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marveldc-imagines-hub · 3 years

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Imagine Coming Out to Steve as Bisexual:

A/N: Here’s (hopefully) the first installment of a sort-of series that I like to call the Imagine Pride Series. I don’t know how many I’ll get done this Pride Month since I’m starting it sort of in the middle of the month but if people end up liking it and I get enough ideas/requests for it, I’ll continue it and maybe it’ll become an annual thing until I’ve done a billion characters or get bored of it, lol. Anyway, this first one ended up being very personal for me, which I definitely didn’t intend, but... yeah, lol. Also, this series will be filled to the brim with my personal LGBTQ+ headcanons for Marvel characters, so if that’s not your thing, steer clear. Anyway, enjoy!

Word count: 2,477

Warnings: Coming out anxiety. Use of the Q-slur (reclaiming) and one F-bomb.

Masterlist

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

You were in your bedroom getting prepared for lounge time before bed—and psyching yourself up—when you thought you heard the front door open through your apartment’s paper-thin walls. You grabbed your phone and turned down the music playing from your Bluetooth speaker; the current song was Janelle Monáe’s “I Like That”, from the Queer Confidence playlist that you’d built for this specific event. Taking a deep breath and giving yourself one more good look in the mirror attached to your closet door, eyeing the to-go bag you had packed with essentials and left ready to grab on the bed, you listened to the jingle of keys as they were dropped onto the table by the door. The sound was quickly followed by a voice.

“[Y/N]?” Steve half-hollered, and you heard the sounds of movement as he made his way to the hall. His voice got softer as he got closer. “Baby?”

You gave yourself a shake and patted your face with your hands before answering. “Bedroom!”

Even though the two of you had been living together for well over a year, he still knocked and waited politely outside until you gave him explicit permission to enter. When he did, he immediately gravitated towards you. He casually looked over you, in your pajama pants and baggy cropped sweatshirt, as he strolled over, and seeing the slightest furrow of his brows made your stomach churn. Steve Rogers wasn’t too bad at reading people but he was always able to read you like a book and you immediately knew that he noticed how tense you were.

Apparently, he also noticed that you were trying to keep your cool and act normal because he didn’t immediately jump into Worried Eyebrows Rogers. Instead, he decided to give you some time to sort yourself out and opted to simply hug you from behind. Nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, his warm breath gave you goosebumps as he mumbled a soft, “Hi.”

You almost forgot about your plan as you melted back into his arms. “Hi,” you replied just as softly as you leaned your head to rest on top of his. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and place your hands on his, slowly run your hands up and down his forearms; you tried to take everything in just in case this was the last time you would be held by him. The solidness of the chest you leaned against, the sturdiness of his footing even as you put your full weight against him because, in reality, your body weight was like carrying a loaf of bread to the super-soldier. The curve of veins and muscle across his arms, the dampness of his hair under your cheek that was probably caused by his evening run despite the rain happening at the time. The faded smell of the 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner that Steve used despite your complaining, the much warmer body heat than any normal person that was like being wrapped in a heated blanket during the wintertime but being suffocated in a sauna during the summer, that currently bled into you and wrapped you into a comforting cocoon.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been standing like that in silence but it was long enough for Steve to decide that it was Worried Eyebrows time. He slowly raised his head again and when you opened your eyes again, he was watching you carefully in the mirror. He wore a dark navy T-shirt that was just tight enough to outline the muscular form underneath—with the help of Thor and Asgardian booze early on in your relationship, you’d gotten a blushing and giggly drunk Steve to admit that he purposely wore clothes like it because he enjoyed the attention, just a smidge—and a pair of black joggers that you got him for Christmas a few months ago.

“Are you okay?” Worried Rogers finally asked when he realized you weren’t going to speak first. He kept eye contact with you via the mirror, which almost hurt to hold on your end, as he pressed a light kiss against your temple and then a second one to your cheek. “You called me home early. Said it was something that couldn’t wait?”

And now I don’t want to say it at all, you thought as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. After hesitating for a bit longer—a few seconds or a half-hour, you couldn’t tell through your anxious haze—you sighed and said, “We need to talk.”

“What, it’s not like you’re leaving me or something, are you?” Steve questioned. The quirk of his brows and a brief smile that appeared told you that he was joking but when you didn’t even chuckle or tease him back, that smile quickly reversed into a frown. “That’s not what’s happening here, is it?”

“Well…” you mumbled, then trailed off. You glanced towards the bed, where your emergency-leave bag sat waiting, and when you looked back at Steve’s reflection, he was staring at the bag with worry lines etched deep into his skin. “That’s up to you.”

“Hold on.” Steve moved from behind to stand in front of you, although it was only briefly as he took your hands tightly in his and led you to sit on the edge of the bed with him. He glanced at the bag again, the lines on his face grew deeper again, and you were suddenly reminded of his true age. He looked you in the eye again. “[Y/N], talk to me.”

“Ours” by Taylor Swift played quietly in the background as you tried to untangle your thoughts and make your mouth work again. The song wasn’t a Pride song or by an LGBTQ+ artist but something about it just fit so well. As you tried to recall the speech you’d been practicing all day, then decided to throw it out altogether, Taylor sang, “So don’t you worry your pretty little mind / People throw rocks at things that shine / And life makes love look hard…”

“Steve, I…” Your tongue seemed to tie itself in a knot whenever you tried to say it.

Steve’s worried, borderline scared, look turned soft. The gentle Worried Eyebrows were back and his thumbs caressed the backs of your hands so softly that it felt like he thought you’d shatter at any minute. He pressed another, stronger kiss against your forehead and mumbled, “You know you can tell me anything.”

Steve was one of the kindest, most welcoming, most understanding people you’ve ever known but there was still something intimidating about telling him. Normally, you couldn’t fathom him reacting poorly to anything that you could have said but now, you couldn’t help remembering the fact that he was a masculine, old-fashioned, soldier—a soldier from the ’40s—who was still the Ideal American Man to a lot of people, especially some rather unsavory people, and to your knowledge, Steve didn’t have any other queer people in his life that were close to him. Maybe he didn’t want any. Maybe he didn’t like them, like many people who idolized him don’t like them.

A little spark of anger sparked in the dark void of anxiety that you were feeling. It wasn’t fair that people hated people like you simply for existing and as much as you loved Steve, if he held the same sentiments, you definitely didn’t want to be with him. The spark quickly turned into a raging fire and suddenly you were blurting out what you’d struggled to say all day, all month, ever since you’d discovered yourself.

“Steve, I’m bi.”

Steve stared at you for a bit, then blinked. “What?”

You took a breath and squared your shoulders. It wasn’t any easier to say it a second time, but you managed in what you hoped was a confident voice, “I’m bisexual.”

Steve blinked again and his head tilted slightly to the side, but otherwise didn’t move much. “Okay.”

“O… Okay.” You echoed. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

Slowly, a relieved smile appeared on Steve’s face and you watched as the tension in his entire posture relaxed. “Was that what you wanted to tell me? You wanted to come out as bisexual?”

Your face grew heated still and you glanced away. You pulled your sweaty hands from Steve’s and wiped them on your pant legs as you stammered, “Y… Yeah, I mean, yes.” You picked at the fraying hem of your shirt for a few moments, then looked back at your boyfriend—to see that he was absolutely glowing. “You don’t care?”

“No, of course not,” Steve said, only to quickly shake his head and backtrack, “I mean, of course, I do! I care because it’s you and your identity. I just— It’s just not what I was expecting at all.”

It was your turn to stare at him. Now you just felt a little silly. “What were you expecting?”

Steve looked past you to the bag sitting on the other side of you and his expression saddened a bit. He took your hand tightly in his own and squeezed them as he looked at you again. “What were you?”

“Uh…” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, “Well, I guess… I don’t know…”

“[Y/N],” Steve said more sternly, “you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’m a grown man; I can handle it.”

“A grown man who was America’s Sweetheart in the ‘40s,” you pointed out. “I had a right to be worried.”

Steve nodded slowly. “No, of course, you did. I understand. You know I’m okay with it, though, right? I’ve made that clear, right? I’m proud of you and I’m grateful that you told me. Glad that you felt safe enough to tell me, even if you were still worried about it. You know that, right?”

Kesha’s “Raising Hell” played in the background as you scrubbed your eyes with your sweatshirt sleeves, gave Steve a dumb-feeling nod. Of course, you knew Steve wouldn’t care.

Steve took you in a tight hug as you tried to shake away the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. He ran a hand over your hair and gently rocked the two of back and forth in true, calming, Worried Eyebrows Rogers fashion. After a bit, when he felt you finally relaxing, he murmured against your hair, “I love you, you know? All of you. Because you’re you.”

You felt your cheeks warm again and you nodded against his chest. “I love you too.”

The two of you continued to sit like that for a while until Steve suddenly hummed thoughtfully. He slowly released you and you let him go, he sat back on his hands and chewed the inside of his cheek.

You watched him curiously as he glanced around the room, thinking. “What?”

“You know, I…” Now he trailed off, glanced at you before his gaze darted away again and he chewed his cheek again. “I… Now I know this isn’t my information to share but Buck’s always been pretty uncaring about it, I guess.”

Your brows furrowed. “Buck? Like, Bucky-Buck? Our Bucky.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, our Bucky.”

“What about Bucky?”

Steve hesitated again but eventually continued, “I had almost the exact same conversation with him before he left for the war.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait— Bucky?”

Steve nodded slowly again and his gaze finally settled on you again. “Bi too. Coincidence, huh? He was lucky, sort of. Says he always knew. Obviously not super open, given the time, but he was never ashamed of it or anything.” He paused and briefly glanced away again before continuing. “I still don’t know.”

You blinked. “Don’t know what?”

Steve just stared at you, cheeks tinting pink as he waited for you to put the pieces together.

“Wait, you’re queer?”

Steve shook his head quickly. “Or something. But I don’t like that word. Power to anyone who uses it positively but I was around when it wasn’t.”

“Right,” you said, still dumbfounded, “Sorry. Yeah, I won’t use it for you then. Hang on; you’re not straight then?”

Steve chewed his lip and gave you the cutest bashful smile that you’d ever seen on such a large man; you could almost see the scrawny, sickly, pre-serum Steve sitting in front of you.

“I’m offended,” he softly quipped.

You stared at him a bit longer. Then you burst into laughter. Steve chuckled along with you, watched you with a growing smile as you fell back onto the bed in a giggling fit. Eventually, you calmed down, wiping tears that you weren’t sure were completely from laughing and staring up at the bedroom ceiling. “My gaydar’s fucked, dude.”

This time Steve laughed and he collapsed back onto the bed with you. Then he grabbed you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back as he rolled over with you so that you were laying on top of him.

“Well, like I said,” he said, watching you, “I don’t know.”

“Well, you kind of know, though,” you replied, “right?”

Steve tilted his head a bit, then nodded. “Kind of.”

“So… what?”

“What?”

You shrugged and grinned. “I don’t know. What are you into? What do you think you are? Like, I uh… I like girls. And guys. And everything in between and outside.”

“I thought that was pansexual or something?”

“For some people it is. For some people, bi is only girls and only guys. I tried pan, omni, a few others, but bi was what I always came back to. Bi just… fits.”

Steve sighed and stared past you at the ceiling again. “See, I just think there’s too much information. I’m too old. Get confused easily.”

You snorted and snickered as he flashed a smile at you. “Some people don’t do any of it, you know. Labels and stuff, I mean. They’re just kinda like ‘I like this and all there it is to it.’ No label, just them and love. Couldn’t be me but it works for other people.”

Steve nodded again and after a minute said, “I just like people.”

You smiled at him. “Okay.”

He looked at you. “I really like you.”

The smile slowly turned into a grin. “Oh yeah?”

Steve smiled back and held you tighter against him. “I like you a lot.”

“Well, well, Mr. Rogers—”

“Captain,” he grumbled under his breath, “but it’s fine.”

“Captain Rogers,” you corrected as you slinked up to lean over him. You took his face in your hands and leaned so close that your noses bumped together. “I like you a lot too.”

Steve leaned in the rest of the way to kiss you and you kissed him back. Despite the teasing, the kiss was soft and sweet, and when he pulled away from you, the way he looked at you full of love was just as sweet.

“Love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

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joheunsaram · 4 years

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To Make A Power Couple - 02 (knj)

Chapter 2 - Pizza and Life Chats

THIS IS A REPOST SINCE I LOST ACCESS TO MY OLD ACCOUNT. PLEASE FOLLOW THIS BLOG FOR UPDATES ON THIS SERIES.

previous | masterlist | next

Summary- Namjoon and Y/N go on their first date, and Namjoon is whipped.

word count- 5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- pg13 for now

genre- series, fluff, eventual smut, strangers2lovers

warnings- mentions of hangovers and panic attacks, tooth-rottingly fluffy

a.n- okay here’s the second part! I wrote this up fairly quickly (don’t expect this to be the norm!). This part I wanted to kind of address the stress of overworking as a young adult (GUILTY 🙋🏻‍♀️) so sorry if it gets a little serious at parts. I also wanted to switch it up so it’s from Namjoon’s perspective. I hope you enjoy it. SOFT JOON BEING A BIG OLD SOFTY.

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sassyuniversitytacopeanut

Namjoon woke up startled as his phone alarm rang. He was groggy and his splitting headache made him nauseous. “I’m never going to drink again”, he mumbled. He groaned as he got off the couch he had crashed on the night before, trying not to trip over Taehyung who seemed to be dozing happily on the floor as he made his way to his room. He hadn’t stayed at the dorms in a while, preferring the quiet solitary of his own apartment nowadays, and with his hangover in full swing he felt like he was walking through a stranger’s house.

Last month was hell. He had procrastinated on his songs and none of the vocal guides were even halfway done before the due date. Every time he tried to finish a song a new one would pop up in his head and he would start on that, leading to a hard drive full of files labelled “finish soon” and “draft”, and a notebook full of scratched out scribbles. It was like his brain had decided to abandon him, deciding it had had enough of his perpetual melancholy. He had felt drained and burnt out, a husk with no creative juices left. Luckily, Yoongi and a few of the producers had taken pity on his stressed out state and lent a hand so he had been able to finish the bare minimum three days ago - before the label pressured him further. He was never more grateful for a small break.

In all honesty, he needed a way to jumpstart his brain, and get out of the routine of home, practice, meetings, studio, home. Sometimes, he almost wished he didn’t have the success he had so he could go out and let loose a little - a club, a party, anything. But the last time he went somewhere like that he got swarmed and the police had to be involved. He couldn’t risk that, not after the trouble Big Hit went to threaten media outlets a year and a half ago, when he was caught with what they called a hickey, but was actually a stress rash.

As he brushed his teeth today, however, he smiled at the mirror. Last month may have been terrible, but last night was one of the best he’d had in the past year.

When he had heard Bang PD’s team talk about how they were attending the charity gala as he met them for notes on his songs, he was intrigued. He had read about this non-profit in the paper before. They seemed to be helping bridge the gap between people through communication and that spoke to him. So much so that he had scrolled through their website multiple times, reading testimonials and almost memorizing the mission statement. They wanted to help kids learn English for free so they could communicate globally. He really liked the idea. It was hard for him to learn the language as a kid and he knew that the only reason he became as fluent as he is from the tutors his parents paid for and his obsession with American television and music. Although he didn’t need the tutoring anymore, he did enjoy talking to the in-house tutor at the company, John, from time to time and improving his skills. The fact that this company wanted to add a John to every school in Korea starting from the rural areas, made Namjoon want to meet the man behind the movement. Little did he know, he’d be meeting the girl who’d shift his idea of the ideal.

He had never been more glad to have convinced his company to let him and the boys attend an event. He had initially suggested it as a way to break the mundane before their comeback practices started and network while supporting a cause he liked. Two days ago, he wouldn’t have guessed it would have been an actual fun night leading to him nursing a headache.

He spent the next hour reliving last night as he showered and caught up on the news. He also read the messages he sent last night over a hundred times and had butterflies each time. Wasn’t he too old for butterflies? He wanted to message you again but every time he tried, he ended up overthinking it. Everything sounded forced or cheesy, and it was worse than any writer’s block. He threw his phone on the bed in frustration watching it bounce and land on the floor, before he grabbed it and pocketed it. Hopping around to get rid of his nerves, he decided to take a break from rereading the thread he already had memorized and check in with everyone. If his hangover was this bad he couldn’t imagine theirs.

Making his way back to the living room he found Taehyung now sitting on the floor, sleep still very evident on his features as he yawned and groaned. On the couch next to him sat Yoongi, holding an iced americano and staring into space. The rest were missing but he could hear a blender annoyingly whizzing in the kitchen.

“How’re you guys feeling this morning?” He asked as he sat across from Yoongi.

“This is why I don’t drink. Why did no one stop me?” Taehyung whined as he rose from the floor to leave, massaging his head.

“We tried. You were very excited to try all the disgustingly sweet drinks the hot bartender was making for you.” Yoongi replied with a sigh. “How was your date, Namjoon? You glad I forced you to go to the bar to talk to her?” he snickered, sipping his coffee before exhaling loudly in contentment.

“Honestly, I owe you big time. She was… amazing. I don’t think I’ve talked to someone that comfortably in a while” Namjoon sighed wistfully.

“I’ll add cupid to my resume,” he deadpanned. “Is she tolerating you for another date?”

“Yeah. We’re getting dinner on Tuesday, but I want to message her now. Argh!” He ran his hands over his face in frustration. “What do I even say? ‘Hi I’m the guy who was too scared to kiss you all night so you had to do it for him, what’s your favourite colour?’” Namjoon was annoyed at himself. It’s bad enough that he was having writer’s block in his music, did he have to have it for something as simple as texting too? This was ridiculous!

“Or you could just ask her how’s her hangover today. Jeez! Do I have to draft each of your messages? Stop being a dumbass and text the person you like.” Yoongi scoffed, clearly over Namjoon’s sudden and uncharacteristic insecurities.

Namjoon gave a resigned sigh as he reached for his phone and wrote out exactly what Yoongi suggested. Hey, he was his hyung for a reason - he had a full 6 months of life experience on him.

Namjoon: Hey! Hope your hangover is not too bad today.

As soon as the message was sent, he started getting nervous. Tapping his foot incessantly while he stared at his phone, willing it to buzz, annoying Yoongi enough to leave him alone on the couch in the process.

Y/N: Hi to you too! I actually don’t get hangovers so I’m doing great lol. What about you?

Namjoon: What do you mean you don’t get hangovers?

Y/N: I don’t know. Can’t get dehydrated if you’re always dehydrated!

Namjoon: That… makes no sense. Do I need to start reminding you to drink water?

Y/N: Only if you’re better than this app on my phone…

Namjoon: I can guarantee you I’m better than any app on this planet.

Y/N: Wow. Big claims! We’ll have to put it to the test I suppose.

Y/N: You never told me how you’re feeling. Oh and how’s Taehyung? Is he okay?

Namjoon: He’s doing fine. Made a pact to never drink again and if i’m being honest, I’m going to join him. I am shocked that your head is not exploding as well.

The messages continued easily after that, filled with updates of each other’s activities, playful flirting and even photos of dinner. By the time Monday rolled around, you had been messaging each other constantly, with no end to the conversation in sight and the only long pauses being when you were both asleep or working. It seemed like you would never run out things to talk about. Namjoon hadn’t messaged someone this frequently since he got out of his last relationship. It felt nice to relay his mundane day to day events to someone and he found himself excited to hear about your mundane, like how you decided to mix two different types of bad coffee blends to make a shockingly worse one. He was surprised again at how fast he felt comfortable around you. It was even starting to scare him a little - he only knew you for three days and it felt like he had known you forever! What was this weird spell you had on him?

The conversation Monday, however, was fairly sparse, and Namjoon was eager to set up plans for the next day, so that night he decided to call you.

After the first three rings, he was overthinking his decision. Maybe it was too soon to call? Maybe you didn’t like talking on the phone? What if it went to voicemail? Would he have to leave a message? What would he say? His inner monologue was quickly halted at the sound of your voice.

“Hello, this is Y/N” you sounded distant, almost too formal. He felt nervous.

“Hi… uh… this is Namjoon. Is this a bad time?”

“Oh Namjoon! Sorry I didn’t check who called when I picked up!” Relief washed over him at the change of your tone. “Sorry one sec can you hold on.” he heard you say as your voice got mumbled. He waited while he heard you talk to someone about proposals and deadlines. Were you still at work? He checked his watch - it was 10 pm. He didn’t know whether to be impressed by your work ethic or worried that you were overworking.

“Hi sorry about that! How are you?” He relaxed at your airy tone and smiled.

“I’m good. Are you still at work?”

“Yeah it’s only like 7 so it’s no big deal. I usually leave around 8” Were you serious?

“Y/N… It’s 10:04…” He was shocked at how nonchalant you sounded, and suddenly he had his answer - he was worried, not impressed. He had known you for three days and already you were setting his caretaker alarm off. He wanted to scold you for being careless and overworking, like he’s used to doing for the boys, but he knew it was too soon. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling that way all of a sudden and tried to suppress his protective instincts.

“No it’s not! It’s…” He could hear your voice going further away as he imagined you moving the phone in front of you to check the time. “Oh shit you’re right. What the hell? Okay sorry I’m gonna put you on hold again.” Before he could say anything he heard your voice again, distant again but loud. “Oh my god. Guys, it’s 10pm. Go home! Why did nobody tell me? No it doesn’t matter we can do that tomorrow. Please go home. Pack up now! You too Siwon, don’t worry I’ll go home after I get off the phone. See you!” He smiled at the sternness of your tone - it reminded him of a teacher dismissing class.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize I overworked my team. Had to send the troops home” you laughed and Namjoon felt his heart flutter.

“I don’t wanna keep you from going home. I can call you back once you get there,” he offered. He felt bad that you were staying in an empty office on his account.

“Oh don’t worry about it. It was a lie to get Siwon off my back. I’m probably gonna be here till like 1 or something. I still have to get this done” you said matter-of-factly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He knew that tone fairly well, having used it multiple times himself when he locked himself in his studio, running on nothing but coffee and energy bars.

“Okay I know we’ve only just met and we have our first date tomorrow, but do you want some company?” He asked before he could stop himself. The line was silent for a bit, and he felt self conscious, scared that he had overstepped and driven you away. Before he could check his phone to see if you had hung up you spoke.

“It’d be pretty boring for you to watch me just type away. Are you sure? It’s pretty late.” He was sure his cheeks would hurt from how wide he smiled.

“It’s not a problem at all. I was going to work tonight too.” He wasn’t. “We can just work together. I’ll bring food. Did you eat yet?” his words tumbled over each other.

“How very college of you.” He could hear you giggling on the line. “Now that I think about it - I’m starving.”

“Okay text me the address, I’ll be there soon.”

He had never been this excited to pretend to work.

He spotted you as he walked through the doors of the 13th floor, pepperoni pizza in hand. You were sitting at a long desk near the middle of the room. He was surprised as he expected you in an office, but he found you typing away at your desktop. Your hair was tied up in a bun and you were dressed in an oversized beige t-shirt, eyebrows furrowed head bopping to the hip hop track playing through the speakers. You seemed to be in your own little world. He felt like he was spying on you as he leaned against the door watching but he also liked seeing how you acted when you thought no one was watching. He was about to announce his presence when the track changed to a Childish Gambino one and you whooped and started to rap along.

You were now fully head banging and rapping the verse at the top of your lungs. He would be impressed by your fairly good amateur skills if he didn’t find the entire scene so endearing. His heart was doing somersaults as he watched you now fully engrossed in the song, typing forgotten as you got up and started to pretend you were on stage, an imaginary mic in your hand asking haters if they “eatin’ though”. You looked so adorable that he couldn’t help but squeal a little “cute!”

That’s when you saw him, eyes wide. He felt a little bad when he saw how embarrassed you looked, immediately stopping and slapping a hand to your mouth before bursting out in nervous laughter. He could write a whole album with that laugh. Oh he was so whipped, he thought to himself as he made his way to you.

“You know you’re not half bad!” He exclaimed as he set the pizza on the table, pulling a chair next to yours and settling down.

“Do you think your fake compliments will save you from the fact that you were spying on me?” you asked, crossing your hands across your chest, pretending to scowl but failing to do so.

“First, real compliment. Second, would pizza save me?” He opened the box and proudly smiled, loving the way your eyes lit up as you reached for a slice.

“Yes it will!” you exclaimed as you took your first bite, lightly moaning at the taste. “But erase that memory from your brain please.”

“Nope. Never. It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I’m going to save it forever” he said as he also started on his slice. You pouted up at him, cheeks puffed and it took all the self-control he had to not kiss it off your face. He hadn’t felt this way in so long, it was like you were his first crush. Trying to control his pulse, he asked “What are you working on so late?”

“Oh I have a proposal due for a meeting tomorrow at noon and I’m only halfway through it,” you frowned wistfully at the screen as if willing it to type on its own.

“Can I help?” He asked, knowing fully well that he couldn’t. He just had an overwhelming urge to make that frown disappear.

“You being here is help enough,” you smiled sincerely as you looked at him and he felt his heart explode, a blush creeping on his cheeks as he smiled bashfully. “What are you working on?”

“I have a few songs I have to finish the lyrics for. Been procrastinating” he rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled out the notebook from his back pocket.

“Can I help?” you echoed his question to which he echoed your response grinning. He wasn’t lying though. Even though he had planned to not really work, as the night progressed he found the change from his usual writing spot inspiring. Sitting next to you, the sound of the keyboard clicking was soothing leading to words pouring out of him. He filled pages as he stole glances at you concentrating on your proposal, tongue peeking from between your lips, still bobbing to the music which was now playing from your airpods instead of the speakers. He smiled at the sight, before focusing on his notebook.

After about an hour or so of hard work, he finished three songs that he had allotted himself the whole week to do. This was the most productive hour he had all month. Antsy for a break, he looked over at you and found you staring at him, a hand under your chin. As he met your gaze you smiled.

“You’re really hot when you concentrate. Has anyone ever told you that?” you commented. He was taken aback by your remark, heart fluttering at your smirking face. Not missing his chance and spurred on by the comment, he scooted closer in one sweep till your knees touched and you were face to face.

“You’re one to talk. I couldn’t stop looking at you this past hour.” Gazing into your eyes, he was amused to see your smirk disappear as it was now your turn to be shocked. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind your ear letting his hand linger, enjoying the way you sighed as he did. “Can I make good on my promise now?” He whispered, his face centimeters away, looking at your lips. The way you bit your lower lip made him want to take you there and then. The desk looked big enough. Hell, even if it wasn’t he could make it work.

“Promise?” you whispered as he watched your eyes flutter to his lips.

“To kiss you first…” Too impatient to wait for your answer, he brought his lips to yours, relishing how soft they felt under his own. He was thrilled at you returning the kiss, deepening it as you grabbed the collar of his shirt to bring him closer just like you did after the party. He was beginning to think this was your signature move, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t immensely turn him on. He moved his hand cupping your face to rest on your neck and he could feel your heartbeat mimicking his. He put his other hand around your waist pulling you closer, wanting to be as close to you as he could get. He traced his tongue over your lips, his head cloudy with endorphins as you opened your mouth inviting him in. He had never tasted something so euphoric, his tongue exploring yours in a rush.

He could feel you pushing forward as he leaned back and allowed you to straddle his lap, your legs on either side of the chair. As soon as you were on his lap, he pulled you closer, both arms around on your hips, your chest flushed with his. He kissed the side of your mouth as he made his way down your jaw to your neck. You smelt like vanilla mixed with a fresh flower garden, and he was sure this smell was better than any drug in the world. He could hear your breathy moans as he sucked where your neck met your collarbone, licking to soothe it before moving further. He wanted to taste all of you. Your hands were in his hair and each tug made him groan into you, making him harder. He could kiss you like this forever. He wanted to save this moment so he could come back to it and relive it. He traced his hands up and down your sides, moving under your shirt but remaining on your waist, enjoying the feel of your soft skin.

“Namjoon… Namjoon… slow down” he heard you say breathlessly as he felt a slight push. He looked up at you, your eyes half lidded and lusty as you grabbed his face and brought it to yours. You were sending him mixed signals, but he didn’t care as long as he could keep kissing you.

“We have to slow down or I’m going to want to fuck you right here.” You whined as you both came back up for air, but you kissed him again nevertheless. Hearing you say that made him want to do anything in his power to make that happen.

“I don’t mind, baby,” he said against your lips, kissing you with urgency, biting your lower lip and pulling it gently to elicit another moan from you. To his disappointment, you seemed to have better self-control than him as you pushed him back, both of you panting as you struggled to catch your breath. He moved his hand back to your hips tracing little circles, feeling comforted by you smoothing his hair you had pulled earlier.

“There are cameras here. I’d rather not make a sex tape on our first date.” You giggled as you pointed to the black sphere in the corner of the room. He had never hated the obsession buildings had for security more, but the crudeness of your comment made him laugh. He had almost forgotten this was your first date, it felt like he had kissed you a thousand times before. You tasted like the relief of an awning in the middle of a summer downpour.

“I think we need to cool down,” you say as you climb off of his lap. “Let’s go.”

He followed you as you led him to the little kitchenette near the end of the room, unable to resist the urge to wrap his hands around your waist in a back hug. He knew he was being too clingy for a first date, but the way you giggled and put your hands over his gave him assurance.

“Lemonade, coke, or water,” you asked as you peered into the fridge.

“You.” He smirked kissing your neck, feeling bold off of the high from your makeout session.

“Joon!” you pretended to sound scandalized as you turned in his arms, smiling warmly. The nickname made his heart swell. It added a familiarity that he didn’t know he missed from you.

“You haven’t called me Joon before. I like it” he smiled as he pecked your lips.

“Hey! We are cooling down! No kissing! Now pick” you chided and Namjoon couldn’t help but wonder if you were this assertive in bed too, a million scenarios playing in his head. Okay, you were right, he needed to cool down.

“I’ll just have water, thanks,” he said as he grabbed the bottle you passed him, opening and gulping half of it. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was for something other than you. You both made your way to the tables, sitting across from each other.

“So did you finish your proposal?” He asked trying to cool himself but failing as he noticed you running the cold water bottle against your neck, the beads of condensation dripping on your shirt. He cleared his throat as he tried to focus his attention on your eyes, a mantra of stay focused playing in his head.

“Yes! Finally! It’s perfect.” you smiled proudly and somehow he felt a wave of pride too. “What about you? Made any progress?”

“Actually yes. I kind of finished my entire week’s writing in that one hour” he was still amazed by his own progress.

“Okay, Mr Overachiever” you joked and he chuckled.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything, but I don’t know your presence is kind of soothing. It helped me focus.” Watching your smile grow wide, he continued, “I’ve been having pretty severe burnout this past month and it has just been hard to put down my thoughts, even non-lyrical ones.” He fidgeted with the water bottle as he looked at it, avoiding eye contact.

He didn’t know why he was telling you this. He recalled when he told you about his struggles as a leader during your first conversation. Somehow being around you led him to vomit out his feelings. It was… unlike him. Namjoon was usually not this honest on dates, or relationships, as much as he would hate to admit it. That’s the reason he broke off his last one. He felt bad lying to her about a busy schedule when he just wanted to be alone. She would have understood, she was kind and thoughtful, but it just felt easier to lie and not put the effort in to explain his thoughts. Even when they broke up, he lied and told her that it was because he couldn’t handle being in a relationship at the moment, when in reality things had cooled off a while ago and he felt guilty as his feelings faded.

He felt your hand reach out and grab one of his, intertwining your fingers. He felt comforted by the gesture as you rubbed your thumb across him before you spoke two words that warmed his heart. “I understand.”

“You know it’s hard to work at full speed all the time. It’s okay to not be at a hundred all the time. The valleys feed the peaks” you continued. It was a simple remark, but it sounded surprisingly poetic to him. He hadn’t felt this understood outside of the boys for a long time. It was refreshing. It was terrifying. He resisted his natural urge to run and hide.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, needing to divert the attention away from his own vulnerabilities.

“Yeah. I had it pretty tough a couple of years ago. Too much pressure from myself, too many expectations. Led to too many vices and panic attacks” you shrugged as you continued and he squeezed your hand to comfort you. “It creeps up from time to time but my therapist and I have it handled” He looked at you in awe. You hadn’t given him a throwaway answer or switched the limelight back at him. You wasted no time in being as vulnerable as him, if not more. He knew at that moment that regardless of where this thing went, he wanted you to know you better.

“Thank you for being honest.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gently. It was an intimate gesture but he wanted you to know how much he appreciated your words - how much he appreciated you - in that moment. You both sat in comfortable silence for a little while, playing with each other’s hands that were still intertwined, till one of you yawned loudly causing the other to giggle. With the weight of the conversation lifting, you both fell back into playful banter as you decided to pack up and call it a night.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” Namjoon asked, wanting to drag the night on longer despite it already being almost 2 am.

“Don’t judge me but I actually don’t know how to drive. I was just going to cab back.” he saw you giggle bashfully as you pulled your backpack over your shoulders.

“Oh, no judgment here! Me neither” he laughed. Why does everyone think it is such a big deal to not drive? It’s better for the environment! “Do you want to take one together? I don’t really want you to ride alone this late.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he didn’t come off as if he was trying to dictate what you did.

“I’d really like that,” you said as you walked towards the elevators. He held your hand as you both got on, liking the way you moved closer to him at that.

In the cab you both sat closer than necessary, his arm wrapped around you as you both made plans for your scheduled date later that day, trying not to doze off. When the cab stopped all too soon at your apartment, he kissed you gently as he told you how much he enjoyed your company.

That night laying in bed, his heart felt full as he read your goodnight message. He was sure of it now. He really wanted you in his life.

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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jalapeno-princess · 3 years

Text

Be Mine Again

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst (With a happy ending)

Word Count: 10.6K

Summary: Mark practically lived on airplanes; being a KPOP idol meant he was constantly traveling. Waking up early to head over to the airport was something he was used to. However, these last few months for Mark have been an actual living hell. He was exhausted beyond belief, having only three hours of sleep and so he decided to grab some coffee. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary; the Seoul airport was busy as always, yet that doesn’t stop him from noticing that the customer that was currently being rung reminded him of you. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, but Mark knew you like the back of his hand. When he comes to the realization that it is you, he comes to accept the fact that the two of you at the same place at the same time wasn’t just merely coincidence and he wasn’t going to take this chance for granted.

A/N: Hey guys, I have two papers due in less than two hours, but I wanted to post this by tonight (PRIORITIES) hahahahahaha if I don’t graduate in May, we all know why. I actually wrote this last year but I never had the motivation to finish it. However, the words just kept flowing out and here we are. I’m still trying to get my motivation back to continue other stories, but until then, please enjoy this one! This is based on the song “Wake me up” by Ed Sheeran.

I should ink my skin With your name And take my passport out again And just replace it

See I could do without a tan on my left hand Where my fourth finger meets my knuckle And I should run you a hot bath And fill it up with bubbles

'Cause maybe you're lovable Maybe you're my snowflake And your eyes turn from green to gray In the winter I'll hold you in a cold place And you should never cut your hair 'Cause I love the way you flick it off your shoulder

And you will never know Just how beautiful you are to me But maybe I'm just in love When you wake me up

Mark was never a morning person but it was quite understandable. He’d always have to wake up at the crack of dawn and head to dance practice or to the studio for a recording session. Luckily today was his first legitimate day off in months and he wanted nothing more than to sleep in till noon and spend the rest of his day doing nothing with you.

To his dismay, he found himself waking up a bit too early for his liking because he noticed the bed seemed more spacious and you weren’t there when he reached out to pull you closer to his body. Your boyfriend knew you weren’t a morning person either and with the way your job was overworking you to the bone these days, Mark knew you were just as tired as he was and needed a well deserved break; so where exactly could you have gone?

His questions were soon answered when the scent of bacon and blueberry pancakes filled your bedroom and he couldn’t help but grin at the idea of you making breakfast. It’s been a while since the two of you really got to spend time together. He’s been on tour with Got7 for the last six months and you were only able to visit him three times during the entire tour because your schedule was just as hectic as his was.

He couldn’t wait to spend time with his favorite girl and hopefully you had the same ideas of how the day was going to play out. Once he put on some boxers and a t-shirt to look more decent, he made his way in to the living room and toward the kitchen but stopped once his eyes landed on your curvaceous figure.

You were currently wearing his t-shirt from the night before and a cute little thong that left little to the imagination and his mind began to wander to your little love making session a few hours prior. He had to bite his lip to prevent himself from groaning at how sexy you looked and making his presence known but he didn’t care.

Mark loved making it aware just how much of an effect you had on him. Your boyfriend wasn’t all that secretive in trying to hide that he had just joined you and you could hear his footsteps as he made his way toward you, so you weren’t as surprised when you felt his arms wrap lazily around your waist as he placed his chin on your shoulder.

“Good morning baby. Smells good, and I’m not talking about the food.” You playfully rolled your eyes at his comment and although you couldn’t see him, you knew by the intonation in his voice that he was smiling.

“How are you feeling this morning? I didn’t go too rough on you did I?” You decided to turn around and stole a chaste kiss from the corner of his mouth before playfully pinching his cheek.

“You give yourself too much credit Tuan. I’m walking around just fine aren’t I?”

The adorable pout he gave you after your cheeky response sent warmth to your cheeks but you know it was all just an act. Mark knew you were just messing with him because as the two of you were having sex, you wouldn’t stop screaming his name in pleasure and begging him to go faster. Normally your love making sessions were always so passionate and tender; full of love confessions and sensual touches. However, last night was a little more on the dominant and rough side not that you were complaining.

Got7’s world tour ended just three days ago and as soon as Mark landed back in Korea yesterday afternoon, he made a beeline straight to your shared apartment and both showed you and told you just how much he’s missed you since he’s been away the entire day. You had a couple of bruises on your hips, thighs and around your neck but you didn’t care. As much as you loved how soft and extremely caring Mark could be whenever it came to you, you loved his kinky and animalistic side just a little bit more.

“Hmm, I guess I’m just going to have to change your mind by fucking your brains out the entire day then huh? Oh, by the way, you look so fucking sexy in my shirt y/n. God, I don’t know how I can go so long without seeing you and kissing you, it’s fucking torture. I missed you so much baby.”

You smiled widely in to the kiss when he practically smashed his lips against yours and you automatically wrapped your arms around his neck; wanting to be as close to him as possible. He only deepened the kiss and turned off the stove before hoisting you on top of the kitchen counter and finding his way in between your legs. Being in a long distance relationship was extremely tough and it was even harder knowing that your boyfriend was one of the biggest international celebrities in the entire world.

Sometimes, you’d forget you were dating a Kpop idol because Mark seemed like such a normal guy. To the world, he was Got7’s main rapper Mark Tuan but to you, he was your cheesy and extremely corny boyfriend who cried at Disney movies, didn’t know how to multiply numbers once they went in to the double digits and always left the toilet seat up no matter how many times you’d remind him to put it down.

You never viewed him to be anyone other than the man you were in a relationship with and he never did or said anything to make you feel uncomfortable in your relationship. He did his best to keep in touch with you as much as he could and he used every minute of his free time to check up on you and make sure you were doing okay. Your happiness was Mark’s number one priority and he did anything in his power to make sure you were happy and got whatever you wanted.

“I missed you too. I actually took the rest of the week off because a little birdie told me you guys don’t have any schedule until Tuesday so I want to spend as much time with you as possible. I’m all yours Mark. Do whatever you want with me.”

You regretted those words the minute they fell from your lips because of the mischievous grin that quickly rose on his face. Mark was a very playful and cheeky guy. From previous experience, you learned that your boyfriend had many tricks up his sleeve. Making love to you was his favorite past time and he would take advantage of any time he physically had with you.

“Anything?” You nodded in agreement; you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to see what Mark had planned for the two of you but knowing him, it had to deal with him being the dominant one and maybe even getting to accomplish one of his kinks.

“Yes, but to an extent. No anal—don’t look at me like that I told you it’s a big no babe. Oh and no bondage. You know how I get when I’m tied up. But I do want to try that one position I sent to you.” His grip on your waist tightened and he sneakily hid his face in the crook of your neck only to leave a couple of sloppy love bites there.

“Mmm, I’ll do anything you ask of me baby. Why don’t we skip breakfast and I can eat you out instead—ow! I hope you’re this rough with me in bed later on.”

The airport was extremely busy today and Mark cursed his manager for scheduling a couple of photo shoots for him during one of the busiest seasons of the year; winter. Everyone was either going on a trip or returning home for one and with him being the former, he was frustrated with how long the lines at security were and how many paparazzi showed up at his gate just to take photos of him.

It wasn’t that Mark didn’t love being an idol. He loved performing and entertaining all of his fans alongside of his six best friends. He loved writing songs, loved traveling the world and experiencing so many different cultures, food and adventures while they were on tour. However, he was willing to give it all up if it meant getting you back in his life. You were everything Mark could ever want and need in his life.

The two of you were together for almost four years and if soulmates existed, you were Mark’s as he was yours. You meant the world to him and he loved you more than he could ever put in to words. Which is why he was completely devastated when you told him you were breaking up with him. The break up wasn’t completely unexpected; that is why Mark wasn’t too shocked when you told him you could no longer handle the long distance and that you felt like you weren’t too important to him.

Mark knew that wasn’t the truth and he could only hope that you didn’t ultimately think so either, but after five months of being away from you, it gave Mark time to think where he went wrong and what caused you to finally give up on your relationship with him. Being an idol wasn’t all that easy, but dating one must’ve been ten times more difficult.

Not only was he gone most of the time, but the time difference really did interfere with your communication schedule. If he was waking up, you were getting ready for bed and if he was right about to go to sleep, you were clocking in to work. You only really ever got to talk to him on the weekends if you were lucky and even if Mark did his best to contact you and to check up on you, it wasn’t the same as spending time with him and talking with him face to face rather than through a phone screen.

Then came your insecurities. Mark knew how insecure you could get when it came to dating him. If he was in your shoes, he’d be pretty insecure too, so it was understandable. But he never failed to reassure you that you were the only girl he genuinely ever loved and planned on loving for the rest of his life. He told you on a daily basis that he planned on marrying you and settling down with you one day once his idol life were to simmer down.

You tried your best to be patient and understanding when it came to dating him because not only was he in a relationship with you, but he was in a relationship with his career and as much as Mark tried to prioritize you and your relationship, deep down you knew you’d always come second to his job. When you confessed your feelings and thoughts to him, to say he was upset that you were breaking up with him was an understatement.

Did you fall out of love with him? Was there someone else? Did you finally come to the realization that you deserved better? There were so many thoughts that ran through his head and all he could do was sink to his knees and cry while pathetically wrapping his arms around your legs and begging you to stay. In your four years of dating, Mark grew to know what an independent and determined person you were and how you had such a great head on your shoulders.

He knew that when you set your heart to something, you always accomplished it; a breakup was no different and no matter how many times he’d beg and pleaded for you to stay, your mind was already made up and there was nothing he could do to stop you. Mark knew it was selfish to want you to stay. Your relationship wasn’t the healthiest; the two of you had your fair share of arguments and disagreements. But your love was always enough to defeat any negative thought or idea you had.

This time was different though and you were extremely tired of not being as important to Mark as he was to you. You put him on a pedestal; you gave him the world on a silver platter and he could barely give you a couple minutes of his time because he was always so busy. For months, you’ve been debating on breaking up with him, especially because you were so in love with him and just like Mark, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him and only him.

However, the longer you continued your relationship, the more unhappy you became and sometimes it felt as if you weren’t even in a relationship. Breaking up with Mark was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do in your entire life and as soon as he sank on to the floor, sobbing and heaving; begging you to change your mind, you knew you made a mistake. Mark has never been the same since you’ve left.

Although it’s been over five months since the night you broke his heart and took whatever was left of it with you, things only got worse for him as the days went on. He missed you more and more every day and even if the guys did their best in cheering him up and attempting to help him move on by setting him up with other girls, there was just no getting over you.

As soon as Mark and his manager got settle down at their gate, they took their seats and Mark decided to stay away from his phone for a while. Sometimes, all the comments, posts, direct messages and tweets on social media could be so toxic and he couldn’t help but overthink at all the negativity. It was in those moments where he would run to you.

Other than Got7 and his family, you were the only person he trusted and he trusted you with his entire life. That says a lot. Mark was an extremely private person. He had a hard time trusting and opening up to people. The only reason why he portrayed himself as such a shy and introverted person was because he didn’t want people taking advantage of him and his kindness.

After meeting you, getting to know you and dating you for so long, Mark learned that his happiness, health and success was your main priority. You always stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to talk to him and to listen to him vent about his worries and all of his problems and not once did you complain about how tired you probably were or how repetitive he was sounding but that’s because you loved him so much and wanted to be there for him no matter what time it was, who you were with or what you were doing.

You’d drop anything and everyone for Mark and he was forever grateful. You were so selfless and never expected anything in return for your patience and generosity. Mark always felt so safe with you. You were his home and God, he was homesick. He took a look at his passport in disgust. This was one of the main reasons why you could no longer handle being in a relationship with him.

Almost every single page was filled out with many difference countries and cities all around the world. China, Japan, Australia, New York, Russia, Italy, Brazil, Philippines. He only had a couple of pages left to fill up and he knew he’d need a new passport by the end of the month. What bothered him even more was knowing that he had just gotten this passport less than five months ago.

Right after he returned back home to your upsetting decision, his management gave him a new passport and informed him that he had a schedule in Thailand just three days later. It wasn’t that he hated traveling; no. Mark loved seeing all these different places, trying their food, meeting their people and learning about their cultures.

It was being away from you that he hated the most. No matter how many times you told him you were excited for him to explore and live his best life, he knew you wanted to be there alongside of him experiencing it all too because that’s all he wanted. Every high that went on in his life, he wanted you right there by his side basking in his excitement with him.

Learning how to live without you was a painful experience and he became so unhappy to the point where he took a few days off from the tour in order to see a therapist for his depression. Mark knew how much you meant to him the minute he told Jaebeom he wanted to leave Got7 in order to be with you.

The leader thought it was an extremely abrupt and stupid decision on Mark’s part but he understood where his older friend was coming from. He witnessed the way you and Mark looked at one another. If he had to describe what love was, it was in your gazes alone that could explain what the four letter word meant.

Everyone and their mothers knew just how much you and Mark loved and cared for one another. When Mark told the six of them that you broke up with him, they were in disbelief. Sure, the six of them had girlfriends and even a couple of flings and one night stands every now and then but you were the only constant girlfriend amongst their group and they all felt that you both would get married to each other once their careers were to settle down.

Jinyoung and Jackson were the closest with Mark; so they saw just how much the breakup had wrecked him and no matter how much they tried to tell him that you were going to come back and that you just needed some time without him, he didn’t believe anything anyone had to say. If you still loved him, you’d still be with him no matter how hard your relationship was. The passport began to taunt him the longer he stared at it.

“This is all your fucking fault.” He began to flick at the pages earning himself a look of confusion from his manager.

“Hey, everything okay?” Mark shook his head in disagreement.

“I’m just tired. I’ll go get some coffee or something. Be right back.”

He didn’t care what his manager’s response was and he couldn’t care less if he were to get followed. Mark wasn’t even much of a coffee person. You were taking up the entirety of his thinking process and he just needed some time to think. Something to distract him. When he walked up to the coffee shop, there were two people in front of him but he paid none of them any mind and went on his phone.

The guys were wishing him safe travels and hoped that the photo shoot and filming for a reality tv show he was going to be on went well. A small smile rose on his face at the idea of how much they all loved and cared about him. He really didn’t know what he were to do or how he would cope without them.

“I’ll have a venti iced matcha latte. Thank you.”

It was in that moment that time froze. He knew that voice anywhere. It was etched in to the back of his head and imprinted on his heart. Your laugh along with your sweet, soft voice was one of Mark’s favorite sounds and he would listen to you talk all day if he could. He looked at the person currently at the cash register and shook his head in disbelief. Mark had to be hallucinating. It must’ve been the lack of sleep. There was no way that could’ve been you.

The girl had extremely short hair, up to her shoulders compared to the long, silky waves you’ve had for the last few years that Mark loved so much. She was also wearing something completely different than what you had in your wardrobe. The older boy knew you like the back of his hand. He knew each and every curve on your body; on top of every birth and beauty mark scattered throughout your skin. Surely he would’ve known if it was you. It was possible for someone to have the same exact voice as you—wasn’t it?

Sure, the girl ordered your favorite drink, but everyone seemed to be in to matcha these days. It didn’t mean anything. Bringing his attention back to his phone, he tried his best to take his mind off of comparing you and the girl in front of him. However, once the cashier asked for the girl’s name, his entire world came crashing down on him.

“Y/n.”

It was you. But so much has changed about you in the last few months. Once you got out of line and made your way off to the side, it was in that moment Mark confirmed that yes, it was you. So many questions began running through his mind. What were you doing there at the airport? Why did you cut your hair and change your style? Was it an effect of the breakup? Did you know he was there? You had to—or least have heard that some kind of celebrity was there with the way that the paparazzi and fans were filling up the gateway.

A part of him wanted to turn around and pretend as if he didn’t see you, but another part of him, one he understood was his heart was begging for him to go and talk to you. It would be alright wouldn’t it? It’s been months and the two of you started off as friends in the first place. It was only normal for him to say hi. Matter of a fact, it would’ve been rude if he didn’t. Once he made his way up to the cashier, he was quick to see the way a grin quickly rose on her face.

“Hi, what can I get for you to—today.” He gave her a polite smile before looking up at the menu board.

“Just a grande iced caramel macchiato with two shots of espresso please—oh and one cream cheese scone. Thank you.” He reached out to take out his wallet but she shook her head.

“It’s on the house Mark. I’m a huge fan. Have a nice rest of your day.”

He thanked her politely and wished her a nice day before making his way toward where you were standing. You were currently on your phone and he began to have an internal argument with himself on whether or not he should go up and talk to you. What could go wrong?

Well, you could pretend as if you didn’t know who he was and just leave him looking like an idiot, or you could start a conversation with him like you normally did. Right as he was about to open his mouth and say something to you, his order was being called. He looked over to where you were standing to see if hearing his name had any effect on you, but you continued to stand there and scrolled through your phone.

Just go you idiot. She’s obviously moved on, let her be.

Listening to his conscience would’ve been the smart thing to do, but Mark was never all that bright and he bought that scone specifically for you. Taking in a deep breath, he walked over to you and before he could say anything, you looked up to see the new presence that joined you in the corner and practically jumped as if you saw a ghost. Although you looked completely different, you still looked breathtakingly beautiful.

You lost some weight which was expected from how hard you’ve been working, you weren’t wearing any makeup other than what Mark knew was tinted moisturizer and when he noticed you were wearing the necklace he bought for you on your third anniversary, his heart rate increased.

“Hey.”

You continued to look up at him in shock and he couldn’t help the giggle that fell from his lips at how adorable you looked. Your eyes were widened in shock and it was as though you saw a ghost. Technically, he was considerably a ghost of your past—so seeing your blank expression did tug on his heartstrings. He might have thought that approaching you was a good idea once he first laid his eyes on you and confirmed that it was indeed you, but now he was regretting it. When he realized you weren’t going to say anything, he handed you the scone.

“I uh—I got this for you. I know how much you love your cream cheese scones.”

After taking in a couple of deep breaths, you finally allowed yourself to process what was going on and that’s when you felt a tear fall down your cheek.

“Thank you. Um—hi—sorry, I—hi. How have you been?”

Although it was you who initiated the break up, you found yourself following and keeping up with everything Got7 was doing. Specifically the man standing in front of you. Seeing him again after your last night together made you feel a whole bunch of emotions. You were excited but your heart felt as if it was about to burst out of your chest. You had no right to crave his presence, you broke his heart and decided you no longer wanted to be the lucky girl who got to love him and be loved by him.

It wasn’t that you wanted to break up with him. Breaking up with Mark was the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. He was your person. Your soulmate. Your safe haven. The man standing in front of you was all you wanted for the rest of your life. But it was all getting too much for you at one point. The long distance was getting too much for you to handle.

Then came the rumors; no matter how quick he was to shut down any rumor, it was only natural for you to grow insecure and feel as if there was something going on with him and the idols he was included in rumors with. Your mental health was worsening the longer he was away and it was affecting your job and your education. You knew that breaking up with him was a permanent decision and that there was no going back once it happened. However, all you knew and have ever known was Mark.

You always lived for him; always put him first. You needed to live without him. You needed to grow and learn to love yourself before you could continue loving him. The feeling of his finger wiping away the tear that fell made butterflies erupt in your tummy. His touch felt all too familiar yet so foreign and you wanted nothing more than for him to continue.

“I’m uh—I’m alright. What are you doing here? You look extremely beautiful by the way. Although, I always preferred your long hair, short hair looks really good on you.”

You didn’t have to see yourself to know your cheeks were probably red from his sweet words. Mark always knew exactly what to say to make you blush. Plus, it’s been a while since someone complimented you and the last time someone did, it just so happened to be the beautiful boy standing in front of you. Mark complimented you on a daily basis as if his life depended on it. He was very vocal about wanting you to know just how beautiful you are and how he thinks the entire world of you.

“Thank you. I wanted to try something new I guess. It was getting too hard to manage and Korea is extremely hot during the summer. You look great! Your hair is really long now, but I like it. I’m actually going to Vietnam for a conference. What about you?”

He gave you a knowing look as he shrugged indifferently. He didn’t want to bring it up, he was afraid of what would happen once he brought up work. The last thing he wanted was to ruin things before they could even begin to bloom.

“I have a couple of photo shoots in China and then I’m meeting BamBam in Thailand for a reality show. What time is your flight?”

There was nothing more that Mark wanted than to pull you in to his embrace but he was afraid of your reaction. It’s been so long since he last held you in his arms and he still had yet to really understand why you left, but he wanted you to come back home. He wanted you to come back to him.

No matter how many wonderful things happened to him on a daily basis, nothing else mattered to him the way you and your presence did. He couldn’t fathom in to words just how much you were a literal ray of sunshine on his many cloudy days. He was nothing without you; and he didn’t realize just how much of a positive impact you had on him until you were no longer his. You were his reason; the meaning behind his entire existence.

A life without you was one he no longer wanted to continue living. You were at the same airport at the exact same time—it had to mean something. Mark knew you like the back of his hand; being with someone for such a long time would do that to you. He could tell what you were thinking or how you were feeling just by looking at you and your mannerisms, yet looking at you right now, he had no idea what was on your mind and it worried him.

Were you also thinking that the two of you meeting in the same area after months of being apart was a sign that the two of you were meant to do so? You were a firm believer in fate, soulmates and anything that had to deal with supernatural powers. Did that mean you too felt the same way Mark was currently feeling? You had to. You lived in Los Angeles and you only ever visited Korea when you were still dating Mark.

There wasn’t a reason he could think of for you to come back. His flight could have been the day before and yours could have been set for the next week but no. You were both there; both deciding to stop by for coffee before your flights. This was no coincidence and even if it was, Mark was currently thanking whatever higher power brought the two of you to the airport that day.

He was determined to bring you back in to his life, even if it was just to be a friend. Since the break up, you practically dropped off the face of the earth. You deleted every single social media account, changed your number and you even had your mom come up with excuses as to why you no longer wanted anything to do with him. There was no way he could keep up with you, so he had no idea if you already had someone else in your life.

He wasn’t going to do anything that would make you feel uncomfortable, but he was going to do whatever he possibly could to return things back to what they were. He missed his old self; the Mark he was back when he had a purpose. Back when he had something—someone worth fighting for. Someone worth surviving for.

You. It’s always been you from the time you walked in to his life all those years ago and it’s always going to be you.

There was really no getting over you. You were the owner of his heart and he was afraid that he would be alone for the rest of his life because he was confident you were it for him. He’s been thinking about you every single day since you told him you no longer wanted to be with him anymore. How were you doing? How long have you been wanting a breakup for? When did you realize Mark wasn’t the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with? If you were suffering and missing him the way he was with you?

The two of you could have worked things out; he knew there was a lot more meaning behind your words. Deep down, Mark knew a huge part of your decision to break up with him was because of his career. The idol life was extremely rough; the guys received so much hate on a daily basis, their company treated them like shit and they didn’t get the recognition they obviously deserved.

They promised Mark many different photo shoots, deals with top fashion houses like Hermès, Chanel and Tiffany co. They also told him that he could return back to California to spend time with his family. Unfortunately, every single thing the company promised to him turned out to be a lie. Some of the other members got to experiment with acting, dancing and putting out solo albums.

However, every time Mark would bring up wanting to try out any of these activities, his company was quick to shut him down every single time. He had a gut feeling that a lot of the employees under the division that made the decisions all had it out for him and he never understood why. The older boy was one of the kindest, generous, soft spoken and gentle people not only in the company but just in general.

In fact, it was Mark’s polite personality that caught the attention of the people who scouted him over a decade ago. Honestly, the mistreatment was getting too much for him to handle. He knew he and the rest of Got7 deserved so much better. They all had so much potential to be one of the greatest groups in KPOP, but their company continued to hold them back for no reason at all. All the mistreatment they were receiving on top of losing you—it got too much for Mark to handle and at one point, he even thought about leaving Got7. He didn’t have the courage to talk to any of the members about his feelings or anyone for that matter.

Although he didn’t know the entire reasoning behind your sudden disappearance, it didn’t take a genius to know that you were fed up dating a KPOP idol. Hell, even if Mark knew you were the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, he wasn’t wholeheartedly sure that you felt that way too. For all he knew, every time you talked about your future with him, you could have said it in the moment.

Nobody knows what the future holds but God—Mark wanted nothing more than for you to end up in his. If he could, he would go back in to the past and change everything negative that went on in your relationship. The two of you hardly ever got in to arguments; there wasn’t anything for the two of you to fight about. Sure, there were a couple disagreements every now and then, but it was only ever about food or chores. If and when the two of you did argue, It was about the distance.

Got7 had gone on tour every single year since the beginning of your relationship. Their tours normally lasted for six months and unfortunately, being a full time college student with a full time job prevented you from getting to travel along with him. This meant that you only ever saw him when he was in Korea and even then, he would be at practice or in the studio.

It had to be hard on you; you were still so young and quite the romantic. It was only natural for you to want to be around your boyfriend as much as you could. Mark hated any time spent away from you. As much as he loved hanging out with Got7, if he had the choice, he’d spend all of his time with you. If only he tried harder for you—if only he fought harder to get you to stay, he’d still be coming home to you and finding solace in your arms after a long day. He wouldn’t be so torn—so broken and so depressed. You brought out the best in him; you might have been standing right in front of him, but you were so far away.

“I’m actually supposed to be heading to my gate here pretty soon. My flight is in an hour but we’ll be boarding in less than half an hour—“

“Order for y/n!”

You gave him a small smile and walked over to the counter, quickly taking your beverage and making your way back over to him. Mark could feel his heart rate rapidly beating against his chest. Did he really spend almost five years of his life with you? It felt like a fever dream? He felt like a school boy watching you—his gaze not leaving your frame once.

“Oh—cool.”

“What about you?”

“My flight isn’t for another two hours. My manager just wanted to get here early so that we wouldn’t have to worry about checking in.”

The truth was, Mark and his manager weren’t actually supposed to be there so early. In most of his trips, they would show up to the airport with only minutes to make it to their gate. Since they would always fly first class, there wasn’t too much of a wait. That’s why he knew seeing you there was more than just a mere coincidence.

You hummed in understanding and averted your gaze to the ground. Seeing your sudden change in emotion on top of your now awkward demeanor made his stomach sore. Being an idol was a once in a lifetime experience which he was extremely grateful for. He loved performing, he loved meeting fans and traveling the world with his six other best friends. But he would give everything up just to be the man you called your husband.

That’s all he ever wanted. Being an idol would never allow him that freedom whatsoever and that was one of the cons he hated the most about his career. If people were to know that he was in a relationship with you, then maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had so many arguments about the dating rumors that surrounded him.

KPOP fans could be so delusional sometimes. Whenever two idols would interact with each other or simply glance at one another, people would call them out and say that they were dating. Mark being the friendly person he was would always do things for the female idols he would work alongside. He knew that no matter how many times he would reassure you that there was nothing going on with him and a female idol, it was only human of you to grow insecure and feel as though something was up. He was very jealous and insecure whenever it came to you.

One time, you went out with a few of your friends to a bar and got plastered to the point where one of your guy friends had to take you home. Since nobody other than the members of Got7 and both his and your family members knew about your relationship, this meant that Mark had yet to meet your group of friends but he was familiar with a few of them because you would talk to him about them.

This friend however, wasn’t one that he was aware of, nor did he want to be. When he heard a buzz on his door and opened it to see your friend carrying you bridal style with your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your face was smashed against his chest, he could feel is blood boiling and it wasn’t a good feeling.

You weren’t purposely trying to make him jealous and because you didn’t think too highly of yourself in the first place, you didn’t think Mark had any reason to be jealous. He wanted to rip you from out of your friend’s arms and hide you away—it wasn’t that he was jealous of your friend’s looks although Mark could see that he was pretty good looking. Mark wasn’t cocky, he was very humble but he was well aware he was extremely handsome. Yet, he knew that your friend could give you what Mark couldn’t.

Your friend could provide for you in ways that Mark couldn’t. Your friend could spend all of his time with you—call you and text you on an hourly basis. There were so many men that could do things for you that Mark wasn’t physically able to and it bothered him. Come to think of it, although he had no right to worry about what you did anymore, he was curious if you were in a relationship—and if you were dating that friend.

He never said anything about it once you sobered you the next day in fear of a fight breaking out, but he’s been very cautious about who you hung out with while he was away. Mark was confident in the love that you held for him. You would confess your love for him physically and verbally every single day, so cheating wasn’t even a thought on his mind. However, he was afraid of you coming to the realization that you didn’t want to continue staying in a relationship with someone you hardly ever saw.

“Nice! Oh, congratulations by the way! You finally released a solo song. I’m so proud of you! It’s amazing by the way. I had to look up the English translation since I don’t speak a word of Chinese, but it was beautiful.”

I wrote it about you.

From the day you walked out on him up until now, every single song he wrote was about you. Missing you—wishing you were still his, wanting to give up the game and fortune to be with you. The misery he was suffering; every word he wrote came straight from his heart. You actually kept up with him? You actually listened to his music? It didn’t come as a shocker; you were the definition of supportive.

If you were able to, you’d attend their concerts, you’d constantly listen to their music and you’d wear and even purchase some merchandise. Everything you did never failed to put a smile on his face. Why did he take you for granted? Whoever said the famous line you never know what you have until it’s gone was right and he hated that they were.

“Thanks. I’m glad that you enjoyed it.”

That had to be the understatement of the year. He was over the moon that you listened to it. Right as he released the song, you were the first person he wanted to hear it. You were who the song was written about, so of course he wanted you to listen to it. It made him wonder though, how did you stumble across of it? Were you just scrolling on social media and it popped up, or did you search his name—curious as to how he was doing?

What did you think about the lyrics? Did you think he wrote it about you? You had to know; you were the only girl in his life, a lot of the songs he’s written for Got7 were about you and you were aware of it. This time was no different. He had no intentions of telling you, well, at least not right now. But he was hoping you already knew without him having to confess it to you. Silence surrounded the both of you and he mentally cursed himself for not knowing what to say. Mark felt like an idiot. There were so many questions he had and so many things he wanted to tell you, but it wasn’t the time and he didn’t want to scare you away.

“I should get going. I can’t afford to miss my flight. It was nice seeing you again Mark. I hope you have a wonderful day and a safe trip. Take care.”

You gently waved at him and thanked him once more for the scone. His heart began to beg him to at least go in for a hug or to ask you to maybe start all over. It’s been so long since he last held you in his arms and it just felt so tempting. Only then did he realize where he was and there was no way he could get caught hugging someone—even more so his ex-girlfriend. Korean reporters would have a field day.

“You too. Have fun in Vietnam!”

With one last smile, you were gone and it all felt like deja vu to him. Seeing you walk away with your luggage brought back painful memories of him crying on the kitchen floor, wrapping himself around your leg—begging you to rethink your decision. He felt like such a child then, not allowing you to leave because he could tell that once you were to finally leave the apartment, that was it. This time though, it hurt him so much more.

You were back in his life even if it were only for a couple of minutes. He had hope—he prayed that seeing him again would make you realize that you missed him and that maybe at the time, the break up was something you thought would be a good idea but now you were regretting it. He dragged himself slowly back to his gate and slumped in to the chair next to his manager. If the older man thought something was wrong, he didn’t say anything and Mark was glad.

This manager was one of his favorites. He was very nice to Mark and took good care of him. However, he knew it was protocol for him to report any funny business back to the higher ups in the company. The image of you began to haunt him; he couldn’t think straight knowing you were less than a mile away from him. He started to weigh out his options; there was no way he’d allow this chance to go to waste.

It’s only been a few months; but heartbreak really does change a person. He didn’t want to suffer anymore. That’s why he found himself standing up and apologizing to his manager, stating that he’d be right back. Knowing that you were just minutes away from boarding, he practically sprinted throughout the gates—doing his best to find the flight to Vietnam. It wasn’t as if there were many gates. All Asian countries were in the same area and both China and Japan were next to his gate, so he had a hunch your gate wasn’t too far away.

“Flight 0904 to Vietnam will start boarding passengers in ten minutes. Please begin making your way to the gate.”

He swore under his breath as he was running around looking like a madman. Only you had this effect on him. At this point, he didn’t even care if someone recognized him and either took photos of him or recorded him. He needed to find you and tell you how he felt.

There was a possibility that you’d either freeze or tell him that you didn’t feel anything for him any more. In that case, there was nothing he could do about it. He’d just have to accept the truth as it was. Once he saw the word Vietnam in bold letters, he took a sharp turn and looked throughout the passengers—wanting nothing more than to finally find you. Actually, it didn’t take too long for his vision to land on you.

Mark could point you out in a crowded room. In concerts with thousands of fans in attendance, he would always find you without trouble. That’s just how love worked. He wasted no time walking towards you and immediately sank down on his knees. There were so many red flags going off in his mind, telling him to turn around and that it was too late but he refused to listen.

It took you a couple of seconds to register what was happening and you brought your gaze up to the other passengers who were waiting to board. Their expressions of shock and interest made it clear to you that no—you weren’t hallucinating. Seeing him in the coffee shop was already a lot to take in. It almost felt like you were asleep and you dreamt this entire thing but no; he was kneeling right in front of you.

“Mark, what are you—“

“I shouldn’t have let you go. Not ten minutes ago. Not five months ago. Fuck—I couldn’t just sit and pretend that it’s a coincidence that we’re both here. You know me better than anyone else y/n, I never used to believe in that fate bullshit. But that was before you became my life. I could have flew out yesterday and you could have flown out later on this evening but here we are. At the exact same airport at the exact same time. You never told me why you left—I’ve been trying to come up with reasons for myself just so I could get closure but nothing makes sense. Look—I know I was a shit boyfriend and I know you deserve someone so much better than me, but I’m selfish. All I’ve ever wanted in my life was someone who could love me the way you do—the way you did so passionately. I know I took you for granted and there aren’t enough words in the English dictionary for me to explain just how sorry I am for all that I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for not being there for you as much as I should have, I’m sorry for not giving you the love and support you’ve never failed to give me, I’m sorry for not giving you the time and attention you deserved. There’s no excuse for my actions, there really isn’t. But I just need you to know, these past few months have been an actual living hell for me. I didn’t realize how blessed I was to have you in my life until you were no longer mine. I don’t expect you to come back to me. I’m sure you were suffering in our relationship, so this is my karma. I just want you to know that I still love you, I never stopped and I don’t think I ever will. That’s what scares me the most. Damnit, I don’t even know if you’re in a relationship or not. I shouldn’t have assumed—ahhh, forget I said anything. Have a safe flight.”

You felt the need to throw up. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it was one of those situations where you were extremely lightheaded and on the verge of passing out. Why did he think that confessing all of that was the right thing to do? Especially in the middle of an airport with dozens of eyes now staring at the both of you. It’s as though he knew exactly what he was doing putting you on the spot like that. He knew you’d give in to him seeing as though you brought attention to a growing crowd.

People enjoy watching couple’s drama and the thing was, Mark wasn’t exactly quiet while pouring out his heart to you. Then again, you knew Mark wasn’t the type to do that. He was extremely soft spoken, so with the way he was practically raising his voice at you, it was obvious he meant business.

You were hoping that nobody would recognize him—fearing that he would get in a lot of trouble if word were to get out about the two of you. His reaction amazed you though; he didn’t seem the least bit phased at the idea of both his and your photo being plastered all over newspapers.

You could see the headlines now; KPOP idol Mark Tuan causes a scene with unknown female at airport. Is this his current girlfriend? Or a former flame?

The gentle tug on your shirt is what broke you out of your thoughts. His pained expression felt like a slap to your face. He was right; you never gave him an actual reasoning for breaking up with him, but who could blame you? You were a coward. If you were to tell him of your insecurities and the fact that you were genuinely unhappy because you couldn’t even consider your relationship a legitimate one, he would have made promises on changing and making things better and you would probably have listened to him and these last couple of months would never had happened. But you were confident that nothing would change.

You weren’t stupid; Mark was both a man of words and actions and it was a trait of his that you appreciated. Yet, sometimes he made promises only to break them not too long after. A lot of the time though, it wasn’t his fault. His schedule kept him from many dates, vacations, trips to visit your family and just spending time together back at your shared apartment. You’d always feel like the odd one out; being the only person without a significant other.

Things like that never really bothered you until one of your friends pulled you to the side after dinner and asked you if you could really see yourself putting up with the current situation you were in with Mark for however long more he’d be an idol for. You should have been honest with him; he deserved to know the truth but then again, you were very good at running away from your problems.

Although her words weren’t the only reason why you ended things, they did open your eyes to the fact that if you did continue to stay with Mark, you’d lose yourself completely. Mark was your main priority. You would always put him first no matter how busy or tired you were. It was when you realize he never did the same for you that you accepted the idea of leaving him for good. Hearing him confess that he was still in love with you though, and that he was genuinely nothing without you made you feel something you haven’t quite felt since you left.

Even if you were the one who decided that you didn’t want to continue having him as your person for the time being, your romantic feelings for Mark never stopped nor did they ever waver. There were days where you missed him dearly; even if he was gone all the time, he was still your boyfriend and they two of you stayed in contact enough for you to forget about the distance even if it were just for a little while.

Sometimes, you’d find yourself typing in his number and writing a message to him, but then you’d stop yourself mid sentence, only then remembering the breakup and that you were the one who initiated it. You constantly reminded yourself that the breakup was the best decision you could make not only for you but for Mark too.

Your relationship probably held him back from so much and although he never once complained about having a significant other, you could visibly see that he was exhausted from all of his scheduled activities—having to come home, entertain you and show you affection had to add on more weight to his shoulders. You couldn’t blame him for being so tired; Got7 practiced for ten to twelve hours a day then they’d go straight in to the studio to write and record songs.

They’d also film reality tv shows and other kinds of segments, so when he’d come home—his body language would speak for him since he never seemed to have the courage to tell you that he was worn out from a long day. The idea of wanting him back was stupid since you were the one who walked away. But you missed him just as much as he claimed to miss you. You wished things could be different so that you could actually enjoy the experience of an actual relationship—yet, you would rather go months without seeing Mark, kissing him, holding him and being held by him, running to him whenever life could get too tough and being the girl that all his fans and the people who adored him could only wish to be in the place of.

You were confident that there would be no one else for you and being without him for such a long time made you accept that you no longer wanted to continue doing so anymore. You continued to sit there; not knowing what to say or do really. Your mind was drawing a complete blank. Slowly, Mark got up from off the floor and softly bowed in your direction, taking the silence as your answer. As he began to walk away, the tight grip on his wrist made him smile like an idiot to himself.

“When do you get back?” He turned around and looked at you in curiosity, but quickly grabbed his phone from out of his back pocket and flipped through his calendar faster than you’ve ever seen anyone do before.

“Two weeks. How come?”

“Can you wait for me?”

Wait, did this mean what he could only hope and dream that it meant? Were you—were you going to give him another chance? Sure, he would have preferred an explanation as to why you broke up with him and what went on in your mind for the last couple of months. But he understood that there was a time and place for such a serious topic.

He wasn’t thinking when he literally poured out his heart out to you. When the two of you were together, the entire world would disappear. Maybe that’s why he pushed away the thought of causing a scene in the middle of an airport, surrounded by at least fifty strangers. He lost all his sanity whenever it came to you and he was just so focused on trying to bring you back in to his life to even care about the consequences that would come with the news of his relationship with you.

“Of course I can—I’ll wait however long I need to for you. But, um—what am I going to be waiting for?” To his surprise yet excitement, you brought one of your hands up to his face and gently grazed his cheek. He wasted no time leaning his face in to your palm and left a soft kiss against your wrist.

“I’m yours, if you’ll have me again. I’ve missed you, more than I’m willing to admit. I won’t lie and say I made a mistake in breaking up with you. We needed this—well, I needed this. I gave my entire being; my mind, heart, body and soul to you. I did everything for you. To make you happy and by doing so, I became so depressed. I wasn’t myself anymore and I wanted to fall back in love with myself before I could continue loving you. You’re right, there’s no way us meeting up is mere coincidence. As soon as you walked up to me, I knew God brought us together. I love you Mark. I’m sorry, I know I have a lot of explaining to do but it’s going to have to wait. I love you, so much. I’ve missed you so much.”

Without hesitance or scanning the area to see whether or not the eyes were still on you, he threw himself at you and connected your lips with his. Although it’s been a while since you’ve last kissed him, your lips melded perfectly together as if the break never happened. His lips were soft and tasted like cherry chapstick and coffee.

God, how did you go so long without kissing the beautiful man in front of you? As much as you wanted to continue your little make out session, only then did it occur to you that you and Mark weren’t alone and that there was a chance someone recognized him. He whined adorably when you pulled your mouth away from his but with the knowing look you sent his way, he understood why you did so.

“Wow, I just—wow. Kissing you was always one of my favorite past times with you. Well, other than cuddling, taking naps, making love and—ow! What? I’m being honest baby. I’ve missed every single thing about you. I’m so fucking happy. This time will be different, I promise. I know how it is to live without you and let me tell you, it was actual hell on earth. Every single day felt like a month. Not hearing that contagious laugh of yours, not seeing that breathtaking smile and not having your arms around me—it fucking sucked. I should’ve fought harder to prevent you from leaving, but none of that matters anymore. You’re here now. You’re back in my life and I have no intention on ever letting you go again. I love you so much y/n, more than you’ll ever be able to fathom with that pretty head of yours.”

He pulled you in for a tight hug; placing his chin on your head and rubbing your back soothingly. The two of you stood there for a couple of minutes, it didn’t even hit you that he was there and that he was going to be yours again. Honestly, you wanted to just say fuck it and reach out to your supervisor, stating that you were unable to make it to Vietnam. Now that the two of you were rekindling your relationship, you wanted to be around him as much as you could. You trusted that he was going to keep his word and take care of you this time. He left soft kisses in your hair and began running his hands along your sides.

“Mmm—I’ve missed this.”

“Me too.” He was about to lean in for another kiss but you playfully leaned away.

“Babeeeee—“

“Mark, if anyone recognizes you—“

“I don’t give a shit. Let them. If people find out that I’m in love, then good. I want everyone to know about you. My heart has been yours for years now and it’s going to stay that way for the rest of our lives. I’d give up being an idol if it meant finally getting to settle down and start living the life we’ve always wanted. If I can’t wait too long, maybe I’ll just fly to Vietnam and we can—“

“Flight 0904 to Vietnam is now boarding. Please take out your tickets and start heading to the gate.” A soft groan fell from Mark’s lips and you took this time to steal a few kisses from him. He smiled against your lips and cheekily squeezed your waist. “Do you still have the same number?”

“Mhm, you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I never deleted it, but just like everything else about you, your number is tattooed on my heart. Have a safe flight. Text me as soon as you land. Have a great trip baby. I’ll try to call and text you as much as possible. I love you y/n. Thank you for coming back to me. See you soon.”

#got7 imagines #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines #got7 #got7 mark

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lune-hime · 4 years

Text

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 5

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

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Tulipa humilis ~ A tulip whose razor edged petals hold a sharpness akin to an ill-fated quarrel.

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Soon the quaintness of the surroundings turned into the bustling hub he had glided through yesterday. The city’s steeples were untouched by gigantic palms and virgin to their bloodied bites. Your grandmother parked the cart along the main street and bid Levi a farewell with the promise of a quick delivery.

Levi hopped out of the iron carriage and landed on the ground with a satisfying clap of expertly paved brick against his boots. After successfully depositing his letter into the letter box outside of the post office, he silently observed the busy mid-morning rush. Bakers displayed their sweet aromatic fresh bread, paper boys cycled vigorously as their bikes spewed water from the night’s rain, and your grandmother was networking with the smartly-dressed representative across the street. Levi was enjoying watching a poor passerby being swatted by a stray cat when two children across the way caught his eye. He was mid stretch when he realized they were staring at him. They would steal excited, and blatantly obvious, glances at him.

The boy could not have been more than 10 years old. He was a stocky child who looked like he should be sharing some of his breakfast with the timid girl next to him. She was fiddling with something in her hand but through the fanfare of carts and foot traffic he couldn’t quite make out it’s identity.

He decided not to be creepy and went back to his viewing of the street fighter match in front of him; the cat now battling a church going woman in her Sunday best.

Cat was winning.

Levi was so engrossed in the brawl that he had not noticed the children snake through the street to come and tug at his pant leg. He stiffened at the unexpected touch and his head whipped towards the disturbance. His eyes narrowed sternly, but softened when he saw their elated expressions.

“Captain Levi?” The boy chirped, bouncing on his heels. Levi could feel the excitement radiating off of him like a firecracker.

“Yes.” He responded curtly. He wouldn’t deny that he was quite awkward with children. He didn’t dislike them but he didn’t know how to act around them. The little boy looked as if he was trying to hold back a scream, like a little sponge soaking up all of Levi. The boy motioned rapidly for the girl to approach. Her face lit up immediately and she pranced over from her spot a little ways away.

“I never thought I would get to meet you in person! My sister and I want to join the Survey Corps and fight for humanity just like you and the commander!!” He declared proudly, falling into a salute. Levi could tell the boy had been practicing by the precision of his limbs. The girl nodded in affirmation, clenching her little hand into a determined fist.

“Hey-Heidi you forgot to salute!” The boy scolded his sister and clapped her on the shoulder. She squeaked and immediately mimicked the boy’s position.

“Good for you.” Levi congratulated their enthusiasm and waved their vigorous salutes off. His praise put sparkles into the young ones’ eyes. Levi felt a pang in his heart for their romanticism that would be no doubt shattered by the reality of what is out there.

“Just you wait, I’m going to tear my sword up through all of their gigantic, shit-eating asses!” The boy yelled triumphantly, eyebrows knitted into a fixed line and his sword hand aggressively jabbing at the air. The child’s profanity left Levi a bit speechless, but he found it amusing. He liked this kid.

“Big brother, shh! Mom said that potty mouths are what make the streets so dirty.” The girl attempted to hush her brother with her hands, their height difference dooming her to fail.

“Where did you get such a flavorful vocabulary?” Levi questioned the boy who looked more than happy to answer any inquiry laid upon him by his hero.

“It’s what my dad always calls them.” The boy answered and Levi nodded in approval.

“Mr. Levi.” The girl finally spoke up, her voice as delicate as her auburn curls. Levi directed his attention towards her and watched as her plush cheeks turned rosy.

“You’re humanity’s hero! And mine too so-” She began and the boy snickered.

“Heh, she wants to marry you, you know.” The boy interjected. His comment caused the girl to wilt like a crimson tulip and she lowered her gaze. The hand she still held behind her back shot further into hiding as she now seemed to be reluctant to share.

Levi exhaled and ran a frustrated hand through his silken hair. He didn’t really know what to think, no one has ever so innocently and genuinely told him that he was their hero and that they wanted to be like him. Let alone marry him. Hell, not even you had said anything like that. Sure, people praised him, admired him, lusted for him and his position. But something was different about this little girl’s confession. His heart softened.

He kneeled down, sucking up all the joint pain to seem unphased in front of the kids.

“What are your names?” He asked.

“Fynn!” The boy pronounced with a beaming grin.

“Heidi.” The girl said meekly. She smiled too; not as wide as Fynn but still glowed with the same happiness.

“Fynn, Heidi. It’s wonderful that you want to help humanity, but right now focus on being kids and don’t grow up too fast.” He put a hand on their heads, albeit a little stiff, but they didn’t seem to notice. In fact they were absolutely thrilled. Levi could almost feel the pure energy vibrating off of their giddy forms and into his palms.

“Don’t worry about having to stick a sword up their disgusting asses just yet.” Levi added with a small half smile that made Fynn gasp in excitement.

“And Heidi-” Levi started gently, looking into her eyes and making her blush even more.

“What’s behind your back?” He inquired, nodding to the hand she still held out of sight. Heidi tried to hold eye contact with her idol, but didn’t last more than five seconds before she sent her eyes downcast once more.

Without meeting his gaze, she uncovered her hidden hand to reveal a crown of dandelions. For as young as she was, it was beautifully crafted.

“I was going to give this to my mother but...now I want you to have it!” She explained with determination and held it with both her hands extended outward towards Levi.

He took it to humor her and released it from her little grasp. When she still didn’t look at him, he cocked his head to the side to meet her downcast gaze. When her shy eyes locked with his he warmly smiled.

“Are you sure?” He asked and she nodded firmly.

“Thank you.” Levi said, causing her to giggle.

“Well hello darlings. Out for a day on the town?” Your grandmother’s voice rang with a candied sweetness. She was now standing next to Levi, hands on her hips with a wide grin that wrinkled her cheeks.

The children nodded happily.

“Yes! We are waiting for our father to get out of work so we can walk home with him. That’s when we spotted Captain Levi!” Fynn explained. Your grandmother chuckled at their peppiness and looked over to smile at Levi.

“Oh? What is this Levi?” Your grandmother craned her neck to get a better view of the floral headpiece in Levi’s hands. Still in his kneeling position, he held it up to her for her to examine. When she delicately took it from him he gruffly returned to his feet.

“Oh how beautiful. Did you make this sweetie?” She asked Heidi in a lovely tone Levi had not heard uttered from her lips. Heidi only nodded once more, swaying bashfully.

“Levi, why don’t you put it on. This little one worked so hard making it.” Your grandmother chided, placing the ornamental crown on his head without warning. Levi shot her silver daggers and she tried to hold in her impending laughter.

“Are you Mr. Levi’s grandma?” Heidi asked with an inquisitive knit to her brow. Before Levi could clarify anything he was cut off by the older woman.

“Oh sure, this is my grandson. Such a brave kid, just like the both of you.” She cooed, making the children glow with happiness even more. She moved to ruffle Levi’s hair to which he swatted her advances away. The children found this amusing and continued to giggle.

“I’m going to need to be taking him home now. I bet your father is probably looking for you as well.” She announced and the children deflated a bit knowing their time with their hero was up.

“Aw, but we just got here!” Fynn whined with a violent pout. Your grandmother chuckled at his infatuation.

“How about a little treat for the road?” She offered, reaching into her dress pocket and pulling out a chocolate bar whose golden rapper rivaled the sun. Both children gaped at the dessert. She broke the bar in half and distributed it to them. They chimed a chorus of thank yous through their practically watering mouths.

“Run along now.” Levi bid them a farewell with a casual salute. The children said goodbye with one final elated salute of their own and skittered back across the street. Levi watched them for a moment making sure they made it safely back to their waiting place.

“Don’t you look pretty.” Your grandmother snickered and drew his gaze from them. He then remembered he had just been crowned king of the pansies and ripped it off his head gingerly enough to not break it.

The cart ride home was filled with a pleasant silence. However, the thoughts within Levi’s mind weren’t so kind. The decadent aroma of your grandmother's chocolate and the interaction with the children earlier, as harmless as it was, resonated too similarly to an ugly memory he wished he could forget.

↞♞♘↠

Many go numb when they experience a loss so immense that it feels like their world has been yanked from underneath their feet. Levi did not get that pleasure. He felt like he was experiencing every sensation on the planet. Whatever he touched scorched his fingertips in icy flames, every time he opened his eyes the light seared his pupils, and each time the blaze of rum burned his airway it did not do a thing to subdue the absolutely immense feeling.

~~~

Levi’s heart sank with his leg as his boot squelched against the freshly moist ground. The only part of this kid that was outwardly identifiable was the wide open eye that stood out against the bloodstained face like a bright emerald sea. And even that wasn’t much to go on, Many of the cadets had eyes that color. Levi sighed and lowered himself into an awkward squatting position, grunting as he tried to keep the fresh splint on his right leg straight. He moved a gentle hand over the eye to let it rest and not be exposed to any more horror. The lashes dipped delicately into the remnants of skin that had been peeled back much like the rind of a citrus fruit. Levi’s fingers hovered over the splinters of ripped flesh and pools of gooey blood, the odor that seeped from them triggering his gag reflex. Every scout’s jacket was personalized with a name in the inner lining for this exact reason. He lifted the jacket by the lapel and looked at the embroidered letters.

Emilia Schrieber.

He kept a straight face as he picked up his folder and began penning her name onto the list of the deceased. He straightened himself up with another noise of discomfort and hobbled over to the next body.

Emilia’s neighbor was as equally as unlucky. Titan canines had sliced right through his waist, snapping his body in two and leaving behind only a horridly torn torso. However gruesome the boy was now, he was easily identifiable at least, Levi reckoned.

Shit this kid was the newest member of Hange’s squad.

As he picked through the rows of their dead, he mentally envisioned having to write the mind numbingly cookie-cutter letters of deceased to their families and how a piece of paper would never be a fair trade for being able to hold their children again.

“ My condolences Mr. and Mrs. Schreiber your daughter Emilia-”

Even when death is an old friend, when it visits its knocks never get lighter. He felt like he had failed. He was no god, no guardian of the hunt. But as a squad leader he was responsible for those of lower rank, and by being a second late he had let those gargantuan molars grind one up. And he even got injured in the process, becoming useless on top of everything else. He had felt the flames of his temper being fanned as soon as his leg had been bound so he had opted to do this work in solitary while the rest of the scouts recovered on the main grounds of the outpost.

‘died bravely on the battlefield. She-’ Levi could visualize the horrified expressions of the girl’s parents as their features contorted into uncontrollable grief. As the rancid smell of death emanating from the words on the parchment brought them buckling to their knees.

He was nearing the end of the third row when he just barely registered your voice.

“How is your leg feeling?” You asked softly, fatigue and something else he couldn’t quite place dragging your voice down. You hadn’t seen him for a few hours after helping Hange splint up his injured leg.

‘was awarded an honorable medal of exemplary service for her dedication to-’ This sentence disgusted him. As if some esteemed piece of iron would fill the vacancy of their lost daughter.

He looked up at you briefly, only slightly acknowledging your presence before going back to his morbid recordkeeping.

“It doesn’t hurt when I don’t move.” He responded curtly, not even grimacing as he lifted a sticky limb off of the soldier’s chest.

You hummed in acknowledgement, standing awkwardly aside him with your hands clasped behind your back. He wanted to be left alone, and you had respected it. But naturally you wanted to come check on him and give him some company.

You followed him silently for a few bodies when he dropped his pen during a struggled attempt to squat again. You caught him by the arm, feeling the stiff weight of his muscle as he tried to steady himself. He brushed you off gently and you bent down to grab the pen for him. Just as your fingers had clasped against the plastic, a small silver object fell from your shirt pocket. You blinked a couple times before smiling. You picked up the piece of chocolate, its metallic foil crinkling in your hand.

“Levi, remember that kid we met in town last week?” You reminisced, the lightness of your memory a stark contrast to the scene set before you.

“Mhmm.” Levi acknowledged your question but did not push you any further. You worried at your lip but took his silence as an invitation to continue. You hoped maybe something cute could lighten his mood.

“I forgot that I still have the piece of chocolate in my pocket he gave me.” You chuckled. It was a miracle to you how the little candy still resided with you after all that had happened mere hours ago.

“I would like to have a kid like him someday. Wouldn’t you?” You smiled as you popped the sweetness into your mouth. There was a pause where only the shuffling of Levi’s papers and the rapid beating of your heart after you had realized what you absentmindedly said were heard. You and Levi had never really touched on the topic of children, given the circumstances, even though you were getting more serious in your relationship.

Something in Levi switched, as if someone was turning on the lights to his office without his permission. The stress, death, and feelings of inadequacy from his injury were all suddenly blasting him at full volume. He didn’t mean to direct at you, but you were the only other living being there.

“Why would I ever want children when all of these kids are being sent home to their parents in pieces? Everyone should just stop having kids at this point.” Levi snapped, turning towards you with an anger that you had never seen directed at you before.

His response left you speechless and it took you a moment to collect your thoughts.

“I meant after . It was just hypothetical, Levi.” You could feel yourself caving inwards at the sharpness of his words, but you remained composed. You didn’t have time to be sensitive now.

“How can we afford hypothetical fantasies when we can barely keep these children alive?” He growled, looking back at the bodies.

“We did the best we could…”

“Yeah well, look where that got us.” Levi mumbled, the frustration that radiated out of him was palpable.

You could see now that this conversation was spiraling uncontrollably. You reached out to touch his shoulder but faltered, and drew your hand back. Rather than adding more fire to the flames, you held back.

“Are you alright?” You asked choosing your words carefully, hiding how his comment stung with a furrow of your brow.

“I just-” Levi exhaled and knitted his eyes shut. He wanted to snap at you the least of anyone.

You could see something was really bothering him. You opened your mouth to say something when the shuffling of boots and clanks of a harness turned your attention behind you. Jean approached you two with a swift gate.

“The horses are all saddled and we are ready to go whenever you are.” He said in an even tone, making eye contact with you and smartly avoiding the intense eyes of the captain. You nodded once and he turned on his heel to head over where your squad was grouping up by the rustic stable.

“ Oh fuck no you aren’t going where I think you are, are you?” Levi said in disbelief, almost with a laugh. He roughly stood up and straightened out in front of you, his leg quivering in whiplash.

You narrowed your eyes, starting to get annoyed at his chastising tone.

“If you mean taking my squad to recover those letters then yes.”

“That’s reckless Y/N.”

Whether or not that statement was true, it felt like a dagger into your gut coming from him.

“Well, I am a squad leader and it is my squad. So I can be the judge of my own negligence.”

Levi’s silence was disconcerting, a challenge for dominance you were not going to submit to.

“Levi, it’s going to be dark for a few more hours and those correspondences hold information about the Reiss’ that are indispensable to us. My squad is the only one that has all members uninjured besides yours. And you can’t ride properly with your leg. We need to try otherwise this whole-” You started passionately, gesturing to the field of decay. “Excursion will have been for nothing.”

“Were we at the same bloodbath earlier?” Levi scoffed. “Those letters are speculated, we don’t have concrete evidence that they were even worth losing more lives than we already have.”

One look at your makeshift camp and an onlooker could see that it had been a massacre. Few were left standing unscathed in some way after a reconnaissance mission to intercept letters went sour. A hoard of titans had torn a large chunk in your numbers with a precision and calculation that acted almost as if someone had planned it.

“Exactly, we can’t know for sure. Any information we can get on the inner dealings of our government is one step closer to ridding our cities of this plague!”

“You don’t have the experience I do, Hange does, or the other scout leaders. Compared to us you are a child. Alone out there, you will be exposed.” Levi yelled with exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air.

“ How dare you. ” You fumed. The way he said child prickled your skin. It was true that you had just become a squad leader and yes this was your first time leading them on an excursion. But you damn well wouldn’t let him call you a c h i l d.

“I am your superior officer and I don’t authorize this departure.” He ordered harsly, glacial like a vacant cabin buried in mountain frost. The uncomfortable squeezing of bottled tears against your eyes was replaced by outrage at how unreasonable he was being.

“Oh so now I’m incapable of making decisions on my own?”

“Not if they are as idiotic as this!”

“Oh seriously, fuck you. I don’t need a permission slip from you, Captain.”

Levi wanted to punch something. He wanted to pound his fists into the earth until they reached bleached bone. Instead he settled for mutilating his pen, the poor utensil snapping in two in his riled up grip.

“This is what I mean! You’re being just like every other brat in this corps. Just fucking take it and follow orders.” Levi’s temper had reached its summit and exploded outwards. His was breathing heavily now as you stepped towards him so you were inches away from his face.

“Just because I’m a child doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself. I’m a scout leader now for a reason. Why don’t you get your middle aged balls out of your ass.” Your tone bit with a deathly venom.

“Only if you get your delusions out of yours.” He replied darkly. You held his gaze in a deadlock, neither of you backing down until Levi broke the silence.

“Y/N do you want to get yourself killed?” His voice held the same harshness but was laced with a bitter plea.

“If it comes to that I guess you won’t have to worry about having children.” You sneered with a crack in your voice.

Levi said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on his broken pen littered in the grass.

As you left, you tossed him a spare pen, a parting gift that left him alone with his throbbing head and stiff limbs.

~~~

Erwin had instructed that everyone return to headquarters, having given your squad special clearance to return when the mission was completed. Levi’s frivolous anger had subsided into incessant anxiousness. That he kept to himself of course.

That night, the argument had replayed through his mind on a brutal and obsessive loop. The memory had an insatiable hunger and would eat every other thought that arose, persisting behind his eyes and enduring when they snapped open and viewed the ceiling.

Levi stood by his statement about children to an extent. But he didn’t mean to articulate it in the explosive way he did. Hours and hours of playing grim reaper had made him vulgar that night, which was no excuse to infantilize you, and Levi kept failing to come up with rational explanations for his icy behavior.

The only conclusion he circled back to was a desperate, broken man trying to keep his more than capable loved one from riding headfirst into carnage while he was unable to protect her.

And by the walls did he ever want to have kids with you.

If only parallel universes existed. Being a father terrified him almost as much as the bleak future of their pocket world. As he began to realize his feelings for you, though, a plethora of domestic scenarios that were so foreign to him had discretely danced through his brain. And now he might never get to talk to you about it again.

He didn’t close his eyes again that night.

The days felt blurry and Levi felt as if he was living in a haze. The tingling tendrils of grief were taking root and sending both his mind and body into a dull ache. His leg began to bounce frequently when he sat. His fingers grew weary at picking at their own skin. Guilt and self hatred became his constant companion, stealing his food and occupying his hours of rest. But meager seeds of hope still lingered under that skin and were not uet uprooted by his cultivating anxiety.

By night three, the only thing Levi obtained from the unsuccessful search party was taxed lungs assaulted by the frigid air. His voice cracked with overuse when Erwin called it a day, the internalized anger and frustration boiling over like water in a bubbling saucepan. Erwin was being level headed, of course, and he was right in calling off a grueling twelve hour search party by sunrise. But he did not attempt to fight Levi when he lingered at the site, Hange volunteering to stay with him. It was the first time she had ever seen him cry when the two of them found a tatter of your cloak snagged on a canopy branch. When his fingers started to go numb from his raw grip and the biting morning chill he wondered if you, too, were cold. Or if you could even feel autumn’s brisk kiss anymore. The sheer thought made him dizzy.

On the sixth day with no news or inclining to your squad’s whereabouts the darkness became increasingly tantalizing to Levi. As his eyes gazed dully at the intricate patterns of hardwood that made up his desk, he found himself contemplating joining you. If you were indeed already in the afterlife, that is.

Death’s sweet embrace had taken so many from him already, why not ferry him across as well? Why was the raven-feathered mistress torturing him so with vital puffs of air when she had continuously taken everything he cared about as he aged? These thoughts were most alluring when he left his head under the bubbles of his bath and felt the pressure caressing his lungs. Or when he sat alone at his desk with only the gurgling of his vile last words to you stabbing him between the ears over and over and over and over and over and-

And yet, the more he pondered this the more he realized he did have things he cared about still. He cared about eradicating the shitty government. He cared about making sure not another child had to witness their mother dismembered by the grinding of massive teeth. And you. He didn’t know if you were gone from this world yet, and even in death he wouldn’t be able to live with himself for abandoning you.

So,

He rose from bed and went about his duties as normal and ignored the stinging absence of you at the dining table. When someone tried to get his attention he would ignore the echo of your voice calling his name the last time it graced his ears, pained and burnt from his fiery temper. He led combat training. He talked to Eren. He ate dinner with Erwin, Hange, and Mike. He did paper work. He lived life as normal, yet everything was as tasteless as it had been before you and even worse than before Farlan and Isabel. Attachment breeds suffering, no matter how sweetly aphrodisiac it is. He found this at the forefront of his mind during your absence. But was that attachment worth the utter pain he felt? Your smile would keep telling him yes. He walked with an open wound in his chest, so gaping that he was surprised crows hadn’t come and began picking the flesh from his bleeding heart.

And when you returned that arid morning Levi felt a glimpse of what he believed the followers of the walls felt. A communion with his savior, an angel who had returned with hardly a halo atop her crown.

He barely registered how he arrived at the cobblestone precipice, for the moment Hange had uttered your name he had floated with the adrenalen of a thousand horses to the HQ entrance. When he laid his eyes on your rugged, but outwardly unhurt, form color flooded into his vision once more.

Six horses had returned, your steed at the front of the party. Jean was clutching to your waist, his eyelashes fluttering and fists balling at the fabric of your blouse as he struggled to remain conscious. Armin was also doubled up; in his care was a handicapped scout who no longer possessed the entirety of their right leg. Connie and Sasha looked the healthiest of the returning party.

Your horse was pawing at the ground as if he was aware of the urgency as Erwin helped Jean down first and into the arms of a resident nurse. Your expression was hardened with the repressive gaze of a squad leader, keeping your emotions and physical pains in check for the members under your control that relied on you.

It was this look that bombarded Levi with fierce waves of regret. Your body was harboring the soul of a poised leader. Only, you weren’t possessed at all.

It was you.

His foolish words meant shit.

Erwin then reached for you and you gratefully let his strong arms gently place you onto the earth. Your legs wobbled a bit from fatigue and you needed to steady yourself with a hand on the commander’s forearm.

You began collecting your bearings and allowed yourself to take in your surroundings. In an instant, your eyes locked with Levi’s and he felt himself begin to crumble. Tears began to stream down both of your cheeks like liquid stars.

He raced against the disintegration of his body like it was a ticking time bomb. It was like two comets colliding and bursting into galaxies of stardust when his body reached yours. The two of you melted together, the force of your cosmic union bringing you to your knees. He babbled incoherently through his hyperventilation and his arms grappled at any inch of your body he could hold. His body violently vibrated with all of the futures he wanted to have with you as he dry heaved over your shoulder.

Your tears pooled with his, now able to let the floodgates of the week’s trauma, anguish, and suffering free. You held each other as if an otherworldly thread had been tightly weaved around your embrace.

“I-” He hiccuped and buried his face further into your neck.

“I know.”

↞♞♘↠

The wheels screeched against the brake applied by your grandmother as the two of them arrived back at the estate.

“Levi.”

“What?” He hummed from the other side of the carriage. His head was barely visible to your grandmother, having just jumped off.

“Call me Oma.”

Levi’s eyes widened slightly in shock.

“Y/N calls me Oma, so please I’d like for you to as well.” She said, her tone uncharacteristically benign.

“Alright.”

Oma.

#levi #levi x reader #LEVI ACKERMAN #levi heichou #levi fanfiction #AoT #snk #snk x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #jean kirschstein #bisexual jean #levi/reader #hange zoe #fluff #levi fluff #aot fluff

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taeyohonic · 4 years

Text

with wuff

summary: you are definitely not a dog. so, why is the infamous kim taehyung scratching you behind the ear? alternatively, due to misfortune you wake up in kim yeontan’s body.

pairing: kim taehyung x reader

genre: 88% crack, 12 % fluff

warning: this is not a warning – just a plea for forgiveness. i mayyyhaps wanted to write a hybrid piece because there’s a pretty awesome network being build. and then this idea stuck with me. which is not a hybrid story. of course. dana can’t do anything right. no dogs were harmed during the writing process. yeontan is happily sipping doggy-margaritas while the reader is ascending to madness. There is no form of bestiality of any kind. (didn’t know if I had to actually say that, but… better safe than sorry); there are some swear words!

words: 6k

There is no way this is really happening. No fucking way. This can’t be real. You must have gone mad. Or died. Oh no, your mother will be devastated. Your family does not have enough money to pay for a funeral let alone a psychiatrist. No, there is no way you’re staring at Kim Taehyung’s eyes.

“Ya, Tannie… what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost”, he asks and looks at you. What is happening? You want to question or even shake the idol in front of you, but all you can hear is a… bark?

What. The. Hell, you think and title your head to the side. Taehyung copies your movement and crouches down lower.

“Baby, talk to me!”, he whines. Yeah, you’ve gone insane. The hospital bills will put even your brother’s son’s children in debt.

You try to suppress a sniffle as you can feel your eyes water.

“No, no, no, no, no”, the idol cries and falls completely to the floor. His hands touch your fur while he whispers calming words into your ear.

“I'll only be gone for two hours”, he starts to bargain with you, “three hours tops!” Now he is scratching a sensitive spot right under your ear and all your emotions shortcut.

Taehyung looks at you with a knowing smirk on his lips and continues to give you pets.

“And I’ll even bring you back some strawberries”, he adds. After a moment of silence the idol backtracks. “Obviously we’d have to share.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Tannie. Sharing is caring”, Taehyung says and retreats his hand before standing up. You whine.

“Don’t you looooove me like I love you?”, he sings as he moves around the room. There is a branded gym bag on the ground which he slings over his shoulder. Then the man stares down at you.

“No?”, he asks and gives you a pout. “Even though I’d share hyung’s strawberries with you?”

You can only stare at the idol as he steps closer to the door. After he puts his right hand on the handle, his other clutches his heart in mock pain.

“Boy, you’re giving me whiplash with your mood swings. If you’re keeping this up, we’ll be in couples therapy in no time.”

You can’t move a muscle as you watch him leave. There are some movements, keys jiggling and then you hear a front door open.

“Hah, Jin would have a filled day with that… me and my dog sitting on a couch discussing our relationship”, you hear him chuckle and then the sound of a door closing follows.

You don’t know how long you’re staring at the wall – it could have been hours. But after the first shock leaves your bones you take a deep breath and look down… at your paws.

Ah, freakedy frack, what the hell? With tiny steps you move around the room; glad that Taehyung has left the door open. Soon one can hear your claws tapping on the granite floor. You’re not sure where to find what you are looking for. But your path takes you directly to your destination – a floor-length mirror.

Before you can chicken out, you face yourself… only to stare at Yeontan, Taehyung’s famous pomeranian. You scream but all you hear is a loud bark.

Jep, you’ve gone insane, you think and shift in front of the reflection. The dog’s eyes look just as frightened as you feel. Which – you guess – makes sense. The dog is you.

Maybe you’re just asleep. Yeah, that’s it! Why would you jump to the conclusion of death or insanity? You’re just not awake. Of course, maybe you fell asleep during a RUN marathon and your laptop is slowly overheating while you drool on your touchpad. Man, your neck will hurt like hell tomorrow.

You nod at Yeontan in the mirror as the fear leaves his eyes. You’re quite a bit ashamed of yourself while you retreat to the room you came from. Due to your height the view is limited but with a craned neck you make out a soft bed, a desk overflowing with energy drinks and scribbled papers, and a dark wooden dresser. This must be Taehyung��s bedroom, you think.

The shame you felt moments ago is now mixed with embarrassment as you lay down in front of his bed. Yeah, this is just a dream, but it’s still really creepy of dream-you to come up with this scenario. Haven’t you heard anything about privacy? This is as close as one can come to being a sasaeng, you scold yourself. As soon as morning comes, you will have a serious talk with yourself. Maybe you’ll have to do a BTS detox. Yeah, a week without checking their Twitter will do you good.

Now all you have to do is sleep in your dream, so you’ll wake up with human hands. Wow, the bar is very low, you chuckle and close your eyes.

You awake with a confused yap leaving your mouth as you loose the ground under your body. Your eyes fly up and meet Taehyung’s stare. He looks deep in thoughts and places you onto the soft mattress of his bed.

“Why are you on the floor, Tannie?”, he asks with worry and fluffs the pillows next to you. “Why do I get the feeling you’re really, really mad at me?”

All you do is stare up at the idol who you’ve worshiped for close to five years. His hair is a cerulean blue and you try to remember the last pictures you saw of him – didn’t he have dark hair then? He must have recently dyed his hair, you think. The vibrant color suits him, his soft curls shifting lively while Taehyung walks up to his desk.

“The ground can’t be comfortable, baby”, he says and organizes some of the scattered papers. After that he begins to stack the empty cans of taurine; you count five of them and can’t help the shake of your head when Taehyung himself looks proud of his accomplishment. Doesn’t he know how unhealthy energy drinks are?

Soon he walks back to you – some of the papers in his hands – and sits down right next to your figure. The man places the sheets behind him before he pets your head.

“What did I do, baby?”, he whines as he doesn’t get the reaction he expected. Taehyung didn’t do anything wrong; you are the fault in this moment. You – a fellow 95-liner, an ARMY, a Yoongi stan, a hard-working university student – are definitely not his dog. But you can’t deny the pleasure sparked by his soft touch. You can feel his fingers moving through your thick fur. You are so going to hell for this, you think as you begin to hum.

The idol chuckles and continues his pets and you begin to enjoy every rub of your ears. You don’t notice the movement at first, but soon you feel the warmth of his tights. You must have shifted closer to his person while he continues to praise you with words and touches. Now, you are neatly pressed against his shorts and Taehyung doesn’t hesitate to pick you up and drop you on his lap.

“There, that’s better than the cold floor, right?”, he says and you squirm a bit while you try to get into a comfortable position on his tights. Much like you’d imagined, the idol has a defined body, so his quads present you with a firm ground to lay down.

Still, you long for the floor just so you don’t have to feel the shame traveling across your body. You’re not going to hell for this, not even the devil will want such a freak in his midst. But as you look into Taehyung’s dark eyes you can’t bring yourself to jump off his lap. His iris is lit with content while he watches your slow breathing. He is excited to have you – his pup – close to him.

So, this is not a dream, you conclude. Which dream would have a napping sequence within? And not to mention how real his body feels underneath you. You try to eliminate any chances as you try to bite yourself in the paw. Ouch, you whine with a throaty whimper.

“What are you doing, Yeontan?”, Taehyung exclaims in surprise. He moves your nose away with one hand while he cradles your assaulted paw in his other. The idol inspects your leg with care and crouches down. His stomach is now pressed against your back as you feel his hair right next to your ear. It tickles you, but at the same time the strong scent of his shampoo that invades your nose calms you down fast. The thick odor of roses is all consuming as you begin to understand why dogs are used during drug searches. Their scenting ability is freighting incredible. You can’t help the whimper that escapes your mouth as you press your face against his soft hair.

His curls smell like security and you try to get closer to his hairline while Taehyung is still trying to examine the damage.

“Don’t hurt yourself, baby”, he scolds you and turns his head so he can kiss your black fur. Now that you can look directly in his eyes you feel lost in the depth of their color.

All you manage to do is nod your head in a nonverbal promise. Taehyung smiles at your obedience and places a second kiss right behind your ear. This must be a pretty vulnerable spot for his pup because you can’t help but close your eyes in bliss.

So, this is definitely not a dream; maybe this is some unnatural body switch. But even as you think about it you can’t imagine Yeontan waking up in your human body. He sure is smart, but surviving a pre-med class? Or dear god, even driving to university would be a nightmare as you imagine the cute pomeranian behind a wheel.

But what happened to Taehyung’s dog if you’re right now cuddling up to his owner? Did you… did you eliminate a poor puppy? No, you think as you can feel your tiny heart beating abnormally fast. There is no way that Yeontan is not safe and sound somewhere.

The idol notices your anxiety and holds you tighter. You try to think of a more helpful strategy instead of imagining the infamous dog sitting somewhere dark, all alone. No, you’ll focus on getting out of this situation. And that means getting more information, any kind as to the date.

You didn’t travel space, body and time, you decide while your stare is fixated on his bright hair color. You distinctly remember him with faded blondish strands the last time you saw airport pictures at the beginning of the week. And there is no way in hell you would have missed such a… vibrant phase of Taehyung’s hair evolution. Even though he is not your bias, his appearance is always such a sight.

You mean you’re imprisoned in an animal body, who – you are sure you’ve read that somewhere – does not see colors clearly. Still your eyes rest on the blue, it’s intensity rivaling Taehyung’s stare which is fixated on your small figure.

The idol doesn’t know what is wrong with his pup today, but he takes your interest in him as a good sign. With your focus solely on him, he move the both of you without your notice. So it’s no wonder you flinch when you do note your changed position.

Taehyung has pushed the both of you farther into the bed until his upper body leans against a few pillows. He is not lying completely flat, but this is definitely more horizontal than before. Now you are placed on his stomach, your front paws right on his chest. You feel your body being lifted up and down due to his breathing and observe the idol from your new vantage point.

Now that your instant shock has left you, you finally see the tired lines under his eyes, how every movement of his face looks slower than normal. Your idol looks exhausted, you think and remember the gym bag he had with him as he left the apartment.

Huh, he must have been working out. You shift around slightly to test your theory and would have blushed – if you were able to – at the firmness under your feet. Jup, definitely a work out.

Taehyung groans in response and pushes you off his chest. Your landing is cushioned by the thick blanket, but you still sound like a hurt child with the yelp that leaves your mouth.

“Tannie… don’t be mean”, he whines and rubs his chest. “After two hours of weightlifting with Kookie everything is sore.”

And before you even think about apologizing – in some form – the idol tries to lift himself up. There is real pain twisting his face muscle. And then he is pulling off his t-shirt. Lord have mercy, you cry, closing your eyes. But the damage is done; his well defined honey colored chest forever burned into your memory.

“Come on, let’s sleep”, he says with a suppressed yawn in his voice while he falls back against the pillow mountain behind him. Again, you don’t have any time to escape before his long fingers grasp your body and cuddle you against his bare chest.

Your fur is trickling his chin, but instead of pushing you farther away, Taehyung presses you closer. You hear a content moan slip between his lips as he inhales your scent. His slowed heartbeat calms you down in moments. The only sounds in the now darkened bedroom are his deep breaths against your fur and your short huffs. You will your inner thoughts to stop screaming at yourself – the constant yelling to take action, to stop enjoying the closeness of the idol, is making your tired brain frail. Being a dog is taking a toll on you; the constant surprises are quite tiresome.

There is nothing you can do right now. Tomorrow presents possibility, maybe Taehyung will be gone again. His schedule must be tight. The hair color is your first clue that a comeback must be around the corner. And working out with Jungkook? No man would welcome that pain if there is not some higher reason behind it.

So, the idol must have a packed day which presents you with much needed time and room to explore. You try to be engulfed with Taehyung’s presence, something your body recognizes as home. When you will yourself just enough, you can abstract your person from this situation. This is a dog owner with his pup. It’s not abnormal that you sleep together. Right, you nod and fall asleep with Taehyung’s heartbeat in your ear.

You stare at the sleeping idol as you feel the warmth of the morning sun on your fur. Taehyung looks like a statue, the occasional deep breaths the only evidence of his living state. You’ve been up for a long time – or it just feels like a long time. But doesn’t it always when you have to pee?

Still, you can’t seem to disturb the blue haired boy in front of you. His features are as soft as your pillow which makes him look so young you would have cooed if you could. All the exhaustion has vanished from is face and there is no way you want to ruin this peaceful quiet.

But your bladder is screaming at you and this body is too new to estimate how urgent it is. Going from how heavy your stomach feels and how difficult it gets to suppress your whines, you think there is no other way. You don’t want to pee in Kim Taehyung’s bed while he’s asleep. That’s just not an acceptable way to start your day… in the body of a dog.

Before the helpless noise can escape your throat, the door of his bedroom opens. Your head snaps to the opened space, the animal instincts taking over, only to face a woman looking at you with a kindhearted smile.

“Oh, my boys”, she whispers so quietly you’re sure the human next to you hadn’t heard her.

Then she steps into the room and walks to the bed. With practiced care she starts to pet your head. The woman looks old enough to be Taehyung’s mother. You’re kind of proud of yourself for not obsessing over the idol so much, you’d recognize his parents.

Rich coming from the person who could recognize Yoongi's brother in seconds, a voice scolds in your head and you roll your eyes at the mockery.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Tannie?”

Well, not the first impression you wanted to leave with his mother. Soft licks against her wrist seem to be apology enough as she shakes her head.

“You’re forgiven. Let’s get you out for a walk, little one. This boy needs all the sleep he can get”, she explains like you’d understand her while lifting you off the bed.

The oh so silent idol groans as he feels the absence of your warmth. But a look confirms your suspicion that Taehyung hasn’t woken up. He still rests against the bedding and if your bladder wasn’t alarmingly present in your mind, you’d demanded to lie back down with him.

The woman closes the door with a click behind you and Taehyung’s frame vanishes from your eyesight. Immediately your discomfort is heightened, now that you have all your focus on it.

She coos at your desperate whimpers and fastens her steps. Soon the both of you are out of the door – a stylish harness around your upper body. The woman chuckles at you dancing in front of her by hopping fast from side to side.

The outdoors confirms another suspicion; you are in Seoul. The green around you crashs into your nose with thousands of smells – the scrambled eggs from a breakfast bagel, the thick sweat of some morning joggers, two… no three… other dogs and the faint fumes from the cars to your left. You yap happily as you run to the nearest tree to do your business.

You don’t know how long your walk takes, but you see so many things your brain feels heavy with discoveries. The fellow puppy who barked at you left you feeling sad. Then some pedestrians feeding you a grape cheers you up so much, you don’t focus enough and nearly crash into a bike. The woman screamed at you in horror which embarrassed you.

All the mood swings tier you out fast, so you’re sighing in relief when you make out the familiar building. Taehyung’s mother chatted with you as if you were a friend, her topics circling around a dinner with colleagues and some important business conference she has to join tomorrow. Then she talked about Taehyung’s stamina being tested with this comeback and how she worries about her son. That’s when you get the confirmation about their relation.

You dash around her feet as to not seem too invested in her storytelling. You are a dog after all. A dog that’s now extra worried about its owner. She lets you into the apartment and you smell him before you see the idol sprinting to the entrance.

“Mum, you didn’t have to”, Taehyung says and crouches down in front of you. His eyes shine with excitement as he picks you up – not even taking off the harness beforehand – and crushes you to his chest.

He must have showered; his strong scent clouded by the fresh smell of sandalwood. Nevertheless, you recognize him and press your nose closer to his neck. There his smell is still pure and you huff in content.

“Was my baby good?”, he asks his mother while bouncing you around, moving straight to the kitchen.

“Tannie was a good boy”, she answers and winks at you out of Taehyung’s eyesight. You wink back and see the surprise in her eyes before Taehyung demands your attention.

“I made you breakfast, Tannie”, he sings and drops you to the floor, but only after squeezing you against him one last time. There, right next to the table, sits a ceramic bowl filled with some kibbles and cut strawberries.

They must be from Seokjin – his oldest member. He is sharing them with you, which warms your heart remembering all the behind the scenes clips where he declared his love for the sweet fruit.

You dash to your food, not looking back at the idol who smiles into his green tea as he watches you devour your meal. You seem to be in a better mood this morning, he notices in relief. Still, your weird acting from yesterday is on his mind and he starts to think… maybe…

“Ah, you know what, Tannie?”, Taehyung exclaims and you flinch at his boastful tone. Your mouth is decorated with crumbles while you swallow the unique food down and look at the idol.

“You'll come with me today!” Say what? “It’ll be so much fun!” For whom? You barely survived your morning walk without being killed by a bike. “You’ll get to see the MV set!” At what cost? The last shred of your sanity? “And you can catch up with the hyung!” Well, who are you to deny your owner?

“Seok?”, Taehyung asks as a stylist twists his curled hair into position. Both him and Hoseok sit in front of a mirrored wall, getting ready for the first round of promotion shoots. The blue haired idol is dressed in a comfortable pink bathrobe with decorative feathers around his neck. His eyes are focused on his older friend while the rapper’s nose is buried in his smartphone.

“Hmm?”

“Do dogs get depressed?”

Now Taehyung has his undivided attention. The iPhone is neglected as Hoseok stares at the singer. “Come again?”

Taehyung’s face turns sour. “Yeontan is acting strange.” As if to make a point, the idol motions his head in your direction. You are very much distracted by all the colorful pastels around you. Your eyes try to capture every single detail, the dimmed lights, the relaxed outfits of everyone and the seven most famous idols clustered in the space.

Avoiding any of their faces, afraid they’d pay you attention, you’re clinging to the staff member who holds you secure in her arms. The Army in you is delighted at the insight you are getting, so it’s no wonder your tail is wagging fast.

“He doesn’t even want to sit with me”, Taehyung whines. “Yesterday he slept on the floor. The floor, hyung!”

“Maybe he feels abandoned?”, Hoseok offers, remembering all the times Mickey would ignore him after the end of a successful tour overseas. “You are prepping hard for this comeback. We all are.”

Taehyung nods deep in thoughts. Are you feeling neglected? Taehyung was always under the impression that between him, his parents and the dog walker you’re well taken care of. But maybe you did miss him due to his late practices. Maybe you both need some alone time?

“Maybe you should sign him up for an idol pet support group?”, the maknae chimes in as he plows down on the couch next to the make-up station. Taehyung has to chuckle as he remembers yesterday’s therapy idea.

“Or maybe I’ll just cancel our work out tonight”, he teases and Jungkook huffs outraged.

“But look at your chest, Tae! Don’t stop now!” The youngest sounds more like a motivational speaker than his friend and Taehyung shakes his head, now that the stylist has stepped away satisfied with Taehyung’s appearance. “Maybe tomorrow, Kookie.”

You are still fascinated by the set as the staff moves around pointing out some of the props as if you were a toddler instead of a puppy. You listen with interest, your ears pointed close to her lips so you don’t miss any kind of information. This comeback looks like the biggest they have ever done. And if you understand her mentions right, an American singer will be featured as well. You can’t suppress the excited pants escaping your mouth.

Before long the idols are called on the set, all of them dressed in soft fabric and most of them with bright smiles on their faces. Just Yoongi and Taehyung look a bit distracted. While the rapper is inhaling his iced americano, the singer looks around the set until his eyes meet your glistering stare. He can see you squirming in the staff’s arms as you try to get closer to his members. He chuckles softly, not really understanding your mood swings. During the car ride here, he couldn’t recognize his puppy. You were shaking like a rattlesnake. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought you were never in a car before. As soon as you guys arrived on set, you were quick to abandon him in favor if the female staff who didn’t hesitate to pick you up.

Taehyung shakes his head and lets a professional smile slip on his lips. It’s time to perform his money’s worth. Immediately the photographer greets them before he and his nervous assistant move the idols around the small prepped bathroom. Taehyung’s gets to kneel in the front, his face closest to the camera lens. He tries not to check on you too often, but as soon as the photographer changes his equipment, his eyes rest on your moving figure. You escaped the staff member and are now roaming around the set with your nose pressed to every object within reach.

You look like you are on a treasure hunt or a RUN episode and he – endeared – smiles at you.

“We’ll take a short break; good work, boys!”, the man behind the camera exclaims and some of the staff clap, proud that everything is going smoothly today. Taehyung steps away from the group to move closer to you. Suddenly he crouches down, getting your attention in milliseconds.

You really were trying to ignore your favorite idols, their constant laughter too much for your fangirling heart. But then you see the shock of blue hair in your peripheral vision. And without any control of your body, your eyes move to Taehyung, who is only a feet away. He smiles when he feels your attention on him and motions for you to join him. Again, you do not even think and spring to the idol with tiny but quick steps. Suddenly your paws do not touch the ground anymore and you japs in fright. With a craned neck you make out the corners of a gummy grin.

Yoongi has captured you mere inches away from your owner and your eyes get bigger by the second. The Min Yoongi is holding you. Your favorite rapper, the inspiration to many of your own writings, is embracing your body. You want to giggle so badly, but there is only a chortled howl escaping your throat.

“Yaaaah”, Taehyung whines with layered jealousy as he watches how his own puppy is trapped under the spell of his grumpy colleague. You don’t even notice the others approaching – you try to memorize every detail of your bias. His cheeks are full and so is your heart, concluding that he eats well.

“Get your own damn dog to set”, Taehyung scolds and earns a slap on the back from his leader. Soon Jungkook’s hands are buried in your fur and you purr in bliss.

“Who is the best doggy?”, Jimin asks in his best baby voice and gets between Yoongi’s and your face – simultaneously blocking your sight of the rapper.

“Don’t answer that, Tannie!”, the oldest chimes in and pets your head as he looms over the smallest member. “It’s a trap. Jimini loves Holly like his own.”

What? How can the vocalist choose Yoongi’s puppy over you? You are… uhm you mean Yeontan is… adorable. Your eyebrows furrow in displeasure and you try to move away from Jimin.

“Is… is he pouting?”, Hoseok asks fascinated by your facial expression. Taehyung points at your eyebrow, pushing it into a more relaxed position with mocked force.

“See?!”, your owner exclaimed, “Tannie is going through stuff.”

Some of Bangtan chuckle while Taehyung wrestles you away from the rapper. The distance to your bias grows as the singer presses you closer to his chest, cradling you to his body and hiding you from his members at the same time.

“That’s why I’m skipping cardio tonight”, he states and buries his nose in your dark fur.

“You have to be kidding”, Namjoon mutters and tries to get Taehyung’s attention. “Yah, you can’t just not go to practice because you… you think Tannie is having his blue period or something.”

“What does Taehyung’s hair have to do with his pup?”, the youngest asks innocently. Yoongi groans and your owner hides his chuckle in your fur.

“It’s a term to describe Picasso's depression evident in his… blue paintings”, the leader explains with patience and vows to lend the maknae his art book.

“But… look!!”, Taehyung whines and thrusts you without warning in Namjoon's face. You can practically hear him groan a ‘Tannie, work with me on this’ while you are inches away from Kim Namjoon.

Maybe it’s being in a dog’s body for too long or maybe it’s his owner’s craziness rubbing off on you, but you start to grimace at the most famous leader in kpop history. Your nostrils flare while your mouth shifts into a maddened smile. At the same time you try to wink like you did this morning at Taehyung’s mother. To top everything off, you extend one of your paws in a mock salute and wiggle your tail.

Namjoon’s expression moves from annoyance to concern as he watches you going completely crazy. “Take as much time as you need”, he allows and backs away from you. “Maybe check in with a vet as well.”

After a long nap and another meal you feel relaxed as Taehyung carries you up the stairs. The rest of the shooting went smoothly and you could even hear some of the title track being played in the background. And now it’s nearly night, but still Taehyung moves with purpose farther away from his bedroom, taking two stairs at the same time to get closer to his studio. Punishing in the code – a combination of his and Jimin’s birthdays – he opens the door and lets you in his most private space. He has never taken Yeontan to his painting room. Sometimes he would share a photographed piece with his pup. But never was there an impulse to include his four-legged friend into this part of his life. Until now – now Taehyung wanted his dog to understand him, really understand him.

And how to better understand the artist than by looking at his art? With jittery hands he drops you on the floor. “Welcome”, the idol greets you with enthusiasm and spreads his arms. “This is my studio!”

You look around and take in all the different sizes canvases. Some of them are colored with abstract patterns, most of them in deep vibrant pallets. Then there are some paintings with bodily shapes, harsh black lines illustrating different parts of female and male torsos. A canvas stand is pushed to one corner of the room. It seems like Taehyung does not enjoy painting with it, because he moves a blank canvas from behind a shelf straight onto the ground.

Soon he has collected some oil paint next to it as well as some washed brushes. Taehyung has been focused solely on gathering up all the needed utilities. But now as he plops onto the floor, the artist pats the place right beside him. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

With hesitant steps you move closer to him while the guilt rises in your heart. Taehyung wants to share this with his puppy, not you. This is far more private than his mother spilling family secrets during your walk. This is him being completely open and you are not sure you can take what he is oh so willing to offer.

Still, you can’t deny the idol who looks more like a puppy with his widened eyes than you do. Halting next to him you focus on the blank white in front of you. Taehyung stills and takes in your soothing presents. The last weeks have been pure madness and he knows how tight his schedules is getting as soon as Boy with Luv drops. So he tries to memorize this moment. With a deep breath he grasps one of the brushes and squeezes some midnight blue paint on his mixed pallet. You watch his hand stroke bold lines across the canvas – fascinated by the stark contrast. Taehyung starts to hum; his deep voice relaxes you even more and you lie down – your head is resting on Taehyung’s tights in support.

For a long time he paints in silence, but after the night sky is done, he starts to talk to you about the most random things. The idol begins with a harsh complaint about his hair color, the bright dye hurting his skull. After that he jumps from thought to thought, not caring for coherency. The painter praises Yoongi’s stage for his solo track, an excited gleam in his eyes as he proudly proclaims that he mastered the background dance steps to Seesaw. Then he remembers the late-night drinking with Hoseok’s sister weeks ago; how it was the last time he let go and drank more than his stomach could handle. The longing for walking with you comes next. Taehyung misses your outings, the joy in your tiny steps when you race each other, how protective he feels when he carries you in his bag.

You are now more than ever reminded that you’re here by default. This is not an idol talking to his devoted fan; this is an honest man talking to an imposer. And when you see the happiness in his movements as the painter adds bright stars to his sky, you deep down know your time is running out. There is no way any kind of higher power would harm this man by taking away the companion he cares so much for.

As if Taehyung can sense your darkened mood, he shifts his knees pushing you off his tights in the process. You whine in displeasure but he is quick to act. Suddenly you feel wetness on your paw and look down. Taehyung has moved your leg to the mixed pallet. He gently presses your paw into the white paint. You flinch at the weird feeling which makes the idol coo.

“Hold still, little pup”, Taehyung sooths while he cleans off some white that sticks to your fur. Then he looks at you with a blank expression, making you squirm.

“So, this is important, Tannie”, he starts to explain, “you’ll help me finish this piece.”

And then he places your painted paws on the canvas. A shudder runs down your back as you connect the dots and feel the pressure of painting for the idol. You got this, you hype yourself up and inhale his scent before moving across the painting with purpose.

Ten minutes and two baths in paint later you can definitely say that you did not in fact get it. The flower field you tried to create looks more abstract than accurate. Some petals are blended together, presenting wet spots instead of filigree plants. Embarrassed you face the painter ready to get scolded. But Taehyung looks at the canvas with awe in his eyes.

“We are… brilliant”, the idol breathes and before you can scoff at this blunt lie, he tackles you and presses your body close to his chest. A whine escapes you as you feel your paws pressing against the skin on his arm. The paint hasn’t fully dried and you can see the outline of your print in white on his skin. Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind that much, more focused on breathing in the smell right behind your ear. You do the same, nuzzling your nose against his neck and relax more and more. You notice how slow your breathing gets before you fall asleep.

“Come on, ________, this lecture is not optional!”, your roommate screams you awake. You open your eyes and stare at the familiar face of your friend, his hand sassy on his hip.

“No time to admire me, get it moving”, he stresses and pushes your warm blanket away, revealing your sun kissed legs.

“I’ve got toes!” The man in front of you musters you, now more concerned than mad.

“You okay, ______?”

But all you can do is stare at your legs and test your flexibility. Then you touch your arms in wonder and ruff a hand through your thick hair.

Faster than your roommate can call for a doctor, you jump out of bed, landing on your feet, before you grab him by the arms and squeeze his biceps in joy. “Look how tall I am!”, you exclaim, no longer having to crane your neck to look at people.

Your roommate vows to keep an eye on you as you are acting weirder than normal, which is really saying something. He remembers how embarrassed he was at the last costume party. You were dressed as an ARMY bomb, wiggling around to the music. Or how you dressed as a cheesecake for Halloween. You’d drop to the ground every time someone questioned your dress up. “I dropped the cheesecake”, you’d howl more impressed with you than ever.

But now you’re looking at the mirror and touching your cheeks as if you just invented your dimples. Yeah, definitely worrisome, he thinks and pushes you into the bathroom.

“Time management, _____.”

As you sit on the closed toilet seat you try to ground your emotions. You are back and your smartwatch tells you that you haven’t even missed a day. Judging by your unharmed appearance, all you did in the last thirteen hours was sleep. But your nose oh so vibrantly remembers Taehyung’s smell, your eyes can still recall him looking at you, painting with you, cutting strawberries for you.

It takes a moment before you notice how fast you’re breathing. There is a panic attack coming and you can’t think of any way to stop it. All your emotions are rushing through your body as you start to cry hysterically, mourning memories too crazy to keep.

It takes days before you stop counting your fingers every time you wake up. It takes weeks before you click on the MV for their next comeback. You act surprised by his blue curls as your roommate screams in excitement. Only after a month you are detached enough to click on Taehyung’s newest v live. This time your surprise is genuine as you spot the tattooed paw on his wrist.

ah!! i hope you guys liked that! i had sooo much fun writing this, so maybe you enjoyed it as well! let me know what you think! stay safe and happy, dana

taglist: @slothiestuff @portableusbstick

#taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x oc #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fluff #bts crack #yeontan #bts fanfic

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guro-giri-letters · 4 years

Text

You think so? : Shigaraki x nurse reader!

- By Guro. ♡

/You’re a nurse at a recovery centre for villains, and you think you might be in love with one. Just a wholesome fluff fic! The VRC is an idea Sweets helped me come up with and I may write more things connected to it in the future! Hope you enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; brief description of medical procedure, Shigaraki being grumpy, (secret?) established couple, nurse, wholesome. ♡/

“Tomura, stay still please,” Shigaraki grumbles, but you can see his fingers trembling around the glass you gave him to sip from. You don’t even think he drinks, but anything to keep him occupied while you give him a few stitches is good enough.

Snipping the medical thread and leaning back, you study your handiwork and give yourself a nod. It’s not too bad, a medium-size wound curving over the back of his shoulder, but awkward as hell to stitch. It looks good, despite all of his fidgeting. If he doesn’t do anything too strenuous for a few days he should heal fine, you think, resting your palm against his bony back. You can feel the knots of his spine through his pale skin. He jolts in surprise and shivers a little, leaning back against the warmth of your palm. “There, you want something for the pain?”

“No. I’m fine,” he mutters in response, voice rough as stones stuck in car-tyres. He stares into his glass a moment before downing the last of its contents, clenching his teeth right after doing so. “Ugh.”

“How about some of that for me, nurse?” Dabi’s own gritty voice rattles across to you and you turn your head. He’s laid out on the table in the middle of the kitchen, being worked on by your co-worker. You shoot him a look from where you sit behind Shigaraki, rising and tucking your stool back under the breakfast bar. “Come on, I’m torn open here,” the burnt man continues. He’s not lying. The patch of purple prosthetic skin that wraps around his side and creeps over his stomach has torn at the seams quite badly, your co-worker currently stitching it all back into place. They glare at Dabi every time he moves, earning a cheeky grin back from the villain each time.

“I thought you could tough out a few stitches?” You tease, but you pull down the whiskey bottle and offer it to him anyway. He takes it over the top of your co-workers head and un-caps it, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“I can, but this is good- shit,” he hisses when the needle is dug in particularly hard, scowling at the nurse bent over him. “Asshole, you trying to kill me?”

“I wish, Dabi. I wish,” they mutter tiredly in reply.

“Stop the bickering, we’re all professionals here,” you chide them, pulling out a drawer and poking around until you find the tin that holds the medical staples. You pause, considering, and then pull out a container of pills as well. If Shigaraki won’t take pain relief you’ll at least give him something to help him sleep.

You work at the VRC. Yeah; Villains Recovery Center. It’s not much, just a small team of people with decent medical experience, funding, and a common hatred for hero society. You work out of a well-hidden and out of the way manor that doubles as your own and most of your co-workers main home. You’ve got a small apartment further into the city but honestly, you barely bother going back there anymore. You’ve found yourself a family here where you had no one before, and it feels good to help people that are out there doing the work you can’t.

Even if those people are often times ungrateful, grumpy, snarling villains. “I don’t want them!” Shigaraki snaps as you try, again, to get him to take the pills. “We’re not staying the night, I can’t take them. We’re on the move.”

“Not stay- yes, you are very much staying the night, and stop scratching!” You grasp his wrist and tug his hand away from his throat, ignoring the furious look he gives you as you grip his chin, tilting his head to inspect his neck. “I’m putting cream on this.”

“Get off.” He pulls his wrist back but you hang on to him, giving him a serious look. “What?”

“You’re all staying the night, Tomura, you need some proper sleep. Dabi’s in pieces and I’m pretty sure Spinner has a concussion,” the more you talk, the more the leader of the League of Villains deflates under your hands. By the time you’re done he’s slumped on his stool, still half-glaring but not really mad anymore. You know he’ll do the right thing for his group, you’ve known that since the first time they landed in needing your teams help. Shigaraki isn’t good at showing it, but he really does care for the little family he’s brought together. They hate it when you call them a family.

“Fine. We stay,” he rasps out eventually, looking up at you through his blood-flow gaze from where he sits. With no shirt on you can see how bony and thin he truly is, ribs and collarbones visible through paper-thin, raw skin. He almost looks delicate, you think, as you trace your fingers under his jaw and down his throat. Easy to break. Yet there’s so much power hidden inside of him. You can’t imagine being him... being Tomura Shigaraki. The leader of a war against a society of false idols.

His lips start to curl up at one corner, baring his teeth at you slightly. He’s happy to be admired by you in a more private setting, but your co-worker and Dabi’s eyes are two people too much it seems. “You’re staring, nurse.”

“Sorry,” you say quickly, because you genuinely hadn’t meant to. “Take your pills, let me get the cream for your neck.”

Shigaraki isn’t shy about undressing in front of you anymore. He had been once, yelling at you when you’d walked in on him naked as the day he was born. You know he was just embarrassed, self conscious. You’d made it very clear that, one, he shouldn’t yell at you if he liked receiving medical treatment. And two, you really didn’t care about his appearance or for that matter, find him ugly. All of his red, raw, scarred skin was just a part of him. Probably eczema or some other allergy. But you definitely didn’t find it ugly.

He strips off slowly, wincing any time he strains his stitches, and then shoves his clothes aside in a pile with his foot. “You want to have a shower?”

“No,” he sighs, sounding suddenly exhausted, scratching at his hip and stretching before shuffling toward the bed. You pull the covers back for him, your professionalism falling away, smiling thinly as he climbs under them a little awkwardly. “You baby all your villains this much?”

“Maybe I do,” you reply, pulling the covers up over him before he can do it himself, looking at his face. The look he’s giving you tells you he’s not amused. Quite the opposite, actually. He looks annoyed. “I’m kidding, Tomura. Only you get my VIP treatment.”

“I don’t think I believe you.”

“Are you jealous? Seriously?”

“No.”

Angry now, he turns over and away from you to face the wall. You can’t help the smile that curves your lips even further, looking at the stitched up wound on his shoulder. Shigaraki knows you care about him, more than you should care about any of your ‘clients’, he just likes to huff. He jumps in surprise when you press a kiss against his shoulder, just above his stitches. “Hey...”

“Hmm, Tomura?” You pull back to look at him as he turns his head, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“...Are you staying?” He asks, reaching a hand back to brush his knuckles over your cheek. You know what he means: Are you staying with him. How? How can this criminal, this villain, be so sweet all of a sudden?

You don’t even bother replying, just lean back from the bed and toe off your slippers. He watches over his shoulder as you undress down to your underwear, leaving your clothes in a heap next to his and climbing in. “Careful,” you murmur as he turns to face you, still wary of his stitches but it seems he’s already forgotten about them. When you’re both comfortable he just looks at you for a while, laying on his side as you lay on yours. Your lack of fear around him has always perplexed him. You lift your hand to his face slowly, smoothing the teal locks out of his eyes. He doesn’t flinch any more, he trusts you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” his rough voice is quiet in the empty room but he finally sounds calm, relaxed. You know there’s a lot of things he’d like to say to you, that he’d like to ask of you. He just doesn’t know how to. You don’t think people realise how young he is, how timid and inexperienced he can be. He’s not used to feeling cared for. Dabi likes to make terribly dirty jokes, about your relationship, about what the two of you get up to. Little does he know the most you’ve ever done is held each other. Touched each other’s faces and cuddled close when one of you needed to feel protected. Because you haven’t had an easy life either. No one hates heroes the way you do without a reason, and sometimes you need the comfort just as much as Shigaraki. You think he gets it, he knows.

You’ve kissed a few times, but it was all so gentle and... loving?

Are you in love?

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious, red eyes that almost glow in the dark studying your face close. You flush a little under his intense gaze; are you that easy to read?

“Just... that I think I’m in love with a villain.” Why not be honest for once?

“That so?” The smile that pulls at the corners of his cracked lips for a moment is so genuine, your heart does a little trick in your chest. You nod, burying the side of your face against the sheets and peeking over at him. “Hm..”

“I don’t know how he feels though-“ you’re silenced by a chaste yet warm kiss on the lips, your eyes closing instinctively as you lean into it without hesitation. For a while you two just kiss, your hands coming up to hold his face as he manoeuvres his arms around you with care. When you do pull back pink and breathless you don’t go far, Shigaraki letting his forehead rest against your own gently.

“...I think- I think, he may love you too...” he replies, almost inaudibly but he may as well have yelled it with how close you both are. You feel your heart leap up into your throat, lips breaking into a grin despite your best effort to keep your face calm.

“You think so?” You whisper back and Shigaraki snickers, snickers, nodding and letting his nose bump against your own.

“I think so.”

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joheun-saram · 4 years

Text

To Make a Power Couple (knj) | 02

Chapter 2 - Pizza and Life Chats

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Summary- Namjoon and Y/N go on their first date, and Namjoon is whipped.

word count- 5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- pg13 for now

genre- series, slow burn, fluff eventual smut, strangers2lovers

warnings- mentions of hangovers and panic attacks, tooth-rottingly fluffy

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sassyuniversitytacopeanut

Last month was hell. He had procrastinated on his songs and none of the vocal guides were even halfway done before the due date. Everytime he tried to finish a song a new one would pop up in his head and he would start on that, leading to a hard drive full of files labelled “finish soon” and “draft”, and a notebook full of scratched out scribbles. It was like his brain had decided to abandon him, deciding it had had enough of his perpetual melancholy. He had felt drained and burnt out, a husk with no creative juices left. Luckily, Yoongi and a few of the producers had taken pity on his stressed out state and lent a hand so he had been able to finish the bare minimum three days ago - before the label pressured him further. He was never more grateful for a small break.

As he brushed his teeth today, he smiled at the mirror. Last month may have been terrible, but last night was one of the best he’d had in the past year.

When he had heard Bang PD’s team talk about how they were attending the charity gala as he met them for notes on his songs, he was intrigued. He had read about this non-profit in the paper before. They seemed to be helping bridge the gap between people through communication and that spoke to him. So much so that he had scrolled through their website multiple times, reading testimonials and almost memorizing the mission statement. They wanted to help kids learn English for free so they could communicate globally. He really liked the idea. It was hard for him to learn the language as a kid and he knew that the only reason he became as fluent as he is from the tutors his parents paid for and his obsession with American television and music. Although he doesn’t need the tutoring anymore, he does enjoy talking to the in-house tutor at the company, John, from time to time and improving his skills. The fact that this company wanted to add a John to every school in Korea starting from the rural areas, made Namjoon want to meet the man behind the movement. Little did he know, he’d be meeting the girl who’d shift his idea of the ideal.

He had never been more glad to have convinced his company to let him and the boys attend an event. He had initially suggested it as a way to break the mundane before their comeback practices started and network while supporting a cause he liked. Two days ago, he wouldn’t have guessed it would be an actual fun night leading to him nursing a headache.

He spent the next hour reliving last night as he showered and caught up on the news. He also read the messages he sent last night over a hundred times and had butterflies each time. Wasn’t he too old for butterflies? He wanted to message you again but everytime he tried, he ended up overthinking it. Everything sounded forced or cheesy, and it was worse than any writer’s block. He threw his phone on the bed in frustration watching it bounce and land on the floor, before he grabbed it and pocketed it. Hopping around to get rid of his nerves, he decided to take a break from rereading the thread he already had memorized and check in with everyone. If his hangover was this bad he can’t imagine theirs.

“How’re you guys feeling this morning?” He asked as he sat across from Yoongi.

“This is why I don’t drink. Why did no one stop me?” Taehyung whined as he rose from the floor to leave, massaging his head.

“Honestly, I owe you big time. She was… amazing. I don’t think I’ve talked to someone that comfortably in a while” Namjoon sighed wistfully.

“I’ll add cupid to my resume,” he deadpanned. “Is she tolerating you for another date?”

“Or you could just ask her how’s her hangover today. Jeez. Do I have to draft each of your messages? Stop being a dumbass and text the person you like.” Yoongi scoffed, clearly over Namjoon’s sudden and uncharacteristic insecurities.

Namjoon gave a resigned sigh as he reached for his phone and wrote out exactly what Yoongi suggested. Hey, he was his hyung for a reason - he had a full 6 months of life experience on him.

Namjoon: Hey! Hope your hangover is not too bad today.

As soon as the message was sent, he started getting nervous. Tapping his foot incessantly while staring at his phone, willing it to buzz, annoying Yoongi enough to leave him alone on the couch in the process.

Y/N: Hi to you too! I actually don’t get hangovers so I’m doing great lol. What about you?

Namjoon: What do you mean you don’t get hangovers?

Y/N: I don’t know. Can’t get dehydrated if you’re always dehydrated!

Namjoon: That… makes no sense. Do I need to start reminding you to drink water?

Y/N: Only if you’re better than this app on my phone…

Namjoon: I can guarantee you I’m better than any app on this planet.

Y/N: Wow. Big claims! We’ll have to put it to the test I suppose.

Y/N: You never told me how you’re feeling. Oh and how’s Taehyung? Is he okay?

Namjoon: He’s doing fine. Made a pact to never drink again and if i’m being honest, I’m going to join him. I am shocked that your head is not exploding as well.

The conversation Monday, however, was fairly sparse, and Namjoon was eager to set up plans for the next day, so that night he decided to call you.

“Hello, this is Y/N” you sounded distant, almost too formal. He felt nervous.

“Hi… uh... this is Namjoon. Is this a bad time?”

“Hi sorry about that! How are you?” He relaxed at your airy tone and smiled.

“I’m good. Are you still at work?”

“Yeah it’s only like 7 so it’s no big deal. I usually leave around 8” Were you serious?

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize I overworked my team. Had to send the troops home” you laughed and Namjoon felt his heart flutter.

“I don’t wanna keep you from going home. I can call you back once you get there” he offered. He felt bad that you were staying in an empty office on his account.

“It’d be pretty boring for you to watch me just type away. Are you sure? It’s pretty late.” He was sure his cheeks would hurt from how wide he smiled.

“It’s not a problem at all. I was going to work tonight too.” He wasn’t. “We can just work together. I’ll bring food. Did you eat yet?” his words tumbled over each other.

“How very college of you.” He could hear you giggling on the line. “Now that I think about it - I’m starving.”

“Okay text me the address, I’ll be there soon.”

He had never been this excited to pretend to work.

____________________________

“You know you’re not half bad!” He exclaimed as he set the pizza on the table, pulling a chair next to yours and settling down.

“Do you think your fake compliments will save you from the fact that you were spying on me?” you asked, crossing your hands across your chest, pretending to scowl but failing to.

“First, real compliment. Second, would pizza save me?” He opened the box and proudly smiled, loving the way your eyes lit up as you reached for a slice.

“Yes it will!” you exclaimed as you took your first bite, lightly moaning at the taste. “But erase that memory from your brain please.”

“Oh I have a proposal due for a meeting tomorrow at noon and I’m only halfway through it.” you frowned wistfully at the screen as if willing it to type on its own.

“Can I help?” He asked, knowing fully well that he couldn’t. He just had an overwhelming urge to make that frown disappear.

“You being here is help enough,” you smiled sincerely as you looked at him and he felt his heart explode, a blush creeping on his cheeks as he smiled bashfully. “What are you working on?”

“I have a few songs I have to finish the lyrics for. Been procrastinating” he rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled out the notebook from his back pocket.

“Promise?” you whispered as he watched your eyes flutter to his lips.

“To kiss you first...” Too impatient to wait for your answer, he brought his lips to yours, relishing how soft they felt under his own. He was thrilled at you returning the kiss, deepening it as you grabbed the collar of his shirt to bring him closer just like you did after the party. He was beginning to think this was your signature move, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t immensely turn him on. He moved his hand cupping your face to rest on your neck and he could feel your heartbeat mimicking his. He put his other hand around your waist pulling you closer, wanting to be as close to you as he could get. He traced his tongue over your lips, his head cloudy with endorphins as you opened your mouth inviting him in. He had never tasted something so euphoric, his tongue exploring yours in a rush.

“Namjoon… Namjoon... slow down” he heard you say breathlessly as he felt a slight push. He looked up at you, your eyes half lidded and lusty as you grabbed his face and brought it to yours. You were sending him mixed signals, but he didn’t care as long as he could keep kissing you.

“I think we need to cool down,” you say as you climb off of his lap. “Let’s go.”

“Lemonade, coke, or water,” you asked as you peered into the fridge.

“You.” He smirked kissing your neck, feeling bold off of the high from your makeout session.

“Joon!” you pretended to sound scandalized as you turned in his arms, smiling warmly. The nickname made his heart swell. It added a familiarity that he didn’t know he missed from you.

“You haven’t called me Joon before. I like it” he smiled as he pecked your lips.

“Yes! Finally! It’s perfect.” you smiled proudly and somehow he felt a wave of pride too. “What about you? Made any progress?”

“Actually yes. I kind of finished my entire week’s writing in that one hour” he was still amazed by his own progress.

“Okay, Mr Overachiever” you joked and he chuckled.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, needing to divert the attention away from his own vulnerabilities.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” Namjoon asked, wanting to drag the night on longer despite it already being almost 2 am.

“Don’t judge me but I actually don’t know how to drive. I was just going to cab back.” he saw you giggle bashfully as you pulled your backpack over your shoulders.

“I’d really like that,” you said as you walked towards the elevators. He held your hand as you both got on, liking the way you moved closer to him at that.

That night laying in bed, his heart felt full as he read your goodnight message. He was sure of it now. He really wanted you in his life.

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

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#bts fic #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts rm scenario #bts scenarios #bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #bts rm #bts namjoon #rm x reader #rm fluff #usersuhdays

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sacred-algae · 4 years

Text

In celebration of The Great Gatsby entering public domian, I would like to publish an essay I wrote a few years back. Because I hate The Great Gatsby with the burning passion of a thousand suns.

A Character Analysis of The Great Gatsby:

Gatsby, Nick and Daisy

“The Great Gatsby” by F. Scott Fitzgerald is often revered as one of the greatest American novels of all time. It makes us take off our rose-colored glasses and look at the rich whom we idolize so much. But are our perspectives of this book also tinted by its title of the great American novel? We are often misdirected in this book to forget many important quotes that change the way we look at the main characters completely. Authors make sure that everything in the book has a purpose. If it was included, it’s important and shouldn't be ignored. Readers often place certain expectations on the characters due to its high status, however, this paper will show that the characters in question are not as they are commonly perceived, whether good or bad, and explore the complex writing behind the characters, Nick, Gatsby, and Daisy.

Although Nick Carraway is seen by many for who he is, arrogant and judgemental, they still miss out on the bigger picture. He glorifies violence and he is a cheater. The problem with Nick and the book is that rather than the book being written by Fitzgerald, it is written by Nick. Because of this, we see him in a glorified manner. The first few lines of the book show this. “In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.” (pg. 3) Using the words “younger”, “vulnerable” and even “father” he immediately ensures that we have his sympathy. He does the same thing again later, and more directly, at the very end of chapter three. “Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.” (pg. 65) This is where most people begin to see his true self shine through. However, it should be seen much earlier. In chapter one he mentions something very sinister. “I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe” (pg. 5) Nick says directly to the reader that he enjoyed WWI. Only second to WWII (85,000,000 or 3% of the entire world’s population), WWI is the bloodiest war in world history with a death toll of 16,000,000. 40,000,000 if you include deaths resulting from the Spanish Flu. (statistics from Wikipedia) For someone to enjoy being at war there has to be something majorly wrong with them. Not only that but it can be said with near certainty that Nick was cheating on a girl out west when he had his fling with Jordan. In chapter one after dinner with the Buchanans this conversation tasks place. “As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called ‘Wait! ‘I forgot to ask you something, and it’s important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West.’ ‘That’s right,’ corroborated Tom kindly. ‘We heard that you were engaged.’ ‘It’s libel. I’m too poor.’ ‘But we heard it,’ insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like way. ‘We heard it from three people so it must be true.’” (pg. 23) For there to be rumors that someone is engaged with someone else it has to be commonly known that they are in a relationship. Nick is a severely flawed, if not evil, character.

Many people strive to be like Jay Gatsby, with his charm and “extraordinary gift for hope.” Even then, the biggest argument of the book is whether or not he truly loves Daisy. Most clues point to no. Gatsby even remarks that “‘Her voice is full of money,’” (pg. 128). He sees her as a prize to be won. He chases her, she’s the final thing he needs to have his perfect life. And during a flashback to his first kiss with her, right before the iconic passage where “she blossomed for him like a flower,” Fitzgerald describes his desire for her like this: “The quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the darkness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalk really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees—he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder.” Possibly the most frightening passage in the book. It sounds like some bestial craving. But that is just his relationship with Daisy. Tom accuses him of bootlegging. “‘I found out what your ‘drug stores’ were.’ He turned to us and spoke rapidly. ‘He and this Wolfshiem bought up a lot of side-street drug stores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the counter. That’s one of his little stunts. I picked him for a bootlegger the first time I saw him and I wasn’t far wrong.’” (pg.143) We never are told explicitly that this is true but it is left to the reader to decide this. And there is plenty of evidence. When Gatsby is giving Daisy a tour of the mansion we hear him on his side of a phone call. “...the phone rang and Gatsby took up the receiver. ‘Yes…. Well, I can’t talk now…. I can’t talk now, old sport…. I said a SMALL town…. He must know what a small town is…. Well, he’s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town….’” (pg. 100-101) This again isn't explicit but why would the person in question be of no use to him if they think that Detroit is a small town? They need a small town. If it is a big one it is easier for the police to track his business. And after Gatsby dies Nick answers another business call. “...said Chicago was calling...‘This is Slagle speaking....’ ‘Yes?’ The name was unfamiliar. ‘Hell of a note, isn’t it? Get my wire?’ ‘There haven’t been any wires.’ ‘Young Parke’s in trouble,’ he said rapidly. ‘They picked him up when he handed the bonds over the counter. They got a circular from New York giving ‘em the numbers just five minutes before. What d’you know about that, hey? You never can tell in these hick towns——‘ ‘Hello!’ I interrupted breathlessly. ‘Look here—this isn’t Mr. Gatsby. Mr. Gatsby’s dead.’” This is a hint towards Gatsby making money selling counterfeit bonds. A business that he tried to recruit Nick too. “‘Why, I thought—why, look here, old sport, you don’t make much money, do you?’ ‘Not very much.’ This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently. ‘I thought you didn’t, if you’ll pardon my—you see, I carry on a little business on the side, a sort of sideline, you understand. And I thought that if you don’t make very much—You’re selling bonds, aren’t you, old sport?’ ‘Trying to.’ ‘Well, this would interest you. It wouldn’t take up much of your time and you might pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to be a rather confidential sort of thing.’” (pg. 88-89) Why is it confidential? Because it’s illegal. Not only is Gatsby’s relationship with Daisy toxic, but he is a mobster. This in itself isn’t problematic, but people may have died because of him, and the book shies past this point.

Daisy Buchanan is hated by most people who read the book. It is said that she is shallow and arrogant. This is a look to the surface. First, it is important to understand Daisy and Tom’s ages. When the book takes place Daisy is 23, Tom is 30. Making Daisy 18 and Tom 25 at the time they were married. While she is legal this marriage is incredibly creepy. She is stuck in a marriage with a racist, cheating, borderline abusive husband. And she knows this. Even then she is brave enough to call him out (and mock him) on his racism in chapter one at dinner. “‘Tom’s getting very profound,’ said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. ‘He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we——‘ ‘Well, these books are all scientific,’ insisted Tom…” (pg. 16) She’s trapped in a situation where she has no control. She tries to reclaim her life through Gatsby but she quickly learns that he isn’t different. “‘Please don’t.’ Her voice was cold, but the rancour was gone from it. She looked at Gatsby. ‘There, Jay,’ she said— but her hand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet. ‘Oh, you want too much!’ she cried to Gatsby. ‘I love you now—isn’t that enough? I can’t help what’s past.’ She began to sob helplessly. ‘I did love him once—but I loved you too.’” (pg. 141-142). Daisy lives in a society where women are seen and not heard. She knows this but still does what she can to speak for herself. She is incredibly smart. People don’t give her enough credit. Take the iconic line, “Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.’” (pg. 20)

She is smart enough to see what is happening around her and it breaks her, that's why she wants her daughter to be a fool. She’ll never have to question it, she’ll never know it, she’ll always be happy.

“The Great Gatsby” indeed is a great book. One with deeply complex characters. But we need to take a second look at them, not just accept what others tell us. Because of its high status, the characters of “The Great Gatsby” are often subject to preconceived notions, through discussing and analyzing quotes in the book you can begin to see both sides of Nick, Gatsby, and Daisy. When we see someone say something about them, or any person, or anything, question it. As the great Albert Einstein once said-“The important thing is to never stop questioning.”

We need to stop idolizing Nick and Gatsby, and stop victim blaming Daisy. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

#the great gatsby #Scott f Fitzgerald #I hate this book #and everyone in it #*except Daisy #excuse my rant #and the possible crappy essay #not my best work #but yes #i hate this book

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yoongiverse · 4 years

Text

hireath

(noun) a homesickness to a home which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was, the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

summary: when home no longer feels like “home”

pairing: yoongi x female!reader

genre: angst and lots of it

rating: sfw

word count: 1.8k

warnings: foul language, very sad yoongi

index: bolded marks the date and time, bolded and italicized marks a flashback with the date and time, (e/c) means “eye color,” (y/n) means “your name,”

song: when i was your man by bruno mars

author’s note: this was originally a levi ackerman fic but because i stopped writing for the attack on titans fandom, i’ve since then decided to change the character to be yoongi! the prompt of this came from ! please enjoy… unless you’ve read it already

december fifteenth, two thousand twenty

eleven forty-eight p.m

after what seems to be millions of years, yoongi comes home from work. being an idol at bighit entertainment was not an easy job. he’s either dancing his ass off with the rest of the members in the dance practice room, having photo shoots for god knows what, producing more songs than he can count on his hands, for fucks sake he’s just over worked with whatever the hell the company throws his way.

walking into his decently sized condo, yoongi slides off his heavy winter jacket and places it into the shoe/jacket cabinet that was ever so placed in probably the best spot ever, right next to the front door. following his jacket, he slides off his work shoes and places them on their designated spot.

now free from the constricting clothes, he walks into his study to place his bag down, which was full of the songs lyrics he didn’t manage to finish because he was way too damn busy doing some other shit that bang pd made him do. weirdly enough, yoongi doesn’t immediately launch into the comfort of his bed; instead, he walks out of his study and into his living room, which lies a very comfy white couch.

instead of sitting down on the couch like a normal person, his gaze lingers on the very prominent dent on one of the couch seats, and right next to it is another dent,

before, the couch was a safe haven, meant for two bodies cuddling closer in the harsh winter temperatures, but now, the white couch is barren holding onto the memories of him and his significant other.

december fifteenth, two thousand eighteen

ten twenty-five p.m

very prominent spells of laughter echo through the living room of yoongi’s condo. here he was laying down on the white couch with his girlfriend (y/n).

“yoongi, stop!” yells his dear girlfriend of two years as he places small, fleeting butterfly kisses down the side of her neck. to (y/n) and even yoongi himself, as something as simple as placing small kisses down her neck, it was a big surprise to both of them since yoongi never acted so openly loving.

never did it cross yoongi’s mind that he would ever have a girlfriend, yet here he is. for someone as busy and straightforward as him, he always thought that people would never love him, much less like him, but somehow, fate always seems to surprise. for some reason, that thought always seemed to cross his mind ever so often and it just so happened to make yoongi have such an urge to kiss her that he did.

“babe,” yoongi begins, ceasing his kisses to his and her dismay. calming down, she looks down at him, curiosity gleaming throughout her beautiful (e/c) eyes. ever so quietly yoongi says “i love you,” and proceeds to hold onto her tighter while stuffing his red kissed cheeks into her shoulder.

with her heart so full, she responds back with “i love you too yoongi, so much,” and hugs him back with all her might.

present

breaking away from his trance, he scoffs at nothing in particular and walks past the couch to the kitchen. within a few steps from the couch, he makes it into his semi-used kitchen.

he really never had the time to use the kitchen since he was always coming home late and eating mediocre takeout food. but over the past few years, the kitchen seemed to be a place to wind down.

looking around the counter tops, he notices the little details floating around. he noticed the small container of sugar next to his coffee maker. the sugar definitely did not belong to him, he fucking hated sugar in his coffee and was an avid black coffee drinker. he also noticed the coffee mugs with stupid sayings like “a.m juice” and “dwight you ignorant slut” placed around the counter tops of his kitchen, and for sure those mugs did not belong to him.

he then notices the very lonely ring placed on the counter top placed on top of a pink sticky note. a single “i’m sorry yoongi” is all that is written.

moving slowly and with a blank mind, he takes the ring and simply admires where it came from.

august fifth, two thousand nineteen

four thirty-two a.m

“(y/n),” is all he says as he stops walking. behind him, tree leaves are blowing softly through the wind, chirping birds creating a song that he’ll never understand. people clear of the surrounding area, it truly was just him and her.

“yoongi?” she questions, turning around in what seems to be the most beautiful manner yoongi has ever seen. her hair lightly billowing behind her, her dress ruffling from the wind, and her eyes so clear, brightly gleaming towards his.

it was clear to her that yoongi was extremely nervous, something quite shocking to her as yoongi was somehow a professional at hiding his emotions. so to ease his nervousness, she places a soft hand on his bicep. this causes his downcast eyes to meet hers as yoongi brings his dark chocolate eyes up.

with a sigh, he composes himself and manages out “(y/n), i’m not the best when it comes to giving what you want. i don’t give you the hugs or kisses that you want. i don’t always give you the words you want. honestly, i don’t give you anything that you want. but you stayed with me. you stayed with me even through the tour even when i wasn’t there with you. even through it all, you’re still with me. and even if i don’t show it, you mean so much to me. you are the very reason why i am here today, you’re my rock, you’re my home. and i know i don’t say this enough, but i love you so much. i love you so much that i want to stay with you forever.”

he pauses as he goes on to take the black, velvet box out of his jacket pocket and kneels on one knee.

“will you marry me?”

present

he swallows back the pain and walks away heading to his bedroom. he opens the door to his bedroom and continues to walk to his closet. he debates on what to wear, ultimately deciding to wear a black t-shirt with matching sweats to shield himself from the winter’s cold.

with his newly acquired clothes, he walks into the bathroom dismissing the clear doubles of everything. the blatant fact that there are two toothbrushes, two cups, and nearly two of everything, leaves his thoughts quicker than they came in.

without paying too much mind he quickly changes into said clothes and walks out padding over to the bed, finally hoping he can relieve the stresses of the day.

walking over to the right side of the bed, he takes the covers and lifts them up giving him the opportunity to slip under. gazing to the other side, he notices the emptiness of it clearly remembering the times that the space next to him wasn’t empty.

without him wanting to, his steel eyes take in the lack of a body that no longer lays with him, memories flowing back up to his conscience.

january nineteenth, twenty seventeen

ten forty-three p.m

“you ready to go to bed yoongi?” (y/n) asks from the door frame of his study. pointing his gaze up to his girlfriend and admires her choice of clothing. all she wears is a shirt way too big that is definitely his and shorts that are way too short, but he doesn’t care.

“hm, i’m coming, head off to bed first. i’ll be there shortly.” he returns back without bringing his gaze towards her. he hears her pad off to the bedroom.

yoongi then begins finishing up his last piece of his song, as he starts organizing his studio desk, putting his headphones back where they belong on his stand, pushing his mic back into its own little corner, and most importantly saving the file before closing the browser.

once he deems the papers to be organized enough, he turns off the light as he walks out of his study and into the bedroom. let me just say, the view that he sees when he walks in should be painted because damn she was cute.

she was cutely holding onto his side of the bed, it was as if she was trying to catch his scent. her legs were tangled between the comforter and tucked up to her chest, hair splayed out behind her, hands placed so gently by her face grasping yoongi’s pillow.

snapping out of his thoughts, he walks over to his side of the bed. carefully, he lifts (y/n) up and wraps her legs around his torso. now, in the comfort of his wonderful bed and his significant other, he feels all of the stress and tension leave his body.

with a sigh, he takes a quick glance at the girl hugging his chest and places a quick kiss on her forehead. “goodnight (y/n),” he whispers.

“i love you,” he finally says.

present

quickly, he turns over, no longer facing the empty side of the bed, not wanting to deal with the fact that the love of his life is absent from their bed.

“she’s gone.”

“she never loved me.”

“where did i go wrong?”

“i wasn’t a good enough fiance.”

“i wasn’t good enough.”

he kept chanting over and over again in his head. spiraling through his mind were all the things that he’s done wrong as a boyfriend and the things he should’ve done. everything and anything bad floated through his mind, making him feel like such a shitty person for how he treated you.

now, yoongi was a man of action, never was he able to clearly speak out his emotions and the thoughts floating through his mind. it seemed to him and others that his actions were very simple, never really portraying his love for her.

(y/n) always seemed to understand. she never cared, every action yoongi did no matter how small they were, she understood the weight of them. she simply understood him, unlike everybody else he’s come into contact with.

but, he’s lost her. she’s no longer his. she’s no longer here.

she’s gone.

to yoongi, the weight of those words brings him down further than he’s ever been. it brings him down so far, a lone tear escapes his eye.

more and more escape his eyes and he doesn’t even notice it, too caught up in his thoughts to even notice. soon enough, he’s sobbing quietly in the expanse of his lonely room.

time passes and he’s on the brink of falling asleep with tears still damp on his cheek. right before he falls into slumber, he whispers out:

“i’m sorry (y/n)”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fan fiction #bts x reader #bangtan x reader #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #agust d x reader #min yoongi x reader #myg x reader #yoongi angst #suga angst #agust d angst #bts angst #myg angst #agustd x reader

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takerfoxx · 3 years

Text

Jurassic Park 4: Doki Idol Live Festival!

magic5ball submitted:

Remember how you asked me about my idea for a Jurassic Park sequel? Well, here you go:

The two velociraptors stood outside a pastel colored town house in Hokkaido prefecture, Japan. If any passerbys thought that was weird, they certainly didn’t show it. Probably because the raptors were wearing fedoras and fake mustaches, so they looked like humans. Also they had guns. Very cool, very intimidating mobster guns. A tommy gun and a sawed-off shotgun, respectively.

You needed guns, to survive Shinzo Abe’s little empire of vice and socialized medical care.

“So this is the place, huh?” muttered the velociraptor carrying the sawed-off shotgun. His thick Brooklyn accent hung in the air like concrete. “Kinda… frillier than I was expecting.”

“It better be.” Replied his companion, who sounded like your racist conservative uncle trying to impersonate that one cool guy from ‘The Godfather’ (You know, the one with the mustache who was played by Robert de Niro). “We hadda kill a whole lotta people to get this hellhole.”

Sawed-off shotgun licked his non-existent lizard lips

“But hey. That airplane stewardess tasted mighty fine goin-“

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, would ya stop thinkin’ with your stomach and help me with this f*ckin’ knob!” cried tommy gun, trying to work the doorknob best he could with his raptor claws, which, in all honesty, wasn’t much, because raptor claws are terrible at operating things meant for human fingers. Little did he know, the door was a ‘pull’, not a ‘push.

At least he didn’t have to wait long before someone unlocked the door from the other side: another velociraptor, this one a bit on the short side. And p!ssed. Very, very p!ssed. You could tell he was the cool one because he wore an eyepatch over one eye. An eyepatch with a Captain Underpants logo on it.

“Didn’t your parent’s ever teach you idiots about using the doorbell?! I was just about to enjoy lunch with my beautiful wife and you-!“

He paused, recognizing the two figures facing him.

“Well, well, well” Said tommy gun, cocking his weapon “If it isn’t SWEET JOHN HAMMOND’S BALLSACK WHAT THE F*CK AM I LOOKING AT?!”

For the cool raptor was dressed in a gothic Lolita maid outfit, complete with a bonnet and penny loafers. Under his arm he carried a human sized pillow depicting what appeared to be a blonde floozy with massive tits.

“Oh this? This is Mami Tomoe, my beautiful wife.”

“WHAT THE F*CK!?!?” Tommy gun pulled out a flask off orange Fanta from his butthole and drank the whole thing in one go. He did NOT have time for this homosexual weeaboo nonsense! Still, he and shotgun hadn’t left a mountain of corpses the exact height and width as Mt. Fuji behind them. Too many to go back to Isla Nublar empty handed. Er, clawed. Because they were dinosaurs. Who have claws.

Shotgun took a deep breath. “What the Boss means to say is, ‘May we take refuge in this fine establishment?’”

Cool raptor opened his mouth to reveal a pistol he’d hidden there. And by hidden I mean replaced his tongue with it.

“You know, for all crap you guys used to give me in the past, I oughta pump you full of lead right here and now. Buuutttt… the lady of the house is present, and I’m not in the mood to create more work on her end. So come on in! You’re just in time for lunch.”

Lest they attract unneeded attention, the three dinosaurs hopped inside.

. . .

Lunch was omurice boba tea with a bottle of teriyaki sauce on the side. It was just boba tea, but the boba had been replaced by omurice because F-Bomb hated the flavor of boba, which he likened to rabbit crap. The teriyaki sauce was teriyaki sauce.

It was the most racist thing shotgun had ever eaten.

“Well, now that you jerks have gotten a taste of my sloppy seconds, I suppose some introductions are in order. You’ve already met my lovely wife” Cool raptor gestured to the body pillow seated next to him “So that leaves you two. Mami, meet A-Hole and D-Bag. A-Hole’s got the tommy gun, D-Bag is ridin’ her sawed off shotgun, as always. They’re old… acquaintances of mine.”

“He.” Corrected D-Bag. “I’ve been using he/him pronouns six months now.”

“Well that’s an improvement. Now instead of bein’ the Boss’ side B!tch literally, you’re just his b!tch figuratively!”

“Well screw you too, F-Bomb!” laughed the boss. “An’ speakin’ of screwing, what’s with the fruity get up? You a prostitute now or something?”

“Even better! This might surprise you, but I’ve got legitimate work now. This here’s my uniform, my uniform for MILF TIDDIES!”

A-Hole chugged his entire bottle of teriyaki sauce in one go, lest his mind implode from the sheer stupidity of that sentence.

“The Hell’s a milf tiddie!?”

“Only the best freakin’ maid café in Hoikaido, hookers!”

He gestured to a wall, covered in hundreds of photos of cute floozies dressed like they were attending a vampire’s funeral. Among them was a photo of F-Bomb in his drag, serving a deep fried hot dog to some elderly Japanese dude.

“As you can see, yours truly is serving Japan’s national desert to none other than 57th Prime Minister of Japan Shinzo Abe!”

“Hold it up. Youse been hobnobbing it with politicians?!”

“I wish! You’re thinking of Shinzo Abe, 57th Prime Minister of Japan. This guy is his twin brother. Still pretty sweet though. We DID win a Grammy for that, after all.”

A-Holes eyes bulged out of his scaly raptor head.

“YOUSE WON A GRAMMY FOR THAT?!”

“Dang right! Milf Tiddies has won sixteen Grammys since I started working there!” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. A very special piece of paper, if the six holes punched into it were any indication. “Did you know that if you win ten Grammys in a row, they give you a free orphan? That’s how the wife and I got our glorious daughter, Lil’ Nagisa!”

F-Bomb pulled a faded photo out of his wallet. A photo showing himself, his pillow wife, and a smaller body pillow of a ten-year-old moeblob wearing a Green Bay Packers cheesehead helmet.

“So youse couldn’t even conceive your own kid?” Inquired D-Bag sexily. He was munching his omurice slowly, so F-Bomb knew he was being serious.

“Are you implying I have sex with my own wife, you sick freak?! I’m a weeaboo, not some degenerate anime fanboy! Get it straight!” He instinctively cocked the pistol in his throat. It was awesome as hell.

In response, D-Bag pumped his shotgun. Loudly.

“Permission to put the sick freak out of his misery, Boss?”

“Firstly, don’t call me Boss when we’re not having anal sex. Second, no can do, my spicy lover. We need F-Bomb alive.”

F-Bomb heard all of this even though A-Hole whispered it, but he pretended not to make A-Hole feel clever.

D-Bag mumbled about how the Boss was lucky he was so mind blowing in the sack, otherwise he would have left the relationship long ago. The sack in this case being a really kinky sex dungeon. Like really kinky. So kinky even Donald Trump wouldn’t go within a mile of it. D-Bag had almost died of autoerotic asphyxiation more times than I’ve gone to the bathroom in my lifetime. That’s why he was the smartest dinosaur out of the three of them. Now where was I again?

Anyway, F-Bomb interrogated

“Alright guys, what’s the deal? I know folks who come to this socialized medical care infested hellhole, and they don’t come here just to eat omurice boba tea. You WANT me for something.”

He cocked his mouth-pistol again. Sparks flew all over the carpet, which was made of alpaca fur so it didn’t catch fire.

A-Hole scandalously kept his cool.

“It’s about Isla Nublar.”

The second those words left A-Hole’s lips, F-Bomb escorted his wife out of the kitchen, but leaned her against the kitchen door, because that’s what she would have wanted.

“Well what about it? I told ya guys, I’m done with that dump.”

“They’re puttin’ the screws on us, F-Bomb. Making us pay for eating those tourists back in the nineties.”

“And what makes you think I care? Like I said, I’m done with that place. I got a wife and kid now.”

“But F-Bomb, doesn’t the Park mean ANYTHING to ya!? What about the time we ate that park ranger that called you a girl? ‘Better than sex’ I recall you saying.”

“Nice try, but I’m not exactly in the mood to get misgendered again. Don’t you guys got any ideas that don’t involve me?”

“As a matter of fact, yours truly had this really spectacular one!”

D-Bag did a hand gesture wherein he constantly crossed his dinosaur claws across his throat rapidly in quick succession. A-Hole, being very smart, knew this meant he should continue, loudly enough so that everyone in the prefecture could hear.

“It was called ‘Trump Ballz’. We’d harvest Donald Trump’s testicles, see, and sell them to the highest bidder, so they could do whatever people do with lopped off testicles. I’m not one to judge. It was a terrific idea. I know because when I told my best friend Donald Trump about it, he said, ‘A-Hole, this is an incredible idea. Absolutely terrific! This is probably the best idea in America! You are very smart, very intelligent dinosaur! I oughta buy you a prostitute!’ Of course, we didn’t realize that Trump’s ballz don’t grow back when you lop them off. Did you know that by the way? Human testicles don’t grow back-“

F-Bomb cocked the pistol inside his throat gain, getting the Boss to shut up. This was probably the most heroic thing anyone had ever done in the history of the universe. He also asked a question:

“SO WHAT THE HECK DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ME?!”

A-Hole vomited a severed arm and a pamphlet onto the table.

“EVERYTHING, ya WEEB trash!”

The pamphlet was for something called the Doki Idol Live Fest- DILF, for short. F-Bomb was no stranger to the DILF, but they had parted ways years ago. Six, to be exact, when he had buried Nico Yazawa’s still screaming corpse by the side of the highway. And neither was he stranger to the prize.

It looked like a beer and soda drinking baseball cap, but only to complete idiots who didn’t know crap about the Idol Life.

And F-Bomb wasn’t one of those people, er dinosaurs.

“THE MCGUFFIN OF SIN?!”

“Dam* straight! And like it or not, youse the only one with enough idol know-how to help us win it! Thing’s worth, like, a zillion dollars.”

A zillion in this case was equivalent to half a million. Still, isn’t that impressive?

F-Bomb stuck his nose in his omurice and snorted, a common intimidation tactic among velociraptors. I know because I read it in the Scientific American.

“Sorry, guys, but even with that on the line, no can do. I’m DONE with the Idol Life, any I’m not letting you filthy casuals drag me back in.” He cocked the pistol in his throat. “NOW SCRAM!”

A-Hole and D-Bag jumped out a window, so they could get the jump on a feral dog humping its’ owner. Nobody realized they were dinosaurs because of their fake mustaches, so it looked like a pair of mobsters were eating a puppy.

When they were gone, F-Bomb pranced to the bathroom, which was filled with plush alpacas he had collected over the years. So many, in fact, the bathroom did not meet OSHA compliance. Which was why F-Bomb had made it an independent nation state, only to realize that OSHA didn’t apply to him anyway, since he lived in Japan.

He had felt really stupid after that, but at least he got his own country out of it.

Anyway, he vomited sixteen liters of blood into the sink, for F-Bomb had a secret: he was dying. Back when he was a fetus in an egg in a lab on some island in the Caribean, he’d become addicted to the illegal street drug known as WEEB, and frequent use had poisoned his lungs. The doctors had given him Socialized Medical Care and four more years to live. The WEEB had taken eighty years off his life. Socialized Medical Care had borrowed his lawnmower and never given it back.

But F-Bomb also had a dream: he and his wife were going to build their own maid café, and it would be even better than MILF Tiddies. He’d already picked a title: DILF Tiddies, and it was going to be the greatest food-selling establishment in the history of Japan. Omurice boba tea was going to go global. But he’d never get the funds on time, not on his meager salary. Unless…

His beautiful wife greeted him as he exited the bathroom.

“Get a pen and some razor blades, sweetgums. I’ve got a letter to send.”

. . .

The message arrived in the neck of a mailman’s severed head. This is the traditional way velociraptors send letters to each other. I read it in a book.

D-Bag didn’t see the letter, but the look on A-Hole’s face told him everything.

“What’d I tell ya, D-Bag? Like I always say, when you’re dino you’re dino all the way, till youse dead in the ground or youse come out as gay!”

“Yeah, we really need to update those lyrics.”

End Chapter 1

...I cannot for the life of me decide if this is the greatest thing I've ever seen or the worst, but it at the very least had me staring speechless at my computer screen for a long time.

#submission #jurassic park #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm #well then

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positivecorrelation · 4 years

Text

“I hope that it's enough Is it enough?”

“Before you came around I was lost and out of place You're the only love I found and I'm hoping that you'll stay”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Colson & Marshall decide to be in relationship, it doesn't go smooth at first. Mostly cause they've this sense of betrayal. Both believe that the other is taking advantage of the other. Yet they want to stay in this relationship.

They're always tip toeing around each other. There are times when Colson tries to start a conversation and says something silly and Em always give him a smile but the moment Colson looks away, that smile drops and frown appears, and Em wonders, does he want to bring my guards down? Should I be cautious about smiling around him? Colson on the other hand goes through similar doubts like, did he really want to smile? Does he really hear what I say?

It's not easy for them to trust anyone but deep inside they still want to trust each other. It's a slow process.

But from where did this sense betrayal came from?

In Marshall's case, those sneak disses, along with the line "when your idols become your rivals" have left an impact on his mind. He had seen Colson's interviews and songs before the beef but never imagined Colson to have such a reaction. In fact, he never wanted 'MGK' to solely face the whole wrath. He truly wanted others to come out of their hiding places.

Colson felt betrayed because he really wanted to be on Shade45 and possibly become a member of shady records and leave Diddy's hell. When that didn't happen and constant tweets and DMs failed, he tried other methods and when those worked, he made a last effort to talk to the guy but that didn't go so well as he had planned. Nevertheless, others don't need to know or believe but he still respects Marshall.

The beef might be over but this sense of betrayal still lingers.

They want to commit fully into this relationship yet they feel the other might leave them one day, that the other one is not serious about this thing between them. That the betrayal has already taken a toll on the other's senses and they're just waiting for the right time to say 'I hate you'.

They both fail to realize that, it was the beef that brought them close. Unknowingly both have played their parts to bring each other into this relationship. Instead they wait for the other shoe to drop.

Love grows, so does the silly jokes and smiles. Hugs, cuddles and kisses were bound to follow.

They make all kinds of effort to make each other happy. Buying expensive but thoughtful gifts. Since the day Colson has uttered the words that he likes flowers, Em makes it sure that everyday he gifts Colson a flower. Whether he's at home, on tour or in the studio, each day a different flower, just for Colson, and if Marshall's at home he makes sure that its him who gives Colson the flower of the day.

Marshall in return gets a different kind of gift which sometimes also works as a reward for letting Colson win at certain games. Colson loves to hug Marshall. Once a self proclaimed Stan and now possibly life partner, Colson feels Marshall enjoy hugs more than kisses. So everyday, whenever Em hands him a flower or leaves for the studio, Colson hugs him to his heart's content.

The sense of betrayal slowly but surely starts to fade away.

From enemies to lovers, they've come a long way.

Yet they still wait for the other to give them a sign. They want to make sure that they're each other's forever.

Its Colson who breaks first.

He begins to notice that Marshall is spending more and more time in the studio or at home office. He knows Em has a strict routine of devoting his time at studio but this is different. At first he ignores but then Marshall misses a few dinners, forgets to give him his daily good morning kiss and even hugs halfheartedly. Colson is hurt. He never voices them but he feels miserable, that sense of betrayal starts to reappear.

However, unlike his other relationships, he makes a final effort. Instead of simply leaving or confronting Marshall with bitter words, he decides to speak his heart out.

Like any other day, when Em hands him the flower, Colson takes it but the moment Em tries to go back to his home office, Colson grabs ahold of one of Marshall's hands. Em, without any hesitation turns back and waits.

He knows the end has come so he keeps his face devoid of any expression. He can see Colson’s wearing his hoodie. He can clearly see that the guy is trying to compose himself and maybe repeating the words in his head to say them in one go, so he waits.

Colson just keeps on looking at the flower. It's a white rose. A white flag, he supposes. Nodding to himself while still holding Em's hand, Colson looks up from the flower and into Marshall's beautiful blue eyes.

The words simply refuse to come out but he refuses to back down. He feels like this might be his karma for never taking any relationship seriously.

Not wanting a repeat case of what had happened during the whole beef, also fearing that Marshall might take his hand back or god forbid, take away his chance to talk, he begins to speak;

"You know... I don't want you to think...I just...For the past few weeks... F**K". Colson's voice breaks. Who thought it will be this difficult to speak his mind? He can see Marshall's still waiting patiently for him to just...

Taking a deep breath he tries again and finally pushes himself to say the words.

"I don't want to run our relationship on fumes, Em. I might've never told you but you mean a lot to me, more than I can ever explain. Even if I don't mean that much to you, whenever I hold you, I know you'll hold me back. I cared, still care and will continue to care about you. I genuinely care about your opinions, your likes and dislikes.

Everything about you is important to me.

I fell for you Marshall, do you get that? Please, please just put me out of my misery and tell me, do you feel the same way too?"

Colson takes a moment to simply memorize the face, the man who means too much to him. He needs to say the rest of the words...

"You've ignored me in the past and that had hurt me Marshall, You may not believe it but it did hurt, a lot. I swear to you when I say I cannot go through that again because its tearing me up inside Em, and this time I may not...

So please...just... please tell me, do you even love me... the way I love you?"

Marshall can clearly see, Colson is trying his best to not break down. There's tears glistening in his eyes. Em's throat close up, he didn't want to do this but now he has no choice. He takes out a sheet of folder paper from his hoodie's pocket and hands it to Colson. He can clearly see there is confusion in Colson's eyes but without much delay the younger one takes it.

Colson feels reluctant to give up, he keeps holding Em's hand cause he need answers and this feel like a joke but he keeps his patience and tries to unfold the paper with one hand.

It finally unfolds.

The first thing Colson notices is that the page mostly filled with doodles, some lines maybe lyrics that have been crossed out.

"So that's it? That's his answer? Is this his parting gift?" Colson cannot help but wonder.

That old feeling of betrayal comes rushing at the forefront of his mind. His vision becomes blurry. He can feel his hope is taking its last few breaths,his treacherous heart begins to ache.

A few lines catches his eyes so he decides to just read them and be done with it. His breath gets caught in his throat. He's not sure what he’s just read. He wants to be absolutely sure.

So reads them again...and again...and again...

"You are my heartbeat, Without you my heart never settles, My eyes may bleed but their search for you is A tale I wanna tell.

Should I name it, 'Reckless'? Cause it's endless, might Call me shameless but baby You're mine and I wanna be yours and I promise you, my darling, This love is so pure cause Damn! I'm feeling secure.

But be aware, if you decide to Leave me one day and Cross a thousand oceans

Call it Shady or simple madness,

I swear to you, my darling, I'll bring you ashore."

After reading it for what feels like a millionth times, Colson finally looks back up at Marshall and this time he cannot keep the tears at bay. But Em cannot have that, so he tugs him closer and holds him tight.

He doesn't want to break the beautiful moment but he's feeling so relieved that he pulls back. He needs Colson to know and truly understand that he's very serious about this... them...this whole relationship thing.

"I hope this answers all your questions cause you've already answered mine. This is a rough draft but you'll get the final product on your birthday and sweetheart... the whole world will witness it too."

Marshall tries to put all the love he feels for Colson, in those words. So the moment he finishes his confession, Colson slams into him and just hug him tight. He tries to laugh and kiss and bury himself simultaneously in Em's neck; he wants to surround himself with only Marshall... his Em.

Marshall in return, softly kisses Colson's forehead, before hugging him even closer. Its feels good to be loved, really loved. To be in love without any fear; and so for the first time in a long time, Em finally, without any doubt or hesitation, smiles.

#EMGK #Float your boat #Made it a single post for your reading pleasure #I'm no rapper or poet

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moonlightwinterdxxix · 4 years

Note

Awkward brotherly babysitting or pet sitting with Ichimatsu and Choromatsu for the Bits of my Brothers? (And can I say that I'm LOVING your works so far??? The Ventriloquist Vengeance is a story I never knew I needed ajsdlkasf)

Ahhh! Thank so much for the kind words! It means so much to me and I’m glad you’re enjoying it!

This is honestly the first time I’m writing a request, and I hope you like what I’ve managed to make. So without further ado, Nenchuu up the bat!! 💚💜☺️😒

~~~

When Choromatsu lifted the dirty diaper off his face, his eyes went wide. Any horror he would’ve felt beforehand was now a tidal wave of utmost defeat, and he wanted to collapse and freak out and tear each and every strand of hair off his head. But he held back from the sensation, and gulped instead, tossing the diaper to the ground.

The kitten tilted its head at him.

This was a sign, and a bad one. One worse than Osomatsu humiliating him in front of Nyaa-chan, one worse than being identified fapping when he was certain he was alone, one worse than dyeing his hair brown and having everyone see him. No, it was worse than all of that—so much worse. And if anything was worse than that, it was being dead and in heaven, but being discovered having man-woman privacy with one of the guardian angels. Lucifer wasn’t going to be alone there in hell anymore.

No. This dilemma of Choromatsu Matsuno wasn’t that he had a baby’s diaper that spoke and stunk of turd on his face—it was that there was a kitten in front of him. And where cats were involved, so was Ichimatsu.

Putting one-plus-one together, that meant Ichimatsu was home.

And the reason that Choromatsu even had a baby with him was because he was as sure as hell that he was spending his day at home, on his own.

And as if heaven already hated him and his luck couldn’t get any worse, the baby started crying.

Loudly, like a marching band that had been constructed out of chaos. It flailed its small arms so energetically that Jyushimatsu was given competition. It’s wails were higher than Choromatsu’s voice went when he was at an idol concert. The baby cried like its little life depended on it, but as Choromatsu stood there dumbfounded, he couldn’t blame it. He wanted to wail if it meant his life would be saved too.

Choromatsu flinched so hard that every hair in his body stood. He quickly scrambled towards the baby on the couch and cradled it in his arms, trying to calm it down as best as he could before the devil incarnate himself arrived in the room. But with how fruitless his efforts were, and how much louder the baby was becoming, he was only going to be met with failure. He wanted to accompany the baby in its crying, but knowing that it was Ichimatsu that was going to discover the unfortunate corner he had dragged himself towards, he fought for composure.

He continued to sway the baby with a little lullaby that was off-key. It made the baby cry even more.

Then came Ichimatsu’s footsteps. Choromatsu waited for the comment that would run him to the ground, but it never came. A minute or so passed, but it never came. So in his own curiosity and dread, he urged himself to spin his head to the direction of the door, meeting his eyes with Ichimatsu’s.

Ichimatsu merely regarded him with blank eyes, but his lips told a different emotion. And upon meeting CHoromatsu’s gaze, he quickly turned his heels to go.

Oh no, he didn’t.

“Oi! Ichimatsu!” Choromatsu yelled, and cared less if that worsened the baby’s status. To his relief though, Ichimatsu stopped from what might’ve been his beginning trek to the opposite side of their house. “You think you’re getting off free there? Get back here and take the kitten back outside! It’ll disturb the peace of our home.” Oh, as if the baby wasn’t. It was a completely stupid thing to say, especially from someone like him. It was humiliating in a lot of senses, but he had no other option but to accept it.

Dang, Choromatsu just found himself more and more pathetic as the day dragged on.

Ichimatsu’s face reverted to its normal, lackadaisical state. “Are you really the person who has the authority to say that?” he curtly asked.

Cheeks burning, Choromatsu growled, accepting Ichimatsu’s dominance in the situation. “Fine. Do I owe you an explanation if it means you wouldn’t tell the others?”

The baby was still crying. Ichimatsu eyed in silently and nonchalantly before re-entering the room, grabbing the kitten by its black-and-white belly and bringing it to his lap as he sat on the far, opposite side of the sofa. He began to rub his little pet behind its ears, but he was once more focused on Choromatsu in a sense that made Choromatsu curse himself, yet again.

“Go,” Ichimatsu said.

Such bluntness, and it made Choromatsu sick. Of all brothers to be stuck with, it just had to be Ichimatsu. Ichimatsu, who had proved himself as both the darkest man alive and above all, the most awkward companion Choromatsu could ask for. What kind of boundaries would they find themselves sharing this time, huh? What would the record be of how long their silence between conversation would be this time, huh? How long until the rest of the others came home, huh?

Well, he supposed having one was better than five. So for the time being, maybe Ichimatsu wouldn’t be so bad after all. He was quiet, reserved, and he reflected the awkwardness of Choromatsu at a level that was bearable. Plus, he wouldn’t tell the others about this...Would he?

Ichimatsu’s face gave no promises, but no denial either.

Perhaps this was one of those moments when Choromatsu needed to trust his gut.

As a way to begin the explanation, Choromatsu sighed. “Nyaa-chan. I was watching television, and she mentioned in an interview that she liked it when guys were nice to babies. I dunno if it was her speaking or for the sake of her image, but I believed her either way. At first I didn’t care about it, but then I heard crying outside our house. And surprise-surprise, there was a baby on the road, without parents, without anyone or anything. So thinking it was by a miracle of fate that it was from some game-show of some sort where they’re testing the reflexes of the people, I took it in. I didn’t think you’d come home so soon, so I thought I would be spared at least five ‘you’re pathetic’ teases from any of you.”

Ichimatsu snorted without smiling. “You’re pathetic.”

Yes, there it was. It was oddly satisfying as it was painful. “Thank you.” He collapsed at the opposite side of the couch from Ichimatsu, still trying to rock the baby in his arms, and still finding success far, far away from his reach. He tried to rub his index finger in a circle against its stomach, yet nothing changed, as he expected. He sighed. “Ichimatsu, can you do me a favor and get some milk?”

“Hm? For the baby or for the cat?”

“For the baby, of course!” Choromatsu snapped. “Cod, it’s common sense, Darkmatsu!”

“Ah, but this cat is also a baby,” Ichimatsu stated, moving from the ears to the underside of the kitten’s chin. The kitten leaned in to the touch, emitting a small purr that slightly decreased the anxiety in Choromatsu’s heart. Slightly. “The little one would like some milk too, since it's to make his little bones stronger,” Ichimatsu continued, solace evident in him as he petted the small creature. “They say cats have nine lives, but they might as well have one when they’re still this tiny. The world can swallow them whole.”

Letting the words sink in, Choromatsu glanced down at the cat. When he wasn’t seeing it with an image of horror that represented Ichimatsu’s presence, it really was a cute, precious thing that was fragile when set next to the cruelty of the universe. It’s eyes were a wonderful shade of green, and its body was decorated with patches of black that somehow managed to still look clean. But what Choromatsu liked about it most was the heart-shaped piece of black by its neck, so close to where its heart was, beating underneath its pillowy fur.

Translation into reality. Choromatsu was almost touched. Almost.

“Fine, here’s a deal,” Choromatsu stated, extending a fist to the direction of his brother—it wasn’t easy with the squirming mini-human still on his thighs. “Rock-paper-scissors to determine who’s getting the milk.”

“Eh? That childish game?” Ichimatsu huffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s a very idiot eldest-type suggestion, Chorofappyski.”

“It’s fair play,” Choromatsu argued, more from defensiveness than the truth in his phrase. “Just one go.”

Ichimatsu let the cat curl in his lap for a second, then rubbed its furry back so gently that it reminded Choromatsu that Ichimatsu had the ability at all to be gentle. As Ichimatsu brushed it a bit more, his cheeks rosed a little, barely there, but Choromatsu’s eyes were clear enough to notice it. It faded quickly after as Ichimatsu said, “Whatever. One go.”

Ichimatsu extended his own fist, and waved it twice before ending it with two fingers forming scissors.

Choromatsu’s hand was flat as paper.

Ichimatsu leaned back. “Get the milk.”

“Ugh, stupid luck.” Choromatsu lifted himself off the couch, laying the baby on his previous place. His heart nearly skyrocketed when the baby turned and nearly fell off the edge, but it was swift to redeem itself when it rolled over towards the backrest of the sofa. It was as if the weight of the entire world was lifted from his shoulders—his relief.

He tried not to discern the hint of a snicker at Ichimatsu’s side as he stormed out of the shared bedroom and entered the rest of their house, snagging the milk from the fridge with aggression that peaked to a million. Darn their position in the caste system, turning what could’ve been a normal man like him into a NEET...!

When he returned to the room just as grumpy and his attention on the milk, he was saying, “Hey, Ichimatsu, do you know if Mom and Dad have any spare baby bottles from when we were kids left somewhere?” He stopped at the doorway, the carton of milk stilling as he did. “Now, that’s a sight.”

Ichimatsu remained bland, but it was obvious by his lowered brows that his situation was getting to him. “Which one? The fact that the room is an absolute mess, or that your stupid baby is trying to chew off my ear?”

Actually, Choromatsu was distracted by the room, because it was his first time registering what he and his horrible babysitting has done to it. The diapers from earlier were lying discarded on the floor, the stink of it green as it smoked in an unnatural, visible hue. There were mats laid where Choromatsu had tried to change its diapers on the floor, but with no such luck when the naked toddler had stubbornly shoved him away. And everywhere else was tissues. Tissues for its baby-boy bottom, tissues for its tears, tissues for the pee stain that still coated the side of their bookshelf. It was a miracle none of the books were damaged.

Now sending his attention to Ichimatsu, Choromatsu casually said, “I think it likes you.”

“Get it off me,” Ichimatsu ordered lowly, one of his hands already looping around the baby’s naked half. His kitten sat next to him, watching the situation with innocent, naive curiosity. “I don’t want to be touching this thing if it means the cat will run away from me,” Ichimatsu added.

Choromatsu shook his head, pointing. “No, I think that’s better. It’s no longer crying.”

Now the first sign of irritation made itself present in his little brother’s face, and the instinct to kill could be easily traced on him. “Do you want me to kill you first before this baby, Chorofappyski?” he threatened. And with that specific tone of his, they were a word away from the revelation if Ichimatsu was going to carry out his promise or not.

For the sake of his safety, Choromatsu quickly trudged towards his brother, tossing the carton to the floor, and wrapped his hands around the baby’s waist, muttering at it to stop as it continued to clomp its toothless mouth around Ichimatsu’s slobbered ear. It wasn’t too difficult to extract it, but once Ichimatsu was back to his usual, careless self, the baby had reverted back into sobbing that made fatigue sprout in Choromatsu’s form. He slumped down beside Ichimatsu, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.

But, well, he had to do something else now. He had to feed the baby with this darn milk, if that was going to work, and hopefully, it did. Options were limited at these dark times. That’s why Choromatsu stood—

—but so did Ichimatsu.

“Huh?” they spoke in unison.

Ignoring his brother, Choromatsu took a step closer to the milk on the ground, careful with the baby he had in his arms. He reached out—

—at the same time Ichimatsu did.

Choromatsu retreated—

—and Ichimatsu did too.

They were matching symmetrically, from the motions of their bodies to the youth they had in their arms.

Oh no, here we go again, Choromatsu thought in terror, and by the way Ichimatsu’s features were crumpled, he was thinking the same thing. Neither uttered a whisper as they lingered on their spots, both anticipating movement that they were completely aware was going to be mirrored by the clone in front of them. Choromatsu cringed at the same time Ichimatsu did.

It was just like before. Cod, it was just like before. The awkwardness, the tension, the horror. The only difference was that they had a baby and a kitten to witness their anathema.

“A-Ah, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu stuttered, the smile plastered all fake and fearful, “would you like to prepare the milk for us? You could if you want—I won’t stop you.”

“No-no-no, I-I’d give the job to you if you wanted,” Ichimatsu answered, the wince in his emotions exposed in his grin. “But it’s fine. If you want me to do it, I won’t mind.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll do it.”

It was silence. Silence, and so, so, so much awkwardness.

Cod, it really was going to be like last time. They needed an ice-breaker, now, may it be the arrival of another one of their brothers, or anything that could put an end in the painful awkwardness of their upcoming situation—

The baby vomited.

“Gah!” Choromatsu yelped, staggering backwards and raising the baby away from his body as it continued to release its bile, brown murk that landed as goops on both their floor and Choromatsu’s socks. Choromatsu extended it further, clearing it from killing him more, but not enough for Choromatsu to be safe from the scent of acid that lifted to his nostrils. He turned as green as his track jacket, wanting to puke himself at the horrible-as-crap permutations of food that made up the baby’s bile.

“Hang on!” Ichimatsu called out, running off towards where Choromatsu didn’t bother guessing. He continued to stand there with his arms stretched, one of his sleeves coated in a gross shade matching the current color of the floor. The baby kept going, and Choromatsu wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not to let it keep going, or if it was a better idea to give it water or its milk to get it to stop.

This. This is why he didn’t care a dang about babies.

“Oh, Cod, that smells so horrible!” Choromatsu gritted out, proceeding to yell, “Ichimatsu! Get some tissues and water or something! Forget about the milk for a bit and help me out here!”

“I got it!” Ichimatsu yelled back, returning a moment later with a bottle of water as he ran towards Choromatsu and the wheezing child. Ichimatsu put a hand underneath the child’s chin, tapping the cleanest spot there with a finger, saying, “Oi, kid! Open your mouth and gargle this dang water, huh?!” His tapping went harder, and the baby found itself irritated by Ichimatsu’s ruthlessness when it began making sounds that symbolized the start of another set of waterworks.

“You idiot!” Choromatsu screamed, yanking the baby away from Ichimatsu. “That’s not how you do it!”

“Are you doing any better?!” he retorted, waving the bottle as its insides smacked against the walls of its container. “You’re covered in its puke! Let me do my thing so that I can help get that abomination of a child away from a fappy loser like you!” He made a grab, but Choromatsu used one of his legs to kick him back. This just made Ichimatsu try to jerk and jostle, shaking the three of them in a hazardous earthquake.

“Are you trying to kill it?!” Choromatsu demanded.

“Not necessarily!” Ichimatsu replied, struggling against Choromatsu’s efforts to keep him off the little boy. He didn’t seem to give any care if he was getting too close to the vomit on Choromatsu’s sleeve. “But admit it! You’d rather have it dead than slobber on you the way it did! Cod, it was biting my ear!”

“Yeah, I would! But that isn’t what we need right now!” Choromatsu scoffed, still using his body as a shield, but not having its effectivity determine positivity for the child as it began whining once again. “Ichimatsu, cut it out! You’re making it worse!”

“So stop being stubborn! Give me the brat!” Ichimatsu yelled, slowing down far from a choice for him.

“No! Are you stupid?!”

“Not as stupid as you!”

“You’re so annoying!”

“You are too! So give me the whiny thing!”

Fed up and unable to take any more of the nonsense, Choromatsu nudged Ichimatsu with all the strength he could muster.

Ichimatsu reeled back, but a high-pitched screech interrupted their banter, and Ichimatsu was spun around so fast that Choromatsu had to remind himself that they were face-to-face just a millisecond ago.

In front of him, Ichimatsu’s anger diminished as a candle would on a windy day. Instead, he was suddenly sympathetic and entirely apologetic, a rare emotion that was emitted from the fourth-born Matsuno son on days that were as abnormally-normal such as this one. “Oh crap, I stepped on its tail!” Ichimatsu cried, kneeling down towards the small kitten so tiny and defenseless on the floor. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—!” But he didn’t get to finish as the kitten hissed at him and scrambled towards their open door.

When Ichimatsu faced Choromatsu again, he was absolutely fuming. “That was all your fault, Choromatsu!”

“Because you kept trying to throttle me and the baby!” Choromatsu snapped, and a second later he realized his mistake too late.

Flames danced in Ichimatsu’s gaze, and without another word he had his fingers spread out like claws, and he was pouncing onto Choromatsu with the feral battle roar of a lion. Choromatsu barely had time to breathe another breath before he was tackled to the floor, nearly dropping the baby and wailing out as punches made imprints on his face and body, Ichimatsu’s screaming a blur of words with the agony that blossomed in his skull.

The shock came first before the retaliation, and Choromatsu went just as mad as he stretched out his arms and grabbed Ichimatsu by his neckline and smacked him off. Both were yelling, and soon both boys were engulfed in a battle cloud as they threw punches and kicks against one another, neither of their sentences registering to the other over their own chaos. Bruises marked their skin, saliva spat out, and bodies were doubling over from the unexpected-expected mercilessness of his brother.

This though was so much better than being stuck in awkwardness, Choromatsu decided, and was so much better than having to care for some stupid, left-on-the-street toddler. The kitten though was far from Choromatsu’s priorities. And with that mindset still stable in his conscience, he and Ichimatsu resumed their brotherly battle of the middle sons.

“Uwa!” the baby suddenly exclaimed, and startled, Choromatsu and Ichimatsu froze as they turned towards it. Choromatsu’s knee was an atom away from Ichimatsu’s gut, and Ichimatsu’s grip was white-knuckle tight in Choromatsu’s hair. Their irritation morphed into confusion when the baby pointed towards its filthy mouth indicatively. Choromatsu, for dealing constantly with Todomatsu’s babyish behavior in high school, was familiar with that gesture—it was hungry.

Choromatsu was first to return to his senses as he finished off his kick on Ichimatsu before heading towards the baby, scooping it from the floor and stretching it out in front of him again. It still drooled colored spit. “Ugh, you little...” He groaned, tucking the baby to his shoulder and coming towards the couch, stopping by the fallen bottle of milk before settling down. He spared no heed towards his brother as he popped the bottle open, too tired to bother searching for a real baby bottle with the way things were going down for him.

Ichimatsu just stood there, arms crossed.

“What?” It was more of a statement than it was a question. “Follow your cat. I’ll handle myself here.”

Ichimatsu made a sound between his teeth. “Are you that stupid? It’s freaking pissed at me.”

“Then redeem yourself with this baby,” Choromatsu said, using the back of his sleeve to rub the mouth of the small boy. He continued to try aligning the mouth of the bottle to the baby’s, relieved flooding him when he matched his target. The throat of the baby bobbed as it swallowed down the milk, shutting its wet eyes and relaxing its tense body. There was no use for Ichimatsu in this situation anymore.

“Or not, since I’m doing well. Acting as your true niisan really does to the job sometimes.” He stopped, letting the baby gulp some more, before letting the baby suck again. The milk was draining fast. “Ichimatsu, you’re just standing there. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Well sorry if I’m doing that. You’re making me uncomfortable as well,” Ichimatsu snapped, tone clipped.

“Why? Because I pushed you enough to scare your cat away?”

And that was when he made his second mistake, but unlike earlier, this time he felt bad about it. He watched as Ichimatsu’s nose wrinkled in misery, and he was stomping out of the room before Choromatsu could even apologize. The door slid shut with a mighty clang, and Choromatsu felt the baby flinch in his arms as the last of the milk flicked into nothingness. The baby burped, slumping against Choromatsu’s chest, and shutting its eyes, it yawned.

About a second later it was sleeping, and the sky outside had tinted from blue to gray.

Choromatsu found himself slipping in and out of consciousness as the first drops of a downpour started to approach their hometown. The downpour turned into a pattering that struck against their rooftop, and soon it resorted into a steady rhythm of drumming, the light outside of their window contradicting the time of two-thirty in the afternoon. The cool air that managed to enter the room intertwined itself with Choromatsu’s system, tickling him and allowing drowsiness to climb up him.

He might’ve said that he had successfully fallen asleep when thunder shook him into cautiousness, alerting both himself and the baby that had its scream reverting into wailing. Choromatsu whined and let his back collide against the backrest of the sofa. Was this small creature that hydrated to be able to cry all day? Apparently so, and Choromatsu was too tired to deal with it. But he supposed he had to, since he had given the responsibility to himself.

He prepared to stand—

“Stop. Stay there,” Ichimatsu suddenly ordered, tone low and devoid of all the rage it had carried a few minutes ago. Ichimatsu knelt down on the floor with his brown eyes on the floor, a small redness seeping into his cheeks as he pressed something against the baby’s side. “Here. Take this. Maybe the baby will stop if it hugs this.”

It was a stuffed cat. Specifically, it was a stuffed cat that he had owned for only a few months when Jyushimatsu had won it at the latest spring fair. It was a black cat from a movie Choromatsu had forgotten about over how occupied he was with his latest novel series, but he remembered how often Ichimatsu would hide the toy when any of their brothers was around.

Now it was sitting right in front of him, pressed against the sides of both the baby’s body and Ichimatsu’s palm. Ichimatsu was expectantly silent.

“Ah, thank you, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu said, taking the plush and inserting it between the nimble fingers of the baby. “Here, hug this. It’ll make you feel so much better.”

Understanding him or not, the baby wrapped itself around the plush, resting its chin on the toy’s neck and finding itself comfortable there. It nestled itself once more against Choromatsu’s chest, gaining its lost slumber as it breathed lightly. Its body rose and fell so steadily in its own harmony, creating dissonance with the pelting of the rain.

“That was nice of you, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu said quietly as Ichimatsu set himself next to him. “How did you know it would help?”

“I didn’t,” Ichimatsu bluntly stated, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. “It was a hunch. Normally a lot of people feel better when they have someo—I mean, something to hug.” Ichimatsu’s face went redder.

“I suppose that’s true,” Choromatsu mused, pretending he didn’t see it. “But that was a nice sacrifice from you, Ichimatsu. I know you really like that cat, but to give it to the baby after it had finished puking and downing milk...” He shuddered, imagining his reaction if one of his personal stuff got into a similar position.

Ichimatsu smirked. “It’s no big deal. I’ll have Shittymatsu wash it when he gets home, or you so the secret stays about our inconvenience.”

Choromatsu scoffed playfully. “I would, but I don’t think so. I’m not touching baby drool.”

“It’s all over your sleeves.”

“Good point.”

They let the rain and the baby’s light snoring be their sound for a while.

“We should get that child to the police station when the rain lightens up,” Ichimatsu said, putting an end to the voiceless session. “Get it to its parents, if it has any. Eh, the police would do it, as long as it isn’t Officer Yatsugashira anymore.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I agree with you. And before the rest of our brothers get home.” Choromatsu went rigid, his guilt coming back as he said, “Ichimatsu, I’m sorry about what I said earlier, and for pushing you so hard. It was my fault you stepped on the cat. It should’ve been mad at me instead of you.” He let his shame overpower him as he waited for Ichimatsu to answer, to break the chain that had buckled itself in Choromatsu’s stomach.

“I’m sorry too,” Ichimatsu finally said, honesty in his voice. “I was being insensitive about the kid earlier. I suppose that having an ill feeling in his stomach isn’t his fault for vomiting. You were right. I should’ve held back on him.”

Choromatsu smiled at him with his angular smile. “I guess we both get into our own kind of trouble when we’re home alone, aren’t we?”

Ichimatsu dipped his chin with a matching smile of agreement. “Mhm.”

The sky continued to rumble, to weep uncontrollably. To close it out, Choromatsu said, “Did you find your cat after you went out? Is it still mad at you?” He sounded melancholic to his own ears.

“Yup. At the toilet. Managed to get in and shut the door on its own, magnificently. It didn’t let me get close to it at all, so I left it there.” He said it with a bluntness that made his mood indecipherable. Choromatsu deciphered it enough.

“We should get it out of there when we can, and take it back out before Mom or Dad gets back. Do you think it’s as lost as this baby is? Do you think it has a family waiting for it?”

Ichimatsu’s eyes went downcast. “It has to. I wouldn’t want to imagine something like it to be orphaned. But I won’t be surprised. Most of the cats I find in the alleyway are loners anyway, no matter how old. Animal parents just tend to be more neglectful of their offspring than human parents are. Well, some human parents.”

“Yeah. That’s too bad.”

Choromatsu suddenly understood then why babies were so important. Babies signified the creation of a new life, a new mind, a new purposeful thing to enter the world. Some lived to find galaxies in their eyes, to have papers with their names, to have friends and families that made more life that served as hope for thousands of upcoming generations in their cyclical world entitled as life. They grew to become scientists, seeing reality’s codes through intelligence. They grew to become writers, penning lessons that built up the human being into an impenetrable force. They grew to learn love and to give love, when romance, family, and friendship is introduced when they are feeling alone.

Babies became part of the future, and built it.

But not all babies lived long enough to be that. Some parents refused the responsibility of having a child, and killed them off mercilessly with the power of abortion. Some babies entered the world lifeless, miscarriage being the curse that invited them into the breathing world that way they were. Others were unfortunate enough to be caught in nature’s mishaps, fires, storms, and many more calamities taking away their lives before they could be lived. And because of that, there were so many chances of the world’s redemption that bit the dust, letting it flow in its brutal pace.

That’s what made babies special, and why their lives were important. As much as a human he was, so were they, and they held the probabilities to do the impossibilities many people in the present might not be able to accomplish.

And the baby in his arms was part of that crowd.

“Choromatsu-niisan,” Ichimatsu said, bringing him out of his reverie as he got up, “the rain’s lightening up. We should get going before the idiot eldest returns announcing his next Pachinko loss.”

“Right. We should.”

Choromatsu carefully lifted himself from the sofa, careful not to stir the baby from its sleep before accompanying Ichimatsu outside the bedroom. They took a turn towards the bathroom, Ichimatsu flicking the lights on, and Choromatsu saw the cat. It really was a delicate thing, so tiny against the corner of the room. It’s shadow on the wall alone made it look like a monster was looking after it, ready to bite with a single movement. It made Choromatsu’s heart hurt.

“Hey,” Ichimatsu cooed kindly, approaching the kitten with so much compassion that it was barely the Ichimatsu he knew anymore. “We’re going to take you home, okay? We’re going to take you back to your family. Won’t that be great?” Ichimatsu’s hurt from the kitten’s rejection was audible, and Ichimatsu’s forgiveness didn’t do the trick to calm Choromatsu’s shame.

The kitten lifted its vibrant gaze towards them, pulling back.

“Oh Cod...” Ichimatsu whimpered helplessly.

Choromatsu bowed solemnly.

“Uwa?” The baby, awake, shimmied in Choromatsu’s arms. It shook until Choromatsu had to bring it down to the floor, where it crawled towards the direction of the kitten after leaving Ichimatsu’s doll on the ground. Neither Choromatsu nor Ichimatsu made a move to stop it when the baby started petting the kitten’s back with the same kindness and love that Ichimatsu gave it. It was a touching sight as the kitten leaned into the baby’s hands, purring and meowing in a splinter of a pitch.

It was a cute sight that brought the two speechless for a while. Speechless because it was heartwarming, it was adorable, it was unexpected, and it was innocent. The baby laughed as the kitten purred.

“I don’t know what to say,” Choromatsu said, awed. “Only that today I have seen too many things I never thought I would see.”

“Mhm,” Ichimatsu hummed, voicing his agreement.

“Should we wait a little before going, let them play with each other for a little longer?”

Ichimatsu’s answer to that came in variations, and he was stuck without a proper answer. “Won’t we be awkward together?” he asked instead.

Choromatsu smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly in a solid reply. And Ichimatsu grinned at him in return, placing his own hand on Choromatsu’s back.

Maybe spending the day with each other wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

#osomatsu-san #choromatsu matsuno #bits of my brothers #choromatsu #ichimatsu #nenchuu #fan-fic #osomatsu san #anonymous #fanfic #ichimatsu matsuno #i accidentally tagged jyushi instead of ichi and realized it so late IM SORRY

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dinoyoongi · 5 years

Text

Red Cheeks & Witty Banter

SYNOPSIS: When you become the target of a cruel prank, Hoseok comes to your rescue.

PAIRING: Hoseok x Reader

GENRE: Fluffy angst

WARNINGS: Language

WORD COUNT: 4569

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Probably should have edited this a bit more before scheduling the post but it’s after midnight and I’m falling asleep at my desk. Also, because I didn’t feel like creating another group name for the reader, I’m leaving it to you. Y/G = your group name. Enjoy!

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“Including the Inkigayo chart score, first place is …. BTS' Boy With Luv! Congratulations!” the announcers cheer as the confetti cannons release, raining thousands of multicolor pieces of tissue paper onto the stage. You're giggling as they fall down upon your heads, swiping them away as they become entangled within your hair. At the front of the stage, the seven members of BTS are gathered and thanking their fans enthusiastically for another win. At the back of the stage, the groups who weren't nominated tonight – including your own – entertain themselves with the confetti, hoping that maybe if they're playfully cute and lucky enough to be captured by a camera, a sharp-eyed netizen will catch the action and deem it worthy enough for viral stardom. It's something that companies have begun teaching their trainees; always assume a camera is watching and always try to be its focus. But right now, with the biggest k-pop group in the freaking planet at the forefront of the stage, there's no camera operator in the world who would turn their shot away from them.

You're startled when you feel fingers at your shoulder, a small tap that disappears as quickly as it comes. Whirling around, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks when you realize you're face-to-face with Moon, the lead rapper of Cloud9. He's ridiculously tall, looming over you with a soft grin on his face. Just like that, your insides melt into goo.

“Your shoulder,” he murmurs, that gentle smirk never disappearing as he juts his chin in your direction. Following his eyes, you realize there's a rogue piece of confetti wrapped into a frayed film of fabric on your dress. Before you can lift your arm to dust it off, his hand is already there, delicately plucking the paper off of your shoulder and playfully setting it on the top of your head. Your giggles are loud and embarrassing and catch the attention of neighboring idols, including your own members. Fingers wrap protectively around your wrist and you recognize the grip immediately belonging to Mi-hyo, your leader, who probably sees the interaction as something that could potentially turn into a scandal. After edited videos of you supposedly gawking at Moon during an award show made their rounds, you know that it's likely best to avoid interaction so not to fuel the fire. But there wasn't any supposedly about it – you had been gawking at Moon because you thought he was gorgeous and had the largest crush on him ever.

“Thanks,” you mumble shyly. Mi-hyo's grip tightens as she attempts to pull you closer to the group but you resist. You would gladly take a scolding for this later.

Moon's grin widens. “I figured we should give the fans what they want, right?”

You sigh dramatically, unable to contain your own smile. “You saw the video too? They're so good at editing, I swear.”

“Hopefully it wasn't all editing,” he leans closer to speak lowly. A barrage of goosebumps line the length of your arm at the deep baritone. “That would make me sad.”

You're unable to smother the gasp that slips from your lips, your chest suddenly tingling with the sensation of a million butterflies. Your eyes at comically large as he stealthily reaches for your hand and entwines your fingers together just long enough to secure a folded piece of paper into the apex of your palm. He offers you one last devastating smile before turning on his heel to rejoin his group. Mi-hyo takes advantage of his exit and yanks you toward her, eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

“Are you nuts? What the hell was that about? What did he want?”

You don't answer her, your gaze fixed on the paper still rested in your palm. When you lift your head, the smile on your face could rival an Eldian titan. “A date. He wants a date with me. Tonight.”

_________________________________

“Congrats! Great job, everyone!” Inkigayo staff cheers as idols shuffle past them, some still in their stage clothing and some already changed into casual wear. Yoongi and Hoseok, who snuck out of their dressing room for snacks from the lobby vending machine, watch in jealousy as group after group leave the building.

“How much longer until we can go home?” Yoongi whines, pushing the button for a bag of crackers with a bit more force than intended. “This shirt is so stuffy and I need to get this makeup off.”

Hoseok sighs. “Sorry, hyung. We just have to film a small bit of us playing a game or something. They're setting up the room right now, I guess.”

Yoongi emits another pitiful whimper, collecting the bag from the bottom of the machine and moving to the side. He's slightly startled when he notices that the two of them aren't alone. A few fresh-faced idols stand behind them, coins in hand as they await their turn. Yoongi recognizes two of them to be members of Cloud9 but only knows the name of Moon, who bows to him respectfully before continuing his conversation with the boy next to him.

“Wait, so she denied that she wasn't staring at you in the video?”

Moon laughs loudly. “I think that's what she was doing. She blamed it on fan editing.”

“Wow, what a pathetic little bitch,” the unnamed Cloud9 member taunts. Hoseok's head whips around at the offensive choice of words, brows furrowing in annoyance. What and who were they even talking about?

“Yeah, she's delusional but she's also really fucking hot.”

“Do you think she'll give it to you so easily?”

Hoseok, who has already paid and selected his desired candy bar, idles by the machine to hear the rest of their conversation. Yoongi keeps his eye on the younger rapper carefully, knowing that their disgusting, disrespectful attitude toward this mystery woman was probably brewing a bubbling of anger in Hoseok's stomach. The members of BTS weren't innocently celibate – absolutely not. They flirted, they dated, they had their own affairs. Despite being world famous idols, they were first and foremost hot-blooded men who had the same needs and desires as every other man in the world. But what separates Hoseok and his members from the two disgusting piles of trash that stand behind him was that the women they chose to involve themselves in were willing partners in a shared decision, not just a body to use and talk cheaply about.

Moon scoffs at the question. “Of course she would. I don't plan on finding out, though. It's too messy to fuck around with these idol chicks.”

“But hyung said you asked her out tonight.”

“I did,” Moon chuckles. Hoseok's grip on the side of the machine tightens, prompting Yoongi to lean in cautiously. “She's probably back at the dorm getting herself all dolled up. I asked her to meet me at that dumpy pork belly place in Jamsil at seven but I won't be showing up.”

“Do you think Mi-hyo will let her go?”

“That little slut is so whipped for me that not even her manager could stop her from showing up tonight.”

Hoseok's posture straightens immediately.

“Don't,” Yoongi warns softly into Hoseok's ear, wrapping his fingers around his arm and tugging him away from the machine. Moon and his fellow member bow again but Yoongi ignores it this time, steering a very frustrated Hoseok away from the lobby and back toward their dressing room. When they're finally out of earshot, Yoongi exhales.

“Aish, what an asshole,” he mutters, leaning against the wall. “Who do you think they were talking about? I'm thinking it's someone from Y/G if they were talking about Mi-hyo. Hoseok? What are you looking up?”

Yoongi glances over at the illuminated screen of Hoseok's phone, sighing in defeat when he reads what has been typed into the Naver search bar: pork belly restaurants in Jamsil.

_____________________________________

You glance down at your phone for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. Making sure there's nobody lingering outside the building, you lean into the window, craning your neck in both directions. In the twenty-five minutes since you've been here, you've nibbled on the entire dish of kimchi that the waitress had prematurely set out and you were now moving on to the bean sprouts. You jump when your phone pings, hoping it would somehow be an 'I'm on my way!' message from Moon despite him not having your number. You deflate when you realize it's only Mi-hyo, warning you for the tenth time tonight to not be photographed.

You ignore the message, choosing to instead open your phone's camera to confirm that your makeup looks as good now as it did when you left the house. You're plucking a clump of dried mascara from your lashes when the door rattles open. The phone drops into your lap like a hot potato and you smack your lips together one last time to refresh your lip tint before lifting your head with a coy smile.

“You're here? I thought – oh!” you exclaim, startled by the fact that it's not Moon standing in front of you, it's Jung Hoseok from BTS. You blink in shock at him for a few seconds before you shake yourself out of your awe. Shoving yourself off of the tall stool, you clamber to bow. “S-sunbae!”

Hoseok grins at the sight. “You're Y/N from Y/G, right? What a coincidence to meet you here of all places!”

You smile, nodding in agreement. “You're alone so you must be picking up take-out. Have you had this place before? Is it good?”

“I've never had it. I heard about it from Naver,” Hoseok says and technically, he's not lying. “You're alone as well. Dinner for one?”

You spare a glance back at your lonely table, the side dishes pulled to your side and half-empty. Embarrassment consumes you in the form of flushed cheeks. “Um, I'm expecting someone, actually. They're a little late though ...”

“Moon?” Hoseok blurts without thinking, wincing at his carelessness. He feels guilty by the way your eyes widen. Clearing his throat, he decides to do some damage control. “I actually overheard him talking in the lobby earlier about how he was meeting you. I didn't know this was the place though.”

“Oh,” you snicker nervously. You're not entirely sure you like the idea of Moon speaking so nonchalantly about the two of you meeting but if he was telling his friends, he must really like you, right? “He's just … he must be running a little bit late.”

There's an awkward silence before you decide to cut the string, bowing slightly once more with a polite smile before turning around to your table.

“Uhh … but he probably won't show up!” Hoseok sputters. You freeze at his words. You were already slightly dreading the idea of being stood up but hearing it from someone else drives the stake further into your chest. “It's because … um, well when my group was leaving, Cloud9 was still stuck filming promotional stuff. I think I heard the staff say they'd be there for awhile.”

Nice save, he tells himself. Although Hoseok doesn't know you personally, the two of you run around in the same circles enough for him to know that you're a decent, genuine person who doesn't deserve the despicable, childish prank that Moon is playing on you. The last thing he wants to see is you upset and crying over a prick who isn't worth the gum on the bottom of your shoe. That's why he neglects to tell you the truth of your no-show date. Maybe in the future he'll confess but for now … he wants you to keep your pride and confidence right where it is.

“Really?” you ask, your face falling into a grimace. Although your try to pick it up and give him a small smile, he's able to see the devastation in your features. Moon, you fucking punk. “Well, I guess I'll just pay the ahjumma for her side dishes and go home. Thanks for letting me know.”

This is the where Hoseok's plan ends. This is where he's supposed to order himself a small takeout of pork belly and go home, content with just knowing that you're not out waiting for Moon to show up all night. But there's a stirring in his gut that isn't letting him take that step forward. It's not enough that he foiled that bastard's plans – he wants to see you smile.

“Arcade!” he blurts. If it were possible to narrow his own eyes at himself, he would. Hoseok was usually loud, yes, but where was this sudden word vomit coming from? Glancing up at your bewildered face, he chuckles. “Um, I'm heading over to the arcade. Do you want to join me? It's not that fun when you're alone.”

“I thought you were getting takeout?”

“I'm actually not that hungry. I might just get some snacks at the arcade. What do you say?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, mulling over the thought. You wouldn't want Moon to get the wrong idea about Hoseok but it's not as if the two of you are dating – why should he care if you hang out with another idol? You think of how your group members – Mi-hyo aside – giggled by your side the entire time you got ready for tonight. It would be so incredibly embarrassing to walk in this early. Do you really want to deal with that?

You nod, giving Hoseok a small smile. “To the arcade!”

_______________________________

“Is there anything particular you want to play?” Hoseok asks you enter the noisy space. To your surprise, he's on close terms with the owner of the arcade who agreed to keep the place open an extra hour just for the two of you. Shoving your face mask back into your bag, you shake your head.

“I've never actually been to an arcade before. This is all new to me.”

Hoseok's head swings toward you with an exaggerated ferocity, eyes wide like a madman. “How is that even possible?”

You shrug. “I studied a lot in school and became a trainee really, really young. I didn't have the time.”

“That's so terrible,” Hoseok stares at you with pity. You laugh at his sullen expression. Sure, there were times when you were deprived of friends and family and normal teenager things, but not being able to go to the arcade wasn't on your list of grievances.

“Well, I'm here now. Aren't you going to show me the best games?”

“Damn right, I am! Follow me!” his fingers wrap around your own and you try to ignore the jolt of excitement that shoots up your limbs as his skin touches yours. He leads you into a black booth, the openings covered by dark curtains. The painting on the side of the booth depicts bloody, gory carnage. It's enough to make you resist the tug from Hoseok's hand.

“This is a lot for a girl's first arcade game. Don't you think you should ease me into it with something … lighter?” you ask nervously, grimacing at the illustrated zombie staring back at you. Hoseok laughs at your adorable uneasiness.

“No way, this one is great. You'll love it!” he exclaims as he pushes you inside. Your nerves only intensify when you're surrounded with the creepy music and vibration of the seat in rhythm with the groaning of a zombie.

“Aren't you supposedly really scared of things like this? You're always screaming and jumping on the programs.”

Hoseok is grinning as he sidles in next to you, reaching behind your body to offer you an oversized plastic gun. “You watch my programs?”

You're suddenly very, very thankful for the darkness of the booth. If the color of your face depicts even a fraction of the heat in your cheeks, you'd be as transparent as a ghost. Unbeknownst to you, Hoseok can very much see the bright rouge tint of your skin. “I mean … BTS is on every program so how could I not?

“Touche,” he agrees with a coy smirk. “It's true – I am very afraid of stuff like this. But that's what makes it fun, you know? It's not exciting if your heart doesn't feel like it's going to burst through your chest.”

“Wow, you're really selling me on this,” you quip monotonously. He laughs harder. “It's fun, I promise. All you do is point and shoot at the zombies, okay? You stick to your half of the screen and I'll stick to mine so we can kill as many as possible. Got it?”

“Got it, Captain,” you fake salute.

His hand falls onto your shoulder, bowing his head deeply. “Godspeed, Solider.”

There's isn't anymore time for giggles as the game begins. It starts off slow – one or two rising up from dark corners and shambling toward you at an alarming speed. Hoseok lets you kill them to get yourself more comfortable with the game. As grotesque and violent as it is, you feel yourself beginning to loosen.

“Don't come at me, bro!” you scream, moving your aim to another rising body. But then there are two. And then three. And they're coming at you from every direction. You nudge the boy beside you with your elbow. “A little help here!”

“I'm kind of busy!” Hoseok yells, his arms swinging the gun back and forth. You groan as the screen on your side slides red with blood, the splattered font of the words You're Dead, Game Over displayed. The gun drops into your lap dejectedly.

“Aw, man. We are not good,” you murmur, frowning at the pathetic score. Hoseok is laughing again as he slides both plastic guns back into their holsters behind the seats.

“But it was fun, yes?” he asks, using his own elbow to nudge you repeatedly. All he needs is the playful eye roll and reluctant smile to confirm that you did, indeed, have a good time. His fist pumps into the air victoriously. “First game success! What should we play now?”

For the next thirty minutes, Hoseok shows you all of his favorite games. You play classic arcade games such as Pac-Man, Galaga and Street Fighter. You play more advanced games such as Dance Dance Revolution – which, despite being in an idol group with moderate dance skills, you're absolutely awful at – and even some of the newer VR games. Needing a break from the bright screens of the electronic machines, Hoseok leads you over to one of his all-time favorites: the air hockey table. You squeal at the sight.

“They have these at arcades? I love air hockey!” you run to the opposite side, fingers brushing across the surface in excitement. You jump in happiness when he flips the switch and the table whirrs to life, air blasting onto the pads of your fingers. “I may have lost to you all night, Hoseok, but this is my game. You're going down.”

“Oh, you think?” Hoseok asks threateningly as he places the puck onto the table. It floats slowly in place. “Well my name is J-Hope and you, my friend, have no hope.”

His bad banter pulls you right out of game mode. You're laughing so hard that you feel moisture drip down your face but in this moment, you don't really care that your makeup is probably smearing and smudging. It doesn't seem to matter with Hoseok. “Oh my god, that was so bad. If your skills are just as bad as your witty banter, you are going to lose for sure.”

“Prepare to eat your words.”

“Bring it on.”

Steadying his striker to line up with the puck, he rears his hand back and slams the two together with so much force that the puck immediately soars off of the table and flies at neck break speed in your direction. There's no time for you to duck before the puck is smashing you in the cheekbone hard, prompting you to lose your footing and stumble to the floor.

“Oh shit! Y/N!” you hear Hoseok shout as he drops the striker and rushes to your side of the table, folding himself into a crouch to help you sit up. He moans in guilt when he sees the blood oozing from a small cut under your eye. “That was an accident. I hit it way too hard – I'm so sorry.”

“Okay, I give up. You are way too competitive,” you mumble, hissing when he touches the wound. He wants to laugh but he's too busy feeling insanely blameworthy. “It's okay. Just a small cut, I think.”

“If your makeup artists are anything like mine, I apologize in advance for the hell you're going to go through,” he admits, moving a section of your hair away from the blood. The gesture is so innocently intimate that Hoseok has to gulp down some of the sudden tension. He clears his throat, rising to his feet and pulling you up with him. “Come on, I know he's got a first aid kit in the employee break room.”

___________________________________

“So,” Hoseok trails as he presses a cloth to the wound. You hiss again, resisting the urge to yank your face away from his touch. “You and Moon?”

Moon. You had almost forgotten about Moon. “Um, no, there's not really a Moon and I. I don't even really know him, I just have a crush on him and he asked me out so ...”

“You're going out with someone you don't know?”

You roll your eyes, moving your gaze to your feet that hang and swing lazily above the floor from your perch on the sink. “You too? I already got the third degree from Mi-hyo. She heard rumors that he's not such a great guy so she barely let me leave the dorm tonight.”

The words dance enticingly on Hoseok's lips. The urge to tell you the truth is so strong but he has to force it back. This is not the time. “You should listen to your leader. They only want the best for you.”

“I know,” you sigh, tilting your chin in Hoseok's direction as he begins dabbing a cool cream onto the cut. “I just … ugh, this is so stupid and I don't know why I'm admitting this to you but … because of the studying and trainee thing at such a young age, going to arcades wasn't the only thing I missed out on. I've never had a boyfriend or been on a date before and I … I really wanted to experience it.”

“You've never been in a relationship before?” Hoseok stops his ministrations momentarily, stunned at your confession. As crude as he is, Moon wasn't wrong when he said that you were fucking hot. How did someone like you not have men lined up around the corner?

“Wow, so hearing it from someone else really does make it sound more pathetic,” you marvel sarcastically to yourself. Hoseok scoffs, moving closer to continue spreading the cream.

“It's not pathetic. It's understandable. The life of an idol is not a normal one, especially if you start out so young.”

You hum in agreement, counting the tiles on the ceiling as the chillness of the cream seeps into your skin. While your head is trying to ignore the close proximity of his face to yours, your body is on full alert. You mentally pray that he can't hear the pounding of your chest from where he stands.

“So … how was it, then?” he asks suddenly. You cock an eyebrow questioningly. “The dating experience. Besides giving you a pretty nice shiner, was it everything you imagined?”

“D-dating experience?” you sputter in disbelief, your wide eyes shooting toward the rapper's face. “Was this a date? This whole time?”

“Not exactly,” he says, his steely gaze meeting yours and locking it in. “But it's a better date than sitting in a seedy pork belly restaurant at night, don't you think?

You're incapable of answering, your staring contest rendering you completely silent. What is up with this frantic, pounding heart? What is up with these stupid goosebumps? Do you actually like Jung Hoseok?

“I don't know,” you whisper. “At least he would have fed me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. How is it that you have an answer for absolutely everything? “Hey, I never said the date was over. You don't know this because you're inexperienced but food always comes after the black eye.”

You're laughing as you hop off of the sink, turning to look at your reflection in the mirror. Hoseok has done a wonderful job of tending to the wound and you're positive that it won't scar. But the harsh, ugly patch of raised redness on your cheekbone feels as if it's noticeable from miles away.

Hoseok, as if reading your mind, scoffs. “It's not bad, I promise. You can't put any makeup on it right now though, not while the ointment is doing its job.”

You sigh dramatically, offering him a gratuitous smile. “Am I going to be caught eating food with thee Jung Hoseok of BTS with a nasty red splotch on my face?”

“Do you have any lipstick or tint?” he asks.

You frown but reach into your bag anyway. “I was only kidding, Hoseok. I don't think color on my lip will help this anyway.”

He smirks, uncapping the product and squeezing a few drops onto his finger. You gasp when he begins to pat his cheekbone with the product, smearing a harsh tinge of scarlet across his tan skin. He studies his handiwork in the mirror, frowning in disapproval.

“There, now we're both hideous. I can't seem to match the messy look that yours has, though. What do you think I should do?”

Did you just fall a little bit in love with him? You certainly think so. And although you don't have any relationship experience, you know that it would probably be a bit inappropriate to grab the sides of his face and kiss him until he forgets his own name. So you settle for something else instead.

Taking the tint from his grasp, he watches with an intense fascination as you apply the product to your lips, smacking them together to make sure that the color is equal on the top and the bottom. When you're satisfied with the coverage, you rise onto your tiptoes, grab his shoulders for support and press your lips to his sharp cheekbone. You can both feel and hear the way his breath hitches; the sound fueling your own confidence. Pulling away, your hands remain on his shoulders as you smile at the perfectly messy splotch on his cheek.

“Perfect,” he whispers, his gaze hard on yours. His eyes flit down to your mouth. “But now our lips don't match.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Hoseok, what did I tell you about your bad witty banter? You need to -”

He cuts you off with a searing kiss.

___________________________________

Later that night, lounging on the sofa of his dorm, Moon receives a text message. The contents are like a virtual sucker-punch to his pride.

Hey, it's Y/N. I'm sure you're a great guy and I'm sorry if this hurts your feelings, but something came up and I think we should just be friends. Thanks for asking me out though! Sorry again.

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