#gonna pretend this is set during 'brave'

[into-fiction]

Would you do a drabble/fic of galinda doing a skincare routine or something along those lines on elphaba? Elphie just laying down and admiring her bc as long as her gfs happy

sorry this is so lateee. but its an extra long drabble if that helps!

///

“You do WHAT?!” 

Galinda gasps dramatically, her eyes as wide as saucers as she stares, scandalized, in Elphaba’s direction with the horrified expression of someone who just watched a puppy get murdered. This is, of course, in response to Elphaba saying she washes her face in the shower. 

With soap. Just soap. 

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Elphaba says, biting her inner cheek to keep from grinning in amusement at Galinda’s reaction. “The soap is made for skin.”

“It’s not made for faces,” Galinda shoots back. She rocks on her feet, whining a long note. “And that’s all you do? Nothing else?”

“What else is there?”

“SO MANY THINGS.”

Elphaba can’t contain her grin anymore, her eyes rolling fondly as Galinda all but vibrates with the force of her outrage. Elphaba had noticed, of course, the many steps Galinda would take each morning and night, but she figured that was just another Galinda thing. Entirely unnecessary and appropriately dramatic. 

“Are you saying my face doesn’t look nice?” Elphaba teases. 

“Of course not, you’re beautiful, but that makes it even worse.” 

“How can that be worse??” 

“Because you look like that and all you do is use soap!” 

Galinda groans, flopping back on her bed like a starfish, feet drumming angrily against the side. A laugh escapes Elphaba as she walks closer, leaning over the girl with a smirk. There’s a slow pulse of warmth that washes over her at the easy way in which Galinda calls her beautiful. 

Less overwhelming than the first time, but no less meaningful. 

Galinda looks up at her, blonde hair splayed out on the bed, and sticks her glossy lower lip out in a truly impressive pout. “Elphiiiee,” she whines, raising a hand and making a grabby motion until Elphaba slips her own into her hold. “Why must you hurt me like this?”

Elphaba laughs again, shifting so she’s standing between Galinda’s knees, one of her hands tangled in Galinda’s as the other reaches down to gently brush a stray golden lock out of the girl’s face. “I’m sorry, my sweet,” she says gently, a touch of humor leaking through. “How can I possibly make it up to you?”

She knows the second the words leave her mouth that she’s made a mistake. Galinda’s eyes positively light up- her mouth parting around a gasp so loud Elphaba can practically see the light bulb over her head. She jerks upright, Elphaba flinching back so they don’t end up smashing foreheads. 

“IDEA!” Galinda cries, wiggling in excitement as she tugs on their conjoined hands. 

Elphaba’s eyes narrow. “The idea better not be--”

“You can just use my routine!”

“…that.”

Elphaba sighs, already knowing any fight is a lost cause. “Galinda, your skin care routine is like eighty steps and takes two hours. I do not have time for that.”

“Excuse you, it is twelve steps, and it takes, like, maybe an hour!”

“The fact that your answer wasn’t a single digit number of minutes is already too long for me.”

“Oh, come on, Elphie, pleeeeassseee?” Galinda makes her eyes big and soft, melted chocolate that pours right into Elphaba’s heart and washes away even the slightest bit of resolve. 

“…fine.”

Galinda hops to her feet with a squeal, yanking at Elphaba’s arm to pull her over to her vanity. Elphaba digs her heels in, bewildered. “I didn’t mean right now!”

“No time like the present!”  

“Galinda, we still have class today. Can’t we, like, wait until evening? That’s when you usually do things, right?”

Galinda doesn’t seem all that persuaded, but she does pout and huff and tilt her head and think on it for long enough to give Elphaba a moody nod. “Alright, that’s a fair point,” she grumbles. Then she lights up again. “We’ll have way more time for a proper routine this way!”

Elphaba bites back her groan, already knowing she’s going to regret this. Galinda is like a kid on candy all day, bouncing through the halls of Shiz and chattering about which products she wants to use and whether or not Elphaba has any allergies or sensitivities and does she know if she’s oily or dry??

Most of it goes right over Elphaba’s head, but she nods and hums along in all the right places. By the time evening comes, Galinda dragging Elphaba all the way back to the dorm after they finish dinner, Elphaba is sure her head is spinning with the amount of things Galinda has told her they were going to try. 

“Can’t we just…start simple?” Elphaba suggests, giving the pile of bottles and masks on the bathroom counter a very skeptical look. 

“This is simple, Elphie! We’re just going to do the basics: cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, eye cream. Unlesssss you want to do a mask too?”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Elphaba does some quick math, frowning when she realizes Galinda’s idea of ‘simple’ is still five different products, most of which she’s never even heard of before today.

“What in the world is eye cream?” she starts with.

Of course, that sets Galinda off on a whole explanation and ramble, grabbing at least three different things off the counter to show Elphaba, popping them open so she can see the cream inside. What she gets from it is mostly that this is part of how Galinda keeps her terrible sleep habits from showing on her face. 

Elphaba thinks for just a moment about backing out and rescinding her offer, but Galinda looks so excited like this, all lit up and happy, her eyes shining as she points to her favorites and shoves various bottles under Elphaba’s nose so she can get a whiff of the sweet scents. She’s not even sure which products are meant to be scented, but Galinda is the expert. 

“Okay!” Galinda eventually says, clapping her hands once and grinning at Elphaba with unadulterated glee. “Let’s get started.”

What follows is the most ridiculous thing Elphaba has ever been a part of. The cleanser is easy enough- that’s just like washing her face. But of course Galinda has things to say about what towel she’s allowed to use and how rough she is when drying herself off. 

Next comes the toner, which, again, is fairly simple. Except that Galinda keeps trying to ‘help’ and skincare, Elphaba is quick to realize, is really best suited as a one-person job. The toner at least feels light on her skin, absorbing quickly and not really bothering her. 

The serum is where things get interesting. Galinda starts rattling off ingredients that sound more like a page out of their alchemy textbook than a skincare product. Niacinamide? Vitamin C? Hyaluronic acid? And Elphaba doesn’t really know enough about her own skin to help. Does she need help with hydration? Acne? Wrinkles? 

“Why in all of Oz would I put snail mucin on my face??”

“It’s good for you!”

Eventually, they settle for something hydrating and ‘resurfacing’--whatever that means--and Elphaba, while initially unhappy with the texture, is relieved to find that it absorbs fairly well without leaving behind a slimy residue. Elphaba carefully applies it, Galinda beaming at her through the mirror in a way that makes her heart take tumbles in her chest. 

Whatever. It might feel ridiculous, but it’s making Galinda’s day, so Elphaba musters up her finest smile and assures the blonde that she is ‘loving it.’ In fact, she goes as far to even offer to do more. 

“Actually,” Elphaba says, poking at her own cheeks and shooting Galinda a look. “I wouldn’t mind trying one of those masks.”

The sound Galinda makes in response should not be possible from a mere human.

Elphaba holds her laughter in as she gets a lecture about the appropriate time to say such things and the importance of order and knowledge and which products go with what others and at what times. She bites her inner cheek as she watches Galinda go on and on, sorting through her drawers and pulling out a frankly obscene amount of face masks. 

She settles for a pale pink box, pulling it out and rocking back on her heels so she can smile up at Elphaba. “Can I do it?” she asks. “So it doesn’t break!”

Seeing the fragility of the thin sheets, Elphaba agrees to the offer, letting Galinda push her back into their bedroom to sit on the edge of her bed, the shorter girl climbing up onto her knees so she can carefully lay the mask across Elphaba’s face. 

She’s got the tip of her tongue stuck out in concentration, brows drawn and eyes focused. She’s backlit by her own lamp, a halo of pink crowning her golden locks as her own dewey, perfect skin glows in the light. Elphaba barely even notices the soft brush of Galinda’s fingers as she smooths the mask in place, too entranced by the sight above her. 

Gorgeous, she thinks. It’s not by any means the first time, but it takes her breath away all the same. Something about Galinda is just…impossible to define. A beauty that goes well beyond any products or makeup or dresses. 

“This one is infused with roses,” Galinda is explaining when Elphaba tunes back in. “So that’s why it smells so yummy.”

There’s a tiny patch of pink coating Galinda’s cheeks as she looks down at Elphaba. The mask feels strange and oddly heavy, Elphaba unused to the weight of the product as it hydrates her skin, the soft rosy scent sitting right under her nose. 

Roses. Elphaba breathes in deep, her mind tumbling through memories of pink petals tucked gently into golden and raven locks alike. The feeling of a short stem prickling her ear. The ghost of Galinda’s gasp as Elphaba returned the favor in the gardens a few weeks later. 

“You look beautiful, Elphie,” Galinda says, voice barely a whisper. She taps gently at Elphaba’s mask-covered nose. “Now. You have to wait twenty minutes before taking it off, okay?”

Galinda slides backward off the bed, landing on her feet and darting back into the bathroom. It gives Elphaba a moment to gather herself, to shove all her messy feelings back in a box before her heart breaks out of her chest and goes running after the blonde. 

She sits up slowly, taking another deep breath and reminding herself that Galinda calls her beautiful all the time now. It doesn’t mean anything. She catches sight of herself in Galinda’s vanity mirror, the light bulbs catching on the pink cast of her face as she lets out a startled laugh. 

Galinda returns just in time to see Elphaba admiring herself, poking at the edges of the mask and turning her face side to side. “It looks great, doesn’t it?” Galinda teases. 

Elphaba rolls her eyes, opening her mouth carefully within the hole created by the mask. Oz, it feels weird. And it looks just as stupid as one can imagine. She holds her hand out so Galinda will come bounding over and tuck herself against Elphaba’s side. 

“I look like a rose threw up on my face,” Elphaba says, holding her face stiffly when she feels the mask slide a bit. 

“You do not!” 

“I seriously do. This is ridiculous.”

“Oh please, you secretly love it, I know you do.”

I secretly love you. 

Elphaba glances down, taking in the pink hue to Galinda’s own face as she grins at the taller girl. Ridiculous or not, she’d do this routine every night if it meant she always got to see Galinda like this. The blonde leans her head on Elphaba’s shoulder, their gazes drawn back to their reflections.

“See? I told you pink goes good with green,” Galinda whispers. 

“Goes well with green,” Elphaba can’t help but correct. It makes Galinda’s grin widen, the muscles at the corner of Elphaba’s own mouth twitching under her rosy mask. 

Yes, she finishes in her head. It so does.

[wordsmeetwbb]

Every Loser Needs an Azzi

Word count: 1.3k

Content: fluff, angst (it’s just hurt/comfort okay)

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: Short little fluff piece for you on this fine UConn vs South Carolina game eve. If UConn loses in a dramatic fashion tomorrow (which I'm hoping they won't), at least we still have fluffy fanfiction!

________

Paige had played like shit. Worse than it, actually. Sure, everybody had bad games. Paige knows that. But this had been downright embarrassing. She slumps onto a bench in the visitor’s locker room, avoiding the pitying looks from her teammates. Azzi, KK, and Jana had already gone to do media, so no one left in the locker room was brave enough to approach her. Good.

Her mind runs wild as she goes through the motions of showering, changing, and heading out to the bus that’s already waiting outside. She’s moving slowly, too caught up in her thoughts. By the time Paige gets on the bus, trying to ignore the disappointed stares from fans, Azzi is already in a seat, headphones on, looking out the window. Paige plops down in the seat across the aisle, avoiding the look she can feel Azzi giving her. She doesn’t want to see the disappointment coming from her too.

“Paige,” Azzi says. Her voice is soft but somehow still carries the few feet to Paige’s ears, even through the raucous noise of the mostly full bus. Paige slouches further into her seat and pretends not to hear. “Paige,” Azzi tries again, voice more insistent now. Paige can’t help it. She glances up.

Azzi’s staring at her, eyebrows raised but with no judgment on her face. No pity, no disappointment. She pouts a little. “You’re not really gonna make me sit by myself, are you? After a loss?” She complains. Her tone is light but Paige is immediately hit by guilt. A loss that she caused. Paige looks away from the brunette, staring out the window at the fans for only a moment before she can’t bear it, and looks straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of her.

“Paige.” Silence. Paige presses herself into the wall of the bus, pulls her headphones over her ears, tugs her hood up, and tries to hide from Azzi. She’s not proud of it, but she doesn’t want to face reality on this bus.

A body slides into the seat next to her. The scent of vanilla perfume and lavender soap washes over Paige, soothing her just slightly. “You don’t have to talk to me, but you can’t hide from me either,” Azzi says softly, too quiet for the rest of the team in the seats around them to hear. Paige nods, just once, and swallows hard. Azzi gets comfortable in the seat next to her. She’s being careful not to touch Paige, to give her space. All the places where Azzi’s body would usually be pressed into Paige’s are notably cold, but Paige is grateful for the separation.

The bus starts moving. Paige turns her music up as her teammates continue to chatter around her, seemingly unphased by the pathetic loss they had just been handed. She stares out the window and watches fields rush by. Five hours later the sun has set and Paige is finally back in her apartment. Jana and Allie are mercifully quiet, so she escapes to her room quickly, dropping her bag by the door and heading straight for her closet, desperate to just put her pajamas on and go to sleep.

She’s just crawled into bed when there’s a knock at her door. She knows it’s Azzi without asking. She hesitates. Azzi doesn’t open the door, just knocks again.

“Paige? Can I come in?” She calls, voice muffled by the wood between them. Paige wants to say no. Wants to pull the covers over her head and pretend she’s already asleep so she doesn’t have to face her girlfriend. She doesn’t do that though.

“Yeah,” she croaks, voice rough from yelling during the game and not speaking for hours after it. Azzi opens the door slowly, looks at the way Paige is curled up on the bed, and immediately folds the blonde into her arms.

“It’s okay, baby,” Azzi soothes, one hand rubbing up and down Paige’s back as Paige breathes shaky breaths into her neck. A tear slips down Paige’s face, the droplet tracing a hot, wet line down her cheek. She’s thankful Azzi can’t see it.

“One point,” she whispers into Azzi’s skin. “One point, three rebounds, two assists, and five turnovers.” Azzi doesn’t shush her this time, just lets her get the words out. “Five fucking turnovers, Az. Do you know how many points they scored off of my turnovers? Nine. Nine fucking points, and I only scored one to make up for it. I couldn’t get anybody the fucking ball, couldn’t get it through the hoop, couldn’t even keep it in my goddamn hands. I’m supposed to be the best in the nation and look at me. Fucking pathetic.” The words quickly devolve into sobs, tears falling onto Azzi’s shoulder, soaking the fabric of her shirt. Azzi just holds Paige.

At some point, Azzi moves them to lay down, once Paige’s tears have calmed down enough that she isn’t gasping for air. Paige is still wrapped in Azzi’s arms, and she knows that one of them must be falling asleep, prickling painfully where it’s trapped under Paige’s body, but she can’t quite get herself to move.

“That was a bad game,” Azzi says finally. Paige lets out a surprised, wet laugh.

“Gee, thanks for pointing that out, Az. I didn’t notice that I cost us the fucking game until just now when you said that,” she says sarcastically. Paige can hear Azzi’s tentative smile when she replies.

“You cost us the game and you’re still the best player in the nation.” Paige wants to cry again. She turns herself all the way around in Azzi’s embrace so they’re facing each other, scans Azzi’s face, and then lets herself smile a little bit. Not a big smile. Not a particularly happy one. But a small, fragile thing.

“I guess we’ll see when ESPN puts out the next mock draft, right?” She jokes. Relief breaks over Azzi’s face. She reaches a hand up, the one that’s not trapped under Paige’s body, and brushes away the remnants of Paige’s tears.

“It’s okay to have bad games, Paige,” she says gently. “Being Paige Bueckers doesn’t exempt you from that.” Paige swallows around the lump in her throat.

“I know. It's just… knowing that I’m going to have shitty games doesn’t make having one any easier. All those people that come to see us play, see me play- hell, you see those signs, Az! People driving across the fucking country to watch and I just disappointed all of them. They didn’t come to watch that disaster.” Azzi grasps Paige’s face gently but firmly and tilts her so that she has to meet her eyes.

“Honey, you don’t owe anybody a damn thing. Every single person in that arena chose to be there, regardless of how you performed. And yeah, there’s probably somebody who walked out of there feeling disappointed. Who fucking cares? You don’t know them, Paige. They don’t know you. Bad games don’t define your career, and they certainly don’t define you as a person,” Azzi soothes. Paige brings her arms around Azzi and hangs on for dear life.

“How are you so fucking emotionally wise? Who taught you this?” She groans. Azzi laughs.

“I read books and talk about my feelings, Paige. It’s not my fault you can’t read,” she teases. Paige grips Azzi a little harder.

“I can read. Just don’t like it,” she mumbles. Azzi presses a kiss into Paige’s hair.

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say. As long as we can go to sleep now,” Azzi yawns. Paige’s heart stutters as she looks at Azzi.

“Yeah. We can go to sleep now,” she agrees.

As Azzi is drifting off, Paige hugs her tighter. “Thank you,” she whispers. Azzi mumbles something that might be a reply, and although she had just played the worst game of her college career, Paige had never felt more like she had won.

[iheartmira]

Hey, may I request royal margarine x reader?

Where reader was always in the back of his fan group, always adoring his flirts and speeches and thinks wyverns are awesome but always been too shy to approach and even, in the past, had caught a glimpse of his sweet pathetic side where he admits to feeling like a fraud because of buttercream not being an actual dragon but y/n knew it all along but still thinks royal margarine is awesome and again, too shy to make first move because they are scared of messing things up somehow because of...well anxiety and stuff...but fun twist if you want, as fate had it...royal margarine likes reader too! Opposites attract as one would say lol! And then maybe royal margarine, noticing y/n not making the first move, decides that if they aren't gonna do it...he will...or he sets up the perfect reason for encounter via making it look like he 'accidently' dropped his knife near y/n so y/n would HAVE to approach him to give it back...or some other thing he does so y/n can approach him so he can make his move lmao!

"butterflies and buttercream" - royal margarine x reader

✧ ✧ ✧

you were always at the back of the crowd.

not because you didn’t want to be closer. oh, stars above, you wanted to be near him. royal margarine cookie. his name alone sounded like something you could melt into. the way he rode through the skies on buttercream, his not-so-dragon companion, the way his voice carried with effortless flair, each flirt and boast rolling off his tongue like honeyed butter… you adored him from afar.

you didn’t scream like the other fans. you didn’t throw flowers or lace-stitched notes. you simply watched, heart fluttering in your chest like it wanted to fly up and join him in the clouds. he was everything you weren’t: loud, shining, bold. a golden comet, and you a quiet little star trying not to be noticed.

still, you remembered.

there was one moment, brief and hidden, long ago during one of his less-crowded appearances. buttercream had been resting nearby, wings tucked close and eyes drooping with affection. you had stepped away from the group, trying to catch your breath. too many eyes, too much noise.

and there he was. not the dazzling dragon rider, not the flirt. just a cookie with a butter knife and a slouch in his shoulders.

you hadn’t meant to hear it. but you couldn’t stop listening.

"she's not a dragon," he had whispered into buttercream’s neck. "never was. and i... hah... i never rode a real one either."

he chuckled bitterly, resting his forehead against her. "what kind of dragon rider am i? a fraud, that’s what. a fraud with good hair."

you had stepped back then. not because you were ashamed. no, if anything, it made him more real to you. you knew buttercream wasn’t a dragon. you’d known from the start. but it didn’t matter. you thought he was still amazing. still brave. still… him.

and yet, you could never say a word. because what if it changed things? what if you said something wrong? what if he laughed, or smiled that charming smile and didn’t mean it, and you were left feeling foolish?

so, you stayed back. always watching. always wondering.

what you didn’t know was that he had noticed you too.

you, with the eyes that held galaxies, always at the edge but always there. the only one who didn’t rush up to him, who didn’t scream or faint or beg for autographs. the one who listened. the one who had seen him when the mask slipped, and didn’t run away.

he hadn’t forgotten that day. and the way his heart had squeezed in his chest when he realized you knew… and stayed.

so he made a plan.

it was ridiculous. it was dramatic. it was very him.

during his next appearance in dragon city, he scanned the crowd. there you were: predictably on the fringe, quietly admiring buttercream as she preened under the sunlight.

perfect.

with a flourish of his hand and a flashy spin, he dismounted buttercream and landed right near the crowd, pretending to stumble. his butter knife clattered to the ground, bouncing a few feet… and coming to a stop right in front of you.

"oh no," he said loudly, placing a hand over his chest as if swooning.

"would someone be so kind as to return my precious weapon to me before i perish from separation anxiety?"

you blinked. you stared down at the butter knife.

and then up at him.

he winked. directly at you.

your heart stuttered, then panicked. was this… was this real?

buttercream tilted her head and gave you a soft huff, as if encouraging you forward.

with trembling hands, you picked up the knife and stepped forward. just a few steps. you could do this.

"u-um… here," you said, holding it out with both hands like an offering.

his gloved fingers brushed yours as he took it, and for a moment, neither of you pulled away.

"well, well," he murmured, voice lower now, gentler.

"aren't you the one at my shows? always so quiet, looking at buttercream like she's the most majestic thing."

you opened your mouth. closed it. managed a weak, "she is."

that made him smile. not the flashy, crowd-pleasing smirk, but the kind that made your knees go a little soft. like sunshine on warm dough.

"i've been hoping you'd talk to me," he said.

"but i figured, if you weren't gonna make the first move… i better help fate along."

you blinked. "wait… you… noticed me?"

he leaned in, butter knife tucked back into his belt, eyes gleaming. "sweetie," he said smoothly, "i'd have to be blind not to."

your breath caught.

"i know i'm not the hero i pretend to be," he added softly, "but if you give me a chance… i’d like to try. with you."

you wanted to say something clever. something cool. but all you managed was a shy, barely-there nod.

and that was enough.

he offered you his arm, theatrically, with a wink. "care for a wyvern ride, my mysterious admirer?"

you hesitated... then took it.

buttercream gave a proud little trill, as if she knew this moment had been long overdue.

as you flew off together, high above the rooftops and the crowd's fading cheers, you realized: maybe, just maybe, some fairy tales were bold enough to find the quiet ones too.

✧ ✧ ✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[xoxorory]

More than Jealousy !

Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader Fanfic(Daughter of Aphrodite)

Genre: Humor | Fluff | add +18 jokes from Percy

Universe: Percy Jackson & The Olympians

Word Count: 2K~

Established relationship!

Warnings: none

A/N: HI!! I finally posted something lol,tomorrow I will check it and make it aesthethic. I wrote it on my phone okay? Be patient 💔

I. Percy Jackson is a Drama King™

Percy had many admirable qualities: he was brave, loyal, funny… But he also had the terrible habit of being a dramatic boyfriend.

“I don’t get what she sees in him,” he grumbled, stirring his drink with a plastic straw with an intensity that was downright scary.

Nico di Angelo, sitting across from him with his usual “I’m too tired of life” expression, didn’t even bother to look at him.

“Not this again…”

“Yes, this again,” Percy said, crossing his arms and frowning in your direction and Marcus, the son of Apollo you’d been spending a lot of time with lately.

Nico sighed.

“Marcus isn’t trying to flirt with her.”

“Oh, he’s not? Then why is he laughing so much with her?”

“Because she’s funny.”

“And why is he looking at her like he wants to eat her whole?”

Nico almost spit out his juice.

“Gods, Jackson, calm down. Marcus isn’t in love with your girlfriend.”

“He is. I know it. I can smell it.”

Nico rolled his eyes.

“Please tell me you’re not sitting here sniffing the air like a jealous dog.”

“Nico, you don’t understand. That guy—”

“That guy just wants flirting advice, and if you used two brain cells at once, you’d realize he’s not interested in your girlfriend.”

Percy eyed him suspiciously.

“And how can you be so sure?”

Nico rolled his eyes and stood up from the table.

“When you’re done being an idiot, let me know.”

And with that, he left.

Percy, however, stayed with his brow furrowed.

Because he knew Marcus was up to something.

And Percy Jackson wasn’t going to let it slide without a fight.

⸻

II. Operation “Marking Territory”

Percy wasn’t a strategist like Annabeth, but he had instincts.

And at that moment, his instinct told him he needed to make it clear that you were his girlfriend.

So, when he found you with Marcus in the training arena, he decided to take action.

“Princess!”

You turned just in time for Percy to catch you by the waist and lift you off the ground like you weighed nothing.

“Percy!” you exclaimed with laughter as he spun you in the air.

Marcus blinked.

“Uh… Am I interrupting something?”

Percy slowly set you down and slid a hand to your ass in the process.

“Yes,” he said with an innocent smile.

Marcus made a face of “what the hell,” but didn’t say anything.

You, however, looked at him suspiciously.

“What’s your deal?”

Percy smiled even more.

“Nothing, just properly greeting my girlfriend.”

Marcus grimaced and looked away.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see anything. Catch you later!”

When Marcus walked away, Percy smiled triumphantly.

You looked at him in disbelief.

“Really, Jackson?”

“What?”

“You grabbed my ass just to mark territory.”

“Technically, my territory.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, a dry voice sounded behind you.

“If you’re gonna have sex in the middle of camp, let me know so I can leave.”

Both of you turned to find Nico with his arms crossed and an expression of “I’m way too dead for this.”

“Nico!” you protested, blushing.

Percy just smiled.

“Hey, bro, good you showed up.”

Nico looked at him like he wanted to throw him to the Underworld.

“If you keep acting like a caveman, bro, I’m gonna summon an army of dead people to drag you away from here.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re holding your girlfriend like she’s a trophy.”

“She’s my trophy.”

Nico sighed deeply.

“Gods, give me patience…”

⸻

III. Percy Jackson’s Worst Discovery

Percy kept up with his plan. He’d sit in your lap when Marcus was around, make suggestive comments about how “busy” they’d be after the campfire, and even bit your neck during a training session.

But the straw that broke the camel’s back was when Marcus came up to you on the beach.

“Hey, girly, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Before you could respond, Percy dropped his head in your lap and sighed dramatically.

“He can’t, Marcus. We’re in a very important activity.”

Marcus frowned.

“What activity?”

Percy lifted his head seriously.

“Sex.”

You almost choked him.

“PER-CY!”

Marcus grimaced.

“Dude, I didn’t want that image in my head.”

“Then don’t interrupt our intimate sessions.”

“Gods, that’s disgusting.”

Marcus sighed and crossed his arms.

“Look, I really need to talk to her. It’s about her brother.”

Percy tensed.

“What about her brother?”

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I wanted to ask for advice because… I like him.”

There was a long silence.

Nico, who was nearby, almost choked on his own saliva.

“WHAT?”

You widened your eyes in surprise before bursting out laughing.

“Oh, gods! Was all this because you thought Marcus was after me?”

Percy stayed silent.

“Wait… you like her brother?”

Marcus blushed.

“Yeah.”

Nico looked at them with panic.

“Oh, no.”

Percy looked at Marcus, then at you, then at Nico.

“The sexy brother of my girlfriend?”

“PERCY!”

“The one who’s basically a male version of her?”

Marcus nodded.

“Yeah.”

Percy opened his mouth… then flopped onto his back in the sand.

“For the love of Poseidon, I’m a complete idiot.”

Nico crossed his arms.

“Finally, you say something sensible.”

You leaned over Percy, amused.

“Well, we already knew that.”

Percy shot you a look, but before he could respond, Marcus snapped his fingers.

“So, are you gonna help me or not?”

Percy growled.

“I don’t know if I want you dating her brother.”

“It’s not like you’re gonna say yes right away.”

Nico rubbed his temples.

“I’m gonna need therapy.”

You sighed and smiled at Marcus.

“Fine, I’ll help you. But maybe later, Percy seems like he will drown you in the lake.”

“Oh, I’ll do that anyway,” Percy chimed in.

Marcus rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for the trust, guys.”

Percy sighed as he watched him walk away.

“I still don’t like him.”

Nico looked at him.

“Neither do I.”

You kissed Percy on the cheek.

“You’re an adorable jealous guy.”

Percy looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“Adorable, huh? I’m making you pay for that later.”

“You’re disgusting, please.”

And, by the way Percy looked at you, you knew you’d be very busy later.

I’m not very fanatic of this writing,but I really wanted to post something 😓😓

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hi, so I'm not really sure how to ask this idk, it feels very personal and maybe tmi, and I guess it depends on one's level of bottom dysphoria, but basically, do you (or anyone else who wants to share) have any advice or anything with how to cope with having to go through a physical exam for bottom stuff/ a pap smear for the first time?

I'm asking this as someone who has and always has had severe bottom dysphoria to the point that I've never done anything with those parts and literally never even touched myself. I've just lived painfully aware that I have that stuff but simultaneously pretending as much as possible that I don't. So just the thought of "having to" get that done, being touched there by someone etc, makes me sick and gives me anxiety and I just full on do not want to do that. Ever. But apparently I have to if I'm ever gonna get a hysto, which I really really want.

So now I just feel like it's lose/lose. Either I have to let someone touch me in a way that just thinking about me makes me sick, or I can never get a part of transition that I've been wanting forever since I was kid and learned about my anatomy.

And I just.. mentally, emotionally, physically in every way just really don't know how to deal with that.

I guess it's not that big of a deal for people who don't have bottom dysphoria or not that much of it, and honestly sometimes I feel kinda alone (and almost guilty? Like it's wrong somehow?) in how extremely uncomfortable I am with bottom stuff compared to how I've seen other people be chill with it, but yeah.. idk what to do or how to cope with this.

Don't feel bad about feeling bad -- I may like my dick, but that hole gives me panic attacks and I'm not looking forward to my own exam coming up soon. I worry every time that I am going to kick someone in the face by accident. :/

A pelvic exam/pap is not required to begin HRT, but you will need one for most hystos. Plus, it's just good preventative care. Also, if you are young enough, get your HPV vaccine (a 2 shot series, iirc) to help prevent cervical cancer.

Things that have helped me during gyn exams:

Take the entire day off, if you can. Have a treat set up for after your appointment.

Go with a friend, if possible. They may not be able to be with you in the exam room, but they can at least drive you and wait for you.

Be firm that this is hard for you and anything they can do to make it easier will be helpful.

Put your shirt back on after the breast exam. I don't take "no" for an answer here. Having an extra bit of clothing on makes me feel better.

Ask for the "pediatric" speculum -- it's smaller and won't hurt as bad. Insist on it.

Have something you can grip to take your focus off below.

If they want to do a sonogram, refuse the transvaginal one. Do it the old fashioned way, which will require drinking a lot of water. They can deal.

Don't be embarrassed if your self-care afterwards requires crying, or similar. This is an exhausting thing to do, no matter how brave a face you put on in the exam room. I usually just crawl back into bed to sleep it off.

Above all, never take comments like "just man up" or whatever from the medical team. If that happens, be mean back, or simply get up, get dressed, and leave. Find someone else if you have to.

Scripts I have used. Workshop your own and practice them:

"This is my first time. I'm worried this will be a very uncomfortable exam physically and emotionally for me and I would appreciate anything you can do to make it easier. It helps me if you explain everything as we go."

"I do not have penetrative sex, so would like to try the smallest speculum lubed up best you can."

"I am going to put my shirt back on. It will help me be calmer for the rest of the exam."

If they are rude: "You are being unkind and I will walk out of here and find another provider if this attitude continues."

If they insist on a transvag sonogram: "I will only do an external sonogram. We can schedule it another day for me to prep, or give me time to drink the necessary water." (This is hard, btw -- it is enough water to make you vomit.)

Do whatever mental larping you need to do to get through it all. It's important to psych yourself up so you can control as much as possible. Remember, you can stop things whenever you want. If they are mean, all bets are off.

If you're like me, it will suck, but please try not to put it off. But getting through it means you can tackle anything else related to transition, should you go that route. Seriously, if you can do this, you are fucking golden. Take care. <3

(Additional stories/advice are welcome from folks, being trans masc not required!)

[darkenedroses-world]

Clooless Chaos — Droid x Reader

gn!reader, clooless podcast, humour, relationship goals, embarrassing stories, request🦋

“Alright, welcome back to the Clooless Podcast,” Puffer said, leaning dramatically into his mic. “Today, we have a guest so brave, so bold, they’ve willingly agreed to join us in the pit of nonsense that is this podcast.” “Please, give it up for the one, the only—Y/N!” Grizzy added, clapping loudly as Pezzy let out an over-the-top whistle. You laughed, already feeling the warmth of their camaraderie. “Hi, everyone,” you said, leaning into the mic. “Thanks for having me. I feel like I should be nervous, but honestly, I’m just here to make fun of Droid.” The room erupted into laughter as Droid groaned, throwing an arm around your chair. “Why are you like this?” “Because I learned from the best,” you shot back with a grin. Pezzy smirked, leaning forward. “I like them already. This is gonna be good.” It didn’t take long for the teasing to begin. “So, Y/N,” Puffer started, his tone innocent but his grin giving him away. “Since you’re here, we’ve gotta know—what’s the most embarrassing thing Droid has ever done around you?”

“Oh, no,” Droid groaned, slouching in his chair. “Don’t do this.” “Oh, I’m doing this,” you said, pretending to think. “Let’s see… Oh! Got it. There was this one time he tried to cook me dinner—” “Stop,” Droid interrupted, holding up a hand. “—and he set water on fire,” you finished, grinning. The guys erupted into laughter, Pezzy nearly falling out of his spot. “How the hell do you set water on fire?” “I don’t even know!” Droid exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “Something caught on the burner or whatever. It’s not my fault!” “It’s definitely your fault,” Grizzy said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Hey, at least I tried,” Droid muttered, pouting. “And I appreciated the effort,” you said, patting his knee. “Even if the fire alarm went off for twenty minutes.” “That’s love right there,” Puffer said, shaking his head. The conversation shifted to high school stories, and that’s when things got really chaotic. “Alright, Y/N,” Pezzy said, smirking. “What was high school like for you?” “Oh god,” you groaned, leaning back in your chair.

“Do I really have to answer that?” “Yes,” Grizzy said immediately. “Fine,” you said, sighing. “I was that kid—the overachiever. I joined every club I could. Drama, band, yearbook, debate—you name it, I was in it.” “Oh, one of those,” Puffer teased, grinning. “But here’s the thing,” you continued. “I stretched myself way too thin. During the school play, I fell asleep backstage and missed my cue. They had to rewrite the whole scene on the spot.” Grizzy wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You rewrote the play by napping? That’s legendary.” “Icon behavior,” Pezzy said, nodding. “Alright, your turn,” you said, pointing at Droid. “What’s your most embarrassing high school story?” “Oh, Droid’s got this,” Grizzy said, grinning. “No, I don’t,” Droid protested. “Yes, you do,” Pezzy said. “Tell them about the abstract math thing.” Droid groaned, his head falling into his hands. “Why do you all hate me?” “What abstract math thing?” you asked, leaning forward eagerly. Droid sighed, resigning himself to his fate.

“Fine. I had a crush on this girl in math class, right? One day, I decided to impress her by solving this really complicated equation on the board. But halfway through, I panicked and just wrote random numbers. When she asked what it meant, I said, ‘It’s abstract math—you wouldn’t get it.’” The room erupted into laughter, and you nearly slid out of your chair. “Abstract math?! That’s the best you could come up with?” “Hey, it worked,” Droid muttered. “No, it didn’t,” Grizzy countered. “She told everyone, and you became ‘abstract math guy’ for the rest of the year.” By the time the podcast wrapped up, everyone was red-faced and teary-eyed from laughing so hard. “Alright, I think we’ve embarrassed ourselves enough for one day,” Puffer said, leaning back in his chair. “Speak for yourself,” Droid quipped. “I think I handled it pretty well.” You snorted. “Sure, abstract math.” The room erupted into laughter again, Droid groaning dramatically as Pezzy and Grizzy high-fived each other.

“Alright, that’s it!” Droid said, standing up. “I’m taking Y/N home. No more roasting me for today.” “Yeah, good luck with that,” Puffer called after him.

[agaypanic]

heyy just wondering if you could maybe write a benny x male!morgan!reader like the readers ethans brother and theyre not out to ethan and theure having a sleepover and everyones there and benny kr the reader accidentally does something like maybe they kiss or say something that would imply theure together and yeah idk sorry im bad at explaining but iyk what mean thanks for reading.

Secret's Out (Benny Weir X Male!Morgan!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: You’ve been secretly dating your brother’s best friend Benny for a few months, keeping it private because neither of you are out yet. Bidding each other good night during a sleepover with the gang changes that.

A/N: this feels so rushed im sorry

***

Pretending that you weren’t dating someone you spent practically all your time with sucked. Unless you were in a totally private place, you overthought every interaction you had with your boyfriend.

It also didn’t help that your boyfriend was best friends with your brother, who could be known to be overdramatic and didn’t know that either of you even liked guys.

“Y/n, it’s gonna be fine.” Benny tried reassuring you while the two of you played a video game. “We’ve hung out with the gang loads of times, and we’ve never given anything away.” 

“But this is different, Bens. This is our first group sleepover since we started dating.” You killed one of the NPCs attacking you before pausing the game to take a sip of water. “And I know how cranky you get when I don’t give you head scratches to fall asleep.”

Benny scoffed, and without looking at the screen, you knew he was rolling his eyes even though you both knew it was true.

“I do not get cranky.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Some silence passed, and Benny sensed you overthinking about what’s supposed to be a fun hangout with your friends.

“It’s gonna be fine, N/n.”

“I dunno, I’m pretty irresistible. You might have a hard time containing yourself.” Benny snorted while you unpaused the game. “After we fight the boss, I gotta go. I’m helping Ethan set everything up for tonight.”

“Oh! Can you get me-”

“Marshmallows? Yeah.” Benny paused the game, staring into his webcam to make it feel like he was looking directly at you.

“How did you know?”

“You ask for them every time you sleep over because you keep trying to beat your own record. Now come on, let’s play before I have to log off.”

“God, you know me so well.”

***

The whole night, you and Benny tried to keep a bit of a distance from each other. Not enough for your friends or brother to wonder if something had happened between the two of you, but enough to make sure you weren’t tempted to do something that could out either of you. It sounded like an easy task, but sometimes, it was hard to keep your hands off Benny.

Feeling brave, you and Benny held hands underneath a blanket while sitting on the couch watching a scary movie. If it was just the two of you, he’d argue that he was holding your hand to comfort you through the movie. But you knew from the flinches and hand squeezes during gruesome moments or jumpscares that it was because Benny was a little scaredy cat.

As the credits rolled, you yawned. The movie hadn’t affected you; if anything, it just made you tired. Benny, on the other hand, was trying to hide behind you.

“Benny, it’s just a movie. It’s not real.” Ethan said while munching on some leftover popcorn.

“You don’t know that, E,” Benny said, looking at your brother from over your shoulder. “It could be based on a true story.”

“Oh yeah. I remember the story of the werewolf that ravaged an entire town in one night.” Erica said, seeming serious. “I think that happened a few cities over from here.”

“What?” Benny replied with a squeak, eyes widening.

“Guys, stop scaring him!” You reprimanded with a small smile. “I’m beat; I’m gonna go to bed. Night.” You twisted around to look at Benny. “Good night, scaredy cat.”

“I’m not scared,” Benny grumbled before giving you a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll probably go to sleep in a bit.”

You nodded, getting up and going to the pile of blankets and pillows in the parlor. Too tired, you just laid yourself in the middle of the comfortable pile and closed your eyes.

Then your eyes suddenly widened, replaying what had just happened in your head. You scrambled to your feet and slowly walked back into the living room, where everyone’s gaze was flitting between you and Benny. Your boyfriend looked around the room, confused by all the eyes.

“What?”

“You just kissed my brother, B,” Ethan answered, looking beyond confused. Benny’s eyes widened, as if he had just realized what he had done.

“What are you, gay?” Rory asked. His tone was slightly off, making everyone look at him. He flinched from the sudden attention. “What? I’m genuinely asking!”

“Y/n. Benny.” Ethan said carefully, unsure of how to approach this situation. “Anything you wanna tell us?”

You and Benny looked at each other, having a silent conversation. You figured that you might as well tell them now, because Benny trying to say that he kissed his best friend’s brother just for the hell of it probably wouldn’t be believable. Benny nodded, allowing you to take the wheel.

“Benny and I have been dating for a few months.” You finally said, trying to sound casual. You didn’t know how your friends would react to you two liking guys, let alone that you were dating each other. So you hoped that acting like it wasn’t a big deal would make them react as if it wasn’t.

“What?!” Ethan squeaked. “A few months? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Neither of us are out, and we had no idea how you guys would react!” You said, scratching the back of your neck. “Plus, I knew either way that you’d freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Ethan said with a freaked-out look. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m happy for you guys, I promise. But Benny, out of everyone, you decided to date my brother?”

“Look at him!” Benny replied, pointing at you. “I can’t say no to that face, E!”

“We’re happy for you two,” Sarah said to you and Benny with a smile. She looked at Erica and Rory, who kept looking at the two of you. “Right, guys?”

“Yeah, man, totally!” Rory said with a fangy smile. Erica took a moment to say something.

“Y/n could do better.” She shrugged, making you snort and Benny pout.

[phoenix-positivity]

January 19th 2024, Part 2

After lunch had went so well I made my way to the bus stop to go home. The bus stop is a very triggering location because I have a lot of memories of bad things happening near or at that particular bus stop. Chances of my abuser being there are also higher than in other places. (I'd say the same odds as him appearing at the lunch location). I approached bravely while using my anxiety ring and telling myself encouraging statements. I was hyping myself up and also preparing for potentially seeing him. He was not there but I was gonna have to wait for the bus for about 10 minutes.

The bus stop is in a location where you are kind of cornered so waiting there was giving me anxiety. I wasn't petrified or anything and I just used my anxiety ring more as well as looking at the buttons on my backpack which have cute images on them. Then as I looked down the street, about a hundred or so meters away, I saw a figure who was pretty much blocked out of my vision by a lantern except for one arm and leg. Even with my blocked vision I recognized him immediately from the posture and way of walking. I also identified the jacket from when I had seen him last. He was approaching in my direction. I didn't feel afraid, I was more so concerned on how the situation would proceed. I kept an eye on him until his face was no longer blocked by the lantern. I was not planning to make eye contact. I could see he was looking in my direction. He went to cross the street to the other side of the road and I could see in my peripheral vision that his face kept fixated on me to the point his head was very much turning in my direction for the sole reason of looking at me. (Because there is nothing else he could be looking at behind me) He was walking away from me and I just pretended to be occupied with something as if I hadn't noticed him at all. I was fidgeting with my anxiety ring and counting the little balls on it. I peeked back at him to see if he had stopped looking and he had stopped staring at me and kept moving away from me out of view. I was a bit on edge being worried if he was going to approach me from the other direction but it didn't happen and then my bus arrived.

Being on the bus was easier because I had the knowledge of where my abuser was at and I knew he wouldn't be fast enough to be at the upcoming bus stops. I still felt quite trapped being in a public vehicle with no ways to escape besides when the bus stops. I also managed to somehow forget how the bus system works with me having to press a button to let the bus driver know I want to get out at the next stop. I was listening in on a conversation the two kids in front of me were having so I was pretty distracted during the ride and didn't get to feel too nervous.

The fact my abuser was approaching in my direction when I was cornered, while he was actively looking at me, yet went the other way, is exactly why I value exposure so much. It proves to my brain that he is not dangerous in public settings with other people around. I have two situations now where I was in public all alone by myself (there was other people but nobody accompanying me) where all opportunity was there to approach me, but he did not. Knowing that he doesn't approach me when seeing me is such valuable information.

[dovesndecay]

I've only watched Season 5 once so I'll report back once I've finished my first rewatch of it, but I've now watched season 4 three times (twice in rapid succession) and I honestly feel like the season got so much more hate than it deserved.

So much of the problems in The Magicians ultimately comes down to the show's clear lack of budget, decent lighting, and the sheer time to dedicate to these sweeping, epic plots that deserved more focus, more money, more episodes, more seasons, than they were given.

Not all of them, admittedly, but I think more than the fandom really ever gave the writers credit for.

The Big Event at the end of the season (I'll try to keep this relatively spoiler-free) was foreshadowed blatantly throughout the entire season, and the show gave it all the weight and sincerity I could've asked for.

(And considering how the show handled certain story-lines previously, I'll take that growth as a win)

Spoiler-thoughts below:

Considering the show actively has the Underworld as a location that characters have been to and came back from, that we've had multiple characters die and come back one way or another, during a peri-Supernatural television culture, I'm not gonna pretend that it wasn't a brave fucking swing to kill their perceived main character off and set up in such a way that it hit, hit hard, and the pain has lasted.

I still cry every time I watch the episode. From the moment they enter the Mirror World and approach the lab door, reveal The Seam, I am crying. I am crying over this boy who so believed in magic, believed in a world where he could be seen and loved for exactly who he was, queer, autistic, and mentally ill, that he threw himself into the path of every sword that came his way to protect it once he found it.

Of course it's a devastating event, not just to characters, but to us, the audience. And it was 2019, so of course killing off one of the few canonically queer, mentally ill characters in a season focused on his attempt to save his queer lover -- not a great look, and I understand why it got the backlash it did.

As a queer with all the same Queer Tragedy baggage as everyone else, I get it.

As a writer, I find it narratively delicious. I am enriched in this enclosure. The show is a great example of emphasizing the difference between a main character and a protagonist.

But also, someone give me the rights, an unlimited budget, and ten seasons; I could fix it. I just know I could.

@renthony has officially finished Season 4 of The Magicians. It's ... Season 5 from here out, folks.

[gladerscake]

Close Call

(Gally x Reader)

Requested by the wonderful @ultraintrovertedgryffindor ♥️ We all know that Grievers only roam around at night, but for the sake of the plot let’s pretend they can during the day as well. Okay? Okay. Enjoy!

Maybe someone had made a terrible mistake. Maybe someone had a very twisted sense of humor. Maybe someone thought the gladers were getting too comfortable and wanted to do a little something to rattle them.

All of those sounded like plausible reasons as to why you, a girl, had been sent into a maze full of only boys. You had no idea how or why it had happened, all you knew was that it was just as much of a shock to them as it was to you.

You probably would’ve been more frightened, given the unique circumstances. However, to your immense relief, the boys had very quickly established that they meant you no harm, and so far, not one of them had given you a reason to doubt it.

Despite the strain caused by your arrival, they did what they could to assure you that you were safe and tried to make you feel as comfortable as possible. They were kind, encouraging, and you appreciated it, greatly. You firmly believed you’d lucked out, at least in that aspect. They very easily could’ve been horrible, and then your new life would’ve been a true nightmare.

Of course, there were a few people who weren’t as welcoming to the idea of having a girl in the glade.

The Keeper of the Builders was at the top of that list.

Only having been there a couple of days, you hadn’t quite memorised all of the boys’ names yet, but you definitely knew his.

Gally… He was hard to miss, even harder to ignore. Over six feet tall, with a profoundly muscular physique, a deep voice that carried, and a powerful presence that demanded attention.

He definitely wasn’t someone you wanted to be on the wrong side of, but so far, you weren’t sure what to do about it. You figured your only option was to somehow prove to him that you weren’t a liability, that you weren’t a problem he would need to worry about, day after day.

Alby had told you that you were going to begin trying out for jobs the next day and it was up to you where you wanted to start.

Perhaps, that was your chance. You just needed to be brave enough to take it.

~~~~~

Though you had tried to prepare yourself, given yourself multiple pep talks about staying calm and confident, you couldn’t chase away the growing uneasiness that pervaded your muscles with every step you took towards the builders. Towards Gally. Your heart was thumping in your ears and you knew this was going to be a struggle. You only hoped it wasn’t going to turn out to be a complete disaster.

“Hey…!” You attempted a smile, trying not to look or sound as nervous as you felt when Gally abruptly looked up from a blueprint he had been working on, his rough hands resting on either side of it on the table.

His inquisitive eyes regarded you with a glance-over as he evidently had no idea what you were doing there.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked, rather dryly, which didn’t help to ease your nerves one bit.

Miraculously you managed to keep your smile intact as you hurried to explain.

“Actually, yeah! I’m trying out for jobs, and I thought I might as well start here.”

Gally’s brows propped up in surprise, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, his expression turning blank and unreadable.

“Yeah, we can go ahead and skip this part. We both know you’re not gonna be a builder, so let’s not waste anyone’s time.”

Your smile instantly dropped at that, everything within you resenting the thought of being dismissed like that.

“Why not?? What if I’m good at it?”

Gally huffed at that and shook his head, as if the very idea was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, averting his gaze back to the blueprint.

That shot a spark of anger through your system. You knew better than to get snappy with him, of course, still set on your cause to make him see you in at least a somewhat positive light. But you did need to make your case clear and candid.

“Hey!” Your voice rang just a bit louder, bringing his attention back to you “Every new greenie is supposed to get a fair chance at everything, isn’t that right?”

Gally delivered you a strange look, like he couldn’t believe you were actually intending to go through with it.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am!” You retorted, doing your best to keep your voice steady “And I’m not asking you to make me a builder today, I’m just asking that you at least let me try, like the rest.”

“Greenie, there’s no way-“

“If I fail here, then I won’t come back, and I’ll try something else.” You quickly intercepted. You weren’t going to give up, and Gally needed to know that. “But you have to give me a chance. Isn’t that what everyone deserves?”

Gally released a heavy sigh, crossing his buff arms over his chest as his eyes narrowed in thought. It was obvious you weren’t backing down, and something about your firm stance almost intrigued him. He truly hadn’t expected you to be so persistent.

Even though he wasn’t thrilled about it, deep down he knew you were right. It wouldn’t be fair to refuse to let you even try, solely because you were a girl, no matter how much it irked him.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Gally straightened out, which somehow made him look even more intimidating.

You suddenly felt ten times smaller as you stood in front of him, trying not to quiver under his penetrating stare. Finally, after what felt like hours, he responded.

“Alright. I’ll give you a fair chance.”

You exhaled, softly, relief falling over your face.

“But if you expect me to go easier on you, then-“

“I don’t!” You quickly disclosed, a slight but genuine smile crossing your lips “Not at all. And I’ll do my best, I promise.”

Gally hummed, curtly, already reaching behind him to grab a few tools he could give you.

“Good. Let’s get you started, then.”

~~~~~

Much to Gally’s frustration and simultaneous amazement, you weren’t nearly as bad as he had assumed you would be. Whatever he told you, you gave it your full attention. You followed each and every one of his instructions precisely, meticulously made sure not to mess up a single step. Your hands were surprisingly quick and nimble, your focus was unwavering, and you absolutely didn’t entertain the thought of slacking off.

He had to admit, though it wasn’t easy, that he was impressed. You were the first newbie to take it so seriously and try so hard to convince him of your potential.

Maybe you weren’t going to be the pain of his existence after all. It was still too soon to tell, but after witnessing your valiant efforts to do a good job, Gally couldn’t help but feel an inkling of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you becoming a fully functional part of the glade wasn’t totally out of the question.

~~~~~

A few weeks had passed, and after having tried out pretty much all of the jobs, you had decided that you wanted to stick with the builders.

No one had predicted that you would fit so well in there, least of all Gally, but even he couldn’t argue that you had earned your shot at becoming one of them.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t been reluctant at first. Your presence still bothered him in a way nothing else ever had. Yet, you continuously refused to give him a good reason to dislike you or to say that you weren’t doing enough. It was all terribly conflicting.

Gally may not have exuded friendliness, but he was fair. He wasn’t going to give you a hard time if you didn’t deserve it. You weren’t doing anything wrong. On the contrary, you were doing your earnest to embrace the life you had been put in and make the most out of it. Gally couldn’t deny, that called for a little recognition.

You knew it would take a lot more time, effort, and patience to completely win him over, but you could tell there was progress already. It was possible.

As time went on, you found that the tough Keeper of the Builders was growing on you. And although he tried not to let it show, you could swear he was gradually warming up to you as well. No longer did he look at you like you were a fly in his soup. No longer did he make you feel like your mere existence aggravated him. No longer did it seem like he was just waiting for you to mess up.

Talking to him became easier, you didn’t feel the need to sweat over your every word anymore.

You were surprised to learn that Gally actually had a decent sense of humor. Though it was mostly directed at his builders, his occasional offhand comments admittedly made you snicker.

He was never mean or rude for no reason. He had a bit of a temper, sure, but recently you had noticed him trying to keep his cool more around you. That was definitely a good sign. At times it felt like the two of you were actually getting along.

You got to talk to the other guys more as well. Newt, Frypan, Jeff, Winston, and even Minho.

Talking to Minho proved to be rather fascinating. Asking the sassy Runner about what his job entailed and listening to him going on and on about it got you thinking.

The maze really was a dangerous, unpredictable, sometimes horrifying place to be. But all the risks of being out there every day got everyone a little closer to what they wanted the most. Getting out of this place.

It wasn’t that you hated the glade. It was relatively peaceful, in order, filled with some pretty great guys you knew you could count on. However, despite all the positive aspects, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of being trapped in there. You were sure you were far from the only one who felt that way.

You wanted to help.

Something courageous and determined awakened inside you, and soon enough, after a few long talks with Minho, it was decided. You were going to try.

As glad as you were that the Runner had agreed to let you, that left you with one problem.

You didn’t know how you were going to tell Gally, and something kept telling you he wasn’t very likely to take it well.

Whatever it was, it was right.

~~~~~

“You what??”

You winced at the sharp sound of Gally’s deep voice, his brows furrowed and his lips paved into a scowl in a picture of disbelief and burbling anger.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice from trembling “I’m going to run with Minho tomorrow…”

Gally blinked a few times, shaking his head as if he still wasn’t sure he had heard you right.

“And why the hell would you do that? Do you know how dangerous it is out there? Did Minho tell you about the Grievers?” His voice had risen, the dark glint in his eyes nearly making you take a step back.

“He did…”

“And you still want to do it?”

“Yes! If I can help, in any way, with getting everyone out of here, then yes, I want to do it. Or at least try!”

Gally scoffed to himself, frustratedly running a hand through his short sandy hair “So what, you’re saying you just don’t want to be a builder anymore?”

Your eyes bulged as you quickly shook your head “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all! I do! I love being a builder! I just thought maybe I could do that one day, and then run with Minho the next, and then-“

“No.”

His stern, firm, and immediate answer made your heart sink, your nerves beginning to prickle even more “W-What do you mean?”

“You can’t do both, Y/N.” Gally frowned, gravely, folding his arms over his chest as his piercing gaze fixated on you, his muscles tense “Sorry to say, but you’re gonna have to pick one. I thought you already had, but I guess I was wrong.”

Your breath hitched, your fingertips beginning to turn cold with dread “Gally, I don’t want to quit!” You tried to assure him “I just need to-“

“I said you can’t do both.” He all but snarled, a glint of contempt etching his green eyes “It’s your choice. Just know that if you go out there with Minho tomorrow, you can’t come back.”

Your face paled at that. You loved building, you had worked so hard to earn your spot on his team. You didn’t want to lose it, just like that. Especially not just when you thought you and Gally were actually starting to somewhat enjoy being around one another. Was he really going to make you choose? And if you were to choose the path you wanted to try out… was he really going to write you off?

“Gally, please…!” But it was too late.

Apparently he didn’t want to hear it, nor did he have anything else to add, as the Keeper was already stalking off, leaving you gaping and on your own with your thoughts and the hefty decision that you were now facing.

~~~~~

Gally was fuming. His calloused fingers squeezed the handle of his hacksaw with way more force than necessary as he attempted to focus on his work, only to let his thoughts be consumed by you and your staggering words.

He had not seen that one coming. With you having sweated your ass off to prove to him how skilled you could be, how much you wanted to be a builder and work alongside him, he had been so confident that you had found your place with them and weren’t planning on going anywhere.

Unbelievable. Had he really wasted all that time teaching you, helping you, being more patient with you than he had been with anyone else before, for what? For you to just decide, out of the blue, that you wanted to try being a Runner?

Gally glowered, his hacksaw dragging through the wood with a ferocity it didn’t deserve. He didn’t care, did he? No, of course he didn’t, why would he? If you wanted to head out there and get yourself hurt or killed, who was he to stand in your way? He didn’t care. He didn’t care…

But then, if he didn’t care, then why did he feel so… betrayed? And more importantly, why was he so goddamn worried?

~~~~~

He didn’t come to the Doors the next day.

When you hadn’t shown up to work in the morning, he knew what your decision had been. His shoulders felt heavy, his pulse had been accelerating at random times all throughout the day. An empty feeling lodged somewhere deep inside him as he still struggled to believe that you would just leave like that.

Gally’s previous anger had simmered down, only to be replaced by dejection and an ache he couldn’t quite place. He wanted to be mad at you, wanted to blame you for wasting his time, for abandoning your place, for abandoning him… But, much to his dismay, none of that could overshadow the one feeling that swirled throughout his entire being, making his nerves stand on end and looming over him in a dark haze.

Fear. Fear for you.

The rational part of him knew that it wasn’t a death sentence. After all, Minho and the other runners were out there every day, and they were all still alive. Yet, the part that seemingly cared for you more than he had been willing to admit, didn’t want to cooperate. He couldn’t help it. He had a feeling something terrible was going to happen, he just knew it.

Gally thought he was ready for it. But he wasn’t.

As the booming sound of the doors closing for the night reached his eardrums, another distinct sound accompanied it. Commotion, yelling, Clint and Jeff’s names being called in the distance.

The builder’s heart dropped to his stomach, dread encompassing his strong body. That sound could only mean one thing.

Someone was hurt.

~~~~~

“What the hell happened?” Gally seethed as he stood by the Med Hut, where you were currently being tended to. His mighty fists clenched and unclenched with impatience as his heart pumped, furiously.

Minho, who was only adorned by a few scratches and bruises, looked at him, glumly.

“We ran into one. We almost got away, but then it grabbed her…” The Runner frowned, the visible strain in his muscles giving away his troubled state “I managed to distract it, I thought it would just drop her, but… It threw her pretty far.”

Gally felt his blood run cold, his teeth gritting and his fingernails digging into his rough palms. This was the feeling he had hoped he wouldn’t get to experience for a long, long time. The feeling of nearly losing someone who mattered to him. Someone he had so persistently and relentlessly tried to keep locked out of his thoughts, only to fail almost every time.

He should’ve talked you out of it. Should’ve made you listen, should’ve tried to change your mind, should’ve convinced you that you were nuts for even thinking about it. Was this partially his fault? If he had just tried to talk to you about it instead of getting angry and leaving you to choose on your own, could he have prevented this from happening?

He didn’t know… All Gally knew was that you were hurt. And there was nothing he could do about it now.

Gally drew in a deep breath, staring at the ground beneath his feet. His nerves prickled as Jeff finally emerged from the tent.

“Well? Is she gonna be okay?” He demanded, his hands balling into fists once again.

Jeff sighed but nonetheless nodded his head.

“I think so. Maybe not for a few days, but she should be. She’s concussed and has a pretty nasty scratch on her side, but… you know, could’ve been a lot worse.”

Gally exhaled with relief, his burly shoulders slacking. You were going to heal up. You were going to be fine. Eventually.

Minho and Jeff exchanged a look. They were so unused to the builder showing any real emotion, let alone when it came to you. But evidently he cared a lot more than he let on.

“She’s, uh… She’s awake. You can come in, if you want?” Jeff suggested, carefully, stepping aside to let Gally through.

Gally didn’t waste a second, barging right in.

And there, he was met with a sight that made the weight settled upon his shoulders even heavier. Though he was glad you weren’t too badly hurt, he still never would’ve wanted to see you like this.

You were awake. Bleary-eyed, exhausted, scrapes and bruises peppering your arms, and a bandage around your head, concealing the wound slightly to the right of your temple.

Though your head was ringing with a dull ache and your body felt like it had been drained from every ounce of strength it had, at least you were conscious and able to think and speak. Your brows arched in surprise as your tired gaze fell upon Gally.

“Hey…” You croaked out, your throat feeling dry. You hadn’t expected him to come check on you, especially not right away, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to see him.

“Hey…” He responded, quietly, slowly approaching your cot and sitting down by your side.

For a minute, silence overtook the room as you gazed up at him, almost awaitingly. Gally never wanted you to go out there. In his own way, he had tried to let you know what a terrible idea it was, but you had decided to do it anyway. Given how badly your last conversation with him had ended, you almost couldn’t believe he was there right now.

Gally huffed, softly, as you looked at him “What?”

You weakly shrugged, a forlorn smile touching the corner of your lips “Aren’t you gonna say you told me so?”

“Do I need to?” Gally sighed, momentarily casting his eyes downward before meeting your own again “Y/N, you know you’re lucky to be alive, right? That thing came this close to killing you. It Minho hadn’t been there-“

“I know…” You frowned, wincing at the pain in your temples “I mean… I knew they were out there. I just didn’t think I’d run into one on my very first try.”

Gally nodded, solemnly, his fingers itching with an unforeseen urge to cover your smaller hand with his own and hold tight.

He refrained, and after another moment of tense silence, he spoke again “So… You still wanna be a Runner?”

Your lips pinched into a thin line, the ache permeating your body paired with the horrific memories of what it was like out there swarming your mind and nudging you towards your answer.

You weren’t cut out for it. As much as you wanted to help, it just wasn’t for you. You weren’t strong enough, trained enough, or quick enough. Your intentions were good, but you now realized that running the maze wasn’t meant for everybody. Gally was right. You were lucky to be alive.

With a barely noticeable tremble to your bottom lip, you shook your head.

Gally nodded, slowly and understandingly, as if that was exactly the answer he’d anticipated.

Nevertheless, remembering his words from yesterday with a regretful sting to your heart, you plastered on a sulking half-smile.

“Doesn’t really matter now, though, does it? I’m gonna have to keep going. As soon as I feel better…”

Gally stayed quiet for a few seconds, his jaw clenching, before his gaze found yours once more.

“You can come back.” He stated with a softness to his voice you couldn’t say you had ever heard from him before.

Your tired eyes instantly widened, glimmering with hope “But you said-“

“I know what I said.” He gently cut you off, inadvertently shifting to sit just a little closer to you. It didn’t seem like he was even aware he had done it. “And now I’m saying I’ll give you your spot back. On one condition.”

A warm sensation of relief settled over you, cloaking your distressed nerves with comfort. You attempted to perk up, though you could only mange a slight lift of your head, signalling for him to keep going.

Gally breathed out a gust of air, staring into your eyes with sheer seriousness “Don’t ever think about doing that again, Y/N. I mean it.”

You hurried to shake your head “I won’t! I promise.”

“Yeah, you’re saying that now.” He huffed, quietly “But in a few months you’re gonna start to forget what this felt like, and then it might even start feeling like a good idea to try again. And that just can’t happen.”

You gave him a small smile, your gaze brimming with sincerity as you nodded.

“It won’t. Never again…” You promised, your voice slightly quivering “Thank you, Gally…”

The builder had to wrestle the need to hold your hand yet again, stopping himself by propping his hands up on his hips as he slowly stood up from your cot.

He needed to let you rest. But aside from that, he needed to get out of there. Because if he didn’t, he would probably end up staying there, right beside you, until morning.

“You’re welcome.” Gally muttered, wistfully looking over your fragile frame “Now get some sleep… You’re hurt.”

Your eyes were already drooping, the utter exhaustion from the terrible day you’d had finally overcoming your desire to stay awake for a little while longer. Your lips curled with a soft, appreciative smile as you looked at Gally one more time, in hopes that it would be enough to let him know how truly thankful you were for him being there for you.

Gally allowed a ghost of a smile to touch the corner of his mouth in return as he watched you drift off to a healing sleep. A few minutes passed by before he reluctantly slipped out of the tent.

You weren’t a Runner. You were a Builder, and that’s where you belonged. With them.

Next to him.

Tags: @seldomabsent @obsessivelycapricious @magnoliabloomfield @ultraintrovertedgryffindor @maraudersimp @abundantxadorations @izzymultifan @willseyebrows @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @anniemylennox @gallysonegoodlung @joemomma2121 @lattsgocaps @sherbertscarrothead-2 @lullabaesstuff @crazysheeplyca @thesuitkovian

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

[manjiropie]

do whatever is in your mind.

Young Mikey x Reader!

Warn! no warnings today! enjoy!

It's not often Mikey and I have a quarrel. We do bicker here and there, but that's what happens between friends, right?

I've joined Toman for almost a year now– although I've known Manjiro for much longer. I met him through Emma, who is a big friend of mine for as long as I can remember. She was there for me at times when I felt like there was no exit, no light. She's an extremely important part of my life– of me.

I've come to realize that I have been spending more and more time near Mikey, which is not bad, I do enjoy his presence. He may look tough and intimidating but he's just like a mochi: freezing cold on the outside but melting saccharine inside. Now that I'm a part of the gang and actually get to know and participate, I've gotten closer to him. Here and there Mikey invites me out.

"So, it's like a date?" I'd smirk suggestively at him.

"In your dreams." He'd try to hide his smile and he'd look away.

However, there are a few little habits he has that tend to send me on a rage trip. I get mad easily. Things will likely set on fire quickly. It's not that I want to, but my mother is not one of the most patient people in the world and she tells me to cool down. As if.

This last week was the cherry on top.

Mikey had crossed the line. He had pissed me off in every single way possible. He pretended not to listen to me while he was eating. He would answer me in a "oh, I don't really fucking care about what you're talking about!" way. He tripped while he was laughing hysterically at something Draken had said and his pink lemonade was all over my white shirt. He drew in an assignment that was due to the next day for my math class. He told me off for no reason at all in front of everyone in the last Toman's meeting... all of that wasn't on purpose. I am aware of how incredibly short his attention spam is when it comes to not so important affairs. But, fuck, couldn't he just be a little nicer to me? At least during last week where I was having sharp cramps in my fucking uterus? Yeah, maybe he didn't know that because I try not to be so obvious. But when he told us we'd be training last thursday I almost laid on the ground in fetal position and cried for hours. I didn't! I fought and then went home and cried.

Then, this Saturday– today –he invited me to his house to hang out. Emma was with a friend and his grandfather was out of town. When he called me to his house we never did much. We'd watch TV, hang out on the couch discussing stupid stuff, we'd be on our phones... nothing so wow. It was still fun, though.

I wasn't in the best mood to leave my comfy bed but I was way less in the mood to fight him off over the phone. So I slid out of the bed and dressed the first jeans I saw laying on the end of my bed and the oversized Nirvana shirt hanging off my chair (it's actually my dad's shirt, shhh).

~

I knocked twice on his bedroom's door.

"Come in." He yelled from inside. I open the door and he's laying on the bed, his head hanging off of it and his hair is almost touching the floor. His face lit up and he rolled over so he laid on his stomach. I walk over and sit down beside him.

"What's up with the frown?" I didn't notice I was frowning to be honest. Guess the bad mood followed me here.

I shrug.

"Ugh, don't tell me you're in a bad mood." He whines. "I called you here to chill and you're already angry. What's up?" He lays on his pillow and swings his legs to place them on my lap. I huff and shove them off, getting up.

"You've been treating me like shit the whole week and now you wanna chill?" I say, more calm than I thought.

"I did not treat you like shit this week? When do I treat you like shit?" His tone was one of disbelief and confusion.

"Ah, Mikey. Embarrassing me in front of the rest of gang; spilling your drink on my school shirt, which is now stained; ignoring me or answering like you're bored..." I list them off on my fingers. "I am the one who asks, what's up with you?! God, you're always being so unpredictable, which is good sometimes but not like this! Not to me!"

I flop down on the couch, starting to get tired of this whole thing. Knowing Mikey, I know that he'll not lay down again.

"So you're the only one allowed to have bad days now?" He sits on the edge of his bed and I turn my head around lazily, uninterested, bored, like him.

"You were laughing incredibly loud with Takemitchi and Draken friday."

"You can be so annoying sometimes."

"Oh, I'm the annoying one now?" I stand up.

"If you don't like my company, why did you even come in first place?" He also stands. We don't have much height difference, but he's hardly two inches taller than me.

His voice is calm, like always. Which makes me infuriated. "Fucking hell! Does it hurt for you to apologize!?" My sudden outburst takes him on surprise, and me, too.

"I already apologized, stop whining about it."

"I'm not whining–"

"If you weren't," he walks to his desk and sets a cup that was once beside his bed down. "You would've dropped this matter before."

"You don't give a damn about what I feel, do you, Mikey?"

"What?" He turns around, brows knit together.

"You heard me. You made me have a bad week and the least you could do is apologize, you dumbass!" I stomp to his direction.

"I already did! Why don't you–"

"Shut up or I'll punch you." I say, slightly looking up.

His eyebrows twitch and he slowly tilts his head to the side, like a puppy. "Or what.. ?"

"Are you fucking deaf?" I point to my ears.

He comes a little closer. "You're gonna do what if I don't shut up?"

"I'm going to punch you if you don't stop being a brat." I sneer at him. My blood boiling. The stress from this shitty past week overflowing in that moment.

"Oh, yeah?" I could feel his breath oh my nose.

"What? Are you doubting me? I would." I jerk up an eyebrow. I've never fought physically with him. But it's not like I can't.

"I'd like to see you try." His eyes flicker to my lips for a brief second and my breath fails, making me cough.

"What? Can't punch me?" He amuses.

"Fuck you."

Suddenly I feel an arm sneak around my waist and in a second I'm chest to chest with Mikey. My eyes widen– his were peaceful as ever, although superior.

"Do it." He says, looking down at me.

The way he's holding me is making my head spin. True, Mikey is cute...

"Do what?"

He laughs at my confused expression. "I don't know... what did you say you'd do to me?"

Ha ha.

His hold on me tightens.

"Do whatever is on your mind." He says.

My eyes roam free between his eyes and his soft pink lips. Do whatever is on your mind.

If he knew what was on my mind, would he still allow me to?

"Do it," he encourages me once again, "aren't you the 'oh so brave' one? Punch me, yell at me, do whatever you want to me."

Those words were the last push I needed. My hands find the soft skin of his neck, hidden by his long hair. I pull him close and lock our lips together. I feel him making a little sound, I don't know if it was surprise or relief.

If by just looking at it his lips seemed soft, actually touching it felt like kissing cotton candy or guessing cloud shapes.

He didn't pull back, in fact, he held me with both hands. I have no clue how he did that but it seemed as though all of my worries dissipated as we kissed.

My heart was beating so fast that it made my chest hurt. My head started to pound when I spent a little too long without air. I pull back from his lips and keep my gaze on them as I breathe heavily.

"Hm." He hums quietly, almost dreamily if you'd ask me.

I look up at his face and smile a bit, noticing how his cheeks are pink. I lift an eyebrow up as if asking what he was thinking. He shakes his head and then puts his right hand on my cheek, caressing it. He kisses me again. This time is slower. As though being present in the moment. As if it were just me and him and nothing else.

----------

I hope you guys liked It! It was so pleasant writing this out of the small bits of ideas that I have. Don't forget: my requests are open. You can request anything! Thank you for reading! Oh, likes and reblogs help a lot! If you consider following it'd make me even happier <3

[drabbles-mc]

Game Day

EZ Reyes & Angel Reyes & Sister!Reader

Day 11 of the July Prompts and a request from @cherieann-2001​: football and How about American Football game with Ez/Angel/and Baby sister Reyes? They all like three different teams within the same division so whenever two of the teams play each other there is a lot of trash talking etc. But they love one another at the end of it all.

Warnings: language, alcohol

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: The Reyes Family deserves happy times together and that’s all I have to say about that.

EZ/Angel Taglist: @garbinge @ly--canthrope @noz4a2 @queenbeered @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @appropriate-writers-name @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @sillygoose6969 @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @bucky-iss-bae @enjoy-the-destruction @encounterthepast @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @masterlistforimagines​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @crowfootwrites​ @redpoodlern​ @punkgoddess-98​ @black-repunzel99​ @lexondeck​ @mrsstevenbuchananstark​ @berniesilvas​ @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo​ @helli4nthus​ @angelreyesgirl​ @starrynite7114​ @lilacyennefer​ @luckyharley1903​

“You guys ready to lose?!” Angel called out as he flung open the door to Felipe’s house.

You were fast at work in the kitchen, laughing and shaking your head at the dramatics of his entrance. Over the years, despite everything that had ever happened in the Reyes family, all of you still managed to come together during football season. Sometimes it felt like you only came together just to give each other shit over your teams, but it was nice that some things didn’t change, didn’t get lost.

He looked around and quickly realized that you were the only one in the kitchen, if not the entire house. Walking over, he placed a kiss on top of your head, “Hermanita,” he glanced around once more, “you the only one holding it down out here?”

You chuckled, shaking your head, “No, Pops and EZ are out back by the grill,” you looked up from the pan in front of you, “Feel free to go and help.”

“Nah,” Angel chuckled before going and grabbing a beer out of the fridge, “I’d much rather stay in here and bother you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Damn, and here I was thinking that you were actually going to offer to help.”

“You want my help?” he cocked an eyebrow.

Your sigh turned into a laugh, “That’s a fair point.”

“When’d you get here anyway?” he asked before taking a swig of his drink.

“This morning,” you covered the pan on the stove and turned the heat down, “Had breakfast with Pop before you boys could show up and disturb the peace.”

“What are you two troublemakers up to in here?” EZ asked with a chuckle as he walked inside, a plate in his hands piled with food that Felipe had been cooking outside.

“Oh, nothing,” you smile, “just figuring out how we’re going to celebrate when the Chiefs choke tonight.”

EZ scoffed, a smile on his face, “Big talk for a girl whose team is already out of the running,” he grabbed himself a fresh beer from the fridge and took a drink, “Brave of you to wear those colors around here, considering,” he nodded towards your jersey.

“This isn’t gang territory,” you laughed as you leaned back against the counter, “Besides if Angel can wear his, I can wear mine.”

“You can all go change,” Felipe said as he walked in with the last of the food, shaking his head all the way over to the counter.

All three of you laughed, knowing and loving that he always put on an annoyed front when you were all there. You knew that if the three of you showing up and causing a ruckus every weekend was really a problem, he wouldn’t hesitate to kick you all out. But he enjoyed it as much as the rest of you, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Time together with the four of you was rare, and no one knew and felt the value of it all quite as much as your father did. For all his grumbling about the yelling and the shit-talking, and shaking his head at the amount of food that three of you would burn through, you would always show up to a full fridge every Sunday morning when you came to have breakfast with him. And the living room would always be clean and set up perfectly for all of you to hang out there later. You loved him, though, so you let him continue to pretend to be bothered by it. It kept you and your brothers amused, after all.

“We gotta get you one, too, Pops,” Angel said with a laugh.

“One what?” Felipe didn’t look amused at all.

“A jersey,” he gestured to himself, “I feel like these are your colors.”

“No way,” EZ chimed in, shaking his head, “He’s not gonna—”

Felipe interrupted, cutting off the discussion before it could continue, “Is it done?” he looked at you and then nodded towards the stove.

You nodded, laughing at his dismissal of the heated debate that was about to take place, “Yea, all set to go. Was just waiting for you and Boy Wonder to finish grilling.”

“Boy Wonder?” EZ looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“What? Sounds like an upgrade from Boy Scout if you’re asking me,” Angel smirked.

“I’ll demote him again after his team loses,” you laughed.

“They won’t,” EZ shook his head, adamant about his position, “No chance.”

“We’ll see,” your voice was singsongy as you helped get everything together.

You were listening to the two of them going back and forth as you started bringing everything to the table. You might’ve all been grown, with your own lives, problems, and responsibilities, but something about getting together for games at Felipe’s turned all of you back into punk kids again. It was all jokes and headlocks and pushing each other off the couch after dinner. And Felipe would always sit and watch from his chair, fighting to keep a straight face and not feed into your antics but smiling and laughing along with you. But you could always see it in his eyes, even when he was watching you trying to tackle Angel to the floor in the middle of the living room, he’d rather have you all there than anywhere else in the world.

The game was well underway, and the now-empty dinner plates were all stacked off to the side. EZ kept promising that at the next commercial break he’d bring them into the kitchen, but it never happened.

“Oh!” you bumped his shoulder with your own, “Called it! Choked!”

EZ laughed shaking his head as he gave you a shove back, sending you into Angel’s side, “You sound more and more like him every damn day.”

“There are worse brothers to take after,” Angel laughed as he draped his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side and preparing to put you in a headlock.

“Angel,” Felipe spoke up, waiting for you all to look at him, and all he did was give a slight shake of his head, causing Angel to let you go.

“You don’t gotta protect me, you know,” you laughed, “He’s not even that strong.”

“Pfft,” Angel shook his head, “That’s it, you’re done.”

Your scream turned into laughter as he threw you in a headlock, threatening to pull you down onto the floor. You turned your body, managing to pull your legs up and press your feet against him, pushing yourself away and getting him to break his hold on you with a laugh. He easily lifted and move your legs back off the couch, shaking his head.

“Not even that strong,” he muttered as he returned his attention to the game, “Bullshit.”

“I mean,” EZ chuckled as he got up to finally bring the plates into the kitchen, “she did get out of that pretty quick.”

“Shut up,” Angel crumpled a napkin and threw it at him, “Aren’t you supposed to be watching your team lose?”

“Don’t make him drop those dishes,” Felipe spoke up, “Or you’ll be buying me new ones.”

“Oh,” you chimed in, “don’t let Angel pick out China patterns. Please.”

“We’re supposed to be friends, you know,” Angel chuckled, “If I can’t trust you on game day, who can I trust?”

“No one!” you laughed as you reached down, grabbing the napkin he’d thrown and chucking it back at him, hitting him square on the forehead.

“Heads up!” EZ called as he walked back into the living room, carefully lofting a beer bottle to Angel. He sat down, handing you one before passing you the bottle opener.

The three of you settled down a little now that you had fresh bottles, not wanting to spill anything on your father’s couch. That ran the risk of genuinely frustrating him. And you knew that the spiller would be the one who either had to clean it, or replace it. That wasn’t a responsibility that anyone wanted on their shoulders.

EZ was in his glory as the game came to an end, his team managing to come out of it all on top. He stood up, holding his arms out, “Called it!” he turned back to you and Angel, “And you thought they were gonna choke.”

“They did for a while, there, Boy Scout,” Angel piped up with a chuckle.

“Still won, though,” a cocky smirk was plastered across his face.

“Shut up,” you swiped the bottle caps off the table and tossed them all at him with a laugh.

You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees as you ran your hands down your face. It’d been a long day. Good, as they always were, but you could feel yourself starting to get tired. You glanced over at your father, chuckling quietly when you saw that he was passed out in his chair. You nudged Angel with your elbow, nodding over to the chair with a soft laugh.

“It’s exhausting dealing with you two knuckleheads,” Angel said with a laugh.

“Learned from the best,” you shot back with a smile.

You draped a blanket over your father, leaving him to sleep in peace. The three of you all cleaned up the kitchen and living room, restoring it to its former glory. As much as you wanted to say goodbye, you knew that Felipe would just be mad that you all woke him up. So with that, you all made your way outside. Their bikes were parked alongside your car, and there was something so reassuring about the sight of them all lined up together.

“Alright,” you gave them each a hug, “Stay outta trouble. Love you.”

“Love you,” Angel swung his leg over his bike, clipping his helmet on.

“Love you,” EZ smirked as he walked over to his bike, “And you can just call me whenever to tell me that I was right about the game. You have my number.”

You shook your head, smiling as you unlocked your car, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

[hobis-hope94]

~He Promised Part 2/???~

AN: I’m giving it to you guys early as I’m gonna be away all weekend and I keep tweeking it so it’s kinda driving me mad! Enjoy part two! (we’re gonna pretend that the boys are fixing your sink in that gif Kay). Takes place right before TFATWS. Also I write this on notes on my phone & im dyslexic so there maybe some spelling mistakes, sorry!

Characters: f!reader, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson. Steve Rogers is mentioned.

Warnings: I think lots of crying? Maybe the odd swear word - references to FRIENDS (the tv show) and mentions of food and alcohol, tiny bit of angst but I think mostly fluff? Also Y/N is horny for Bucky (I mean same)

(gif not mine)

You were on the road to recovery. The first thing you did when you woke up from your nap with Bucky was ask Bucky to help you clear out Steve’s stuff.

“Keep? Or toss?” Bucky asked every so often as you sat cross legged on your bed.

Bucky held up a jumper you had gotten him as a joke. When the Avengers became famous, there was loads of merchandise - you even had a few action figures looking like you.

But your first Christmas, as a joke, you brought Steve a Captain America Christmas jumper. He claimed it was his favourite, and wore it anytime it was cold enough to wear it.

“Toss,” you said after a long pause.

Bucky nodded and put in the charity shop box. The last thing you had to get rid of was the folder that had your wedding plans.

You sat with the giant folder, written across in your best fancy writing: Mr & Mrs Rogers with loads of hearts. Bucky’s heart broke as your face fell when you saw the beautiful folder.

He sat next to you as you gently ran your hands over it when you picked it up, tears formed in your eyes.

“Are you sure you wanna get rid of it, doll?” Bucky asked gently, as you slowly opened it and flicked through the pages, tears running free down your face.

Bucky wanted to hold you, but he held back. He wanted to hold you and take all the pain his best friend caused you away. But he held back.

“I don’t need it anymore,” you said, bravely but your tears suggested otherwise.

You took in what would have been a beautiful wedding. The last image you saw was your wedding dress.

Your eyes stung with tears, you remembered how excited you were when you found THE DRESS.

You called Natasha in a pit of excitement. You were glad you didn’t buy it straight away. You remembered the day you went to see it in the flesh, Natasha had to calm you down because you began crying with pure happiness. You painfully missed Natasha, she was your best friend.

You were actually planning on buying it the day Thanos snapped his fingers and turned half the world to dust.

You entirely blamed Thanos for the rift he caused between you and Steve. You unfortunately didn’t survive the snap, and the worst part? You weren’t with Steve when it happened. You were fighting alongside Natasha when it happened, you remember feeling a pain like no other, then you turned to Natasha and your words were “tell Stevie, I’m sorry … and I love him.” Then you were gone.

Five years is a long time to be away from your what you thought was your soulmate. He must have moved on from you sometime during those five years apart.

You slammed the folder shut, making Bucky jump slightly. You handed it to him.

“I don’t need it,” you said, “you can do what you please, please,” you added as you hoisted up the boxes and took to the car.

Bucky nodded.

“I’m off to put these in the charity shop. Somebody else will make use of them,” you informed Bucky and he nodded again as you left after bidding him goodbye.

Bucky felt some sadness wash over him as he flicked gently through the pages.

You were so excited for your wedding. You had set a date and everything. Bucky’s heart shattered at how crushed you felt when Steve left you.

Bucky carefully shut the folder, knowing you wouldn’t mind if he burnt it. So he set the fire up, and carefully placing it in and watching it slowly melt.

Bucky wanted to do more for you, to take all your pain away. He tried to every day he spent with you.

Bucky stayed with you for an entire month helping you completely redecorate your apartment. New coats of paint, new furniture. You were slowly falling hard for him and little did you know, he was falling for you too.

The bedroom was now entirely yours.

You painted the walls of Y/F/C, you had blinds instead of curtains, there was a coffee table underneath the window, which had a houseplant you decided to name Rocket (after Rocket Racoon) and a Bluetooth speaker.

You had a dressing table right opposite the bed, a mirror with lights around it like they have in Broadway dressing rooms.

Yes, you will admit, on your good days, you’d turn the big lights off and the mirror lights on and start belting out songs from your favourite musicals. It was pure escapism and you loved it - unaware that Bucky in the newly decorated guest/office room loved hearing you mindlessly sing (sometimes completely out of tune).

You also had a little bookshelf in the corner of your room behind your door. These books were all your absolute favourite books - ones that you’d read over and over again, so you wanted them in reach and comfort of your bedroom. Next to the book shelf was a comfy chair with one of your favourite blankets draped over it.

The room was entirely yours, just like the apartment.

You looked at an empty wall on your side of the bed that normally was covered in Polaroids of you and Steve. You decided to take all the ones involving Steve down, that was emotionally draining. Each photograph you looked happy …

“how could he just up and leave me like I meant nothing?” You silently sobbed as you took your favourite photo of you and Steve.

It was one rainy afternoon and you were cuddled right up against Steve, your head on his broad shoulder, sound asleep, he had his arm wrapped lovingly around you, his head resting on yours, he was also sleeping. Sam had taken the picture without you knowing. When Sam showed you, you thanked him endlessly and it was your favourite photo … but now it just hurts to look at it. So you tore it up quickly before the tears began falling.

You gently hung some of you, Natasha and Wanda on your girls’ night, you and Clint teaching you archery, you and Peter pulling stupid faces, you and Tony and Bruce working in the lab together, you and Sam singing karaoke at one of Tony’s parties (you were sure you two were randomly singing “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” by Elton John), the time you went to Shield Headquarters and TOTALLY geeked out the entire time - even though you were meant to be professional, the time Thor surprised you with a trip to Asgard on your 21st (greatest day ever, he held a celebration in your name and you partied hard with the Asgardians, your hangover the next day, however was NOT fun), when you and Natasha and Wanda went to Wakanda to visit Shuri.

You surprised yourself when you found a selfie of you and Loki, you had gotten quite close to Loki. The selfie was you being extremely happy and Loki looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but with you, but you could see a tiny weeny smile spreading on his face, he was a good friend, and you missed him dearly, you smiled and put that photo in a frame and placed it on your nightstand.

“I miss you, Lokes. You’d know what to do,” you whispered, leaving a kiss on your middle and index finger then gently placing the kiss on Loki’s face.

Yes, you had grown so close to Loki that you were the only one he’d let call Lokes. Thor once tried it, but he nearly ended up headless and you laughed at their brotherly rivalery.

You realised as you hung all the Steve-less ones up there, you had none of Bucky.

“That’s gotta change,” you said softly.

You gently ripped all the ones of Steve up and threw them in the bin.

You came out of your bedroom to find Bucky had called Sam over since you were getting better. You gave Sam a big smile, he returned it.

“Buck called me over to help fix your plumbing. You seriously wanted a new sink?” Sam asked.

“Bucky,” Bucky growled at Sam, making you giggle.

You didn’t fail to notice Bucky was shirtless, you swooned a little. Not a little … a lot. Shit, you were falling for him.

“I want new everything, Sam. I need a new change. A new me. A new life. I need to get over my man, since I wasn’t good enough for him anyway. I gotta show myself that I’m good enough for everyone else and Rogers doesn’t matter,” you said as you sat yourself up on the kitchen counter.

Sam smiled.

“I’m glad you’re beginning to be yourself again, Y/N/N,” Sam said gently, handing you a beer.

You smiled as you clinked yours with his.

“Sam, are you gonna sit around and talk or are you gonna get your ass over here and help me?” Bucky growled from under the sink.

“Yes, Sargent,” Sam teased, doing a mock salute making you laugh.

You watched as the men got to work, then after you felt yourself heating up every so often from watching Bucky, you quickly hopped down from the counter and went into the living room to organise your bookshelf.

You had MILLIONS of books. You used to joke you could open a mini library and sometimes when you lived in the compound, the other Avengers would sneak into your room and borrow a book.

You gave them clear instructions to bring them back in one piece or you’d personally make their life a living hell, luckily, each Avenger always obeyed your orders - you really had them wrapped around your finger.

Since you had enough books to run a book shop, Bucky made you a large enough book shelf, one that snaked around your TV, and it had more than enough space.

You were sat cross legged on the floor, surrounded by your dozens of books when Bucky came and stood behind you.

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asked.

“I was trying to decide how I want to organise my books. Do I do it by author? Author’s surname? Fiction to non fiction? Crime to drama? Comedy to tragedy? History to historical fiction? Plays to screen plays? Or simply by the colours of the spine? I can’t decide,” you huffed.

Bucky chuckled.

“Pick up the first two books and read the title, then decide,” Bucky said gently.

You shut your eyes and gently grabbed two books. One was Hamlet and the other was The Planets by Professor Brian Cox. One being a Shakespearen play and the other being non fiction.

“Well that’s absolutely useless,” you laughed, Bucky smiled.

In the end, you decided to go by colours of the spines. You stood back at your handy work and smiled to yourself.

After everything was finished, Bucky had a shower and changed, Sam did so as well after Bucky.

You and the boys ordered a pizza, you decided to watch FRIENDS since Bucky hadn’t seen it yet, since you’ve seen it a billion times, you knew every episode off by heart.

Sam rolled his eyes with a smile when he caught you mouthing along to the episode.

“You’re a nerd you know that,” Sam said smiling, nudging you as you helped yourself to some garlic bread.

“Hey, buddy, I didn’t tease you when you met Director Nick Fury for the first time and you literally squealed once he left,” you said popping the bread in your mouth.

“Oh yeah, who actually thought they were gonna pass out from excitement when they first arrived at Shield Headquarters? Hint: it wasn’t me or Bucky,” Sam teased.

You poked your tongue out at him, he did the same, Bucky laughed softly at your interaction with Sam. Bucky was happy to see you be yourself again.

“Hey … Um. Y/N. I hate to ask and I really wouldn’t …. But um….Steve’s memorial is next week,” Sam said coughing in between.

You tensed, so did Bucky. Bucky wasn’t going to go because not only did Steve break your heart, he lied to Bucky too.

“Good for you. I hope it’s on a Tuesday,” you said sarcastically and bitterly, staring at the tv, focusing on Ross and Rachel having yet another fight.

“Y/N. The government want you there as well. We’re the only remaining Avengers left,” Sam said gently.

“What about Peter? Thor? Peter Quill? Groot? Nebula? Rocket? Doctor Strange? Wanda’s out there somewhere? Bruce is out there somewhere as well. Clint can’t stay away for too long. Heck, even Bucky? Nope. I’m not going and that’s finale, Sam,” you said firmly.

“Y/N, please consider. The government don’t care about Parker, they don’t care about the God of Thunder, they couldn’t give two tosses about the Guardians. They don’t care about Bruce or Clint or Strange either. They want people who knew Steve Rogers really well, and that’s you me and Bucky,” Sam said gently, feeling horrible for even asking you, the government had been on his ass for the last three months.

Sam had tried protesting, protecting you. Saying you didn’t want to be there nor did you have to be. But the government began to make life hard for Sam. He was finding it difficult.

“Yeah well, the government can kiss my ass,” you said grumpily, standing up in a huff. “I’m getting something from the kitchen. Need anything?” You asked quick to drop the current conversation.

“Y/N -“ Sam said gently, regretting his choice of words or even asking.

“I’ll get us a refill,” you huffed leaving the room.

You weren’t mad at Sam, not really. How could you be? He’s like a brother to you.

You knew he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t have to. You ran your hands under cold water and splashed your face to cool yourself down.

You shook your feelings away, got three beers and went back into the living room to continue the night. When you entered the room, the boys fell silent, both stared at you for a while before turning their attention back to the screen.

“Bucky must have told Sam not to say anymore,” you thought as you silently thanked Bucky with your eyes and he gave you a curt nod as you sat down.

After a few more episodes, you offered Sam a room for the night, Sam kindly declined, thinking he’d upset you and then left. You wanted to tell him that he hadn’t, but Sam left no room for you to speak before leaving.

“Shit,” you thought.

You were hoping Sam would stay the night. You slowly realised you had fallen hard for Bucky. You were putting the empty pizza boxes away when you re entered your apartment.

“HotGuy97 wants a date with you,” Bucky said, smiling softly, he hadn’t meant to look at your messages, but a notification pinged while you were out, and it was Tinder.

He didn’t actually read the message, he just saw the name. You gently took your phone from him. The guy was somewhat handsome.

“Well. He’s no David Tennant is he?” You joked, Bucky smiled slightly and went to put the empty beer bottles away.

You kindly declined the offer on what apparently would have been: “the greatest night of your life and you’d come back wanting more.”

You then decided to delete the app, partly because of the creepy message you had just gotten but also the majority was that you decided you weren’t ready to entirely start dating again. Five years of loving just one person is a long time. You weren’t ready for a new relationship yet.

“I’m gonna go to bed, night doll,” Bucky said gently, kissing your forehead, then leaving.

You swooned hard after that interaction. You gulped knowing that you loved Bucky.

You loved him more than you ever loved Steve. You wanted Bucky, and since you weren’t very good at reading people and Bucky was an expert at keeping his emotions locked up, you weren’t sure if Bucky liked you that way back.

You said your bright goodnight then made a quick escape to your bedroom. You laid in bed, looking at the ceiling.

You opened your phone and you had forgotten to change your lock screen -it was of Steve, so was your home screen.

You deleted all the photos of Steve you had on there and decided to honour your best friend Natasha.

You set your Lock Screen as a landscape photograph you took of her underneath the Eiffel Tower. You smiled. You decided your Home Screen for now was going to be of some random pattern. You shut your phone off and tried not to think about Bucky.

But you failed horribly and ended up dreaming about him, that you two got married and had kids the lot.

Little did you know, Bucky was in the other room trying to stop thinking about you.

You were his best friend’s girl. Even though Steve hurt him deeply, he could never hurt Steve like that. Bucky decided that you only saw him as a friend and tried getting some sleep, only to dream of you.

Tag list:

@jessyballet

@wxnter-sxldier

enjoy!

[word-scribbless]

Oh Baby Chapter 10

Wooo there’s a lot happening in this bad boy! And a lot of cute dad Gibbs moments! Enjoy! Thanks to the lovely @leroyjethrogibbsgirl for the brainstorming and writing sessions!

Masterlist | oh baby master list

—————

Since Amelia’s party the Gibbs family had been doing pretty well. They were still doing family counseling sessions, and Y/N and Gibbs had been going together as well. Y/N knew since gibbs wasn’t a talker, if they went together he’d get to hear strategies that they told Y/N to try and wouldn’t feel so alone.

Gibbs had even agreed to start a low dose of medication to help with his panic and episodes. Y/N was beyond proud of her husband and couldn’t believes the process he made. Sniper was also a big help, and the fact that his little girl loved snuggling up to him, which always calmed him down.

Y/N was feeling close to normal again until Gibbs got a call from Vance that had him seething. She set Amelia and Piper up with toys in her room and went in to check on Gibbs.

“Hey baby wh-“

“He’s out”

“What? Who?Y/N asked and then froze. “That maniac that tried to take our daughter is out?”

“Escaped during transport. Agents are coming here to guard the house, but I’m staying and working the case from here. Dinozzo’s got point at NCIS. I’m not leaving you girls.”

She hugged him tight, amazed that he was not running to the navy yard to make sure he can tackle the man himself.

It had been a solid week of fear for the Gibbs family. All three of them stayed hunkered in their home with police details around the perimeter. Y/n made sure to not scare Amelia by making it like a mini vacation but Gibbs could tell it was getting to her. And y/n could tell it was wearing Jethro down. She had even began to suspect that he had stopped taking his medication.

He was on edge, more so than normal, moody and a little snappy. Y/N also noticed that when she went to put her bottle of new meds away that Gibbs’ hadn’t been touched.

Y/N had woke up that morning, expecting her husband to already be up grumbling around like usual.

She was surprised when she walks downstairs to Jethro making breakfast. She smiled and kissed his cheek, scooping Amelia from her seat.

“Hey there my cuties! How are we doing?” She asked as she goes to put coffee on.

“Good just got up” Gibbs said as he kissed both girls.

“I can tell, no coffee yet.” She laughed and Amelia said.

“Poppa love coffee!”

“He sure does!” Y/N agreed.

“Coffee and my girls, all I need” He said with a smile.

As they sat down for their breakfast they suddenly heard a loud bang and yelling at the front door. Suddenly their door was knocked down and the man that had once again put them through hell was facing him.

“Where is my grand daughter!?” He screamed.

Gibbs grabbed his gun quickly from the safe and Pushed Y/N with Amelia in her arms behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gibbs yelled and moved further between his girls and the man.

“I’m here from my grand daughter!” He lunged forward and Y/N thought quickly throwing the freshly brewed coffee at him, giving her time to get Amelia out of the room and lock them both in the bathroom, calling 911.

By the time Y/N was off the phone, she heard a gun shot and huddled Ami closer to her until Jethro knocked on the door “it’s me it’s safe.”

He whispered and Y/N leaned enough to unlock the door while huddling Amelia close. Gibbs pushed in and scooped his girls in his arms.

“He’s gone” he said and kissed her head. “We’re safe.”

“Gone gone?” She asked.

He nodded “pulled a gun on me, officers saw it. It’s already been declared self defense... it’s over.”

She nodded and snuggled into him allowing Amelia to cling to them both as he continued to sooth them both.

“We need to head to NCiS to for debrief and report officially.”

“Bad man gone? We see my Ziva?”

“Yeah baby the bad man is gone and we’ll see your Ziva and uncles probie and Tony.”

“Yayyy daddy keep us safe”

“Always” Gibbs said as he snuggled her close.

The Gibbs family showed up and NCIS a little worse for wear. Y/N was holding onto Amelia pretty tight, she clung back around her neck even tighter and had her little hand around her dad’s finger as they walked.

Gibbs was very agitated and y/N could tell. He separated and went to debrief with the director.

Y/N and Amelia say and Gibb’s desk with Ziva and the rest of the team when Gibbs came out. “I’m done with this, you should have done more they heard Gibbs scream and slam the door, his flip phone bouncing off the floor.

“Gibbs” director Vance shouted as Y/N and Tony stood up to go after Gibbs and Amelia became crying.

“Jethro!” Y/N yelled as she and and Tony caught up to him as he reached the elevator.

“I’m fine!” He grunted.

“You’re not” Tony said

“You’re shaking” y/n pointed out and held his hand. He shook her off and gruffly said “I am fine.”

“Boss you’re not. You need to get yourself together.” Tony said

“For us, for me and your daughter” she said and Gibbs looked up to where Amelia was crying in ziva’s arms.

He sniffed and nodded his head taking Y/N’s hand.

“I scared her”

“We’re all scared, we need you. It’s okay if you’re scared but we need you.”

He nodded again and y/N started to pull him toward the desks

“will you hear us out? Let us help you? Please?” Y/N asked as he scooped Amelia from Ziva.

“Peas let us help poppa! We no want you be angy! Me and momma give you huggies and we all feel better!” She squeaked as she hugged him. “Get help for mealia poppa!” She said nuzzling into him and he could feel the last of his walls breaking down.

“I’m sorry I yelled baby! I’m so sorry.” He sniffled and held onto her and Y/N’s hand.

“It’s Otay poppa! Me and momma and da team help you!”

“That’s right boss we’re here” Ziva said and Tony and McGee nodded.

“Jethro” y/n whispered. “Needing help, needing medication or a counselor isn’t weak.”

“I know” he whispered. “You’re the strongest person I know I just, I shouldn’t need all that to protect you.”

“You don’t need that to protect us but you do need help to manage the anxiety of the situation. We all do. And most of all we need you. So please do whatever it takes to make sure we have that?”

He nodded and hugged his girls to him “anything for you both.”

“We can all go together tonight, I’ll call in an emergency appointment, please?”

Gibbs nodded and looked at his team.

“We’ll wrap this up and we’ll deliver dinner to your house tonight” ducky insists.

“Thank you all” Gibbs whispered as he and his girls got on the elevator.

“Thank you for sticking by me, I’m so sorry I scared you.” Gibbs said as he guided his girls towards the car.

“Poppa no scary” Amelia said “poppa saved us and was angry at scary guy!”

“Yup poppa is our hero!” Y/n said

“Momma was pretty brave today too, I taught you well but where’d that coffee trick come from.” He smiled.

“Needed to protect our baby bear” she chuckled and ticketed Amelia’s side.

Gibbs smiled whispering “I love you momma bear”

“And we’re both very glad we have you as the poppa bear to our momma and baby bear!”

Gibbs smiled and kissed Y/N before driving home.

About 2 weeks after the incident at the Gibbs home and the impromptu intervention, things were looking up for the Gibbs family. Gibbs, Y/N and Amelia had all been attending counseling, together and separately, whatever any of them needed.

Gibbs was getting back into the swing of taking his medication and finally feeling safer and more relaxed about Amelia not being right near him. There were tough days for all involved but they always had each other to lean on.

Lately when Gibbs was working on his boat the girls would sneak away to Amelias room to work on a “secret project” or “the -ecret propject” as Amelia called it. Gibbs played along and smiled after Y/N told him she promised she’d give his first mate back to help on his boat as soon as the project was finished.

Gibbs knew Father’s Day was coming up and couldn’t deny he was pretty excited for their “propject”. So he would take Sniper down the basement with him instead of his girls to keep him company.

While Gibbs and His puppy son were having bonding time with the boat, the girls were hard at work on a few very special gifts and Amelia (and Y/N had been having a very hard time keeping a secret. The night before Father’s Day Y/N wrapped up the gifts in brown butchers paper and had Amelia color all over it. She hid it away and smiled as she thought about his face when he would open it.

The next morning Y/N woke up bright and early somehow succeeding in waking up before her perpetually early husband. He didn’t stay sleeping long, when she moved to get up he rasped “morning baby”

She huffed and turned to kiss him. “Good morning handsome, but it’s Father’s Day so please either go back to sleep or just lay here and pretend we woke you up in like 15 minutes. “Yes ma’am” he smiled as she got and went to leave the room before popping her head back in. “And happy Father’s Day, thanks for doing this whole parenting thing with me.” She added, causing his face to break into a big smile.

She left the room and snuck into Amelias room, kissed her head.

“Hey baby” she said and watched her daughter sleepily open her eyes.

“Hi momma” she whispered and the. Promptly added “poppa?”

Y/N giggled and answered “it’s poppa day so we’re gonna bring him coffee in bed!”

“Yayyy!” She cheered

Y/N and Amelia prepared Gibbs coffee and presents and headed upstairs.

That snuck into his and Y/N’s room and “woke” him up by kissing his cheeks.

“Well hello there my beautiful girls, and boy” he said and kissed them both, patting sniper, who had followed them in, on the head.

“HAPPY POPPA DAY POPPA!” Amelia squealed as Gibbs set his coffee down to scoop her up!

“We has presents!”

“You do?” Gibbs asked with a smile as Y/N set them down for Amelia to give him.

“We worked really hard on these ones huh meals? We started a few months ago.” Y/N said as Gibbs began to open the larger package leaving out that they had actually started this project when they were in protective custody, to help them not miss him so much.

As he tore the paper he saw 2 scrap books and couldn’t help but smile as he flipped through the first one that said family.

There were over a dozen decorated pages with pictures of his family. Every group he’d ever called his family in fact. Old pictures of when he was a boy, pictures with Mike franks and dwayne pride from his early days of NCIS, pictures with Shannon and Kelly, pictures of his current NCIS team with hand written notes from each of his 3 agents and plenty of pictures of him, Amelia, and Y/N. On the back page was a picture Amelia had drawn (with Y/N’s help) of all the people in her family. Gibbs teared up when he saw it included a scribbled frame in stick figure Amelia’s hand labeled “Shannon and my sister Kelly”.

“Poppa you like it?” Amelia peeped as she climbed up to wipe his tears.

“I love it baby! Thank you so much. He said as he smiled at Y/N.

“Momma you said da other one would make poppa cry!” She giggled as she went to sit in her mom’s lap so her dad could look at the second book.

“All happy tears though” y/n clarified as she kissed her head.

Gibbs picked up the second book and quickly understood why Y/N would say he’d cry. One the front cover were bright stickered letters that said “Gibbs’ girls” and smaller silver font that said “a picture book of proof that you’re the best dad ever”

The tears came as he opened the first page and saw 2 pictures, one of Amelia and himself sanding his boat, and one of Kelly and him sanding a boat. With decorations and Y/N’s hand writing that said “2 girls lucky enough to be their dad’s ‘first mate’.

Gibbs looked up and pulled both his girls into a hug. “I love it” he whispered.

“We used pictures we knew you were okay with sharing with us and they are all copied. Originals are safe in their boxes.” Y/N explained.

“What could be better than a picture book of all of my girls huh?” He smiled as he turned to her page that proudly showcased photos of all 4 of his girls.

“We were hoping you’d tell us the stories of some of them” y/N said and Gibbs nodded as he began telling a story about riding horses with Kelly.

“Poppa one more!” Amelia peeped after his story.

“Another gift?” He asked an took the small box from her.

“Yup, this one we didn’t hand make, but it’s still special” y/N explained.

Gibbs opened the box to see a silver with a small silver tag holding a link of chain together, the tags had the initials K and A etched in it, and on the back that laid against his arm it said “#1 dad to Kelly and Amelia Gibbs”

He couldn’t even talk he was so loved by the gift.

“Thank you” he said as he tucked both of them under his arm.”

“We wanted you to know how lucky all your girls were and are to have you J” Y/N said with a kiss to his cheek as Amelia added “best poppa Eva”

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve any of you.” He said as Y/N clasped the bracelet on. “But I am so lucky.”

The Gibbs’ spent that day enjoying and celebrating being a family, as well as visited and calls from each of the team to their ‘work dad’ and Y/N put it. Gibbs couldn’t have asked for a better ‘poppa day.”

——-//

@mac99martin @kittenlittle24 @viper-official @ilovemark1951 @theofficialzivadavid @averyhotchner @andreasworlsboring101 @diesinspanishbcimhispanic

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part V

[ previous ]  Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x Reader, Zeke Jaeger x Reader wc: ~ 8.8k Warnings: pining, testosterone, Zeke being a dick (who woulda thought), subtle manipulation (both on Zeke’s part that goes unchecked and accidentally on Mike’s part) A/N: Well, we’re gettin’ there. We’re truckin’ along. I’m sorry for the last chapter. And, I’m sorry for this one. But, I do still hope you enjoy it. I think we’re at the halfway mark here. 

Mike gets a text from you at nine PM three days before he’s supposed to go back to campus. It’s just a few words, a question that makes his heart drop to his stomach because you’ve never asked it before.

 Can we talk for a sec?

 He waits for a few minutes, tries to get rid of the panicked feeling rising in his chest, but he can’t get it to go away entirely, so he just bites the bullet and calls you. 

 “Heyyy,” you greet. Mike can already tell a difference in your tone. Something is definitely going on.

 “Hey, what’s up?”

 “I just, uh…” He hears you suck on your front teeth, a nervous habit he’s well versed in now, then you tell him, “I just wanted to give you a heads up before you get back here.”

 Mike swallows. “Heads up about what?” 

 Are you leaving? Did you fail your summer classes despite all his help? Did you get into some kind of accident?

 You let out a long breath that Mike wishes he could feel on his skin. He wishes he could see your expression, wishes he could hold your face in his hands and tell you that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. Seems like he’s always wishing for things.

 “Um, I—uh… I’m kind of seeing someone.”

 The floor falls out from beneath him, and Mike drops with it, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He grits his teeth, trying to breathe normally—in through the nose, out through the mouth. This is about the last thing he expected you to confess.

 It’s apparently taking too long for him to gather himself, because you say his name, “Miche?” and he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

 “I’m here. It’s, uh, fine,” he lies. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it?” You sound worried, as you should because while Mike isn’t mad, he’s extremely disappointed, probably the most he’s ever been. 

 Taking a page out of your book, he tries to play it cool, act like he doesn’t care. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

 “Well, you—...” Met your mom? Learned your secrets? Tried to tell you that he loved you? All valid responses, but you just dismiss it with a quiet, “Nevermind.”

 Mike hums, lets the line go silent for a while, then musters the courage to question, “Do I know him?”

 “Yeah, I think so.”

 “What do you mean ‘you think so’?”

 “I mean he’s mentioned you, so I figure you’ve had at least a few conversations.” You’re getting that sassy tone, the one that signals you want to drop the subject, but you can’t this time. You’ve already warned Mike that you’re off the god damn market. You might as well tell him who exactly he’s gonna see you holding hands and sucking face with. It’s the merciful thing to do. 

 “It’s not one of the Pike guys, is it?”

 “No, no,” you laugh and it makes Mike want to scream because he doesn’t find this amusing at all, and it only gets worse when you finally answer, “It’s Zeke Jaeger.”

 Mike nearly hangs up then and there, but he somehow fights the urge. He does hold his phone away from his ear, though, stares up at his ceiling for a few seconds and stretches his arm out, then brings the device back. “Cool. He’s a… Talented dude.”

 “Yeah, but I mean, I’m not exactly starstruck or anything. Not after hangin’ out with you all of last year.”

 Mike rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out of his skull. “You don’t have to make this about me, ba—...” He catches himself before finishing the pet name. He can’t do that anymore. He can’t call you what he wants to. He can’t flirt or smooth hair out of your face. He can’t pick you up and hold you against the walls of the house. He can’t show you how much he cares for you. 

 “I know. I just feel kinda bad,” you mumble. 

 “You shouldn’t. It’s cool.” His flat tone is anything but cool, and you can probably tell, but there’s not much Mike can do about that.

 You’re pouting when you question, “You’ll still be my friend?” Mike can see the expression without actually seeing it, the doe eyed look you’d be giving him if he were in front of you right now. He can also imagine looping his arms around you and smiling crookedly and kissing your forehead, and fuck, he feels broken. 

 “Yeah,” he sighs. “Shouldn’t even be a question.”

 “Good.”

 You lapse into another silence, just breathing and waiting for the other to break. It’s you who does. You clear your throat and state one more time, “I just wanted you to know.”

 “Thanks.”

 “See you in a few days.”

 “Yeah,” Mike is barely listening at this point, just looks at the poster on the wall and lets it fall out of focus. “See ya’.”

 You don’t hang up immediately, like you’re waiting for him to say something else, but Mike saves you the trouble and presses the ‘end’ button on his phone then tosses it on his pillow and falls back onto the mattress. 

 He just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand any of it. You’ve gone an entire year denying him, keeping yourself closed off and never once bringing up the possibility of actually being together. After all the time spent together, after all the date parties, all the sex, staying at each others’ houses. He feels like he knows you better than anyone else probably does. You let him in. You let yourself be vulnerable in front of him. You acted like you trusted him.

 So, why isn’t he your first choice? As soon as you realized you were ready to make a fucking commitment to someone, why wasn’t it him?

 Mike doubts he’ll ever get the closure. He’ll just have to cope with seeing you around campus with Zeke god damn Jaeger, have to pretend like everything is fine, like you haven’t ripped his heart out of his fucking chest. 

 Unbearable. It’s going to be absolutely unbearable. 

 *

 Moving somewhere new always blows. It takes so much energy that Mike doesn’t have, yet here he is, hauling bags and boxes up to his new apartment unit. Honestly, he would almost prefer to stay in the frat house instead of having to make all the trips up and down these god damn concrete stairs, but at least now he’ll finally be away from all the parties. That will definitely come in handy this year considering he’s not gonna want to go to a single fucking one of them. 

 Once all of his belongings are stacked in his fairly small living room, Mike glances around his new haven, already thinking about how empty it feels without all the guys milling about and dicking around. He doubts he’ll miss the constant noise, but it’s still something that will take some getting used to.

 What he will miss is seeing you all the time, waking up in his old room to see you still fast asleep on his pillows, sitting in the main room with the others, heckling them as they play various games. He’s been focusing on the small things for the last couple of days, the things he never took the time to really enjoy. It feels like he didn’t stare long enough or laugh hard enough when he had the chance, and now he doesn’t know when his next opportunity to do either of those with you will be.

 Mike scrubs a hand down his face, scratches the hair he’s let grow out a little too much, then slowly begins to unpack his things. He’s being melodramatic, he knows, but he can’t help it. He can either let himself feel sad, or he can let the unbridled fucking rage take over, and out of the two, he prefers the former. 

 Mike’s class schedule gets pinned to the wall in his bedroom. His laptop gets set up. Textbooks are tossed into a corner. He really doesn’t care to do much more than that, but he figures he should make the place at least a little presentable. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find someone to entertain.

 The thought makes him a little sick to his stomach, but it’s a sensation he’s slowly getting used to as more time passes.

 Mike knows he needs to pull himself together, needs to put on a brave face. Pretty soon all the frats will be dealing with the dirty rushers, all the kids who weren’t able or didn’t think to suck up to the brothers during the spring. Then there’s inductions and hazing… Fuck, fall semesters are so tedious even without living in the house. He’s never been a huge fan of it all, but he’s had this image to uphold since he became a pledge.

 Now, Mike isn’t so sure he can keep that image in place.

 He stays locked away for as long as he possibly can, but eventually there’s a knock on his front door—Erwin who shoots Mike a broad grin and wriggles his ridiculous eyebrows. “You ready, bro? Got a place all your own with no one to bother you—”

 “You’re bothering me.”

 “Can do whatever you want,” Erwin powers on, completely unfazed. “Bring back whoever you want, no pesky frat boys to get in your way ‘cause fuck those guys, right?” He goes to grab Mike’s shoulders while laughing at his own joke, but Mike swats him away. 

 It makes Erwin scoff, and then he’s pushing past Mike to get into his new home, looking around for just a second and breathing out a little, “Eesh,” before turning back and giving Mike a look of condescension. “Don’t tell me this bad mood is because of your little toy finding someone else.”

 “Okay, firstly, fuck off,” Mike squints at him. “And, secondly, how do you already know about that?”

 Erwin examines his manicured nails, buffs them on his shirt and tells Mike, “Saw her and Jaeger walking out of the bookstore earlier. They looked pretty cozy. Pretty giddy, too, all smiles and—”

 “Shut. The fuck up.”

 The other man snorts. “Calm down, dude. I’m sure you can get her back or whatever you’re trying to do. Zeke’s an assole. Won’t take her long to figure it out.”

 “We’ll see.”

 This time Mike lets Erwin clap a hand on his shoulder before he walks out but not without suggesting, “You really should brighten things up a little in here. Hang some fairy lights or something. Girls love fairy lights.”

 Mike rolls his eyes, not bothering to remind his friend that he only started unpacking half an hour ago, then physically shoves Erwin out of his apartment.

 So, you’re already walking around campus flaunting your new little fling, he thinks. Perfect. He’s really looking forward to seeing that everywhere. 

 Mike eventually has to go by the PKA house for a meeting. Some of the members are already discussing plans for rush week and parties. Should they have lists or just keep them open and direct everyone to the yard? Are they gonna stick to their regular forms of hazing or should they change things up this year? Did anyone stick out from spring? Mike doesn’t pay much attention, just scrolls through his phone skimming through the same three social media apps over and over. He reads through the text thread he shares with you, the one he’s never deleted, and thumbs all the way up to a few months ago just to see if anything had been different back then, if he had said or done something wrong. 

 But, he’s gone through it a dozen times already, and he never finds anything. Maybe you just grew while he was away, experienced some kind of self-actualization that prepared you for an actual relationship. 

 Or, maybe Zeke just has something that Mike doesn’t. 

 *

 Mike runs into you on the second day of classes. Thankfully, you’re alone, and as soon as you catch sight of him, you grin widely and launch yourself at him. It comes as a surprise, your full weight hitting him square in the chest when you jump, and he has to catch you like you’re an excited child.

 It’s too close. You’re too close. Body against his as you slide down to your actual height and rest your head on his chest.

 “I missed you, Zacharias.”

 He wants to lift you up again, lock your thighs around his waist and kiss you like he used to. Instead, Mike pats the top of your head and gently untangles you from himself. He makes sure to smile when you look up at him, and he’s glad you aren’t pouting or frowning, your expression soft when he tells you, “Yeah, I missed you too.”

 He asks how your summer classes went. You ask what his course load is like this semester. It’s just small talk, and Mike hates it. 

 “How’re your parents?” You question like you’re interested, but he can’t imagine you actually are.

 “They’re good,” he shrugs. “Dad got a promotion at work a few weeks ago. Mom is doing the same shit she always does.” Like, making his favorite meals to heal his poor little broken heart. Mike hadn’t even told her about the conversation he’d had with you, and yet, as soon as he came out of his room the following morning, she just knew. 

 “Glad to hear it,” you nod. “Hey, do you wanna grab lunch or something? My next class isn’t til two, so I’m tryin’ to kill some time.”

 “Actually, I told Erwin I’d meet him,” Mike lies through his teeth. He’ll be using excuses like that for as long as he can. “Sorry.”

 “No, it’s cool,” you wave him off. “I’ll just grab Hitch or—”

 “There you are.” Mike stiffens at the vaguely familiar voice ringing out from behind him, hand flexing by his side as the school’s golden boy walks right past him and to you. “I was looking all over for you.”

 “Well, here I am,” you laugh, but Mike notes how forced it sounds. It’s a laugh that stems from nerves, he thinks. But why? Is it because Mike is here? Are you afraid of how he’ll act? Or, is it that you’re still in the phase of this “relationship” with Zeke  that you’re still anxious around him?

 The other man doesn’t even acknowledge Mike for a full twenty seconds. He heavily considers just walking away without a word, but the blond does eventually turn around to look at him and shows a smile that Mike would describe as slimy but you would probably call charming.

 “Zacharias,” Zeke greets and holds out a hand. “It’s been a minute.”

 Mike doesn’t like the way he says his last name. He only likes the way his friends say it. How you say it. Even if it started off as a way to keep your distance, he grew fond of it. Not as fond as his given name, of course, but hearing those four syllables from your mouth, always laced with attitude, never fails to make him smile.

 “Yeah, it has,” Mike agrees, clasping hands with him.

 He immediately feels Zeke stick his index finger out over his wrist, an attempt of taking control of the shake. Mike has seen it too many times to count, the petty attempt to flip hands so that one man’s is on top of the other. It’s a terrible way to flaunt one’s masculinity or power, and it’s never worked on Mike. 

 His hand is quite a bit larger than most people’s, after all. It’s definitely larger than Zeke’s, so when he tries to turn it, Mike doesn’t have a problem keeping his wrist straight. 

 The blond has to look up at him, actually tilt his head back because Mike has a good five inches on him, and after a couple more seconds, Zeke gives up on the pathetic display of dominance. That doesn’t stop Mike from squeezing his palm just a little too hard, though, just enough to see the muscles in Zeke’s jaw twitch. 

 When he lets go he chances a glance at you, finding you rubbing your temples. You mumble something Mike can’t hear, probably about men being stupid because there’s no way that little show escaped your notice. 

 Zeke steps over to you once again and asks the same question you had asked Mike—”You wanna get lunch, babe?” 

 Hearing him calling you that causes Mike’s blood to bubble in his veins, blistering from the inside out. It’s time for him to leave.

 “Yeah, sure,” you nod. Eyes flicking back to Mike, you force another smile and tell him, “See you around.”

 The two of you walk off, and Mike watches for just a little too long as Zeke laces his fingers with yours. Once you’re both a safe distance away, the fucker looks back at Mike from over his shoulder and smirks at him.

 Mike has long legs. He could easily catch up to you and punch Zeke square in the jaw, make his head snap to the side so that he drops to the ground. 

 But, what would you think of that? There’s no way you’d be happy with him, and if there’s one thing that would  be worse than Mike having to see you parade around with someone who isn’t him, it would be you ignoring him completely.

 *

 The first couple of weeks are honestly a blur. Too much is happening for Mike to focus on. The only thing that seems real to him is the ache in his chest. It distracts him day in and day out, through the late rushers and all the sucking up, through the first couple of parties, bid day and the first rounds of hazing. It’s just always there. 

 He is notably quieter when in the house, and it seems like everyone knows why. While Erwin pokes fun at him for his moodiness, Nile takes a more adult approach and simply asks how he’s doing, if he needs anything, going as far as offering, “You need me to punch that dude in the throat? Plant drugs in his bag? I’m pretty sure Gelgar has coke on his person at all times.” 

 He’s a good guy. Mike is glad he got voted in as PKA President this year despite Erwin giving him a run for his money. Nile is just personable enough to bring members in and have a good time at events, and just controlling enough to make sure things in the house are taken care of. Plus, Erwin doesn’t seem too broken up about getting Vice instead.

 It’s a relief when lacrosse starts back up, finally gives him a way to get some of his frustration out. The other teams have never been luckier to be wearing helmets otherwise Mike would have broken several noses within the first game alone. 

 The season has some overlap with baseball, games scheduled on the same day, sometimes at the same time. Mike keeps himself from looking into the stands to try to find you, scared that you’ll be there or scared that you won’t be, he isn’t sure.

 And, of course, Zeke’s face is plastered everywhere after he pitches a perfect fucking game. Mike wants to be angry, wants to spit on the flyers and punch every computer that’s displaying the college’s home screen, but if he’s being honest with himself, he knows that if it were anyone else, Mike would be impressed. Pitching a perfect game is pretty fucking cool, and the school is lucky to have a player as talented as Zeke, but god, what Mike wouldn’t do to just curbstomp him.

 Your name still lights up on his phone fairly often to ask how games went or how his classes are going. You’ve asked for help with homework on one occasion and lunch on another, but after Mike lies about only being able to walk you through the material over the phone and shoots you down for lunch, you seem to get the picture. 

 He doesn’t want it to be awkward between you, but he doesn’t know how to act now. His entire relationship with you started off as a drunken fuck, and it’s been mostly physical since then. How is he supposed to be able to spend time with you without touching you? Even the semester you refused to hook up with him, there were still times when you were both actively fighting the temptation. Mike can remember seeing it in your eyes all the time, probably just as often as you’d see it in his. You’d sit with a leg pressed against his, fall asleep on his arm every once in a while, and he wants that back now, but there’s no way the two of you can do that anymore. He doesn’t possess the same self-control.

 Over the weekend, you end up cracking and trying again, asking for help with studying for a quiz, and Mike has to contemplate it for at least fifteen minutes before he gives in.

 Coffee shop on 7th? you text him, and Mike chuckles to himself. The only places you’ve ever studied together is at the library or in his room, and while he could only get as far as a hand between your legs in the school building, he would usually end up in bed with you whenever going over something behind closed doors. 

 It makes sense that you want to go to a busier place, more eyes to watch you. It’s irritating, but he understands.

 Mike grabs one of his own textbooks from the previous year, the one he actually bought so that he could highlight and take notes in the margins, then makes his way to the little cafe.

 He’s been to this particular shop many times before, with you as well as the girls who came before—the ones that never mattered. Mike easily spots you at a little table by the window, your own book and several papers spread out around you. When you see him, you grin then hurry to clear a space for him, organizing what Mike recognizes as reading guides. 

 “Hey, stranger," you greet.

 Mike nods, eyes landing on the green hoodie you’re wearing, the one that covers too much of you, that spills over the tops of your legging clad thighs and hides your little hands. It’s his, but it’s always looked better on you. The fact that you still wear it makes Mike’s heart swell a tiny bit as he takes his seat. The sun is hitting you just right and making your face glow, making your eyes twinkle, and he doesn’t know if he can do this.

 “So, what d’you need help with?” He prompts before he can make up his mind to turn right back around. 

 You slide one of the guides over to him and point out several circled questions. The blanks are filled in, but you ask him, “Why?” dramatically. “None of that makes sense to me.”

 Mike laughs through his nose and glances at the page your textbook is flipped to so he can open his own.

 “Why’d you keep your book from last year?”

 He glances up before turning it to show the highlighted lines, the starred passages, the little annotations for better understanding. 

 “One, because I worked hard on making it better, and two,” he feels his mouth curl up, the teasing coming naturally when he tells you, “I figured you’d probably benefit from it.”

 You squint at him, scrunching your nose up, and Mike takes a mental snapshot to tuck away. 

 “Rude,” you utter.

 He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. “I think ‘thank you’ is the term you’re looking for.”

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just explain this to me if you’re so smart.”

 “You know I’m smart.”

 Mike doesn’t understand where the casual back-and-forth is coming from. Is it easy because he's done it so many times before? Words tumble from his mouth before they actually cross his mind, and he’s both grateful (it’s better than the awkward small talk he thought he’d have to make) and worried. If he’s speaking without actually thinking things through, what else might he do before his brain catches up? Will he smooth hair out of your eyes? Will he brush his hand over yours? Will he stare at your lips for too long? All of those are habits he hasn’t managed to break yet, but he will break if he accidentally offends you by crossing any of these lines.

 He sits with his hands tucked between his legs, only moving to flip a page or point something out with his pinky finger. He's reading upside down, and you're leaning over the tabe, staring at the book then staring at him. Mike tries to look through you instead of at you, but it's hard as you let out a little oh! when something clicks or pouting when it doesn't. 

 "I still don't get it."

 So, Mike finds different ways of explaining things because he knows this information very well now. It's still pretty fresh in his brain, and he may or may not have reviewed some of it when he saw how many of your classes matched up with his. 

 "Okay, I feel a lot better," you sigh once Mike has gone through every page. 

 Mike is more or less sitting on his hands at this point, gritting his teeth behind the grin plastered on his face because this is the part where he asks if you wanna go back to the house. This is the part where you wind down together, watching dumb TV shows or pawing at each other, rolling in his bed and laughing and moaning. That's what's supposed to happen. 

 "Alright, well, if that's it, I should get going," Mike tries, stretching his arms out and nearly smacking the person sitting behind him right in the head. 

 You snort, cover your mouth, and look away. It's what you always do. You can't look at him when you start laughing or you'll just laugh harder and harder, and while Mike adores it, the general public usually does not. 

 But, then Mike is snickering because he can feel the stranger trying to burn holes in the back of his skull, has to bite his fist to keep himself quiet, and when you chance a glance and see, you slam your head down on the table, whole body shaking with giggles. 

 It's always the little things that get you. On one of the walks with Scout over Spring Break, Mike had tripped over a stick on the trail. He managed to catch himself, but Jesus Christ, you didn't stop laughing for ten minutes. 

 "God fucking—" he's starting to lose it too as he stands and gathers your supplies from the table, tucking them all under one arm then using his other to pull you out of your seat. "We have to leave before they make us." 

 You hide your face in your hands, trusting Mike to guide you by the shoulders, and once you're both outside, you belly laugh until you wave your arms and gasp, "I can't—I can't breathe—I can't breathe!" Your voice is all high pitched and hysterical, and all Mike can do is bring you to his chest so that you can let your giggles die off in the privacy of his t-shirt. 

 He can feel your breath through the material as you calm down, eventually looking up and wiping tears from your eyes as you continue to grin. 

 Mike tilts his face down to stare at you, aware that all of his affections are shining right through his eyes, but he doesn't care because you don't seem to. 

 “You’re a fucking dork,” he hums, has a fully conscious thought of touching your face—no accident, no impulse, a complete, coherent, thought, so he does it. He just does it. Palm over your cheek, thumb gently tracing to wipe away another tear from your little fit. 

 You let out a long exhale, close your eyes and hum, then reach up to cover Mike's hand with yours. 

 Your fingers lock into the spaces between his, and you hold on for a few seconds before letting your hand fall, taking his with it. And, just like that, all the good feelings that had grown inside of him over the course of the study session disappear.

 "Miche," you sigh, still holding onto two of his fingers. 

 He smiles in a way that makes you frown, then mumbles, "Yeah, I know."

 After handing your supplies back, Mike kisses you on the top of the head before you can stop him, then turns and starts walking toward the street his apartment is on. 

 *

"Why are you always wearing that hoodie?" 

 You look up from your laptop just as Zeke steps out of his room freshly showered and shirtless. It's a sight that should probably make your mouth water, but instead it's gone dry at his question. 

 "Oh, uh, I don't really know," you bullshit. "It's just big and comfortable, I guess."

 Zeke uses the towel around his neck to dry his hair a little better, questions, "Well, whose is it?" while his face is slightly obscured. 

 If you pause, he'll probably be suspicious. If you answer, he will also be suspicious. And, you can't really blame him. People know you on campus as Mike Zacharias' friend or girlfriend or plaything or whatever. You assume Zeke having to walk around with that hanging over his head is pretty annoying.  

 "Oh, wait," he starts before you can answer. Squinting without his glasses, he grumbles, "That's one of the lacrosse hoodies, isn't it?" 

 You look down at the cracked logo and try not to smile at it. "Yeah. It's one of Mike's old ones."

 "Right." He pads over to you and takes your laptop from your legs despite your protests of being in the middle of an online assignment, setting it on the coffee table behind him. Then, using one arm to brace himself on the back of the couch, Zeke holds himself above you and takes your chin between two fingers so that he can tilt your face and kiss you. 

 It makes you melt. It always does. Your heart beats like a drum in your chest for about two seconds before it relaxes into a subtle thrumming, a white noise that drowns out everything else. 

 You straighten your back in an attempt to get closer, but Zeke pulls away ever so slightly, makes you chase after his lips and you do. You do because you want more, want him. 

 It's been weeks now and the farthest you've gotten with him, the farthest he's let you get with him, was the series of harsh kisses he'd ladened you with up against his front door a few days ago. He'd pushed your shirt up and shoved a knee between your legs, giving you something to grind against, but it never progressed to anything more. 

 You don't understand. It's not like he's never had sex. You've heard girls talk about him on campus, how he'd been seeing so-and-so for a couple months in freshman year, fucked some other chick at a party, etc., etc. 

 Then you'd met his actual ex the other day, one he dated officially for a semester last year before breaking things off. Her name is Rhi. She's very pretty. And, she had pulled Zeke into a full blown conversation without looking at you once. The way she batted her eyes and smiled at him, twisting her hair and shoving at him playfully—Oh yeah. She's definitely seen him naked. 

 You didn't say anything about it for a while, just stewed in silence until Zeke finally sighed and asked, "What would you like to know?" 

 He'd given you the vague outline—met her in class, studied together, decided to date, left her to focus on baseball. That excuse hit a little too close to home, but you'd let it roll off your shoulders. 

 The point is Zeke has fucked other girls, but he won't fuck you, and you need to know why because you're starting to get desperate. It's not a good look. It's one you never wanted to wear, but the way he stares at you and the way he talks to you, always pointing out your strengths, encouraging you, complimenting you is intoxicating.

 When Zeke's eyes are on you, it’s like you're the most important person in the room. He has some ability to make you feel that way, to make everyone feel that way you realized one night after a game. People flock to him. They want to listen to what he has to say. They want to agree with him where he can see. 

 It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't met him, but the best way you can describe it (a way only a few people will understand) is that he has a twenty for charisma. He's talented and smart and engaging, can convince anyone of anything the same way he's convinced you that he wants you. 

 Hand slipping behind your arching back, Zeke presses you against him for just a moment, then drops onto the couch next to you only to tug you on top of him. 

 You're already breathing too heavily, clutching his face in both your hands as you grind your hips against his. He squeezes your ass, smirking against your mouth when you whimper, then moves his hands to push both the hoodie and your shirt off. 

 You lift your arms, letting Zeke strip you as your mind grows hazy. He mutters more to himself than to you, a low, "Get this shit off," then carelessly tosses your clothes over the armrest. 

 Fingers climb up your ribs, almost tickling, making you squirm in his lap. You can feel that he's getting hard, thank god. This just might be the night, please fucking let it be. 

 You've never been a big fan of terms like ‘blue-balls’ or ‘blue-bean’, never even thought it existed, and it really doesn't; it's just a form of manipulation, of guilting your partner into sex, and you know this because you've had an entire rant about it prepared since high school, but right now, in this particular moment, you're aching. Your insides ache. Your clit aches. You just want—

 Zeke pinches one of your nipples hard enough to clear your head for a second, causes you to cry out and pull back. He lets go, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches you and flicks over the sore bud with a fingertip. 

 "Zeke," you breathe, body trembling. 

 "What is it, baby?" He coos. 

 "I—"

 He snakes a hand between the two of you, ridding you of any and all thoughts as he rubs over your covered pussy. You're almost positive that if he keeps doing it, you'll start to leak through your leggings, right into his hand. 

 Panting, an old track plays in the back of your head, a deep voice, breathy and promising, gonna fuck you dry tonight.

 You lean forward to kiss Zeke again, letting him suck and bite hard enough to make the frown on your face look natural, like he put it there. 

 Flames are licking up and down your legs, then your arms, but even though it's Zeke's lap you're sitting in and Zeke's tongue in your mouth and Zeke's fingers massaging your pussy, it's suddenly Mike you're thinking about, and well… That can't be good. 

 You tangle your hands in Zeke's hair, the different texture bringing you back to reality. His thick beard is scratching against your face. His bare torso is wiry with muscle and pressed to yours. He moves his hand and raises his hips to meet yours, a groan catching in his throat. It looks like he's finally losing his composure, cheeks flushed, eyes are foggy. When you break away, he licks away the string of spit holding you together, tongue running over his lip seductively.

 "Can we—" you start, but Zeke speaks at the same time. 

 "It's getting late."

 Blinking at him, you find yourself experiencing too many emotions to actually identify a single one. You feel your eyebrows knit together, but it’s more from your confusion than it is your frustration. 

 But, you don’t want to be frustrated. You don’t want to be or look upset about not getting sex. That would make you a terrible person, and you’re not about to make him feel bad for not being ready to take that step with you. You’ve been on the receiving end of that, and it doesn’t feel good.

 The amount of times you’ve had to masturbate in the last few weeks is a little fucking ridiculous, though. 

 Nodding mostly to yourself to get your thoughts back in line, you slide off of Zeke to stand up. Your hand is trembling when you reach for your clothes, heat still coursing through you, but you manage to gently grab them from the couch rather than snatch them. 

 Shirt and hoodie back in place, you gather your things, feeling Zeke’s gaze on you the entire time. You don’t say anything, just nibble on your bottom lip as you run over all the events that took place over the night, what you possibly did wrong, what turned him off or just failed to turn him on in the first place. 

 After slipping everything back into your bag, Zeke finally gets to his feet and takes it from you, walking with you outside to your car. 

 “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he tells you, the picture of calm and collected while your body remains buzzing.

 “Okay, yeah.” 

 He puts your stuff in the front passenger seat, shuts the door, and gives you a sweet little peck that you wish lasted longer.

 Zeke says good night, begins walking back to the building, but stops and calls to you right before you shrink into the car. 

 Even from this distance, you can tell he’s looking you dead in the eye, face suddenly very serious when he tells you, “You can go ahead and stop wearing that hoodie.”

* For the first time since the semester started, lacrosse and baseball games do not overlap one another, and you're able to spend the warm afternoon in the stands, cheering on the friends you made over the last year. 

 The home team is dominating, Mike and Erwin are too fucking quick for their opponents to get in the way of. The way the ball just flies back and forth between them, like a game of keep-away, shows just how on-the-same-page they are. The other guys are good too, doing a spectacular job of staying one leg ahead, defending their star players and assisting in the offensive effort. 

 The last goal is made by Mike who launches the ball from the center of the field right into the goal, and both the crowd and the teams lose their fucking minds. 

 You're up on your feet screaming and clapping, voice breaking as your shrill cry tears your throat. You know you're being drowned out by everyone around you, but as Mike gets lauded for being the god he is—putting up with backslaps and hugs and a headlock from Erwin—he still manages to find you in the second row, grinning in that crooked way you love so much. 

 You don't know exactly when that started happening, probably sometime after Spring break. Or, maybe it was there since the beginning, just laying dormant at the back of your head so that you could focus on denying him. 

 It doesn't really matter now since you're actually with someone. That someone isn't around right now, but he's in your thoughts as your chest fills with affection and pride for your friend. 

 Erwin is shouting about another open party, and your mind is made up to not attend because Zeke wouldn't appreciate it, but then Mike is suddenly lifting himself onto the raised, concrete stands and pointing at you, and before you know it, you're hopping down the next bleacher without a care for the fans who have to lean out of the way. 

 He's incredibly sweaty as you wrap your arms around his neck, but you don't mind. You were so convinced he would be mad at you or try to avoid you. 

 You're very aware that you had hurt him by getting with Zeke, and while he had been pretty guarded for the first few weeks, he's opened up some since that day in the coffee shop, when you'd nearly giggled yourself to death. You hadn't expected that to be what cracked his walls, especially considering how that visit had ended, but you're glad that it did. 

 "Haven't seen you cheering for me in a while," Mike laughs next to your ear. 

 He's dizzy with adrenaline, swaying back and forth as he squeezes you, and you tell him, "If you make us fall, I will beat you up, I swear." 

 "Okay," he says in a stupid voice of obvious disbelief, "Whatever you say." 

 You've been texting more, going over homework together, though you haven't needed his help in-person since he had switched books with you that day. It had been so smooth and subtle, you didn't realize until you opened it to study the following day, immediately noticing all the notes and highlights. 

 It had made you cry like a little bitch in the middle of your dorm, and you called Mike to thank him without bothering to hide your tears and hiccups. 

 "Come to the party tonight," he demands, but it's so soft, like he's still giving you a chance to say no. 

 The crowd is still yelling, so you have to keep speaking into each other's ears, and you ask, "Why? All the Pike parties are sticky and gross."

 "'Cause we haven't gotten drunk together in a while," Mike states in the form of a whine. 

 You snort, feeling his hair dripping onto your shoulder. You should probably be disgusted, but it's not the first time you've gotten sweaty with him, and it's definitely not the worst bodily fluid he's made a mess on you with. 

 "You know what happens when we get drunk together," you remind him with a smile he can't see. "Can't do that anymore."

��"I promise I'll behave."

 That's not the problem. You don't know if you can behave. You've been wound up for over a month now, and it is driving you insane. No matter how many times you get off alone in your room at night, you still ache as if you're being edged. 

 So, getting fucked up with someone you know for a fact can fuck you stupid… probably not the best idea. 

 "Miche," you protest, drawing his name out. 

 "Just think about it."

 He leaves you with that, hopping down and walking away with his arms in the air as everyone surrounding you cheers for him until he disappears. You just stand there amidst the noise, shirt now wet as you contemplate the pros and cons of going to another PKA party. 

 As always, Zeke asks what your plans are for the night, but for the first time since you met him, you lie. * King's Cup and Rage Cage and Beer Pong galore. Party-goers are pooling onto the lawn, and you're just waiting for campus police to show because of the chaos, but you're not necessarily scared of it. So you go to jail for a couple days. Worse things could happen. 

 Currently, you and Mike are sitting on the sidewalk nursing beers and giggling at the new pledges who keep running around the house in less and less clothes. 

 "Honestly, this isn't that bad," Mike tells you. "Erwin suggested we make them all watch snuff together."

 You give him an incredulous look as you raise the glass bottle to your mouth. "Erwin is a god damn psychopath, what the fuck."

 "We had to do it and didn't turn out too bad."

 "And, just like that, I'm scared of you."

 Mike laughs before sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling as a brawny blond speeds past in nothing but boxers—Reiner, you think his name is. 

 There are only a few new guys who stick out to you—that one, a long-faced kid named Jean, freckle boy Marco, and, naturally, Zeke's younger brother, Eren. He sorta skeeves you out, so you've been doing your best to stay out of his sight despite never formally meeting him before. 

 "Kid's kind of a prick, a little too cocky. Always talking about how he's related to Zeke, or should I say your lo-ver," Mike chuckles, sounding amused, but he still downs the rest of his beer afterward. 

 You let out a little growl, just drunk enough to be too honest, and grumble, "Not my lover. Also, I would never use that term. So cringey."

 "What do you mean?"

 "I mean it's weird and dramat—"

 "No," Mike cuts you off, "What do you mean about him not being that?"

 You fall back on the concrete, bumping the back of your head a little too hard and scrunching your face up. 

 "We haven't had sex. The dude just will not fuck me for some reason."

 "Are you serious?" 

 You glance at Mike and find his eyes wide in alarm. 

 "As a heart attack. I have never been so frustrated in my entire life." 

 You probably shouldn't be talking about this with him, one, because you assume it's like twisting a knife right in Mike's gut and two, because the more you drink, the less self-control you have. 

 He grunts then tosses his bottle into the yard for some poor pledge to slip on. 

 "His loss."

 "Whatever. I'm sure he'll come around eventually," you sigh then sit back up. "And, until then, I guess I'm practicing celibacy or some shit."

 Mike laughs hard at that, and it makes you smack him on the arm. "Yeah, good luck with that."

 "Shut up."

 "I'm just saying," he raises his hands. "You're, like, the neediest person I know."

 "Excuse the fuck outta me?" 

 "In the bedroom, dummy. Obviously not all the time."

 This is not at all where you wanted this conversation to go. The more you think about it, the more you feel that ache, the more you want to quell it. 

 "We should change the subject."

 Mike looks at you, flipping hair out of his eyes and smiling like the cocky frat boy he pretends to be. 

 "Why? Gettin' all worked up."

 "You are literally the worst."

 You stand and finish your drink, throwing it a few feet away from Mike's as you tell him, "I need to get a little more fucked up if I'm gonna deal with your ass all night."

 "Uh huh."

 He follows you back inside, but while you make your way into the kitchen, Mike stops to talk with Erwin about one thing or another. It means he has to entertain the masses, talk about the game, and you post up against a wall to watch him. 

 You should leave. Mike is looking a little too attractive in his stupid fucking pastel polo, and you're supposed to meet Zeke for lunch tomorrow anyway. Zeke, your boyfriend. 

 Or, well, he hasn't said it explicitly, but you hold hands in public and ignore other people, just make it obvious that both of you aren't interested in anyone else. 

 Except when Mike sidles up to you with foggy eyes and a smirk he hasn't worn around you in a long time, you groan at the thought that you are interested in someone else. Even if it's just one night, god, you need it so bad. And, you know Mike can give it to you. Exactly the way you want it. 

 It's Zeke's fault, really. You know he knows how desperate you're getting. If he'd just explain why he doesn't want to have sex, you could deal with it much better than you are now, but he continues to leave you in the dark. It makes you think you're doing something wrong. 

 Then, there's the problem of feeling like the shittiest person alive every time you get frustrated. You've spent nights trying to rationalize it, but it's hard to think straight when you're so, undeniably horny. 

 "Don't look at me like that," you tell Mike with a scoff. 

 "Why not?" 

 "'Cause you said you'd behave tonight."

 He cocks his head to the side and makes a face. "Did I? That doesn't sound like something I'd say to you."

 "Oh my god, you're impossible. And, drunk."

 "I'm not really that drunk," he waves you off. "It takes more than a few beers to get me fucked up, remember? Downfall of being this large."

 Jesus, he really is rubbing it in your face now. Wide with muscle and so fucking tall. Not to mention his—

 "I really cannot do this, Miche," you try again, gritting your teeth when his pupils dilate. "Zeke would be so pissed."

 "So? Come on, just one more time. I didn't know the last time would be the last time."

 You hadn't either. You don't know what you would have done differently had you known—maybe just taken the time to appreciate his incredible body more—but it doesn't matter now. 

 You try to sound firm and irritated when you snap, "You know you're being kinda manipulative, right?" 

 Mike tilts his head back as if you just shoved it, blinks a couple times, then swears out loud. "Oh, fuck." He takes a step away, eyes clear for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sorry. I didn't even—"

 "It's fine," you wave. "I just wanted you to know. I'm drunk and you're hot, and I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke."

 "Yeah, I get it. Fuck. If you, like, wanna leave, I won't stop you. It was a joke, and then it wasn’t a joke and—That was a shit thing to do."

 "Little bit, but you get a pass this time," you laugh through your nose. "Just don't go pulling that bullshit on some unsuspecting freshman or anything." 

 He runs a hand through his hair, red with embarrassment, and you think to yourself, Mike is a good guy. One of the best. You don't know of many who would take that kind of criticism to heart—how many would feel genuinely guilty. It is college, and every girl knows the trend of fratty sports players getting off scot-free after being charged with sexual assault. Given his status at the school, Mike could definitely do something like that and get away with it.

 But, he would never. 

 You push him gently to show you aren't mad, tell him, "I still wanna hang out with you. We don't get to as much as we used to."

 Mike's small smile looks relieved as he takes a deep breath. "This isn't exactly the best place to just chill, but—"

 "I haven't seen your new apartment yet." 

 You regret it as soon as it comes out of your mouth, your little tune changing ridiculously quickly, but you can't deny that you're curious. He's still your best friend, and you want to know what he's done with his new place. Is it bland like his old room in the house, or did he let his real personality show through? 

 "You sure?" He questions. 

 "Yeah. We can just, like, play video games or something."

 "Are you sure?" 

 He must feel terrible. You can relate.

 "If you don't want me over, just say so," you snort. 

 "No, no, of course I do. I just don't want you to feel weird about being alone or anything."

 "Nah, like you said, you're not really drunk. I'll sober up with water. We'll be fine."

 You don't know if you're trying to convince him or yourself. Without the presence of alcohol, you should be able to keep it together, and the distraction of Zelda or Mario will surely help. 

 "Okay, yeah," Mike nods. "Let's go then."

You don't even bother finishing your drink, just set it on a countertop and follow him out to his Wrangler. It's been a while since you've ridden in it. It's been a while since you've ridden him, your brain helpfully supplies, and as you pull up to the unfamiliar apartment complex, you once again begin to think that this was a bad idea.

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