#but I found a couple of sweaters to take apart for cheap

[brinnanza]

what I have learned from a loop around thrift world expo today is that people who resell thrifted goods have fucking awful taste and I'm better off going to the thrift store direct.

[hansolmates]

distance learning (m)

banner done by the beautiful @eerieedits​

summary; after their first hookup, jungkook isn’t so sure whether you’re serious about being exclusive. after all, people say things during sex. jungkook takes it in his own hands to figure out where you stand, and he realizes soon enough that eavesdropping is a bad habit pairing; neighbor!jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; fluff, humor, crack, insecure!jk, unresolved sexual tension, stressed!mc, this is really just unnecessary drama bc drama is fun™, sexting, dom kook’s still a meanie in control, posession kink, cock slapping, a blowjob, cockwarming, unprotected, creampie, squirting, (wrap the pickle before u tickle folks) and of course the excessive use of the petname [redacted] w/c; 6.1k a/n; haaaaaa three months later im finally posting pt 2! i figured that no matter how many times i edit/reread at this point i think it’s time to finally let this beast go!!! enjoyyy click here for part 1: remote learning drabbles; 01

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It’s been a week since the thing.

The remote-controlled vibrator thing. 

The whole sappy-love-confesion-during-sex thing. 

Jungkook is antsy, tail tucked in, perpetually wondering whether he went too far. You seemed to like it, and Jungkook definitely loved it. It was spicy and dirty and hot, and at the same time Jungkook thought he really made progress in expressing his feelings for you. Not only that, you said you liked him back!

At least, he thought you did. 

“I really said I’d feed her lasagna and cum in the same sentence,” Jungkook bemoans into his pillow, which still lingers faintly of your Redken shampoo. “I’m disgusting. She thinks I’m disgusting.” 

People say things during sex, Jungkook knows that. In the throes of passion and pleasure, people will say anything that comes to their mind, anything that fits the mood. Of course, you’d be tied in and say you like him back. But did you like him back as a friend? As a fuckbuddy? As something more? 

“Fucking text her,” Taehyung is tired of Jungkook’s wallowing, everytime he checks in on the app developer he’s brooding in one of three places. Today’s his bedroom. Taehyung dips under the blankets, and steals Jungkook’s pillow right under his nose.

Jungkook suppresses a whimper, face melding into the blankets. Now that pillow is going to smell like Taehyung.

“Text her what,” Jungkook replies despondently. 

“I don’t know, something along the lines of ‘I wanna follow through with my proposition of feeding you my cum and lasagna—not simultaneously. Wanna go on a date this weekend?’ It’s that simple,” Taehyung gets up in Jungkook’s face, dark eyes forcing him to bore right in. “Want me to do it for you?” 

“Noo, I’m an adult I can—”

“I did it for you.” 

Jungkook nearly knocks into Taehyung’s hard head, sitting up straight when he notices his phone behind his roommate’s back. This is what he gets for sharing passwords. Thankfully, the message is cleaner than Taehyung’s words, and you’ve already replied. 

[1:23] Jungkook: would you like to go out for dinner this weekend? pasta and wine?

[1:25] You: it’s a busy week this week 🥺 raincheck? 

“Was the sex that bad?” Taehyung frowns, reading the message twice. 

“N-no,” Jungkook is sweating. He isn’t sure anymore. 

Taehyung hands Jungkook back his phone, slowly, as if you’ll reply back with a change of your mind. Jungkook is a deflated balloon on his bed, feeling like a bum in his ratty sweater and a dateless weekend. 

“It’s just that,” Taehyung puts a hand on his lip, mulling, “busy people don’t reply that fast. Like even if she wasn’t busy, there’s a fifteen-minute leeway before replying.” 

This silly rule overrides Jungkook’s mind for the rest of the week. 

The gyms have been reopened for months, and Jungkook’s trainer misses him dearly. Jungkook meets with Saeroyi in the morning, eager to get a few jabs in with some fresh equipment. He tries to move on, distract himself with a couple of pumps and a match with Saeroyi. It feels great to sweat it off, but it doesn’t help sway Jungkook’s incessant thoughts. 

The ball is in your court now, Jungkook has nothing to do but wait. Some people are just bad texters, maybe you just happened to have your phone near you when Taehyung sent the message. Maybe you just wanted to cut Jungkook off as quickly as possible so you decided to reply fast and rip the band-aid. 

No, you’re definitely not that cold-hearted. 

Re-entering his apartment complex, his eyes linger towards where your room lies on the first floor. It’s all the way at the end of the hallway, and he’s tempted to just confront you and make sure that what you and him really had is indeed, over. Conversely, you could just really be having a bad week and you genuinely do want a raincheck. 

Jungkook’s eyes trail to his form. Still in his gym clothes, and a little sweaty from the travel time. If he gets caught, he can just tell you he’s doing a cooldown by running across the hallways. Not the first time it’s happened, afterall it led him to you at one point. 

He breaks into a soft jog, making a beeline to your front door. His feet squish against your old welcome mat. You haven’t changed it since Halloween, and he smiles fondly at the black scripted “Boo Y’all” written in script next to a chibi-ghost. 

His heart beats faster as his hand lingers by the door, ready to knock. Deep breaths. Who knows, he could just be overthinking (like usual.) 

“Fuck, Hobi!” 

Jungkook freezes, his knuckles a centimeter away from your door. He backs up as if he’s been burned. His heart has fallen all the way down to his ass, and intends to stay there because now he feels like a damn fool. 

The bed is creaking relentlessly, a rhythmic pattern that has Jungkook’s face crumbling at every spring. Jungkook’s face hovers over the door, his ear brushing against the wood. 

“C’mon, bunny,” the male voice is teasing, “you know you love having me over. It would satisfy both of us if you’d just let it go.” 

Bunny. A cute pet name, for sure. The way it rolls off the stranger’s tongue is natural, as if he’s been saying it for years. But what about being his doll, is that not good enough? 

You’re huffy, taking deep breaths. He doesn’t want to hear anymore. Jungkook has put himself through enough self-wallowing for the week. What if he was just a stepping stone to meeting new people that will satisfy you better? What if you just needed one good orgasm to get your flow back, and Jungkook’s job is done? Sure, there were no strings attached when he proposed to have sex with you, but he thought… 

No more thinking. Jungkook jogs away from the door, even going so far is to jog all the way up to the penthouse. 

He hates this. 

You hate this. 

It’s been five days since Hoseok’s arrival, and you are going bonkers. Why couldn’t he get a hotel or an AirBnB? Because he’s cheap as fuck, that’s why. Your dinky cousin has been clinging to you like a lonely koala, and while you found it cute in the 5th grade, it doesn’t translate well nearly two decades later. 

Every morning is the same. You make a subpar toast and Nutella breakfast, letting Hoseok’s slices go cold as you log in for work. You’ve been clocking in earlier in the hopes to finish the majority of your tasks before Hoseok wakes up, because by then you can barely function. Once he wakes up, he’s relentless, bouncing on the bed and talking your head off while you try to concentrate on whatever your boss is telling you. Whenever he jumps too hard, your cheap mattress causes your laptop to fly, and the only thing you can do is curse him out. Sometimes he plays Disney movies and sings in tandem, choreography and all. 

You know that Hoseok is stressed and this is his outlet, and you don’t have it in you to stop his incessant habits. He’s visiting your area because of a lucrative job offer nearby and the interviews are sporadic, making Hoseok linger in your apartment for hours at a time until he’s summoned for whatever test they want to throw at him. 

Most of the interviews are in the evening, and it’s when you can clock back in and finish your leftover assignments while Hoseok is also working. By the time he returns, you’re dog tired and so is he. 

Every night, you try to move away from Hoseok’s clingy self, as he grapples onto your waist and slings a thigh over your belly. You wish it were someone else sharing the bed with you. 

If you bring Jungkook into the picture however, you’d be burnt for the week. Complete crumbs. It would be too much stimulation for you, having to balance work, Hoseok’s incessant attitude, and putting on a face for Jungkook. Your relationship with the penthouse neighbor is barely budding, hardly watered considering Hoseok’s sudden visit. You cling to the fact that in a couple days you would be giving your undivided attention to Jungkook, most of your priorities out of the way, and most importantly, you’ll have your own room back. 

Maybe you could surprise him by giving him a pasta dinner, just like he proposed. 

Unable to get the thought out of your head, you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand. It’s late, very late for a workday. The blue screen burns your eyes a bit, but you're determined to at least check up on Jungkook. You can’t take too long, otherwise you won’t be able to sleep and get him out of your head. Dear, unassuming cousin Hoseok is fast asleep next to you, due to the fact it’s nearly midnight. Making sure not to disrupt him, you carefully cup your phone in your hands, putting it on the lowest light setting. 

[11:54] You: hey, hope work hasnt been as draining for u as it’s been for me  ☠️  what’s your opinion on pasta sauces, red or white? 

Jungkook is normally a fast texter, at least from your experience. It’s you that’s the sporadic texter, sometimes taking hours to reply, other times in seconds. It never really mattered until now, however. But it takes five, ten, and finally fifteen minutes before you get a response. 

[12:09] Jungkook: ??? 

You frown, wondering what you said wrong. 

[12:10] You: do you not wanna do pasta anymore? Are you craving something else now?

[12:10] Jungkook: i don’t think it’d work out 

[12:10] You: why? 

[12:11] Jungkook: im sure you know why, bunny. 

Strange. He’s never called you bunny before, and in your opinion you think he’d be the bunny in the relationship—soft and cuddly on the outside, and an absolute horn ball in bed. Is this some sort of weird power play? Is he being passive aggressive on purpose? Whatever this game is, you’re not into it. Grumbling under your breath, you snake out of bed, looking blindly for your slippers in the dark. You’ll be in and out of Jungkook’s apartment in ten minutes. 

Just as your hand brushes the doorknob, your new roommate calls for you. 

“Bunny?” Hoseok calls blearily, and you’re staring straight at his cookie-printed eye mask, “what time is it, where are you going?” 

“Um, out,” you reply shortly, “I forgot I left my laundry in the dryer.” 

“Oh, m’kay. Come back soon, y’know I can’t sleep alone.” 

It’s then you realize. Bunny. Jungkook thinks that Hoseok and you are a thing. He really needs to stop eavesdropping on you. 

You feel your pussy frown. Your cousin is such a cockblock and he doesn’t even know it. Without an answer, you slip through your door and into the first free elevator. As you zing up the floors with the magical 1234 code, you work and rework your hair in and out of its style, wondering if you’ll look more presentable with your hair messy or thrown back. 

As soon as you reach the penthouse, you burst into action. “Jungkook!” you cry, pounding the front door, “it’s a misunderstanding, open up!” 

The door immediately swings open after the first three knocks, and you punch Taehyung in the chest. 

“You look awful,” Kim Taehyung drawls. Taehyung is wearing nothing but a cranberry red silk kimono, and you have to avert your eyes and focus on his face, which is even worse because he’s looking at you like an all-knowing psychic. 

“Gee, thanks,” you try to move past him, but he’s blocking the door. 

“Jungkook’s in a meeting with some foriegn developers,” Taehyung talks with his hands, pretending like he has any idea of the nature of his roommate’s job, “when it’s this late he doesn’t leave his office until morning. Door’s locked.” 

“Well then, can you relay a message?” 

“Depends, is this message going to hurt him further?” 

Oh my goodness, when Taehyung wants to be he is such an enabler. “Tell Jungkook he’s done wallowing. Instead of jumping to conclusions, maybe he should’ve just asked me why we couldn’t go on a date this week.” 

“You could’ve also just told him you have a man on the side.” 

“Ohmygod you two are two iotas of a combined braincell!” you shove your hands in your pocket, hotly scrolling through your phone so you can shove a picture in his face. “This is Jung Hoseok, my cousin who derailed my plans this week by crashing in my too-tiny apartment and forced me to raincheck with Jungkook. He’s a blabbermouth and would tell everyone—my parents, my grandparents, my great-aunts—about Jungkook if he found out I was dating, and I’m not ready for that,” you zoom in on the picture, despite the fact that the screen is practically touching Taehyung’s nose, “and the reason Hoseok calls me bunny is not sexual—you two are fucking gross—I had front tooth problems in elementary school and I had a brace on my two big teeth, it was not pretty.” 

“Ah, bunny.” Taehyung echoes with wide eyes, looking at you as if you’re now the one with sage wisdom, “it all makes sense now.” He gulps, taking in the old photo of a mini-Hoseok and you, yourself frowning to cover your huge braces and Hoseok trying to pull your gums apart with his greasy little fingers. 

Satisfied by Taehyung’s evident squirming, you decide you’re too tired to further this interaction. “Tell the other half of your cell for me, will ya?” You’re already turning away, pressing repeatedly at the elevator button, “I would love to go on a date with him as soon as he gets his head out of his ass.” 

Jungkook is tired, but not tired enough to murder Taehyung and make it look like an accident. 

When he has late meetings, Taehyung is usually quieter around the apartment, and even gets Jungkook a hot meal once he wakes up in the afternoons. Today, Jungkook slept through and through. Normally he’d wake up midway to Taehyung’s television dramas, or the clanging of last night’s dishes but nope, not a peep. 

And today’s hot meal is takeout from Jungkook’s favorite ramen restaurant. That only means one thing—something has gone to shit and Taehyung feels guilty. 

Jungkook sips his tonkotsu impossibly slow, hearing Taehyung’s words—your words from last night—clear as day. Taehyung even describes in detail where the nickname bunny comes from, down to how miserable you looked in the photo with your monstrously metal-bent teeth. Oh, how he wishes he can swaddle you between the blankets, hold you and comfort you while you deal with your family. 

[2:45] Jungkook: doll, im so sorry

[2:45] Jungkook: please, i booked us a weekend at that new spa that just opened downtown. The tickets are flex, so if your cousin doesn’t leave by then week we can always reschedule 

[2:51] Jungkook: baby doll… 

This is far worse than believing you didn’t like him. Now Jungkook is antsy, knowing you deserve all the space in the world because of how silly he was being. You owe him nothing. If he just waited it out until you were ready, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He’s potato-esque throughout the day, thankfully Taehyung gives him space as he watches hours of mindless television. 

You don’t reply until very late into the night. 

[10:10] You: IM ALIVE--barely!! And mr. jeon, you’re not only a triple texter, but an ellipsis texter???? You’re asking for trouble

Jungkook has no shame, immediately texting you back. He can’t help it, he’s smitten. 

[10:12] Jungkook: taehyung explained everything. It’s all his fault. Don’t ask why, it’s his fault. Im so sorry. 

[10:12] You: mm, it’s okay. Just a misunderstanding. I was pretty upset last night, but i’ve been pretty tired this week so my fuse is short. 

[10:14] Jungkook: you should go to sleep now, doll. We’ll have time together after your cousin leaves

[10:14] You: just a couple more minutes. Miss u and your cute face 

[10:16] Jungkook: 

[10:16] Jungkook: will this hold u off until saturday?

Jungkook is a pile of goo. Pink, warm, happy heart-glittered goo. It takes a minute for you to reply, and for that whole minute Jungkook is kicking his legs under the sheets of his bed like an eager five-year old who just gave his crush his Valentine. Maybe it’s taking you so long to reply because you’re trying to send a selfie of your own, running off to the bathroom to take a cute selfie if your cousin is asleep in bed. 

[10:19] You: fuck, i kno that’s supposed to be a cute selfie, but i want you so bad. I want to sit on your face, let your lips glisten with my pussy as i cum all over that pretty face

[10:19] You: i wanna touch myself so badly but fuckin’ hoseok is out here snoring like he’s gon hack a lung. Panties are so wet 🥺🥺 your doll is needy for you, wanna be played with

[10:20] Jungkook: lfjsdl;fkjs;fjsoisfoisljsdfsdklfjsdklf 

He throws his phone across the bed, feeling himself twitch in his red flannel pyjama bottoms. The thought of you so hot and needy when you’re ten floors down has Jungkook absolutely livid. He doesn’t know how he’s going to talk to you, comfort you without missing you like crazy. 

Jungkook thinks back to what he has in his fridge. His contractor sent him a cheese assortment, maybe he can bring it down pretending to be a friendly neighbor. Maybe Hoseok can go to the convenience store to conveniently grab a bottle of wine. He can make both of you cum in five minutes, flat. 

Akin to a dumb, horny teenager, he sighs. He rubs his palm longingly over his member. He’s horny, but he’s also eager to see your face. Talk to you, get reacquainted with your routine and sneak his way into it. He wants to be a part of your life, and he’s hoping you will too. 

[5:02] You: Jungkook, you left me hanging last night

[5:05] Jungkook: baby doll… i wouldnt have been able to handle myself if we continued

[5:06] You: so you decided to dip :( 

[5:06] You: could u play with your doll a lil bit, kook? Hobi left for another interview

[5:08] You: PNG.0901

Jungkook was a fool to believe that you would drop him like that. No, Jungkook can see now that you two are a match made in heaven. You have a bite, never afraid to speak your mind when needed. This translates to a hunger you shamelessly share with Jungkook, both sexual and romantically intimate. He almost wishes he could’ve seen you act like a bitch to Taehyung last night, he can only imagine how sexy you looked telling him off. 

He has the technology to blow up your picture, the one that’s currently having him close his laptop and shove it to the side. He spreads his legs further across his glass desk, trying to find comfort between his tight pants as he absorbs every bit of your skin. 

It’s nothing too risque, but it’s nothing short of sensual. The room is dark, but it’s very clearly a picture of your hand between your thighs. Again, you’re between your wall and bed, squished between your office chair with your legs spread as far as they can go. Your skin is so soft looking, plush as you press two fingers between your damp panties. Adorable. 

[5:12] Jungkook: you know why i never replied last night? Because i was too busy jacking off to your dirty words doll. U really need your mouth washed

[5:12] You: wanna wash it with something else🍆

[5:12] You: please kook, i need something. Hoseok will come home soon and i might rip his head off. Help prevent a murder

Jungkook chuckles, clutching his phone closer to his body. He loves how much you’re opening up to him. Last week feels like so long ago, how you were all flushed and wide-eyed at the proposition of sex. He thinks you two can have a lot of fun getting to know each other, both emotionally and physically. 

[5:15] Jungkook: i was gonna wait until i sent this, but i think my doll needs it. Here’s what i was doing last night

[5:17] Jungkook: MP4.13

He… has a meeting in five minutes. A very important, very serious meeting. Jungkook jacked off enough last night, now it’s your turn. He hopes you like it. It’s not a very long video, barely a twenty-second clip of him fisting his cock. Taehyung was still home at the time, so he had to keep quiet. However, he couldn’t get the image of you out of his head that night, rubbing your thighs together in a cramped mattress as you try to erase the dirty thoughts of him. A murmur of your name, and the image of his precum dripping down his knuckles. You hope it’s enough. 

[5:34] You: u make everything so much easier💜✨

[5:35] You: MP4.234

Two minutes. The video you send is even shorter than his, barely fifteen seconds. You’re in a much more comfortable position, horizontal on the bed. Your shirt is ridden up to the underside of your breasts, one hand clutching your bare breast so hard he can see your cotton plush skin bulging between your fingers. The other hand has your panties shifted to the side, three fingers in your sopping cunt. 

“Mmh—fuck, f-uck Jungkook—” the words are mere breaths, puffs of air as you reach your orgasm. 

His call connects. He nearly drops his phone on the glass.  

“Jungkook!” Andreas from Germany wishes him brightly, “you look great, glowing even!” 

Jungkook blushes, and mutters something about having to go to the bathroom before they start. 

Taehyung makes himself scarce on Saturday. He packs a duffel bag for himself and takes the PlayStation, knowing it’ll be a long weekend at Jimin’s. 

Jungkook is on livewire for the morning. He even express-delivers a pasta roller to his house, and he spends all morning testing out the perfect pasta dough. His black apron is covered in flour, and he can barely comprehend the tutorial that’s teaching him on his flatscreen. 

He’s on autopilot. He hasn’t contacted you since he sent that selfie, and he doesn’t intend to. Jungkook understands why you made yourself scarce in the beginning of the week, preferring to raincheck and pin your relationship for a better time. Jungkook’s brain is overridden with you, swollen with thoughts of you. You would never be able to focus if you kept in contact like you did last night, especially if you can’t get away from Hoseok. 

Absence surely makes the heart grow fonder. 

Slapping his hands against his trousers, he surveys his handiwork. His pasta is appropriately floured and wrung, each handful of fresh dough wrapped in little nests. Off the stove is a bechamel sauce, a base ready to be cooked in whatever kind of pasta dish you want. He thinks the two of you would have fun making your own non-traditional pasta dishes. 

The soft knocks on his front door interrupts his train of thought, and he knows it’s you. 

You stand in front of the door, impossibly small in a large shirt and a plain pair of leggings. At the sight of Jungkook, a smile as warm and sweet as hot chocolate worms its way to your face, and you collapse into his arms. 

He sighs gratefully, sinking into your small body. When he pulls away, he can’t help but frown at your apparent exhaustion. You must’ve come back from something tedious, because sweat dots your brow and your eyes are still puffy and dark. Your chest arches bonelessly into his, hoping to melt in his embrace. 

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies. 

“It’s Saturday.” 

“It is Saturday.” 

You rub your nose between the fabric of his button down, “I should’ve been more specific when I wanted to raincheck on you,” you murmur into the white cotton. 

“No, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions,” Jungkook whispers, even though you’re the only two people on the floor, “I’ll make it better, yeah? I’m going to love you so good tonight, won’t have to lift a finger—” 

You shake your head, looking at him calmly. “Jungkook, it’s been a long week. Hobi got the job, I spent all this morning moving his two-ton speaker set into his new apartment. I don’t want anything gentle. I want you to rail me into next week,” Jungkook chokes on his saliva when you reach to cup his dick through his pants, already sporting a chub, “fuck me breathless. I want—no, I need this.”

Anything for you, but Jungkook isn’t going to let your mouth runneth over that easily. He wants that too, obviously. But again, you’ve made him wait. 

Bending slightly, Jungkook whispers darkly into your ear, “Who said you can decide the rules here, doll?”  he’s been waiting all week to slip back into this persona, one that has you shivering delightfully under his touch. A small, secret smile tucks itself under your lips as you tilt your head down, but Jungkook catches it. It shows you’ve missed it too. He lets your sneaky smile  slide for now, only because he’s missed you so much and you’ve had a long day. 

“If I wanna fuck you rough, I’ll fuck you rough. If I want to edge you until you're sobbing on the corner of the kitchen table, I’ll do it,” Jungkook spits every declaration into your skin, biting at your shoulder so hard you cry deliciously. 

He drags you over to the living room, and he could sing at how easily you follow directions. Both of you have been tied up this week, and some hard sex would definitely ease that frustration, “Knees,” Jungkook commands, and you waste no time sinking to the floor, hands atop your knees. 

You look up through your lashes, eyes big and glassy. His poor girl is tired, and he finds it all the more attractive that you’re willing to push that aside to make eachother feel good. 

“Pretty, pretty,” he chants, pulling down his pants and letting his dick spring free, “suck.” 

You waste no time, and he watches as your eyes dilate over the expanse of his cock, half-hard and ready for your mouth. Your nails dig into your knees as you start with featherlight kisses, finally turning into sloppy smacks as you lick all over his dick. 

Jungkook groans, weaving a hand into your hair to force his dick down your throat. You gag at the sudden intrusion, but it doesn’t stop you from taking it like a champ. Hard, deep thrusts that he’s sure you can feel all the way in your stomach. You gag at each thrust, but don’t let up as your hot tongue wraps him up and licks at the pre-cum. 

“Fuuuuck, doll,” he rips you away, his now hard dick springing away. He’s a little shaky on his knees, but he plants his feet down as he grips his cock, slapping the tip of it across your cheek. It smears your face, glossing your flushed cheeks in a mixture of your saliva and pre-cum. “Are you trying to make me cum first? So sweet, you don’t even care if you cum tonight, hmm? You owe me, making you believe you had another man.” 

This isn’t true, of course. The both of you know it was just miscommunication, but it doesn’t hurt to play it up for pleasure. 

“N-no Kook, I’m yours,” you grapple at his pants, pulling them down so he can get them off completely. 

“Right. You’re. Mine.” With every punctuated word is a light slap to your cheek, and you take it. His cock bounces right off of you, until you finally move your head to suckle at the engorged tip, “I’m keeping you forever, doll. Don’t you know that?” 

Throughout this whole process, you don’t move, other than the minute clawing at your knees. You’re so good to him. Jungkook pulls away and ignores the ache in his member for now, taking off your clothes for himself. It’s like unwrapping a gift, revealing every bit of skin reserved for his viewing. “So sexy,” he remarks once he’s got you bare, pulling you onto the couch. He’s still in his button down shirt, his date night shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. However, he lets your hands inch under the stiff fabric, feeling for his taut muscle. 

He guides your aching cunt to his cock, sinking you down. It’s a tight fit, and you both moan at the brush of contact. Despite not being prepped, you’re still slick, and it makes up for it. He doesn’t thrust up or anything, just guides his lips to yours with a threadbare brush of his finger. 

“Kook, d-do you want me to move?” you mumble against his cherry-flavored lip balm. 

“Good dolls don’t move until they’re told,” your eyes widen innocently at the statement, and you crumple against his mouth, at his next words, “cum like this.” 

“Awh shit, please no,” you tear up, burying your head between the crook of his neck, “I can’t wait.” 

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you into next week. You can’t do this one little favor for me?” he’s being so mean, and you hate him for it. Haven’t you earned it? “C’mon baby, I thought you wanted me?” 

It’s silent, save for the soft Italian restaurant music playing from whatever tutorial he’s hooked up to his television. It’s terribly cliche, like you’re in the porno version of a European romance movie. He thinks nothing of it, not when your juices are dripping on his thighs, your skin soft and pliant in his grip. Jungkook drums his fingers against your spine, seemingly uncaring that you’re stuffed deep into your womb. 

On the other hand, it’s the only thing you’re acutely aware of. His thick, warm cock is nestled between your folds, right where it should be. You clench once, twice, thankful that this isn’t some crazed wet dream. States of sleep and consciousness have blurred this week, you’re lucky that you made it all the way up to Jungkook’s apartment. 

You can’t cum like this. You need to bait him. You moan, the sound slow and rumbly against your throat as you weave your fingers through his dark tresses. Moving the strands aside to kiss his cold metal earrings you murmur, “I love this, Kookoo. I’ve wanted you all week, I was going crazy. I kept playing last week in my head over and over. I even put in my little vibrator, hoping you’d pull up the app.” 

Jungkook’s teeth clench, and his grip is borderline painful as it digs into your hips. 

“I haven’t been able to cum all week, and I want to do it all over you,” you husk, playing with the roots of his hair. 

You can feel yourself dripping, wetness lubricating you even further and probably staining his thighs and couch with your arousal. Every second that passes is killer, and the fluttering towards your pussy tighten further as Jungkook’s cock twitches in response. Your pussy continues its ministrations, butterfly-like flaps against his hot member that have you vibrating.

“Mm, oh, I’ll cum for you,” and surprisingly, you might be able to. All this dirty talking has gotten you riled up. Just a little bit more and—

Jungkook shoves you off his cock, forcing you to land on the couch. 

“No!” you cry, wiping your face. Your cheeks are ruddied, and you’re annoyed. The coolness of the autumn air has you feeling chilly, and you want to scream at Jungkook for disrupting your orgasm. You feel empty. 

You’re not annoyed for long however, as Jungkook flips you on your back and gives you what you’ve been craving. 

“You glide right in, don’t ya doll,” the friction is deliciously blazing, his hands pushing you further into the large couch as he takes you from behind. Hot, fast smacks against your ass come from the way his balls bounce back and forth as he pistons his cock in and out. “F-fuck, you’re so good to me. So good, I love having you like this. All pretty and dripping, you really know how to make a guy wait, huh?” 

“Mmph! N-no—hng, but I’m y-yours, Kook,” you garble out, and you’re practically eating the throw pillow you’re propped up on as he slams you further into the cushions, so hard you may fall off, “all yours, honey. N-no more waiting. I want you, want you so badly—ah fuck!” 

“It’s worth it, you’re worth it,” he says over and over, his thrusts becoming sporadic and losing their rhythm once he feels you clenching uncontrollably. He presses his two fingers to your sloppy bud, swirling around the juices eagerly. “C-cum, baby doll. You deserve it, yeah? Cum on this cock, let go.” 

You’re starting to see spots, black and white alike. Finally shying away from his cock you rest on your back, but Jungkook doesn’t stop his fingers from flying across your clit. One look at his face and you’re gone. Pretty brown eyes, overflowing with affection. The feeling is different, and it’s the acute pressure between your stomach and pussy that makes you notice what’s going on with your body. The pressure finally releases, your eyes fluttering shut as you rest your cheek on the cushions. You dissolve, a mess on the couch as white hot liquid ejects from your body, spraying Jungkook’s thighs and cushions. 

“Y-you just,” your lover’s mouth is parted open like a baby kitten, uncaring as to how the dark liquid stains his couch fabric. 

“Squirted?” you answer breathlessly, a melty smile on your lips, “y-yeah.” 

 It sets him off, a button left dormant until now. The thatches of hair that surround his cock are dripping with your mess, a cold reminder that he got you to this high. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his cock back into you, and you gasp at the overstimulation. You try not to focus on how your body is a bundle of lit nerves, only to help Jungkook reach his completion. 

“S-so perfect,” he warbles, pressing kisses to your jaw, chin, lips. Each thrust is deep, thick and heady with emotion. “Mm, I wanna cream this pussy sooo badly—mm, all mine, all wet and warm and so so sweet—” 

He cries out your name, biting into your shoulder as your walls fill further with his hot cream. Your thighs are shaking from sensory overload, and Jungkook has to hold you down and soothe you into a state of reality to cling on. 

Satiated, he nuzzles into your chest, feeling absolutely featherlight. 

“T-thank you,” you say gratefully, when at least three out of your five senses return to your body. Your hands dip down to clutch his cheek, pinching lightly at the warm skin.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jungkook exhales into your breasts, “d-didn’t even feed you my cum yet.” 

You scoff, pinching his cheek again. You’re aware of his softening cock between your folds, ready to seep the efforts of today’s coupling, but your stomach says otherwise. You crane your neck to make note of the kitchen island, staring curiously at the metal pasta roller and the little nests of carby goodness that decorate the cutting board. 

“Feed me pasta first, please. You have all night to feed me dessert.” 

Jungkook giggles into your stomach, he doesn’t mind feeding you in that order. 

bonus.

“So.” 

“So?” you have cream sauce on your lips, happily slurping on an angel hair. 

“You haven’t told me you liked me back yet,” Jungkook rests his palm in the swell of his cheek, content with watching you eat from where he’s standing on the counter. He leans his upper body across the marble table, muscles rippling against his white shirt. 

“Oh, I did!” you’re affronted, swinging your legs on the high chair, “I totally did last week!” 

“Yeah, well. Can you say it while I’m not inside you?” 

“Okay,” you blink, quirking him with a simple smile, “I like you.” 

“That was anticlimactic,” Jungkook jokes at the brevity of your confession, yet his heart betrays the charm he finds in the three words. 

You scoff, jabbing your fork in the little next of springy noodles. “What do you want to hear? I’ve wanted you since I’ve moved in? I think you’re really handsome when you pace the hallway doing work on your phone? I like the way you cook?” 

“Keep going,” Jungkook sing songs, walking over to hug you from behind.

The stool swings back and forth as he rocks the two of you, softly and slowly so you don’t throw up your dinner. He noses into your neck, inhaling your scent and committing it to your memory. 

“Mm, dessert first,” you insist, twirling around the stool so you can wrap your legs around his waist. “And then I can tell you exactly how much I like you,” your fingers play with the buttons of his shirt, walking the pads of your fingers across his chest. 

Jungkook grins, hands reaching to cup your bottom and bring you to his bedroom. Of course, he’s always willing to satisfy your insatiable appetite. 

[lost-in-the-shadows-of-1987]

Shine

Chapter 3

The lost boys x reader

~~~~~

The rest of the night went on somewhat quietly, after another two hours Reed and I snuggled up on one side of a couch. Reed being actually asleep and me in a dream like haze patiently waiting for the four men to go to sleep. Hearing whispering and footsteps getting farther from us I be sure to keep still and wait for them to be completely out of ear shot. Soon enough it feels like half an hour has gone by which has me sitting up slightly to peek around at my surroundings. Seeing no one around I move to stand up and begin nudging Reed from his spot on the couch and into my arms. Wrapping himself around me I move up the stairs and send up a prayer that I don’t bust my ass on the rocks or fall to our deaths. 

Huffing as I make it to the top, I see the sun on the horizon drenching the sky in vivid yellow and oranges. staring for a moment longer I begin our long trek towards the city to find a way to get us out of here. Thinking it over she may as well try her hand at getting a hotel for the day so that they can rest before they take off. Counting over the money I have left I decide that if I do that I’ll have to try and earn a little cash by doing something. Waitressing? No, she really didn’t want to have to deal with wearing a uniform or running into anyone. Palm reading could go over well, a simple touch can let her see what the person’s future can lead up to. It may be a small glimpse, but it is something. Quick and easy, well as easy as it could get messing with the world around them. 

Reed having woken up from his sleep, walks ahead of me and is picking up seashells that have drifted up and haven’t been seen yet by any other beach goers. Feeling almost out of place in the hot sweltering sun, she keeps her gaze down and hopes the boardwalk will have some cheap clothes for the both of them. Reed comes flying back with a smile on his face as he hands over some shells. I chuckle as I put them into the baggie that he also found and washed out. 

“So, what are we doing? I thought you said we need to keep our shine to an absolute minimum.” Reed’s voice asks from the bed of our hotel room. “Well, I won’t be using my shine so much to be noticed. Plus, there are like four other hippie like places set up on the board walk. We find a table and then a couple chairs and I piece of paper to make a sign.” I look at Reed as I get out one of my new outfits, trying to go for a beachy-witch vibe. Grabbing for a navy blue skirt I pair it with a cropped cream colored sweater. Opting for a comfortable sandal I find a pair that are navy blue with fabric wrapping around the back of the ankle. Going braless I only grab a pair of cotton underwear and head for the bathroom. 

I slide on the skirt looking at the way it sits high on my waist and the slits on both legs reach mid thigh. the cropped sweater sits a little under my bust and the frayed bottom sits comfortably across my midsection. shaking out my hair I leave it natural and opt to put on a little make up. Stepping out I see Reed still laying on the bed. “You ready to go kid?” My voice cuts though to him and he shuts off the television with a nod of his head. I place my sandals on and grab my low hanging grey satchel bag. 

The walk to the board walk is comfortable, Reed holds my left hand as I lead us through the crowds and towards some of the backs alleys that held dumpsters. We eventually scored on a really shabby table, but it would work, and three mismatched chairs that looked as if they could fall apart at any moment. Sending Reed into a diner he comes back with a piece of paper and a pen giggling all the while. Setting up towards a railing we sit back and let our advertisement for palm readings for two dollars do all the work. 

As the night wore on Reed and I had seen well over enough people to get them four hundred dollars. Easy enough when all the people hearing good news gave out a decent tip. Calling it a night we pack up and Reed is all for trying out a few rides before we grab something to eat. “Can we please go on the carousel?” Reed’s consistent begging finally breaks me for one last ride, “fine, but that it for tonight we’ll go eat and then we’ll head back to the motel. Okay?” Nodding enthusiastically to my words we both head over to the carousel and hand over the last of our tickets. Settling Reed onto a sled with me we both laugh in joy as the ride begins and look at all the lights and horses bobbing up and down. 

As we both enjoy the atmosphere a chill goes down my spine, I look around us and eventually a hand comes in contact with my cheek. Eyes wide I look over to see David and the other men not far behind, all grinning down at the two of us. My eyes meet David’s one more time and I can’t look away, my head against my will nuzzles more firmly into his hand. Smirk growing, he takes hold of my hand and leads me off the carousel my eyes are still glued to his form. Stopping I feel like water is poured over my head and my breathing starts to get heavier the longer I stare at him. 

“Joanna, let’s go.” David’s voice cuts through the fog and I try to shake him off, and David takes notice. So do the other boys as Marko is suddenly on my left and has a hold of my elbow and Paul the other. My breath gets quicker, and I start to hyperventilate when I realize I can’t read a single one of their minds. Why can’t I read their minds? That’s not normal, they aren’t normal, and I need to get us out of here. I start to struggle harder as they lead us off of the boardwalk and onto the sand. 

“No, no, please David, let us go! I, I’ll do anything please just let us go. Let Reed go.” My voice begins to waiver and my lips tremble, and I don’t know that I have enough shine to get us out of this situation. “Joanna?!” The panic in Reed’s voice has me kicking out at Marko and Paul as they drag us under the empty pier. A scream builds up in my chest and I release it and Marko and Paul immediately go soaring away and smack into the large wooden posts. Dwayne and David shocked as they are don’t react until I am pulling Reed after me and towards the lit up barrels out on the open sand. 

Suddenly David and Dwayne are blocking our paths and I skid to a halt and turn only to find Marko and Paul both back up and standing behind us. Holding onto Reed I back us up to the wooden post behind us to keep the four men in front of us. “Joanna, I’m only going to ask this once, what are you?” David’s voice is cold, and I flinch as tears begin to fill my eyes. “David, please I don’t know how to explain it. I can’t, I don’t know how.” My voice is shaky, and I try not to waiver on my feet, but I fall to my knees head dropping low as David kneels before us. I keep Reed behind me who is silently crying. 

“I want to know how you did what you just did Joanna.” David’s voice is right next to my ear. “It’s my shine, I can read people’s minds and see futures.” I sob out as I can almost feel my end getting near. “What the hell is shine?” David asks, “it is how I can do all of those things, the greater I shine the more likely I am to be hunted. Yesterday is the first time Reed and I have met, and he was taken by one of them, they hunt us and kill us for our shine.” I finally spit all of what I know out. The look on David’s face is one I can’t figure out what he is thinking, and not that it would help but I try to touch his mind. Of course, nothing and that is what scares me. 

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pause, m | myg | 3

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Life is like a cassette tape. It seems like it’s constantly repeating, flipped from side A to side B, and the songs can’t be skipped. You can only pause, rewind, fast forward, play after you’ve already heard the song. After you’ve already lived it. All Min Yoongi knows is his own tape, until it smashes right at his feet, and then he has to learn to dance to a different beat.

warnings: rated M (18+) - please be warned this story has a physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; gender stereotyping; mentions of therapy; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader

rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.

--

2.

-

Morning. Night.

He wasn’t on the night train.

Morning. Night.

He wasn’t on the night train.

Morning. Night.

You were the only one exiting at the last stop. Running. Running.

Morning. Night.

You hated this replay. This song sucked. This cassette tape sucked. But you kept going, ending all your bad days with dancing, dancing until you wore your own heart out, dancing to sad songs with happy beats, attending your dance party of one. Never had you wished your dance party to be of two.

Never, until now.

Morning. Night.

You were wandering around your neighborhood on your off day, idle and antsy. There was a garage sale happening. You walked over, seeing all the old things. Weird lampshades with no bottom half. Chipped coin banks. A pair of ping-pong paddles with no ping pong ball. Single teacups without the rest of the set. Old VHS tapes that no one had a player for.

Cassettes.

A bunch of cassette tapes, sitting there, spilled out. You tilted your head, picking one out. Love Songs for my Love. It was written in faded pen, a barely legible scribble. You flipped it over, but there was no indication of said songs. Just a Side A and Side B. Did someone make this? Did they use a tape player and record this by playing the songs on scratchy audio?

You suddenly remembered Yoongi’s girlfriend throwing a cassette tape on the subway concrete as she declared she hated him. The thin plastic has shattered, black ribbon flying everywhere.

Did Yoongi make her one?

And she smashed it, just like that?

“Do you want that?”

You started as an old woman indicated the tape in your hand. She was wearing a blue and white floral dress, a bright pink fanny pack at her waist. Her hand held a wad of change bills.

“Uh…” you said, not knowing if you did or not.

“I have a cassette player too.” The old woman tucked a gray hair behind her ear and rummaged around her, producing a silver and brown cassette player. It was huge, nearly the size of your forearm. “Still works. Needs batteries though.” She stated the price.

You walked out of the garage sale with the cassette and the player, wallet lighter.

You went home and played the tape after shoving some batteries into the player. It was full of old, cheesy eighties songs. You didn’t know any of these songs. They were all weird. Some were poorly recorded, cutting off strangely. The speaker was terrible, scratchy and pitching the audio due to its age, not that the audio was very good to begin with.

But you danced to it.

You danced to it.

Danced to these terrible love songs of a different time, of a different couple, not knowing if they were still together or not, not knowing if they were still in love, not knowing if they were even in Korea, but dancing to these retro beats anyway, not caring. Because someone, at one point, tried clumsily to make this for the one that loved, only for it to be sold like cheap candy decades later and you might as well enjoy it, because, hell.

What else was there to enjoy?

Morning.

Night.

You stopped at your doorstep.

Someone was sitting there, wearing a black parka and black sneakers. Black face mask. He raised his head as you stopped. Dark eyes, void of any sparkle. He stood up.

You swallowed. Bowed your head politely.

Opened your door for Min Yoongi.

-

You hadn’t changed the couch all this time. Left everything there, waiting.

Blankets. Pillow. The suitcase of his clothes.

Everything.

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

You went to your room, wordlessly.

In the morning, the blankets were folded neatly and the pillow set on top, as if he was never there.

Pause.

Fast forward.

He would be there one night and then not there several nights. He would stay several nights in a row, but not be there in the morning. Never saying anything. You didn’t say anything. You just went to your bedroom and danced to sad songs with happy beats, door closed, the pressure in your chest unbearable.

Replay. Turn the tape around. Replay. Turn the tape around. Replay.

You wanted to fast forward. You wanted to pause. You wanted to rewind.

But you had to press play.

You had to live the moments.

You had to run as you exited to night train, run and run and run, sometimes finding Yoongi sitting at your doorstep, sometimes finding nothing but air. And it didn’t matter. They were all bad days, ending with you dancing to gloomy songs with upbeat tunes, dancing and dancing until you passed out.

You were stuck.

Stuck in this odd loop of reality.

Trapped in sad lyrics with a happy melody.

-

You talked to your former therapist about it. 

Explained the situation, trying to remember all the details. He was retired already, but as usual he listened patiently and with kindness. He didn't have to. When your therapist retired, he let you know that he meant it when he told you that you could call him any time and he would set aside some of his day to talk with you. You were grateful and never tried to abuse it. Sometimes you would just call and say hello, ask him about his health. Send him cards every once in a while, wishing him well. He had been a great therapist and now he was a good friend.

Those were really, really hard to come by. 

You saw Yoongi once again, sitting in front of your apartment doorstep. Bit your lip seeing his crumpled form wrapped in his black parka. You walked up to him and smiled, but Yoongi didn't look at you. He only stood up and moved out of the way for you to unlock your door. 

Your former therapist's words echoed in your head. 

You need to consider the effect of your kindness, not only on him, but on you. 

You held up your keys and found your hand shaking, missing the keyhole. 

It is up to you how much you want to say. But remember to communicate with empathy. He is a victim and he may not respond rationally because his thought processes have been manipulated and warped.

"I'm sorry."

Yoongi's whisper was very soft, almost inaudible. You wanted to scream, cry, laugh it off, hug him, all at once. Instead, you took a deep breath and put your key in your front door. Turned around and beckoned him warmly into your home. 

"Come in."

Everyone's reality is different. Even if you're sharing moments together, one person might have a completely different way of interpreting and processing events. 

Yoongi stepped into your apartment once more, carefully taking off his shoes. Trying to keep his eyes on the floor. You didn't see any visible bruises on his face, but you could see the bruises to his soul as he timidly walked to the couch.

In life, you get to choose only how you feel about things. You only get to choose your own reaction.

You closed the front door, locked it.

You can't choose for other people. 

You turned around to see Yoongi looking at the pillow, blankets, the little bag of toiletries. The suitcase of his clothes, washed and folded. You kept them on the couch, all this time.

"Yoongi."

He didn't turn his head, but you saw him move his chin slightly to indicate he was listening. 

"This time... this time, before you leave in the morning," you said quietly, gently. "I hope you reconsider. Even if it's only for a second."

Yoongi didn't respond. 

-

The next morning, you didn't know what you would find. The same folded blankets with the pillow on top? The same empty couch?

You went out to the living room. 

Folded blankets. Pillow on top. No Yoongi on the couch. Your heart sank. Okay. It was worth a shot. 

"I told myself this would be the last time."

A familiar raspy, soft voice. You jerked your head to the door. Yoongi was standing there, fully dressed, face mask on, sneakers on his feet. He wasn't looking at you. He was staring at the couch. 

"I told myself I wouldn't take advantage of your kindness anymore."

It's okay, you wanted to blurt, but you hesitated, because was it? Was it okay to watch this all the time, to witness this toxic relationship, and not be able to help because you can't help unless they want to be helped?

"I'm weak."

Yoongi raised his head. He made eye contact with you. And it hurt so much, seeing those eyes and knowing you could do nothing, knowing he was just going to go back because that's all he knew. 

You smiled even though it hurt so, so much to smile.

"You might think you're weak," you said softly. "But you always have a choice, Yoongi. Even if it's a small step. Even if it's something dumb, like taking off your shoes."

You couldn't tell his expression, most of it hidden behind the face mask. You thought of that time, in the convivence superstore, where his fingers had accidentally gotten caught in your sweater and unfurled the yarn, tangling you two together with red string, an awkward, embarrassing moment. Your lips curved a little wider, remembering that time. If anything, at least there was that one precious memory.

Yoongi looked down. 

He placed his hand on the doorknob. 

You closed your eyes, not wanting to watch him go. 

You heard shuffling. Then a presence close to you. Your eyes snapped open. Yoongi's shoes were by the door. You looked up, right in front of you. Yoongi gazed back at you with uncertainty. Then he pulled down the face mask and stepped closer to you. Voice trembling, still so soft. 

"What... what should I do now?"

You couldn't help it. 

You began to cry. 

It all came out, the tears spilling like a broken dam. Yoongi's eyes widened, startled at your sudden reaction. You wrapped your arms around yourself and buried your face in your chest, sobbing ugly tears. You turned away quickly, wiping them away and attempting to talk, but it was impossible. They kept coming. 

Was it happiness? Relief? Stress? Anxiety? The crying racked your entire body. All those weeks, all those days, all those moments. You were just a person. You wanted to say, don't do this to me anymore, but that wasn't a fair thing to say, so you never said it, but, please, please Yoongi, don't do this to me anymore. 

Arms appeared around you, black parka covered arms, and they encircled you, first a tentative hold, then tighter and firmer, steadying your sobs, turning them into sniffles. You realized your sweatshirt sleeves were wet and gross now, covered in snot and tears.

"Thank you."

The whisper behind your head, making you freeze.

"Thank you so, so much."

You didn't want to start crying again. 

You started crying again. 

-

Pause.

Fast forward.

-

Yoongi looked back at you, face full of uncertainty. Black face mask on his chin, squishing his cheeks together. You smiled at him from the waiting room, waving. The doctor’s name was printed clearly on the door. The name of the therapist you had helped Yoongi find. They specialized in domestic violence victims.

“I… I can’t do it.”

He said it softly, but the waiting room was dead silent.

You smiled at him.

“You only have to take one step,” you replied gently. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

Yoongi looked forward again. He took one step. Then another. Then more, walking into the door and closing it behind him.

Pause. Rewind.

You remembered your similar moment. You were by myself at that time, years ago, confused and alone, about to walk into an old man’s office who you thought could do absolutely nothing, but you didn’t know what else to do. You knew there was something wrong with you and you didn’t know what and you knew you needed help. But there was no one to tell you to take a step forward. You were frightened, scared of being alone. Equally scared of being with someone else, which was why you were so boring in every relationship, never putting in any effort, because you were afraid.

The therapist had noticed your hesitance. He stood up and said your name kindly. You snapped to attention, nodding slowly. The old man had smiled, hands crossed in front of his waist.

“You only have to take one step,” he had said. “Just one.”

You looked at the ground.

Took one step.

That seemed too small. Maybe one more.

One more.

One.

More.

You were now in the office, standing in front of the sofa.

The old man had beamed at you proudly.

“You did it.”

Pause. Fast forward.

“You did it.”

Yoongi stepped out of the office. His eyes found yours. “I did.”

You smiled proudly.

“Wanna go buy some bread?” you asked, pointing in the direction of the market plaza next to the clinic. “There’s a bakery nearby. It would be nice to have bread for breakfast, don’t you think?”

Yoongi gave you his little half-smirk. “Yeah, it would.”

-

Reset.

Pause.

Play.

-

“Why do you have that?”

You looked up from your bed to your desk. Yoongi was pointing to the cassette tape player. His face was white, almost tense. His other hand was holding yours. He held it tighter, biting his lip.

“I bought it at a garage sale,” you answered truthfully. Yoongi lowered his hand, not quite looking at you. You continued. “I was walking around the neighborhood and someone was selling their old stuff and I saw some cassettes, so I bought one. The lady upsold me the player too. It was after the first time you…”

You left me.

You felt a painful pluck of your heartstrings, like a guitar strand pulled too tight and producing the wrong sound. Yoongi turned to face you, but you shifted your eyes, taking a deep breath. It’s not his fault. But it had hurt. You couldn’t pretend it didn’t.

You laughed apprehensively. “It was full of eighties love songs anyway. The audio is scratchy and old. The couple probably aren’t even together anymore.”

“That wasn’t that long ago.”

“The eighties were forty years ago, Yoongi.”

Silence. Yoongi was still holding your hand.

“How many times do you think it’s been replayed?” Yoongi murmured.

Your eyes shifted back to the silver and brown tape player. “I don’t know. But I kept playing it.” Your voice was a little choked up now. “I kept playing it until you… until you came back.” And sometimes I think… sometimes I think there might be a chance you’ll leave again. And maybe that was impossible, but you knew better, because impossible things happen all the time and it would be easy to think a person could fully heal, but things like that don’t heal so easily.

You know, because you witnessed it firsthand.

“They’re all terrible,” you said quietly.

Yoongi squeezed your hand. “But you kept replaying them.”

“Yeah.”

He took a deep breath. And then another. You waited. He seemed like he wanted to say something. You rubbed his thumb gently with yours. He kept staring at the cassette player.

“That… was the first gift I gave her.” His dark brown eyes were misty, gazing into the past. “Our hundred-day anniversary. I gave her a cassette of my favorite songs. I thought it was more original than a mix CD or a link to a Spotify playlist.” He looked down, not quite at the floor. “She was so excited and happy. She told me she was going to play it as soon as she got home.”

Silence.

When Yoongi spoke again, there was a quiver of hopelessness.

“I never saw a tape player at her place.”

You saw the pain in his eyes.

“Did she play it even once?”

He shut his eyes, hiding them with his hair. His voice was getting smaller and smaller, almost disappearing.

“And then she smashed it.”

He was clutching your hand so tightly that your fingers felt numb, but you didn’t move away, listening carefully.

“She smashed it so that not even people like you could pick it up years later and listen to it. Smashed it so that not even one person in the whole world could appreciate it.”

“The Yoongi at the time appreciated it,” you said softly.

Yoongi hid his face with his hair.

“The Yoongi back then was a fucking fool,” he sighed.

“It’s not so easy to have a pure feeling.” You placed your other hand on top of his. “Not everyone can feel that way. It’s not fair when someone takes advantage of that.”

He hung his head. “I could have gotten out. I could have been a man and left. But I kept going back. I enabled her. I was just as bad.”

You sighed softly. “You know things like that are easy to say and impossible to do in the moment.”

“Aren’t you mad at me?”

Yoongi lifted his head, looking at you through his bangs. Not wanting to fully show you the pain in those dark brown orbs.

“For going back?”

You shook your head. “No.” Your lips curved into a sad smile. “I watched my dad crawl back over and over. I watched it happen right in front of my eyes.” You exhaled the tenseness from your chest. “He kept thinking that because they had kids he had to come back.” The next breath was rougher, pushing out all your anger. “I think it would have easier if she was my stepmother. But she wasn’t.”

And the fear stabbed through you.

“I keep thinking, what if I’m like her? What if I’m just like her and I don’t know?”

You shut your eyes.

“All of my previous relationships ended because I didn’t invest into them.”

You suddenly let go of Yoongi’s hand, pulling away, but Yoongi held on, held on desperately, interlocking his fingers with yours. You dropped your hand, all strength gone, measuring your breathing, trying to calm yourself down.

“What if…?”

Silence.

“We’ll never know unless we try.”

Pause.

“I can’t ask you to try after what you’ve been through, Yoongi.”

“You don’t have to ask me.”

You opened your eyes and slowly, slowly raised your head. Your eyes connected with his.

“You know you won’t be that way,” Yoongi murmured quietly. “Because you know and can recognize it. You recognized it when… when I saw nothing.”

You held his hand.

Fell back on the bed and the two of you stared at the ceiling, holding hands.

-

You laughed as you exited the train car with Yoongi. At the last stop, stepping out to the harsh streetlights and concrete.

“What do you mean, is that where I got my dance skills? It’s just a music video! They’re supposed to be weird!” you were saying, shouldering your backpack.

“That was bizarre and that’s putting it lightly,” Yoongi chuckled.

He didn’t look at the edge of the train station anymore. He was only looking at you, with his dark brown, cat-like eyes full of sparkle, smirking at you fully now. There was still space between you two at this particular place, this last train stop, but somehow it had gotten smaller. Shrunk. Not because he was shrinking either. He was a smoothed-out piece of paper now, still winkled; the old marks erased but still etched on the page. Not forgotten, but finally able to be written over.

“Get the fuck over here, Yoongi.”

Both of you froze.

Yoongi frowned and looked up. The pressure on your chest returned.

The woman. Yoongi’s girlfriend.

No.

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“I told you it was over. It’s still over.”

Ex-girlfriend.

She furrowed her brows, bristling. “You can’t do this to me, Yoongi! I’m the only one who loves you! Me! Or did you forget, you stupid bastard?”

Yoongi paused. He took a deep breath and stared up at the streetlights, up to the sky. For a second, you despaired, thinking he was going to consider it, thinking he was going to walk away from you. Then he let out a puff of air and ticked his head.

“I don’t have anything more to say to you,” he said evenly, not looking at his ex-girlfriend.

Yoongi turned away.

He caught your eye. He wasn’t smiling, but you could tell there was something different this time. Resolve. He nudged your arm with his.

“Wanna race?”

The pressure on your chest lifted suddenly, leaving you breathless.

“What?” you gasped.

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re gonna lose.”

And then he tore off. You started, running after him, the young woman shouting after you two, but neither of you heard, neither of you listening, because you were running, running, chasing after that black parka with indignation, calling his name and him mockingly bellowing yours back, causing you to run faster, faster, smile on your face, tackling him into your front door laughing. Yoongi snickered, stating he won and you chastised him, telling him he cheated as you unlocked the door.

“Your fault for getting distracted.”

“I wasn’t ready!” you flailed, dumping your backpack onto the ground. You took out your phone and accidentally pressed the play button on your music. Your Bluetooth house speakers started blasting quirky guitar, snazzy drums, and twanging bass, ridiculous lyrics singing along. In frustration, you tossed your phone on the couch and began to wiggle your arms, pointing accusingly at Yoongi, as if to say, this isn’t over, but kicking off your shoes and prancing about your apartment, bouncing your shoulders to the beat.

Yoongi shook his head, but you didn’t care, singing on the top of your lungs.

“Don’t know a night without dancing, don’t like the night without dancing…”

“Is that dancing?” Yoongi interrupted, but you just wiggled up and down like a fish out of water, and Yoongi shook his head once more, looking exasperated. You spun, you frolicked, you whipped your hair around until you were lightheaded, not caring about anything, not caring about what Min Yoongi was seeing, because this was your time, your time to shine, your nighttime dance party.

You tripped on the couch and Yoongi darted forward to snatch you from the air. You laughed at your own clumsiness, dizzy from spinning so much, not realizing how close you were to Min Yoongi, not realizing until the song ended and you were staring up at him and he was staring down at you, still in his black parka and face mask squishing his cheeks.

The next song began.

But for some reason you couldn’t brush it off. You couldn’t get up and begin dancing again. You were only looking up into Yoongi’s eyes and he was looking down at you. You were reminded of his face that day in the grocery store, when the red yarn from your sweater unraveled due to the Velcro on his sleeve, reminded of that split second where you were happy and sad at the same time, happy and sad at the idea of red yarn attaching you and Yoongi together.

Happy because it was funny.

Sad because you knew you had to pull away.

Yoongi’s dark eyes looked down at you and he leaned down a little. Stopped.

You raised yourself a little. Stopped.

Pause.

Heart beating fast, so fast. Was it from running? From dancing like an idiot? From staring into Yoongi’s eyes? From being so close to him? From knowing you shouldn’t kiss him, because maybe he wasn’t ready yet, but really, really wanting to?

Yoongi leaned down the same time you rose upward.

Your foreheads knocked together.

“Ow!”

“Motherfuc–”

You swore and he jerked up, rubbing his forehead as you winced, massaging yours. It was a hard hit and you felt woozy from all the emotions and the physical exertion. You grabbed his arm for balance as you stood, and he grabbed yours, grimacing as he rubbed his head.

“Damn, that fucking hurt,” he mumbled.

“Ugh, am I bruised?” you asked, removing your hand.

He squinted. “No?” He leaned forward a little.

You leaned forward too. Stopping just a centimeter away. Yoongi’s eyes widened. You looked into his wide eyes with your wide eyes, waiting. You shouldn’t kiss him, because you didn’t know if he was okay with it, you didn’t know if he was even thinking about it. It was way too early, it was too soon, and you should just back off–

He pressed his lips to yours.

You both stared at each other with unblinking, huge eyes, lips on lips.

You jerked back, sputtering. “Y-You’re making this weird!”

Yoongi pointed to you and all around him. “And this bizarre indie rock isn’t making this weird?”

“D-Don’t blame the music,” you stuttered, fingers on your lips. “You shouldn’t stare like that!”

“You were s-staring back!” he accused.

“F-Fine!”

And then you grabbed his face and kissed him, deeply, fully. You kissed Min Yoongi, kissed his soft lips with your eyes squeezed shut, breathing in his scent and his presence, a presence you never wanted to go away. You didn’t know if it was right or wrong. You didn’t know if this was the start of a wonderful story or the end of a rollercoaster one, but it was yours, your cassette tape with your love songs, and you wanted Yoongi on the playlist, you wanted his song to play on repeat, and he grabbed your arms and pulled you close, kissing you back, murmuring your name, wrapping his arms around you, and you knew you had his song, his song on your cassette to dance to.

Don’t let this beginning end.

-

4. smut.

--

masterpost

[flourgirl]

Waiting On The Warmth

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You accidentally catch a glimpse of Peter’s spider-bite induced abs and it brings up feelings you didn’t know you had.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Just some super fluffy pining from two dorks in love. Also, some swear words.

A/N: I churned this out this morning during my very last architecture lecture of the semester! Hope you guys like it <3

“I watched you get undressed I must have turned bright red 'Cause I couldn't stand to face you 'Cause I liked what I saw And maybe we should just be friends” -Like or Like Like, Miniature Tigers

“It’s so cold,” you whined, rubbing your arms in an attempt to keep warm. You had only been in New York for five months and your body still hadn’t adjusted to the low temperatures. “Is nobody else cold? Is this just how you guys live?”

Midtown was too cheap to turn up the heat in the winter, meaning the school was only as warm as the concrete walls could make it. Even your chunky turtleneck wasn’t enough to suffice and your winter coat was just too bulky to be wearing around.

“Y/N, it really isn’t that cold. It’s only, like, 40 degrees. Plus, it’s October. The worst is yet to come,” Ned reminded you, your classmates filing into the auditorium to watch Principal Morita’s annual drug safety presentation.

You continued in agony, your teeth starting to chatter. Sure, it wasn’t even freezing temps, but where you came from, winter just meant that you had to throw on a hoodie before you left the house.

The crowd of students jostled you around, and you huddled close to Peter, who had quickly become your best friend. You didn’t know what you’d do if the two of you hadn’t been paired up in chemistry class. Probably sulk around and not talk to anybody.

“Are you actually that cold?” Peter asked, smiling down as you held onto his arm to keep from getting separated from the group. You nodded, your brows furrowed from watching kids pass by wearing nothing but t-shirts. 

“Here, come on.” He pulled you aside as Ned, MJ, and Betty saved your seats. You watched gratefully as Peter proceeded to peel off his sweatshirt and hand it to you. The only thing was, his shirt was stuck to the inside of it, exposing the lower part of his torso for a split second.

Peter Parker had abs. Like a whole six pack. Is that really what had been hiding under his oversized sweaters and flannel button downs? Was he some kind of undercover student athlete?

You snapped yourself out of your daze, blinking back at Peter as he held out his sweatshirt for you to take, hoping that he couldn’t see how much you were blushing. Sure, he had always been cute to you, but this was different. Did you really think your Lego-building lab partner was hot?

“Thanks,” you said, sheepishly accepting his offer and slipping into the warm fleece material. Even though Peter wasn’t super big, it still hung off you like a dress, making you feel like you looked like a toddler. Nevertheless, you reveled in how much better you felt now that you weren’t absolutely freezing.

“You look good. Come on, let’s sit down before we get yelled at.” When he grabbed your hand to pull you to where the rest of your friends were sitting, as the two of you often did, your heartbeat suddenly got faster.

The two of you slumped into your auditorium chairs, and you were now hyper aware of how close you and Peter always sat. Your arm was against his, and you could tell that even in just his short sleeved shirt, he was still really warm. 

You had never noticed it whenever the two of you hugged, but his sweatshirt smelled really good. A light, clean smell that made you wonder if May had some fancy brand of laundry detergent that you needed to ask her about.

It seemed like hours before the overdramatic safety ad was over and the drama club had performed their cheesy skit on drunk driving. 

Peter leaned close to you, whispering in your ear, “Did you know Flash volunteers for this thing every year? He thinks it’ll get Sally Avril to notice him, but it never does.” 

“Uh, yeah, he’s such an idiot,” you laughed awkwardly. His face had been so close to yours. Normally, you wouldn’t even notice, but that all changed when you found out about Peter’s secret six-pack.

You shifted in your seat, trying to scoot away from him so you could brush these dumb feelings aside and not ruin your friendship. Last time you checked, MJ had told you that he had a crush on Liz Allan. Little did you know, Peter’s spidey-senses could tell something was off.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at you, making you notice how pretty his eyes were. Stop it, you begged yourself, you’re just friends. Good friends. Friends that cuddle during movie nights and wipe crumbs off each other’s faces and… shit.

You liked Peter. “Uh, yeah. I’m just super bored, you know?” you tried to assure him, wondering when this stupid thing would end so you could head off to the computer lab. 

You needed to focus on your programming assignment and not how cute Peter’s hair looked when it was messy. It was honestly way too much for you to handle at this point. 

Your leg bounced up and down, desperate for Principal Morita to wrap up his final warnings to the students. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before it was over and you were scrambling out of the auditorium away from Peter, hoping your silly little crush would go away by the time school ended.

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

Peter had no idea what was going on with you, but you were acting really weird. It had been bothering him ever since this morning when you practically ran away from him without a word. Did his sweatshirt smell really bad and you were just leaving to take it off in private to not hurt his feelings? He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Usually, he’d wait by your locker at the end of the day so the two of you could walk home together, but maybe you needed some space. Except he remembered the two of you had to watch Honey, I Shrunk the Kids for homework and somehow analyze the experimental process of inventing Wayne Szalinki’s wacky ray gun.

“Hey,” he greeted you, watching as you shoved your notebooks in your backpack without even looking at him. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s just head to your place and get this stupid movie over with,” you sighed. Peter was shocked. He thought you were excited to have an excuse for a movie night during the school week. You were still wearing his sweatshirt, though, so at least he knew that he didn’t stink.

You walked about two feet further from him than you usually did, and he thought about if someone saw you two on the street, they’d think you were strangers. He closed the distance between the two of you, preventing you from wandering any further unless you wanted to run into a parking meter.

Even if you were mad at him for some reason,  the awkward silence let Peter appreciate just how cute you looked in his sweatshirt. He wondered if he should just give it to you, since it looked way better on you than it ever had on him.

She looks pretty in red, he thought, which surprised even him. He watched as you trudged down the sidewalk, your shiny hair bouncing in the cold air. Did you always look this good?

Peter usually spent most of his lunch period daydreaming about Liz that he had never even thought of you in a romantic way. But seeing you all bundled up in his clothes had given him all these mixed up feelings that he couldn’t shake.

When the two of you got to his apartment, Peter’s head had already been flooded with thoughts about what it would mean if he did have a crush on you. It would ruin the friendship for sure. 

There was no way that you were interested in him like that. Is that what was going on? Was him giving you his sweatshirt too romantic that it made you this awkward around him?

“Hello, earth to Peter,” May said, waving her hand in front of his face to get him out of his head. “I asked what you wanted for dinner? Y/N said she’s cool with anything, so it’s just up to you and me. I was thinking we could try out that new Greek restaurant down the street. What do you think?”

“No!” Peter blurted out, surprising both you and May. “Uh, I mean, I don’t know if I’ll like eating there, you know? I think we should stick to something safe. Something that we know. How about Chinese?” He wasn’t just talking about food, but he hoped that neither of you could tell.

“Uh, okay. Whatever you say, squirt,” May sighed, giving Peter a pat on the shoulder before going to ruffle through the drawer of take out menus. “You guys want the usual? Pot stickers, lo mein, and sesame chicken, right?”

“Yeah, that works!” you called out from the sofa. Peter was relieved to see that you were returning to your usual perkiness as he sat down next to you, making sure to leave a good couple of inches between the two of you.

In just twenty minutes, things were starting to feel normal again. You were chowing down on your favorite foods and discussing the plausibility of shrinking objects. After about an hour, you were snuggled up to him laughing as the son get carried away by a bee. 

Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned your head onto Peter’s shoulder, and he decided that you looked too peaceful while sleeping for him to do anything about it. You smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and he thought about how he could get used to having you by his side like this.

You woke up to the loud soundtrack of tubas and stringed instruments to see the credits playing. You sat up, smoothing down your hair and adjusting the many layers that you had snuggled into. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Peter whispered, laughing a little bit as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

“What did I miss?” you yawned, lifting your arms in the air to stretch them. 

“Nothing much. The son gets the girl and they eat a really big turkey at Thanksgiving.”

“Okay, cool,” you said, slumping back down into the soft cushions of the couch. “Glad you were here to watch it with me.” 

You felt a lot better than this morning. Even if your feelings hadn’t disappeared, you had come to terms with the fact that you had a crush on your best friend, even if you were never going to tell him about it.

“May went out on a date,” Peter told you, trying not to think about how much he liked having you so close to him. “She said she wouldn’t be back until later.”

The two of you sat in silence, something that almost never happened with how much you both tended to ramble. You didn’t want to go home just yet, but you certainly couldn’t stay with Peter looking at you like that. Is that really how he always looked at you? With sparkling eyes and the sweetest smile you had ever seen?

“I, um, I should really go now. I’ll text you my answers to the homework, okay?” you stammered, throwing the blanket off of you and hurrying to pull his sweatshirt off so you could return it. But of course, you managed to somehow get yourself tangled inside of it. “Fuck! Hang on, just give me a second, I got this.” You didn’t.

“Y/N, calm down. Come on, let me help you,” Peter offered, easily lifting the sweatshirt off your head, only to be met with your pouty expression. His face was so close to yours, and you felt like you were about to faint.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, worry written all over his face. “I know you said you were bored this morning, and I’m sure you’re just tired and ready to go home, but did I do something to upset you? You’ve been acting, well… strange.”

You looked down at your socks, which had little dogs printed on them, unable to look Peter in the eyes. His soft brown eyes that you could just stare at for hours. 

“No, um, nothing’s wrong, Peter,” you lied.

“Then why won’t you look at me? Please, Y/N, if something’s been bothering you, I need to know.” You peered up to look at him, his brows furrowed and his stare intense. You just needed to come out and say it. He’s your best friend. Nothing has to change.

“Have you been working out?” you asked. It was all you could muster at this point.

“Uh, what?” Peter replied, surprised that that’s what you had been thinking about this entire time. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, um, I saw your abs this morning, and I figured maybe you’ve been working out to impress Liz or something, and so I just wanted to know, you know, if that’s what was going on.”

He paused for a moment, and you could tell he was thinking really hard about what to say next.

“Y/N. I need to tell you something.” Oh god, here it comes. He knows. He knows you like him and he’s about to shut you down before your crush gets even more out of hand than it already is.

“I’m Spider-Man. That’s, uh, that’s where my abs came from.” What the fuck? Your eyes widened in shock as you tried to register what he had just said.

“Wait, what? How? When? Where?” You couldn’t believe it. Your dorky friend from Queens was New York City’s friendly neighborhood superhero?

“It’s a lot to explain,” he sighed, plopping down on the couch and motioning for you to do the same. You reluctantly sat down next to him. “You have to promise me that you won’t tell anybody.”

“Of course not, Peter,” you assured him, holding out your pinky to let him know that you were serious. He locked his pinky with yours and smiled, a wave of relief washing over him now that he didn’t have to keep secrets from you. Well, at least not the secret of his crime fighting alter-ego. 

“Now, come on, Y/N. Tell me what’s the matter. I know you haven’t been upset all day over the fact that I have abs, right?”

You shook your head, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks. Did he have super senses that could tell how nervous you were? Your throat was suddenly dry at the thought, but you knew that it was now or never.

“I like you! Like, in a more than friends way. I never realized it until this morning, but I really like your hair and the way you smell and I know this is all silly because you like Liz and not me, and that this is probably going to ruin our friendship and—”

Before you could start crying any harder, Peter cut off your rambling with a kiss. You pulled away, wiping away your tears to see the smile you knew and loved on your best friend’s face.

“I like you too. In, uh, a more than friends way,” Peter admitted, tucking a stray piece of your hair back into place. His hand lingered a couple seconds longer against your cheek than necessary.

“Wait, really? You’re not just saying that because you feel bad for me right now, right?” You could feel the butterflies fluttering around inside you like crazy, hopeful at the fact that maybe things weren’t going to be as bad as you had thought.

“Nope, I promise,” he said, holding out his pinky to mimic your actions just a few minutes ago. You brought your hand up to take it, grinning as you felt your heart rise from the pit of your stomach. “I like you a lot. You can keep the sweatshirt, by the way. It suits you.”

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly before pulling back to rest your forehead against his, grinning ear to ear. “So, uh, what now?”

“Well,” Peter started, “How about a date? We could go to that Italian restaurant you like so much, or maybe go ice skating at the hockey rink.”

“No ice skating,” you replied. “You know I’m hopeless on skates, and I’ll probably complain about how cold it is. But I think I could fit a dinner date in between washing my hair and re-watching New Girl. I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Shut up, dummy,” Peter laughed, playfully flicking you on the forehead. 

“Ouch,” you whined. “Fine, Friday. 7 o’ clock. Russo’s. Be there or be square.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he agreed, gently kissing the little red mark he had just made, before bringing his lips closer to yours.

But before he could kiss you again, May was walking through the front door.  “Alright, kiddos. I’ve got leftovers! Loaded mashed potatoes and raspberry cheesecake and oh! Am I interrupting something? Is this finally a thing?” 

She waved her hand at the two of you, Peter’s face dangerously close to a girl that he had spent months telling May was “just a friend.” The two of you stared awkwardly, both flushed and flustered. 

“Aunt May,” Peter groaned, shooting her an annoyed look.

“Oh, okay. Message received. I’ll be going to my room now. Have fun,” she chimed, shutting her bedroom door behind her, before eventually cracking it open ever so slightly. “But not too much fun!”

You giggled, pulling Peter into another kiss before he could keep on moping over how mortified he was. Maybe your friendship with him really was never going to be the same, but as long as you got to keep kissing his stupidly adorable face and stealing his silly sweatshirts with science puns on them, you didn’t mind at all.

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

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P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

[nicka-nell]

A heartbreaking break-up

Pairing: Ukai x reader, Kuroo x reader

Warning: Ukai angst, mention of cheating, mention of break-up, mention of alcohol

Note: You don’t have to read the first part to understand/read the second part

Summary part 1: Ukai and you had a secret relationship when you were his student, but after your graduation, you were officially a couple for years until Ukai had cheated on you with the new gym teacher.

It’s been five years since he didn’t see you. Five years in which a lot has happened. 

The affair didn’t get around the school, but enough people knew about it. Your friends, who used to be his too back then. His family, who used to be yours, still is.

He hates himself for pressing his dick into that stupid woman. For thinking this one time with his cock against the will of his heart. You fought, reconciled, but you were still hurt. 

You both distanced yourself because he realized he wasn’t good enough for you. That you’d probably be happier with another man. He had distanced himself to think about how he could make you the happiest woman in the world without letting you go. Without losing you.

But by doing so, you had only spaced apart yourself from him, were insecure and didn’t know if he really loved you anymore. Hardly have you talked, only occasionally a kiss, no caresses. The last time you had sex, he didn’t know.

Was it his offended ego that had led him to the flirtation of this annoying woman, back then? Did he want to prove to himself that he could still make women happy? He doesn’t know, he just knows it was a mistake, his mistake. That he will never forget your broken look, which gives him a sting in his heart to this day.

Since these 5 years a lot has happened… 

This gym teacher is no longer there. Left after Ukai told her that everything was just a stupid mistake, he has no feelings for her. Your mutual friends distance themselves more and more from him. Only Mr Takeda was at his side. His family blamed him right to do so.

He withdrew even more, stopped dying his hair. As soon as his hair was dark again, the first grey strands came. His skin became more wrinkled by smoking more often. Unclean by all the alcohol and sleeping pills he needed in the evening to lull himself to sleep.

He misses you every second. When you get up, your warmth is missing when his eyes open, your heated smile isn’t there. Your voice telling him to get up. Drinking coffee together, cooking food, laughing, arguing, kissing everything. All holidays are empty without you. Useless, since he can’t spend it with you. Everything hurts, he misses you.

You still never answered his messages. He’s still trying to imagine your smile, but he can’t. It has faded away.

Thoughtfully he wanders through the city, his one hand buried in his sweater, while the other holds a heavy bag full of alcohol. It’s been a long time since he traded his expensive, good-tasting whiskey for a cheap one. One that is affordable with this extensive amount of alcohol consumption.

His class is in extra training with the other schools. Because the spring tournament is coming up again soon and they train diligently with the other classes. Today they are at Nekoma High School.

He remembers well how the guys from this volleyball club stared at you. They were all kind of in love with you back then, but you only had eyes for Ukai. Yet, he only smiles for a tiny moment when he sees a face so familiar to him out of the corner of his eye and puts his heart in restlessness. Your face.

You look much more mature than 5 years ago, your face is full of youth, even though you have aged. Even if he hadn’t seen you for ages, and now he can only see your face through the flowers in front of you, he’s sure it’s you.

Smiling, you sit on the terrace of a café, looking into the distance, while you use your hands to settle your head on them. You look so incredibly beautiful. His body is stiff, yet he wants to see you, but his body just doesn’t move. He wants to hear your voice, see your laugh, laugh with you like old times.

But his joy of seeing you again fades, and instead a bittersweet feeling spreads in him as he sees you rising, waving toward a man. He doesn’t know what tears his heart more into a thousand pieces...

Your wonderful body, with this just so visible baby belly, or the man who nuzzles you lovingly on the cheek, kisses you, while the child in his hands reaches out and wants to you. A child. Your child, not his.

It’s a boy, his eyes are yours, his hair an exact picture of his father. Black and tangled in all directions. It’s like he just got up. The boy is from the man who’s had his eye on you before. His smirk is the same as his father’s. That could have been Ukais and your child. The child he would have wanted with you.

“Here, the drink’s from the man over there.” The bartender grins at you as he pushes a red cocktail towards you and looks to the side. Even your gaze wanders to the side when you see a man in a suit holding up his glass smirking, as if he wants to toast with you.

With a smile on your lips, you shake your head, turn to your cocktail as you hear his voice loud in your ears. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, kitten.” Your shoulders are shrugging as you realize that the man is now standing right next to you, knocking his glass against yours.

“Kuroo, right?” You ask, even though you already know the answer. Kuroo Tetsurou, former captain of the Nekoma Volleyball Club. “I’m glad you remember me. Mind if I join you?” Nodding, you watch him place himself next to you and lay down, his head in his hand, his elbow on the mahogany bar below him.

“You look sad, kitten.” Is all he says, yet his mischievous smirk won’t leave his lips. Again and again you had read Ukai’s messages, wanted to answer him, deleted your answer always. “I’ve had an annoying breakup. And now I’m here, spending my Valentine’s Day in a bar, alone, letting an old school friend Tsukki’s talk to me.” 

There’s so much irony and sadness in your voice, one more reason for Kuroo to make you laugh. Back then, he found you interesting and wanted to invite you on a date. “You’re probably forgetting you’re sitting here with the hot guy you gave the wrong number when he asked you for it.” 

Embarrassed, you think back to that time. In fact, Kuroo had asked you for your number, was totally embarrassed and completely different from the volleyball games. But at that time you were with Ukai, so you only gave him one number that you had thought up, hoping not to see him again anyway, since this was your last year at Karasuno High School.

“Ups… Yeah right… Sorry about that.” But Kuroo just laughs, ruffles your hair and looks at you. “As you should be. Did you know that number existed? I spent weeks writing with a 78-year-old woman, showing her my muscular bare chest until we met, and I realized that you must have jumped into a time machine.” 

Now you feel even more sorry for him. So much that you look at him apologetically and start laughing. Finally. “You’re looking much better this way, Y/n.” He’s just saying while he’s sipping on his drink.

You two are in the bar for a long time until you’re kicked out. It’s been a long time since you had such a pleasant laugh. This time you give him your real number, and this time he asks if it’s really your number, because he doesn’t want to end up with a serial killer in pieces.

But you just laugh, take his cell phone and call the number you gave him to show him your vibrating phone on which his number lights up. 

You’re writing until night in the next few days. Keep calling until one of you falls asleep and meets more and more often. So many times until you get together.

Every week he brings you fresh flowers. You cook together in the evening and enjoy every second you two have. So it is no wonder that after only two years you wore a ring on your finger, with the inscription of your names and the date of the wedding. It’s no surprise that after three years, your son was born, and Kuroo and you were even happier than you were anyway. Also, it was no surprise that you have been pregnant again for a few months, this time expecting a little girl which Kuroo will treat like his little princess, you like his queen. He makes you happy, incredibly happy.

Your child is now tucked in a thick blanket in a stroller. You start pushing the stroller as Kuroo snatches his hands from behind around you to grab the handle of the stroller and hold you captive between his arms. Cheerfully you laugh as he gives you a kiss on the crown and you move further and further away from Ukai.

So Kuroo Tetsurou was the man who gave you what Ukai could never give you. Sincere love.

For a moment, he’s thinking about following you. He can still remember when Hinata said that Kuroo had bought a huge house. From the description, Ukai knew where that was. It was in one of the high-class neighborhoods. But should he really follow you? Should he lose his heart completely?

“Excuse me, sir, are you all right?” Fetch him a voice from a young man who looks at him anxiously. “Yes… Yeah, I was just thinking. Thank you for your concern.” He bows, thanking the young man who still goes on with a worried face. Ukai also goes on.

Unconsciously, his legs carry him to the neighborhood he thought of earlier, to the house that Hinata had described. He looks at the letterbox placed at the entrance of your gate. 

The Kuroo family…

A thick lump forms in his throat, his heart aches bitterly and his hand that holds the bag full of alcohol trembles terribly. With a sad look, he stares into the window where he sees you together with Kuroo.

Tightly wrapped you both dance in your large but cozy living room. Your head on his chest while his hand is on your lower back, the other in your hand. That’s what you used to do back then. Dancing together with quiet music.

He gently turns your body, now presses his upper body against your back, softly places his head in the crook of your neck to cuddle it. His hands stroke the bulge of your belly. The life that’s in you. 

From a distance, Ukai can still recognize the words that Kuroo forms with his lips.

I love you. 

Words that Ukai would still like to tell you every day. Words he means as they are. But you don’t love him anymore. You’re not his songbird anymore.

He’s standing there for a long time, trying to absorb all your joyful expressions one last time. Manifesting them in his mind, because he knows he’ll never see you again. That this is the last time he’s here. That your smiling face will be the last thing he wants to see before he closes his eyes.

He wants to write to you...

I saw you today… you weren’t alone. You had a kid on your arm and a man on your side. It makes me happy… that you found your happiness. Even if it’s without me. Nevertheless, Y/n… I love you, I always did and always will do for the rest of my life...

But the message he wants to send you before he closes his eyes, he never sent. It remains in his draft forever. Makes you think he’s finally forgotten you.

[thatesqcrush]

Ivy & the Ink

Nevada Ramirez x Reader. For VDay bingo, using “Yayo” by Lana del Rey. The wonderful @beccabarba​ requested:  Helloooo! When you have a moment to indulge me, and if you want to, I would love you to write Nevada x Reader in lingerie, with aim of seducing/impressing him (maybe they're a couple and they had a fight, or he's not noticed her before and she's determined he will? And he gives her everything he's got. "Let me put on a show for you daddy Let me put on a show Let me put on a show for you tiger, Let me put on a show... " Please and thank you.

CW: Smut - rough sex (hair pulling, some light smacking, spanking, etc.). There is some degradation talk, destruction of property, name calling, language. 

WC: 4.3K

****

You frowned as you glanced at the clock on the nightstand; it was late and your boyfriend still hadn't arrived at your apartment. It was normal for Nevada to work late, even disappear for a stretch of time. But something about tonight felt different - felt off. 

You reached for the phone and hit the redial number. The phone rang four times before going to voicemail and you sighed as you left yet another message. "Hey papi, it's me; I was just wondering where you were … it's lonely without you here. Just call me when you get this. I love you."

Your guts began to churn as your imagination raced; thoughts of Nevada hurt, or even worse, were the most prevalent. You opened your iPad and pinged his location. He was at the club, but earlier he had been at the airport. You furrowed your brows in confusion. ‘What the…?’ you wondered. 

You grabbed a sweater off the back of the chair with one hand, and your keys with the other. 

You were going to Nevada’s club. 

Any other time, you would not have been so dramatic, but recently things had become more tense;  you argued over the smallest of things. Nevada swore that all was fine between the two of you, but your paranoid side kept itching that something else was amiss. 

As you drove through the dark streets of The Heights, a thought hit you. 'What if Nevada didn't want to come home?' 

Despite the recent hiccups, you vowed to make things work, to make your lives together better because for you, Nevada was worth the sacrifice. He was the great love of your life that was never supposed to have happened in the first place – he was the one.

You met him while celebrating a friend’s bachelorette party - you had a one night stand with him and then on the ride home, you found yourself propositioned by him to be the Queen, to his King. To maintain appearances, you kept your place in Kew Gardens. Nevada had tried to convince you to live with him and let him be the provider for your life, but you refused. You enjoyed earning your own money and having a place of your own. You were loyal to him, but you wanted to keep your own independence. 

**

The drive from Queens did not take as long as you had anticipated. Traffic was fairly light for a Friday evening. You arrived at the club and spotted his black Escalade parked underneath the streetlight. In your jeans and cardigan, you appeared out of place amongst the other club goers who were dressed to the nines. The line wrapped around the block, but you knew you would not have to wait. 

You greeted one of the bouncers, while the rest of the club goers jeered at you and your innocent appearance. “Is Vada here?”

Miguel the bouncer, was burly and intimidating - but he didn’t frighten you one bit. He looked at you and didn’t greet you as he would have usually had.

“Vada’s here.” He replied after a beat, as he waved some people through.

“Last time I checked you weren’t made out of air. Can you move so I can get in?”

“I know for a fact he’s busy. Some personal stuff. You should go home.”

You furrowed your brows, fear lacing through you. Placing your hands on your hips, you jutted your chin at him. “You don’t tell Vada’s woman what to do.”

Miguel turned to you. He dipped his head to your ear, his voice menacing. “You don’t, but Nevada sure as hell does.”

You scoffed. “I am going in.” You pushed past him and he grabbed a hold of the back of your sweater. Instead you allowed for him to rip it off you, as you shoved the sleeves off. You gave him the finger before making your way inside. 

Everything at the club was seemingly normal. The music was loud, you could feel it vibrating in your bones. You pushed your way through the mass of bodies to the staircase which led to Nevada’s private office on the second floor.

The door was opened just a crack and you could see Nevada leaning against his desk, smoking a cigar while in a heated discussion with someone else. This was all normal to you - with the work he was involved in.

A brunette woman approached Nevada and pulled him into a hug causing you to freeze. You expected him to push away, but instead, he returned the hug to this mystery woman. Nevada dipped his head to whisper something in her ear and when he pulled away, you saw him smile and brush her dark hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

Your heart pounded against your chest and you wanted to puke. Chewing on your bottom lip, you continued to watch, unable to turn away. The woman reached for a glass of amber liquid that you realized Nevada had poured her.

At that moment Nevada pulled away and looked at his watch before reaching for his cell phone. He raised a finger to her and the woman nodded watching him as he moved, probably to sit at his desk. Sure enough, your cell phone began to vibrate but you chose to ignore it.

You turned back to the stairs and made your way back down and pushed through to the bar. You grabbed a seat and ordered a beer. You did not recognize the bartender and you realized they must have been a new hire. You were grateful for not being recognized. 

As you took a drag of your beer, the upstairs woman was standing beside you. She offered a friendly smile at you before signaling the barkeep. She ordered a shot of whiskey and handed a five dollar bill with the understanding that he could keep the change.

"You lost?"

You turned to her, eyeing the shot she had in her hand. "Excuse me?"

"Your outfit.” She laughed. “You don’t exactly fit in here."

You arched her brow at her comment. Chuckling, you nodded. "Not lost." With the tilt of your head, you chugged the beer and you tried hard not to grimace as the cheap, likely skunked beer made its way down your throat. 

“So, man trouble?” She guessed. 

“Something like that.” You commented as you ordered a shot of tequila.

You downed the shot, grimacing once more. You wiped your hand on the back of your hand and took in the woman fully. You could see what Nevada saw in her; the mere fact that she too had dark hair, like yours, was eating at you something terrible. Putting the glass down, you forced a sweet smile to the surface as you quickly scanned the bar for any instances of him returning. With no sign of him, you re-centered your focus, your eyes becoming sharp and steadying on her. "Do you have a boyfriend?”

"I do. He’s on his way. And something's got him in the mood tonight, if you get my meaning - he’s on his way actually. He’s like a drug; I can’t get enough.” she winked as she turned her head quickly, her shoulder length curls following her. You scowled as you gripped the glass tighter, your mind running.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the too-warm bar, but your hearing began to ring and your vision was white-hot. Ideas formulated and raced, seeking the perfect retribution. You were hurting, and the only way you could alleviate it would be to inflict that same pain on Nevada. And you knew just how to do it.

Now standing, you spotted Nevada as he approached the bar, the mystery woman waving to him emphatically. Your gaze was fixed on his line of sight, and you postulated that he didn't even see you. The excitement that the mystery woman held served as a knife burrowing deep into your heart, and the intense feeling of getting away increased.

"Hey, where are you going?" the mystery woman asked, turning back to you. You smiled once more and shook your head.

“Like you said, I’m lost. Nice talking to you."

**

Outside, you walked towards your car, the squeak of your sneakers being the only constant sound on the asphalt. Your intentions were clear now, and popping the trunk, you reached in to grab the aluminum baseball bat that you had been meaning to give as a gift for your nephew. Holding it in your hands, you gazed at the bat and felt the weight, swinging it to its full potential. With one hand, you closed the trunk and scanned the street, a devious smile crossing your lips. Your gait became easier as you approached, one thought being dominant as the gleaming Escalade that he so loved stood bathed in the street light.

For a split second, you paused. 'Come off it Y/N. You are better than this. This isn't you at all – you are putting everything on the line.' However, the thought left as quickly as it arrived. You could hear the woman’s comments echo in your mind and you couldn't help but think about what she said, about her and Nevada potentially sharing a bed – the bed you shared with him.

Rage filled you and at that moment, as your heart shattered into a million pieces, you swung the bat down, aiming for the headlights. The sound of glass shattering filled the night and clear crystals decorated the ground. Blood boiling,you swung once more, this time aiming for the side view mirrors. It took a few swings, but you were victorious in denting the metal and cracking the mirrors. Glass crunched underneath your feet as you continued your assault. The line of people still waiting to get in, gasped and shouted, lifting their phones to record you. You didn’t see it happen, but Miguel ran into the bar to get Nevada.

Moments later, you reached for keys that were dug deep in your pocket. You dug your key into the side of the door, scraping it. Figuring the damage you had inflicted still was not enough; you bent down and jammed the key into the back tire, puncturing it. Air hissed out of the tire and you moved to the front of the car, doing the same to the front tire.

You smiled in satisfaction as you took a step back to assess the damage you had done.

Nevada ran over to where you were standing, taking in the damage you had inflicted on his car. His eyes were wide and his face was beet red.

"Y/N, what the fuck are you doing?" Nevada yelled. You looked up and muttered an expletive as you dropped the bat, it clanking to the ground.

"What am I doing? I should be asking you the same thing! Actually, I don't have to since your whore told me what you two have been, and would be, doing!"

The mystery woman stepped out of the club and her eyes also widened as she recalled you from the bar.

"Puta!” You screamed as you grabbed the bat and swung at the car once more.

Nevada wrestled the bat out of your hands. Instead you chose to start punching and hitting him instead. He looked over his shoulder at Miguel. “Get Marisol out of here.”

“Oh that bitch has a name?” You shrieked once more. Nevada wrapped his strong arms around you, lifting you easily off the ground.

"Let me go!" you furiously replied as Nevada dragged you back into the bar. "You cheated on me!"

Nevada was quiet as he dragged you up to the office. His blood was boiling and as he kicked the door in. He dropped you unceremoniously on the couch.

Nevada slammed the door behind him. “What the fuck Y/N!”

You looked at him incredulously, your eyes were red and swollen. “You cheated on me!”

Nevada sighed. “It’s not what you think it is.”

“I saw you with my own eyes! I am not stupid!” You shouted. “When you didn’t come home, didn’t answer my texts, I tracked your phone. You were at the airport and then you came to the club. What is that all about? God, I can’t believe I let myself fall for you. I must be stupid after all!” 

You were now openly sobbing on his couch. “I thought you loved me.”

Nevada raised his hands to the back of his head, his eyes wide; he shook in anger, his face was beet red. "I do love you, you fucking loca. She’s my cousin.”

You stared at him, hiccupping. “What?” 

“She’s my cousin - she flew in to visit. She needed a ride from the airport since her boyfriend was put on a double. He’s a cop. I went to pick her up and then brought her here.”

“Your cousin.” You whispered. Everything suddenly made sense.

“I was not, nor would I ever, cheat on you. I want you, you crazy bitch.” Nevada grumbled.

“Then why was Miguel acting so shady?” You demanded. “He made it seem like I couldn’t be there.”

“Fuck if I know.” Nevada snorted. He poured himself a drink and then one for you. As he handed it to you, you eyed the blue inked snake tattoo on his forearm. You tilted the glass all the way back, drinking it in a single gulp. “You know your beer lines are skunked.” You replied quietly, still hiccupping.

“Noted.” Nevada replied quietly. He made a call, speaking in Spanish, which you didn’t understand. As he put his phone away, he sighed. “Let me take you back to Queens. They’re bringing up another car.”

**

Another black Escalade rolled up, identical to its predecessor - except not damaged. The ride was quiet and sufficiently awkward. Now in your apartment, Nevada shrugged off his clothes, leaving himself in just his boxer briefs. You washed your face and then shrugged off your clothes. Nevada climbed into the bed after you, and you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, exhausted.

**

In the morning, you woke up to the smell of eggs frying and strong coffee. You got out of the bed and followed the smell to the kitchen where Nevada was cooking. 

You stood on your tip toes and peered around his shoulder. “Smells good.”

Nevada let out a grunt. You frowned and wrapped your arms around him from behind. “I’m sorry for last night.”

Nevada turned to you, and turned off the stove. “I’m sorry too. I should have told you.”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck. Your eyes were lost in the green pool of his eyes.

“You hungry?” Nevada asked.

“In a little bit - I want to go shower.” You replied. “Start without me.”

Nevada nodded and plated some food before going to sit on your couch. 

After you showered, you took your time trying to figure out what to wear. You pulled open your delicate drawer and began to leaf through the various garments. Your fingers traced over a lingerie set you hadn’t yet worn and you smiled. 

**

Nevada was still puttering around the kitchen when you joined him once more. 

“Hungry yet?” He called out from behind his shoulder, not looking over fully as he dumped the frying pan into the sink. You saw that he had a plate of food set for you but you weren’t hungry for that - not at least in that moment.

“Something like that.” You cooed. Nevada turned around and as he drank you in, the corners of his mouth twitched. 

You wore a mauve babydoll chemise set with silver lace trim and rhinestones embellishments. There was a sheer wrapped skirt and a matching panty with a thick lace band and thong cut out. You hadn’t washed your hair, just freshened it up with dry shampoo and you left it loose, the way he liked it. Your face was bare, except for a sheer plum lip tint. For what you wanted to do, lipstick would have just gotten in the way.

“Is this for me mami?” Nevada asked. His eyes were darkened with lust and through his briefs, you could tell that his cock had come to life, already straining against the fabric.

“Yes papi.” You cooed. “I wanted to show how sorry I was for everything. Let me put on a show for you daddy.” You trailed a hand across your decolletage and then down to the swells of your breasts that were already pushed up to an obscene limit thanks to the underwire and padding of the bra. 

“I should punish you.” Nevada growled. He didn’t miss how your eyes lit up at the suggestion. He took three wide strides to meet you. He ran a sole finger down your cheek and your eyes fluttered closed in response. That was short-lived as a sharp jolt of pain caused your eyes to fly open. Your head was bent to the side, your hair wound in Nevada’s fist. 

“Yes.” You breathed out, a shot of arousal shooting through you. “I need you. Take me right now.”

“I can’t believe you thought I would cheat on you. Why would I do that, when I have these nalgas right here?” Nevada growled, using his other hand to pull you close by grabbing the flesh of your ass. He let loose his grip in your hair and his other hand joined in rolling the fat of your cheeks. 

You could feel his hardened member press against the softness of your belly. The feeling caused your cunt to kick and your panties to dampen.

Nevada’s mouth dropped to the slope of your neck, the stubble of his beard grazing your skin. He sucked a dark mark into your skin. You let out a soft moan at the sensation as he continued to rub his beard against your skin, leaving rash marks in its wake.

He spun you around roughly, so your back was to his chest. You could feel the soft curls of his chest hair against your back. He cupped your tits roughly together, before pulling the cups down so your tits spilled out. He grabbed them roughly again, rolling and pinching your nipples until they were hardened buds. 

You pushed back against his cock, gyrating in small circles. Nevada held you against him, his heavy, muscled arm wrapped around your chest. He used his foot to nudge your legs apart and his other hand went to your pussy. He gripped it hard and you let out a small squeak. 

“This is my pussy, me entiendes?” Nevada growled in your ear. 

You let out a gasp as he pushed your underwear to the side and sunk his fingers up and into you. The strokes were initially languid, but then they increased in speed. You lolled your head back and his mouth found your neck once more, sucking a bruise into your flesh. 

Nevada removed his fingers from you and you whimpered. He brought his hand to your face and you could see the evidence of your arousal on his long digits. He released his other arm and brought his hand to your throat, gently tightening. He rubbed his fingers on your lips before pushing them roughly in your mouth. You let out a muffled moan as you cleaned his fingers. 

“Muy bien.” Nevada growled. He grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom. He wasted no time removing his briefs. His cock stood proud. The crown glistened with pre cum and you instinctively licked your lips, needing to feel the weight of his cock against your tongue.

He placed his hands on your shoulders and pushed you down so that you were on your knees and eye level with his cock. “Open your mouth.” He dragged his cock across your lips and instinctively they parted, ready to take his length into your mouth.

“Open wide mama. Gonna make you choke on this cock.”

You let out a squeak as he smacked his cock against your cheek. You opened your mouth wider and Nevada fed you his cock. He wrapped his hands around the back of your head and he pushed into your mouth further until your nose was nestled against the soft curls of his pubic hair. Your tongue lavished every vein and ridge. You used one hand to stroke him as you bobbed along his length. Spit was dribbling from the corners of your mouth and down your lingerie 

His hands gripped your head more tightly, holding you in place. Thrusting his hips forward, Nevada fucked into the back of your throat rough and fast, the sound of you choking and spluttering around him was drowned out by his grunts and groans. Spit covered your chin and your eyes watered, with tears running down your face. All you could do was close your eyes and take it. He took a step back and you gasped as air filled your lungs again. Nevada gave you a lascivious grin and he stroked your cheek, wiping a tear away. 

“Such a good girl taking my cock like that.” He praised and you keened in response. He offered his hand and he helped you stand.

Nevada claimed your mouth his. It was rough, all teeth and tongue. He nibbled on your lower lip before sucking on it. When he released your mouth, he gripped your cheeks with his forefinger and thumb and squeezed.

“I am going to fuck you now and you’re going to thank me for it.” He released your face and then gave you a small tapping smack on your cheek. 

You jutted your face at him and he did it again. “Get on the bed, loca.”

“How do you want me?” You asked as you scooted back on the bed.

“Por detrás. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

You did so and got on all fours, anticipating Nevada’s next move. You felt the bed dip with his weight and felt his cock rub against your ass. You heard the cap of a bottle open, followed by the sound of him slathering his cock. Two fingers then pressed against you and in you, massaging your walls. You dropped your head forward, moaning slightly.

“Is that what my puta likes? Getting fucked?” Nevada hissed. His mouth was on your ass, biting your flesh, marking you once more. 

“I need you.” You whined. “Give it to me.”

Nevada acquiesced and slid into your hot, wet cunt without warning, until he was fully seated. His hips nestled against the curve of your asscheeks and he gripped your hips hard. He set a pace, hard and fast as he wrapped a hand around your waist to pull you down onto his cock so it was nudging at your cervix with every thrust. He was deep and the stretch his girth gave you was glorious. A dreamy smile came across your face and you gripped the mattress below tightly. No one fucked you as well as Nevada did.

“Next time you think I would cheat on you, remember this.” Nevada growled as he drove his cock in and out of you. A sharp smack landed on your ass and then he repeated it on the other cheek, over and over again. The spanks that followed were delivered just as harshly, maybe even more so. He purposely hit your skin in the same areas as before. Your ass was red, hot and stinging.

“Fuck, oh yes, papi!” you whined. Nevada chuckled darkly. He had a knowing smile on his face.

“You want to cum, huh, mama?” 

“Please.” You begged. A hand slipped from your hips and found your clitoris, rubbing roughly. 

“You wanna cum on papi’s cock?” he asked once more, his breathing staggered.“Alright ma’, you can cum.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond as your walls clenched violently around his cock, gripping as your orgasm washed over you. 

As you came down from your high, Nevada had pushed you all the way down onto the bed, his weight completely on top of you. The changed position meant his thrusts were more shallow. You relished the feel of him on you. Primal, animalistic grunts were in your ear as he chased his own release.

You felt his hips still and with a roar, he pushed into you once more, spilling his hot load into you. 

Nevada leaned up on his arms, so his weight wasn’t fully on you. He pressed a kiss along your sweaty back before flopping over onto his back. You felt him pull you into his arms and you just allowed yourself to curl into him.

“Vada?” You murmured, as you stroked his chest hair.

“Yeah, mama?”

You looked up at him. “I’m sorry for everything, but especially for fucking up the car. Is it completely damaged out?”

Nevada shook his head as he sat up and grabbed a cigar from the stand next to you. He blew out a puff of smoke. “Nah, I got someone fixing it up already. By tomorrow it’ll be good as new.”

“I owe your cousin an apology.”

Nevada grunted. “You make one hell of an impression Y/N.” He pulled you tightly against him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 FIN

*****

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[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 23: toy stores

Character A owns a struggling toy store, and Character B is looking for a toy,, percabeth

Annabeth’s stares up at the toy store’s sign that appears to be falling apart before her eyes. It gives her an eerie feeling, looking up at a sign with glowing letters that are crooked and dull.

“Mommy?”

She glances down at her daughter beside her, who is tugging on the sleeve of her sweater. “Yes, baby?”

The three-year-old slides her hand into her mother’s, and Annabeth holds onto the tiny fingers tightly. “Can we get toys now?”

Annabeth smiles gently, tugging her daughter along lightly. The doors to the store creak open, a small bell chiming overhead. The store seems to be empty save for an old couple wandering the aisles with a cart that is peeling grey paint.

She stands in place as she looks around, entirely unsure of where to start. Annabeth hadn’t wanted to come here to begin with, much preferring to stick to more known stores like Target, but Sophia has gained much more insight to the world and began pointing out the store each time they passed by. When she’d begged to stop at a real toy store so she could pick out a new toy, Annabeth hadn’t known how to say no.

“Go on,” Annabeth encourages softly, letting go of her hand. Sophia wastes no time, immediately beginning to run as fast as her tiny legs will let her, which isn’t very fast at all. It helps Annabeth a lot, actually, because it’s already becoming much harder to chase after her, even only at three months pregnant.

Annabeth watches fondly as her daughter is fascinated by the wall of Barbies they have. They’re all basic enough in her opinion, and cheap enough for her to afford at least two of them, so Annabeth lets her daughter run her fingers over the boxes, cooing at each and every one.

“Pick two, baby,” Annabeth tells her, looking around the rest of the shop. Even the inside doesn’t appear to be in great shape. The lighting is rather dim, and it’s incredibly echoey – she can hear each footstep resonate, and her daughter’s excited chatters are loud in the empty vicinity.

Annabeth leans against the aisle as she watches, her hand moving up unconsciously to rest against her stomach. She tries not to think too much of it, but it’s gotten worse now, knowing that she’s alone, and going to be raising two kids on her own. She doesn’t know how she got into this position, but it’s too late to do anything except keep moving.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

She glances to her right, startled, where there is a man looking at her kindly. He has a plain black t-shirt on that shows his arms that her eyes linger on just a bit longer than intended. She looks back to his face where he has a gentle smile on. His nametag reads, Percy.

“We’re just looking,” she replies, a soft grin back to him.

“Anything in particular?”

Annabeth’s eyes dart down to the four boxes of Barbies her daughter has pulled off the shelves.

“I’ll take a wild guess and say Barbies?” Percy asks. “It seems so,” Annabeth says, laughing.

“Well, I’m afraid this is all we have on that then,” he says, moving towards Annabeth’s side. “We aren’t the most advanced toy store there is,” he says more quietly, for Annabeth to hear. “But from the look on your face, you already know that.”

She blinks, a slight blush forming on her cheeks. Had she been that transparent? “It’s… fine.”

He laughs sweetly. “I know it’s practically falling apart. Sometimes I have to close by myself, and I get scared one of these dolls are actually cursed and going to kill me in my sleep.”

“Like Annabelle?”

“Exactly,” he says, giving her daughter a humored look when she holds up a fifth doll to Annabeth’s sight. “This is your daughter?”

She’s a bit surprised at how chatty the store worker is. He seems too polite to be working in such a rundown place, and it almost makes her feel bad.

“She is,” Annabeth answers after a short pause. “She’s only three, but she’s expensive.”

“I know what you mean. I have a daughter at home too, and I never knew how expensive kids were before I had her. It feels like they’re demanding a new toy every two seconds.”

A sixth toy is shoved into Annabeth’s hands by her daughter, and she waves it in front of him. “You mean like this?”

“Seems about right,” he replies, laughing. “Are you shopping for any special occasions?”

She shakes her head, biting her lower lip. “She just wanted to come look around, and I ran out of ways to tell her no.”

“It’s always hard to say no,” he agrees. Annabeth looks at him again and catches his bright green eyes. It’s the first true look she gets of him, and she has to admit she’s not disappointed with what she sees.

“So when are you due?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant,” he comments. When she looks at him questioningly, and a bit daringly, he smiles. “You keep touching your stomach.”

She drops her hand and chuckles. “I didn’t even realize.”

“My wife used to do that all the time,” he says. The word wife makes something in her drop, but she doesn’t quite know why. She hadn’t even realized how much she liked talking to him until then. “I’m sure your husband has picked up on little quirks like that.”

“Oh, there’s no husband,” she starts, laughing lightly. “Divorced was finalized a few weeks before I found out I was pregnant.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I think it’s cute that you notice stuff like that about your wife.”

“It would be cuter if we were still together,” he says.

Annabeth nods, lips tugging upwards. “So we both know the pains of divorce and fighting for custody.”

“And the pains of sleeping alone,” he adds. “It’s a different feeling, I’ll admit.”

“Try having a baby on the way and no husband,” she says. “It’s that icy type of fear – the one that freezes you over because you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, but you seem like you’ll be okay.”

He’s looking at her with such warmth and kindness, and it feels weird to say, but this might be the most comfortable she’s felt in months. They fall into a silence, and she lets herself just take in his presence – it’s familiar in an unfamiliar way. She doesn’t know if it’s just having someone else close to her, or feeling protected, but she doesn’t care because she feels safe with him by her side.

“I want these,” her daughter says, placing a last box by her feet. It makes Annabeth feel a bit lightheaded because she knows there’s no way she’ll be able to afford all of those, and this trip is going to end with a tantrum.

“I said two,” Annabeth reminds her. “Pick two and put the rest back.”

“But I want them!”

Annabeth sighs, scrunching her nose at the feeling of an oncoming headache. “Mommy can’t buy all of them.”

“Why not?” she asks accusingly.

“These are expensive, baby.”

“But you go to work all the time for money!”

It makes Annabeth’s heart sore, because there’s no way for her to explain that the money she makes from work goes towards everything else. She’s barely making the weekly payments on her apartment, or the water and electricity bills, and she just can’t afford everything her daughter wants. But she can see the tears brimming in Sophie’s eyes, and suddenly she wants to cry too because she’s doing everything she can, and it’s still not enough, and it won’t be in six months either when she suddenly has another child to take care of.

“Put them back, Sophie.”

She whines.

“Please put some of them back, and maybe Santa Claus can bring you more in a few weeks.”

Sophia doesn’t budge, and Annabeth knows it’s going to take herself putting them back on the shelves. Percy respectfully wanders off back into the store somewhere out of sight as Annabeth begins to shove them back on the shelf. She lets Sophia hold on tightly onto two of them as she begins crying and is forced to pick her up and carry her over to pay.

Annabeth waits by the counter for a good few minutes before Percy reappears. He’s pushing a cart suspiciously in front of him that he sets by the counter.

“These are the best toys we have!” he tells Sophia, coaxing them from her hands so he can scan them. “You did a good job choosing.”

“I wanted more,” she whimpers as Annabeth’s hand slides up and down her back soothingly.

“I know, but you have to leave some for Santa Claus to get you,” he whispers, handing the toys back to her after it’s scanned. “You’re a good girl, so I bet you’re going to get a ton of presents from him this year!”

Annabeth shoots him a dirty look, and it makes his eyes mirthful.

“That’ll be twenty-five dollars and forty-nine cents.”

She hands him a card from her back pocket, setting Sophia down. Her daughter seems to be in a slightly better mood by now, but she still wraps herself around her mother’s leg. She takes the card back, about to turn around and leave, but his hand wraps gently around her wrist.

“Is it alright if I walk you to your car?”

“May I ask what for?”

He glances to the shopping cart he placed by the counter, and she has a vague feeling of what’s in there.

“I’m compelled to say no,” she tells him, eyeing the cart.

“This place is closing in two months anyways, and it’ll all go to waste,” he tells her quietly. “Let me do this.”

“If there are five dolls in that cart, I swear to god.”

“There’s six, actually.”

She glares at him.

“You can save them as Christmas presents for her,” he says. “You have another baby on the way, and I can tell you’re struggling. I’m not trying to judge because believe me when I say I’ve been there, so let me help.”

She feels bad taking stuff from him that could easily add up to more than one-hundred dollars, but she also knows that even if Christmas is weeks away, she’s not going to be able to do much on her own. She has to figure out how to afford things for a newborn that are more necessary than a few Barbie’s that’ll be forgotten quickly enough anyways, but it breaks her heart thinking of Sophia waking up to a nearly bare Christmas tree, so she says, “Okay.”

He shoots her a grin, coming around the counter to grab the cart. He helps stuff them into the trunk of her car as Annabeth straps Sophia into her car seat. She turns the car on before stepping outside to speak to him alone.

“Are you sure you’re okay giving these to me?”

“Of course I am,” he says. “It would be sitting there for months otherwise.”

“Then thank you,” she says earnestly. “It means a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wanted to do it.”

“Yeah, why is that?” she asks, smirking now. “I didn’t see you doing this for the old couple walking around.”

“You’re a lot cuter than the old couple,” he admits, fingers toying with the handle of the cart.

“So now I’m cute?”

“I’ve always had a thing for pregnant women,” he says.

Annabeth slaps his arm playfully. “So you actually do this for all the pregnant women?”

He winks. “Only the cute ones.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“I was hoping you’d let me know that.”

She gives him a sly look. “Annabeth.”

“Now that I know your name, Annabeth, I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Or we could take our girls to a toy store and let them run wild,” he suggests, “but I think both of our bank accounts would be wiped in that case.”

“Dinner sounds nice,” she agrees. He gives her his phone number, and for a moment, she imagines that life is perfect. She doesn’t know if it’s because she really does like him or because she’s been alone for what feels like forever, but she can see a future. They are together in a home, three girls around a fireplace, unwrapping toys, and Percy is sitting by her side, her wrapped in his arms. He places a kiss to her forehead, and she feels at home. It’s a fleeting image, but it makes her long.

She learns four years later on the anniversary of when they first met that maybe she really did see a glimpse of her future. There are three girls curled up on the couch, and they all love each other so much. Instead of unwrapping presents though, they are watching a Disney movie. Annabeth watches the kids with a smile on her face from the doorframe, turning her head up when she feels him slide his hands over her swollen stomach (courtesy of Percy). He gives her a sweet kiss.

She’s in love in a way she never thought possible, her heart is full, and everything is perfect.

[robinofinashiro]

request from @princeasimdiya12: "For my first request, can you write an x reader featuring Leorio and a male reader in an Aladdin AU please? I imagine Leorio as a street rat and the reader as a young man who works as a tailor. The fic would involve the reader and Leorio getting to know each other despite Leorio trying to steal from him.

characters: leorio paladiknight x male! reader

request status: OPENED / all fandoms I write for are pinned to the top of my page as well as my rules! feel free to request as you’d like! just please be respectful of my rules and if you have any questions, personally message me!

you sighed, opening up your shop with a yawn leaving your lips. you weren’t in any mood to come into work as you had fallen asleep rather late and knew you had to be up early the following morning. 

“morning Hanna,” you whispered to your assistant. she gave you a small wave as she saw the tired look written all over your face, “what has you so grumpy in the morning?” she asked, setting down a cup of tea on your wooden desk, making sure to put it on the coasters. 

“fell asleep late and didn’t want to get up in the morning,” you replied, making her laugh, “ahh, I thought you were busy with Leorio last night,” she joked. you gave her a roll of your eyes before throwing a wad a paper at her, “haha, very funny,” you joked before taking a sip of tea. 

“well, you better shake off any grumpiness you have,” she said, “we have a few suit fittings and we can’t be off our game today,” you sighed knowing what she was saying was true. you knew your life as the most famous tailor in the city would have you running around here and there but recently, your shop was getting busier and busier. 

after you drank down the tea and got out your tools for the day, you sat outside, expecting your customers to come in anytime soon. the day was a bit brisk, nothing you couldn’t handle though. the wind was making it slightly chilly but with the sweater you were wearing, you knew you’d be okay. 

“morning ( your name ),” you heard Leorio’s silk voice say. you jumped slightly, one at the fact that you hadn’t heard Leorio coming but two at the fact that your fact that Leorio had wrapped his arms around your shoulders, “morning,” you replied not as enthusiastic. 

Leorio laughed, seeing the way you tried to avoid his eye. Leorio sat down next to you, trying to hide the fact that his clothes had gotten dirty the night before. the street he placed himself to sleep at was dirtier than usual and got his grey pants all dirty. 

“shouldn’t you be working?” Leorio asked, seeing a few customers come in. you instantly whipped your head around not noticing the amount of people that had walked in within the time that you were talking to him, “shit,” you whispered, not bothering to talk back to Leorio as you ran inside. 

he followed you inside of the store and sat down at the small table you had available for people to sit at. Leorio sat down, watching you fit people into their suits. Leorio couldn’t lie, the way you would bend down, stretch to reach something had him smirking. 

Leorio was never the kind of guy to shy away from his feelings. he found you attractive. very attractive to be exact but he also knew that you had known about the few instances where he would steal something here and there. it wasn’t anything too big, usually it was just a pair of shoes that he would sell so he could eat but every now and again, he would only steal a tie or a shirt.

your clothes were very high end. you did a lot to get clothes from other countries to sell to those who were considered rich. you did have a lot of money from your job but the money that you did save was only to be used in extreme situations. 

a few times you had considered giving Leorio money so he could stop stealing from you. part of you did care that he did steal from you because you worked hard for the clothes and merchandise you sold but another part of you knew that it was hard to live where both of you lived. 

your family wasn’t considered one of the rich families in town. your family struggled a lot to put food on the table. sometimes you even went days without eating because the food in town would be too expensive to afford; however, once you learned how to sew and eventually studied a bit about learning how to tailor clothes, the guy who had taught you everything you knew gave you his shop when he passed. 

you were honored to have such a store be given to you. you knew it was hard to even get one to run without failing but now that you had been running the store for the better part of two years, you knew all your hard work paid off. 

you had met Leorio about a year and half after you were given the store. at first  you were a bit hesitant on actually speaking to him. he seemed like the kind of guy who would only use you for money but once you started to get to know him, you knew that sort of charisma he had only came from the fact that his charm was the only thing that worked on people. 

every now and again, you would turn over to Leorio to see what he was up to. he would talk to those coming into the shop and convince them to buy whatever it was you had up for sale. every so often when someone would forget to pick up something, you would put it up for sale after a few weeks. 

you knew Leorio did this as his way of apologizing for stealing things from you. Leorio made sure that the things he did steal in order for him to survive weren’t high end. he would steal things that were cheap or fall apart easily. since Leorio stole them and never said where he stole them from, your store would never catch heat for it. 

“what’re you still doing here?” you asked a little later on in the day. Leorio was sitting on the same chair, playing with a few spare shoe laces that were lying around the store, “bored and I still wanted to spend time with you,” he playfully said. 

you rolled your eyes jokingly as you heard Hanna giggling from the other room. you paid no mind to her as you felt Leorio grab your hand and run his fingers across the palm. Leorio always envied how soft your hands were. besides the few scrapes and cuts you would get from the needles, your hands were almost perfect. 

“well, it’s reaching two in the afternoon and i’m starving,” you told Leorio a while later, “i’m going to buy lunch,” you added on. Leorio smirked knowing that whenever you said this, you would always buy something extra for him, “I’ll take a sandwich,” Leorio murmured. 

both of you got up from the table as Leorio had said that hew as going to do a few things before you got back with lunch. just as the two of you were about to separate from each other, Leorio grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on your semi-rough lips. 

this had been the first time that Leorio had ever kissed you. you just hoped that Hanna wouldn’t come out now because you knew that if she did, she would never let it go. Hanna always thought that you and Leorio were perfect together. aside from the few mishaps that always happened between the two of you, she knew you and him would be great as a couple. 

“where did that come from?” you asked, feeling Leorio play with the back of your hair, “don’t know,” he replied, “just felt like it,” he added on, giving you a playful smirk before placing another kiss on your lips. 

“see you in an hour,” Leorio said one final time before exiting the shop. you sighed, not knowing what do to, “see ya,” you whispered. not even a few seconds later, Hanna walked out of her tiny office, a giggle leaving her lips, “don’t think that I didn’t hear what he did,” she confessed. 

you grabbed another paper off your desk and threw it at her, this time she completely dodged it, “it’s cute!” she said before running away before you could throw another wad of paper at her. 

you knew that if Leorio kept up his antics, she would never let it go and a part of you did not want Leorio to stop. 

[stars-a-n-d-scars]

10 Days of Summer - Chapter 2

Hey guys! Here is chapter two!!! As always, constructive criticism is welcome, homophobic bitching is not. I love you!!

***

Sirius had always been an early riser. There was just something about the way the sun shot pink and orange daggers to shatter the impenetrable frost of the night that drew him. Soothed him. He couldn’t count how many mornings he had spent on the roof of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, observing a world rarely seen. Keeping the company of the moon, she who shone her light for unseeing eyes, as she slipped from dark’s cruel grasp and was liberated, to finally rest. Watching as, one by one, the stars faded into nothingness and the great eastern orb returned to claim the sky for its own. And so, it will likely come as no surprise that when we rejoin our protagonist, he is partaking in the same activity as he had every morning for the last 12 years.

The sun had a peculiar way of setting the world on fire. It was never loud or obnoxious. It didn’t burst into the sky in a shower of confetti and yell of its presence for all to hear. It seeped over the horizon, inch by inch, so that even the most attentive of onlookers could never pinpoint the exact moment that night turned to day. Sirius sat perched on the roof of the Potter’s, watching smoke from his cigarette unfurling in that inexplicable, mesmerizing way that it does. But one can only sit alone on a roof for so long before one’s mind starts to wander. In Sirius’ case, it found its way to the boy sleeping on the sofa downstairs.

He had always been drawn by Remus. From the moment they’d met, something about that awkward, scar-ridden 11-year-old had caught his eye. Maybe it was the way his timid hands had quivered when they shook hands for the first time, or the way his eyes gleamed with a type of gold that a thousand goblins couldn’t conjure. Ever since that moment, he always wanted to be around him. To be close to him. It was impossible to explain, but Sirius was under a spell that not even the most powerful wizard in the world could break.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a window creaking open. He turned around and was shocked by the sight of Remus climbing through the attic window and out onto the roof of the Potter house.

“Morning.” Remus’ morning voice never failed to take Sirius’ breath away. Simultaneously gravelly and soft, it enveloped him in what could only be described as comfort.

“Hey”, Sirius said, and it was frankly impressive how many voice cracks he managed to fit into that one, short word. Clearing his throat, the smitten boy persisted; “I thought you were afraid of heights?”

Nice one Sirius. Make him think you see him as a wimp. That’ll get him to fall in love with you.

Sirius internally cursed himself for his insensitivity, fully expecting Remus to turn right back around and go back inside out of anger. It was to his surprise, therefore, that Remus smiled and settled down next to him.

“I was. But these last few transformations… I don’t know. Every time the wolf rips me apart, I feel like I’m going to die. And so, after I changed back the last time, I decided that I wouldn’t waste whatever time I have left being scared of things that don’t matter. Because there is no way to know which full moon is going to be my last.” A heavy silence settled over the boys. As the weight of Remus’ confession sank in, Sirius found himself on the edge of tears. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t help thinking about how he would survive if Remus did die. If, one day, the blood on the floor of the shrieking shack would become too much, and they would all drown in its repercussions.

Wordlessly, Remus reached over and took hold of Sirius’ cigarette. Their fingers brushed only for a second, but it felt like forever and was over too soon. A shiver ran down Sirius’ spine at the feeling of Remus’ cold finger on his. His finger, surprisingly unmarred compared to the rest of his body, seemed to set every nerve in Sirius’ body in fire. That simple act of proximity was enough to set his heart beating at a rate that, frankly, shouldn’t be allowed.

When Remus withdrew his fingers, the cigarette perched between them, Sirius was left tingling in the small but infinite point of contact, and he vowed never to wash that hand again, lest he lose the shimmering ecstasy that the tingling brought. The situation was not improved by Remus’ decision to bring the cigarette to his lips, placing his mouth exactly where Sirius’ had been only seconds before. He took a long, languid drag from the joint, his beautiful lips perfectly shaping to exhale the smoke. Sirius marveled at how this boy could make even an act as simple as taking a puff from a cigarette seem like the most sensual, lascivious experience of his life. Sirius’ mind was flooded with obscene thoughts of what he wanted to do to those lips, what he wanted them to do to him. He felt dizzy at the thought (although that might have also had something to do with the sudden lack of blood in his head; it seemed to have decided that it was needed elsewhere).

The stillness was shattered by a hacking cough.

“Merlin, what the fuck is in this thing?” Remus exclaimed through another shuddering cough.

“It’s only a cigarette”, Sirius answered, confused.

Remus laughed. “I know that, dipshit. But why? What the fuck are you doing out here at bloody six in the morning smoking this cheap shit? Here.”

Sirius watched in bewilderment as Remus reached into his sweater pocket and withdrew a long, hand rolled joint.

“What is it?”, he asked stupidly.

Once again, he found himself blessed by the presence of Remus’ gorgeous laugh. “It’s weed. Marijuana. It’s a muggle drug.”

Sirius was skeptical. “And it’s better than cigarettes?”

“Way better. Here.”

Before Sirius had a chance to say anything, Remus was bringing the joint up to Sirius’ lips. Startled, Sirius instinctively parted them, and let the rough paper of the tip slide in. Then, Remus’ fingers skimmed his lower lip, and he was paralyzed. His mind was plunged into a world of haze, where his lip and Remus’ fingers existed alone. Where all the unsaid words were unimportant, and all that mattered was that Remus was touching him.

But something inside him realized the sheer impossibility of that dream and brought him back to reality. A reality where Remus would never love him back, because why would he? Why would an ethereal creature like Remus Lupin, with all his intangible beauty, pay any attention to a bratty pureblood who couldn’t even tell the difference between a mandrake and a spinach leaf?

Well, Sirius concluded, if this is the closest I ever get to him, I may as well make the most of it.

Sirius sighed, leaning into Remus’ touch. Memorizing the sensation of cold fingers on his skin. But Remus drew back. Sirius supposed he must have angered him with his display of intimacy, because a red flush was creeping up his neck and highlighting his cheeks.

Drawing back, Sirius cleared his throat, which was not an easy feat, due to the joint now in his mouth. When he was satisfied that an ordinary level of awkwardness had been restored between them, he lit his joint. Almost immediately, he felt a wave of relaxation wash over him. It was amazing, the sensation of every muscle in his body loosening, becoming calm. The tension was gone from his shoulders, and he couldn’t even remember why he had been worried about this in the first place. He had never felt anything better.

He felt a tug on the spliff and opened his mouth so it could slide out, the paper sticking to his lips. It was Remus, of course. He took it into those elegant, beautiful fingers and took a puff, closing his eyes as the glorious smoke entered his system. After a couple of seconds, he exhaled again, the smoke rippling through his voluptuous lips and ascending to join the clouds in their endless dance of mesmerising shapeshifting.

The rest of the morning was spent that way, sharing that slice of euphoria, tucked away on a rooftop in a tiny corner of a tiny island in a huge, huge world.

***

The sun was dipping into the west now, and James and Peter had long since engaged themselves in a fierce game of monopoly. Surprisingly, Peter was doing very well. Although James would later claim that he “let Peter win”, it was clear to see that he was severely frustrated by his lack of success. Although, his agitation might have had something to do with his anticipation of the next day; the girls had agreed to come over in the morning and stay for a couple of nights. Inevitably, James had spent many hours fretting over what to say when Lily arrived, before finally agreeing to partake in a game of monopoly to settle his nerves. Clearly, this hadn’t helped. To their merit, Remus and Sirius had abstained from the activity, aware that an apprehensive James and board games were never a good combination. They had instead elected to watch, which proved to be a far more enjoyable pastime.

“That’s it!”, James exclaimed, throwing his money down on the table. “I don’t get this dumb muggle game. I’m going for a walk.” He pushed back his chair with an unpleasant screech and stormed out the front door, leaving a bewildered Peter in his wake. They didn’t have long to revel in the absence of James’ intense leg-jiggling, however. The door had barely swung close before it was wrenched open again, and James came thundering back in, unchanged, except for the fact that he was now soaking wet.

Fuming, he mumbles something about “s’raining”, and sloshed his way up the stairs. A distant door slammed, and the house was quiet once more.

“Well”, Sirius clapped his hands together. “I’m starving. Dinner?”

Peter perked up at the mention of sustenance but was quickly shot down by Remus’ next statement.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we can’t exactly walk to town in this weather. And the muggle delivery place won’t come out here in the rain.”

But Sirius was unperturbed. “Well I’ll cook something! Peter, why don’t you go make the guest rooms up for the girls, and Remus and I will whip something up for tea.”

Peter quickly scampered upstairs, not one to pass up an opportunity to clean a bedroom (it was one of his many unappreciated blessings; the need for cleanliness).

Left alone now, Sirius turned to Remus. Just being close to him was enough to set his heart racing, but he pushed that down.

Not right now. We’re just cooking. Just two friends, making dinner for their other two, less sophisticated friends.

However, he found himself unsure of how to proceed. So, as a demonstration of his ever-present sophistication, he decided to go with the most refined of communicative methods: finger guns.

Immediately regretting the decision, he dropped his arms to his side and cleared his throat for what was probably nearing the millionth time that day. “Shall we?” Remus nodded.

The Potters’ kitchen was sprawling with innumerable cupboards and drawers, all immaculately designed and painted to create a blend of antique styles and modern methods. There were 3 ovens, and a number of industrial fridges, including a blast-freezer. A mini fridge sat on the bench, containing sodas of all flavours and, further back, expensive alcohols. To Sirius, who had grown up in the dingy prison of Grimmauld Place, it was heaven.

He walked over to the industrial fridge and started pulling out ingredients, ideas flooding his mind. Although he would never admit it, cooking was one of Sirius’ guilty pleasures. The thought of so many elements, things that are seemingly useless of bland, coming together to form a gastronomical masterpiece was something that he enjoyed immensely. Within minutes, he was working away at a bouillabaisse, the pastry for a quiche already in the oven, and an ice-cream mixture chilling in the fridge.

Remus was watching in amazement from his perch on the island bench, a cold raspberry soda in his hand.

“Where did you learn to cook?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes from the mesmerizing bubbling of the bouillabaisse.

Sirius blushed. “Andy taught me, actually. After she moved in with Ted. I would go and visit her every Saturday and help out around the house when Ted was out working.”

Remus was well aware of Sirius’ feelings about Ted Tonks. Although he had not approved of him initially, believing strongly that Andromeda was worthy of someone better, he had seen how passionately he cared for his family, and grown to like the stumpy little man.

“She says she learned from Ted’s mother, who was a chef in France before the Depression. She said that Andy had a knack for it, and so taught her everything she knew. Since no one in the ministry would take her in fear of her parents getting mad, she decided to do everything she can at home, taking care of the house and of little Nymphadora.”

“Oh yeah, how is she going? God, she must be going on a year now!” Remus asked, remembering the pictures Sirius had shown him of his baby cousin when she was born.

“She’s doing good. It really is a breath of fresh air, seeing that even in the midst of the oncoming war, there is still such innocence and good in the world. But at the same time, I’m terrified that she might have to grow up in a world governed by Voldemort.” His voice shook on that last sentence, his throat swelling painfully as tears sprung to his eyes. He tried to blink them back, unwilling to let Remus see that side of him, but they knew each other too well. With two quick strides, Remus was across the room, enveloping him in a hug.

Sirius sank into it, letting himself be consumed by the warmth or Remus. By that comforting smell of nutmeg and tea, coupled with chocolate and books. The brush of leather jacket on woolen sweater, the feeling of heads on shoulders and hands on backs. And he knew that, as long as this boy was in the world, everything would always be okay.

***

After dinner, the boys had opted to take their dessert into the living room and watch a movie. Remus had suggested Titanic, and James had protested for all of 5 seconds before remembering that Rose bore a slight resemblance to one Lily Evans and supporting the idea wholeheartedly. But now the movie had ended, and the boys found themselves, yet again, in limbo between waking and sleeping. At some point during the movie, Remus had moved over to snuggle next to Sirius, and it hadn’t taken long before they were sprawled out on the sofa, Remus’ head on Sirius’ chest. Sirius had tried no to think anything of it, justifying that Remus was tired and probably didn’t even know what he was doing. But a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but hope.

Remus opened his eyes and looked out the window into the dark garden. The night sky was speckled with a tapestry of a thousand stars, each one so small, yet burning with a fire so intense it could consume everything they held dear in less than a second. There was no moon in the sky that night.

Then Remus turned his head to look up at Sirius, his golden eyes meeting grey ones.

“It’s stopped raining”, he said.

Sirius looked up, and saw that the skies had, in fact, cleared.

Glancing down again, he went to reply, but was cut short by the sight before him. Remus was asleep, safe in his best friend’s arms. And so, Sirius spoke his answer for the unlistening ears of the night.

“Yeah. Yeah it has.”

***

I hope you liked it!! It is up on ao3 as well, and the next chapter will be coming soon! Please reblog is you liked it, I’m smol and would love more people to see it. thankyou!!

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[squishymochisoo]

expiration date || lee felix (ft. lee minho)

genre: angst, fluff, college au

pairing: lee felix x reader, lee minho x reader 

words: 5.1 k

synopsis: it’s been years since you fell in love with minho, who seems to have never liked you back. when felix enters your life along with several other new friends. maybe finally you would be able to move on from minho. maybe love did have an expiration date.

||

unrequited love

it’s normal for most of us to experience unrequited love.

the pining from afar, the small smiles and little laughs you let out when you see the other.

sometimes it was painful to watch the other, knowing that they would never be the other’s special person

sometimes it made you happy, seeing the other so happy.

sometimes it made you smile when you notice the little things the other did.

sometimes you stare at the ceiling when you’re in your bed, tears following your thoughts and only one question filling your head,

‘why did i have to fall in love with my friend?’

 ||

 “jisung why is it so cold – it’s only november” you shivered as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“blame global warming i guess” jisung snorted beside you.

“i don’t know why a part of me thought that you would be kind enough to give me your jacket” jisung raised his eyebrows at your statement.

“and freeze? yea no thanks. i’d like to stay warm” jisung smiled sinisterly why waving his sweater paws at you. you scoffed and rolled your eyes

“what a best friend you are” your playful glare was interrupted by a figure walking towards the both of you.

 “y/n what are you doing? i told you to cover up!” minho nagged. you shrug your shoulders not knowing what to reply. you felt another chill pass through you, making you shiver once more.

“here put this on” minho handed to you his jacket, motioning for you to put it on. you felt your cheeks heat up, not from the cold but from minho handing to you his jacket.

you had been friends with minho for many years. at the age of 13, just 2 years after you met him, you couldn’t stop your heart from pounding really hard whenever he did something for you. it may have been a just a friendly gesture, but it made your heart jump every time. you knew it was a stupid crush that had to go away, especially when you knew that minho would not feel the same way about you. but every time you stopped yourself from blushing or giggling, every time you manage to forget his smile, he enters your life once more with an even brighter smile. making you fall for him over and over again. it was a cycle that never ended.  

 even now at the age of 21, why did you find it so hard to let go of him?

 even when he dated or mentioned another name with a smile on his face, you couldn’t help but smile looking at him happy, even when you heart was aching at the thought of him and his significant other.

 “y/n i need your help” minho ran up to you as you were walking home from school that day.

“i just don’t understand why she’s mad at me?” minho whined to you.

“just talk it out and pay more attention to her. maybe she just needs comfort and you weren’t there” you stated blankly while your mind in a frenzy. minho’s face lit up at your advice.

“thanks y/n! you’re such a great friend!” and with that he disappeared.

“yea.. i’m such a great friend” you muttered under your breath.

 it was normal that minho came to you for relationship advice, stating that jisung lacked the social skills to come up with decent advices regarding people. because of jisung’s lacking ability to give advices, you were stuck with the job. making you hear about minho and his significant other regularly over the years.

every time he came up to you, a part of you wanted to give a shitty advice. a part of you thought about giving an advice that could break them up because your heart couldn’t suffer anymore. and every time the devil stood on your shoulder telling to you put a crack in their relationship, you couldn’t.

you didn’t know why.

you’d witness the couple back together again the next day and your heart would ache once more.

why didn’t you put your happiness before you? why was it that you’d rather live with a broken heart than seeing someone you liked – no—loved in pain? somehow you figured it would be worth it in the end. a part of you thought that maybe, just maybe, minho would notice the way you liked him, and he would notice how you were there for him every time.

you knew it would never happen, but still a small part of you couldn’t help but wish and long for it.

it wasn’t like the two of you were best friends that shared secrets with each other. truthfully, the only reason why the both of you still talked was because of jisung.  

 ||

 “hey seungmin” you waved at the boy behind the counter of the convenience store. you placed your bag beside his and joined him.

the pay here wasn’t so great but it was hard to find another place that allowed you to work late into the night since you had classes in the morning. seungmin attended the same university as you and was also doing journalism. the both of you hit it off perfectly especially since you just met him last week. it wasn’t long until jisung entered the store, calling out for you.

“y/n! where art thou romeo” you held the urge to throw something at your embarrassing friend. when his eyes met yours, he ran towards the counter calling out your name once more. you could hear seungmin trying to stifle a laugh looking at jisung.

“look at the roomates wanted poster i made!” jisung shoved the poster into your face.

“i think i should majored in digital and visual arts instead of music.” jisung continued to boast. you stared at the poster which looked like jisung used clip art images from microsoft powerpoint and used a rainbow effect on wordart for the word ‘roommate’. it was definitely … eye catching.

 “wait! you printed it out? like a stack of those?” jisung nodded proudly holding a very thick stack of paper.

“why would you?? people find roomates online now! what happened to trying to save the earth?” you nagged as you saw the waste of paper.

“we could just pass it out in campus, that way we get to see them in real life. if they aren’t worthy, they don’t get the poster!” jisung retorted. you looked blankly at jisung not knowing what to reply with.

 “you guys are looking for roomates? my friends were just looking for a place to rent.” seungmin pointed out.

“i could let them know and pass them your number if you would like”

“as long as they’re not murderers, we would appreciate you telling them” you joked.

“just let me when they would like to look at the apartment if they are interested!”

 ||

 that’s how you found yourself a few days later, in your apartment with hyunjin and jeongin, who were also first years at the uni you were going to. oddly enough, the four of you hit if off very well. although the apartment was huge enough to house four adults, it was cheap to afford. well, it was cheap because it required so many touch ups and had to be refurbished before the four of you could call it home.

the four of you spend the week before school painting and moving furniture around. seungmin joining you most times to help you. even sometimes minho would come around, doing all the stupid things he usually did to make you feel nervous.

 |

 “okay finally we’re done!” you heard jeongin yell from the other room as he finished up painting the last empty patch on the wall. you laughed as you heard cheers echo all throughout the house.

“please please please! let’s go out for lunch! i don’t think i can take it anymore if i inhale more paint!” hyunjin shouted dramatically.

that’s how you found yourself being squeezed in between jisung and seungmin while hyunjin and jeongin sat on the opposite side of the table in the diner. jisung was busy discussing a with jeongin about what it would be to fall in love with a tree. both you and seungmin were just staring at the pair, silently judging them in your heads. hyunjin lifted up his head to face all of you from his phone.

“guys, is it okay if our friend joins us for lunch?” hyunjin looked at you and jisung, who agreed because the pair of you decided two days after meeting the trio that whoever they were friends with, were immediately their friends. hyunjin nodded excitedly before texting on his phone once more before putting it down, joining jeongin’s and jisung’s conversation about plants.

 ||

 “—like a plant fetish?” hyunjin replied. somehow both you and seungmin ended up joining the conversation.

“no that doesn’t make sense! falling in love with a plant is different from having a plant fetish!” you exclaimed. all five of you were so into the conversation that all of you didn’t realize the figure that stood at the end of the table listening in on the conversation.

“but you could have a plant fetish and fall in love with a plant at the same time” a deep voice stated from your right, scaring the five of you. you jumped back upon hearing hyunjin shriek in surprise.

“shut up hyunjin” seungmin kicked hyunjin from underneath the table. you stifled a laugh as you looked at the blonde boy who had a big smile on his face.

“hey! i’m felix. you must be y/n and jisung?” felix glanced at the both of you.

“nice to meet you! have a seat” you gestured towards the empty seat beside jeongin.

it was not a surprise to you when you found out that you and jisung fit right into their group of friends. it was as if the both of you just belonged there, sitting with the other four boys laughing and talking.

that was how your friendship with the four boys began to grow.

 ||

 before you realized it, the first week of school started. you spent the whole week before hanging out with the boys. sometimes watching movies in your apartment. sometimes walking around the park. there was a day where all six of you lied down in the living room not doing anything. and somehow it was still one of the best days of your life.

 message from felixie

felixie: you going with the others after class?

you: nope! minho said he needed to meet me so i’ll be walking back with him ^^

felixie: oh… okay then have fun! ~~

 you sighed as you tucked your phone back into your pocket. you continued to wait on the bench just outside one of the buildings in campus, staring at the students flocking into a lecture room. you glanced at the other bench to see a couple together typing on their laptops while the chatted. the smile on their face so bright, showing everyone how happy they were together.

you glanced at your phone as you count the minutes. you gave minho another text as you continued to stare at the sky watching the clouds. soon minutes turned to an hour and you were left with no response from minho.

you sighed. it wasn’t the first time anyways. you were stupid enough to think that he would show up. you dragged your feet across campus to find minho talking with his friends and a girl around his arm.

you didn’t know what to feel. sad? because he ditched you? or relieved? that you didn’t have to hear him talk about whoever that girl was. did you feel betrayed, that he would just ditch you? or angry that you were so unimportant to him, that he forgot about you?

you trudged towards your apartment so in thought that you didn’t realize you were just standing outside an ice-cream parlour. you wanted to enter the shop, hoping that ice cream would lighten your mood. but when your eyes shifted, looking in the shop all you could see was the couples inside enjoying themselves, hearing them laugh together, all of them looked so happy. you were surprised when you felt a shadow stop beside you, sheltering you from the sun’s glare. looking up you saw felix. he looked confused at first before offering a small smile and grabbed your arm and dragged you into the parlour.

felix actually saw you left campus without minho. he was confused as to why you were alone, when you mentioned walking home with minho, who he has only met twice briefly. felix followed you quietly behind you as you trudged your way home. when felix saw you looking into the shop sadly, something in him broke when he saw your sad face.

felix sat you down and motioned you to wait as he ran towards the counter. he came back with two cones.

“here!” felix thrusted the ice cream in your direction “ your favourite right? lime sherbet?” felix questioned. he remembered you mentioning in passing that hyunjin finished up the lime sherbet that you bought a few days back. you stared at the ice cream in his hand and him. how had he remembered such a small detail about you? he’s only known you for about a week, but it feels like he knows more about you than minho.

‘minho’ your thoughts came back to him.

stupid brain why did you have to think about him

 felix sighed softly as he realized the downcast on your face. felix place his cone into the same hand he was using to hold yours. he grabbed your palm with his free hands and pressed your cone into your hands.

“stop thinking so hard” felix smiled at you before patting the back of your hand. you nodded, staring at him. the two of you spent hours there, filled with laughter and smiles from a certain sunshine. you couldn’t deny that talking and laughing with felix, eased the pain and the doubt you had in your head and heart.

“y/n, i thought you were supposed to be going home with minho” felix gently brought up the topic.

“oh, uhh, he forgot we were meeting i guess,” you managed to get out, you tried not to let your true emotions show. but somehow felix caught on to it. felix’s smile dropped a split second, when he had to see you upset once more, before his smile grew on his face once more.

“well, i think that’s a good thing.” your eyes widened at his statement.

“because if not i wouldn’t be having such a good time with you” you let out a laugh watching his eyes crinkle.

 ||

 you sat on the bench once more staring at your palm as you watched the rain droplets fall onto your palm. you were supposed to be meeting minho once more. but as you sat there in the rain. you knew he wasn’t coming. you were upset and angry. the both of you agreed on meeting today so he could pass to you what he wanted to a few weeks ago.

you stared at the droplets on your hand, only to find that the rain had stopped. you looked up, a part of you hoping to see minho, but you were surprised to see felix.

“y/n… what are you doing out in the rain…” felix let out softly, sheltering you with his umbrella.

“minho” you mumbled softly as you leaned a little into felix for warmth. felix wrapped his arms around your shoulder pulling you up, as if asking you to stand up.

“c’mon let’s go dry you off and get you coffee.”

minho ditching you seemed more frequent in the few weeks. you somehow knew he wasn’t going to show up but somehow you always waited for him. and most of the times felix came to your rescue.

you usually went home with the other boys so whenever you weren’t around, jisung would mention you waiting for minho. after the ice cream incident, felix always waited until he was sure you met up with minho before leaving. after it happened a few times, he just didn’t trust minho anymore. why would you still show up and wait for over an hour when you knew he wasn’t going to appear?

but a apart of felix was relieved that minho didn’t show up. every chance minho ditched you, was a chance for felix to hang out with you.

you were grateful to felix. even when you were upset or angry, he managed to get a laugh out of you. the two of you becoming close was inevitable.

 ||

 it was only a week later when you were dragged aside from your lunch table with the other four boys. you tried to pull your arm away from the other, whose gripped only tightened on yours. you hissed loudly as you felt pain erupt from your arm. you glared at the person.

“minho! what are you doing?” you hissed louder.

“i could ask you the same thing” minho looked at you with pointed look. minho took your silence as confusion.

“why are you hanging out with those boys so much?” minho questioned pointed to the table to were sitting at.

“where’s jisung? why isn’t he eating with you?” minho questioned further.

“you can’t stay with them when jisung is not there. it’s not safe. you shouldn’t be so open with them, you just met them last month. what if they’re bad news?” minho kept asking and nagging. you felt a slight anger travelling through you. you were wondering what gave him the right to say those things about your friends. you wanted to retort back about how they were more present in your life than he was. that they probably knew more about you than he did. that they cared more about you than he did. but before you could even say anything – he replied.

“look – i just don’t want you to get hurt. i care about you okay?” your heart softened a little. your head telling you to stop forgiving him, to storm away and to give a cold shoulder. but somehow, you found yourself giving the man in front of you a small smile. a smile that meant forgiveness.

why did you just give in? why did you just forgive him? why did you forgive him for what he said? why did you forgive him for what he had done?

 ||

 three months later, everything was still the same. your friendship with the boys grew deeper. you hung out more with felix than the rest. it was as if the both of you had a connection, that neither could explain. you knew when felix needed someone to lean on and felix you when you needed cheering up.

“here, you can come here and cry your heart out, if i’m not there okay?” felix showed you the rooftop on one of the campus’ buildings.

that’s how that rooftop became your spot with felix. a place to go when you needed comfort. a place to go when you needed to relax. and a place to go to hide from everyone else other than felix. some nights you and felix would just lay and stare at the clouds and stars. you lie in silence. but the silence was never deafening, it was comforting.

 ||

 it was your birthday that day. a special day for you. you felt like your birthday was the one true day that you had to be happy. the five boys had wished you exactly at midnight, which was not a surprise to you.

you were happily skipping only to hear your name being mentioned in a conversation. to walked softly towards the voices, only to find minho with his friends, chan and changbin.

“hey isn’t it y/n’s birthday today? i heard jisung shouting at hyunjin about plans they had for tonight” changbin mentioned as the two sat behind the building, lighting a cigarette.

“why should i care? it’s just their birthday.” minho laughed as he took a drag. you swallowed wanting to step away.

“who’s y/n?” you heard chan ask.

“oh just some friend of minho that is in love with him. don’t even know why they still follow you around.”

“oh the one he kept complaining about?” chan added. you watched as minho continue to smoke as he heard he friends insulting you further.

was he not even going to defend you?

your jaw trembled as you tried to hold in your tears, your legs taking you away from them. you hurried moved your hand into your bag, finding your phone and pressing on jisung’s contact number.

 “hey y/n!” jisung’s cheeriness echoed through the phone. you could hear the ruckus in the background and managed to make out the voices of seungmin and jeongin.

“hey.. do you think we could postpone the party later?” you feigned a small laugh, hoping that it would help to stop the tears from arriving.

“what why? we already booked the place though”

“i’m just tired… it’s fine you just go and have fun there okay?” upon hearing your tone, jisung decided not to press on.

 you hung up with a sigh as you glanced at the dark sky. why did it have to rain every time you felt this way.

you found yourself walking towards the rooftop you spent most of time on these days. you laid down staring at the sky for what felt like hours. the thoughts running in your head making you more confused the more you tried to piece them together.

you were trying to understand your feelings as your brain replayed the scene you saw just now repeatedly.

 you felt angry. you felt betrayed. you felt sad.

 you swore to yourself that minho wasn’t worth it. he wasn’t worth your time. why would he pretend to be your friend for so long? why did he talked bad about behind your back? why didn’t he correct his friends? did he know all this time that you were in love with him?

with these questions you had, you found more tears staining your cheeks. a blurry sight of a hand holding a can of drink came into your line of vision. you sniffled as you quickly wiped away the tears from your eyes, staring at felix.

“hey i was worried when i got a call from jisung that you weren’t going to the party.” he handed you a muffin. you glanced at it, confounded.

“oh.. i was from the bakery. you mentioned that you liked it a while back but couldn’t go there regularly because it was too far away.” felix scratched the back of his neck nervously under your stare. you felt more than touched. the bakery was about 45 mins away from campus. did he really travel that far just to buy a muffin you loved?

you felt more tears run down your face.

“why? oh my god, do you hate this muffin? did i remember what you said wrongly.” felix exclaimed worriedly as he grabbed your cheeks gently. you shook you head.

“just touched” you mumbled. felix smiled before moving his fingers across your cheeks to wipe away the tears. you felt your heart beating faster. honestly, it has been happening for the past few weeks. sometimes you’d find yourself being shy and blushing around felix. some nights you would fall asleep thinking about him. some days just staring at the texts he leaves you.

a part of you knew better than to assume that his kind deeds were advances.

 ‘he loved skinship, this was normal for him. he did this to all his friends.’ you thought

 it was as if felix could read your mind or feel your doubts. felix shifted closer towards you, his hands still on your cheeks.

“i like you y/n. i really really really like you. seeing you cry, seeing you upset, breaks my heart. every time i see you this way, all i want to do is kiss you and cuddle you to tell you that i’m here, that i want to be by your side. to let you lean on my shoulder.” your eyes shifted, feeling a little shy from the sudden confession. felix let out a small smile before planting a kiss on your cheek.

“here’s a preview” he let out a deep giggle that had you blushing harder.

“i like you too felix” you whispered as you leaned into his embrace.

 “i know” he smiled cheekily before felix grabbed your hand pulling you up. “c’mon let’s get dinner”

 ||

 you thought that it would be awkward between the both of you and your other friends. but nothing really felt that different. during lunch, the six of you still do stupid things together. you still had stupid conversations together. the only thing that changed was that felix would hold your hand under the table during lunch. or that you would cuddle during movie nights at your apartment with the others. felix loved flirting with you and every time he did, jisung and hyunjin would gag loudly causing you to laugh and kiss felix on the cheek. only aggravating jisung and hyunjin more since they had to watch the pda all the time.

jeongin and seungmin weren’t even surprised when you first told them about the two of you getting together. it was as if they already knew it was going to happen.

your week had just changed and took a 180 turn. you finally realized what it felt to be so happy. it was as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulder. if you and felix were hard to separate before you dated, now the both of you were inseparable.

 minho spend days watching the two of you as you held hands walking from lectures to lectures. he saw how you kissed felix goodbye. he saw how your face would light up when you catch felix waiting for you outside the lecture room.

“what” he grumbled as changbin passed him a cigarette which he declined.

“why are you so pissed off these days.” chan mentioned staring at minho

“yea crankypants what’s up”

minho’s eyes followed your figure as you hugged felix.

“oh y/n and their boyfriend?” changbin stated causing a growl to erupt from minho.

“he’s nice, he’s from australia too. talked to him a while ago. he’s funny too” minho’s blood boiled as chan complimented felix.

 what did he have that minho didn’t? if anything felix was just average looking compared to him. he knew you for a much longer time than felix did.

only at this moment did he realize how much his heart beat faster at the thought of you.

 ||

  minho ran towards campus the next day. after his classes he ran to the flower shop just around the corner and ran back looking for you. minho’s eyes landed on jisung and his friends. he rushed towards them panting.

“w-where’s y/n” minho managed to get out. jeongin glanced at minho wearily.

“they’re at the library studying while waiting for lix to get out of class” minho was about to leave just as he heard jeongin’s reply, only to be stopped by jisung’s arm grabbing minho’s. minho tried to yank his arm away, only to have jisung clamp his fingers tighter into his flesh.

“what jisung” minho voiced out crankily. jisung clenched his jaw in anger and looked into minho’s eyes, a glint of irritation seen in his eyes.

“don’t tell me that you were going to –” jisung glanced and gestured with his head towards the flower’s in minho’s hands. hyunjin finally understood the situation.

“dude, what the fuck. you can’t do that” hyunjin gasped, narrowing his eyes. minho was furious at hyunjin’s response.

“who are you to decide what i do or don’t do? i’ve known y/n longer, i think i know better and i know that y/n deserves better.” jisung breathed in deeply.

“and you haven’t been there at night when y/n cried. you weren’t there for y/n when y/n cried because you kept ditching them. you weren’t there for y/n when y/n needed a shoulder to lean on. you weren’t there for y/n when your friends talked crap about them. you didn’t even defend y/n when your friends talked crap about y/n on their birthday. who are you to know what y/n deserves? if anything you don’t deserve y/n. “ minho didn’t realize you heard what his friends said about you. it wasn’t that he agreed with them, he just didn’t bother to correct them.

“they liked you for so long. do you even know how hard it was for me, minho? to watch my best friend like someone so much that they didn’t even prioritize their own happiness? y/n was always putting you first. always solving your relationship problems, always there for you when you weren’t for y/n. and finally y/n gets to have the happy story and gets to have the happy ending. a happy story that they deserve. why can’t you just let y/n be happy? do you think about anyone else for a second?” jisung paused.

“you can’t have everything you want minho” jisung let out a sigh glaring at minho.

“don’t confuse y/n. especially when they’re already so happy with felix” jisung stated blankly before dragging hyunjin and jeongin away from minho.

minho didn’t realize that all these time, he should’ve realized how important you were to him. how you were right there in front of him and he couldn’t even give you the love you deserved. minho didn’t have excuses. he knew he was in the wrong. he hurt you and he stopped you from your happiness. he couldn’t give you the happiness you experienced with felix. and he was going to accept that someday.

his heart still ached as he saw you during lunch with felix. his heart ached as he saw you holding hands. his heart ached when he saw you laughing, the smile never leaving your face when you with felix.

that’s when minho realized that love did have an expiration date.

someday he was going to be able to accept that y/n doesn’t smile at him like that anymore. that y/n can’t even look him in the eye. that y/n doesn’t even need minho in their life. minho needed y/n and he was going to accept it someday that he had to learn how to live without y/n in his life.

 y/n’s love for him expired.

but minho still had a long way to go before his love for y/n expired.

someday, he would accept that y/n didn’t need him to be happy.

||

hey thanks for reading! leave a comment or anon me to let me know what you think and feel! 

any constructive criticism? let me know too! 

thanks! 

comments really give me motivation to write more often! <3

[mccall-me-maurice]

In Hopes You’re on the Other Side, Talking to me too

Pairing: Jack Merridew/Ralph

Word Count: 2016

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Jack was trying his best to be Ralph’s everything. But in the end, it wasn’t enough. So every night the redhead finds himself talking to the moon to try and win Ralph back through words that he’ll never really say to the boy. All in hopes that perhaps a certain someone is doing the exact same.

Jack hates himself more than he hates anyone else in the galaxy. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. Maybe there are a couple people worse than him but it really can’t be all that many. It’s probably one of the shortest lists to ever grace this planet, but for now he’s focusing on the fact that he just lost the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Ralph and Jack never really got along until 2 years ago. They had a horrible past of bloody fights and words that chilled the other to the bone. They were so used to painting old school tiles with each other’s blood that they didn’t really get the time to know each other much further than hatred. Until 2 years ago, on the last day of their senior year. Ralph had finally held his hand out to Jack, letting the redhead take it instead of trying to maim him. That was all that it took for the boy who previously was his rival to become fascinated with Ralph in a way other than what he initially thought. Of course, it was supposed to be a horribly inconvenient time for both of them and if he had to guess, Jack would’ve said Ralph planned it so he wouldn’t have to face the freckled boy again. However, fate had different plans for them and on their first day of college, the two had been shocked to figure out that they were located in the same hall for the next four years.

Flash forward 1 and ½ years and Jack and Ralph were helplessly in love with each other. Nobody had suspected the pairing of an easygoing business major and finance major to pair up with each other. Jack himself didn’t really notice when the shift from friends to boyfriends occurred but before he could blink an eye, he was abandoning homework assignments to be with Ralph and staying up hours past when he usually drifted off to sleep to hear the tired voice of his boyfriend giggle about people he had seen in class. 20 years old and Jack really believed he had found his soulmate. He really believed that they would be together for as long as they lived. As long as the sun burned in the sky, his hand would be in Ralph’s. Even once they passed, they would be dancing together as ghosts.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was March 3rd, the weather had shifted to overcast and Jack was slammed with studying for exams. Ralph’s exams had passed a week prior and the boy had flopped on his boyfriend’s bed, eyes scanning through a phone screen. Every so often he would hammer Jack with a series of questions and the redhead would be so tired he wouldn’t really give coherent responses. Late nights studying pages that were swimming with words and an excessive amount of monster energy drinks really turned someone’s brain to absolute mush. Not to mention Ralph had been sickeningly sweet to him, as if he could persuade Jack off of his swivel chair and onto the bed. As much as he wanted to be over there, running his fingers through Ralph’s hair and whispering the boy to sleep, all he could do was let the red ink of his pen slide across paper knowing that he was one sentence closer to the warm embrace of the blond.

“Jack…”

“What’s up?” Ralph sounded wary, like the news he was about to break would simply crush Jack. Little did he know, it would.

“Jack we need to take a break.” Jack choked on his spit. “Not forever. I don’t want to be away from you forever… Unless it has to be that way. Just for a couple weeks, a couple months. However long it takes for you to realise that there’s so much more to life than what lies in those textbook pages. I mean… You have been straight up ignoring me lately and I talked to Simon about it… He agreed that what's best for us is to just take a break. I suppose I’ll see you around.”

Which leads Jack to the present day, lying on the bed Ralph once laid on, scrolling through the text messages that Ralph once sent with tears in the corners of his eyes. He wants nothing more than to have the boy back, the heat of the soccer player's body warming Jack as he presses his cheek against blond hair. The energy of the night has been doing this to him recently, the darkness shrouding him as he lets himself sun quietly into the pillow. He can’t imagine that it’s not his fault. He gave Ralph his everything but even then the boy deserves so much more. He deserves the best and Jack clearly isn’t that for him. He will never be.

Jack shuts his phone off, placing it on the nightstand that lies to his left. The only thing that lights up the room is the beam of moonlight through his awfully cheap curtains. The flimsy white fabric barely blocks out anything, but even the inanimate object seems to be trying harder than Jack. The clock on his nightstand reads 23:57, signalling to the boy that even though exams are long over, he will still be up for at least another 3 hours. Not studying like he used to. No, he stopped studying the day that he took his final test, body filled with too much sorrow to even review the content properly. Recently the redhead has picked up the hobby of sitting cross legged in front of his window on the second floor of building B and he talks. He talks to the moon, to the stars, but most importantly he talks to Ralph. Whether the blond listens or not, he really isn’t sure. It’s not like his ex-boyfriend would ever be able to hear his cracked voice stumble over words as he spills his heart out to the endless night. Normally Jack wouldn’t even let himself be weak enough as to think about a head of blond hair for one more minute of one more day. And he does play a very clever façade in front of Roger and Maurice. He acts like Ralph doesn’t exist, like the hole in his heart doesn’t ache every time tan skin and ocean blue eyes filled with joy cross his path. On the days he isn’t sitting in his room, all alone, he’s out with his friends letting sweaty bodies press up against him as music blares. Drinks spill from red cups and onto the floor and all Jack can think about is how none of the people that choose to plaster themselves to him are Ralph. None of the people who cover his mouth with theirs, only to be quickly shoved off and sworn at, are the boy who he wishes would drunkenly kiss him. As much as he prays that Roger will show up empty handed with a party invite, at least once a week the raven haired boy is smirking at him with a bottle of booze clutched tightly in his fist. In order to seem like he’s the same sick person he was before he dated Ralph, he gives his friend an equally mischievous smile and takes the bottle.

Perhaps all of these emotions that Jack is feeling are Ralph’s fault. Or at least a byproduct of the fair boy. Before he let the boy ruin his life with ease, he was so cold hearted and had no fucks left to give. But for once, he had something to fight for that wasn’t himself. For once in his 20 years of life, Jack had someone who loved him just as much as he loved them. Which is why Ralph had always mattered more than a stupid party or nagging from his mates. He would’ve dropped the world to hold Ralph. Yes, that has to be it. All the crying had been because the blond’s soft heart had destroyed Jack. It had left him in a million pieces and as much as he didn’t want himself to be weak, as much as he hated himself for crying, it was happening.

Jack lets his body move over to the window, legs almost giving out underneath him as he falls into the place he’s become to know so very well over the past months. Roger didn’t invite him out today, but he doesn’t exactly blame the boy. There’s at least one party Roger attends every night, but bringing the heartbroken finance major who shoves off anyone who tries to make a move probably isn’t the best look for him. So instead Jack is sitting in the oversized pullover sweater with the college’s name plastered across the front that he got at orientation. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that his hair is all mussed and he probably looks like the human embodiment of death.

“Hey Ralph. I know you’re not talking to me… And you probably can’t even hear me. But I miss you. A lot. It’s really not in my character to miss people so that’s probably why this feels so weird.” Jack can’t help the sad laughter that bubbles up in his chest and escapes his lips. It just happens as naturally as breathing. “You know, I never thought that it would be you that I fell in love with. But here we are. I would’ve torn apart galaxies with my bare hands and rebuilt ones that would shield you from any pain. I don’t know how you’re feeling but I do know how I am. I miss the big smiles that you would give people when they said something hilarious, I miss the genuine laughs that you only did when we were alone. I miss the way your eyes mimic the ocean waves and dance like the sea. I miss the soft press of your hand against mine, and how they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. I miss you.” The same words that have been rolling off of his tongue for weeks come easy now, eyes not watering with tears quite yet. This is always the easy part. Simple things that anyone would miss when they lose their lover. However, Jack isn’t even close to finished and he knows his freckles will be stained with tears sometime soon.

“I miss the way you used to jump into my arms after you won a game despite being hideously dirty. I miss how you used to drag me out to look at every sunset because you wanted to find a beautiful part of every day…” His voice cracks at the end, memories swarming around like bees to honey. Every simple thing the fair boy did, probably without thought, now haunted Jack. The sweet gestures lived behind his eyes now, only as memories. A part of him wants to stop missing Ralph and just get on with his life. Live like a normal human being instead of one who can barely function without someone else there. He knows that eventually it will happen. It always does. Ralph has probably already moved on, found someone new to waste the days away with.

“Hey Ralph…” Jack starts tracing a pattern onto the knee of his sweatpants with his finger, eyes locked on the stars. Everything about the moment slows, the dancing lights in his peripheral, from a party in another building, the twinkling of the stars, the rush of wind against his face. Jack lets his heavy eyelids flutter shut, praying that one day, at some point, he’ll finally have an answer to the question that lays heavy on his tongue. All the sleepless nights and words that only he can hear lead to the same place. Like a winding road that always spits you out right where you began. All he can do is hope Ralph hears him, hope Ralph is right there with him whispering words to the moon that sits high in the sky.

“One day, will you love me again?”

[perlmen]

never again - part 2 of “the party”

WARNINGS: angst, fem!reader, Timmy is sorry and he’s still in that band.

SUMMARY: maybe there’s something about watching someone walk away that makes you realize how much you wanted them to stay. 

She walks home after leaving Timothée standing on the corner of 10th and 1st. She doesn’t remember how she ended up sitting on the subway at 2 in the morning staring blankly at the orange seats in front of her, but the screeching sound the train makes stops her from properly falling apart. 

The train comes to a halt. A stop. Timothée’s stop. 

The doors open and a couple walks in, and she can’t help but stare. How could she stop herself? They looked so in love. The girl stands on the tips of her toes to press a kiss on the boy’s cheek. The boy, who was looking at the map, smiles when he feels the girl’s lips on his cheek. He gives her a kiss on the forehead, and she leans her head on his shoulders. 

The train doors close, and the jolt of its engine reminds her that she needs to look away. 

A blur of concrete sidewalks and traffic lights and she’s in front of her apartment building. She fumbles for the keys in her pockets, so accustomed to Timothée unlocking the door for the both of them. Her feet carry her towards the stairs, and with every step she makes, she remembers all of the times Timothée made this trek with her. 

She remembers which step he’d stop her on to steal a kiss. She remembers which step she stood on when she turned to him and told him she was finally taller than him. She remembered which step he tripped on, which step he always jumped off from, and which step he’d always skip because it seemed “unstable” when really, he skipped it because he once saw a spider on it. And it takes all of her to push the good memories away because all she sees now is his lips on someone else’s. 

She unlocks her front door and turns on the lights, and within a second, she is reminded of everything she was trying to forget. 

His sweatshirt is on the couch. His books are on the coffee table. His mug is on the counter and is still filled with a bit of his coffee he didn’t finish from before they had left for the party. 

She takes a breath before taking his mug and dumping his coffee in the sink and putting his books in a drawer under the TV. She leaves his sweatshirt on the couch and goes back to her kitchen for a glass of water. Her eyes catch a yellow Post-It note on her fridge.

“I’d rather go blind than let you down.”

One look at the scratchy letters and she knew who it was from, so she pulled it off of the fridge, crumpled it, and threw it out. 

Timothée wasn’t used to not seeing her face in the crowd. He wasn’t used to not hearing her cheer the loudest or scream out the lyrics to their songs. He didn’t like the quiet. 

Timothée is sat on a couch at another party, and it’s after his band played. Normally, she’d be with him, and they would be talking in hushed tones to ensure that only they could hear what was being said. She’d be running her hands through his hair to try to make it less messy even though they both know she likes it better messy, but he’d let her do it anyway. The cup filled with cheap liquor weighs heavy in his hand, so he sets it down on a table and watches the people around the room. 

He lights a cigarette, and he acts like it doesn’t hurt him that the one person he looks forward to seeing after every set isn’t there with him. To say he misses her would be an understatement. 

He thought the people in books and movies were over-exaggerating when they said that it felt like a part of them was missing after they had lost the person they love. But he knows now that, if anything, they were under-exaggerating. 

He replays the moment she had found them. He replays what happened at the end of the corner of 10th and 1st. He keeps replaying it. He was, no,  is so stupid. Of course, they were together. Why did he tell that girl that they weren’t?

That girl that talked to Her so harshly. The girl that had crushed Her spirits and broke Her heart. The girl that had now spotted him from across the room. The girl that is now making her way over to him.

Before she can reach him, he gets up and makes his way towards the exit. 

Never again. 

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the people. 

Maybe it was the guilt that made Timothée call her. 

She is sat on her couch at home, absentmindedly watching the TV. She hates that her apartment was filled with everything she loves about him. Her pillows smelled like him. His shirts still filled half of her closet. His favorite ice cream was still in her freezer. 

She hates that every time she closes her eyes, she feels him still. She hates that she loves him.

And, god,  she hates that would take him back in a heartbeat. She knew she deserved better, but she knew that there was no one better than him. 

She regrets leaving him on the corner of 10th and 1st. She regrets not staying even though she knew she was right to walk away. 

She doesn’t regret falling asleep in his sweater in a bed that smells like him.  

In the middle of the night, her phone, which was sitting on the counter, rings. It lights up with a picture of a boy who regrets ever hurting her. 

She doesn’t hear it ring, so he leaves a message. 

“Hey-uh. I know I’m the last person you want to hear from. It’s, um. It’s Timmy, by the way. I just- I just miss you so fucking much. And I’m going to live my life forever regretting what I did to you that night. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t- I know I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to call you, I know you wouldn’t pick up. I don’t blame you. I’m so sorry I did that to you. Just, um, give me a call? Or don’t, I don’t expect you to or anything. I love you and I know you don’t think that I do, but I truly do. I love you.” 

It’s another party that L’enfance Nue has to play at. It’s nothing new. It feels like a chore, playing for an audience. He can’t count the amount of times he has considered breaking his own hand so that he doesn’t have to play for drunk and high college students. His lead singer specifically requested to play their band’s rendition of “Pretty in Pink” by The Psychedelic Furs, but Timothée told him that no one wanted to hear that, so they decided to play their song “Red.” 

By no one, Timothée meant himself. Why would he inflict more pain on himself by playing the song that played when he first met Her? It was the song that was playing when he first knew that she belonged in his life. And, that, without a doubt, she was meant for him and he was meant for her. 

He can’t play that song. Never again. 

The opening chords to “Red” attract the room’s attention, and the people flock to where the band was playing. The crowd cheers, but Timothée keeps his head down.

By the time the second chorus of his song plays, he opens his eyes and they scan the crowd for her face even though he knows she’s not here. 

After their set, a slow song starts to play on the radio. He’s back on the couch, cigarette in hand. He stares at the floor. 

Someone walks up to him. 

“Hey.”

He looks up. He rubs his eyes to make sure it’s really Her.

“Do you want to talk?” she says. 

“Yes! Yeah, um. Yes please.” 

They walk onto the balcony that overlooked the city they made theirs. It’s quiet for a moment. “I got your message,” she starts, and he holds his breath.

“I love you,” she continues, and his heart feels so full. He exhales.

“But I don’t want to get hurt again.” 

He nods, he understands. “I won’t, god, I would never hurt you again. I hated myself for what I did to you, I still do. I know no amount of me apologizing will ever take that moment back. It was the biggest mistake of my life. And what the fuck was I thinking? I just, I’d give anything to be yours again. I was yours before, we were together. I just- I was stupid and I couldn’t, I was just so stupid. Please give me another chance, I’ll make everything right. We could take it slow, anything you want. I just want to be with you again.” 

“We’d have to take things really slowly, you’d have to start from the beginning, okay?” She says. 

“Yes, god, yes, anything. I can do that, I can start from the beginning.” 

He’ll take it, he can do it. He’ll do whatever it takes. 

“Okay then, um...,” she doesn’t know what to do. 

“I love you.”

“Timmy... we said slow!”

“Please say it back, don’t leave me hanging.” 

“I love you, Timmy.”

She’s blushing and he’s smiling so much that his cheeks hurt. 

He promises himself that night that he will never watch her walk away from him. 

Never again. 

note: firstly, thank you so much for liking “the party”!!! it really means so much! secondly, I had it in mind that L’enfance Nue sounded like Catfish and the Bottlemen! “Red” is their song, and the lyric on the post-it note is from “Cocoon.” thirdly, SORRY IF THIS SUCKS AND SORRY FOR ANY TYPOS.

Please let me know if you like this one! I was really hesitant to make a second part because second parts are usually not as good as the first, so I really hope you all like it! Let me know if there’s anything else you want me to write! 

[evil-slytherin-queen]

Must've Been the Wind

warning: physical abuse, abuse, violence, Vernon Dursley is an asshole

Draco lugged the last two boxes into his new flat. One pushed through the door by his foot and the other in his arms. He settled them both on the ground and sighed with content. Finally, he had all of the boxes out of his car, even if it had taken all day.

This was going to be brilliant. A new start. Far away from his family, their dirty money and nothing stopping him from pursuing whatever and whoever he bloody well pleased. All he had to do was unpack.

Draco scanned the floor of his newly bought flat and suppressed a groan at all the boxes laid about. He'd definitely have to ring up Pansy, and the boys to help him unpack and organize everything. Speaking of, Draco grinned at the thought and swiped to answer his ringing cell.

"I was just thinking of you," Draco hummed, as he walked into the kitchen, hoping to put on some tea. 

"Lovely, I wanted to see how you were, darling. How's the flat? Not too common I hope?" 

Draco snorted at that, of course Pansy would be worried about it being 'too common'. He glanced around the flat once more and realized how common Pansy would certainly find it. It wasn't overly cheap, or run down but it was nothing compared to either of their childhood homes. The flat had only three rooms: a bedroom and bath, the living and dining area, and the kitchen. She would be mortified. 

"You do realize, I bought this on my salary, Pans?" He said, rummaging through one of the boxes labeled kitchen to find his kettle, mugs, and some tea.

"Yes, yes, I suppose I'll simply have to get used to it then." 

Draco finally managed to pull out what he was looking for and smiled at his success as he filled the kettle with tap water and turned the gas stove on.

"Poor, Princess Pansy, having to visit her dearest friend in squalor, so terribly close to peasants, however will she survive?" Draco cried dramatically, leaning his hip against the counter as he waited, a snooty smirk plastered on his face.

"Oi! Watch yourself, Draco, darling. Wouldn't want me to do anything unsavoury next time I see you, now would we? And it's queen not princess, thank you very much."

Draco resisted the urge to snort again as he carded a hand through his mused hair. He and Pansy both really did have quite a flare for the dramatics. It was a wonder how the world survived with the pair of them as friends.

"Speaking of seeing one another, would you like to help-"

A loud crash, one that sounded an awful lot like glass shattering, cut Draco off from finishing his statement. The sound had come from the flat above his and he drew his eyebrows up in confusion, then shrugged. Someone had most likely just dropped something, it was fine.

"Draco?"

"Right, sorry, thin w-"

-walls. Apparently, there were very thin walls between Draco's flat and the one above him seeing as he was interrupted once again, this time by two different voices. It sounded like a man shouting angrily and someone...whining or crying perhaps?

"Draco?"

Worry spiked in his chest as he turned the stove top off again. He quickly grabbed his keys and found himself locking the door and walking down the hall. Even if he was acting a bit paranoid, he couldn't ignore what sounded like a domestic gone bad, especially not when it sounded so violent.

"Hello? Draco?"

"Er, yes, sorry Pansy. I think I'm going to have to call you back." Draco sighed, as he pressed the button next to the lift. 

"Alright, have a goodnight, darling. Be safe!" 

"Always am, goodnight, love." And with that Draco hung up the phone. 

The lift arrived and he walked in letting it take him to the second floor. He hoped he was wrong, he didn't need this sort of thing taking over his mind just as he started settling into his new life. He was far too protective over his friends as it was, he didn't need another person to worry and fret over like a nervous mother. Besides, he was supposed to be a wild and reckless nineteen-year-old, not a parent.

"Please, let this be a misunderstanding." He whispered to himself as he exited the lift and walked towards the flat that would be directly above his and knocked. A moment or so passed and Draco genuinely considered leaving before anyone answered the door. He really wasn't fond of conflict and this could definitely be a recipe for disaster. He had to learn to keep his nose out of others business but...

In that moment a young man, looking more than a bit skittish, opened the door. He was a head shorter than Draco with startlingly green eyes framed by round, crooked glasses and messy black hair.

"Yes?" The man asked, his eyes flickering over Draco for a second then landing back on the space off to the side of him. He looked so small, skin and bones. His tanned skin looked pale and he had a sweater zipped all the way up, purple and yellow smudges peaking out of the collar on his neck.

The sight unsettled Draco to say the least. 

"I-ahem-sorry. I heard shouting and it sounded like someone had gotten hurt. I wanted to make sure everything was alright. I recently moved into the flat just beneath you." Draco explained with an awkward smile. He desperately resisted the urge to ask about the markings on his neck. People never seemed to appreciate his overly observant tendencies.

The man froze a little and opened his mouth and closed it a couple of time's before responding. "I broke a glass. As for the shouting, I wouldn't know anything about that." His voice shook a little and he sounded like he didn't believe himself either.

"Are you sure? You're alright?" Draco asked the doubt evident on his face as he laced his fingers together hoping to distract himself from the worry filling his stomach.

"Where're you at boy!" 

A loud voice called from inside the flat and Draco saw the young man visibly flinch. This was not good. This was terrible, actually. The man swallowed and looked back at Draco.

"Thank you, for caring, sir, that's kind of you, but I've got to go back in. Wish I could explain the noise, but I didn't hear anything. It must've been the wind, it can get particularly loud around here, especially at night." The man said, with a tone that Draco could only assume was an attempt to reassure him that nothing was amiss. It wasn't working. Draco itched to press the subject further but pushed it aside and nodded. It wasn't his place. He didn't have any real clue what was going on and they were strangers.

"Right, I'm sorry to disturb you so late then. I'm Draco, by the way, and the 'sir' isn't necessary." Draco said, taking a deep breath, as he tried to calm himself down. No use getting worked up over the few signs of abuse this stranger was harboring. He couldn't do anything about it despite his need to fix things. And he didn't even know for sure if there was an 'it' to do anything about as it was.

"Harry. Sorry, for being so loud. I really have to-"

"Boy!"

"Coming Uncle Vernon! I have to go, sorry again." Harry replied, turning to go back in and closing the door in a rush. Draco shook his head and sighed. He could be imaging all of this. Maybe Harry was just shy and maybe nothing had truly happened. He didn't know all of the facts. He could just be over assuming and seeing something that wasn't there. Draco shook his head once more and headed back towards his flat.

•••

"Wait, wait, wait! Hold it right there, boys! Do not move." Pansy ordered throwing her hand up in a 'stop' gesture. Blaise and Theo froze holding the painting at an awkward and uncomfortable angle as she picked apart whether or not she approved of hanging it there. This was the fifth time she had done this.

"What do you think, darling?" She asked tossing her head to the side and glancing at Draco with her perfectly winged eyeliner.

Draco grinned at the irritated scowls Theo and Blaise carried and Pansy's utter obliviousness to it. He really appreciated his friends for helping him get settled into his new home and the entertainment they brought with them, too.

"Hmmm." Draco hummed quirking a mischievous eyebrow at the boys who sent him ice cold glares in response.

"Draco, if you don't like it here then I'm going to toss this out of the bloody window." Blaise snapped, looking rather bitter. How very Zabini of him, his mother would approve.

"Yeah, come on. My arms are tired, hurry it up. There's only so many places in this tiny flat to hang this!" Theo groaned, a pout settling on his face. Draco laughed loudly and waved his hands at them in a dismissive manner.

"Alright, alright, it's fine right there. Set it down and we'll have some tea and biscuits." Draco said, smiling as they put it down with grumbles and Pansy walked over swatting at both of them.

"We are trying to make Draco's home pleasant to look at and be in! Don't. You. Two. Care?!" She hissed, scowling as she finished smacking the two up a bit. The boys dodged her on the last few smacks and came back full force to tickle her. One didn't simply tickle Pansy unless they had a death wish and were prepared for violent retaliation.

Draco found himself being used as a shield on both ends as Blaise and Theo antagonized Pansy and she continued to slap at them. He shook his head fondly at his silly friends.

"Only God knows when I became the mature one of us." He mused with a wry smile, when the three of them exchanged a look. That was dangerous and he knew it.

"What makes you think you're not a part of this?" Blaise asked, stalking towards him a dangerous glint in his eye. Oh, fuck.

"Now, wait a minute. Blaise."

"Yeah, Draco, who said you got a free pass?" Theo continued from behind him. This was not going to end well. Draco suppressed the urge to try and run and turned to face his most loyal and trusted friend for help.

"Pansy?" He asked, a hopeful lilt to his voice and when she only shook her head in response he knew he was doomed. The traitor. In a flash, all three of them were on him, tickling him mercilessly. He squealed at them and tried to wriggle out of Blaise's grip but to no avail. 

Laughter swirled in the room and they all ended up sprawled all along the floor, their heads resting together, making a circle. They stared at Draco's ceiling, a happy feeling floating in the air after the impromptu tickle assault. 

"You are happy here. Right mate?" Theo asked quietly, after a beat or two of silence, his and Blaise's hands tangled together. Draco smiled at them out of the corner of his eye. He knew, as much as they liked to say they were casual, that they were end game for sure. Him and Pansy had even gone as far as to discuss what their future wedding might look like.

"Yes, I am. I just... I couldn't listen to their disappointment any longer." He replied softly, and he felt Pansy reach out to him, intertwining their fingers to comfort him.

"Sorry they didn't take it well. Mother barely came around to the idea and, well, you've seen her around Theo and I," Blaise hummed lightly, even if the conversation hadn't taken a light turn, "It's bloody awkward."

"Whereas, I still have the disgusting privilege of coming out to look forward to. Whoever came up with this was a right bastard." Pansy glared at the ceiling with her words and Draco gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He knew the feeling, he'd hardly been able to get the words out last year when he had finally decided to tell his parent he was gay.

This is why they all worked so well as friends. They all had posh, homophobic traditional, filthy-rich, old-English families. And they were all massive homos, despite how much Draco's parents tried to deny it.

"Don't worry, if worst comes to worse, we can always be roommates." Draco suggested, holding in a giggle at the idea of seeing Pansy with bed head. He couldn't imagine it, her looking anything but pristine.

"Or you could move into my house. You know my mother adores you." Blaise said as Theo nodded along.

"Or mine, Mother and Father wish you were their daughter, Pansy. I think they'd try to adopt you if they could." Theo added with a snort.

She let out an indignant huff and drew herself up off of the floor, leaving the rest of them to sit up and lean against one another, looking at her with curious expressions.

"You boys need to quit with this or I might have feelings about it." She said, with an appalled shake of her head. And they all grinned at her. 

"Awe, we love you too, Ice Queen." Draco sang, jumping to his feet and pressing a wet kiss to her cheek which she promptly wiped off. Theo and Blaise chuckled behind him and shuffled to their feet.

"Now, didn't you say something about biscuits, Draco?" Theo asked waggling his eyebrows at him. His notorious sweet tooth making Draco shake his head in fond exasperation. 

"Yes, I'll get started on tea, while you three finish hanging that painting." Draco said, wandering into his kitchen. A satisfied smile gracing his lips.

•••

Around two weeks after he had moved in, Draco found himself making his way up to Harry's flat for the second time. He had almost forgotten about the whole incident, seeing as things had been rather quiet ever since, but he'd still had that nagging feeling in the back of his head that something bad was going to happen.

Blaise, Theo, and Pansy were over this time. All four of them huddled together on the couch with dozens of snacks, pillows, and blankets surrounding them as they watched some convoluted French horror film Pansy had brought with her. A loud thud made Theo and Pansy jump. Theo threw himself into Blaise's lap and hid his face in his neck while Blaise laughed, seemingly immune to the movie, and Pansy clung onto Draco fiercely.

Shouting came next, followed by a door slamming loudly, another thud and then what sounded like crying. The fact that all of these sounds were filtering through Draco's ceiling made it finally click for him. It was Harry's flat again. Bloody hell.

Blaise paused the movie and glanced at Draco with a look. 

"What was that?" He asked, running a hand through Theo's hair. Draco nudged Pansy off of him, who went with a grumble, and stood up, looking for his slippers.

"Neighbor's. I'm not positive, but I think Harry's being abused by his uncle, at least that's what it seems like." Draco replied, successfully finding his shoes and slipping them on. He'd had time to mull over what he'd seen that night and decided he was probably correct about the domestic violence occurring above him.

"Hold on, sorry, back up a second. Who's Harry?" Pansy asked snuggling a pillow to her chest. 

"And why do you think he's being abused? You can't always stick yourself into people's lives, Draco." Theo sighed, turning around to join in the conversation. Draco fought off a scowl, he wasn't sticking himself into anything if this Vernon was going to be so bloody loud about it.

"I've gone up to check before. Harry lives up there with his uncle, I suppose. He looks about our age, maybe a little younger. And he had bruises on his neck, Theo, like hands-choking-you-out sort of bruises, I doubt they were consensual." Draco said, feeling his anger simmer at the reminder of it. Blaise hushed Theo from continuing his disapproval and nodded at Draco. 

"Go, on. We'll be here." 

"And don't be daft about it, don't get yourself hurt!" Pansy added quickly as he slipped out the door and headed for the lift once again. 

When he made it to their door, dread filled his body as he saw a fist sized dent in the wall next to it. Red staining it from whoever's bloody knuckles had met the wall. And he could hear faint whimpers coming from inside the flat. He heaved in a deep breath and knocked on the door lightly. The sound of crying stopped abruptly and he could hear scrambling just before the door opened.

Harry answered it, crooked glasses, pretty green eyes, messy hair and all. He looked distressed, his eyes red rimmed and his hands were shaking. The skin around one of his eyes was a harsh red, like he'd just taken a punch to the face and his lips quivered a little. Draco frowned.

"I-I'm sorry, Uncle-" He paused and took a step back when he finally looked up to meet Draco's eyes, "Oh, it's you." 

Draco nodded minutely and studied Harry for another minute before responding.

"Yeah, I heard yelling. I wanted to check up on you. Did your...um, what happened to the wall?" Draco asked softly, trying for a comforting smile, but he only managed to lessen his frown a little. He couldn't find it in himself to smile at this. 

Harry looked away from him and seemed to shrink in on himself at the question. He said nothing and Draco took that as his answer. He stifled a sigh and put his hands in his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He couldn't imagine how Harry must be feeling. It must be awful and he must be terrified.

"I-" Draco stopped himself and thought a little. He didn't just want to leave it at that. As much as he didn't want to intrude, he felt worse, leaving without offering any sort of lifeline. Then he'd be like every other occupant in this building who hadn't done anything about this.

"I won't pretend to know what you're going through," He said, carefully.

Harry glanced up at him when he spoke and bit his lip like he was stopping himself from responding. So, Draco continued,

"I simply want you to know that, you're always welcome to come over. You can stay for a couple of hours if you need to get out of here for a while. You can come over if you need a friend or you want to talk about this, or anything, really."

Harry eyed him suspiciously, like Draco might take back his words or break out into cruel laughter over what he'd just suggested. Draco reached up and ran a hand though his hair and licked his lips, trying to find the right words to say.

"I won't ask you about anything you don't want to talk about and I promise I'm not playing some cruel trick on you. You're welcome, anytime, day or night. And I mean that, Harry." Draco said firmly, putting as much sincerity in his words as he could. He truly did mean it, but he couldn't force Harry to seek out help or come to him, even if he wanted to. If anything, Draco thought that might actually make the situation worse.

Draco was met with more silence and Harry kept staring at him with those impossibly green eyes full of an emotion he couldn't place. He nodded once and finished off his little speech.

"Until you tell me otherwise, I'm sure it was just the wind. And I'm in flat 1C, in case you needed it. Have a goodnight, Harry."

With those words and one last meaningful look Draco turned to leave. There wasn't anything else he could do. He heard the man clear his throat just as he was going to step away, so he turned towards Harry quickly as to not miss his words.

"Thank you, Draco." Harry whispered softly, a small smile settling on his face. Draco grinned back and nodded again.

"Of course."

•••

A few more weeks past and Harry had shown up to Draco's flat many times for tea. The first time it had been awkward and the air felt heavy with the unspoken words, but soon enough they settled into a tentative friendship. 

Draco learned that Harry was eighteen. He liked football and he could've been a star player if he hadn't gotten hurt in his 4th year playing. He had an intense passion for animals, owls specifically, and he loved the idea of starting a sanctuary. He'd just graduated the summer before, and he loved the stars, Draco being one of his favorite constellations (a fact that Draco reveled in). His favorite color was gold and his favorite dessert was treacle tarts (which Draco now had a habit of keeping on hand at all times).

Draco also had a a large suspicion that Harry wasn't straight, as he had been particularly interested in the pride flag Draco had pinned to one of his walls that read "Love Is Love". When he had asked about it Harry turned into a blushing, stuttering mess and excused himself, saying he had somewhere to be.

They never mentioned Harry's home situation. Draco never asked and Harry never offered an explanation. Although, the bruises that would appear all over Harry's body, at least the visible one's, made Draco itch to swoop in and play hero. Every time he noticed a new one he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking. Either way he enjoyed Harry's company and he wasn't about to ruin that with his compulsive need to fix everything and help people. At the very least Draco knew that Harry felt safe the few hours he spent at his flat. And for now, that was enough.

•••

The third time Draco made his way up to Harry's flat he had never dreaded it more. Whatever had happened, it had been loud. Louder than any sort of yelling he'd ever heard before. He knocked on the door and for the first time, Harry wasn't the one to answer it. 

Instead, a fat, red faced, man opened the door. He had more hair on his upper lip than on his head and the moustache only served to make him look even angrier than he already did.

"You!" The man growled, his beady eyes narrowing so much that they were only slits. So that was how this was going to go.

"Sorry?" Draco replied, recognizing the voice as this so called 'Uncle Vernon' and only mildly shocked by the amount of aggression expressed in one word.

"You stay the bloody hell away from me and my family, fucking faggot!" Vernon spat, his face turning a darker shade of red as he went. Draco stared at him for a moment, wide eyed and speechless. 

It wasn't like he hadn't had the slur thrown at him before, but he wasn't expecting it here. Although, he wouldn't put it passed this man to throw out slurs so casually.

"I'm only here to check on Harry, then I'll leave." Draco said, a stony expression settling on his face. He was furious with how rude this man was being but he had to play nice if he wanted to make sure Harry was alright. He said nothing else, however his glare could've burned holes into the ignorant gits face. And he'd deserve it too.

"I think not! He won't be seeing the likes of you anymore, not while he lives under my roof. You've filled that boys head with enough nonsense and I won't stand for it!" Vernon yelled, then promptly slammed the door in his face. Draco was fuming.

He stomped his way back to his flat and threw himself into angry cleaning every room. Draco hated how useless he was in this situation. He couldn't go knocking down Vernon's door and he couldn't call the police, Harry would no doubt deny it all and feel utterly betrayed, which would amount to nothing other than a broken friendship. He could do virtually nothing and it burned. 

By the time he finished scrubbing every inch of his kitchen his rage had given way to worry. What had happened? How many new bruises had Harry received from this last round of beatings? Gods, Draco felt sick. He needed to tell someone before the worry ate him alive.

He dragged his way from the kitchen to his bedroom and grabbed his cell to message- he didn't know who. Pansy? No, she would go into a full rage and actually try and hurt someone. Even if the idea of hurting Vernon gave Draco great satisfaction it wouldn't help the situation. Theo would only go on about how Draco shouldn't put his nose where it wasn't wanted and leave it be. He always made it a point to tell Draco that he couldn't save everyone and trying to do so only hurt him in the end. Bloody hell, he didn't want to deal with that.

He settled on Blaise. He would listen to Draco rant and if he came over he wouldn't try anything like Pansy would. And he'd always been the best with advice, every since they were younger. He sent him a quick message asking him to come over and set the kettle on the stove. 

A short fifteen minutes later, Draco had Blaise sitting at his dining table scrutinizing him with his dark eyes as he stirred his tea. He had just finished explaining the situation and Blaise's silence was killing him.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

Blaise fixed him with a look and raised an eyebrow. Draco hated this. Maybe he should have let Pansy come and attack the man upstairs, instead.

"What would you like me to say, Draco?" Blaise asked, his eyes scanning over him in that calculating way that only a Zabini could pull off. 

Draco deflated at that. He didn't know. He supposed he'd had some sort of childish hope that Blaise would have a magical solution even if he knew that was unrealistic.

"Lord above, I don't know, Blaise. This is all such a mess!" He groaned, dropping his head in his hands as he went. Draco heard Blaise sigh as he tugged Draco's hands off of his face. 

"Draco, I know this is difficult. I can tell you care about this, about Harry, but it sounds like you've already realized that you can't do anything." Blaise said softly, as he held one of Draco's hands, rubbing his thumb over the back of it in a comforting manner. He hated when Blaise pointed things like that out, especially when he was right.

"I hate this." Draco whispered, leaning back in his chair and shutting his eyes. "I wish I didn't care so much." 

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, look at me." Blaise said firmly and Draco found himself listening to his command. He knew better than to not respond when Blaise used his full name. 

"Don't ever regret caring about others the way you do. Not ever," Blaise held his gaze fiercely,"You've saved all of us from ourselves countless times and you make us better people because of who you are. Never wish to be apathetic."

Draco nodded dumbly and he hated himself a little for the tears pressing against his eyes. Why did he have to have so many bloody feelings all of the time.

"Blaise," was all he could managed to choke out before tears made their way down his face and he was swept into strong arms. They stood like that for a while, Blaise running a comforting hand up and down his back as he cried from all of the worry and the frustration he had about Harry. Sometimes he felt so bloody useless.

•••

It has been a week and three days since Draco had last seen Harry and he had counted every second of it. The last time he'd been this stressed out and high strung was when some prick at school had threatened to out him to his parents. And his friends had noticed, which is why they were all piled around his coffee table sitting on the floor in front of the sofa and playing board games.

"You can't just do that!" Theo said, slamming his hands on the table at Pansy's invasion of his part of the map. She let out a cackle and knocked more of his pieces off of the board.

"Yes, dear, Theo, I can. That is how you conquer, boys." She grinned, sitting back with a satisfied look on her face. Draco and Blaise laughed as Theo let out a scandalized huff.

They'd been playing Risk for the better part of an hour and Pansy had wiped both Blaise and Draco off of the board, leaving Theo to handle her assault. The distraction of it all was making Draco feel marginally better, not to mention the shots they'd taken earlier.

"This was a brilliant idea, Pans, my queen, thank you," Draco said, pulling her into a hug as Theo grumbled about Pansy always winning and why did they even play anymore which Blaise quickly silenced by smothering him in kisses.

"Ew! Get a room," Pansy gagged tossing throw pillows at them until they broke apart laughing, childishly sticking their tongues out at her. And all Draco could do was smile. He couldn't ask for better friends. He didn't know how he managed to grow up with the least judgmental and most kind hearted people he'd ever met, especially since they all had such horrid parents to deal with, but he was grateful.

His pleasant reverie came to an abrupt stop when someone began pounding on his front door.

"It's nearly midnight, who in their right mind," Pansy scoffed, as she stood up too more than likely yell at whoever it was. 

"Hey, it's alright, Pans. It's probably nothing, why don't you pick another game," Draco said, standing up and making his way over towards the door where the knocking continued in an almost frantic way. It was probably Mrs. Figg looking for her cat again.

"Hey, what can-Harry? W-what happened?" Draco asked, his stomach dropping, suddenly, he felt stressed and anxious and sick all over again. 

Harry looked terrified. He had tears running down his face, which was littered with cuts and he had a split lip that was bleeding. His chest was heaving and he kept glancing behind him like he was waiting for something or someone. His hair was more of a mess than usual and his glasses were nearly hanging off of his face.

"Draco, I didn't- I didn't know where else to," Harry gasped, "He said he was going to...he h-had a knife. I don't-I don't want to d-die."

"Oh my god, come here." Draco breathed out, pulling the trembling man into his arms and rubbing his back. He felt Harry freeze, then melt into the touch and cry harder, wrapping his arms around him in return. And Draco couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since someone had touched him without hurting him. The thought made him hold Harry tighter.

"I won't let him touch you, never again. You're safe now, Harry, I promise." Draco soothed, stroking his hair and pulling him further into the flat.

"What's happening?" Theo asked as he and Blaise stood up and Pansy walked back into the room holding a bottle of Firewiskey, scanned the room and then set it down with a questioning look.

"Where are you, boy!" A voice howled from the corridor and Draco's eyes snapped toward the still open door as Harry whimpered and burrowed himself further in his arms.

"Blaise, Theo, make sure that man doesn't get in here and lock the door. Pansy, call the police, tell them there's a man trying to break in with the means to hurt us and that he's already commited assault." Draco ordered, fire burning behind his eyes. This would be the last time Vernon ever put his hands on Harry, Draco would make sure of that. 

Pansy immediately began dialing and the boys went to the door where a flash of the angry man could be seen. Draco nodded once before he brought Harry towards his bedroom and away from the yelling.

"It's going to be okay. Come now, love, let me clean you up a little, please?" Draco softy asked, when Harry refused to let go of him when he tried to pull him off. God, everything about this broke Draco's heart.

When Draco managed to get Harry off of him, he settled him on the bed and went to get his first aid kit. Before he could get more than a few steps away, Harry snatched his sleeve and Draco turned to face him.

"Please, d-don't leave me alone." Harry whispered, looking at him with those brilliant green eyes, shiny with tears. Draco's heart ached at the sight.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll stay here, love." Draco sighed heavily, sitting next to Harry and wrapping an arm around him. He really wished Harry would let him fix the little cuts on his face and his bleeding lip but if this is what he wanted, Draco wouldn't take that from him. He couldn't bear the thought of Harry feeling more unsafe than he already did.

"I'm s-sorry," Harry hiccuped, leaning against Draco, "I n-never meant to drag you into this. It's all-all m-my fault."

"No, Harry, love. This isn't your fault. I should've helped you sooner and you did your best, sometimes surviving is all we can do," Draco said, tucking Harry's head under his chin and running a hand up and down his arm, "And it's okay to ask for help when we need it."

Harry sank further into Draco's side at those words and took in a shaky breath just as Pansy came into the room.

"Draco, the police are one their way and the arsehole is locked out. Blaise sent me in to tell you that we need pictures, if his mother is going to be able to convict the fucker banging on your door," She said as she shut the door on the sound of yelling and loud thuds, "He thought Harry would be more comfortable with me than another man in the room."

Draco nodded in response and he appreciated his friends more than ever in that moment. He loved that they all adopted the same vendetta against the man outside without so much as a word. 

"Harry, darling, I'm Pansy. Would it be alright if I took a few photos of you?" Pansy asked, as she crouched down in front of him and he nodded, "Alright, I'll need you to sit up for a quick minute, then you can go back to leaning on Draco, hmm?" 

Harry nodded again and pulled himself off of Draco, but holding onto his hands tightly. Pansy snap some photos on her phone and asked before she touched him to maneuver his face and take off his glasses, to see all of the damage and he let her without a fuss. 

"There we are, darling. All done." She hummed with a small smile, patting his knee as she stood up.

"Thank you, Pansy. Would you mind grabbing the first aid kit, it's in the bathroom, under the sink?" Draco said, while Harry fell against him once more, wrapping his arms around his torso. She nodded and went off to get it taking Harry's unsalvageable glasses with her.

"What am I going to do? What if he-what if he comes back and tries to...where-where am I going to live?" Harry asked quietly and Draco found himself answering before he could think.

"I promise, we will make sure that man stays very far away from you, for a very long time. Once the police arrest him, we'll go up to the flat and take all of your things and bring them down here. And we'll figure everything else out once things have settled." 

Harry nodded mutely and let Draco clean him up once Pansy came back with the supplies, although convincing him he had to let go of Draco before he could do so had been a struggle.

By the time the police arrived and had arrested Vernon Dursley, which Draco had learned was his full name from the officers and landlords conversation, Harry's face was all cleaned up, save for the busted lip and he'd finally stopped shaking. And Draco couldn't remember him ever looking so young, without his glasses, his eyes seemed ten times bigger and greener than before. It made the awful situation hurt so much more.

Theo and Blaise were left to clean up all of the games and snacks they'd had out earlier while Pansy, Draco, and Harry went to collect his things from his flat. Draco was appalled to find that Harry had been crammed into nothing more than a closet and Pansy went about taking photos before they moved anything. Draco had never felt more disgusted by another human being in his life than when Harry asked quietly if Pansy needed photos of his other injuries. He'd pulled off his shirt to reveal scars all along his chest and his back with bruises in different stages of healing and Draco felt sick to his stomach. He'd kill that man if he ever had the chance.

Once everything was said and done, the five of them were crammed together in the living room, the telly playing in the background. Draco sat drinking the tea Theo had made, running a hand through Harry's curls, who had fallen asleep with his head in Draco's lap. Theo and Blaise weren't far from passing out themselves as they lay tangle together on the other side of the sofa. Pansy took up the recliner, mindlessly flipping through the channels, a pair of Draco's silk pajamas resting loosely on her petite frame.

"You know, Draco, that was very stupid of you. Going up to their flat like you did, several times apparently. Not telling anyone." Pansy said absently, not asking for an explanation, but simply stating a fact. Draco looked at her, her eyes still focused on the telly, not bothering to look at him as she spoke. He'd hurt her. He knew he had, she was his best friend and he'd gone to Blaise and hadn't even mentioned the topic to her other than the one time they'd all heard the commotion upstairs. 

He let out a heavy sigh and carded his fingers through Harry's hair once again.

"I know."

"Most people would have called the police sooner, or complained to the landlord first but you've never been most people have you, darling." Pansy said, but the question was rhetorical and they both knew the answer. Draco liked to play hero and he liked to fix people which entailed him nosing his way into others business and having no regards for himself. He said nothing.

"I'm going to give you money to help pay the rent, put Harry into therapy, whatever it is you need."

"Pansy, you don't have to-"

"I know, but I want to. You're my best friend and you are clearly head over heels for that boy. And even if you weren't, he deserves to feel happy and safe."

Draco's face flushed at the words as he stared at her wide eyed. 

"I-no, I'm not...I don't..."

"Whatever you say, darling." Pansy hummed, sounding like she didn't believe him in the slightest and far too amused for his liking. He watched her flip off the screen and make herself comfortable, pulling a blanket over herself. 

"I'd take Harry with you to your bed or you'll both be kicked off of the sofa by Theo in the middle of the night. Either way, goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Pans."

In the end, Draco followed her advice, carrying a sleeping Harry to his bedroom and falling asleep next to him.

•••

[6 months later]

"My love, my light, my stars!" Harry sang from his spot on their bed, one of the only things they'd managed to unpack and put together properly since they'd moved into their new flat. Moving was something Harry's therapist had suggested they do, so they had, and now it truly felt like their flat.

"Yes, love?" Draco asked as he finished buttoning up his shirt and turned to face his boyfriend of three months. Harry gave him a coy smile, his pretty green eyes, something Draco could never get enough of, full of mischief. He grabbed Draco's hand tugging him down till their faces were mere inches from each other. 

"What if," Harry murmured, lacing his fingers around Draco's collar and pulling him closer, "what if we stayed in, instead of going for lunch with everyone, hmm?" 

Harry kissed him deeply, nipping at his bottom lip and Draco's knees went weak. Lord, this man would be the death of him. It took all of Draco's will power and strength to untangle Harry's hands from his shirt and pull away from the kiss. Harry pouted up at him and Draco almost gave in to his request until he remembered the surprise he'd arranged with Pansy.

"Devious today, aren't we? Sorry, love, we still have to go." Draco said with a smile, landing a quick peck on his still pouting lips. "Please get dressed, I'll make you your favorite tea if you do." 

Harry grinned at him and pulled him into another hot kiss. 

"You'd make it for me anyway," Harry said smugly, then he stood up and went to rifle through his drawers for something to wear. 

"The things you do to me, Harry James Potter." Draco sighed over dramatically pulling a laugh from Harry as he went to make tea.

•••

"Ready?" Draco asked pulling open the door of the restaurant they were meeting everyone at, including two special guests that Pansy and Draco had invited.

"What aren't you telling me, Draco?" Harry asked looking up at him, a curious smile tugging at his lips as they walked in holding hands. 

"You'll see." Draco hummed happily, pulling Harry against his side as they walked towards their reserved table.

Draco and Pansy had arranged for two of Harry's old school mates to meet them there. Harry had shown Draco a photo of all three of them in his 4th year just before they'd graduated and he'd told him about how he regretted losing touch with them once school had ended. So, being the amazing boyfriend he was, Draco snapped a photo of the picture and sent it to Pansy with their names asking her to help find them. Pansy then hired a private investigator, a little over the top if you asked Draco, and made quick work of finding Hermione Jean Granger and Ronald Billius Weasley. 

"Surprise, darling!" Pansy nearly shouted, pulling Harry away from Draco the second they made it to the table and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Draco and I managed to track these two lovely people down for you." 

She then pushed him towards a beautiful woman with wild curls and a tall ginger haired man covered in freckles. At first it took him a moment to process, Hermione and Ronald both giving him fond smiles and a little wave.

"It's been a while, Harry." Hermione said lightly, she looked like she wanted to pull him into a hug but she didn't. Draco assumed Pansy had let them know how Harry could be about touching sometimes. Something Harry had finally gotten past with Draco and Pansy a few months ago.

"We've missed you, mate." Ronald added rubbing his neck awkwardly as Harry kept staring at them open mouthed and wide eyed.

Draco walked up next to Harry, wrapping an arm around his waist. He shook hands with Ronald and Hermione with a smile, hoping to break him out of his trance.

"It's nice to meet you both, Harry told me all about how wonderful you are. Isn't that right, love?" Draco asked, stroking his thumb also Harry's side and glancing at him. Harry seemed to come back to the present and kept glancing between Draco and his old school mates before pulling him into a fierce kiss. 

"Thank you." Harry whispered against a stunned Draco's lips before he pulled away. Bloody hell, his lips were intoxicating. Then he walked straight up to Hermione and Ronald engulfing them in a hug.

By the time Blaise and Theo had joined them Harry, Ronald and Hermione were talking like they'd never stopped and Draco couldn't help but silently watch how happy his boyfriend looked.

Nothing would ever look as gorgeous as Harry, completely unguarded and smiling in this moment.

a/n I feel like this is a bit all over the place but whatever. Also it was inspired by Alec Benjamin's song Must Have Been the Wind.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

And the World goes Soft

Steve Harrington x Reader (Future AU)

Words: 3,730

Warnings: Blood mention, injury mention, insecurities, general fluff

Author’s Note: I was inspired by a fanfiction that I can no longer find :( but it was a Steve as a bartender fic, I would tag the potential writers but I don’t want to bother them, but when I find it the world will know!

Masterlist

When Steve walked into your shared apartment, he looked like absolute shit. He’d worked a devil’s double-he closed the bar and then opened it only a few hours later. You couldn’t remember him coming to bed the night before, and you’d left before him to make it into Gary Garden Court mall’s Sears to open the makeup counter. You both had the opening shifts that morning and while you knew that your shift would pay you basic minimum wage to deal with stuffy older women all trying to buy orange lipstick and bringing in their young daughters to have mall makeovers before school dances. Steve, on the other hand, would get paid less than minimum wage to lift heavy cases of beer and liquor, prep the rail for the night shift, and still serve the saddest drunks in the world their three beer lunches.

By the way he threw down his gym bag, the shift was gruesome. The bags under his eyes were blotchy blue and purple and heavy, his eyes dull and lids sagging over his pupils. His hair was greasy and hidden under a blue baseball cap. His work bag stunk like grease. By the looks at him, he probably had to step into the kitchen as well. You dropped your thin paperback on the couch and swung your feet onto the floor.

“Did Anthony not show up again?” you asked, standing to meet him in the doorway. You pressed a kiss to his temple. He was sweaty. They must have been busy, mornings were usually pretty safe. That was the only reason Steve picked up the shift, his co-worker Hannah had practically begged him to cover for her.

“He was two hours late,” Steve sighed bitterly. Anthony was the worst guy in the kitchen, he was always either late or absent from work, but because he was the general manager’s nephew he never got fired. “I had to do the whole kitchen put away while Mike opened up everything.”

“I’m sorry baby,” you smiled sadly. He skin and hair smelt of fryer grease. It was a pungent odour that you were very used to. Steve shrugged half heartedly. He reached over his head and pulled off the olive crewneck sweatshirt he’d thrown over his uniform. The sweater was ancient; he’d had it since high school and was more than showing its wear and tear. Steve winced audibly, pulling an arm behind him to clutch at his lower back.

“Did you hurt yourself at work again?”You asked as he pulled off the other sleeve and dropped the sweatshirt on top of his bag.

“Yeah, heavy wing boxes, no help.” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Did you tell Mike?” you asked, taking the hat off his head so he didn’t have to lift his arms over his head again.

“Nah, no point, I won’t die.” You furrowed your brow. Steve always acted tougher than he actually was; years of putting other’s safety above his made him constantly put himself last on his own list. It made you sad to watch him wear himself down for shitty managers and co-workers who cared more about filling their own pockets than taking care of one another.

“You should go take a bath, soak your back.” You said, reaching down to pick up his work bag. Steve nodded, hobbling towards your shared bathroom. Once the door shut, you picked up his things. You felt terrible for him. He did so much for you to make life easier for the pair of you. You knew that he still didn’t think you should’ve left with him. He had all these ideas about who you could be, who you should be. But what he didn’t understand is that none of that really mattered to you. You didn’t care about big fancy college degrees or the Harrington family wealth or trust funds. You cared about Steve. Steve made you happy. You could be living in absolute shit with him and you’d still be happy. And your little studio apartment made you happy, with its cool teal glass brick pillars and the big windows facing out into the busy street. Living in downtown Gary wasn’t exactly the little haven you’d expected for your life, you’d selfishly imagined your own little box build house in the suburbs, with uniforms lawns and pastel doors. You wanted the life your parents had made you, a safe space for kids to grow up. But you knew in your heart that even the safest, quietest small towns in the world weren’t safe.

You heard the water start and you turned your attention to the mess Steve had left behind. You threw his work bag under the coffee table under the window, where it belonged, and turned your attention to Steve’s sweater. It was ancient, but you knew that it was Steve’s favourite. It comforted him when he was upset or had night terrors. He wore it whenever he wanted to feel a bit of security. You examined the fabric. It was beat-the neck had a chunk of fabric missing, showing the fleece underneath, the sleeve cuffs had holes and seams along the arms had holes in between the seams. You felt bad for the thing. Steve tried to take care of his clothes the best he could, but he couldn’t sew. Hemlines would fall and Steve would just throw the shirt into the back of his closet until he was desperate for clothes. He’d buy a whole new pair of jeans if he ripped the knee open. You found the piles of forgotten shirts when you moved in with him and had taken on the slow process of fixing them all. Steve never really seemed to notice. Every time he went for an old shirt do some work in and found it hemmed, he merely shrugged it off, blamed it on his memory. Get your head beat in enough times and you start to lose some things. Steve couldn’t remember most of elementary school and most of the fire at Star Court mall, the combination of drugs and the concussion he’d gotten fucked up his brain for a summer.

You were determined to fix the sweater. You wandered to your desk, pulling out the broken swivel chair and opening the drawer. You had a few spools of thread in your sewing kit; the basic black and white, along with a red and a navy blue. You kept the kit in the back of your desk, although a couple spools of pastel pink, purple, and green thread rolled around up front, leftovers from high school home economics. You didn’t have the exact colour to match Steve’s sweater, so the pastel green would have to do. You grabbed that, along with a needle and the pink scissors from the cup of pens on the top of your desk. You brought your supplies out into the space zoned out as your living room. There were three holes on the right cuff and one small hole on the right sleeve, and one hole on the left cuff and one hole on the right sleeve. The left sleeve was much for wear than the right, one wrong hook of the thumb and the whole cuff could be taken off the sleeve. You focused on that sleeve first.

You wouldn’t bother with pins to hold the material together; you’d simply do a free stitch. You cut off an arms length of thread and slid the needle through, knotting the ends together. You started with cuff, since it would be the easiest. You stabbed the needle into the fabric, bobbing through the material in a straight, basic stitch. It took you all of two minutes. You’d gotten quick at hand sewing from fixing up Steve’s wardrobe. You didn’t want to make a big deal of it, mainly because Steve would feel bad about you taking care of him. He liked to feel self-sufficient, and he was but everyone needed a bit of help once and awhile.

“Baby?” you heard Steve call from behind the closed bathroom door.

“Yeah?” you called, knotting off the green thread once, then twice. You snipped off the excess thread and stabbed the needle into the couch, the excess thread hanging off the eye. You knotted it off and started in on the sleeve, turning it inside out.

“Will you come and sit with me? I’m lonely.” Steve called. The bathtub you had barely held him, but he still tried to get you to join him in there every time he took a bath.

You sighed through your nose “Alright, baby.” You collected up your supplies, bundling them in your arms and padding your way into the bathroom. You kicked Steve’s work clothes into the hall as you opened the door, a silent reminder to wash that shit later. His clothes stunk. Steve looked like a poorly done piece of origami, crumpled up in the tiny white tub. It was barely five feet in length and Steve was a strong six two, his legs hung out of the tub in the open air, his torso pulled into the hot water. He’s steamed up the mirror and made the whole bathroom humid. You flipped down the toilet seat and dropped your supplies on the counter top.

“Baby, come sit with me…”Steve whined, his head low in the tub, only his hair visible.

“I am sitting with you,” you chuckled. You had taken to doing a ladder stitch up the open place in the sleeve. It wasn’t as though the seam had ripped, the sleeve had simply been surged shut and the surging had come up and pulled away. It was a cheap sweater. You struggled to pull the needle through the other side of the fabric; it was thick and the needle was hooked at the end, which meant that it hooked on every loose bit of fluff on the material. You stuck your hand through the cuff to grab the needle and push it back in to make the next stitch.

“You’re too far away…” Steve complained quietly.

“And our tub is too tiny,” you replied “When we can afford a bigger place, we’ll get one with a nice tub. Then we’ll take as many baths as you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep…” Steve chuckled. You sat in silence for awhile, long enough to finish off the left sleeve and start in on the right. Steve didn’t seem to notice the sounds of scissors snipping or the thread unwinding from the spool. He hummed quietly to himself. Sometimes he’d sing when he thought no one was listening. He had a nice voice; you wished he’d sing more. But his quiet humming was comforting. It reminded you of driving around with him on the nights he couldn’t sleep. He’d drive in silence for awhile, the radio playing softly, and whenever a song he liked came on he’d hum along. You’d fall asleep in the passenger seat some nights; you hand on his arm to remind him that you were still there. You’d wake up to hear him humming along to Chris de Burgh or Stevie Nicks as the station began to transition from the smoother songs to the morning zoo crew shtick. You remember waking up to the sunrise and forcing Steve into the passenger seat when you realized how long he’d been driving. There were mornings when you didn’t know where you were anymore and you’d have to figure out where the hell you were. Still, you’d let him sleep as you winded your way back into Hawkins. He only seemed to be able to sleep with someone there with him. Driving became his move after he got worried that calling you at two in the morning was upsetting you. It didn’t bother you at all, but the phone ringing early in the morning more than upset your parents. Sitting with Steve in the tub felt like those nights in the car, or on the phone, not so much talking so much as checking that you’re still there and that he was still okay.

“What’re you doing over there?” Steve asked. You heard the water slosh and watched as Steve’s legs slipped back into the tub and his head pop out from over the tub’s ledge. You smiled shyly, lifting the sleeve of his sweater. “What’re you doing with my sweater?” He seemed perplexed by you having it. Steve still wasn’t used to people wanting to take care of him. He was so used to being self sufficient that letting people take care of him was still foreign to him.

“I’m fixing it. It’s all ripped and worn to shit.” You turned your attention back to your sewing. You’d finished patching up the right cuff and had turned your attention to the last rip. You flipped the sleeve inside out and jabbed the needle into the fabric.

“You don’t have to do that, I can fix it.” Steve replied awkwardly, sinking low in the tub again.

“I know you can, but it’s no issue for me,” you said “Besides, I’ve been fixing your shirts for months now.” Steve frowned, looking down at his chest. He didn’t like to be care taken for, it made him feel small and useless. It reminded him of when his mother would burst into his room and start picking up after him, muttering over how ungrateful and lazy he was. He never asked for her to do that, he never expected it, but it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t good enough. That he was still too much of a child to take care of himself.

Steve was silent for too long. You knew in your heart that helping Steve wasn’t always easy. He didn’t accept help like other people did, he was too brave to ask for it and too cowardly to admit that he ever needed help. He wanted to be brave, to take care of himself without anyone else’s help. And he did that, every day without comment or complaint, but it hurt to watch him struggle sometimes. He struggled to hard to be the bigger breadwinner in your house. He was still on your ass to quit your job and go to school. In his mind, he could handle it on his own. But you both knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it, that extra shifts at the bar wouldn’t keep a roof over your head without you working too, it was just too expensive to live on minimum wage, even in a shitty neighbourhood in Indiana. You wouldn’t pretend that it wasn’t brave of him to declare that he could handle it, it was almost romantic, but you were just as brave as him and you wouldn’t watch him break himself apart to give you a life only marginally better than what you already had.

“Baby…you know that I don’t do things for you because I don’t think you can do them, right?” you asked. Steve was silent for a moment. You heard him shift in the tub. The room was starting to go cool, the fog on the mirror fading away. The water in the tub must be uncomfortably cool. You wished he’d turn on the water and add a bit more to the tub, to at least add some sound to the room and warm it up again. You were starting to get cold.

Steve sighed quietly “I know…”

“Do you?”

That was a hard question. Harder than Steve had expected. He wanted to believe you. He did trust you, more than anyone else in the world, and he almost always believed you. But he wasn’t so sure on that one. He still felt like such a child so much of the time. He was still so young, most of his coworkers were older than him, and the ones his age only worked part time and went to college. Half of them still lived at home with their parents too. Most people who he met either took pity on him or outright judged him. When he mentioned that he lived with his girlfriend out here, one of his coworkers asked if she was pregnant. If he’d gotten kicked out. He was still viewed as too young for the life he was trying to build for himself. His father still thought he was coming back. He’d get on the phone after Steve’s mother every couple months to ask when his little experiment was done. He didn’t understand that this wasn’t an experiment, this was life now. That he wasn’t coming back to take some entry position at the company, where he could get shit on by his father in a corporate scenario as well as at home. That he was going to make it on his own. And Steve was determined to make it, and to make it with you.

“Honestly?” you nodded, hoping to god that he’d actually admit a feeling. “I’m not used to people trying to help me without asking for something in return. People usually want something from me. And then there are my parents…”

“I understand,” you sighed softly, stabbing the needle into the material and setting it on the toilet seat. You stood and walked over to the tub, sitting down on the cold tile outside the tub. “All I want to do is help you. I know you can’t sew and I can, so I just wanted to do something for you. I know that this is your favourite sweater and it needed a bit of mending.”

“I can sew…” Steve muttered awkwardly. You looked behind you to see him pouting like a child, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was strangely adorable, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh yeah, I have the scar on my leg to prove it.” Your hand came to touch the jagged scar on your calf. You’d been hurt in an attack, the onetime Steve let you anywhere near the monsters he willingly threw himself at, and came away with a massive wound four inches long and deep. Steve had promised that he could patch you up and had done his best to clean and stitch the wound shut. It never got infected, thank god, but it didn’t heal even or flat. The scar was still lumpy and dark in spots. You were proud of the little scar, but you could tell that Steve was still a bit ashamed of what he’d done to you. You watched as his face changed, defeat flashing in his deep, warm eyes.

“Hey,” you reached out and took his hand “I like my little scar. You saved my life that day…” Steve gave you a small smile.

“I made a mess of it though…” he whispered to himself.

“No, Steve,” you squeezed his hand in yours, turning your full body to look at him, leaning your other arm on the ledge of the tub. It was a bit strange having such an earnest conversation while Steve was buck naked, you worried that he felt overexposed with you watching him. You held his gaze. “You didn’t mess anything up, you saved my life.”

“You would’ve done the same for me…”

“I would have, happily, and that’s because I love you.” Steve still smiled like a little kid whenever you said that you loved him, it was so sweet and earnest that you couldn’t help but smile back just as sweetly. “And when you love someone, you do stuff for them. And so me fixing things up for you isn’t me judging you or thinking that you can’t do it, I know you can, it’s just me trying to help you however I can.”

Steve nodded hard “Okay…” he replied softly. You watched him carefully, trying to find cracks in his expression. He seemed genuine in his acceptance, his smile stayed firmly in place.

“So will you let me finish the damn work without pouting?” you chuckled, reaching for your work. You’d left the needle end out too far. The second you grabbed the sweater, you jabbed your hand. “Ow!” you yelped, pulling the sweater in your lap and your hand up to your mouth. It was only a pinprick, but the bit of blood seeping from the wound made your stomach churn to look at. You didn’t like blood, you’d seen too much blood in your life to last you a lifetime. You’d seen Steve bloody and battered too many times to last a lifetime. Steve grabbed your hand away from you, pressing a firm kiss to the wound and held it there.

“Be careful,” he soothed “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“It’s just a flesh wound, Steve, I’m fine.” You tried to push yourself up again, but Steve pulled you back down. “Lemme get a Band-Aid, I’m not gonna leave I-”

Steve pulled you down to his level. You stumbled, but caught yourself on the mildew stained tile. “Thank you, baby,” he craned his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You smiled, running a hand through his hair.

“Anytime, baby,” you mused “Now, finish off your bath I wanna eat and I won’t wait around for you to stop playing princess.” Steve let go of your hand and you turned your attention to your tiny bathroom mirror. You pulled it open, pulling out the box of bandages. You pulled one out and pulled off the thin, wispy paper, wrapping the latex around your fingertip. You heard the tub begin to drain and felt damp, pruney hands wrap around your middle.

“I like your hair…” he pressed a kiss onto the side of your head. You pulled his hands away, reaching for an old towel off the rack and shoving it into his chest.

“You’re soaked, Casanova, dry off before you ruin the whole bathroom.” You chuckled, turning on your heel and pushing out the door. His hands had left two marks on your stomach, cold on your skin.

“Save me some of that pizza from last night!” Steve called, turning his attention to the door to watch you go. You laughed, pulling the door shut behind you. “I love you!”

You stopped in your tracks. Hearing him say that could still make your heart speed up. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head slightly. “I love you too, doofus.”