Andres, spinning in your chair, and grabbing the clean wipes for Andres’ fresh ink. As you dabbed the area and made to bandage it, the oblivious biker grabbed your wrist. None of the teasing fun or gentleness in the same gesture that Angel had imparted when you had first met. No, Andres’ grip hurt. It was all bruising possession and entitlement. 

“I think we would have fun, you and I.” He leaned forward and far too into your space, the stale stink of warm beer heavy on his breath. 

You wrenched your grip from his, standing quickly and offering him a tight smile, cheeks flaming with your anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak so trivially of your relationship with Angel. How dare he think you were so easily won with his kutte and shitty attitude. 

“Uhm,” you tugged your fingers agitatedly through the ends of your hair, chewing your lip. “You’re all set, Andres. Aftercare sheet is on the table next to you. It’s on the house. Happy patch party!” Your voice sounded so shrill and fake in your own head, but you just didn’t have it in you to care at the moment. 

With that, you quickly whirled on your heel, in a distressed flurry past the Angel-shaped blur who had been watching the entire encounter, and out of the clubhouse door into the cooler late-night air. 

Getting heavy to breathe in this room together. It’s so awkward, we can’t seem to do it better. Can’t we just fake a smile and put our shit to the side? 

---

Angel had waited a whopping 18 hours to text you after your clandestine tattooed meet-cute. 

You were in the middle of exchanging consultation e-mails with a prospective client when your phone had buzzed. 

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

“Vince? No Vince here. This is Frida’s phone.”

You watched as the little bubbles appeared in the corner, disappeared for a second, and then reappeared. You were grateful for the little manifestation of Angel’s hesitance. It made him seem more human. And it made you appreciative that he was clearly trying to choose his words with you, when words had seemed to come so easily to him when you had met. 

“My bad. Oh, beautiful, talented Frida.” 

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your features now. Grateful it was still you and only you in the shop so that no one could see your “obviously-texting-a-cute-guy” face. 

“It’s nice to hear from you, Angel. Good thing you didn’t throw away the card.” 

“That card was clearly a gift, querida. Much like the pretty flowers on my arm.” He snapped you a picture of his tattoo, the healing process underway. 

“Looks great!” You sent, cringing at your lack of ability to effectively flirt via text. It was something that your friends had teased you relentlessly about back in the Town -- your notorious lack of game. No! New home, new you! Be cute. Be cute. 

“So, if I’ve given you all the gifts, what do I get?” You sent with a “thinking” emoji. 

Angel at least had the decency to wait a minute or two before replying, either thinking about his response or keeping you in suspense… you weren’t sure. But you were grateful for the little opportunity to catch your breath. How did he make you so speechless when he wasn’t even in the room with you? Some things just weren’t fair. 

“Niña, I paid you for this ink. What more could you possibly want from me?” 

Tricky Angel. Zorro. Like a little fox, he had effectively maneuvered the conversation back to you -- the ball was in your court. Would you tell him what you wanted?

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

“You texted me, boy. Are you sure it isn’t you who wants something?”

If only your friends could see you now. That was damn smooth. 

“Boy?” 

You snorted to yourself. Trust a guy like Angel to get hung up on something small like that. The bubbles reappeared. 

“I was thinking about this pretty girl I met the other day. Hell of an artist. But a shit poet. Thought I would see if she was free sometime?” 

Angel was merciful. You could kiss him. Had he seriously just taken all the weight out of this conversation? Your heart felt a million pounds lighter in your chest, knowing he was asking you. The wave of relief that he wanted to see you again crashed through you, replaced in the tide with the backdraft of a feeling of mischievousness. You wouldn’t let him off so easily.

So you waited before responding. Let him sweat a little, right?

Only… you weren’t sure Angel was sweating as much as you were, fingers itching with the desire to text him back and accept immediately. 

When what had felt like an eternity (but in reality had only been about seven minutes) had passed, you picked up your phone, opening the conversation with Angel. 

“She’s free next Thursday … After your bike week, el rey de los bandoleros.” 

You put your phone back down on the counter, grinning like an idiot, feeling like you had just swallowed a bunch of bubbles. You entertained the notion that if your combat boots weren’t keeping your feet weighted to the floor, you would have floated away. 

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

Time passes slowly the more you want it to go quickly. And whenever you have a deadline you’re dreading, it gallops ahead. Time really is that bitch, and she does not give a fuck about your feelings. 

The following Thursday felt like it took a year to arrive. But it found you closing up the shop, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and pop rocks, adorned in your favorite pair of jeans and boots, a clean, flattering tank top that showed off your own ink. You hoped it was fine for whatever Angel had in mind. 

Honestly, he hadn’t said anything about your date. A few flirtatious texts here and there? Obviously. You sent him photos of the pieces you had done for new clients. He sent you ridiculous selfies and a couple of group pics of him and his friends at the biker event. One guy who kept popping up in the photos, Angel had told you, was his “little” brother. But there was nothing “little” about that dude. 

You loved seeing all of Angel’s goofy, smiling faces. Treasuring the photos in your small moments of quiet downtime. 

The rumbling of a bike engine greeted your ears, like the seductive purr of a large cat. You glanced up, a full Cheshire grin alighting your features at the sight of Angel’s gorgeous, deep forest green bike, and the man of the hour looking very at home on the seat. 

He rolled to a stop in front of you, unclipping his helmet and dismounting with his winning trademark smirk, ambling over to greet you. 

“Frida,” he scooped you into a hug, his tall frame causing you to lift, your toes now barely brushing the ground as he brought you to his height. He pressed a soft kiss to your check, setting you down gently and letting you get your bearings, chuckling pleasantly at the obvious, dizzying effect his greeting had had on you.

“Angelito,” you returned. “Back in one piece?”

“Hail to the king, baby,” he countered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, scuffing the toe of your boot into the gravel of the lot. “So, where are you taking me, o benevolent one?”

“Just gonna hafta find out.” He handed his helmet to you, helping you clip and tighten it beneath your chin. “Ever ridden before?”

“Uhm, well, sure” you replied too assuredly, quickly realizing your slip. “I mean, no. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that. But not on one of these.” Fuck. Could you be more embarrassing? 

Angel released a full-bellied laugh at your response, his head tossing back a little. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about alla that later, cielo.” You put your head in your palm willing the embarrassment to go away. Angel quickly pried your hands away, cupping your cheeks with his own warm hands, long fingers brushing your cheekbones reverently. “In the meantime, just hang on, okay?” 

You nodded, still cursing your idiot-brain that had partnered with the dirtiest corners of your mind to take over your mouth. Shut the fuck up, dumb-dumb. 

You clung to Angel as he drove, your hands roaming his firm torso probably a little too-familiarly. You enjoyed the way the wind whipped around you, tugging at yours and Angel’s clothes as you made your way up the canyon overlooking the desert that was Santo Padre. 

Angel parked his bike on the ridge overlooking the town, the sun beginning its descent in the desert sky in swirling hues of pastels and cotton candy pink-purple-blue overtaking the orange hue. 

You had never been up here before, and you told Angel as much. He looked pleased at that, pleased that he was the one to show you the best view of the Santo Padre sunset. 

Angel busied himself unpacking the bags on the side of his bike while you enjoyed the scenery. Pulling out a couple of wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water, he handed yours to you, coming to stand next to you on the ridge. 

"Thanks," you acknowledged, looking at the offerings. "What, no beer?"

Angel chuckled a little at that.

"I ain't tryna liquor you up, niña. Besides, you want warm beer that's been rattling around on my bike all afternoon?"

You crinkled your nose a little at that. "No," you decided. "Never mind. Besides, I'm more of a whiskey girl."

Angel glanced at you, sipping on his own water idly.

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks it's impressive when a girl drinks whiskey because it's such a 'man thing.' "

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

"Nunca. Just took you for more of a… dunno? Maybe a rum kinda girl?"

"Don't think so. For now, though? Water and sandwiches do me just fine. Whiskey can come later." You took a bite of the now-unwrapped sandwich. "This is good," you confirmed around a slightly-full mouth. "Did you make this?"

"Of course. Pop owns the butcher shop down the street from your parlour. Sliced the meat myself, an' all," he said, a little proudly now that he knew you approved of his sandwich-making skills.

"Bueno," you giggled. "Thank you for this, Angel. Really. This is one of the nicest nights I've had since moving here." You shuffled a little closer to where he was standing, looking in his eyes as you thanked him.

"Bah," he waved away your compliments, "it ain't alla that. This can't be the most exciting thing you've done since getting here."

"Maybe it is," you pressed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm too boring for the king of the bikers?"

"I doubt that very seriously, querida," he turned his body so he was facing you now, sandwich long gone, fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. "You play your cards right, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. Then things'll get really exciting."

You blinked. One date and he already was thinking about introducing you to his friends? Your inner shy romantic (okay, not so "inner," right? You're pretty clear about who you are) was doing little somersaults in your chest. 

You must've been silent a beat too long because Angel was quick to supplement, "Only if you want."

"I'd like that," you confirmed, nodding and smiling gently. 

"So, are you gonna tell me what brings an East Bay girl here?" 

You raised a brow. You didn't remember telling him where you moved from. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck nervously, realizing you'd caught his slip. 

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

You finished your sandwich, thinking about how much you wanted to tell him.

"Just time for a change of scenery. Olí is an old friend, and he offered me a job. I think he wants to travel more." You shrugged, "It just felt like it was time. Plus, I dunno… I like it here. Much quieter."

Angel nodded at that, not having the heart to tell you that his club was not at all quiet and was the source of the disruption in the otherwise-quaint town. 

You kept talking, telling him about the friends you'd left behind, your old shop, weekends spent in the park surrounding Lake Merritt, and going to Raiders games. Angel took in your features as you spoke, the golden light of the sunset making you glow like something out of a dream he'd had once. Your eyes sparkled as you talked about things you loved, the books and art that inspired your poetry. How you'd gone to art school. You were something.

"-- Sorry, I'm rambling," you breathed in a rush, flush with the amount of talking you'd been doing in a record amount of time. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Angel realized he'd been staring as long as you'd been talking.

"No, querida. Nothing in your teeth." He gave you a dazzlingly white smile.

"Oh thank God," you returned his smile with a small one of your own, shying a little under his gaze, and wondering how long he had been looking at you like that as you'd talked.

He leaned over you now, his height giving him the definite advantage as he'd -- not unwelcomely-- invaded your space. He brought one hand up to cup your chin, his dark eyes revealing flecks of sparkling gold in the pastel wash of the sunset as his gaze once again met yours.

You saw his quick glance down at your lips, you unconsciously giving a small nod before his warm lips met yours.

Oh.

You had obviously been kissed before, been the recipient of past romantic attention. All of that paled in comparison, melting away as Angel's full lips maneuvered over yours, both of his large, calloused hands gently brushing your cheeks as he cupped your face, sliding one hand down to rest on the side of your neck.

You sighed lightly, one of your own hands twined into his shirt, the other resting on the side of his firm torso. 

Angel took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, your own brushing against his as the kiss deepened.

 You were in no hurry for the kiss to end, enjoying the way everything about Angel was so warm, something that was surprisingly welcome, despite the ever-present desert heat of Santo Padre. You could get used to this. 

You had only known Angel a short time, realistically. Your one meeting spawning a series of flirtatious texts and snaps, and now this date that, while low-key, felt almost too perfect to be real. He made you feel safe, desired.

You could already feel him slipping beneath your skin to rest in a special place in your heart. And while you as a person were generally reticent to share that part of yourself with anyone, you had a feeling Angel could take up permanent residence there. If he wanted. 

You dropped from your tip-toes, effectively breaking the kiss.

Angel blinked, looking down at you and noting the pleasant glow on your skin, lips now slightly swollen from his kiss. He could get used to this.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, trading quips and stories as the sun went down. Angel told you about his club, his brothers. About his pop and Ezekiel, and how at one time, he enjoyed being the bigger brother, teasing, pranking and lording over EZ until EZ had hit his growth spurt and could (and would) definitely hit back. 

As he drove you home, you snuggled a little bit against him, pressing yourself into his back and enjoying the way you swore you could feel his heart pounding through the kutte and over the rumble of the bike and the road.

He'd dropped you off with a parting kiss and the promise of another date.

Another date turned into several. Time you weren't at the shop was now spent with Angel, showing him what you were working on, inviting him over for dinners and to watch mindless television while he told you what he could about his day. 

The both of you were slowly peeling back the layers around your respectively guarded hearts, revealing more of yourselves only to be met with pure acceptance by the other. Even blindados had to take off their armour at some point. 

You cherished your time with Angel, and he quickly found himself stumbling, head over his own biker-booted heels for you.

After a few months had passed, he had brought you to meet the club. You had manifested nothing but general acceptance of his lifestyle and were eager to meet the people Angel had so obviously cared for. Who had helped shape him into the brash but conscientious person he was with you. 

And one sunny afternoon had found you bringing lunch you had made for the entire club over to the scrapyard, Angel agreeing with your plan. You never were one to show up empty-handed. 

As you walked across the yard, past the gate, and into the clubhouse, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the blinding sun outdoors, Angel bounded over to greet you. Taking the bag full of homemade goodies from your arms, he pressed quick kisses to your cheeks, and one to your forehead. 

He turned, met with the pleasantly-surprised stares of his brothers. He announced your name to the room before turning to you, pointing at each man and supplying a name. You nodded, smiling and offering a warm wave to each. 

The man you knew to be EZ from all of Angel's initial texts and photos quickly strode over to you, shaking your hand in his impressively firm grip before bending down to press a quick kiss to your cheek with a,

"Bienvenido, hermanita. Angel's told me a lot about you. Won't shut up, really," giving you a sly wink as Angel swatted EZ's arm in annoyance at his brother's revelation.

Boys.

The smaller man with the sharp eyes and full curls you knew to be Coco made his way over to where you were now seated as Angel went to get you both drinks, the other men digging into your offerings as you made yourself comfortable.

He sat next to you, tossing you a, "You mind?" Lighting his cigarette after you’d shaken your head.

He studied you through his own plumes of smoke before leaning across the table and speaking to you, lowly and with an almost conspiratorial rasp to his voice,

"You did that cover-up for Angel?" He asked on a smooth exhale.

"Mhmm," you nodded. "He gave me free reign. I was nervous he'd hate it."

Coco seemed to chew over your words for a dragging moment. You shifted in your seat. He was definitely sizing you up.

"Bold move, pequeña, giving the secretario of a biker club a sleeve of flowers." 

"I suppose it was," you sighed, more than a little uncertain now. "But it felt meaningful, right, I guess. I just sort of… started drawing. I… think it worked out, though?" You trailed off.

Coco nodded. "It's a fuckin' good piece, mami. Angel told me what you'd said about memories making you who you are." He snorted lightly through his nose. "It's funny. We've never even met before, and you're already sounding like me." 

A small smile played across his lips, returning it with one of your own.

"I'm glad you approve," you nodded. "Angel's opinion obviously matters, and don't tell him I told you this, but it means alot coming from one of his family." 

And that's what they were. His family. You could see it. The obvious camaraderie and care underlying each of their actions with the other. You admired the system of support, cushioned by good humor, despite being flung regularly into harsh reality. It was clear -- they were there for one another.

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

"Maybe you got space for me in your books one-a these days?"

Your small smile was a full-blown, sunny grin now.

"Of course. Anytime you want to drop by, you're more than welcome." 

"Gracias, chica." Coco leaned across the table and patted your shoulder before getting up and taking his leave.

And so it went. The boys would filter through your shop. Olí teasing you about his offense that all of his most lucrative, inked clients were now going to you. 

You enjoyed the time working on pieces for them afforded you -- offering you a glimpse into their inner workings, what they felt was important enough to take up permanent residence along their skin. Making idle chit-chat with you while you worked. And always, always sharing embarrassing little anecdotes about Angel. 

The months passed with you and Angel, finding comfort in your unpredictable, but welcome, respective routines. 

One night in particular found Angel wrapped up in your embrace, the physical embodiment of your gradual and growing trust in one another.

He had arrived home more than a little rattled, his eyes wildly darting to the corners of the room before settling in you, exhaling a shaky breath before striding the length of the room and crushing you to him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. 

You understood he probably couldn't tell you what had happened, but you asked anyway, needing him to know you would hear him.

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

He shook his head softly in the negative, but didn't elaborate. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it," you wound your arms up and around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. "But it's going to be okay. I've got you. I won't let go."

He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from his neck and sliding your arms down, bringing them to rest around his waist. Once he had positioned you where he wanted, he brought his hands to cup your cheeks, eyes heavy and dark with the weight of his stormy thoughts. 

He nodded at what you had said before bringing his lips back to yours. 

You brought one hand up to meet his, where it rested along your cheek. You twined your fingers through, joining your hands while breaking the kiss. You lead him through the apartment, bringing him to the bedroom. You had music softly playing from your speaker in the corner, candles lit to bathe the room in ambient glow and a warm, honey smell, all in anticipation of Angel's eventual arrival home.

You silently gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, where you took your seat next to him. 

You tugged the leather kutte from his shoulders, folding it reverently and placing it on the chair near the bed. He exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging once the leather manifestation of his obligation to a darker world had been removed. The weight of the world a little less on the mantle of his shoulders. 

You turned your attention to his feet next, unlacing and tugging off his boots. Then, his belt. 

Once he was just in his jeans and his t-shirt, you resumed your seat at his side, bringing him back into your embrace and carding your hands through his hair, as his head rested on your shoulder. 

Angel spoke, voice cracking as he broke the seal of silence in the room. 

"It was… it was awful, Frida." He sighed. "I do everything they ask. It's my job … Fuck. Sometimes I wonder how much more my heart can take. But then, I get to come home to you." 

His breath was shuddering now.

And while you didn't always know what to say -- it was a rare sight to see Angel so rattled. But you were a caregiver by nature, ready to give him the pieces of yourself that would make him feel whole.

You guided him down so that he could recline, you came to rest at his side, winding your arms around his torso, your face turned into his neck, cuddling him as he came down from the mania of his emotional high.

The moments passed, Angel's breathing leveling again as you stroked his hair in time to the soft music.

He turned his head to look at you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked at him, your gaze warm and adoring, full of twinkling fairy light and starshine. 

"Te amo, querida," Angel breathed. This was not the first time he had said it to you during your months together. But each time felt as momentous as the first, each declaration of love felt like the slip of something sweet, and you were determined to store it in your heart and mind forever.

"I love you too, Angel. More than anything," you murmured. "I love your smile, your sense of humor, your strength." You pressed kisses to his face and neck with each admission. "Mostly, I love your strength. And that you trust me enough to tell me when you don't always feel it."

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

"I love your mind. How creative you are. How you see everything so beautiful, just like you," he hmm’d. "Mostly I love your trust. And that you choose to give it to me." 

You kissed him again, leaning over him with your entire body, pressing your palms gently into his shoulders. 

As your kiss deepened, you each began to tug at the other. His hands carded through your hair, tugging gently, but firmly. You lifted his shirt from his torso, the kiss breaking so you could peel it away.

You divested one another of each layer, baring yourselves to the other, body and soul. Again, this wasn't the first time you had done this. But this felt momentous nonetheless. 

Angel skimmed his hands over your form, running his hands softly down and over your breasts, loving your soft sigh at his touch. 

You leaned over him once more, reluctantly removing his hands from you, and placing them gently down at his sides. 

"Your heart is mine, mine to protect," You hummed softly, invading his senses and placing kisses down Angel's neck and to his chest, trailing your lips lovingly over Angel's heart, and pressing one last deliberate kiss there. "And I take my job very seriously." 

As you kissed him, you lightly trailed your fingers down his torso, coming to rest at his hip.

Your declaration was met with silence; you glanced up at Angel through your lashes only to find him already looking down through heavy-lidded eyes at you, his now swirling with some unnamed, weighted emotion.

You trailed your hand across his hip, not breaking eye contact as you took his hardening length into your hand. He inhaled sharply at the sensation of your grip, but refused to look away as you began to pump him slowly, still pressing kisses to his hips, torso and thighs. 

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

"Please, what?" You murmured back, your voice taking a throaty register you reserved strictly for private moments with your beloved.

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

"Relájate, baby, I've got you," you assured. Sweeping your hair back, the action washing Angel with the sweeping comfort of your scent as you made your way lower down his body. 

Angel slumped back against the bedspread, glittering galaxy eyes still trained on you as you lavished him with attention. 

You took the opportunity to flatten your tongue, licking a broad stripe up the length of him, one hand braced against his firm thigh, the other holding him gently at the base of his cock as you worked.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of him, delighted at his throaty moans, feeling the effect they had on you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside, feeling the slickness from your own center as your thighs rubbed together. 

Taking Angel wholly into your mouth now, you bobbed over him, relishing in the heavy feel of him in your mouth and the throaty groans you received from Angel in response. 

Before you could spend too long lavishing him with attention, Angel tugged on your hair at the base of your neck. Following his grip, you lifted your head and released him from, watching (a little greedily) as his thick length bobbed against him when you relinquished him from the confines of your mouth. 

He guided you up his body, hand still knotted in your hair, pushing his mouth onto yours, uncaring of the saliva on your lips and chin, and the taste of himself on your tongue. 

You straddled his hips, surging the rest of the way up his body and effectively deepening the kiss. The hand that was once in your hair now made its way to loosely grip at your throat, the other skimming his way down your breasts, across your ribs and toward your center.

As his fingers traced through your folds, you involuntarily rolled your hips into his hand, alight at his touch, and desperately seeking more. 

Angel touching you was like the shock of a live wire. Every time felt just as electric as the last, goosebumps erupting across your flesh as his fingers traced across your skin. 

He chuckled through your fused mouths, drawing back at your reaction and the wetness he found between your legs.

"Eager, amor?" Every word fell that fell from his lips sounded like a dangerous purr.

You nodded, drunk on the way Angel's hand gently squeezed your throat, while the other was teasingly making its way to-and-fro across your wet folds, occasionally making his way up to lightly circle and press his thumb over your clit, making your eyelids flutter. Your hips continued to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, his teasing touch making you more than a little crazy.

"Yeah?" Angel asked, his voice thick and syrupy, the timbre like dark clouds. "That shit turn you on? Sucking my cock?"

His words combined with his touch made another rush of heat flood through you. You were certain you would pass out, that your knees would buckle. And you were doing so well, holding your place up and over his hips while he played with you.

The hand on your throat gripped a little tighter, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

"Nuh-uh, baby," he shook you lightly, all mirth gone from his eyes, no more pleasant, smiling crinkles at the corners. His full lips pressed firmly together. "I asked you a question. You answer that shit"

He pressed two fingers teasingly against your entrance, refusing to insert them, despite the little roll of your hips.

"Y-yeaahh," you sighed, head tossed back, "I-I fucking love it -- love you, Angel."

He rewarded you by sliding a long finger into you, allowing you to ride his hand. The hand still around your throat guiding you forward, over him, allowing him to press hot, open-mouthed kisses, first to your lips, dirty and raw, like an exposed nerve in his unabashed want for you. 

He relinquished his hold on your neck, allowing him to trail his lips and his tongue there, kissing you softly behind your ear, down and around your neck to your collarbones, all while his fingers continued their earnest treatment inside of you, his thumb now pressing to your clit, your warming crescendo building.

Using his height and the fact that you were straddling him, Angel encouraged you to lean forward, allowing him to capture one of your breasts in his grip, his mouth following. His warm tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so gently over your sensitive flesh.

Angel's attention was rewarded with your gasping sighs and breathy moans. How anyone could make you feel this good was beyond you. Angel had an uncanny ability to elicit responses and feelings like no other person before him.

You felt the thrumming hum and warm, sticky wave of your orgasm building as Angel worked his fingers inside of you, stroking that particular spot from within that he knew would be your undoing.

"O-oh," you whined, keening noises caught in your throat. "Please, baby, I n-need you. Need you inside." 

The room was sweltering. Or was it just you? Angel withdrew his fingers smoothly, not sparing you the chance to be disappointed at the loss of feeling as he smoothly flipped the two of you, guiding you down to the mattress and hovering over your trembling form. 

"Yeah?" Angel asked. "You ready for that, querida?"

You gazed up at him through your lashes, longingly. He would give everything, anything, that he had in the world if you only looked at him like that forever, gaze full of warmth, heat, and unfiltered, starry adoration. 

"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"

He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?

He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.

Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.

Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore, 

"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."

Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours. 

Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.

“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.

You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.

A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you. 

"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.

"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me." 

You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.

Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.

He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.

"Come on then, baby." 

Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.

Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him. 

He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath. 

Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.

"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."

---

Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks. 

Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing. 

The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end. 

How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them. 

The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind. 

Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you. 

But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes. 

Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him. 

Of fucking course.

You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him. 

And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't. 

One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex. 

A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart. 

"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."

You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply, 

"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."

"I care, Frida," was all he offered.

You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?

"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.

"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"  

Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then… 

"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"

You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.

The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him. 

Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.

You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."

“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion. 

You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply, 

“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.” 

Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way. 

"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--" 

You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.

"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"

You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on. 

"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it." 

You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.

Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??

It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why. 

An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite. 

And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it. 

You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more? 

"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it." 

Like he would, you thought.

You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car. 

Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.

You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them. 

The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky  new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.

And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.

What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?

---

Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp. 

Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous  energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.

He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.

His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning. 

“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. 

Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day. 

“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."

Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.

But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve. 

He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest. 

The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now? 

Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the  pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t. 

All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.

And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel. 

How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.

And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking. 

If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.

Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.

Tagging:

@themarcusmoreno @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @steeeeeeeviebb @qveenbvtch @mxsamwilson @ifimayhaveaword @huliabitch @pettyprocrastination @phoenixhalliwell @flightlessangelwings @cinewhore @velvetmel0n @moonlight-prose @rebeccasficrecs @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @ciriswife @justanotherblonde23 @superhoeva @witching-hour​ @luckyharley1903​

[notnctu]

POV | PART TWO

━ ❝ i’d love to see me from your point of view.❞

❀ lee donghyuck x fem!reader ❀ genre - slow burn, fluff! angst, (optional smut is marked with ****) ❀ details - best friends to lovers!au, college!au, ft. best friend mark, slice of life?, inspo by pov by ariana grande ❀ word count - 6.1k ❀ warnings - swearing, dangerous reckless behavior, fingering, penetration, public?sex?, unprotected, slight dirty talk ❀ synopsis - Donghyuck gradually falls in love with you, his best friend, through unprecedented intimate moments that reveal more than what meets the eye and a drunken shared kiss on your birthday makes him realize how hard he’s fallen for you. You’re oblivious to it all, trying to indulge and seek a one true love through bad tinder hookups or men you meet at the club, all to only end in self doubt that Donghyuck has to reconcile. And he always tells you what you need to hear, while also leaving out the part where he so badly wishes you can love yourself the way he loves you.

❀ a/n - make sure you read the first part as it’s a continuation! please please leave me feedback, i would really appreciate it :) this is going to be my last long fic for the time being! thanks for dealing with my spam for the past few weeks after months no of writings <3

READ PART ONE

Donghyuck thought about that kiss every night since it happened, yet knowing you didn’t do the same. How unfortunate it was, when he panicked waking next to you in the morning and wondering if you were to confront him about it. However, there was nothing, no follow up. You didn’t remember it and he couldn’t tell if the sigh that left his mouth that morning was out of relief or despair. 

Regardless, that became his epiphany and the more his love for you grew, the more he wished to be around you for all his days. Donghyuck jumped at every text message, picking up the phone to see if it was you and noting the disappointment in his heart whenever it wasn’t. He found himself smiling whenever your name was brought up, fondly thinking of how you make his heart race. 

The moments that you were together, he swears on every universe that he’s the happiest he’s ever been. There’s something about you that makes him want to believe in love, and it’s not because of your unrealistic desires to find one. As selfish as he came to be, he wanted you all to himself and to be the sole reason behind your smiles.

“No Mark?” Asking as you hop into Donghyuck’s car, the clock on his dash reading the red digital numbers 2:12 A.M. 

“Why can’t we just hang out for once?” He whines, but hopes that it’s playful enough to where you can’t tell that he’s actually serious. Donghyuck hears your melodic chuckle and everything inside him rumbles with glee and satisfaction. 

He steals quick peeks over at you in the passenger seat, greedily taking in your appearance. “That’s not exactly how a throuple works, but I’ll let it pass. Mark never has time for us anyways.” 

There is something so intimate about the late nights; the outside world is dead in its sleep and vulnerable to chaos. The streets are completely empty and it truly feels as if it’s you two against the city. It brings no regulations, easy escapes, staying up all night to feel something the day can’t give you. 

You are the perfect person to spend them with. You’re the very definition of a good feeling, where he’s forgetting all his bad days and soaring through the heavens. The most accurate human form of excitement, the adrenaline and sweetest thrills that run throughout his body. 

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to do…” As Donghyuck pulls into a gas station parking lot, the small convenient store is brightly lit with a blinding white sign that reads a popular chain establishment. 

Hyuck blinks at you curiously, head tilt and waiting for you to finish your sentence. Getting out of the car, you stand on your toes and rest your chin on the roof of his car to speak directly to him, “you know that big intersection over on 34th Boulevard?” He catches the mischievous twinkle that shines in your eyes and a grin so fearless fits your face perfectly.

He nods, spinning his car keys on his finger and walking up to the store. But he’s looking back at you with eyes that ask for you to proceed with him, and you’re running towards him with a sudden youthful energy and a jump in your step. 

Your hand latches onto his arm and his gaze drops momentarily to follow it, “I’ve always wanted to just run down the middle of it. To run down a busy traffic area when it’s empty, knowing that this would be the only opportunity to do it without getting run over.” 

“Is that what you’re suggesting we should do next?” Hyuck opens the fridge and grabs his favorite prepackaged ice cream cone. Your grip on his sleeve tightens, your dazzling eyes never leaving his.

He hands you a random popsicle and you take it mindlessly, your train of thought still trying to convince Hyuck to embark on achieving this new thrill of yours. “If you didn’t have anything else planned…”

“Am I some Fairy Godmother? Granting your wishes to come true?” Using sarcasm to hide his undying desire to scream yes! may be the best thing he’s learned to utilize. However, you don’t need to beg any more when a small smile curves at his lips. He’s more than convinced.

“Ah, a happy couple. You two look great together.” The rather talkative cashier compliments while he rings up the icey treats. 

Just before Hyuck can clarify, you’re pulling him closer by the arm and using your fake saccharine smile. “The best boyfriend ever!” His throat freezes, but he’s following your lead closely. Confusion wandering his thoughts, but heart swelling at your usage of the word boyfriend to reference him. 

The friendly stranger laughs wholeheartedly at your giddy act, completely falling for your overplayed nature of a lovey dovey girlfriend. “He always buys me what I want, like this ice cream. He knows it’s my favorite.” You blink innocently up at him, but he finally understands your malicious motive.

Shooting a glare at you, he complies silently and pulls out his card to pay for both of your treats. “Right. Anything my baby wants.” He says the pet name so easily that it shocks him a bit. 

“Hey, you’re a good man.” The clueless cashier smiles even wider and prints the receipt. With a simple gratitude, you both exit the store and you’re laughing the loudest form of mockery.

Jumping into the car, Hyuck is quick to roll his eyes. “He always buys me what I want.” He imitates your previous statement with a silly voice. “I can’t believe you robbed me.” 

The ridiculous scheme actually managed to work, leaving your stomach to hurt from the intense fit of giggles. “My baby? Where did you learn that?” You say between your spurts of laughter.

Heat rises up his neck, slightly embarrassed. “So what? Nicknames are cute.” He admits bashfully, while shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. 

Your chuckles die down and you’re leaning over the middle console to get a closer look of his expression. “Really? Didn’t think you were the type. You never used them with your exes.” 

“Around you.” A cringe runs down your spine when you witness Hyuck bite his ice cream, settling back in your seat with a grumble.

“Pet names in private.” Now, his palms grow a bit slick with perspiration. “That’s endearing.” Unwrapping your melting popsicle, you don’t probe him more about the subject. Instead, Hyuck turns up the stereo to drown out any more talk about romantic gestures.

After several rounds of finding street parking, Hyuck finally swerves into a spot situated just before the large six-way intersection. The traffic lights blink in view at the end of the street and in the darkness, there are no cars around. An unfamiliar scene, this place is nothing but a wide open road with five lanes that meet in the middle and lead to six different directions. The white painted lines that divide up the road are as chaotic as it looks during the day filled with traffic.

Nonetheless, you are right. There is no other chance to see it so dead, so empty, so free. 

And you’re already hopping out of the car that Hyuck breaks his daydream and hurries after you. Standing the middle of the road is a dangerous scheme, yet these are the thrill seeking moments that you crave too well. 

Extending your arm out and your palm facing the night sky, you grin enticingly at Hyuck to join you in the middle of the chaotic lines and the adrenaline picks up within him. He, too, matches your smile and lets every form of enthusiasm fuel him. 

“Race you to the end.” Hyuck begins bolting down the long runway, causing you to scoff in disbelief at his sudden challenge. 

The wind that takes flight against his body is crisp on his skin and driving his strands into a wild mess. Turning around, he sees that you’re quick on his tail. However, the one thing that catches his eye… the one thing that makes this moment another one of your most beautiful ones is the utter bliss and peace in your facial expression. 

Eyes are closed and arms are spread out as if you’re letting the wind carry you away. The air slips between the spaces of your fingers and the night is filled with nothing, but your gentle out of breath giggles. 

Donghyuck stops in his tracks right under the colorful traffic lights at your astonishing image. And if you are to open your eyes, you’ll see the marvelous image of your sun waiting for you in the middle of the largest intersection of the city with his mouth slightly agape and marked under a trance.

An exasperated sigh escapes as a puff of smoke and his heart works extra hard to pump oxygen in his veins. In his perspective, the excellent city skyline at the horizon remains your background and you’re running toward him with a breathless joy. Another splitting breathtaking image that will live in his mind for as long as he knows you.

So he throws caution to the wind and though it feels too good to be true, he loves his best friend more than anyone he’s ever come across.

By the end of your rendezvous, you two find a secret rooftop to fully enjoy your silent city. Standing side by side, you both lean with your elbows on the ledge. 

There is something so unspoken and intimate about this very moment, where existing in each other’s presences becomes wholly more comfortable than anything in the world. And this safety allows for vulnerable secrets to spill, for questions that your heart has always been afraid to ask to fall from your lips. 

But you’re not here with just anybody. Donghyuck probably knew what was already on your mind, he just needed you to speak them into existence.

“Hyuck, do you think I’m unlovable?” 

Perhaps, it’s the intimacy that allows for him to talk more confidently about how he views you. Heart over mind, he scoffs in disbelief. “Absolutely not. You’re the most lovable person I know! From your happy giggles to your overall easy going aura. We’re not perfect people, but you’re worth every glance and every praise. I wanted to be with you the very moment you made me laugh.” 

Donghyuck passionately rambles on about your attributes and everything you’ve allowed him to experience over the years of your friendship. While he’s always been there for you, you’re always by his side and making sure he’s living a memorable life. He thanks all his sweetest memories to you, that you are the most impactful person of his entire college experience.

“I came to college thinking I’d have my nose in textbooks all day long, but you fell into my life like an opportunity to escape. I love my nights trying to crush Mark on the leaderboards, but I’d give that up any day to run down a major intersection in the middle of the city with you.” 

With a playful soft chuckle, you say something that practically makes his heart stop and regret oversharing. “You know, from how you describe me… it almost sounds like you’re in love with me.”

“Maybe I am.” He bites the inside of his cheek, unsure what suddenly overcame him. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and he’s anticipating your response, trying every way to decipher the quizzical look on your face. Nevertheless, your hesitation causes him to panic and he intercepts before you can respond. “I meant that as your friend.” 

His heart drops into the pit of his stomach, gaze averting away from you. Lies. Lies. More fucking lies. He should’ve waited to see what you would’ve said. 

Nodding knowingly, you lightly place your hand over his. The warmth of your touch soothes his aching and disappointment. Why is he hurting from a simple look? “I know.” He can’t tell what’s worse, the fact that you truly believe he only loves you as a friend or that you saw right through him and are trying to let him save face. 

“Something happened the night of your birthday that I think I should tell you.�� Hyuck sighs out all his frustrations. 

He pulls his hand from underneath yours, “you asked me to kiss you as a birthday favor.” There is no confidence to watch your reaction, his eyes remain focused on the dark city. 

Instead of a painstaking rejection, you laugh wholeheartedly and somehow, he feels much lighter. “And did you?”

“How could I say no to you on your birthday?” Peering over, your fingers softly graze your lips and a wandering look is present in your dazed stare.

“It’s not the first time we’ve kissed, Hyuck.” Smiling at him, Hyuck looks cluelessly at you and doesn’t recall another time. He would’ve remembered. 

“Guess who I stole that same request from?” Your eye lashes bat firmly at him and he gulps at your implied question. There was no way.

“Me? When?” This all causes him to rack his brain of lost files, something he must’ve missed.

Sighing, you bid him a kind smile. “Your birthday party a few months ago. Drunk out of your living mind, you pulled me privately into the kitchen and asked if I could kiss you as a birthday gift.” 

Fuck, no wonder why he couldn’t remember. He didn’t remember a single thing from that night. “It was right after my break up.” 

Nodding, you affirm his realization. “You told me that you felt so lonely, and somehow…. someway… I’ve always made you feel seen. Perhaps, you do the same for me and my drunk ass was bold enough to ask for a similar request.” 

But did you kiss him as if you loved him? With the same amount of love that he did the night of your birthday? 

Nonetheless, you shrug off the topic and move on from it all. “We should go, the sun comes up in a few.” 

Hyuck notes this odd detail. You’re not one to end the nights so abruptly, so it almost seemed as if you didn’t want to speak more about it. 

Perhaps, you did kiss him like you meant it but every fear in your body about loving your best friend stops you from admitting it all. 

Because you shouldn’t love your best friend, but something deep down has always wanted to.

How ridiculous he was to believe that you could ever possibly share the same feelings as him. How foolish he felt the moment you burst into his apartment announcing how you’ve finally found the one after another random Tinder date. 

It’s as the night on the rooftop a week ago didn’t even exist or mean anything to you. But that night ate him up alive, to the point where he sought out love counseling from Mark.

“Oh dude, this is serious.” Mark watches Hyuck pace the room, double around the floorplan with his head in his hands with utter frustration and confusion. You’re the only thing that’s been running through his mind the last few days. 

He grunts and rolls his eyes at how Mark’s face had fallen sullen. “I practically confessed everything I loved about her. It’s pretty serious.”

Mark stands and stops Hyuck by the shoulders, looking dead into his eyes. “I’ve liked her before too and would have done some dumb act to get her to like me back. I get it, Hyuck. So, what do you want to do?”

Donghyuck initially scoffs and tears away from his best friend’s intense stare, “of course you liked her too.” His voice fades out at the end of his sentence. “Mark, I like her so much it’s hard to look at anyone else. She’s…”

“Mesmerizing?” Mark finishes his sentence with a small proud grin on his lips. 

Hyuck couldn’t hold the ridiculous laugh that escapes at how smug Mark looks, but then a silence falls over him. He realizes how perfect that word is to describe you. You are every dazzling trance he’d fawn under. 

“It’s wrong, Mark. She’s our best friend, I can’t ruin us.” Hyuck slumps his shoulders forward and a pout extends. His eyes are wandering the ugly carpet but he’s thinking about every moment you’ve smiled. 

“How did this happen in the first place? I thought you never would’ve liked her…” Mark’s question has Hyuck raking his brain to find his epiphany. “It’s not about your ex, is it? y/n is way too good to be a rebound.” 

“No. This has nothing to do with my old relationships, I genuinely like her… so much.” Hyuck understands the implications in Mark’s sudden abrasive questions. Even it’s difficult for himself to say how it all started and so this has Donghyuck reflecting back on his entire friendship with you.

If only he had noticed your lively smiles sooner, a little earlier, it would have saved him all this time searching for someone who would last. You’ve lasted through every college relationship he’s had and that speaks louder than any confession. 

“I never liked her because I never thought I had a chance. Have you seen her? Our best friend who has 400 matches on Tinder.” Though he blames himself for realizing a little late that he loved you, it was always hard to compete with everyone else. 

“So, what changed then?” 

Hyuck leans against the door to Mark’s room and crosses his arms to contemplate. “Not that I have a chance now, but I can’t hold these feelings back anymore. I want to kiss her until we’re out of breath, to love without any conditions, to be the reason behind her every beautiful moment.” 

Mark raises a confused eyebrow, “but you are.”

“The only reason.” Hyuck speaks his truest desires and Mark coughs aggressively before composing himself. Right, he didn’t stutter one bit. 

So, Hyuck had planned to confess, all until you gave him the very reason he couldn’t. When you showed up unannounced with one of those wide grins that has your eyes shimmering with hope, he just knew something was wrong. All his love and future aspirations were replaced with sheer disappointment and envy.

“I’m falling hard for him.” You begin and your hands are clasped together so innocently. “He brought me to this overlook on a cliff and we just talked for ages. It felt so right and then, he asked to see me again!” Your eyes are completely wondrous and distracted, like the one thought in your mind blocked out everything else. Jumping happily, you’re squealing with excitement thinking about this new person in your life and there is no consideration of Hyuck’s silence.

“That’s… great.” He barely stutters to fill the air and to replace the sound of his heart breaking. He lost you before even getting the chance to even have you. 

“I know right!” You yell joyfully and though your smile is the biggest it's ever been, Hyuck refuses to see this moment as beautiful. He’s no longer looking at you objectively, his bias tainting it all and he sees it in an ugly light. As your best friend, he should be happy for you and rooting for you. He’s known more than anyone else that you have been waiting for someone like this your whole college experience.

However, he can’t feel a single good emotion as you ramble on about your alleged one true love.

“Did you need something?” He cuts you off, growing a bit irritated by your endless praise about a man who never wishes to meet.

Clearing your throat, you take Hyuck’s hand in both of your palms. With begging eyes, you say, “my sister is getting married this weekend and they invited you. 

His hold escapes yours as he walks toward his bedroom, “shouldn’t you invite your new man to your family events now.” It’s difficult for him to hide the bitterness in his voice, but you run up to him and grip his arm. 

“But they think I’m dating you, remember? Plus, my mom referred to you by name. She really likes you.” You snicker, clearly not understanding why Donghyuck seems to be rather distant at the moment.

His ears perk up at the compliment and though it’s a selfish thought, he feels content knowing that he was able to win over your family. So, his heart burns at how your hand slowly travels down to intertwine with his own and how your chin rests on his shoulder lightly. His head turns and he is met a few inches away from your tender lips. For a brief moment, he’s staring at them longer than he should. 

“Come on, Hyuck. Be mine for one more time.” Your whisper is gentle and soft, your breath tickling against his cheek. Despite everything, he loves how you make him feel. It’s always a mixture of happiness and safety. There are no fears with you because you’re absolutely fearless. He can’t imagine how he would’ve opened up without you around, that he puts every form of trust into you. 

So, every little thing that you do. every single passing look. every touch and every spoken word. He falls harder for you every time you simply see him, every time you bat your eyelashes at him. And this love that festers inside of him feels easy and genuine. Perhaps, you’ve been his one true love all along. He’s never felt remarkably seen, where every part is exposed and right at your fingertips. 

And you… have been so patiently waiting for just anyone to steal your heart. How can he let just anyone love you? 

“I’m yours for however long you want me to be.” He lightly ruffles the top of your hair before slightly shrugging you off, afraid that your hold will eventually have him saying other sweet implications. “But don’t expect me to enjoy it.” He smirks at your small chuckle, the roll in your eyes.

“At least pretend.” But he really doesn’t have to. He enjoys every moment being yours. 

When the day finally arrived, the grand wedding may have been another day that Hyuck will never forget how beautiful you looked. Prancing out in your bridesmaid dress, you run towards him through the large field of fake grass. He catches you when you jump into his arms, practically failing all over and tripping over the ends of your chiffon dress. He hits the ground, cushioning your fall. 

“Hey..” you grin down at him breathless, hand resting perfectly on his chest as it was the night of your 21st again.

Hyuck gulps and sends you a glare, “I should have dropped you.” 

“That would have been very chivalrous of you.” Sarcasm bites back at him as you push up and off of him. He’s quick on his feet and brushing off any dust from the bottom of your expensive dress, avoiding the long open slit that runs down to expose one leg.

“Donghyuck, you’re looking ravishing.” Your mother steps out, tall and prideful, but with the most delightful expression as she opens her arms to invite him into a hug. 

He leans into it, while cautiously making suspicious eye contact with you. You shrug back, also confused at why your mother has a sudden change in demeanor. “It’s been so long since the holidays.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He bids your mother a respectful smile when she pulls away, to which she absolutely fawns at and you’re tugging at his sleeve to drag him away.

“The pleasure is all mine. You make y/n a better person.” And there is no context that Hyuck understands this single phrase before he’s walking away from your force. Your mother waves a small sweet goodbye as she watches you two leave behind a cobblestone wall behind the large reception building.

It’s covered in long vines that grow up the old stones, a beautiful background for an outdoor wedding. “Rude.” He whispers when you finally stop pulling him away.

“She was starting to say odd things.” You laugh, quite nervously actually. Nonetheless, you shake out of your nerves and a beaming expression replaces your troubles. “So, guess what? I’m meeting my man afterwards.” Yet again, the curve of your lips at the thought of another rumbles his own yearning heart.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looks down while kicking at the loose pebbles on the ground. “Good for you.” grumbles Donghyuck mindlessly.

You don’t notice his low spirits again, you’re talking away about this man as if he’s all you’re consumed with nowadays. On and on, the same speech about how you’re practically ready to give it your all and how he fits someone unimaginable. Eventually, Donghyuck becomes fed up by how your eyes blink up to the sun with another reflection in them. “It’s like you forget who you are when you’re with someone new.” 

And you’re in mid-ramble when you hear his harsh comment that picks aggressively at your skin. It stings, “what?” You cross your arms defensively and raise an eyebrow at him. The tone in your voice is jarringly upset and he opened a can of worms that he isn’t ready for.

Donghyuck swears underneath his breath, looking away at the tall trees behind the small parking lot. “Forget it.” He mumbles, rather frustrated at himself for ticking you off.

“What are you implying?” 

“There is someone that actually makes you a better person rather than someone completely different.” He scoffs, his emotions fueling the worst of him. The words flow from his mouth full of anger and spitefulness. 

Your eyes narrow at him, crossing your arms defensively. “Like you can give me the love you think I deserve? This whole fake boyfriend gimmick has gone too much to your head.”

And his heart is bursting at the seams and all he can see is your angry expression, so he says something he never hopes to regret. Every impulse beats his rationality and in the heat of the moment, Donghyuck confesses, “if only you can see yourself from my point of view and all the emotions I feel when I look at you.” 

With a sharp intake of breath, you’re slightly shocked at his bold statement. You blink cluelessly at him, speechless and deciphering how to respond. The anger fades from the both of you, knowing that the connection you two possess is mutual. Somewhere deep down within you, a light switches on and you’re basking in your sun’s radiance in this moment. 

“Tell me about it.” Your curiosity brings much confusion, but he doesn’t wait a second of hesitation. 

“Happiness, you light up my nights in dark cars with your smile. Trust, there is no one else I’d run down a dangerous intersection with. Courage, being bold enough to dance in a crowded room like no one was watching. Love, when kissing you felt incomparable to anything else in the world. Vulnerability, looking at you and knowing everything about you.” 

Donghyuck takes a cautious step forward toward you. A whirl of thoughts and emotions overwhelmingly flood your heavy mind, but fear no longer holds you back from the one person you’ve always wished to love, harder than any person you’ve ever encountered. “Donghyuck.” 

He freezes at the call of his name, waiting patiently for your next words. “I want to love me the way that you love me... because nobody loves me like you do… even myself. So, I’d love to see me from your point of view.” 

Donghyuck releases the sigh that suffocates him and every firework lights up in his chest. His eyes wander across your canvas and absorb everything wondrous about your features. Even though you’re not entirely smiling, you’re puckering your lips cutely out of embarrassment. And he reassesses how pretty you simply look in your expensive formal chiffon dress and the bold color on your lips that has made you feel good before. 

He thinks aloud, the words leaving his mouth before they can be stopped. “This is your most beautiful moment.” 

When you’re looking up at him to meet his dreamy gaze, a new enthusiasm washes over your entire body. Looking rather inexplicably attractive in his suit, Hyuck stares at you as if you’re all he can see. So, you pull him into the only source of gratitude you can give. A kiss that gives every emotion back to him, one that resembles closely to the one he gave you on your birthday and the one you gave him for his. 

An emotional kiss that tells him more than he can see. He feels it on the tip of your tongue and every ounce of love that rushes over the both of you.

***********

Donghyuck’s wandering hands travel down your waist, over your hips, all until it reaches in between the slit of your dress. His hand instinctively grips at your naked thigh, the feeling of your raw skin driving him wild with impure thoughts. Your hands are quick on his tie, loosening it from around his collar and unbuttoning the first few as you’ve done once before.

“Can,-- Is it okay if--?” Hungry eyes search his face for confirmation, but you’re so lust driven that you’re a stuttering mess. “Do you want this?” 

“Yes.” Says Hyuck without any hesitation. Taking his hand, you’re quick to lead him inside to a more secluded part of the venue. The lavish private bathrooms are brightly lit and he lifts you on top of the marble counters.

“The reception starts in 20 minutes.” You moan as Hyuck kisses down your neck hastily, a hand up the slit of your dress to push your panties aside.

“We’ll make it quick then. I’ll show you love another day.” His knuckle lightly grazes against your erect clit and your grip on his shoulder tightens. Whimpers fall from your lips as your hips mindlessly grind into his hand. “Never took you the type to be so loud.” Hyuck raises an eyebrow and tilts his head mockingly at you.

“This isn’t even close to how loud I can get.” Your statement causes him to swallow hard. Being your best friend, he has kept a rather clear mind from any sexual attraction toward you. He had to know he loved you in order to even see you in that way. 

Gathering your slick, he rubs your clit with two fingers before dipping them into your hole. You lean back into the mirror and prop your feet on the counter to spread open for Hyuck to see. “You let all these idiots fuck your pretty pussy? They don’t deserve you, as a person or a potential partner.” He fingers you deeper and with flicking motions, he hits your sweet spot and causes you to jolt.

“Please, just fuck me. I’ve always wondered how good you’d feel.” His eyes twinkle at your bashful confession, but understands your lustful desires even for your own best friend.

“You think about fucking me?” He asks abruptly, taking his fingers out to suck your juices clean from them. A coined flattered smirk appears on his lips as he unbuckles his belt.

You’re averting eye contact, “well no, maybe just once. I get horny when I’m drunk sometimes.” You admit and he’s rushing to take himself out of his restrictive dress pants. His dick hits the air and he adjusts closer to your dripping core.

And he enters, slowly and slowly inching in so you can adhere to his size. You bite back every yell of pleasure and grip the ends of his dress shirt. Hyuck fills you up deliciously, and you two are connected through bodies beyond any way before. He leans in to give you a sloppy, yet passionate kiss before dragging out his hips and pushing them back in.

There is no guilt, no pain, no sorrows. Knowing Hyuck, he fucks you in the same way he wishes to love you. His hips drive into you passionately and quickly. The time crunch being something that causes him great distraction, but his heart is swelling simply feeling your warmth wrap around him so well.

“My baby is so tight.” Pet names in private. A small grin appears on your face at the sound of the sweet nickname and you pull him closer by tugging his shirt.

“Harder, Hyuck. Don’t hold back anymore.” Moan after moan, Hyuck relentlessly drills into you. His arm is hooked underneath your left thigh to keep it up, and your head keeps banging against the mirror.

Your eyes roll back when his thumb rubs circles on your aching clit. The mixture of both pleasures stimulate you until the build up tension in your stomach begins to reach its peak.

“Cum, I know you fucking want to.” He grunts, keeping the same rhythm that pushes you over your edge. Your walls squeeze around him tightly as your legs shake sporadically from your release. You’re smart to cover your mouth, knowing that the bathroom will only echo your erotic sounds. Your chest rises and falls from the momentum and adrenaline that Hyuck helped you reach, breathlessly trying to calm your heart rate down.

After a few more harsh bumps, he pulls out and motions you forward. Jumping off of the counter, you kneel on the ground and suck his tip lightly. Your swirls are enough for him to empty into your mouth, his hot streams of salty liquid hitting the back of your throat. He looks down at you and your wide eyed expression with his cock in your mouth drives him overboard. 

And you swallow, getting up to lightly plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. A lip stain being worn proudly for just a moment. 

“You amaze me.” Hyuck whispers, holding you against his flushed body and fast paced heart beat. 

“Hurry out you two!” A voice startles the both of you with a knock on the door and you two are quick to readjust yourselves. He hopes to love you a little longer next time, without any interruptions.

***********

After the glorious and excruciating long wedding, you’re walking Hyuck to his car in the small parking lot. During the rest of the night, he held your hand the whole way through and the love that he looked at you with was more than real. 

He talked with your distant relatives as if he’s always known them. Hyuck conducted the dinner table, always knowing what to say. There was no doubt in your head that seeing Donghyuck in the aftermath, he was always going to be someone who was going to make things better. 

The love you long searched for, the love that you had been too afraid to touch, intertwined itself so lovingly underneath the white table cloth. Donghyuck is the one and it took needing to see him a bit more to realize. A little more acceptance from the both of you had to be the final straw.

Donghyuck sheepishly scratches the back of his neck when you reach his car, unsure where the path of your friendship will diverge to next. “Have fun on your date then…” His voice trails off, kicking the rocks at his feet again.

There goes your melodic laughter that soothe his aching heart and the familiar gentle grip on his fingertips. You lift his chin up, the both of you seeing each other clearly now.

From his perspective, you’re absolutely dazzling in the low light and butterflies swirl in the pit of his stomach. He can look at you forever, until months turn into years. He can love you until you two grow old. You’re his fearless, beautiful, inexplicably marvelous best friend. And he patiently waits for the day you’ll let him finally be yours.

From your perspective, Donghyuck shines even when the night overtakes the sky and possibly, the warmth in your heart bubbles across your chest. You can stay with him forever, until months turn into years. You can trust him like it’s you two against the world. He is your silly, charming, timidly benevolent best friend. And you’re slowly falling and hoping for the day you get to be his. 

“I’m not going to see him anymore. He’s not the one.” Hyuck blinks at you, full of confusion and shock.

“But you sounded so happy.” His voice gets lost in the stillness of the intimate atmosphere. 

“No, Hyuck. You make me happy and I’ll say it again for you to hear me. Nobody loves me like you do.” Reaching up, your hand caresses his cheek and he falls into your palm lovingly. His heart runs a mile, reaching the greatest high he’s ever going to feel. He hopes his eyes don’t deceive him, but the utter perfection on your face makes him feel whole.

You wish that Hyuck can teach you to love yourself the way that he loves you. 

“Take me home?” 

“How could I ever say no?”

thank you for being patient with me! its finally done and i will be going on a writing hiatus for a bit. housemating and ridin club will come out sometime soon, but i really need to step away from writing for a bit. please understand, thank you for reading :) 

[savorysatori]

DEJA VU. / SATORI TENDŌ! — dé·jà vu.

Deja Vu. /ˌdāZHä ˈvo͞o / a feeling of having already experienced the present situation.

synopsis. — you were both broken up. done with each other for the rest of your life, but, that one phone call always awoke something in you. bringing you back to where you used to be.

// warnings. smoking, car sex, tiny bit of angst. fem!reader, ex-lovers. possessiveness, toxic!tendō, face-sitting, daddy kink. + overstimulation, manipulation, non-con at first.

leader’s notes. my second attempt at writing angst and I hope I don’t butcher it, anyways, writing this hurt bad <33 but it’s also so hot because of toxic tendō. hehe! 💗

“You always babble on about us .. saying we can’t be together, and yet, you always pick up on my calls. You’re useless without me, dove.”

4:55 AM. — It was a soft breeze tonight, the birds were silent and the sun was slowly rising to uplift the night sky. It was a quiet night. Nothing to disturb your neighbors of their slumber, deep sleep with dreams of all kinds of things swishing between them and others. 

But, you, oh you. You were up, wide awake, awaiting that same message you get from him every single day. It had become a schedule to stay up this late, hoping the three bubbles would pop up beside his name. You yearned to see him again. And it was awful. An awful, awful thing. You fell deeper into his hole of games and tricks he played on you, unable to climb out from it. Fell deep into the love he provided you. But he couldn't love you back. That was the worst part of it, and the reason you could never tell anybody. You wanted to leave, and you did. You were the one who chose to break up, yet the one who kept going back and forth. This was the cycle of a pathetic relationship, and you knew it. You felt your cell phone vibrate in your hand. You felt a mixture of dread and excitement. Dread, because you knew who was texting.

“Come outside. I’m here.”

The message showed up. From there, you knew it was him. His words were short. Uneventful, but short. You opened your front door, walking out to the middle of the meadow behind your house, to feel the crisp air on your famished skin. The moon was high in the sky, and its light illuminated your surroundings. There was nobody else around, giving you a sense of isolation from any other living being. Tendō leaned against his sleek car, exactly where your visions had led you to expect him to be. His legs were crossed and his shoulders slumped as if he was trying to disappear into the dark color of the car. You couldn't make out much else about him, as he was keeping himself cloaked in shadow.

"Tendō," you uttered, walking up to him.

He slowly lifted his head, peeking out from the cloak of car. His eyes were lifeless. Empty. There was no emotion in those deep vermillions. They were cold. Hard. Like the metal of the car they were resting on.

"So, you did come,” he said, his voice monotone and emotionless, his mouth however was pulled up into a small smirk. He pushed himself up from the car, standing at its height. He brushed some dirt off his slacks, and pulled the car door open, climbing inside. You followed his example, climbing into the passenger seat.

Tendō’s car was spotless. Not a speck of dirt was anywhere to be found on the car's interior. The seats were equally as clean, with not a single stain or tear in sight. It was obvious that he took great care in keeping his car in pristine condition. It made all the memories flood back easily into your brain, having you remember exactly everything that happened in here. As you sat in it, the engine still idling, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling one out and putting it in his mouth. He lit it with his flickery lighter, taking a deep breath in and releasing it through his nose.

“I thought you quit,” you repeated the same words from before, hoping he took them in. He didn't answer. Instead, he focused on the cigarette in his mouth as he drew it out. Pushed a button to raise the window, allowing the smoke to escape into the frigid night air.

‘Why wasn’t he answering you?’

The clock in your head ticked and tocked. Back and forth with you getting irritated with by the lack of response you are getting.

He slowly exhaled, the smoke leaving his lips in a thin stream.

"Quit your bickering, would ya’? "

The two of you sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Smoke filled the car's interior, clouds swirling around each other as they rose into the air. The smell of tobacco vanished when he crushed the cig in his palm, flicking the now burnt remains out the window. Once the window rolled up, you could see the uneasiness settle into your stomach.

“Ten- we gotta.. end this, tonight. Last time.”

You were sure about it. Hundred percent, sure. Even if the need of your body wasn’t. You could feel it. His words were vague, non-committal at best, but his eyes, that's what he was getting at. His dead eyes told you all you need to know. Tendō grabbed your hand, and before you could even think about it, your hand went near your mouth, coercing you onto his lap with a brutal grip.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you in place. Your legs moved to straddle him, your knees on either side of his thighs. His hand left your mouth, finding its way onto your throat. You gulped in a breath, instantly feeling the pain of his fingers trapping your flesh. His face, so close to yours.

“You always babble on about us .. saying we can’t be together, and yet, you always pick up on my calls. You’re useless without me, dove.”

And he was right, so right. All of it. All of his games, tactics, his plans. You left him, yet you kept coming back. Why?

His eyes burned with a bright red, like two hot cinders. Tempting you to utter a word from your quivering lips, daring you to make a peep. And just like that, his found yours, smothering your lips. Soft at first, but soon they were hungry. They were everywhere, and you welcomed each one. Tongue pushed into your mouth; you tasted the blood from your bitten lip. The smoky flavor of his mouth was gone, replaced by the metal-like bitterness of his cold breath. You were weak. Powerless against him.

Your knees bent, your legs becoming wobbly, and you gave in. What else could you do? You couldn’t resist to his whims. His cold fingers rested against your burning cheek, his other hand grabbed at the side of your face, fingers digging into your jaw.

"You're mine." He breathed, his lips barely moving.

Dazed and confused, you didn't utter a single sound. His hand ran down your cheek, and he gave a light squeeze, holding you in place for his next move. His cold lips pressed against your cheek, moving slowly to your ear. "Say it."

"I'm yours!” The words escaped your lips, as if someone had pressed them in. They felt unnatural, wrong. It was like you was forcing yourself to say them. He let out a low chuckle, his hot breath causing you to shiver, no, to tremble. "Good girl."

The hand that was on your face moved down, and he grabbed at the front of your shirt. The feeling of his hand against your skin sent chills down your spine. You could feel him smile against your skin, his lips splayed on your chest. It all came too fast. One moment he was whispering dreadful words, the next he had the leather seat laid back, the remaining clothes thrown away with your legs fastened around each side of his head, cunt mere inches away from his hungry mouth. He had your wrists pushed against your head, and the leather seat belt were tied to your arms, leaving you unable to move them. Tied down, forced to watch, no matter how hard you tried to look away... he filled your glistening pussy with his cold tongue.

It was brutal. it was exquisite.

Moans came out of your lips with every thrust, and you couldn't help but push against his mouth. You wanted more. So much more. You could feel the warmth of his mouth, hear the slurping and slopping sounds as his tongue moved in and out, spreading the lips of your pussy to suckle. The harder you went, the wetter he made you, flicking at your clit. His stubble raked against your inner thighs as his mouth moved up to your aching sex. You rocked into his face, faster with a swirl from your hips. You could almost feel the heat of his breath against your clit as you loosed a torrent of dirty words, his name passed your lips in a long tone.

“Daddy! hah, ye- yes! ‘s good,”

He didn't need telling twice. Grabbing your hips, he steadied your gyrating body as he buried his head in your depths. He pushed your legs up, spreading you wide open. His tongue swept in and out, faster and faster. You could feel the air swirling around your clit as his nose pushed against your folds, sucking your sore bud into his mouth and biting down. You came hard, shuddering as your muscles tightened and unknotted themselves, unable to do anything else as wave after wave hit you.

Tendō’s tongue slid up from your sensitive bud, slipping back into his mouth with the filth of your juices splayed on it. He did exactly what he always did, make you dazed over him. Crawling back to him and his dick with need.

“Look at you. A fucking whore, whinin’ and squealing, you can’t go a fucking day without me — can you?” he urged you on with his harsh words, bringing you back from the aftershock.

You were addicted to him.

“No. I — I can’t, I love you too much,” a sniffle came from you, eyes settling to close. “But, please .. fuck me, daddy.”

A pleased look spread onto his face. He won. “You’re finally learning, dove. Now you know you can’t live without me, I’m too fuckin’ good.” you were swished from on top of his face, your legs being forced up, your knees drawn back as his fingers dug into your thighs. Gently, he guided his dick to you. His hands wrapped around your legs as he slowly started to push into you, rocking his hips as he found your warm, wet hole.

“Daddy! — ah, fuuck.” you hissed as he entered you, wincing as he twisted his hips, grinding the last inches of his cock into you. Cool air brushed against your raw neck and the inside of your thighs as his warm body pushed against you. With every thrust, his dick ground against your clit, sending jolts of delight through your body. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as your fingers bit into his flesh. You didn't want it to end. This pure, unadulterated pleasure. He leaned forward, supporting his weight on his forearms as he panted.

You were tight. So fuckin’ tight, Tendō could barely move.

He thrust into you, hard. His pelvis slapped your ass as you took him in. You moaned into his mouth as his dick rubbed that sweet spot inside you, your body felt as if it was in a craze of desire. He steadied his breathing as he started to thrust harder, keeping an intent of driving you cock drunk. Tendō wrapped his hand around your throat, as his other hand raised your legs and wrapped them around his waist. His lips were messily pressed against your cheek as he kissed you with deep, raw animalistic lust. You bit your tongue to prevent yourself from making any noise, but your body betrayed you as a moan still slipped past your lips.

“I know you missed this from the way you look, I know you miss me. Let me hear you mutter it, baby.” he panted as your bodies' rhythm began to sync up.

Your nostrils were filled with his scent, your eyes were covered by your hair, but you could still see as he fucked you with kind-buttons, and the pain grew. “I’ve missed it!” And you did as you were told, jumping onto his cock and draining it dry with your whines. “I’ve missed you, s’so much, lo- love you too.”

“Knew it. I fucking knew it already, your mine.”

He was unrelenting as his cock mushed against your womb, his forehead pressed against yours. His fingers dug into your sweat-soaked back as he huffed, his breath coming out in heavy pants. You could feel the liquid filling your insides as his warm cum plugged you. His body kept on thrusting as he emptied himself into you. Your vision grew dark as the world turned all of its colors. You felt light-headed, but you didn't want it to end. You couldn’t have it end.

Tendō’s eyes ranked of desire and crave, he had you where he always wanted. Plugged you to be his, lure you back in with his lustful advances, have you stay up till the crack of dawn — waiting for that phone call from him. Make you whine just for the simplest touch from him. He drove you mad. That devilish grin on his face as he had you pinned down, that was all it took for you to fall into temptation's arms again. You were the king and he was the pawn, catching you in checkmate.

“You also still .. love me, right?”

A deep, guttural laugh escaped from him. One that would make someone wince, embarrassed of the question they asked. You wished you could take it back, wish you could go back in time and not say a peep. Wish you could disappear from reality. Just this once.

“Yes. Of course I do, my little devil. But that’s in another lifetime, one where I’m your actual boyfriend.”

You’ve felt this moment before. Tasted those same words leaving your lips, savored them to the hilt. This exact feeling felt familiar like you’ve experienced it before. You were trapped in a haze of deja vu, going around in circles and repeating the same actions from before. Just like now, what you asked him. You asked him before.

“Checkmate.”

[missymurphy1985]

The Extra (part 9)

Warning - illness, mentions of death

Authors Note - I have personal experience of this horrific disease - I hope I don't upset anyone with it, but it's a topic very close to my heart.

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

A month had passed since you'd deleted his number and blocked him. You were staring at the letter in your hand, shaking. You knew this day was coming, but you'd pushed it so far down that you had only truly thought about it when Cillian had told you he loved you.

You'd told Liane the truth. Why you couldn't commit to him, even though you desperately wanted to. Truth be told you'd fallen for him just as hard - and that's exactly why you'd pushed him away. It was bad enough you had to live with this, you couldn't force someone else to. She'd encouraged you to get tested - and you knew she was right. It was time you took your life in your hands once and for all. You'd spent too many years since your mother's and sister's untimely deaths burying it.

Picking up the phone, you dialled the number, heart pounding. The receptionist answered.

"Morning. My name is y/n y/l/n. I had some tests. I've had a letter to say the results are in?"

"Can I ask what the test was for?" The receptionist asked.

"My GP referred me. It's for the breast cancer gene. I'd like to know if I carry it."

"Let me check our records Miss Y/L/N. Yes, I have your results here. Would you be available to come in this afternoon? We've had a cancellation?"

"Can you not tell me over the phone?"

"I'm not allowed to, the doctor has requested to see you in person." Your heart lurched, that was never a good sign.

You immediately wanted to call Cillian, but remembered you didn't have his contact details any more. You called Liane instead. She would pick you up at 2pm and go with you to the appointment.

Sat in the waiting room, Liane held you hand to calm you. Your nerves were in tatters. This disease had already taken so much from you - your mum, your older sister, two cousins... You knew there was a strong chance it was going to take you, too. The doctor called you through.

"Your results are here y/n. And I'm pleased to inform you -"

"What?" You gasped. The doctor smiled and took your hands in hers.

"Y/n, you don't carry the gene. It isn't there - your chances of developing breast cancer are no higher than mine, or Joan Bloggs on the street. You're going to be okay." Even the doctor had tears in her eyes. Liane was gobsmacked. You just burst into tears.

"I'm not going to die?"

"Oh honey if I had the cure for that I'd be a millionaire!" She laughed, you did too. You felt like the world had just been lifted off your shoulders, taking a dark cloud with it. A dark cloud you'd been living with for nearly 10 years. The real reason you'd split with your ex. The reason you refused to get your breasts out for auditions. The real reason you backed away from a life in acting. You didn't see the point if you weren't going to be here for the long haul... But now?

Now you'd been given a new life. A new start. And your thrown away the best chance of happiness you'd ever had in one stupid click of a button.

Liane noticed your sadness in the car on the way home. You suddenly realised you weren't actually heading home though, you were on the M6 heading to Wolverhampton.

"Erm.. where are we going?" You asked, seeing the sign for Wolverhampton fly past.

"Road trip."

"Destination?"

"It's a surprise!! Do you trust me?"

"Always..."

"Then don't ask questions."

You rolled your eyes and figured you were probably en route to Bicester Village in Oxford. That was your happy place - a day of shopping, good food, few drinks in the evening... Before long though, your eyelids grew heavy. You always fell asleep on car journeys, this one was no different. Within ten minutes you were out cold.

You felt Liane nudge you gently, waking you. Opening your eyes, you looked around, expecting to see the car park. Instead you saw terraced houses, a green park, and a street sign with 'London Borough - Kilburn' on it.

"Why am I in London??" You asked. Liane shrugged her shoulders.

"Fancied a change - never been before! Just got on the motorway and drove. Been years since we've done that hasn't it! Just drove with no destination?" You grinned, remembering the random road trips you used to take years ago. You'd ended up all over the UK, even catching a ferry to Amsterdam one Friday night just because you were bored!

"So what's the plan?"

"Let's go explore!" She paid for the parking via an app on her phone and you both climbed out the car. The houses were all Victorian style and beautiful. The park was glorious - the sun shining on it beautifully. Liane suggested a picnic in the park first to line your stomachs, then cocktails.

"Aren't you driving us home later?"

"Yes - I'll be on the mocktails! Come on, let's go find food... There's loads of little deli places over there!"

Picnic done, it was cocktail time. Sadly, there didn't appear to be a cocktail bar anywhere near... But there was a nice looking pub over the road. Settling on a normal G&T, you both made your way over. Liane sent you inside to get the drinks while she sat in the beer garden out the back.

Heading outside with two G&Ts, you looked around for her but she was nowhere to be found. You quickly scanned inside again just to make sure you'd not missed her. Setting the drinks down on a bench outside, you waited. Must've gone to the toilet. Taking your phone out you sent her a text letting her know where you were.

Ten minutes passed - still no sign. You were worried now. A ping on your phone.

"For god's sake woman open your eyes and look in the corner!!" Liane... What the hell? You looked up and nearly dropped your phone. Sitting ten feet away from you, on his own... Holding his phone in his hand and staring at you the same way you were staring at him. In complete disbelief.

He looked back at his phone and shook his head. Both of you realising you'd been set up. Completely played.

He stood up, you were convinced he was going to leave but he didn't. He sat opposite you instead.

"Hey," he smiled.

"Hey..."

"Can I talk before you do?" He asked. You nodded.

"I know... I didn't... Fuck this makes so much more sense in my head..." He laughed.

"Can I talk instead?" He nodded. You took a deep breath and told him the truth. About your family. The deaths. The illness. The tests.. and the results.

"That's why I pushed you away. That's why I push everyone away. But you were the first one I pushed that I regretted... I regretted it so much because no one had ever made me feel as alive as you did. No one made me float on air like you did. No one made me forget about this cloud hanging over me like you did..."

"You thought I'd leave you if you had the gene?"

"My Dad left when my mom was diagnosed. He couldn't handle it so he bailed. Wasn't a great role model."

"Your dad's a dick. I'm not." His brutal, dead pan response made you laugh. In fact you didn't just laugh, you were in hysterics. He laughed with you, and took your hands in his.

"If I promise not to tell you I love you, will you let me see you?"

"No."

"Erm... Okay?"

"I want you to tell me you love me, if you mean it. Then I'll decide."

"Y/N... I. Love. You. I fucking love you. I adore you. I've had the most miserable four weeks of my life thanks to you!" He laughed.

"Yeah I'm sorry about that.."

"It's okay. You can make it up to me."

"You're giving me a second chance?"

"I never gave up on the first one. But this time, we take it slow. Get to know each other. I'll start by asking if I can take you out to dinner tonight?"

"I have nothing with me... All my stuff's at home..."

"Fair enough. Then we have two choices. You go shopping with Liane and get yourself something.. or go home and we can arrange to meet another time?"

"I'm already here, and shopping was on our to do list. Dinner tonight sounds lovely."

"Unblock my number. I'll text you the details later, okay?" He finished his drink and pulled his jacket on, quickly typing a text as you unblocked his number. If only you'd known it was that easy to get his contact details again... The message pinged through.

"Thank you..." You smiled reading it. He leaned over and kissed your cheek softly, before walking away. Glancing back, smiling, as he left the pub.

Liane was with you in seconds.

"You sneaky little shit, how did you do this??" You laughed.

"Anto contacted me last week, said he was sick of Cillian moping. We kinda worked together... Are you mad at me?"

"Not at all. Where's Anto?"

"Right here." Anto appeared out of nowhere and you threw your arms around him.

"Thank you. For everything?"

"No need to thank me. This was Liane's idea. Bit of a rush to sort once you'd got those results but luckily you live 3 hours away and you sleep like the dead!" He laughed. "Now get yourself gone - you have a date to prepare for!"

[smol-and-grumpy]

Legally Yours - Ch. 26

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester tops the list of hottest entrepreneurs 2020 and yet, there’s still something he wants but can’t have because, in order to get that, he would have to settle down and get married. She agrees too quickly because she wants to secure a more comfortable life for her and her daughter. Will she be able to help Dean get what he wants without losing herself in the fake story they spin up to deceive his father and the world?

Chapter Warnings: We’re still at the angst, because someone’s obviously still an idiot. We also might detect some jealousy. 

WC: 4214

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​ <3

This series is complete on Patreon

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Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Five days later, she’s sitting in her kitchen, job application website open on her laptop while Bobby’s at work and Olivia’s at school.

The first night was hard on the girl. Olivia crawled into bed with her, spinning up tales that she missed her toys they left at Dean’s but she is sure that a part of the little girl’s heart is aching for Dean because hers is too. 

Y/N hasn’t heard from him and it took everything in her not to shoot him a message and ask him how he’s doing. She’s fairly certain that if she would choose to go down that road, she’ll get weak and that’s against the new rule that she’s set up for herself in order to protect herself and her family.

Donna sent her a text when she arrived back at her old apartment, asking how her honeymoon was going and when Y/N told her that she’s back, Donna offered to come over. They sat around the tiny kitchen table with boxed wine between them, drinking and talking. Yeah, boxed wine. Over are the days of cheap bottles. Well, she reckons she could afford it with the money from the marriage contract but she’d rather not as she has a future to think about. 

She didn’t sulk, didn’t allow herself to. She needed to be strong for Olivia and keep it all together. Her friend parted with a promise to help her find a man who she deserved. She only smiled. Couldn’t find it in her heart to say that she’s not looking for a man, that she thinks that Dean’s ruined her for all other men, that she’s most likely destined to be alone forever. At least she has Liv, and honestly, that’s all that counts. God, she’s so glad to have that little girl. She would have been broken beyond repair if it wasn't for Liv. 

While she touches up her CV at the kitchen table where she poured her heart out to Donna the evening before, her phone starts to buzz next to her. Her heart jumps. She hates the buzz of her phone because she’ll always think that it could be Dean and when it’s not him, she will always feel so deflated. Somehow, she’s okay with the situation but a little part of her still hopes that he would change his mind and come back to her. 

This time it’s no different when she looks at her phone. If anything, it’s even worse. Sam’s calling. 

She debates on not picking up but decides that she has to because he’s probably calling about the annulment. It’s really the only thing left that keeps her tied to Dean on a contractual level, and after she signs that, it’s like the marriage never existed. 

“Sam?”

“Yeah, uh, hi, Y/N,” The man can be heard on the other end. A little breath leaves him, and she can imagine that he’s smiling. Ever the friendly Sam. She can’t lie, she misses him too. 

“You’re calling about the annulment?” She gets straight to the point. There’s really no point in stretching this out unnecessarily. 

“Um, actually no. Dean’s not really talkative and he’s not going to sign it.” 

“What do you mean he’s not going to sign it?” She doesn’t understand, has a hard time wrapping her head around it. Why did Dean still want to be married to her when she walked away from him? There’s no point in pretending anymore and she has made up her mind. The only way she’s going is forward and not back. She wants to move on. 

“Don’t worry about it. He’s only been back two days, I need time to talk him through it. We should have the annulment finalized by Monday, I promise.” 

“I trust you,” She says into the receiver, because she does. If someone can talk sense into Dean, it will probably be Sam. “How is he?” 

“Do you want to hear the truth or do you want me to lie to make you feel better?” 

“Lie.” 

“He’s doing great.” 

“That’s good.” 

Sam snorts, “Well, I knew you'd feel better if you knew that he’s doing okay without you.”

“You’re right. I don’t want him to feel bad but somehow I also want him to, you understand?”

A burst of laughter rumbles on the other end, “I know,” Sam replies, “He’s a gigantic dick, Y/N. I think he knows that and he’s beating himself up for it. He’s been back at work for two days and according to Rowena, it’s hell. He doesn’t talk to anyone and if he opens his mouth, it’s to shout at people.” 

“Wow, he’s coping well.” 

The man laughs again, “Dean’s never been good at taking rejections. He’ll get over it, eventually. Someday. Maybe. Well,” Sam pauses and exhales loudly, “Tell you the truth, I don’t think he’ll get over it. I’ve never seen him like this and it scares me, hence me calling you.” 

Y/N feels sorry for him. And there she thought that she was miserable without him. Somehow it gives her a little satisfaction to know that he’s doing just as bad, if not worse. Can anyone blame her to feel like this?

“I’m not going to go back to him just so that he’ll stop being an ass to other people.” 

“That’s not what I was going to ask you about.”

“Ah, why beat around the bush, Sam. What is it?”

Sam sighs, “Okay, as you might know, Dean hasn’t told anyone that you two broke up.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” She hopes Sam can feel through the phone how hard she’s rolling her eyes right now.

“Shush,” Sam scolds  and continues before she can say sorry for interrupting him, “He has a charity gala to attend tonight, and it would be great if you would accompany him.”

The bark of laughter that leaves her mouth is hard to hold back, “You what?” 

Sam’s not laughing, “I mean it, Y/N. He’s not doing great and he has to attend. Technically you are still his wife and you have a contract, so..”

“Oh, please, don’t come at me with a contract, Sam. Dean told me that I’m allowed to walk away. He said that he doesn’t need me to get the shares. He wasn’t the one stopping me when I walked out on him, so tell me, why should I do this? Why should I pretend when I don’t have to anymore?”

“Because you still care about him,” 

Sam’s answer is a hit to her heart. She does. She cares so fucking much but also, that means that she’s not going to give in because it’s time to put herself first. She can’t hold herself together for Olivia’s sake when there’s nobody backing her up. She won’t go through this again. 

Of course Sam’s on Dean’s side. He’s friendly to her but if Sam would have to pick sides, it would always be Dean’s. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, her voice shaking a little. No, she’s not going to cry. Not again. Not anymore.

“Okay,” Sam relents too easily, “Can’t blame me for trying.” 

“No, I can’t. Dean’s lucky to have you as a friend.” She means it. 

“I’ll come to see you as soon as Dean signs the papers, Y/N.”

“Thank you.”

“Take care of yourself and Olivia, okay? And tell me if you need anything.”

“I will, Sam. Thanks.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

She hangs up before she can say goodbye. The phone drops onto the table and she’s back to burying her face into her arms as she sobs. 

*

 For the next five weeks, Y/N  tries to avoid looking at tabloids pages, instead, concentrating on Olivia and helping to ease the little girl back into her old environment. 

Of course there have been texts from Donna telling her that there’s no news from Dean, at least not with another woman. She knows that she shouldn’t care about it, because if he wants to date again, it’s his right, but somehow, she can’t help but feel the pinpricks in her heart. It’s not something bad but something good because it keeps her hopes alive for a while. After she was reluctant to answer Donna's text about Dean in the first two weeks, her friend has decided that she doesn’t want to update Y/N anymore. Which is also fine with her. The less she’s reminded of Dean, the quicker it will be to get over him.

She snorts out a laugh at that thought. Yeah, right. 

Bobby has been weird the last two weeks too. He went out to meetings, saying it has something to do with his union but she knows that he doesn’t even have a union so she really doesn’t have any explanation for the two to three times the man went AWOL when he should be home but again, it’s nothing that should worry her. Bobby is still young enough to have his own life. She guesses that it has to do with a new lady friend maybe. Maybe Bobby’s being cautious too, maybe he doesn’t want her and Olivia to know when things aren’t steady with the two. She couldn’t blame him for thinking like that.

Tonight is the first time in over a month that she feels comfortable enough to leave the security of her own home. Perhaps Donna has something to do with it, begging her to finally go out and face the world, and Y/N can’t lie that Donna’s not right. It’s time to face it like a grown-up. She can’t be buried in her four walls forever. She eventually has to go out and socialize. She’s been going out a lot for interviews but that’s about it. No company has called her back yet, though. Thankfully, she still has more than enough money to get by. 

As soon as she arrives at The Roadhouse and Donna sees her, the woman is quick to be by her side, “I have a surprise for you!” 

“Oh no,” Y/N rolls her eyes, “I hate surprises.” 

“It’s not bad, I just thought, you know,” 

“Donna,” She warns her friend. Somehow, she doesn’t like where this discussion is going. 

“There’s this guy, I invited him. He’s nice, so be nice, okay? He’s not going to be the love of your life, I know that too but you should put yourself out there, just a drink, okay? It will broaden up your horizon, maybe get your ex-husband out of your mind for a little bit.” 

Jesus, Donna’s talking a mile a minute. She barely understands what the woman is raving on about.

“What?”

“There,” Donna pulls her close, points a finger to the booth where Garth is sitting with someone whose back is turned to her. 

“Oh, Donna, no!”

“Why, Donna yes!” The blonde exclaims cheerily before placing her hands on Y/N shoulders and pushing her towards the booth. “His name is Cubbie.”

“Cub-what?” 

“It’s a nickname, Y/N.”

“If that’s the nickname I don’t wanna know about his real name.”

“Cuthbert. Cuthbert Sinclair, if you wanna know. He’s a magician.”

“That’s great. Super.” Y/N groans and turns around towards the exit but Donna’s hand is firm around her shoulders, guiding her back to where Garth is already standing up to make room for her. 

“Hey, Cubbie! This is Y/N, the woman I talked to you about.” Donna’s all smiles and somehow, Y/N’s hand itches to hurt her friend.

“I’m Y/N,” She says then. The only way is forward now. 

Cubbie, still what a fucking weird name, stands up and his hands immediately go to her arms and pulls her closer to press a wet kiss on her cheek. 

Ew. Oh no, this won’t end well. 

Reluctantly she sits down, wonders how long she has to sit here until she can get up and leave without being too rude. 

She lets him buy her a drink and he orders fries to share between them while they talk. It’s not exactly bad but they just share small talk about the weather and where they’re from.

“So, you’re a magician?” She tries to sound like she’s interested, wanting to get into the deeper conversational territory.

“Yeah,” Cubbie reaches over and strokes her hair behind her ear and when he sits back up, he shows her the coin that he apparently pulled out of her, a bright smile dotes his face. She does her best to resist the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Good god,” She exclaims and the man laughs. 

He goes on to tell her about magic, which she again, has no interest in listening to. Jesus, the man can talk. While she debates on maybe hurting herself with a toothpick to have a fucking reason to get out, Cubbie excuses himself to go to the bathroom but before he goes, he leans down next to her, “How about we’re doing a little disappearing act, huh?”

“Oh god,” She huffs out but Cubbie doesn’t get her blatant disinterest. He just smiles at her.

“Think about it, I’ll be right back.”

Good riddance, is what she wants to say but doesn’t. Instead, she smiles a faux smile.

While he’s gone, she takes out her phone, shooting Bobby a text that she’ll probably won’t be that long when he feels someone is taking a seat in the booth opposite of her. 

“Back alread—”

The word won’t come out because it’s not Cubbie who’s sitting across from her but Dean. 

He has a cap on his head, is dressed casually in a black t-shirt underneath a blue plaid shirt. There are faint black circles under his eyes. He has shaved off his beard but from the length of the stubble, she can tell that he’s in the process of growing it out again. 

“C’mon, Y/N, seriously? That guy?” He asks, sounding offended, and honestly, it’s not what she really wants the first thing out his mouth to be after not being on speaking terms for over a month.

“It’s none of your business, Dean.” She snaps at him. 

“You’re right. It isn’t.” He agrees, “What is he? An accountant?”

“He has a name and he’s a magician.”

Dean barks out a laugh and even though it’s mean, she can’t help but smirk with him. 

“His name is Cubbie.” She adds, which earns another hearty laugh from Dean.

“Cubbie the magician?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“I don’t know if he has a stage name,” Y/N shrugs, “He asked me if I wanna do a disappearing act with him.”

“Oh, he will disappear, alright,” Dean growls angrily. 

She can’t read him. Why is he here, why is he crashing her blind date? So she asks, “Dean, what is this? Why are you here?” 

“I’m here every week to see if you’ll be here.”

“You know that there are phones, right?” 

“Would you have answered the phone if I called?” He challenges her and she holds his gaze. He’s right, she probably wouldn’t, even if she was hoping that he’d call but she doesn’t think that she would have picked it up because she doesn’t know if her heart can take what he’s going to tell her over the phone. “Yeah, I thought so. How’s Olivia?”

“She’s good. She enjoys being back at school. She’s going on a field trip in two weeks and I think I’m going to go along to chaperone.” 

Honestly, Y/N has no idea why she’s telling him that. Why she easily falls into a conversion with him about little things. But it feels easy, it feels like meeting an old friend. Someone where she can just pick up where they left off, even if they haven’t seen each other for a long time. Dean was her friend, she can’t deny that, and she guesses the reason why she feels at ease is that her heart can’t forget it either.

“I can do that, too,” Dean suggests without even thinking twice.

“Dean, she’s none of your concern, we’re fine without you.” Her words might be too harsh but he needs a reminder that not everything revolves around him. 

“Great.” He mumbles as Cubbie comes back from the bathroom. The poor guy stands there and is a little irritated by Dean’s presence. 

“You ready to leave?” Cubbie asks, straight up ignoring Dean’s presence and she has to give him that. It takes balls. Dean’s not someone who can be ignored. He’s tall and broad and yeah, awfully good looking. 

She stands up, nodding her head. Even if she has no intention of going anywhere with Cubbie, she also knows that she can’t stay here with Dean.

When she walks away, Dean holds her back by her wrist. The touch of him is almost too much to bear and she stills, has to close her eyes as she tries to breathe evenly. 

“You’re leaving with him? Seriously?” 

Opening her eyes to look at the source of the voice, she can clearly see the irritation on Dean’s face. 

Pulling her hand from his hold, she brings it close to her chest, fearing that she’d reach out if she let her heart decide over her mind, “It’s none of your business, Dean. You had your chance but you blew it. I’m trying to move on.” 

Dean stands up too and he’s close. The warmth radiates from him. Her body betrays her a little, sways a little closer to him. Cubbie is a couple of steps ahead but he stalls and looks back, waiting for her to follow him out. She wants to, she really does, it’s just so hard to move when the magnetic pull of Dean wraps itself around her. 

“Now, say it again a little more convincingly. Make me believe it.” Dean demands with a gruff voice while he crosses his arms over his chest, his palms nearly disappearing into his armpits, as if he too, has to resist reaching out to touch her again when it’s not what she wants.

How is it possible that he still can read her like a book? It’s not fucking fair. 

She narrows her eyes, staring him down. “You’re an ass, Dean.” She hisses and pushes out of the door, past Cubbie. When she’s out, she flags down a cab and gets in. Only when the driver rounds the street of the first block does she realize that she left Cubbie at the bar. Great. Now the act with her leaving the bar with some date is even less convincing to Dean. 

God, she’s a failure. 

 *

 “You know he still cares deeply about you, right?” Donna flops down on Y/N’s worn out couch with a bottle of beer in hand and Y/N walks over to join her friend with her glass of red wine. 

The incident at the bar in which Dean had held a metaphorical pissing competition against an oblivious Cubbie was four days ago. Almost a distant memory. She hasn’t heard from the magician, but also it’s not really surprising since they didn’t even exchange their numbers and Donna has not mentioned him again. At least there’s that. 

She frowns for a moment, “Cubbie? He barely knows me.”

Her friend rolls her eyes to the back and takes a pull at the bottle, “Dean, dummy!”

“Yeah, well, he has a hell of a way of showing it.” She grumbles, burying her face into her goblet and tips it back to take a big gulp. 

Donna admitted after the incident that she watched them with amusement. Poor Cubbie was standing there lost and sulked away on his own. Apparently, Dean grinned brightly, and god, just the image of him being so joyful and cocky about her misery makes her want to smack him across the face. But for that, she would have to see him again, which she won’t. Nope. Not going there. She can’t move on when he keeps popping up.

“You don’t see it, do you?” Donna tilts her head that’s resting on the back of the old faded sofa, cocking her eyebrow as she asks.

“See what?” Y/N eyebrows match her friend’s. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” Donna huffs out, followed by a giggle. Okay, the woman should definitely not drink any more beer, also since tomorrow is Monday and she has to work. Y/N for her part, is still struggling with finding a job that would keep her head above water. She’s debating on taking two lesser paid jobs but then again, there would be no time left to spend with Liv and since she’s making Liv her priority, she keeps on searching. The blonde lays her hand on Y/N’s thigh, squeezes it, “He’s so fucking in love.”

With knitted eyebrows, she glares at her friend. Dean? In love? Has that been obvious? She shakes her head, “That’s not what he told me,” 

Her friend sits up straight and turns to her before taking a big swig of her beer and slams it onto the coffee table. Y/N gets irritated, shushes her friend with a nudge of her elbow. Liv is sleeping next door, and Donna usually knows that she has to be fucking quiet. 

“Oops,” Donna says with a shrug, and they both freeze to listen if Liv has woken up because of the noise. When they don’t hear a sound, they both breathe out in relief. Yeah, there’s no chance Donna will get another beer from her tonight. The blonde grins at her. A grin that spells mischief, “Have you ever thought that Dean Winchester, a guy who’s never been in love might not know how it feels to be in love? Have you ever thought that he might be so fucking gone on you and tries to identify his feelings but he can’t because he doesn’t fucking knows what it is?” 

God, Donna talks a mile a minute and Y/N’s brain is having trouble catching on and processing. 

Her friend pauses to wriggle her eyebrows at her but otherwise, Donna doesn’t say anything because she waits until it settles. 

Memories of the last day on the beach flashed in her mind. She recalls him asking her how she knows when you love someone and her answer was you just know. 

Could it be that he was struggling then already? He probably was but she was too deep in her own mind that she didn’t really notice.

“No,” She answers.

“No, what?” Donna asks.

“No, I have never thought that he doesn’t know how it feels to be in love. But I mean, he’s loved his mother, right? He loves Sam to a certain extent. He’s a grown ass man. He should know how he fucking feels.”

“My god, your skull is thicker than I thought.” Donna rolls her eyes dramatically. “Loving a parent is not the same as loving a partner, duh! And with Sam. There’s the bro thing, I guess? They love each other but it’s just all caveman-esque grunting and a lot of back-slapping involved. It’s how I love you,”

“You love me while you grunt and slap my back?” 

“Shut up!” Donna laughs, “Anyway, where was I...oh! Yes. Listen, Y/N, maybe you’ve been too harsh on him. I mean, yeah, of course, you have Liv to care about but don’t tell me that Liv was heartbroken when you brought her back to this place.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. When she snaps out of it, she tips her wine glass back and empties it in one go.

Her friend watches her, pauses to let the things she said sink in. God, she doesn’t know why Donna’s only talking about Dean now. It’s been what? Almost two months. Where was Donna when she needed that kinda talk at the beginning when she left Dean? Donna was always here, her mind says, you just didn’t want to burden anyone and you thought that you could manage everything on your own. 

“Fact is, Y/N. I’ve never seen him like this. He barely goes out, even if he’s invited to events. The gossip sites avoid him because he became a grump while picking up fights with photographers, and don’t even get me started on the last TV appearance where he only gave short, snappish answers, making the stupidly hot interviewer very uncomfortable. A couple of months ago, he would have charmed the woman and they probably would have fucked when the producer yelled cut.”

“How do you know they didn’t?” She asks, and she doesn’t even know why she asks because the thought of him hooking up and going back to being his old self does make her feel a little uncomfortable and admittedly, jealous.

“Honestly? Maybe because the interviewer told a tabloid that she refuses to interview Dean again because he’s a dick.” 

“Well, he is a dick, she’s right.” She says drily, and she’s standing behind her opinion, it’s just now that Donna has said all those things that it makes her really wonder if she’s been too harsh to Dean. Maybe he just needed more time to figure out what he was feeling. But again, it’s too late now, isn’t it?

Ch. 27

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[tsumwriter]

Second Best (Kuroo x Reader)

Kuroo angst where I lowkey made him a dick... sorry Kuroo stans 

Objects were being miscellaneously thrown in the air as chairs were being knocked down while you and Kuroo spit out spiteful words that neither of you really meant. 

You were fuming but really all you wanted to do was cry. 

You were tired from these fights where Kuroo would just try to get a rise out of you and vice versa. 

Typically, they were over the dumbest things like you forgetting to put your used mug in the sink or Kuroo forgetting to put the toilet seat down. They were usually dumb things like this, but today was different. 

A few hours before the fight, you had come home excited to tell Kuroo about your big promotion that you had been offered. 

You were currently a recent graduate and intern at a fashion company in Tokyo, but if you accepted, you would be a formal employee of the Paris branch. 

Of course you were going to decline, what with the recent engagement and the upcoming wedding, but you wanted to tell him anyway because it was a big deal to you. But after today, you weren’t sure if Kuroo was worth staying for. 

You had made Kuroo’s favorite meal to share the exciting news, but he had come home late without a phone call or even a text, and when you brought it up he exploded on you. 

‘Do I need to tell you everything? God, you’re my fiance not my mom.’ 

‘Well if you just told me the fucking truth then I wouldn’t need to ask every time!’ 

The saddest part was, he didn’t need to tell you where he was or who he was with because you already knew the answer to that: hanging out with his ex, Kozume Kenma. 

Kenma always seemed to be at the center of all of your fights. No matter how it started, the end was Kenma because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t be Kenma. 

Today was no different. 

“I was with Kenma because I was trying to get away from you!” 

As soon as Kuroo spit out those words, the air in the room thickened and the temperature dropped, along with your heart. 

Each word was like a dagger to your heart and you fell into the couch in defeat. 

At first, Kuroo felt a sick satisfaction because he felt like he had won the argument. But when he saw you hugging your knees tightly while looking away from him, he knew that he had taken it too far. 

You weren’t even crying, you were just completely dejected and so was Kuroo. 

He plopped down on the other side of the couch and the only sound in the room was the creak of the couch as his weight fell onto it. 

The silence surrounding the two of you was suffocating but neither of you wanted to say the inevitable… This had to end, but no one wanted to end it. 

But you were stronger than Kuroo. You knew this. 

Kuroo Tetsuro was still in love with his ex-boyfriend and refused to admit it while you were already coming to terms with the fact that you were always second place. At first, you thought that the engagement would change him but eventually you realized that it was just you foolishly in love. 

So you broke the news to him, the ‘exciting’ news that had started this entire ordeal. 

Chin on your knees, you quietly muttered, “I was offered a promotion.” 

Kuroo’s eyes widened and he turned to you. This is what you wanted to talk about. This was why you were so excited when he came home… And then he blew up on you. 

He wanted to congratulate you. To hold you in his arms as he told you what a wonderful job you were doing but seeing you look so broken, because of what he said filled him with so much guilt that he couldn’t move. 

So he just waited for you to continue and hoped that you would forgive him. 

Meanwhile, you were looking down at the ground as you were contemplating your next words. 

A tearful breath escaped your lips as you continued. 

“It’s a textile designing position in Paris and I’m taking it.” 

You looked at the man to your left and observed his shocked expression. 

“I’m tired of this, Tetsuro- tired of us… Of you acting like you’re in love with me when we both know it was never me.” 

Kuroo reached out to pull you into his embrace, but you stood up and turned your back towards him, facing the window looking out into the city.

“(y/n)... babe, I can change. I’m sorry.” 

You laughed bitterly as you felt the salty tears falling down your face. Shaking your head, you wore a sad smile on your face before you turned to the now crying man on the couch. 

Kuroo was hunched over with his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His body was shaking as he sobbed silently. 

You walked over to him and knelt on the ground next to him. 

When he felt your body next to his, he looked up with tears in his eyes. 

“I swear, it’s just a stage, baby. Everyone falls out of love but we’ll be okay. We’ll be oka-”

You shushed him gently and kissed the tears on his cheeks for the last time. 

“Tetsuro, you can’t fall out of love if you were never in love.” 

Kuroo furrowed his brows in confusion to which you laughed softly. God, he was in so much denial. 

You brought a hand to move the hair that was covering his eyes and cupped his cheek. 

“I have to go.” 

He shook his head furiously as he watched you take off your ring.

“No, please! Say the word and I’ll even cut off Kenma.” 

A tired sigh escaped you as you set the ring down on the coffee table. There was no truth in his words. This was just him saying anything and everything to get you to stay but you couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please don’t hurt me more than you already have.” 

Kuroo blinked away his tears as he watched you walk towards your shared bedroom. 

He was crying and his mouth was still spewing out apologies but some part of him felt the slightest bit of relief. 

‘I’m a monster,’ he thought to himself as he chased after you. 

-- several years later 

It was a Saturday, and you were looking out the huge window enjoying the crisp morning air on your face. 

With Paris fashion week behind you, work was slowing down, and you felt like you could finally breathe a little. Weekends finally felt like weekends and you could do things like staring out your window for no reason. Now you could finally go to the cafe you were meaning to check out, try the new rooftop bar, and visit the wineries. 

As you were going down the mental list of things you wanted to do, you heard your phone ringing.

It was an unknown number with a Japanese area code. 

‘Probably work,’ you thought. 

Since headquarters were in Japan, it was common to get random phone calls from Tokyo. It was a little odd that they were calling you on a Saturday, but you just assumed there was a client emergency so you picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello? Is this (l/n) (f/n)?” 

Your heart stopped and you felt your breath hitch. How had he gotten your number? You’d gotten a new European number and only gave it to a select few in Japan. 

“Kuroo-kun, how’d you get my number?” 

This time, it was Kuroo’s turn to react. 

It had been years since the breakup, but for some reason it felt foreign, almost painful, hearing you call him by his surname. But after what he put you through, who the fuck was he to dictate what you should call him now? 

He was just glad that your voice held no venom towards him. 

Maybe Kenma was right- maybe you didn’t hate him as much as he hated himself for hurting you. 

“Hi (y/n), it’s been a while, huh? I got your number from Hitomi-chan, had to beg her for it though.” 

You let out a soft laugh that contrasted the pang in your chest as you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. You had moved on- built an entirely new life without him, but hearing him say your name made you feel weak. But you had come too far to come crashing down again. 

“Yeah… A few years, right? How’ve you been?” 

Kuroo laughed softly, and you could imagine what he looked like. Eyes squinting the tiniest bit and his mouth turned up into the grin that you loved so much. 

“I’ve been great… Getting married actually.” 

You felt your jaw clench as you searched your brain for appropriate responses. 

It took a few seconds but you eventually responded. 

“Congratulations, that’s really exciting!” 

You flinched at how fake your own enthusiasm sounded but hoped Kuroo wouldn’t pick up. 

“It is… but I wanted to be the first one to tell you. It only felt right to tell you before you found out through instagram or something.” 

A small smile appeared on your face, even after all these years he was still thinking about you. 

“That’s thoughtful of you, Kuroo-kun. Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I can do.”

There was a brief silence before Kuroo called your name again. 

“Hey (y/n)?”

“Yes?” 

You could hear Kuroo swallow loudly and fumble with some kind of fabric, which you assumed was him loosening his tie. 

“I’m really sorry for how things ended. You deserved better and I wish I could’ve been a better man for you.” 

You paused and wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks before responding. 

“What do you want me to say, Tetsuro?” 

Your voice was shaky but so was his. Kuroo was crying too. 

“Nothing… I just want you to know that I loved you. As hard as that must be to believe, I did love you and I don’t regret one moment with you.” 

You covered your mouth and moved the phone away from your face as you tried to control your breathing through the crying. When you could breath somewhat normally, you brought the phone back to your ear. 

“I have to go, Kuroo-kun.” 

He cleared his throat, “Of course, you must be really busy.” 

Your heart was racing as you tried to decide whether or not to tell him that you were still in love with him. That there wasn’t a day that passed by where you didn’t wish you could run back into his arms. That you regretted leaving him and not just settling being his second best. 

“Hey Tetsuro?” 

“Hm?” 

Should you tell him? 

No, you would never tell him. 

“Congratulations again.” 

This was your secret to have and to hold. 

[ginnympotter]

call it even

Chapter 1: you’ll always know me

A/N: This is the first chapter of a 2 (or possibly 3? who knows) chapter Muggle AU fanfic inspired by tis the damn season and dorothea by taylor swift hehe hope you like it :) You can also read it on AO3 here.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and took a deep breath. It was way too early in the morning, she had just gotten off a long flight where she barely slept a wink, and she just didn’t have it in her to talk to any fans without the coffee she was impatiently waiting for at the LAX Starbucks.

But she turned around anyway, bracing herself, and then saw a face that jolted her so much she supposed she wouldn’t need the coffee anymore. “Harry?”

“Hey, Ginny,” he smiled. Harry Potter was standing in front of her for the first time in almost a year, looking as handsome as ever. He was tired, his green eyes looking glazed behind his glasses, his hair pointing in all directions- though she could tell he didn’t try to comb it- wearing the grey-blue sweater she knew her Mum bought him years ago.

Without really thinking about it, she moved forward and hugged him, throwing her arms around his neck, and he put his around her waist and hugged her back, but he also let go first.

“What are you doing here?” she asked incredulously, trying not to think too hard about him breaking the embrace before she could.

“My students had a tournament against a school out here,” he explained. “We lost though.”

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

“Oh, don’t be, I don’t mind. But the kids all seem like they’re going to jump out of the plane before we can make it home. I was up until 2am consoling the quarterback. My assistant coach is talking them all down now out there while I grab us coffee.”

She nodded, biting her lip. And then blurted out, “Why didn’t you call?” At Harry’s confused look, she added, “to tell me you were in L.A.?”

He cleared his throat, and Ginny saw a light blush creep up his neck. “Well, I knew you were away for your match. I caught some of it, you played great, as always.”

“Oh,” she responded, feeling stupid. She sometimes forgot that as a member of the U.S. Women’s Soccer team her schedule was often public knowledge. She felt a tug at her heart thinking about Harry still supporting her after all this time. “Right, thanks. I wish I could’ve shown you around the city. Did you like it here?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, but big cities aren’t really my style. You know that,” he ended, a solemn note in his voice. “Have you been enjoying it out here?”

She mirrored his shrug. “It’s fine, I suppose. I like the weather, if that counts.”

“Nothing else?”

With most people she’d probably just lie and say she loved it, but with Harry she had a bad habit of always being blunt. “The traffic here is worse than what they warn you about, and honestly, it’s hard to make friends when it seems like everyone just wants to use you for your fame- or for the more famous people that you know.”

“Well, if you’re ever tired of being known for who you know, you know you'll always know me.” Harry offered her a sad smile. “I’m always a call- or a FaceTime- away. Not that a tiny screen is my ideal way of seeing you, but better than nothing.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond right away, as she could feel her whole body burning up and her throat closing. There was so much in the air between them. But the barista called out a cold brew, and at the same time they both said, “oh, that’s me,” then looked at each other and laughed. The first one had Ginny’s name on it, the one that followed five seconds later had Harry’s.

They walked away from the coffee pick-up area together, and Harry checked his watch. “Well, we have to board soon. I’m sorry this is the only way we got to see each other.”

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” Ginny told him in response. She originally didn’t plan on reaching out to him when she got back home, because she knew her brother and Harry’s best friend Ron would just tell him, and if he wanted to see her he could make that decision for himself. But suddenly this became information that she couldn’t hold in.

“Oh,” responded Harry, running his free hand through his hair. Her heart fluttered at that motion, as she knew what it meant- that he was nervous in a good way. “Well, that’s great! Let me know when you plan on getting in, I’d love to catch up, properly.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said, the sincerity spilling out against her will. She never could truly play it cool with him, not even when they were kids. She hugged him again, smelling home lingering on his sweater. “I will. Have a safe flight, Harry.”

His grip on her was tighter this time, even with coffee in hand, than the last. “You too,” he replied. And then stiffened and let go. “I mean, you already had your flight, so that made no sense. Have a safe...cab ride home, I suppose?”

Ginny laughed at his stumbling. “I’ll do my best.”

He smiled, raising a hand in a small wave as he walked back towards his students. “See you later, Gin.”

She returned the smile and watched him reach his students. She noticed one of them looking at her as if they recognized her. She saw him nudge Harry with his elbow before she turned around and began walking to find her cab driver. As she continued to stride forward she faintly heard him ask, “Mr. Potter, was that just… Ginny Weasley? Do you know her?”

***

It was her fault for thinking her brothers would give her some indication that Harry would be there. They knew she still had feelings for him, no matter how much she denied it and how many times she tried to move on, and yet they couldn’t even give her a heads up.

When Fred and George saw her exasperated expression, they rolled their eyes in unison as Fred put his arm around her. “Are you reverting back to your 11-year-old self, little sis?”

“Fuck off,” she said, shrugging out of her brother’s embrace. “You could have at least warned me.”

“I thought you were bold, or whatever,” said George. “Wasn’t that one of the three qualities you used to describe yourself in People Magazine?”

Harry began walking over to them. She mentally prepared herself as he hugged Fred and George and congratulated them on the joke shop’s expansion. As he turned his attention to Ginny, the twins quickly left to talk to other guests. He didn’t smile.

“Hi,” she said nervously. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Hi,” he replied, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his drink. “Ron told me you landed three days ago.”

She gulped, feeling his hurt absorb her. “Well, I just got settled in and recharged, you know. I- I was going to text you.” Which was true; she did intend on keeping her promise to Harry at the airport, but didn’t know when the appropriate time would be- how do you know the right time to text your ex and first love to casually catch up?

He hummed, taking a sip of his beer. She absolutely despised cold Harry, she could feel it emanating off of him. “It’s fine,” he said, ostensibly lying. “I was catching up with some other people from school anyway. Remember Cho?”

Oh, he was cruel, bringing up his ex like that. “Obviously,” she almost spat. As if she could forget.

“Saw her and Neville, Hannah and Luna the other day.”

She had half a mind to mention Dean Thomas, her boyfriend right before Harry in her sophomore year, reaching out to her asking to go for a drink, but couldn’t find it in her to do it, so instead she just mirrored his cool and pretend unbothered tone. “I don’t remember asking, but thanks for the information.”

Harry’s frown became more clearly defined. “Fine, sorry to bother you.”

She felt a chill as he walked away from her, a familiar ache pooling in her abdomen. They were fighting like they were teenagers rather than grown adults. It was unlike him to start it- it was usually her- but she couldn’t really blame him, though. She knew at the end of the day that she was the main culprit, that she made him ache the way she did because she didn’t know how else to hold it on her own.

She watched him return to her brother Ron’s side and take another large sip of his beer. Ron’s wife and one of both Ginny’s and Harry’s closest friends, Hermione Granger, gave Harry an appraising look and then walked over to Ginny. Hermione gave her a short hug and then said, “Alright, which one of you said something stupid this time?”

Ginny scoffed, pulling away from her friend. “Oh, it’s nice to see you too, Hermione.”

“I saw you yesterday. So which one of you started it?”

“Obviously he did! He had the audacity to mention hanging out with Cho Chang to me.”

Hermione gave a look of utter exasperation. “That’s a new low for him.”

“I know!”

“But I’m assuming you replied with equal spite?”

She sputtered, crossing her arms. “Maybe so.”

“Well, you should have texted him, Ginny.”

“He should’ve texted me! ” she whispered sharply.

“But you told him at the airport-”

“No, I know that, but- I mean, he should have texted me after…” she trailed off, feeling ashamed of herself for being this upset. “After your wedding last year.”

“You mean after you two slept together again after my wedding last year.”

“Well, yeah. Once I got back to L.A. at least. But nothing.”

“You could’ve texted him then, as well.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway? I know Harry’s been your best friend forever and everything but I’m your sister-in-law! Doesn’t family by marriage mean anything to you?”

Hermione shook her head and rubbed her temples. “You two really need to sort out your issues on your own. But if it helps to know, he wasn’t really ‘hanging out’ with Cho. We were out with him and the others as well, Cho wasn’t in our group, she just happened to walk in with Michael Corner and they stopped by our table and said hi for a quick minute.”

“She’s dating Michael? My ex-boyfriend Michael?”

“Oh, yeah, they’ll be engaged any day now,” Hermione informed her.

“That lying piece of-”

“You’re both to blame here,” Hermione declared, using her I’m Putting My Foot Down voice. “Just act like adults for once and sort it out. Properly.”

Guilt enveloped her throughout the rest of the night and she hated how such a small exchange could do this to her, as she had to act like everything was okay, be happy for her brothers and talk about her life in L.A. and as a famous soccer player and sell the life she was living as one she was satisfied to have.

By the end of the evening, before he could leave, she found Harry by himself sitting and reading something intently on his phone. She took a deep breath and walked over to him. “Mind if I sit here?”

He looked up for a second, shook his head, and continued staring at his phone. She eased up just a tad, as she could tell his silence wasn’t his I’m Ignoring You silence, but rather his I’m Deep In Thought and Concentration silence. “Everything okay?” She asked, and when he glanced her way she gestured to his phone.

He gave a half-laugh, half sigh, looking back at his screen. “Yeah, it’s just some of these parents have no boundaries… emailing me during the holidays- on a Friday night no less. I’m just reading through them to decide if any of them are worth responding to outside of my automatic away signature.”

“Is this for the football team kids, or your English Literature students?”

“My Lit students, but there is some overlap. I have this one student, Danny, who’s a really great kid, and his parents are real dickheads, and they’re mad that he got a B+ instead of an A, despite me telling them last quarter that a B is a great grade, and Danny’s already self-conscious as it is and could use encouragement rather than nitpicking over bullshit-“

He caught sight of her face and quickly cut himself off, a blush spreading across his cheeks. She realized she was smiling- it was always nice to see Harry talk passionately about something- and quickly adjusted her facial features. He cleared his throat and closed his phone. “They can probably wait until after the holidays for me to repeat myself, I suppose.”

“I think that’s the right call,” she assured him.

He exhaled, running his hands through his hair and then over his face, trying to wipe off his exhaustion with it all. “Thanks.” He put his hands on his lap and looked at her fully, as he refused to do a couple of hours ago. “Ginny, I’m sorry-“

“No, I’m sorry,” she interjected. “I told you I’d let you know when I’d be here and I didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I let my frustration get the better of me,” he said with a sigh. “Classic Harry for you.”

She laughed, folding her legs into a pretzel in her seat. “Can’t blame you, really, as I’d probably behave the same.” She let out a breath and continued on. “Look, I did mean to text you and tell you I was back. I just… I don’t know, I was stupid, I thought it had to be the right timing, but I guess that doesn’t make much sense.”

“What, were you waiting for a sign or something?” he asked. He was joking when he asked, but as he processed the look on her face he rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Wow, Gin. You never stop amazing me.”

She blushed and laughed nervously, thinking of all the times in the past Harry had said something like that to her. She wanted to hear more of it, over and over, even when he’s saying it in jest. “That is what I do best.”

His features sharpened a bit and he leaned forward. “Well, how’s me asking to see you tomorrow for a sign?”

She put her hand on her chin and pretended to think about it. “A pretty good one, I’d say.”

[alreadyblondenow]

Who Kissed Me?

▸ Jeno x reader x Mark ▸ 1k words ▸ Fluff, HEAVY Suggestive themes, cute sized angst? ▸ a lot of kissing, lip biting, mentions of sex, oral (female receiving), cheating?, mentions of weed, mentions of alcohol, mark lee getting drunk, blindfolds

The night is always wild whenever Haechan is the host of your monthly gets together. Booze, weed, a lot of games are always involved at nights like this. A simple get together with your childhood friends, your ex included. Mark Lee. Looking handsome as always. College made him buff, mature, and somehow different. The awkwardness between you two hasn’t died down even though it’s been six months since you two broke up.

“Did you two talked already?” Renjun asked you as he hands you a red cup and go sit with the others.

“Nope” you answered shortly.

“You know that he didn’t mean it, right?”

“But the fact that he kissed the girl while I was in the area.... for a dare. Hurt me”

Everyone was screaming and cheering for Mark to kiss the girl for ten seconds. He was red but not because he was shy but because he’s been drinking ever since he stepped foot on Haechan’s house. Mark didn’t want to do it. Well, simply because he loves you and for sure you will not approve of it even though it’s just a stupid dare.

“It’s just a stupid dare!” Jeno exclaims, “Y/n is busy taking care of her best friend, she will not know. Get it over with!” Jeno pushed Mark a little too hard, making him bump into the girl he’s about to kiss. She was drunk too, but she knew that Mark Lee is about to kiss her. Who would pass on that chance?

Mark holds on to her face with both hands and kisses her. He listens to the countdown of the people watching him, the music was slowly fading, and.... he was liking the kiss. He liked it so much that Jeno needed to push him away from the girl and inform him that the ten seconds were over and they were kissing for almost half a minute.

He was smiling and blushing, drinking more beer as Jeno hands him another cup. And out of nowhere, while he was enjoying his drunken state, you slapped him so hard on the face that he became sober.

The next thing he knew you were breaking up with him.

Renjun shook his head. Still trying to convince you that Mark didn’t mean any of it but it doesn’t matter now. You love him still but it’s time to move forward. While you and Renjun catch up some more, Haechan initiated to play seven minutes of heaven with a blindfold.

The rule was simple. When the bottle points at you, you go in with a blindfold and the people left outside the closet will spin the bottle again and the next person the bottle picks, will get in the closet.

No talking. Just kissing. It’s a test of friendship and secrecy, Haechan says. No one should tell the person with the blindfold who came in the closet with them.

As you secure the blindfold and keep your head down, you wait for the person who’s supposed to kiss you. If it’s going to be Renjun, he will admit it by the end of the night and you two will laugh it all out. The closet door suddenly opened and you don’t know why you’re nervous as hell. The person who came in did not waste his time kissing you. It was heart-stopping. Slow and sweet. You feel his smile in between kisses and his hand secures your head as he takes in control. The way he kissed you was like he’s been planning to do this all along. Like a steady wish that came true because of seven minutes in heaven.

You asked for air before continuing, holding up your hand as you try and catch your breath. What he did to your hand was something so sweet that you want to remove the blindfold immediately. He intertwined his fingers with yours and continued to kiss you. This time, it wasn’t as sweet as the first few minutes. This kiss was hungrier. There's lip biting and tongue involved. You tried to tug the blindfold but he stopped you with quick hands. But not quick enough for him to stop you from seeing his hair color. All you see is black hair.

The kiss continued until the alarm rang. He boops your nose and left one last kiss at the back of your hand before he leaves.

It made you weak.

When the guy who just kissed you finally settled down, you hear Haechan calling your name and told you to remove your blindfold. He opens the closet door with a big smile. Teasing but you don’t know what it's for. As soon as you sit on the floor, you look around and check who has black hair.

None.

Maybe it was brown? Mark and Jeno have brown hair. You will not forgive yourself if it was Mark who just kissed you. But if it happens to be Mark, you could have sensed it and recognize his lips. But you didn’t. So that leaves you to Jeno.

After that night you can’t stop thinking about the kiss. Every night before you sleep, you try to remember what you felt every second of the kiss. You caught yourself smiling whenever you remember how he boops your nose and kissed your hand. Oh how you wish you can ask around about the truth. But that will ruin trust.

As you think about the kiss again over hot chocolate and Christmas cookies, your phone dings two times and you wonder who it might be.

Mark: Can we talk?

Jeno: Are you home?

For some weird reason, you’re most excited to respond to Jeno’s message. You strongly believe that it was him who kissed you and that maybe he’s texting you right now because he’s finally making a move. As soon as you replied to Jeno’s message, you found him at your doorstep, freezing with a red box in his hand. He spends Christmas with you and your family because his family has worked over the holidays and he was sadly alone at home. You didn’t want him to get sad on Christmas day.

When you two are finally alone in your room, laying comfortably in bed and just staring at the ceiling, Jeno reached for your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. It really is him. You jumped on your bed and went on top of Jeno without second thoughts. Kissed him softly, hungrily, and desperately until one thing led to another, you two had quiet sex.

You spend the remaining holidays together, posting pictures almost every day, and letting the world know that you two are happy with each other. You go ice skating, watching movies together, have great sex, and intense amount of kissing that your lips are swollen every day. It was a great plot twist. You never thought that you and Jeno will be in love.

Until one night, Mark went to your house wearing a very thick jacket and letting himself freeze under the weather. “How can you love Jeno? Why him Y/n, we still have things to work on-“

“We are done, Mark. I’m happy with Jeno. Please leave us be” you begged.

“You were happy when I kissed you. You were happy when we kissed just a few weeks from now” he blurted out. Finally telling you the truth about the seven minutes in heaven. Of course, you didn’t believe him, it was Jeno you told him. And Mark is just using the kiss to steal you. But is he really lying?

He went closer to you. Boops your nose and kissed the back of your hand. “It wasn’t Jeno. It was me. Stop lying to yourself Y/n, were still in love with each other” he says. Mark left a soft kiss on your forehead before he leaves you with your own thoughts. He can only pray that you choose him over Jeno.

After what happened, you confronted Jeno about the talk you and Mark had.

“I planned it all along. Pushed Mark to that girl but kissing her more than ten seconds was his fault, not mine. I didn’t know you were going to break up with him. Then I shoot my shot, made you fall in love with me” He didn’t lie. He told you the truth, thankfully. You wanted to get mad but everything is overwhelming that being mad right now will not make the situation any better. “I thought I was winning you fair and square. I didn’t know that you’re dating me because you thought I was the one who went into the closet with you- I’m sorry but it’s not me. It’s Mark”

You feel stupid and confused. Jeno is a great man but you still have feelings for Mark.

“Go back to Mark” he bravely said.

“I’m sorry Jeno” it was so hard for Jeno to take your decision but he respects you and this is how he can show his love to you for the last time.

When you and Mark finally talked it through and forgive each other, you thought that it will be a crazy idea once you let him inside your life again. But no. You loved each other way deeper this time. You didn’t expect it either but Mark worked his ass off to earn your trust again which leads you to fall for his charms for the second time around.

On the next Christmas, you and Mark celebrated your anniversary that day.

“Oh my go- baby-“ you were out of breath and gasping for air while your boyfriend continues to eat you on the edge of the bed. Pushing him away while muffling your moans, careful not to let your parents hear you.

“Okay okay. Promise I’ll stop” he says and helps you wear your damped panties again while you’re still on the edge of the bed ready to fall. “Happy anniversary” he kissed you oh so sweetly, tasting a bit of yourself but you don’t care anymore. He boops your nose and kissed the back of your hand before he gave you a warm hug that made you two fall on the floor and bump your heads.

"Want to kiss inside your closet? This time there will be no alarm, no blindfold, just you and me" Mark offers.

"Depends if you promise never to kiss a girl behind my back again?"

"I was drunk- but okay, yes. I promise."

↩︎ prev next ▶︎

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

line without a hook

Pairing: Tom Holland x female! reader

Summary: Tom takes care of you after a party, forcing you to realize that maybe he’s who you should have been with all this time. 

Warnings: Cheating boyfriends, alcohol

-

“Where are you going?” Tom asked drowsily, sniffling upon walking into the bathroom you two shared. The smell of your perfume wasn’t overwhelming, but it smelled a little sweeter than normal. He saw steam coming from the hair tool you were using, too, and his eyes narrowed. 

“Party. Jack’s,” you responded, looking over at him. He had just woken up from his second nap of the day. He’d gotten back from filming possibly the most action-filled movie he could ever think of, and since then he’d been mostly nocturnal. 

“Oh. Let me know if you need me to come get you, I should be awake,” he shrugged as he reached for his toothbrush. “You look great, by the way. Be safe.” You turned to him as you shut off the hair tool and smiled. Tom was always so sweet to you - always willing to pick you up from parties, always taking your call even if he was in the middle of filming. You’d only met him through Harrison, but the two of you were closer than you ever thought you’d be. He just made you so happy. And until that night, so did your boyfriend of ten months, Jack. 

It was no secret that Tom hated him, though. There was always an excuse for him to not be there for you, even when Tom was. He would be working when you needed help with something, so Tom would do it. He said he was asleep the night you called him when you got in a car accident, so Tom came to be with you instead. It was a theme, and you deserved better. But Jack was such a sweet-talker that you didn’t even recognize when he was manipulating you. So, yeah. Tom hated the guy. 

You finished up in the bathroom and exited through the door that was attached to your room, just as Tom exited toward his room. You mumbled a goodbye and got your shoes on, then called a car to take you over to Jack’s. 

Quite honestly, Tom fell asleep halfway through a cutscene in his video game. He wasn’t really all that worried about you - you always went to parties at Jack’s and you always came home, safe and sound, even if it was the next morning. But he woke with a start, feeling as his phone vibrated against where he’d laid it in his sweatshirt pocket. Your contact picture lit up the screen, causing him to squint before turning down the brightness. He just barely missed the call, enough to see on his lock screen that you’d called twice already. 

He unlocked the phone to see that you’d left him two obviously drunk texts - one that said Tommyyyy come party! and another that said Comgin hmeo son, forgot my kye!! The latter of which had been two hours ago. He sighed and tried to look at your location on the map, but it was off for some reason. He called you, again, and you answered on the third ring. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” He asked in an obviously concerned voice. His concern got worse when you didn’t answer him right away - instead he stood up in the empty living room and eyed a pair of his brother’s shoes in the corner. 

“Tommy?” You cried. He stopped dead in his tracks, worry filling his stomach. 

“Hey, it’s me, what’s wrong?” 

“He cheated on me,” you sniffled. “I walked in to his room to go to bed ‘cause there’s a surge on Uber and I didn’t want to pay that much, but I knew you were busy, but he was in there with Jessica. Fucking Jessica. Fuck, Tom, I knew he was cheating on me.” 

“Where are you now?” He asked, walking into the kitchen to find his keys. Or anyone’s keys, really. 

“I’m on the front porch.” You hiccuped. You were still drunk. Drunk enough not to react to what Jack was doing and walk out the door instead. Tom found his car keys and ran out to the parking pad, trying to fight the anger that was building up inside of him. He imagined you felt probably the same way, only a lot more heartbroken. Tom was heartbroken, but for you. For the fact that this guy had fucked up not only his chances with you, but that he’d betrayed your trust and you would never be the same way again. But he was angry as hell, too, that anyone would have the nerve to hurt you like that. 

“I’m on my way, okay?” He said as he started up the car. 

“Okay. I’ll be here.” You hiccuped again, and then slid your finger on your screen until the call hung up. The party was still going on behind you, but you couldn’t care less. You were freezing cold, first of all, in your lack of clothes. Your makeup was running all over your face. Your phone was on four percent, and you weren’t sure if you even wanted it on at all. The music was blaring in Jack’s house, or his parents’ house that he just rented from them. Everyone inside was none the wiser, or didn’t care, about what had just happened. Finally Tom’s car pulled up and you stood, wobbly on your feet, watching as he got out. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re freezing,” he said as he walked forward, pulling off his jacket and throwing it over you. He put a hand on your head to make sure you wouldn’t hit it as you got in the car, shut the door behind you, and walked to the other side. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled as he sat down, shutting his own door. The silence in the car settled for a moment before he reached his hand over to yours and took your shaking fingers. 

“Let’s get you home.” You nodded and kept holding his hand, not able to bring yourself to let go. You were over your crying for the most part, but you had a feeling you’d never forget the image of your now ex-boyfriend and his fling. You were silent for most of the drive, and then as Tom pulled back into the driveway he repeated the same motion to get you out of the car. 

“Alright. I’m gonna fix you something to eat, okay? How does breakfast sound?” You nodded a little bit, walking over to the kitchen island to sit down. He went to the fridge and got you some cold water, setting it in front of you as he started making a single cup of coffee. He handed it to you as it was done, then started to get out a pan as quietly as he could. You watched as he made you food in silence, then put the plate of eggs and bacon in front of you. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You asked him. 

“Because,” he shrugged. “You’re one of my best friends. You got your heart stomped on, and you need to sober up before you remember everything and get sick because of it.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” you noted. 

“I am.” He acted like it was nothing to him, but he had remembered how he felt when his ex cheated on him. He’d felt like absolute scum, like it was his fault, even though he’d done nothing but love that girl as hard as he could have. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Just eat up, alright?” You nodded and finished eating as he took your phone upstairs, partially to plug it in and partially to hide it from your sight. Even though it was on one percent, he looked at the lock screen. Your ex hadn’t even cared enough to call you about it. What the fuck, he thought? Who could do that to you? 

“You done?” He asked as he watched you push the empty plate forward. You nodded, laying your head on top of your elbows on the table. He could smell alcohol in your hair, and so could you. You were becoming increasingly aware of what happened, too, but it hadn’t quite hit you yet. Nothing had hit you yet, and you weren’t sure you wanted it to. 

“I’m probably gonna sleep on the couch tonight,” you decided as you eyed the stairs. Yeah, there was no way that was happening. The thought made Tom laugh a little bit, but he wasn’t about to let you stay alone. 

“Do you mind if I keep you company? We can have a sleepover,” he said. He moved his hand to jokingly poke yours, trying to get a smile out of you. You didn’t feel much like smiling, but you nodded. 

“I’d like that.” He smiled. 

“Alright. I’ll be back in, like, five minutes. Go get something out of the laundry so you don’t smell like alcohol.” You nodded and stood up, walking over to the laundry room. You found a pair of your underwear that was drying and one of Tom’s exceptionally long sweatshirts and threw it on, sniffling. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked absolutely, positively wrecked. Tom appeared behind you, probably to make sure you were okay, and he paused in the doorway with a sigh. 

“I look awful,” you sniffled. 

“You’ve been through a traumatizing experience, you’re allowed to look awful. If you did. But you don’t. You never look awful.” He tried to cheer you up, but it didn’t quite work. 

“Thank you, Thomas, but I’m drunk and I can’t even walk up the stairs, I’m not boyfriend-less, and now you’re having a sleepover with me out of pity.” He scoffed.

“So you think pity’s the reason? You really hate me that much?” You rolled your eyes and stumbled back into the living room, where Tom had pulled out the part of the couch that had a built-in ottoman, basically making it a bed. It wouldn’t be the first time you and Tom had shared a bed-like surface. 

“Where’s my phone?” You asked, not seeing it on the coffee table next to Tom’s. 

“Hiding it. I don’t want you looking every five seconds to see if that ass has said anything. If I’d have known your passcode I would have blocked him.”

“He’s just gonna come to the house, then.”

“And he’s not seeing you. I’ll come out in a hazmat suit and give him all of his stuff.” 

“Why are you being so protective of me?” You asked as Tom turned on the TV, knowing that you needed it on to sleep properly. He got into the mess of blankets beside you, moving the pillow from his bed over to your side. 

“You have to stop assuming that there’s a reason I’m doing these things. What if I’m just doing something to make you feel better? What if I’m doing these things because I think you deserve better than him but I know that you don’t get that?” You shrugged and laid your head against the pillow, realizing that it was going to be covered in mascara. 

“Maybe I don’t. Deserve better. I mean, I had to have done something to make him not want me anymore, or want someone else over me.”

“You did nothing wrong!” He insisted, moving the joystick on the video game controller until he navigated to your favorite show. “Anyone that cheats on you is just... stupid, frankly. If I had you, I would do everything in my power not to mess it up.” He sounded so casual when he said it, but you could tell he was lying. He was a fantastic actor. But one of the worst liars you’d ever met. He always had a hollow voice when he lied, and this was no exception. But you were almost asleep, half from the exhaustion of crying and half from the alcohol. 

“If I were yours, Tommy?” You said sleepily. “I would be the luckiest girl in the world.” You turned around so that your back was facing his chest, just a few inches away from touching him, and fell asleep. 

The next morning you woke up turned the other way, using his arm as a pillow, and of course there was dried drool on the pillow too. Gross. You felt ridiculously safe beside him, thinking at first it was your boyfriend. And then you realized it was tom. You realized you didn’t have a boyfriend, not anymore, at least. You pulled the comforter off of yourself upon realizing what a mess you’d made of things. Of everything. You’d maybe just ruined your friendship with Tom, too, because you’d acted like a baby who couldn’t take care of yourself. 

You stood in the mirror of your shared bathroom, looking at your makeup on the vanity before what was left of it on your face. And you hated everything. Maybe your looks were why Jack cheated. Maybe you weren’t wearing the right makeup and he thought you looked ugly. Maybe... You shook it off and started the shower. 

When you were completely cleaned off, skin irritated from rubbing, hair dripping wet, you went back into your bedroom. You checked your plugged-in phone to see that Jack hadn’t even tried to call you. Not once. Jessica had tried to DM you, though, multiple times. You just deleted the request and went on with your life. A figure appeared in the door and you wiped away the tears forming in your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. 

“Hey, I saw you slept in the den, you didn’t get sick did you?” Harrison asked as he walked through the hallway. “Because I had to clean it up last time while you were still dying and I’m not doing it again.” 

“No, I wasn’t sick,” you said quietly. Enough to where he cocked his head and noticed that you were upset.

“What happened?”

“I screwed things up. Royally. With everyone. I walked in on Jack cheating, I cried all over Tom all night, made it sound like I’m in love with him and probably confused the shit out of him, and...”

“You’ve been in love with Tom the moment you saw him. Absolutely everyone knows that. I’m sorry that Jack cheated on you, but maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe you and Tom can...” 

“He doesn’t want me like that. Trust me.”

“No, trust me. He does.” You walked toward the door and shut it in Harrison’s face, not meaning to be rude. You just needed a little bit of time to figure things out. And you thought you had time for a few seconds, until something overturned in the bathroom and Tom gave you a bit of nervous laughter. 

“How much did you hear?” You asked as your face started to heat up. 

“Almost all of it,” Tom said. “But...” 

“But nothing, Tom. I just keep screwing everything up, with everybody,” you said more to yourself than him, walking over to your bed and putting your tired face in your hands that still smelled like your shower gel. 

“You’re not screwing anything up,” he shrugged, following you into your room. “To be honest, I do like you. A lot. But I kind of resigned myself to the fact that it was never gonna happen when you started dating Jack. And then he started treating you like absolute shit and it was almost like I thought I could save you from him, or something, or make it hurt less when you got hurt. But now that we’re here... It would be a div move to ask you out or something right now, wouldn’t it?” He laughed a little bit, scratching at his hair that was all messy from the way he’d slept. 

“I like you too.” You brushed your shoulder against his, feeling a kind of spark, almost, that you’d never felt with Jack. “And you didn’t have to be there for me last night, but you were. And that says a lot more than the fact that Jack hasn’t even bothered to call and Jessica’s only tried to DM me. Could we maybe just... take things a little slow? Like, really slow? Like, friends who really like each other, until maybe I don’t cry seeing a pair of his shoes in the corner of my room like I’m about to right now?” Tom got up, picking up Jack’s pair of Nikes that were in the corner of the room beside a pair of yours. He threw them out the door before returning to you and offering an arm. You felt all of the tension and stress leave your body when it was surrounded by his, and you shut your eyes and counted until it was too long. 

“How about I get some clothes on and we can go to that breakfast place you like. I’ll even buy you a mimosa. Or two.”

“I don’t think I should drink right now, but I love the offer. Give me five minutes to dry my hair.” You laughed a little bit and stood up, watching as he left the room. Your smile didn’t fade from your face until you thought about Jack again. In fact, every time you saw Tom it was like the sunshine took over and the hills too big to climb on your own were suddenly a little bit smaller. Yeah, you thought. You could be happy with Tom. Very happy. 

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

bright lights and baseless worries - q. hughes

When ya girl is finally on a monthlong break from school, she’s able to get in more than one piece a week. I knew I wanted to do some holiday piece for Quinn, and 100% got this idea in the shower the other day and just sat down and got to writing. In my totally unbiased opinion, it’s very cute, and I’d love to hear what you think - I love reading the tags on reblogs and having y’all in my inbox!

word count: 3.3k+

“Do you want to meet my parents?” 

Your fork stopped halfway to your mouth, the spaghetti threatening to fall off the end. “Do I want to what?”

Quinn laughed, taking a sip of water as he sat across from you at his dining room table. “Do you want to meet my parents? They’re flying in after the next roadie, in a week and a half or so. They really want to meet you, but I get if you don’t want to, or you feel like it’s too soon. I’ll make up an excuse for you, say you were called into work for some big project or something that you can’t get away from.” 

You weren’t sure if there was some unspoken protocol for when was too soon to meet your boyfriend’s parents, but you were pretty sure six months wasn’t pushing it. “Quinn, I’m still in university,” you said with a laugh. “There’s no work for me to get called into. And I’d love to meet them, if you’re sure that’s what you want. I don’t want you feeling like you have to because your parents want to meet me. I want it to be because you want it too.”

“Of course I want you to meet them,” he said, smiling softly at you. “Almost more than that, I want them to meet you. Sure, you’ve seen each other over FaceTime and they know what I’ve told them about you—”

“All good things, I hope?” You quipped.

The corner of his lips twitched. “Nothing but the best. But you’re incredible, and I want them to be able to meet  you, so they get to see how amazing you are in person and don’t think I’m crazy any more for how much I talk about you, So there’s that.” 

You ducked your head, tapping your fingers against the dark grain of the table. “Well, I’d love to meet them, Q. Anyone who’s spent any length of time around you knows how much you love your family, and I’m so excited to finally get to know the people who raised you into the incredible man you are today.”

Quinn blushed shyly. “It’s going to be great.”

---

Vancouver in December had always been one of your favorite things. Vancouver any time, really, but the holiday season really let your hometown shine something special. Literally. From the first of the month, all of downtown was decked out from tree to storefront to lamppost in yards of bright, sparkling lights. And then there was the massive, hundred-foot tall Christmas tree that lit up the square in front of the art gallery, throngs of couples and little kids running up to its branches in a bid to get their picture taken. It had finally started to snow a few weeks ago, so a light dusting covered the sidewalks, giving way to the shoe prints of the hundreds of passersby. 

Downtown was where you found yourself now, wandering around on a Wednesday afternoon after you had been let out of your final, your purse on your shoulder and nothing but sheer worry in your heart. Quinn had come back from the road trip that morning; his parents were set to fly in tomorrow morning. His parents were set to fly in tomorrow morning, well under 24 hours away, and you had no clue what to get them. You had been in clothing stores, homegoods stores, souvenir shops, but were no closer to figuring out what to buy. You had been about to buy a nice bottle of wine, one of yours and Quinn’s favorites, but then you wondered if maybe it was weird to give wine at a first meeting, or if they’d look at you funny for gifting a bottle of pinot grigio when you were only 21. And it had to be something they could bring back on the plane, so nothing that was too fragile or something that might spill or anything with over 3.4 ounces of liquid. You should have thought about that before considering the wine. 

You had texted your roommates in a panic, but letting them know that i’m meeting quinn’s parents tomorrow and I have no idea what the FUCK to get them please help hadn’t yielded any particularly useful suggestions. Aliya had suggested a tie for his dad, which Sara had vetoed immediately, saying that a tie was both far too formal and far too strange a gift to extend. Sara, who was the apartment’s resident caffeine addict, had recommended a few of her recent favorite types of “artisan, hand-roasted coffee.” It had seemed like a good idea at first, with everyone and their mother getting into craft versions of every drink imaginable, but then you started overthinking it, thinking that maybe they wouldn’t like the roast, or the undertones, or it would be too bitter and they’d drink it and hate it and then they’d hate you and — 

You huffed, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes and leaning up against the column of some storefront you had spent less than five minutes in. Quinn chose that exact moment to call, and his timing couldn’t have been any more welcome. “God, I’m such a mess right now,” you said by way of greeting. 

“Everything good?” He asked lightly, but you could hear the concern laced under his voice. 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding, “but I’ve been to at least a half-dozen stores in downtown and I’m starting to get worried because I still have absolutely no clue what to get your parents tomorrow and nobody seems to have any good ideas.”

“You realize you don’t have to get them anything, right?” Quinn asked. “Seriously, they’re not expecting it, and I promise they won’t think any less of you if you don’t.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Q, my mom’s going to skin me alive if she heard I showed up empty-handed to meet your parents, but that’s besides the point. I want to make a good impression.” Your voice cracked. “I really want to make a good impression.”

He sighed on the other end of the line. “I know you do, babe, but I guarantee that no matter if you buy my dad a Rolex or show up in your pyjamas, they’re going to love you.”

“But how do you know that?”

“They’ll love you because I love you.” He spent a few more minutes on the phone with you, trying his damndest to reassure you that Jim and Ellen weren’t nearly as scary as you somehow thought they were, that they’d welcome you with open hearts and open arms just like his brothers had. The Devils had played in Vancouver the month prior, and much to Quinn’s delight, you and Jack had gotten along like a house on fire. Jack had made good on a promise he had made while he was in British Columbia, sending you a cache of Quinn’s baby photos as soon as he got back to his apartment in New Jersey. 

You slid your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, feeling marginally more reassured that his parents wouldn’t immediately demand you break up with their son if you didn’t spend the equivalent of a year’s tuition on welcome gifts for them, but nervous nonetheless and no closer to your goal than when you drove into downtown hours before. 

---

You tapped your heel nervously on the floor of Quinn’s living room, fingers nervously twisting your rings around as Quinn leaned up against the couch, glancing between you and his phone. “Mom says they’re almost here.” Quinn would have picked them up from the airport himself, but he had had a morning practice, and then they decided to get settled into their hotel room, so them coming over to his apartment before you were all set to go out to dinner was the first time either of you were going to see them. He looked at you, your brow still furrowed from overthinking. “I know you’re still worried, and I get that, babe. I was terrified when I met your parents for the first time. But you’re going to do amazing.” Your parents lived in Surrey, forty minutes away in the same house you’d grown up in, so it was a much less formal affair when they had asked to meet Quinn. You went over to their house for brunch one weekend, and that was it; Quinn was right, though. That hadn’t meant he was any less nervous. If anything, it only amplified his worries because if he wasn’t able to make a good first impression in one of the most low-stress environments a person could think of, what would that say about him? What would your parents think? But just like he said, it had been such a non-issue that by the end, he was wondering what he had been worried about in the first place. 

“I know it’ll be fine,” you conceded, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “It just seems different, somehow. Like, I’ve met people’s parents before, friends and exes and people at school, and of course I wanted them to like me. I think it’s just…” You paused, looking up at the ceiling and trying to gather your words, “I think it’s because I see this, us, going somewhere. I see it lasting. So if you’re going to be in my life for the foreseeable future, then so are they, so it just seems that much more important that I like them and that they like me.” 

Quinn bent over, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Don’t worry.” The doorbell rung, and you took the thirty seconds it took for Quinn to go over and open it to turn your phone on, checking in the camera to make sure you didn’t have a piece of kale stuck in your teeth. You didn’t, but you really should have known better. Quinn would have told you. 

You stood up, plastering a smile on your face as he pulled the door open and his parents stepped into the entryway. His dad had just hugged him when his mom pulled him in, rubbing his back as she greeted him. “So good to see you, Quinn, Chag sameach.”

“Chag sameach, Mom,” Quinn said back, before stepping back and nodding to you. You stepped forward hesitantly, Quinn’s warm hand on the small of your back quelling your fears as much as he could. 

He had barely opened his mouth to introduce you before his mom burst forward. “Is this her?” 

You relaxed slightly, nodding. “In the flesh. So nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Weinberg-Hughes.”

She waved you off. “Ellen, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’s so nice to finally get to see you in person!” She pulled you into a hug that looked just as heartfelt as the one she had given her son, and it only took a few seconds for you to relax into her touch. 

“Jim,” his dad greeted you with a warm handshake. 

You turned back towards the coffee table. “I, uh, got these for you two when I was downtown the other day.” You handed his mom a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and his dad a potted succulent, something you originally hadn’t been too sure about but Quinn had assured you his dad would love. “It’s got a travel-safe box that came with it, so it’ll be good to go on the plane ride back,” you said. 

His dad smiled. “Quinn told you I’m not much of a green thumb, hm?” Quinn’s eyes widened; his dad laughed. “It’s true, I love plants but I seem to somehow kill everything I touch, so this really is a wonderful gift. Thank you.” 

“Did you light the candles yet?” His mom asked. 

Quinn shook his head, nodding to where his menorah sat on the sideboard. “I wanted to wait for you.” If his mom was going to be there for the first night of Hanukkah, he was going to wait for her if he valued his own well-being. The candles were already in a box off to the side; Ellen opened them and placed first the shamash, then the first candle all the way to the right as Quinn went into the kitchen for a lighter, coming out a second later. You made to move out of the room, unsure if it was disrespectful to stay. You got your answer quickly. 

“Stay,” Quinn said. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

“It’s part of the tradition that the whole family — whoever’s around, obviously, stays for the lighting. That’s you, now,” Ellen explained. Your cheeks burned, but not out of embarrassment. Out of the fact that Quinn had been exactly right, just like you knew he would be, just like he had told you he would be. His parents welcomed you quicker than your own best friend’s had, and five minutes after meeting them in person for the first time his mom had already all but called you family. You were giddy inside. You perched on the couch as she and Quinn recited the Hebrew blessings, a soft smile on your face as you watched the interaction. You knew your boyfriend loved his mom. That much was clear, from the times you were both on FaceTime to the phone conversations you overheard to the way that he spoke about her with Brock, or Elias, or really anyone who would listen. But it was something special. 

You gathered in the living room after the menorah was lit, your heels abandoned by the door and your body curled into Quinn’s as the four of you waited for the candles to burn down. Ellen and Jim supplemented Jack’s childhood stories of Quinn with some of their own, one of which had your boyfriend groaning into your shoulder, asking his dad if you really needed to know that story in particular. Jim just laughed, clapping his son on the back, telling him that the embarrassing anecdotes were really a litmus test of sorts. “If she doesn’t run after hearing this one, you’ll know that she’s a keeper,” he said while winking at you. You stayed. 

You had a 6:30 reservation at a restaurant downtown, some place one of the other guys’ girlfriends had recommended when you sent a message in the group chat earlier asking where to take Quinn’s parents because I def don’t want to seem pretentious but like they also need to know that I have taste. He drove with his dad in the passenger’s seat, leaving you and his mom to share the second row. “Have you ever seen his freshman year roster photo from Michigan?” she asked, pulling out her phone. 

Quinn groaned from the driver’s seat. “Mom, do you really need to show her?”

“You’re so young, it’s cute!” Ellen protested.

“I was 17 and didn’t know how to do my hair yet and was so nervous for the photographer to take it that my smile looks like it was frozen onto my face.”

You ducked your head, poorly concealing a snort of laughter. “Okay, if it’s half as good as Quinn makes it seem, I’ve got to see this one.” Ellen handed her phone to you just as Quinn pulled into the parking lot; you handed it back a minute later, the grin on your face still evident as he parked the car, walking around to your side to open your door. 

Picture didn’t scare you off?” he asked jokingly. 

You stood up quickly, pressing a brief kiss against his cheek. “Not at all.”

The food was incredible, not like you had expected any less. The salmon was maybe the best you had ever had, and the crème brûlée you and Quinn shared was nothing short of spectacular. You had left the last bite for him, knowing how much he loved the dessert, but he shook his head with a small smile, gently pushing the bowl back to you. The gesture hadn’t been missed by his mom, who had poorly concealed her happiness at her son’s kindness. You headed back to Quinn’s apartment after a walk by the harbor with his parents, a little after nine. “We got you two a little something,” his dad said as his mom reached into her purse. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” you said quickly as Ellen pulled out a small, flat wrapped package.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Just something we thought would look nice in here,” she gestured around the living room with her spare hand., holding it out to you. “Happy Hanukkah.”

Your face burst into a grin as Quinn looked over at the photo, his thumb moving absentmindedly over your shoulder. “Happy Hanukkah, Ellen.” You ran your thumb carefully under the seams, popping open the paper with as much precision as the moment was affording you. You unfolded it, looking up at your boyfriend. “Hang on. Is this…?” 

He nodded. “I think so.” You were looking down at a picture, set in a silver frame that shone so much you could see your reflection. But it wasn’t a normal picture, one that you’d throw up on your Instagram story or delete from your camera roll without a second thought. It was from that September, a few months after you and Quinn had started dating and the first time he had taken you to meet the boys. You had already met Brock and Elias a few weeks earlier when they came back into town for training, but it was the first night he had really let you into his life in that way, started to take down some of his walls and trust you with every part of himself. You had been curled up with Quinn on a couch in Brock’s living room, towards the end of a party he had thrown to welcome everyone to the start of a new season. You didn’t even remember what Quinn was talking about, but as you looked down at the photo, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist and your head resting on his chest, you realized that it could have been Poptarts or Disney movies or the deepest darkest secrets from the furthest parts of your soul, because it was you, and it was him, and that’s all that mattered. You didn’t even realize you had started to tear up until Quinn handed you a tissue. “Thanks,” you mumbled. You looked back up at his parents, crumbling it in your hand. “Seriously, Jim, Ellen, thank you for this. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this, but thank you for getting it. It means a lot.” 

His dad gave you a hug as his mom moved over to Quinn’s kitchen, plucking her bouquet out of a vase and walking back over to hug first her son, then you. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re half the woman Quinn says you are, and I think you’re more, then you deserve the world.” 

Your cheeks heated as they walked through the front door. Quinn gently took the picture from you, admiring it as he padded over to the sideboard and placed it next to the menorah, whose candles had long since burnt down. He walked back over towards you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. He pulled back, a wry smile on his face as your foreheads pressed together. “Do you finally believe me?”

He didn’t even have to explain his words, because you knew. Finally believe him that you didn’t have anything to worry about, finally believe him that his parents would love you, finally believe him that thing you had going on wasn’t one he wanted to give up on. Not now, not ever. Your head nodded before your words could catch up to you, spilling out of your mouth like they had always been there. “Yes.”

[leejeongz]

fluffy a-z JUNGWON (enhypen)

requested: yes, by @babyjungwonenhypenrascal

🔅ahh enha first win AHHHH i’m so proud of them :(🔅

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

little to no PDA, especially when you’re around strangers. if it’s just friends then sure, linking arms would be cute but that’s pretty much all. when you’re in private he’s practically begging you to hold him (taken from my enhypen as boyfriends post)

when you’re sitting on benches or sofas, in diners for example, and he’s sat beside you, he’ll make you jump sometimes by placing his hand on top of yours that was resting on the seat. when you get startled, he’ll just flash you a gummy smile and giggle a little leaving everyone around you questioning what you pair are giggling at. ugh and he loves to do that thing where you high five and then hold hands afterwards just so casually, and he smiles at you while the pads of his fingers rub over your knuckles.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

more likely to have a best friend that isn’t in his immediate friendship group. you spend time together alone rather than with other people since you’re the only people on that wavelength lmao. you are rarely ever seen together, but people you’re best friends, like they just know.

his advice would be top tier. sometimes, you didn’t follow your friend's advice, but if it was jungwon’s, you followed it because you knew it was absolutely the right thing for you to do. he cares a lot about you and thinks about your situation deeply, eventually coming to a conclusion on what exactly you should do in order to resolve your situation and most of the time it works.

you sass each other out like no one else can. like they can try, but no one makes jokes about the other in the same way that you two can, just because you know each other so well.

on your birthday, he posts all the embarrassing videos and pictures he has of you on his stories along with some sarcastic message about how you’re becoming old but it’s kinda cute and always leaves you in tears.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

he's not that much of a cuddler but when you do,,, he’s the little spoon whether you like it or not 😡 he wants to be held, it’s like a safety thing for him. when you hold him, he likes to tease you too, like he’ll flick his hair around jokingly to get your attention or to stop you from falling asleep. when you’re cuddling face to face, he likes pouting at you or doing his little “🥺” face to get you to kiss him. when you finally kiss him he’s like “bruh wth was that ew” but tickles your sides to let you know that he does actually approve. oh and he’s very giggly when you cuddle early on in your relationship. like he’s relaxed but he can’t help but giggle cos it’s so cute, you’re so cute.

when you guys watch a film together on the sofa, he likes to slowly bring his head to your shoulder and let it rest there for a while before you throw your arm over him and bring him closer into your side while his hand rests on your thigh/knee. when he looks up at you, again, all “🥺” and whatnot, he knows that it melts your heart so he giggles and invites you into his arms instead so you can rest on him for a bit.

it’s not really cuddling, but while lying next to each other, he always initiates a little playful game of footsie just to annoy you and get you to focus on him, and hopefully eventually cuddle him.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

his cleaning and cooking skills could do with some improvement, but it’s okay he gets the job done hehe. he’s confident when ordering take always on the phone and that’s more important than his cooking skills anyway 😭 he likes to do jobs around the house and thinks of his jobs as just part of life, something he has to do, so he never complains about them or does a bad job.

he’s still very young, he’s not thinking of settling down any time soon. sure meeting the love of his life would be great, but he’d still keep the relationship pretty innocent and non-serious until he got older. he’s definitely dating to marry, not for any other reason. he’s not just looking for fun to pass the time or for someone’s heart to break, it’s just it’s not that serious right now.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

i don’t think he’d struggle that much doing it face to face. he definitely couldn’t do it by text or by phone call, the only way he would break up with you is face to face. the reasoning would probably be along the lines of “we’re still young” or “this is too much for me right now”. he really doesn’t want to break your heart so he goes about it in a mature way. he explains his side of the story, listens to your side and finally reiterates his point just so that you know that it’s nothing wrong on your part, but it’s still over. i don’t see him being friends with his ex after the split to be honest, if he breaks up with you that’s it. but that’s not to say you guys can’t rekindle an old flame at a later date.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

wow wow wow marriage? that’s a little bit much. he’s a kid, don’t scare him with such a big commitment until you've been together for at least 5 years and he’s a little bit older. he’s excited to propose to you and he does occasionally think of how the moment will go down, but it’s never serious enough to actually do it just yet.

obviously, he wants devotion, it’s love after all. commitment is a huge part of any relationship and he wants you to know from the get go that he’s looking at you and only you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

with his own emotions, he’s not that gentle unfortunately. there’s not much that can break this boy, probably because he’s been forced to grow up so quickly (i get big sad myself thinking abt that oh god) and so he doesn’t let things get to him in the way that others would. he doesn’t like to let other people see him cry, he rarely cries anyway so letting other people see him when he does is a big no no, even if they’ve known him for a while. i think something that does upset him is failure, whether it’s him or someone he’s close to. he doesn’t want to see anyone fail when he knows how much work they’ve put into something, so that upsets him a lot.

with you, he’s very gentle, he wants this to last so he naturally does everything in his power to make sure that he’s giving off this gentle aura. he’s forever smiling at you, whenever you make eye contact he flashes you a small little smile just to let you know that here’s there. he’s there to laugh with you when you need it most, and trust me, he knows when you need someone to laugh with. he listens to you well, he takes on board your concerns and brings back to you practical advice without making you feel condescended. he’d love to be able to help you out more than he already does, but he’s just too busy. any free time he has, he spends it with you, and you do the same too, but it just seems like there’s not enough hours in the day for him to help you with everything that he wants to :(.

this may not seem gentle, but jungwon will tell you what you need to hear. it’s not always what you want to hear, but it’s from the heart. he’s always honest with you because it’s for your own good, he only wants the best for you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

when he’s tired, the only place he wants to be is in your arms. he stumbles through the door and stands there for a while, waiting for you to come and hug him so that he can rest his head on yours or on your shoulder. he likes it when he can stroke your hair while hugging because you hum into his shoulder and it’s like music to his ears.

when he sees you standing alone at home, often looking like your in a trance, he’ll wrap his arms around you from the back and almost jump on you to scare you. he’ll climb off you and land back on the floor, loosening his arms and expecting you to turn around so he can kiss you on the nose as an apology.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

he doesn’t say the words lightly. when he says them to you, he really means it. he'd make a big deal out of saying it even thought he just drops it into conversation, he might even cry (which i already said, he doesn’t do that often) because he’s just so pleased to have met you and started this relationship with you that he hopes will last forever. he will drop it into a casual conversation, making the atmosphere become intimate and deep, he likes that he can do that and that you’re not phased by it (despite getting a little flustered, but that’s only natural and he wants you to react in that way hehe) he’d be sat there explaining to you how you make him feel, how secure and comfortable he is with you and why he loves you, tearing up as he speaks because it’s really coming from his heart.

he’s actually not that anxious to say it, and that’s probably just because he truly means it and that it’s a very natural thing for him to say given the circumstances.

he doesn’t tell a lot of people that he loves them, so you must be really special to him.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

his silence is a great tell of whether he’s jealous or not. he’s likely to give you the silent treatment if he feels you’ve done something to make him feel jealous, or will sit in silence around you and whoever is making him feel jealous. he’d just sit and stare at you both, it’s a little intimidating but easily mistaken for him just looking at you after a small disagreement so no one ever questions it. it’s basically over to you to resolve the situation because he doesn’t want to mess things up on his own. he trusts you enough to make a sound judgement on what to do when he’s jealous and there’s got to be a reason why you’re still together, right?! because you always know how to make things right with him.

he doesn’t like it when you get jealous though. like he gets it, everyone gets jealous sometimes, but he can’t really see why you’re jealous at times, leaving you to figure out your pettiness on your own. he wouldn’t be afraid to tell people to back off and makes it known that he’s in a relationship anyway, he respects you a lot and hopes that other people do too, so there’s no real reason for you to get jealous.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

cheeky little kisses while you’re talking just because he can. brushing that annoying bit of hair out of your mouth then kissing you because he can. kissing your forehead then pulling away and giggling just because he can. he kisses you all the time, just because he can :) (taken from my enhypen as boyfriends post)

he gets kind of shy when he has the opportunity to kiss you in front of others. like he really wants to, but he always feels like the kisses you share have that “first kiss on the playground at school” kinda vibe with everyone’s watching on lmao. so for that reason, he doesn’t kiss you regularly in front of other people, but he'd rather save that intimate treat for just the two of you anyway.

sometimes, when he’s feeling like cringing you out in the most ironic way, he’ll kiss your hand and smile at you, waiting for your reaction to his silliness.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

too busy crying over their cuteness to interact, give him a sec.

actually, he’s surprisingly good with kids. other than the fact that he had to take breaks to go scream about how cute they are, he gets along with them and the kids warm to him a lot. he gets what they want, he just knows, and he can always supply.

(i don’t really wanna talk about or even think about him having kids bc he’s still a minor so i’m sorry if that’s what you wanted from this part :/)

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

he never wants to get up. he literally wants to lie in bed forever, especially if you’re there with him. he complains when you try and get him up, no matter how awake he is at the time, he does not want to leave the bed and will in fact tangle himself up in the sheets.

on work days, you two just have separate morning routines at different times. you usually only bump into each other when he’s showering and you wanna brush your teeth or something. you once caught him washing his face with your hairband on and he got all embarrassed and giggled about it awwweee. but when you both have the day off or it’s a weekend, you stay in bed until mid morning and then get up and go to a cafe for breakfast/brunch. on a different note, he has yet to go a day without laughing about your bed head or complaining that you snore too loudly in bed even though you definitely do not do that.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

LAUGHING! night time is the only time you get to spend together since you have no plans other than to spend time together. he also likes it when he can spend the evening talking to your family or when you talk to his before going to bed because 🥺omfg that’s the cutest shit in his eyes. he likes to learn more about you, or when you get to learn more about him and he could listen and laugh to their stories all night long.

he likes to play board games/card games with you and then think of a punishment for the loser (but you end up both doing it anyway). you tire yourselves out too much with getting extremely competitive so when you head to bed, you basically fall asleep straight away. one time, you were too tired to even brush your teeth and wash your face before getting into bed so he came and did them for you ahh he’s such a cutie.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

at first, he’s quite closed off with you, he’s definitely got a guard up no matter how much he tries not to. conversations aren’t that deep initially, he tried to gauge how well you two connect just from small talk (even though he hates small talk because he has no idea what to say to you without getting too deep) and he’d know pretty quickly if the vibe’s there or not.

it takes him three dates at least before he starts opening up about himself. the conversations aren’t as deep as they could be, but he’s still talking to you on a level that you weren’t doing at first. he starts to tell you about his life, his past and his family at this point, things that have made him into the person he is and what he’s looking for in a relationship.

only once you get into the relationship officially will he tell you everything. his worries and concerns, his insecurities and his struggles. it’s difficult for him to open up about this stuff to anyone, so when he does so, he just wants you to listen. he would welcome any advice, but will only start taking it seriously after like a year of being in a relationship (not because he didn’t trust it before, just that he thought only he knew what was best for him), by that point, he truly believes that you know him better than he knows himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

he doesn’t really get angry. his anger is suppressed most of the time, he knows when the right time to express it is, when it would be valid to do so. if a petty situation angers him, he can just hold it and stay silent because he knows it would be worse if he kicked off. he likes to stand up for what he thinks is right though, if someone said something political that he didn’t agree with, he would get angry and start a rather heated debate with them until they were too intimidated to continue.

when it comes to you, he’s not the angry type. fake anger when you do something small, sure, just for the bants. for example when you play a game and things are getting a little too competitive he’ll go to flip the board or something. but never real anger unless you did something very wrong. even then, he’s less likely to be angry, more so upset and disappointed.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

he keeps important dates and such logged on his calendar with a week’s notice so he rarely forgets them. he really doesn’t want to forget them so he checks his calendar like every day just to see if his phone was not sending him notifications lmao.

most of the stuff you tell him, little details, he remembers since he already feels like he doesn't know you as well as he should. he wants to know anything and everything about you so he makes a point of remembering them. if he ever forgot something about you, he’d laugh it off in front of you and then go and break down over it because he can’t believe he forgot something about you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

the first time he heard you sing 🥰🥰

you were just doing some tidying up in your room, forgetting that your boyfriend was there too, when you suddenly started singing along to your playlist. he didn’t say anything, he just smiled to himself. that was when he realised that you must be comfortable around him. when you saw him besides you, you jumped out of embarrassment but he just giggled and was like “don’t stop, you are really good” no matter how good you really were. you actually both eventually ended up belting out a full on duet while tidying together, not caring who heard. it was actually very wholesome. he brings it up whenever you sing around him now and is all nostalgic about it.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

he trusts you entirely. he never really sees a need to protect you in everyday life. if other guys flirt with you, he just expects you to deal with it since he knows that you’re capable. he doesn’t want to misread any conversations you have with other people either, so he thinks it’s best to not intervene.

he gets protective of you around guys who don’t know their place though. walking past gangs of guys, just people who make you uncomfortable in general in fact, he would wrap his arm around your waist. it’s like protectiveness, almost anger (cos he’s disgusted by the way these people make you feel), but mostly for your comfort.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he’s either really sweet with his gift giving or so bizarre you can’t even comprehend how he managed to come up with the idea. he’d buy you something small, cute and sentimental for important events like a little figure/ornament or a necklace. when it's a less important time, his gifts are like,,, useful but strange asf (jays bday present is a perfect example of this lmao). he’d get you an alarm clock with your celebrity crush’s face on it and hand it to you like “so you start to hate them since they’re the one waking you up”.

oh BOY your anniversary is always romantic. he treats you to dinner at a restaurant in the evening, you get dressed up all fancy, that’s when he gives you the necklace that he bought for you and puts it on for you. people think it’s strange because you’re so young, but it feels so right and he can’t wait to do it for the rest of your lives.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

as friendly and lovely as jungwon is, he can sometimes come off as a little cold and withdrawn to people who don’t know him yet. he tries his hardest to make connections with everyone and seem genuine while doing it, but he can’t help but put up a guard around people he’s not yet comfortable with. he doesn’t want to welcome people into his life that he doesn’t want there. it’s not exactly a bad habit, but to those who don’t understand his reasoning it may come off that way.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

it's not the first thing that comes to his mind when he thinks about his own beauty. he’s a big believer that beauty comes from within and would rather work on his personality and emotions than think about his appearance. sometimes, when he notices people are mentioning something about his appearance regularly, he becomes a little concerned about it, even if what they’re saying is good, and he’ll try to change it but in the end he decides against it because it really doesn’t matter what other people think. he does like to make himself look good, but it’s not something that he’s particularly concerned about.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

you bring out a side of him that he would never have been able to show anyone else. he’s so thankful that you understand him and aren’t always expecting something from him. if he had never met you, he could never truly be himself around anyone, and so for that reason, yes, he would feel incomplete.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

this boy loves when you let him put jewellery on you :(. like every time he sees you struggling with your necklace or a choker he’ll be like “you want help with that” and he’ll do it for you. it’s an underrated form of affection for him, his hands so close to your neck in the most adorable way. and the fact that he gets to help you with something that you’re struggling with is a (subconscious) boost for him and fills him with so much joy, hence why is wants to do it again.

not just necklaces, bracelets in the same way, but also rings too. he’ll slide them off your finger just so he can put them back on again. he’ll do that thing where he presses his thumb against them too to “secure it in place” uh cute.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

immaturity. sure, immaturity to some extent is good for your mental state, but he’s not gonna have time for people who are excessively immature and do not see an issue in it. immaturity as in those always start unnecessary drama and are self centred, defensive and never own up to their own mistakes. a big one for him is wanting to have deep conversations. immature people wouldn’t be able to talk with him about the things he wants to, hence why he’d avoid them. he finds it hard to relate to people his age due to his maturity and mind set. he tends to struggle with small talk with them despite the amount of effort he’s putting in to adapt to their personality. this is why i think he’d know pretty early on if things were gonna work out or not.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

the twitching 😭😭. okay so we all saw him “popping” in his sleep lmao, i doubt anything would change even if someone was sleeping next to him. he might accidentally knock into you on the odd occasion but he’d wake up straight after he did it and apologise and be all like “omg i’m so sorry it wasn’t me i didn’t mean it please don’t hate me”. doesn’t happen every night, but is still noteable lol.

but other than that, he’s pretty calm. he likes it when you hold him while he sleeps :((.