#guys this is the second full piece I’ve made for this au

[scottie-draws-sometimes]

…In that basement of that cabin is a Watcher. You are here to slay it. If you don’t, it will be the end of the world.

Guys I literally haven’t been able to stop thinking about @blueishspace ‘s Slay The Watcher au. Half of all my recent art has been for this. This is propaganda go read it all rn!!!!!!

(click on the image for a better quality!!)

[arolesbianism]

Ok yeah I’m a little obsessed with them

[latetaektalk]

love to hate you | jjk [viii]

“when obnoxiously rich and spoiled frat boy jeon jungkook comes up to you one day and asks you to fake date him for money, you definitely should have said no. because before you knew it, you were going on insta dates with him and having lunch with his equally obnoxiously rich and spoiled friends.”

— genre: sexual themes, angst, fluff, fratboy! AU, fake dating! AU, college! AU, rich kid! AU, enemies to lovers! AU

— pairing: jungkook x female reader

— word count: 18.351

— warnings: swearing/cursing, communication skills nowhere to be found, chronic overthinking, emotional rollercoaster, confusingly set during christmas <3

— a/n: and just like that we've crossed 100k !! its here, the big one. by far one of my favourite chapters that ive written so far!! hope you guys enjoy it!! praying yall wont hate me for this one haha once again, this is inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before by Jenny Han!

You didn’t miss the look Chaeyoung and Jisoo exchanged, or the way Hoseok longingly looked after Jimin as he quickly walked away to get everyone some food after you sat down, or how Jimin muttered something about how someone clearly needed something to eat. The comment didn’t bother you because he was right and you could admit as much.

The mall had never been your favourite place to go, and even less so today. The Christmas decoration put up around you seemed overly tacky and in bad taste, and you could have ripped off your ears, sick of listening to the same three Christmas songs over and over again. You closed your eyes that ached from the bright colourful lights, and scrunched your nose when your arm bumped into one of your shopping bags. Your patience hung by a string, the fibers breaking with every passing second. Everything hurt, from your head to your arms and your feet.

Nothing was right, and there seemed to be no end to it.

“Fries?” 

Jimin specifially offered them to you, placing two medium plates of golden fries in the middle of the table. You took him up on it, taking two and throwing them into your mouth. The fries were bland and not salty enough but you took three more pieces, shoving your face full. As if the grease and carbs would fix anything. 

“Do you wanna try the thrift store that Ji suggested?” Chaeyoung asked, choosing her words carefully, and you cringed, shaking your head. 

“No.”

The silence continued, and you didn’t miss the looks your friends exchanged. There was clearly a conversation going on over your head, but you didn’t care, reaching for one fry after the other.

“Y/N, it’s gonna be fine,” Jimin said in the end, putting his arm around your shoulder. Bold, but when was he not. “Don’t be so down. That one dress- the beige one looked great on you!”

“Yeah, but also, they don’t care about what you wear,” Jisoo continued, not allowing you to even begin to disagree.

“And you still have time to find the perfect thing, right? If you do decide that the dress isn’t up to standard. Didn’t you get some stuff online too?” Hoseok asked, trying to get you to look at him, but you just closed your eyes and pulled your lips into a line.

They didn’t get it. But telling them that would be of no use, just like how their words didn’t encourage you the slightest bit. 

“I promise you Kook’s parents are really the sweetest people I’ve-”

“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know,” you mumbled, cutting off Jimin. You rubbed your eyes until you saw black spots. With a sigh, you leaned back. “I’ll figure it out, I think.”

There was no confidence in your words. To you, it seemed like your life was about to end, all over a stupid outfit you couldn’t put together. The thought almost made you laugh and cry at the same time. This was as ridiculous as it could get. 

“What did Kook say?” Chaeyoung asked, and you frowned.

“About what?”

She blinked at you, her brows creasing together. “Well, have you talked to Kook about any of this? How you’re worried about meeting his parents?”

You pressed your mouth into a line, and you didn’t even know where to begin. It seemed futile to you to explain that you possibly couldn’t tell Jungkook about all of the thoughts suffocating your mind. You would look stupid, like an absolute fool. You would look like you cared, and really, you didn’t. It would weird him out—how much you stressed about it, how much it was on your mind. But then again, really, actually, you didn’t care at all. You just were… especially irritable these days. Hormones were raging—your period, of course, greeting you just a day prior.

“No,” you exhaled, shaking your head. You didn’t know what exactly you were denying—you being stressed about meeting his parents, or you not talking about it to him. Probably both. “He’s busy with his stuff. He’s got a paper to finish- it’s fine.”

And even though you closed your eyes, you knew your friends were looking at each other. There was a carefulness with which they spoke to you, and you did feel bad. Just nothing seemed to lift your spirits.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been in… a good mood these days,” you told them, getting more annoyed at yourself for being the way you were. You hid your face in your hands. “I don’t know what’s up with me.”

“It’s fine,” Jimin assured you. “We know you’re stressed.”

Jisoo placed an arm around you, leaning her shoulder against yours. She opened her mouth before closing again, ultimately she decided to speak. 

“What if… you don’t go?” 

“Ji,” Jimin whispered, looking at her as if she had just suggested something criminal.

“I’m just saying— it’s stressing her out so much, maybe she shouldn’t go.” Jisoo shrugged, believing her suggestion to be rather harmless. “She can meet his parents another time, right?”

You looked at her. She grimaced, apologetic, about to backpedal, taking your expression as offence. But you waved her off. Her suggestion was meant well, you knew that. It would also be more than a lie to say you hadn’t thought about it too. Of course, you had. But you couldn’t do it. Not when the image of Narae popped into your mind every time you did consider it. 

“Okay, fine,” Jisoo sighed, relenting. “But I’m just saying he’ll understand if you don’t want to go. It’s not like you guys are getting married.”

Chaeyoung mumbled something to her, but you couldn’t hear it. If you had to guess she told her to lay it off, which you were admittedly thankful for.

“I don’t even have gifts,” you groaned, remembering that your outfit wasn’t the only issue plagueing your mind. “Do I bring an actual gifts? Or just wine? Flowers? Something more personal? I don’t fucking know.”

“Do you have to bring them anything?” Hoseok asked, frowning. “I mean yeah, I guess it’s Christmas and you’re meeting them for the first time, but I don’t know, I’m not sure if you have to bring them anything.”

“I don’t think you do. They’re just happy to meet you, I promise,” Jimin said, squeezing your shoulder, but somehow, his answer annoyed you even more. Because what if he was wrong? And they use it as a reason as to why they didn’t like you because you showed up empty handed? Poor and rude? You wouldn’t even take a single step in their home. And even if Jimin was right, that they were just happy to meet you—it seemed even worse. Because all you had to show for yourself to Jungkook’s parents then would be…. yourself. 

And what if that wasn’t enough?

You groaned, leaning back again. Everything was making your situation only worse, giving you an even bigger headache, feeding the heavy pit in your stomach. And as you spiraled, you didn’t notice the rather obvious text Chaeyoung send, or the even more obvious way Jimin’s phone lit up on the table to display it, just for him to quickly grab it and start typing. Jisoo leaned over to look, and Chaeyoung quickly mumbled something into Hoseok’s ear. You wouldn’t even notice the way Chaeyoung jumped when you spoke suddenly again,

“Let’s just finish eating and go home. I wanna go home.” 

No one protested.

By the end, the fries were gone and the grease had eaten through the recycled brown paper plates, and your mood wasn’t much better, still the same level of annoyance always buzzing in the back of your mind. Grabbing the bags from the various shops you had walked in and out of with your friends today, you made your way out of the mall. Stepping outside, you hugged yourself, the wind harsher than the past few days. 

“What way is your car again?” you asked, teeth gritting. Your question was aimed at Chaeyoung, but you didn’t have the nerve to look at her. With the tip of your boot, you scraped against the concret, enjoying the way it rolled back and forth. You lifted your head when no one would answer, confused by the silence.

“Oh, uh,” Chaeyoung began, glancing at Jimin who was typing away on his phone. “Give us… a minute.”

She said it as if it was a question, gesturing for you to wait. You looked over to Jisoo and Hoseok for some sort of explanation, but they both kept their mouths shut.

“Where’s your girlfriend’s car?”

Hoseok blushed, and you knew he still wasn’t used to the development of his and Chaeyoung’s relationship. It was cute, and it did make you smile a little.

“Just tell me.” 

You tried nice. Nice didn’t work.

“I-I don’t know.” 

You sighed, your hands on your hips, shopping bags knocking on your legs. The cold wavered your voice.

“Ji?”

But rather than even say anything, or make an attempt to stall you, she waved you off, flicking her wrist back and forth. At least, Hoseok and Chaeyoung tried to dismiss you subtly.

“Oh my God, what are you guys looking at? Can we just go home, I’m really cold here and I just wanna-”

“Ah, yes, he’s here!” Jimin exclaimed before slapping his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Oops.”

You stopped, not needing a second to understand. Jisoo punched his arm. 

“You texted Jeon?”

If you were upset and annoyed before, you were even more so now. You leaned forward, as if the reality weighed down on you and physically pushed you. Your eyes darted back and forth between your friends before ultimately landing on Jimin, who was shrinking in on himself.

“Are you guys for real?” you hissed, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You could have ripped out your hair. “But why?”

Everyone looked to Chaeyoung. “We- we think it’d be good if you talk to him. You’re clearly stressed about meeting his parents, so why not talk about it?”

She added on a smile, and you closed your eyes, groaning. 

“Guys, I’m fine.” You dug your hands through your hair, looking over your shoulder, relieved to see that he was nowhere. “Where is he? Is he here already? Tell him to go home. He has a paper to-”

An arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Go home.”

“Damn, hi, it’s nice to see you too, cabbage,” Jungkook laughed, grinning at you even as you frowned at him. He pinched your nose, and you didn’t even have it in you to swat his hand aside, closing your eyes instead. 

“You guys weren’t kidding. She’s in a bad mood.”

Your frown deepened, mouth setting into a thin line. Jungkook squeezed your shoulder, quietly apologising to you for his comment, but his smile remained on his lips. 

“Alright, I think—” Chaeyoung hooked her arm into Hoseok’s. “—it’s time to go.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll take her home,” Jungkook said, nodding to confirm his own words. “Get home safe.”

“Great, text us when you get home,” Jisoo said, waving at you. “We love you, Y/N! And oh, nice scarf!”

Jungkook laughed, thanking her.

“Yeah, good luck, Kook! Also love ya, Y/N!” Jimin laughed before taking off, sprinting ahead, scared you might just throw one of your bags after him. (Which you were strongly considering) The others waved you goodbye, and even though you were more than ticked off, you did the same, mumbling a goodbye their way. God knows they had put up with your attitude with enough grace today already. You sighed once they left your sight, shrugging off Jungkook.

You looked at him and your gaze softened, if only a little. Even more so when you saw it, wrapped around his neck so prettily. There was something very messy about him today—his hair not done in its usual way, hanging into his eyes, getting longer each time you saw him, the collar of his coat not folded down properly. If you had to guess, he had walked out the moment he got the text from Jimin. But he had thought of your scarf, looped it around his neck carefully. Looking at him now, out in the cold, you were glad you had invested the time into learning how to knit. The scarf suited him, the red matching him well. You were almost tempted to knit another one, one in every colour.

“You’re wearing the scarf.”

“Of course,” he returned, smiling at you, and you wondered if his cheeks hurt, red from the cold. 

The thought embarrassed you. You looked down, returning to rolling the tip of your boot on the conrete, back and forth, back and forth.

“Go home.”

“Okay, yeah, let’s go home together.”

He reached to take the bags from you, but you pulled away, lifting your head. “No, Jeon, go home. I’m fine.”

Jungkook shoved his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. This wasn’t going to be easy, he realised. “And how will you get home?”

His question made you frown, as if that was the issue at hand right now. You almost scoffed.

“I’ll walk-”

“Right, because walking in the cold is such a good idea, hm?

“Fine, I’ll take the bus.”

“Do you even know where the next bus station is?” 

“I can look it up.”

“Or you can just, you know,“ he leaned towards you, and you couldn’t back off, “not be so stubborn and let me just give you a ride home.”

You pursed your lips, shaking your head. Why was he being oh so frustrating? Why couldn’t he make this easy for you? Why wasn’t he at all discouraged by your behaviour? It didn’t make any sense to you. He should be annoyed with you and your attitude, infuriated because you were being difficult for no real reason. And yet, he smiled and laughed at you, showed you patience. It was strange to you, unexpected.

“I never asked you to pick me up.” 

It was like you were a goddamn teenager, fighting with her parents, trying your very best to tick them off. It was like you wanted him to be mad at you, and in some ways, in some real ways, maybe you did. You felt sorry for your friends about your attitude, but not with Jungkook somehow. For some reason, you couldn’t extend the same empathy to him. At least not in this moment.

He didn’t say anything, hesitated, his brows creasing together. His eyes darted to the ground before ultimately finding you again, tongue in his cheek, nodding. For a moment, you thought you won, did it. 

“Yeah, you didn’t,” Jungkook said, taking one two three steps in your direction, slowly prying the shopping bags from you. “But I’m still here to pick you up.”

And when he met you with a smile, you knew there wasn’t anything you could do. You let your head hang, as tears shot into your eyes. It had never happened before, you were never one quick to cry, but right now you felt like it. You blinked them away, not allowing Jungkook to know.

He took your silence as a sign of defeat, which it was. Very much so. He had won, and you had to admit that you were actually relieved. That he had proven you wrong, that he hadn’t just left after you had repeatedly insisted he should, or gotten annoyed and sick with you. 

Jungkook shifted all of the shopping bags into one hand, using his free one to grab yours. Like he would, of course he would, he placed a kiss on the back of your hand before putting your hands into his coat pocket to keep warm, together. You could have begun crying again.

“Be a good girlfriend, alright?” he told you, leading you to his car, and you scoffed, hoping your voice didn’t sound as unstable and shaky as you felt.

“Be a good girlfriend?” you repeated, raising a brow. Jungkook was quick to see his mistake and correct himself,

“I mean, let me be a good boyfriend to my girlfriend and pick her up after a—” He hesitated, squinting as if he was searching for the right word. “—fun, right?”

There was something inherently cheeky and smug about Jungkook. But you couldn’t quite take offence to any of it, nodding, even if you knew that today wasn’t the funnest day. (And you were to blame.)

“Fun day at the mall with her friends.”

You pressed your lips together. “But what about your paper?”

He paused and looked at you before shaking his head and laughing. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m almost done. I’ll finish it at your place.”

His hand squeezed yours, and you hated how warm he made you feel. How the warmth spread from your chest to the the tips of your ears and feet. How even if you tried, he remained patient with you. You hated it because it made it so much harder, for you not to fall for him again and again. You hated it because you almost believed him that you could be one of those stupidly in love couples that held hands in their pockets and made each other scarfs.

Jungkook opened the car door for you, and you climbed inside, thankful for the few seconds you had to yourself as he loaded your shopping bag into the trunk. Without a word, he gave you his phone, and by now, you knew the drill. 

You unlocked his phone in second before quickly typing in your current location into Google maps. Your address popped up at the top, bookmarked, when you tapped to enter the destination. Handing him his phone back, you wondered what Jungkook’s password meant, 09052020. It seemed so oddly specific, but you didn’t bother asking.

“You should show me what you got.”

The water remained in your mouth a second longer before you swallowed it, slowly screwing the top back on the bottle, eyes set on Jungkook. You shook your head and leaned against your kitchen counter. He was just a few steps away from you, sitting on your couch, taking up all the space, arms spread left and right. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

He gave you a look, as if to say oh please! His head rolled back for a second.

“I think you should.”

You didn’t respond, pulling your phone out of your pocket instead. Deeming your silence as enough of an answer, you scrolled through your phone, opening the group chat between your friends and you, your feet crossing at your ankle. But before you could even read one text-

“But isn’t that why you were in a bad mood?”

It seemed brave of Jungkook to address it so openly. Or maybe just incredibly honest. You couldn’t do it. He didn’t seem afraid at all that you might just dip back into your bad mood at the mention of it and come out bats swinging. It was admirable in some ways. You didn’t rememeber him to be this confrontative a few months ago when you started this, him and you. He seemed to have found a confidence with you now, convinced he knew the ins and outs of you. Maybe he did. He probably did, in some ways. You couldn’t say if you liked it all that much.

You snorted, an attempt to make light of the situation. “Yeah, so why bring it up again?”

Jungkook reached his hands out to you, a gesture for you to come his way. You thought about it for a moment before abandoning both your phone and the water bottle on the kitchen counter and moving over. He scooted to the edge of your couch to allow you to step between his legs. His hands held yours, thumbs brushing the inner part of your wrist, back and forth.

“My parents don’t care,” he told you, staring up at you with his big eyes, squeezing your hands as he spoke, physically stressing his words. “They really don’t care, I promise you. They’re just excited to meet you. And so am I, excited.”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in with you and take effect. 

“But I know you care and you’re stressed about it,” Jungkook mumbled, and you couldn’t look at him, eyes finding the floor instead, right where your carpet curled up because sometimes your couch would dig into it and flip it up. It was so very embarrassing that he knew how much you cared. It felt like you were ripping out your heart and letting him inspect it. You wanted to correct him, set the record straight that really, you didn’t care at all whatsoever! but it felt like a cheap attempt, even more humiliating.

“So why don’t you show me?” he asked, shaking your hands to get you to look at him. You didn’t want to but did anyway. His gaze was soft, just like his smile, and his hair fell into his eyes. You brushed it away. It made his smile widen, so much so he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it.

It was sealed for you then.

“Alright, fine,” you sighed, defeated, moving away from him to dig through your shopping bags. “Look away.”

“What? Why?”

“What do you mean?” you frowned. “I’m changing.”

Jungkook’s features morphed from a frown to a smile in a second before he ultimately began laughing. “Are you really gonna be too embarrassed to change in front of me?” He gave you a moment to deny it. “I’ve seen and touched-”

“Oh my God, just turn around,” you hissed, and for some reason, your cheeks were as hot as the sun. “Either that, or I won’t try on anything.”

He exhaled the most dramatic sigh he could, making a point to show you that he even pressed his hands to his eyes. Just for that, you wanted to kick him. But you should have known that Jungkook wasn’t quite done, needing to squeeze in one more comment, purely to annoy you and nothing more. There wasn’t anything serious about it at all, no deeper meaning.

“Are you gonna be like this when we’re married with kids?”

You froze, arms up and your face mushed together by your sweater and half of your body exposed to the naked air with only your bra to show for. He wasn’t serious, you knew. There was lightness and an obvious teasing embedded with his words. You doubted Jungkook even expected a response from you, probably just enjoyed knowing he made you flustered even if he couldn’t see it. And yet, your heart began pounding and your hands sweating and your cheeks burning and your mind reeling for any possible retort you could offer. Before you could stutter something, he spoke again,

“Sorry.”

The smile was evident in his voice, and when you finally peeled off your sweater, you turned out to be right. You shook your head, throwing your sweater at him before you could think better of it. It hit him in the face.

“Ow, cabbage! That’s not fair, I have my eyes-” 

“I’m so close to kicking you out, you know?” you mumbled, keeping your voice quiet as if raising it by any means was dangerous. You pulled off your pants and your stockings you had layered underneath for some extra warmth.

“I said I’m sorry, cabbage.” 

But Jungkook sounded far from sincere. You didn’t bother responding, grabbing one of the shopping bags and slipping on the sweater you had thrifted. It was off the shoulders and this warm midnight blue colour, rich and beautiful and cozy. You moved to your old dresser and pulled out the black maxi skirt you had thought to combine it with. The outfit was simple, but with the right accesoires (ones you would still have to buy which the thought of it already gave you a headache), it could work. At least, it could in theory because when you looked at yourself in your full body mirror (which you had thrifted when you had first moved in), you frowned.

“Can I look?”

You gave a grunt in response, still looking at your reflection as if you had put together the most hideous outfit possible. It wasn’t much of a yes or no, so for a few seconds Jungkook hesitated, but he slowly peeled his eyes open.

“Oh, cabbage! You look so amazing-”

“No.”

It was as simple as that for you, shaking your head.

“What? But you look-”

“I don’t like it,” you said, already moving to take off the skirt. “Close your eyes.”

You expected some sort of protest from Jungkook, but he actually did as you said. Just as quick as you had decided that the outfit wouldn’t work, you peeled it off of you. You rummaged through your next shopping bags, looking at the pieces you had gotten—a cream knit sweater and white maxi skirt. But all of a sudden, you hated it. You clearly remembered loving the clothes in the store, giving the outfit a couple spins and scrutiniscing it from head to toe until it was deemed worthy of your money. But right now as you looked at it, you felt quite the opposite.

With a sigh, you pulled the last shopping bag towards you. It had the dress your friends had mentioned you should wear. This time, you didn’t inspect it any further, not having the nerve for it. So you just bunched up the fabric and slipped it on. But you didn’t tell Jungkook you were finished changing. Instead you turned and looked at yourself in the mirror first.

Jisoo had found it for you—a maxi slip dress. It was in a beautiful and rich wine red colour, oozing warmth, and soft to the touch. The satin flowed down your body, hugging your curves, and reflecting your dim living room lights like water. Lace was stitched along the neckline, which otherwise probably would have been a little too low given the occasion. The straps securing the dress were tied up into small ribbons around your shoulders, giving it a more dainty and playful look. The slit on the left side reached up until your knee, allowing the fabric to move along with your body in harmony. It was a beautiful dress, made for any occasion with the correct accessoires and styling. 

You were objectively and undeniably beautiful in it. 

And yet, you stared at yourself as if it wasn’t, brows knitted together and lips pursed in a pout, eyes wandering up and down. It wasn’t insecurity—you felt great and comfortable in the dress. But something about it just wasn’t right. You tried imaging yourself all dolled up in it, hair and makeup done to your liking, but the frown remained. It wasn’t perfect enough.

You shook your head, moving to take it off. When you turned on your heel, you looked straight at Jungkook, and Jungkook looked straight at you. His eyes were big and wide and set on you, his mouth agape and curling up into a smile. You gasped, both in surprise and upset.

“W-why are you looking?” you hissed, feeling the heat crawl up your neck, and you threw your arms around yourself.

“I’m sorry. You- you just took so long, cabbage. And so I looked and…” Jungkook finished his sentence with a simple shrug and smile. You frowned at his answer, shaking your head.

“Close your eyes,” you spat through gritted teeth, turning around to change out of the dress. “I’m changing-”

“What? Why?” Jungkook sounded genuinely confused, jumping up from his seat and moving your way, shaking his head. “You look amazing! Please don’t change. I love this dress on you!”

He stopped short in front of you, turning you around and taking your hands into his. 

“This dress suits you so well,” he whispered as if it was some sort of secret. You looked to the mirror behind you, inspected yourself, eyes shooting up and down. Jungkook stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his fingers interlacing in front of the soft of your belly. He pushed you to lean fully against him, his eyes scanning every inch of you.

“You’re so pretty. So very pretty.” 

His words tasted like Christmas chocolate, were thick with honey and sugar, stuck to your teeth. They were bad. Horrible. For you and your heart. Because they sounded so very believable. 

“You look incredible.”

He finished with a kiss to the back of your head, and you didn’t know where to look. You placed your hands on his, tentatively, and he was quick to take them into his, scoop them up and hold them tight. He had to know, you thought to yourself, how hard your heart was beating.

“Don’t you like it?”

You met his gaze in the mirror, mouth settled into a line. 

“I like the dress,” you said, tilting your head. 

“But?”

“I don’t like it for…”

“Meeting my parents?” Jungkook supplied when you wouldn’t finish your sentence, and you didn’t answer, averting your gaze instead. “What do you not like about it?”

You closed your eyes, feeling so very silly. Because you couldn’t say. You didn’t know. There shouldn’t be anything to dislike about the dress, nothing about it was wrong—you loved every little detail, and even more how you felt in it.

“What do you think?” 

“I don’t think my opinion really matters here,” Jungkook laughed, and you peeled your eyes open, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips. He was annoying. Just couldn’t provide you with a simple answer when he even has already voiced his thoughts. “But I think you look really pretty in this dress.”

You scrunched your nose. “How pretty?”

“So pretty I wouldn’t mind going blind now.”

You smiled, no, grinned. He was so stupid.

“So pretty I can’t believe you don’t like it.” 

You tilted your head to the side.

“So pretty I don’t want you to ever take it off again.” 

He pressed kisses to your neck and shoulder, nose burying into your hair, words mumbled into your skin, and hands beginning to wander further south, scrunching the fabric. You let him.

”So pretty I want to take a picture of you and print it out and hang it up above my bed and also keep another one in my wallet and change my background picture to-”

“O-okay, enough!” you said, pushing him away from you because your limbs were beginning to tingle and burn, and his touch was sending shocks through your entire body. Even more so, his hands were beginning to go to places he shouldn’t, not right now at least. You made sure to keep him at an arm’s length, palm pressing into his chest, in fear he’d simply close the distance if you didn’t physically stop him.

“You’re so ridiculous, Jeon,” you said, shaking your head, laughing a little. “You can never be serious, can you?”

“But I am! I’m very serious! Looking at you makes me wanna-”

You were quick to shake your head, hands pressing to your ears because no no no, you didn’t want to know! All while you were smiling, grinning almost. Without realising it, Jungkook had done the impossible—lifted your mood, made you laugh when you felt irritated and annoyed by everything before. 

“Fine, I won’t tell you!” Jungkook sighed, dramatically rolling his eyes. You looked at him, lowering your hands, your smile cemented on your lips.

“You’re so stupid, Jeon,” you mumbled, scrunching your nose, and he gasped in faux upset.

“That’s so mean, cabbage!”

“Oh, just shut up.”

Jungkook slung his arms around your middle, doing so before you could even think to stop him. His chin dropped to your shoulder, hands scopping up yours again and eyes meeting in the mirror.

“So, what do we think?”

You raised a brow. “Now, it’s we? I thought your thoughts didn’t matter-”

He sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “Fine, what do you think?”

And you inspected yourself again, gaze wandering up and down. You didn’t know what it was, but the dress seemed different now. It was still the same fabric, same cut, nothing had changed, but you remembered why you had bought the dress, why you had taken Jisoo up on her offer to try it on when she had shown it to you. Because it was beautiful, even more so with you in it.

“Is this the dress?” Jungkook whispered into your ear, and you knew he was hoping for a yes. 

You tilted your head to the side, heart beating faster when you opened your mouth. Because yes, it was. The dress, choosing it, it was another step closer to meeting Jungkook’s parents, another hurdle out of the way. Your eyes met his in the mirror, his face so close to yours. The two of you standing there together, you almost could convince yourself you were an actual couple.

“Yeah, it is.”

He beamed, tightening his arms around you, letting out a small sigh of relief. “Okay, good, I’m glad.”

You lowered your gaze, and you wondered if he maybe feared you wouldn’t go because you couldn’t find anything to wear. If maybe that was the reason for why he came so quickly because he didn’t want you to use that excuse. Because otherwise he would have to explain to his precious and perfect parents why his girlfriend refused to meet them-

“How does the 22nd sound to you by the way?” Jungkook asked, pulling you out of your trains of thoughts, almost as if he knew. He mumbled the words into your skin, and you felt every move of his lips. “To meet my parents, I mean.”

Just eight days.

“Y-yeah, that… should work,” you returned, breathless and high pitched, eyes finding the floor. He stared at you in the reflection, nudging you to do the same. You hesitated, but did as he said, breath hitching in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you, oh so sincere and genuine.

“It’s gonna be fine.”

There was something assuring about the way he said it. If anyone elses told you these words, it would do you no good, bring you no relief. But when he did, it did. It was silly really.

“I promise you.”

“Yeah, really, Jeon?” you laughed shallowly, tucking a strand behind your ear and swallowing. “You promise me?”

And as if looking at your mere reflection just wasn’t enough for him, Jungkook turned you around by your hips, forcing your eyes to meet his. 

“I promises you, cabbage. I won’t leave you for one second, alright? Hell, I will drive you there and home again, okay? I’ll be there with you for every second of the day, from the moment you wake up to the moment you go back to bed, glued to your side, so much so you’ll be so annoyed by me that you’ll want me gone. You won’t even go the bathroom on your own, okay?” He paused for a second, scrunching his nose. “I’ll make sure you will have the most non awkward but perfect and fun evening possible.”

His phrasing made you laugh, ebbed the waves of anxiety crashing onto your mind over and over again when you thought a little too much about the next week. His parents, him and you, in one room. 

“It’s gonna be great.”

Jungkook smiled at you, a little too bright and too wide. You returned it to the best of your abilities, letting him pull you back into a hug, eyes falling shut.

“Okay, I believe you,” you told him, hearing his heart beating in his chest. “For once.”

He tightened his arms around you.

(“Do you think it will have snowed by then?” he asked you when the intro to the new episode of Avatar began playing on his laptop. You looked up, eyes catching his, your head rested against his chest and his arms around you.

“What?”

“By the 22nd I mean. Do you think it will have snowed by then?”

You frowned, thinking of the last few winters. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He thought about your answer for a few more seconds, looking off to the side before returning your gaze. “I hope. I’d like to spend a proper white Christmas with you.”

“Pray to the Gods then,” you said. “Chances aren’t so good.”

The past few years it had always only snowed in January.

“Oh, I do, every day,” Jungkook laughed, and you hummed, focusing back on the episode and missing the way his gaze softened at your sight.)

“Okay, so I’ll be back right before New Year,” Chaeyoung said, giving her calendar one last look before snapping it close again. “Who of us is gonna be here?”

Hoseok and you both let out affirmative noises, and Jimin raised his hand in a yes as well, mouth stuffed with his sandwich. You scooted closer to the table to let a guy squeeze through as he made his way to the lunch table with his friends, a tray full of bland and dry cafeteria food.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jisoo said, taking a handful of grapes from her purple grape shaped lunch box and plopping each one into her mouth. “My sister asked if I wanted to celebrate New Year’s with her. But maybe she’ll go over to her girlfriend’s. She isn’t sure yet. I’ll text you guys?”

“I’ll be here the entire holidays,” Namjoon sighed. “I still have finals.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” you said, offering him a smile. He waved you off, mumbling something about how at least he was almost finished up with it all. 

“Well, at least we will be spending New Year’s together, right?” Jimin said with a smile.

You took a sip from your green tea, needing warmth because your University never turned on the heaters, preferring their students to freeze. Where did your tuition money go? 

“Okay, but how about Christmas eve for everyone else? When are you guys heading back home again?” Hoseok asked, shovelling his protein oatmeal into his mouth. “You’re going tonight, right, Ji? With Jennie?”

“Yeah, our train’s booked for 8 pm.”

“I’ll go on the 23rd,” Jimin said, and Chaeyoung echoed the same. 

“You’re going tomorrow, right?” she asked Hoseok, and he nodded. “When are you meeting Kook’s parents again, Y/N? The 22nd?”

“Yeah.” You played with the lip of your paper cup, feeling the warmth of your tea. Your heart grew a little heavier, scared one of them would ask when you’d go meet your parents. Because you weren’t, at least not on Christmas eve. Both of them had to work, unable to take a day off. It was an irrational fear, you were aware. Because your friends knew that very well. They’d never ask, but your heart didn’t understand.

“That’s- oh my God, that’s in four days, huh?” Jisoo gasped, and the horror and terror gripping you must have reflected on your face because she was quick to interject. “Oh, sorry. No, it’s gonna be great, Y/N. I don’t know why I said that. That was stupid.”

“You’re still anxious about it, huh?” Hoseok mumbled, and though he worded it like a question, all of you knew the answer.

“Hard not to be,” you said, voice a little short and curt. “It comes in… waves.”

Namjoon patted your shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Chaeyoung reached for your hand, squeezing it. “Yeah, I’m sure. We’re all gonna be there for you if it does somehow go wrong—which I highly, highly doubt might I add.”

“Well, not Jisoo. She’s gonna be home, busy showing off her Jennie,” you joked, trying to make light of the situation but it sounded just slightly off.

“What? I can’t be there for you from home?” Jisoo gasped, and before you could question how she’d do that, she continued. “I’m there for you too, telepathically! Jennie too! In your heart! Always! Over the phone! Don’t doubt us!”

You laughed a little, mouthing an apology.

“But you definitely won’t need us,” Jimin said. “Because it’s gonna be fine. Especially because Kook’s gonna make sure of it, okay?”

Before you could return something, your eyes were drawn to the doors.

Oh.

Your friends followed your gaze.

Jungkook had his backpack strapped to his shoulder and the red scarf wrapped around his neck. It shouldn’t be possible. You were technically too far for you to properly see, but you saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the strain in his nape, the deep knit between his brows. He was…. annoyed. It was new to you. For a moment, you almost expected to find Narae walking behind him, bugging him, hot on his trail. It would explain it to you, and you would just simply walk over there and pull him to your table. Just like that, you would ease the knit between your brows, take the tension out of his shoulders and neck-

But it wasn’t Narae. 

It was Taehyung. 

He said something to Jungkook that made him roll his eyes. Jungkook didn’t seem to want to respond, shaking his head and waving his hand around, an attempt to end the conversation. But Taehyung wasn’t so kind, going on, even taking hold of his shoulder.

“Someone is in a mood,” Namjoon mumbled, cringing.

“What are they talking about, Y/N?” Jimin asked, looking at you, and you stared right back at him, frowning.

“How would I know?”

“You’re his girlfriend.”

“So?”

“Go find out.”

“What? I just walk up to them and say,” you raised your voice a few pitches, “‘Oh my God, hi, you guys are clearly fighting. Care to share?’ Is that what you want?”

Jimin blinked, shrugging. “Sure, that would work.”

“You’re so ridiculous, Jimin,” you hissed, touching a hand to your forehead. “That wouldn’t work.”

“Of course, it would. Kook’s absolutely obsessed-”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Chaeyoung hissed, slapping Jimin. “They’re looking!”

“You guys are always so loud,” Hoseok sighed, and you sent him a glare because no, you don’t! It’s just Jimin!

But they were right. Taehyung and Jungkook were both looking at you, their conversation having come to an end. When you met his gaze, Jungkook’s face contorted into something else, features twitching. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it wasn’t the usual. He didn’t soften in the way you were used to when he would see you. And when you tried a smile, Jungkook struggled to return it. You felt shot, and your smile faltered.

But Jimin didn’t sense it at all, wildly waving his hand around, gesturing for the two to come this way. And as if it wasn’t more obvious, he yelled it too, “Hey, Tae and Kook! Come join us!”

Jisoo sighed, “He’s such an idiot.”

Chaeyoung and Hoseok shrugged, as if to say well, it’s Jimin. They were right, it was just Jimin being himself, unaware and impulsive. Namjoon didn’t have any words, shaking his head. 

Jungkook and Taehyung looked at each other, exchanging a few words before the latter glanced at his watch and shook his head. He had to go. Taehyung placed his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, whispering something into his ear. You must have imagined it but it looked like he glanced in your direction. But before you could think about it, Taehyung headed in the same direction he had previously come from, and Jungkook slowly made his way over, not meeting your eyes once.

“What were you arguing about?” Jimin asked when Jungkook stood in front of you, and you watched him grip the strap of his backpack, the skin over his knuckles stretching thin.

“Jimin!” Jisoo hissed, punching him. 

“Ow!”

“Right, yeah, of course, you’d ask,” he smiled. “It’s fine.”

Jungkook said it with a laugh, but it was all wrong. 

“We weren’t arguing.” 

And as if it wasn’t enough, Jungkook put on his brightest and biggest smile. He showed it to everyone. Like a stone plunged into the deep sea, your heart sank. You had seen it before, that smile. It had decorated his lips during the Halloween party when you first walked in, or when you had first hurt his feelings while you had gone costume shopping. 

Namjoon and you looked at each other shortly, both of you sensing it. 

“Is everything-”

“Well, it looked like you were,” Jimin mumbled, accidentally interrupting Namjoon. He waited for Jungkook to budge and cave under his gaze, but when he wouldn’t, he shrugged. “Come sit.”

Maybe he could feel your burning gaze on him, but Jungkook finally glanced in your direction. If only for a second, so very brief. But it dug into your heart and split it open, gutted you and left you utterly empty. You had seen him just yesterday, picked out your dress together, parted ways this morning a few hours ago, and now he seemed like another person. He looked so sad, sad in a way you hadn’t seen before. You didn’t think that any emotion close to that had ever crossed his features, not in your presence at least. It was so new and surprising to you—because somehow in your mind, you had forgotten he had the ability to feel… upset—you froze.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Jungkook said, nailing that same smile back onto his lips as before. “But I’ll see you guys around.”

And before any of you could protest, he was gone, back turned to your table and heading into the crowd. 

“Well, that was… weird,” Chaeyoung said, pointing out the elephant in the room. And as if she had said your name, everyone turned to you for some kind of answer.

You blinked back at them. “Yeah, I-I don’t know.”

There was another beat of silence before ultimately your friends shrugged.

“Maybe it’s just not a good day?” Hoseok proposed, and they were all quick to agree, moving on. And though you didn’t voice it, you knew it wasn’t that. It couldn’t just be that. 

You knew it was about you. It had to be. Taehyung had glanced at your direction. You hadn’t imagined it, that much you were sure of. And the fact Jungkook hadn’t been able to look at you cemented it for you. Your heart quickened, a certain question coming to the front of your mind.

What if Jungkook didn’t want you to meet his parents anymore?

Maybe it had finally clicked with him—what it meant if you met his parents. How ridiculous it was. Because you weren’t his girlfriend. It was his parents after all. How stupid all of it was actually. Not just you meeting his parents, but the entire contract you had. How far it had gone, too far.

You pressed your lips together, a knot forming in your throat. Maybe he didn’t know how to tell you now. Maybe you should be prepared for the very worst. Maybe this was it. Impact incoming! The fall was nearing its end, your end.

Your hands began shaking, curling around the edge of the table for stability. Panic built up within you, panic that really shouldn’t build up at all, you knew. Your friends blurred into an incohesive mess in front of you.

Oh God.

You didn’t see Jungkook for the rest of the day, or the one after that. In fact, you didn’t hear from him at all, until almost two days later. Maybe you should have reached out first—you did think about it. But you simply couldn’t, your hands shaking whenever you’d open your chat with him, your old messages staring back at you almost mockingly. Because what if he told you he wanted to end it? What if this was how it would end because you couldn’t wait and recklessly send a message?

There was a few seconds of silence, the sound of his breathing coming in through unsteadily. You gripped your phone tighter.

“Hey.”

Jungkook still sounded the same, and for some reason, you were surprised. Why you expected him to sound different, you didn’t know. 

“Hi,” you returned, swallowing because it was your voice, in fact, that sounded odd. At least it did to you. You cleared your throat.

Usually, he’d make some joke, ask you about your day, how you were doing, where you were, if you had watched the videos he’d sent you yet, eaten already. Usually, your conversation would be much lighter, easier. Right now, you felt the air hanging between you, pulling your legs closer to your chest as you waited and waited. He had called you, he would have to speak first.

“I’m sorry I didn’t join you guys for lunch the other day,” Jungkook mumbled, and you closed your eyes.

“It’s alright,” you said, a waver to your voice and you couldn’t decide if it was because you felt cold, even though you were tucked into your bed, or because you felt uncertain of it all, like you were standing at the edge of a cliff, the deep sea awaiting you on the other side, waves crashing up on you. 

Neither of you said anything. 

Your throat grew dry, the questions coming back up again within you. Was he going to tell you over the phone? That he didn’t want you to meet his parents anymore. Maybe even that he wanted to call this entire thing off. That he’d realised this wasn’t worth it anymore, doing all of this to win a stupid bet he’d made with Taehyung months ago. It had gotten too exhausting, you had gotten too exhausting for him. Let’s just end it here, tell everyone you’d just fallen out of love. Hell maybe he’d be even willing to tell everyone the truth, how they’d been fooled. It had all been an act! How fun! How could you all think he was in love with-

“Everything’s alright.”

You paused. “What?”

“I-” Jungkook faltered, letting out a laugh. It came through oh so light and clear. Just not quite genuine. Or maybe you were imagining it, your mind dissecting every of his words. “I’m just trying to say- things are alright. It’s gonna be okay.”

And for some reason, you knew the words weren’t meant to reassure you. But him. He needed it right now, more than you. You blinked, nodded as if he could see.

“Yeah, everything’s alright,” you repeated, quietly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

What exactly he referred to, you weren’t sure. And you weren’t going to ask. He’d tell you when he wanted you to know, when he was ready. Truth be told, you weren’t even entirely sure if you were ready for it, couldn’t say either where your confidence that it’d be alright came from. 

“It will, right?” he laughed again, that same laugh. It came through now, the tinge of uncertainty swinging with his voice. 

You added a small smile, reassurance. “Of course, it will. Always has.”

Jungkook waited a beat, thought about it for a second. “Yeah, no, yeah you’re right.”

And then, you both went back to silence again. You were the one to break it, doing so before you could think better of it and retreat. The question slipped so quickly past your lips, came out of you with the answer to it packaged within already. For once, you dared something, held out your heart.

“Do you want to come over?”

The question seemed alright at first. He’d tell you he was already on his way, in fact. Had you not heard the engine this entire time? Actually, look outside! How silly of you, he had gotten you again. You’d laugh, buzz him up while telling him how annoying he was. He’d fall into your arms, coat and scarf and shoes still on. There’d be no time for you to tell him to at least take off his shoes because he’d knock you over with his entire weight. But you’d hold him up, if not barely and struggling heavily. You’d do it, and you’d do it with a smile. He’d press a kiss to your lips and ask you again if things would just be fine. And you’d do the same as you did on the phone, like a good girlfriend does, you’d reassure him over and over again until you’d be too tired and fall asleep together. Things would truly be alright, you’d meet his parents and maybe resolve it all. Maybe he and you could be something, more. Maybe he meant it, all of it, the gestures and words and kisses. He and you, together, it could be possible-

“I’m sorry—” You wanted him to stop then. He didn’t need to elaborate. It was enough. You bit down on your tongue, hard. “I’m… just really tired today.”

Jungkook hesitated, spoke slowly, and you wanted to laugh it off, tell him it was alright and to go to sleep, but your throat knotted into a terrible mess. 

He didn’t want you to meet his parents.

“Hm.”

It was the only response you could offer. Because if you spoke, he would know, and he couldn’t know—the tears that shot into your eyes.

You pressed your hand to your mouth, and wondered if your reassurance had done anything at all. If not actually you had needed it, even more than he did. 

“I think- classes was exhausting, so yeah. You know, right? So I’m gonna go to bed now,” Jungkook said, and you nodded, as if he could see you, and if you checked, you’d realise it was just eight. You bit your tongue harder.

He never liked you.

“Okay,” you squeaked out, your voice a few pitches too high. He had to know, you were sure of it. Anyone would know, even a drunk Jimin could figure it out. It was blatantly obvious, and you pressed your hand harder against your mouth, scared as you awaited what he’d say. You wouldn’t know how to answer his questions if he asked you why you cried. It would be utterly humiliating to admit why—that you knew you never meant anything to him beyond what you’d agreed upon, but that he did to you. So much, in fact. 

“Goodnight-”

You ended the call, your phone displayed his name for a few more seconds before you tossed it aside, uncaring that it bounced off your bed and you’d have to look for it later on the floor. A part of you wanted to laugh, outright laugh out loud, laugh so loud because maybe it would drown it out. Because were you not just silly? Stupid? Even more so for the tears that rolled down your face and stained your duvet three shades darker. Clear evidence of your silliness, your delusion, your unwavering and foolish hope. 

It embarrassed and humiliated you, how quickly the tears came, how his words had crashed onto you, ship-wrecked you, buried you under. His words hurt, and his dismissal even more. Two words had been enough, had pierced your heart and left you tiptoeing a cliff. Jungkook had more power than you thought he did, power he shouldn’t be holding over your head and heart to begin with. Power he shouldn’t have because you didn’t have it over him.

A text awaited you one morning, just a day before the 22nd.

[Jeon - 07:01 AM] : can i come over later tonight?

And a text was all it took.

Jungkook was not even a second late. Someone was in a hurry to get this over with, it almost made you laugh. Your doorbell rang the moment the clock turned seven. Still, you shrieked, hesitated, stared at your front door like you hadn’t known he’d come, like you hadn’t expected him to come.

You busied yourself with your phone, swiping back and forth, as he climbed up the stairs, your back turned to the door. You just couldn’t watch as he stepped inside. This was it. He’d tell you that he’d realised this had gotten too far, out of hand. You wouldn’t have to meet his parents tomorrow, you had done your part. He’d thank you, assure you he’d break the news to your friends and take the blame. It’d be alright, you wouldn’t have to do anything. And just like before you had ever talked to Jungkook at the vending machine, you’d go your own ways. 

His steps grew louder, echoed less and less until he was inside. A draft pulled through your small flat as he shut the door behind you, quiet but final. You shivered and turned off your phone, heart heavy in your chest as you prepared yourself to turn around and face him. You had thought about it all day, agonised how it’d be like to see him again the past week, how you’d handle this, how you could retain just a bit of your pride at the end of this. The scenario played over and over again in your mind—you’d look at him with a smile, tell him you understood perfectly and he didn’t need to explain. It had been stupid anyway, fun but stupid. Both of you knew this wasn’t anything really, it would come to an end. You didn’t mind it at all. 

“You know, it’s alright, Jeon. I know what you wanna-”

Jungkook wrapped his arms around you with his coat and scarf and shoes on. He pressed you to his chest, held you even tighter when you hesitated to return his hug, as if he needed to physically feel you, be sure you were there.

You hadn’t seen him all week, and all of a sudden, you didn’t know what to do around him anymore.

“Jeon?” 

“Can you hug me?” he asked you, voice barely above a whisper, and though you had been so sure about what would happen just seconds ago, pictured how your conversation would go, you realised you knew nothing at all. You did as he said, putting your arms around his middle and squeezing as tightly as you could, holding your breath even.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like this, but when you pulled away, Jungkook looked at you in a way you had never seen. He took your hands into his.

“I’m sorry, cabbage,” he began, and in the dim light, you could see his eyes glaze over. “I don’t know what’s been going on with me for the past week.”

He paused, breathed in deeply, looked to the side before returning his gaze to you. 

“I think- there’s just been a lot on my mind, and I had to figure it out first, I think,” he continued. “I-I don’t think I fully have, but I will, soon.”

You looked at him, silent for a few seconds before you nodded, brushing your thumbs over the inside of his wrists.

“That’s okay,” you told him, giving him a smile. “It’s fine. I understand.”

Truth be told, you didn’t know where you took your words from, where you dug up that reassurance again. Because you’d felt the opposite for the past week. It’d been a horrible week for you, sleepless and anxious. 

You’d been tiptoeing a thin line, wondering every second when exactly this would blow over, just how close you were to impact, when your fall would end. Would it be a text? A call? Would he just show up to your doorstep unannounced one evening after you had come back from exhausting classes and do it then? Or would it be Jimin who’d relayed the messages? Would he not tell you at all, deeming not worth the effort even? So, it had been nice to be told the truth—that things had been confusing for Jungkook and he hadn’t figured out how to navigate it all—and yet you weren’t sure if it was enough for you, if it qualmed your worries.

“I’m really sorry, cabbage,” Jungkook repeated, and you wondered what he was so sorry for that he needed to apologise twice. If maybe you were right. Why else would he feel so apologetic? Was the ending coming and he just needed some more time to figure out the order of his words, unable to bring it over his heart? 

You should ask him if the things plaguing his mind was how to end this. You should, really. Regardless of the answer, it would free you, however painful it might just be. You’d find peace. Maybe you feared the pain too much, the tears that would run down your face, the embarrassment that would rip you into pieces, or maybe you didn’t care enough for yourself to find out the truth, but you didn’t ask. 

Your smile grew bigger, and you didn’t know who you were fooling, him or you. “Don’t be. It’s okay, Jeon.”

Jungkook took your face into his hands, staring into your eyes, looking so intensely at you like he’d never before. He was searching something, and you weren’t sure if he found it, if you held whatever he looked for at all.

“It’ll be fine,” you said, and this was for you, not him. 

“It’ll be fine,” he repeated, nodding, and as he leaned closer to you, you wondered if the same would apply tomorrow. When you’d meet his parents, stand in front of them. When they’d scrutinise every little detail about you and come to their conclusion on who you were before you could even open your mouth and utter your name. 

You let Jungkook pull you into a kiss, returned it with the same intensity. Both of you needed it right now. What exactly you offered each other, you couldn’t pinpoint. But it was enough to silence your mind and his too. 

When his hands wandered, so did yours. He pushed you to your bed, and you let your mattress catch your fall. Your sweater landed on your floor, and soon the rest of your clothes followed. His coat and the scarf you had made him found its place at the foot of your bed. He struggled for a bit to kick off his boots before ultimately stumbling out of them.

Jungkook pressed kisses from your lips to your ear down to your neck and collarbone. Slowly, they wandered further down and down, stopping as he paid extra attention to the places he learned you liked, made your back arch in his favourite way and your breath hitch so beautifully in your throat. Soon, you were pleading with the Gods above, curling your hands around your duvet as Jungkook familiarised himself with you again. His hands pried you open, splitting you into two again and again, bringing you high above. You returned the favour, listened as he found religion through you, drawing out his relief until he needed your lips on his instead. By now, you knew him blindly, your hands finding the sensitive parts of him even as he carved his way back to yours.

“I’ve missed you,” Jungkook mumbled into your ear when he began moving, and you smiled, wrapped your arms around him. So had you. 

“Me too,” you returned, your hips finding a steady rhythm together. He pressed kisses to your skin, hands holding you oh so tightly like he usually would. But he hadn’t said it, hadn’t told you for the entire week, not even now when he would on any other day—that he loved you—and so maybe that was why you fell asleep with an uneasy heart. 

Had he not promised? That he’d be there for every second of the day, from the moment you woke up to the moment you went back to bed, glued to your side until you were sick of him? Was that not what he had said, the words he assured you with? So how was it that you awoke alone, like you had been for the entire past week, without him?

Jungkook wasn’t here, and yet you looked around your home like he could be hidden in some corner. He didn’t like you anymore, you were sure. Why would he? He never did to begin with. Probably regretted this more than anything else, realised just how exhausting it was to be with you. It wouldn’t be worth it. His parents wouldn’t like you, tell him that he could do better. He’d agree- actually he knew that already. Yesterday night had been a mistake, just like all the other times had been. He and you weren’t the same, never could be. Just like two mismatching puzzle pieces, you’d never make a whole picture together. You’d been right, of course. Jungkook could never like you, never saw you as anything more than a paw in this stupid cruel game between Taehyung and you. And you had been played, over and over again. How stupid of you. Foolish! This-

The blaring of your alarm brought you back to reality, the sound filling your ears. You had forgotten to turn it off. You reached for your phone, shutting it off but before you could toss it aside, you saw it. It made you pause, his name atop of your notifications. A voice memo, just over two minutes. Like it had been all you had been looking for, you hurriedly unlocked your phone. You were about to hit start, when you paused, your thumb hovering just above it. Because it could be anything—a simple breakfast run, or a goodbye. A pit grew in your stomach, and you wished he had just left you a clue about what he’d be saying in it. Your chest webbed tightly with anxiety, a rollercoaster in your throat.

You took in a deep breath, bracing yourself, eyes closed as you hit play. Whatever it might be, you’d be fine, somehow, you hoped.

“Hey, I’m so sorry—” Your chest felt so hollow, his voice unsteady. He was running, the wind blowing up the audio. He sounded far away, you had to strain to hear him properly, your phone on maximum volume. “—I know I promised to be there when you’d wake up, but—”

But I just couldn’t do this any longer. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I just didn’t know how to. I’m sorry.

“—my mom called me. She’s having an emergency with her car, and now she’s stuck in- actually, I don’t know where, but I’m on my way there to jumpstart her car. And I thought about waking you up for it, but that felt mean and you looked so peaceful, I just couldn’t. But- it’s so cold, oh my God. Listen, I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’m gonna hurry, okay? So just wait for me, alright? I’ll be there, I promise.”

You heard the door of his car open and close. The wind cut out, and all of a sudden it was quiet. There was ruffling, Jungkook took his phone closer to his face. He sighed, and you could see him right in front of your eyes—sitting there in his car, hair a mess on his head, as he closed his eyes to find his words, a knit between his brows.

“I’m really sorry, cabbage,” he began again. “Both for leaving now because I know I had promised I’d be there, and… again for the past week. I know I’ve been shit, and I know you’ve been confused and- I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair at all-”

Neither had you however, you realised as you listened to him talk. Of course, Jungkook had only left because his mother needed his help. How could you assume the worst of him after everything? When he was so good and kind? Had been all this time to you?

“But we will figure this out, okay?”

Jungkook paused again. You pulled your legs to your chest, burying your face into your knees, teeth sinking into your tongue.

“Let’s talk about this after today. But it’s gonna be fine. Like you said it would.”

You had lied.

“What am I talking about?” He let out a small laugh, and you knew he was shaking his head at himself. “It’s already fine.” 

You felt like a traitor. You were terrible.

“I’ll be back to pick you up, okay? So just wait for me. I hope I can get to you by two the latest. I hope it won’t take too long to figure it all out. You know, I actually don’t know how to jumpstart a car, so I really don’t know why my mom called me.”

He laughed again, and you didn’t think you could ever get the sound out of your mind. It was so pretty and melodic, so good and precious. 

“Well, anyway, I gotta get going, but I can’t wait for tonight already. I miss you.”

You missed him too, loved him even. Did he? Could he? Could you?

It was cowardly of you, hypocritical actually. But you couldn’t do it differently, didn’t have the courage to look at Jungkook and say it. The words wouldn’t leave you, you were certain, if you stood in front of him. He deserved more than a text, but more than that he deserved the truth. And the truth was you couldn’t do this, any of it in fact, not anymore. Couldn’t meet his parents, or even pretend to be his girlfriend any longer, not in good conscience. It had to end.

Your thumbs shook as you slowly found the right letters, strung together the words and sentences. You hit delete every other word, barely getting a paragraph together in almost an hour. Because worst of all, even as you tried to offer some honesty, you knew you couldn’t offer it entirely to him, couldn’t let Jungkook know just how exactly you felt, how deeply you had plunged into love with him. 

I’m sorry, Jeon, but I don’t think I can keep this going any longer. I know I said I’d meet your parents, but I think we’re just going a little too far by doing that. I hope you understand. I know I’m not fulfilling our contract and you’ll lose your bet with Taehyung and I’m really sorry, so I’ll just wire back all the money. I never touched it anyway. 

You were about to finish off the paragraph, deciding that any wishes for your future relationship as friends would be too much to ask for, thumb sliding over the glass, when your phone lit up, buzzing and ringing. And right just then, you accepted the call, your heart dropping in your chest. Your stomach twisted terribly because you couldn’t do this. How could you? Hear his voice, talk to him as if you weren’t just about to call this entire thing off over text? How could you pretend it was all fine when you’d felt gutted for the entire week?

“Hey,” Jungkook greeted you, oh so unaware. You could hear the harsh wind coming through the speaker. “I’m sorry—”

You wished he’d stop apologising. If he just knew what you’d been thinking of him for the past few days, all the assumptions you had made about him and his character, his parents too. 

“—but looks like I won’t make it by two.”

There was a sigh, and you let the silence usher Jungkook to keep on speaking, knowing your voice would merely betray you.

“I tried to jumpstart the car, but yeah, it didn’t work out. We called some people now and seems like we’re gonna have to have the car towed and fixed at the shop.”

The frustration bled through in Jungkook’s voice. It was obvious. He had spent all morning trying desperately to fix his mom’s car in the freezing cold, and now it had come to this.

“We called my dad. He’s on his way here because I still need to go back to my parents and take a shower. It’s gonna take some time—the drive to my parents, the shower and then the drive to your place—so I definitely won’t make it by two. But I should be at your place by three the latest though, I hope that’s fine?”

You closed your eyes, wondered just what exactly you were supposed to say. And so, for a while you didn’t as you gathered yourself.

“Cabbage? Are you there? Can you hear-”

“Y-yeah.” You chewed on your lip, took a few more seconds before speaking. “You… don’t have to come-”

“What? No, I promised you I’d drive you. Let me at least do that,” Jungkook insisted, and you hoped he’d just understand. How direct did you have to be? 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to,” you tried, but to no avail.

He snorted. “Cabbage, I’m driving you. No matter what. My dad’s almost here. You won’t have to wait long. I’ll probably be at your place before three actually. I shower quickly!”

You pressed your hands to your eyes until dark spots appeared, shaking your head. Why couldn’t he just understand? 

A lump knotted your throat shut, your voice wavering as you began speaking, “I-I think we should just-”

“Ah, my dad’s here! I gotta go, cabbage. But please just wait, I’ll be there soon, okay? Can’t wait to see you! It’s gonna be great. You’re gonna charm their asses off, okay?”

And before you could even protest, confess to Jungkook that you couldn’t do any of this, he had hung up. You stared as your phone displayed your lockscreen before ultimately turning black, leaving you with your reflection.

You caught yourself in your mirror, realising how puffy your eyes were. It was blatantly obvious you had cried. You were a mess, in no state to meet anyone’s parents, no less Jungkook’s perfect parents. But now you couldn’t even get yourself out of this anymore, not when you had heard his excitement again. How could you disappoint him? 

Just one more day. You’d do it for one more day, him and you. You’d just get today over with, that much you owed him, and then you’d sit him down to break it all off.

The dress was still oh so beautiful on you, harmonised perfectly with the white cropped cardigan you had picked out for today because it was, indeed, cold like Jungkook had said it was, and you really didn’t want to freeze. Your hair remained the same as always. You had thought about changing it, but decided in the end that at least your hair should be the way you were used to. Same with your jewellery, the same few pieces you wore every day adorning you today too. You kept the makeup minimal, and still it took you ages to get it done, hands shaky as you carefully drew on eyeliner and curled your lashes. 

Looking at yourself you wondered if it was enough to fool everyone, yourself possibly even that you were perfectly fine, that you fit to Jungkook, that he and you could be something more, that your background was the same as theirs, that you were just another Narae, well-off and well-travelled.

But your doubts and worries had no time to brew, your doorbell announcing Jungkook. Shrugging on your coat and slipping into the pair of black kitten heels you had borrowed from Chaeyoung, you gave yourself one more look in the mirror. You looked beautiful, you knew that. Everything about you looked so close to perfect, and yet, you felt the opposite. Today was the last time for Jungkook and you, and just the thought made you want to cry.

You shook your head, not wanting to keep Jungkook waiting any longer. It was truly cold, and you regretted your choice of shoes the moment you stepped outside, cursing yourself. The wind snaked up your legs. Maybe if you knew that this wasn’t going to be your last day together as a pretend couple, you would have run up and changed. But more than ever before, you wanted to look your best today. Because at the very least, however today might end (badly), you looked good.

Jungkook agreed, face lighting up the moment he laid his eyes on you. You tried your very best to return your smile. He looked oh so good too, wondering if he matched you on purpose. His sweater was the same deep rich red as yours, a white turtleneck layered underneath. He paired it off with some black slacks and black boots, your scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. You couldn’t look at him too long, vision beginning to swim when you did, so you focused on the ground, one step after the other.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jungkook gasped, clutching his chest and pretending to have a heart attack. 

“Thank you,” you said, speaking quietly, afraid your voice was going to betray you. “You too.”

Your compliment made his smile turn into a grin. “Well, you’re prettier.”

Usually, you’d make some snarky comment, fall into the same old banter you’d established with him long ago. Today, you could barely bring yourself to look at him. 

“Let’s-”

Jungkook cupped your face, lifting your eyes to him, forcing you to face him. His gaze turned your insides soft and puddy, hands beginning to shake by your side.

“I’m so happy, cabbage,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your lips. It almost made you cry. You screwed your eyes shut. Before the kiss could go on longer, devastate you more, crush you further, you pulled away.

“I-I’ve got lipgloss on,” you mumbled, giving Jungkook a short smile before stepping aside to walk to his car. He laughed behind you, telling you how he didn’t mind at all, but still, he followed you.

Just as you were about to reach for the car door, he did it for you. Always the gentleman. You paused for a second, surprised (why were you?), before climbing inside, heart heavy as you waited for him to just close the car door. Jungkook didn’t though, drawing your eyes back to him.

“Are you sure about the shoes?” he asked you, brows furrowed together. “It’s cold. You’re not even wearing stockings.”

You felt even more self-conscious all of a sudden, tucking your feet underneath the seat, cheeks warming and heart thrumming. These shoes were the only ones that fit with your outfit. You didn’t have an extensive shoe collection, anything you could change into now wouldn’t match. It’d be a waste not to wear them, especially after you had asked Chaeyoung to borrow them.

“Y-yeah, it’s fine.”

Jungkook seemed to disagree, still standing there with the car door in his hand, and when he opened his mouth, you knew he was going to argue with you.

“I really-”

“It’s fine,” you repeated, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s just go. We’re gonna be late.”

The frown didn’t disappear from his face, but he conceded, albeit with a sigh. His hand squeezed yours, and you flinched, pulling it away as if he burned you. Jungkook stopped, eyes shooting to yours.

Your heart dropped in your chest. Oh no. 

You put on your brightest and biggest smile. “Sorry, your hand’s just super cold,” you laughed. 

Jungkook blinked before smiling, “Ah, sorry.”

With that he shut the car door, and you pulled the seat belt across your body, readying your words on your tongue that you had thought of this entire time.

I’m super tired. Do you mind if I sleep during the ride?

It was a blatant lie. Every nerve and fibre of your body was lit up, wired tightly. You couldn’t find sleep even if you laid in your bed now. The thought of having to talk to Jungkook for the entirety of the car ride, however, turned your stomach upside down. 

You decided to wait for him to put on the seat belt first before saying it, needing a few more seconds to rid the knot from your throat. From the corner of your eye, you watched as he climbed inside, putting his key into the ignition, rubbing his hands together. But rather than reach for the seat belt, Jungkook fumbled with the console, turning on the heat, carefully turning the knob back and forth. Warm air started blasting from the heaters immediately, wrapping you up from every direction.

“Do you want the seat warmer too?”

He looked at you so sincerely. You crumbled almost.

“I-It’s okay.”

“Just say a word and I’ll change it, okay? Don’t want you freezing,” he said before strapping the seat belt across his chest. You turned to the window. 

Your voice wavered slightly. “Uh, I’m super tired. Do you mind if I sleep during the ride?”

“Oh, yeah, no, totally. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re there. Gonna take a while anyway.”

You hummed in response, frowning when you saw Jungkook rub his hands together, blowing into them, even holding them up to the heaters for a few seconds. Before you could wonder for too long, he took your hand into his, thumb brushing back and forth.

“Warm enough?”

He said it with such a beautiful smile. It shattered you. You merely nodded before turning away, eyes closing shut, a lump stuck in your throat. The gesture, however small, dug into your heart like a knife. He was so nice, so kind, so good. And for the past week, you had thought the worst of him. 

You knew you had arrived even before Jungkook parked the car. The engine slowly shut off, keys jangling when he pulled them out. You heard the click of his seat belt, some shuffling, and your heart beat faster as you waited for him to wake you up. Truth be told, you hadn’t thought this through. How were you going to convince him that you had slept this entire time when you hadn’t even for a single second? The last time you had pretended to sleep in the car was when you were seven and didn’t want to go to school. And even then, it hadn’t worked, your mother seeing right through you.

Jungkook had held your hand the entire ride. You had so gotten used to the feeling of his warmth that when he slowly pried his hand out of yours, you felt oddly cold. For a second, you thought you had to have imagined it when you heard the car door open. But when the sound of it softly closing followed, you knew you hadn’t. Maybe he wanted to come around and then wake you up?

You waited a few more seconds but when your car door remained shut, you slowly peeled your eyes open. Once again, Jungkook wasn’t there. But your attention turned to the house across the street instead. Jisoo and Chaeyoung had, of course, asked for Jungkook’s address—Just in case. He had happily sent it to them, and you too if you wanted to forward it to anyone else too. (The fact that Jisoo was over an hour's train ride away didn’t matter by the way.) You couldn’t recall the address, but you did remember the house number, and you were definitely staring at the right house right now.

It was bigger than you could have imagined it to be. It was so absurdly big, almost cartoonishly so. Even more so because it was decked out with all kinds of Christmas lights and stockings. You doubted no second the inside rivalled Chaeyoung’s and Jisoo’s home. But however ridiculous it was to you, this was Jungkook’s childhood home, the house where he grew up in. Where he spent his childhood and teenage years. This particular house. A house. Whilst you grew up in a flat, just with enough space to cram in your little family.

You saw him then, standing next to the expensive car parked in the driveway. Jungkook opened the car door to the passenger seat, and a second later, his mother stepped out. He offered her his hand, earning himself a big smile from her. From inside the car, you couldn’t hear what she said, but you could imagine it. She was right, he was a great son. 

Jungkook looked a lot like his mother, you realised. She had gifted him with her kind eyes and soft big smile. No wonder, her son was so beautiful. She was an elegant woman. It was obvious. The kind of woman that wore cashmere sweaters, baked fresh bread every Sunday, made sure to do her skincare routine every morning and night, expensive creams and serums lining her bathroom cupboard. Not a single hair on her head was grey. She was the perfect wife and mother.

From the driver's seat, a man emerged, Jungkook’s dad. There was a hint of grey colouring his hair, but he pulled it off well. He was shorter than Jungkook by a bit, but you could see right away where Jungkook got his confidence from. For a moment, you wondered if that was how Jungkook would look like when he was older. Would he resemble his father? His dad quickly rounded the car, greeting his son with a hug before taking his wife’s hand into his. He had a kind smile too, you noticed. Of course, he did.

Jungkook had to have said something particularly funny because both his parents erupted into laughter. You looked away, closing your eyes. 

What were you doing here?

The question blared louder than ever before. Could you really do this? Fool everyone? Yourself too? The answer was obvious to you as you looked ahead. A part of you wished you had come to that conclusion before you had gotten into the car. You didn’t know your way around this neighbourhood (of course, not), but you knew you had to get away from here either way.

You stepped out of the car, quietly shutting the door. He couldn’t see, couldn’t know. You had to get away, now.

“Where’s your girlfriend, Kook?” 

His father’s voice made you pause. Jungkook sounded so much like him.

“In the car. She’s sleeping.”

“Are you not gonna wake her up? At least, let her come inside and sleep inside. It’s so cold.”

“No, I was gonna, but then I saw you and dad pull up,” Jungkook explained, his voice carried to you through the wind. His car offered you enough coverage to hide and at the same time allowed a clear view of Jungkook and his parents. “Also, I was gonna get her another pair of shoes. She’s wearing heels.”

His mother gasped. “In this weather? Does she at least have stockings on?” When he shook his head, she gasped again. “No, that’s not good. You better get her another pair of shoes. She’s gonna freeze!”

“I know- ah, I turned off the heat!” Jungkook touched his forehead as if to say how stupid of him. 

You pressed your lips together, teeth sinking into your tongue. The guilt clawed up your throat, raw and red. It hurt, so much so that you didn’t even feel the cold wind on your feet and up your legs, or the way they ached from the unnatural arch the heels forced them into. 

“Go get your girlfriend some shoes,” Jungkook’s father told him. “I’ll get the groceries-”

“What? No, let me, dad. I can do both. I’ll be quick.”

“It’s fine, Kook. We don’t want your girlfriend freezing.” His mother placed her hand on his shoulder. But like the good son he was, he wasn’t having it, already moving to open the trunk.

“It’s okay. I turned off the car just now, and she’s been sleeping peacefully this entire time. I’ll be quick,” Jungkook insisted. “You guys get inside.”

His parents looked at him with a sigh, realising defeat. Jungkook’s father handed him the car keys.

“Well, you better be quick. You know we can’t wait to meet Y/N.”

And with that, they walked inside, hand in hand. Your heart shattered, your name rolling so easily off their lips. It was so odd to hear them say it, hear with how much kindness they did. 

You should just go now, take this opportunity to run, but your feet remained cemented, your eyes following Jungkook as he brought the first two bags up to the front door before grabbing the last two out of the car. Moving his foot underneath the sensor, the trunk closed automatically. You knew nothing about cars but you knew that such a feature didn’t come with most, and was definitely not cheap either.

Right now, looking ahead of you, you could see for the first time clearly just how different Jungkook and you were. There were two different worlds between you, a distance that no one could cross, no less a relationship that wasn’t genuine to begin with. It had been nice and fun, foolishly nice and fun, to pretend all this time, but in the end it had been foolish more than anything. 

Why you didn’t move still remained a mystery to you. Maybe your feet had really frozen to the sidewalk, the heels one of your worst ideas yet, or maybe you simply couldn’t do it, bring it over your heart to just walk away. Maybe you just needed a little more, of him and you. You knew these few seconds would be the last ones of peace before it would all crumble. The illusion would shatter. He and you would be done, forever. There would be no more hangouts together with all your friends, no more cookies and Avatar marathons, no more kisses and hugs. 

Jungkook and you would dissolve, just as quickly as it had all begun in that library with a notebook and pen. 

Jungkook was about to turn around and close the door and he’d see you, standing there on the sidewalk with your eyes set straight on him. He’d see you and he’d smile and put down the bags and walk over to you and ask you why you were standing there and why did you get out of the car and how cold it was. How stupid and silly of you! 

He’d come over and bring you into a hug and his lips would ghost over the crown of your head and you’d cave and melt and you’d go in and meet his family and it’d hurt so much to tell Jungkook’s parents what your parents did when they’d inevitably ask you because of course they would and you’d have to see as they realised that your parents didn’t get to enjoy higher education. They’d be silent for a few seconds before nodding and smiling. They’d quickly change the topic because it was better to talk about something else and oh I heard something so interesting on the news recently, did you hear?

But you didn’t move, even as Jungkook turned, arms heavy with grocery bags, and lifted his head, eyes meeting yours as you predicted he would. His lips lifted up into a smile, a smile bigger than you’d expected. He didn’t move though. Instead he blurred into a heap of colours.

You could no longer do this.

The image of him cleared as the first tears fell, and you watched as his face crumbled while he watched your chest heave up and down, sobs pushing out from your throat. 

Jungkook let go of the grocery bags, the contents spilling out. When he took his step towards you, you did too, away from him. He stilled, frozen. Why, you could see it on his face. Why were you crying? Why were you moving away from him? He deserved answers, an explanation, but the most you could muster up right now was the shake of your head.

No.

And then you took off. 

“Y/N!” 

You pressed your hand to your lips, scared of filling the street with your gut wrenching sobs. Tears kept streaming down your face, hot and heavy. 

You did feel sorry for doing this to Jungkook. But you had to. Because he wasn’t going to. It had to be you. You who finally saw the truth in the eye that this was ridiculous, that this had gone off the rails, that Jungkook and you should have never gotten to this point, to where you found comfort in his arms and he knew your favourite cookies and you showed him your home and he knew more than he should about you. To the point where you had shared the bed together and knew the softness of the other’s lips. To the point where you had irrevocably and undeniably and unfortunately fallen for Jungkook.

You were in love with Jeon Jungkook, and it was the worst thing you could have done to yourself-

“Y/N!”

And it was affirmed when he seized your elbow and turned you around. You didn’t make it very far. Your eyes locked with his, and you could see it in them. How this was going to end. How this had to end, now. 

You were reminded of when you ran out on Jaehwa after seeing him for the first time again. It was what you always did, you realised. Run. 

You just never expected you’d have to run out on Jungkook too.

His eyes, wide and big, searched your face, for something to give him a clue as to what was going on in the head of yours, anything. He didn’t understand. 

You pulled away from him as if his touch burned you, pushed him away.

“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked, frantic, reaching out for you again, but you couldn’t let him touch you, tumbling backwards. Hurt flashed across his features, but this was for the best. Why did you have to be this dramatic? How stupid of you!

“I-I can’t,” you stuttered, shaking your head, dragging your coat sleeve frantically on your cheeks. “I-I just can’t.”

Jungkook stared at you, face twisting and morphing into emotions you couldn’t decipher. You had never really understood him anyway.

“O-okay, hey, that’s fine.”

Who would have thought this would hurt so much to hear?

“That’s alright.”

He should be furious, absolutely and utterly mad with you. You had just run away. If he hadn’t caught you, he would have had to somehow explain to his parents why his so-called perfect girlfriend was suddenly gone. And yet, he met you with empathy and kindness. Jungkook was so good, so precious. He was so much better than you, deserved more. 

“I’ll give you a ride home-”

“No!” you screamed, lungs heaving for air, chest rising and falling dramatically. You shook your head, repeated it again, quieter this time. “No, you don’t understand.”

Jungkook stared at you, mouth opening and closing. “Okay, then explain. But let’s do this in the car-”

“Why are you like this?” You threw the question at his head, venomous and bitter. The anger wasn’t fair, shouldn’t be aimed at him at all. What had he done to deserve it? And yet, you couldn’t find it in you to shift the target. “What are we doing?”

His brows knitted together, the knit deepening. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” You looked at him as if he should. “Can we get to the car first, cabbage-”

You flinched. How could he still call you that? 

“This is so stupid,” you scoffed, shaking your head, eyes looking at everything but him. The cold wind blew your tears away, and your cheeks felt raw from all of the rubbing and dragging. “I- this is so wrong on so many levels. Why am I even here? What are we even doing? Why are you like this?”

“You don’t want to meet my parents, that’s fine. I really think we should get to the car-”

“Why? Because you don’t want your neighbours and parents to see what crazy person you’ve brought home?”

“What? No! Who said that? I wanna get to the car because it’s freezing cold and you only have a coat and heels on-”

“Oh, please, Jeon!” The laugh slipping from your lips made Jungkook flinch. It was so mean, filled with so much spite. “Don’t pretend to be good. What a cheap and pathetic act!”

None of the words you spoke were truthful. You didn’t know where you pulled them from, you didn’t believe any of them. All of them were hollow and mean. But maybe they’d be enough though to bring out anger within Jungkook, make him come to the same realisation as you had—that he and you had to end. But knowing him, he’d meet you with empathy and kindness over and over again. 

He had to hate you. 

You had to make him hate you. Otherwise, this would never find an end. Otherwise, he’d convince you of the opposite, and you’d never be able to let go of him. Otherwise, you’d lose yourself completely to him.

And when you looked at Jungkook, you knew you were right. Because there was no no fire in his eyes, nothing. He still stared at you the same way he used to. Even after you had called him names. Hating you was the only option.

“I really think we should just talk this out another time.”

Defeat, you realised, contorted his features. Not anger. Not spite. None of it. Just defeat. You closed your eyes, shaking your head.

“You’re clearly not in the best of moods and saying stuff that you don’t mean. I don't know what’s going on, but let me just give you a ride home and we’ll figure this out another-”

“Figure out what?” You leaned forward, gestured wildly around yourself. “We? Oh, please, Jeon, there’s no fucking ‘we’. Don’t make me laugh!”

He shook his head, hands running through his hair. 

“I really don’t think you mean any of this, Y/N. I know this entire situation must be bringing up bad memories for you- I know Jaehwa hurt you-”

“What? This has nothing to do with him,” you scoffed, narrowing your eyes, the words pushing through your clenched teeth like a bullet out of a gun. “What do you know, Jeon? What do you really know, huh? Actually, how can you know anything? You with your perfect stupid fucking family with a house oh so big because you just had to show everybody how you were better and richer and greater. What do you know about anything, really?”

You weren’t making sense, but you could see a change in Jungkook’s face, the flicker in his eyes as you mentioned his family. Bullseye.

“Miss me with that bullshit. You’re the kind of people I hate. It’s all so fake and condescending- fuck, you’re so stupidly loaded you’re paying me to pretend to date you so you can win a stupid shitty bet with Taehyung. Your parents must be so proud of their great great son.”

He closed his eyes, screwed them so tightly shut in hopes that maybe if he did so long enough, this would turn out to be a bad dream. This wasn’t happening. Things weren’t falling apart like that. They couldn’t. His hands curled into fists.

“Now you can’t even look at me, Jeon?” you sneered, voice and words growing more and more vicious. “Can’t face the truth, right? You pretend to be so good, so kind. But for fuck’s sake, look at the house you grew up in! Look at where I live! You’re the same as Jaehwa- actually, no because at the very least, he didn’t pretend like he and I weren’t different. You should have some shame, but I guess with parents-”

“Y/N!”

Your name cut through the air, and for once, you stopped and breathed. Jungkook had peeled his eyes open again, teeth gritted, jaw pulled taunt, hands curled into tight fists. 

“I really think it’d be better if you stopped talking now.”

And yet, it wasn’t the response you wanted.

You could have cried then, bawled, fallen to your knees and just admitted to it all. How much you did love him and how much you wanted him, but couldn’t have him because this just wasn’t going to work because he never really did love you and neither would his parents. He and you were doomed, like the moon and the sun. He just would never see it, too idealistic for his own good. Your blatant and devastating flaws. You weren’t good or kind. You had to be the one to pull the plug, to call this what it was—wrong.

“Yeah, of course, you’d say that,” you mumbled, the tip of your shoes digging into the concrete, rolling back and forth. The scratching sound it produced soothed you oddly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You know what I mean. You rich people just can’t ever face the truth-”

“No, you idiot!” 

His voice echoed through the empty street, loud and clear. Anger and disdain coloured his words, features twisting and knits deepening. There it was, finally. The anger and upset you had waited and waited for, the blow of the bomb, the finale. 

“I think you should stop talking because I love you and I don’t want my heart broken any further!”

Jungkook was so loud. You had never heard him so loud before, yell like that, tell you so abundantly clear that he loved you. It was the declaration of declarations, blaring and grand. You had wanted to hear it, needed to hear it all this time, all this week—that he loved you—and now when you finally did, it was truly the worst thing anyone had ever told you ever. Because it was everything you wished for, but you couldn’t have it, none of it. It wasn’t real, and even if it was, even if he meant it and he loved you, you couldn’t be with him. The truth didn’t matter. You were too damaged, too broken, too fucked up to never not doubt Jungkook, not to fear that he’d leave at any point. 

You’d never trust him.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you!” He pointed at you, face scrunched and eyes red, tears welling. “I thought we had gotten past this- isn’t it obvious that I do really love-”

“Oh, please. You goddamn liar!” Your voice shook, broke in your throat and mouth, head spinning. You were losing Jungkook, spectacularly so. “What do you know about love? This is an act, Jeon! You’re not in love with me! You’re in love with an act! You’re in love with the idea of winning your stupid bet with-”

“No, no-”

“Yes, Jeon, you don’t know shit. You pretend like you do- think you do when in reality, you don’t know anything about me. Who am I if not just a pawn in your game? Someone you paid, so you could boast and brag that you didn’t get rejected, huh?”

Jungkook licked his lips, veins bulging in his neck as he tried his very best to not go too far, implode on you, hands digging into the roots of his hair. “No, that’s not true. The bet between Tae and me—”

“Actually, you know what? I don’t even care. Because all of it is wrong. It’s not what we agreed upon-”

“Okay, yeah, so we weren’t supposed to kiss and spend time together privately, or sleep with each other and talk on the phone for hours. But look at us now!” He pointed between him and you, as if there was something between you. “We did it all, okay? And? Was it so bad?”

His eyes fixed yours, so deeply. He took a step towards you, and you didn’t back away, couldn’t.

“You call me a liar when I tell you I love you—” His voice shook, trembled terribly, and you could see Jungkook fight to find the right words, struggle to speak. It pained you to know it was all because of you. How easy would it be to take it all back? Admit fault and go back? But would it be right? “—but tell me then, why are you looking at me like that?”

You tried a laugh. A laugh that was meant to dismiss it all, deny the truth, but it sounded hollow and wrong. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, beginning to crumble. And Jungkook saw right through you.

“Look at me and tell me you don’t feel something!” 

You closed your eyes, crossing your arms in front of your stomach. The world began to spin faster and faster, and you felt like you were losing the ground underneath yourself.

“You’re not being fair,” you whispered, shaking your head. You were speaking much quieter now, your voice having lost all of its bite and edge. This had been harder than you expected. “You’re breaking the contract-”

“Oh my God, will you forget about that? Both of us broke it a long time ago, willingly! Can you please just forget about all of it—the contract, the bet—and look at the facts?”

Jungkook was begging at this point. Would you come to your senses?

“Do you really genuinely think that the past weeks- months didn’t mean anything to me? That it was really all just pretend? That I lied about all of it? That I’m really such a big asshole that I’d pretend to be in love with you this entire time, call you daily, buy you your favourite cookies, hold your hand and kiss you and tell you—” This seemed to drain Jungkook of everything, voice trembling as he presented the worst version of himself to you. “—over and over again that I love you?”

He leaned forward, searched for your eyes. 

It was right in front of you—a white flag up in the air, for you to grab and hiss. You could do it now, he’d forgive you, you were certain of that. Jungkook was still kind enough to do so, his heart ready to let you back in. You wouldn’t even need to say anything, just falling into his arms would suffice. It’d be so easy. Simple, in fact. He’d let you do it, take your silent defeat as an apology. You’d never have to talk about it ever again. It was tempting, slip back into what you were before as if you weren’t aware that he and you were two parallel lines never meant to cross. Jungkook would never be tempted to take this way out, he’d stand straight for what he’d said, repent. The thought to take the easy way out would never cross his mind. It did yours.

“Y-yeah, I do.”

Jungkook shook his head, mouth set in a line.

“You don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do-”

“Y/N, no, no, you-”

“Stop,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Stop insisting that I don’t mean it. I do. I-”

It was so ironic. It felt like the entire universe was mocking you, laughing at the two of you. This was what  Jungkook had wished for him and you, imagined how beautiful it would be, how you’d sit together in front of the window and watch before he’d suggest to go outside and you’d follow happily. You’d dance and play until neither of you could feel your hands and your cheeks were rough and raw from the cold wind. You’d yearn for the warm, shiver as you stepped inside, but you’d be happy. So very happy. But now it felt like a stab to your hearts instead. 

The first few snowflakes softly landed on your sleeve. It was so beautiful. The entire street would be white in a few hours, kids would come out to play soon.

“I’ll pay you back.” You took a step back, rubbed away the tears that wanted to spill. “See it as compensation for… not meeting your parents.”

Jungkook couldn’t respond, teeth sinking into his tongue, biting on the muscle until it hurt too much. 

“That’s not- that’s not the point. I don’t care for the money, I just-” He deflated. “Just-just meet them, Y/N. Give them a chance, please. You’ll realise- they’re gonna love-”

He stopped when you shrunk in on yourself, vehemently shaking your head. Neither of you said anything, just allowing the snow to fall around you and cover you in white. You’d be shivering in just a few minutes, hair and skin wet, feet shaky on the cold ground. 

Jungkook looked down, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. 

“Okay.”

You stood there as you waited for him to turn his back to you and walk away, waited and waited to be finally alone. He’d do it and you’d be alone and you’d be proven right, vindicated. Relief would flood you, knowing you had seen it coming, had always known correctly, protected you, at least, this time of hurt and-

The keys looked cold to the touch.

“Take them. Wait in the car. Call Chae or whoever to come pick you up. You can leave the keys in the car. I’ll get them later.”

Jungkook was ordering you, telling you what to do. And though he spoke with finality, allowing no room for you to disagree, his voice trembled and shook. You didn’t have to look to know the tears staining his cheeks, to know how much you had hurt him, realise that in your quest to do the best for both him and you because he deserved better and not be hurt and left in the end, you had done just that to Jungkook, plunged the knife into his heart and pushed it further even as he spat out blood. 

“It’s fine, I can-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Jungkook grabbed your hand and placed the keys into your palm, forcing your fingers shut around them with his own. His touch sent sparks through your body. It’d be the last time he’d ever touch you, you realised, and before you could stop it, the tears spilt. But you didn’t let out a noise, kept your head low and eyes even lower. 

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

Jungkook hesitated before letting go, his feet dragging as he walked away.

Maybe it was you holding the gun, not Jungkook.

→ thanks for reading !! if you have any thoughts, id love to hear it!

[nburkhardt]

Every Time You Shine, I’ll Shine For You.

Soooo this was originally going to be full one shot, but I’ve decided since it’s been sitting in my drafts for months, that I’m just going to post it as either an unfinished piece for now. I might try to come up with a second half but for now enjoy this soulmate au ✨

Having a soulmark wasn’t necessary for Steve. Sure, seeing the word- the nickname his soulmate will eventually call him is nice. But it’s not needed, not in his eyes at least.

At the age of five years old, everyone in the world gets a nickname on their wrist. It’s fate telling you your perfect match, that the other half of your soul is out there for you. It’s the ultimate fairytale growing up, that it burns when you hear the nickname said by your soulmate and there’s an instant spark, instant connection. It’s the bedtime story, the ultimate love story and something to wish for.

It’s a wish everyone wants but Steve Harrington.

He has a very good reason to not like the idea of having a “perfect match” out there for you. While he heard the stories and sees the potential in it, he grew up watching his parents be in love without being actual soulmates. Hears stories of their love and ideas of finding love on your own, deciding to show the world that they don’t need fate’s help.

It’s beautiful and he wants that. Wants to make his own story, find his own match. There’s no need for fate to help him.

On his fifth birthday, he watched ‘Dingus’ appear on his wrist, it made him pout while his parents laughed and kiss his head, told him not to worry. That he doesn’t have to be with whoever fate picked for him and joked about only being five.

It eases his five year old mind.

His parents aren’t surprised to watch him grow up to be a true romantic, isn’t surprised to see his love in everything and how having a soul mark doesn’t stop him from having crushes or falling in love.

Life goes on but after some failed relationships and the disaster of a relationship with Nancy; seeing the nickname give him some hope that somewhere out there, there is someone for him. Someone who fate decided is his match, which growing up he hated it.

At eighteen, he really thought he’d already be with the person he’d love forever (and who would love him). But instead of that, he’s single and not at all close to figuring out why fate’s pick for him would call him “dingus” of all things. To top it all of he’s stuck working at the new Scoops Ahoy until he hears back from the colleges he applied too.

The uniform is lame, it’s in the middle of the brand new mall and it’s leaning towards being too cold in the shop and he doesn’t even know his coworker yet, hopefully they’re not expecting him to be some big shot like he was in high school.

Those days are long gone, he’d rather be his lame and hopeless romantic self instead of the asshole keg king he was.

His first week of working is spent being laughed at by ex-teammates, being ignored by his only coworker and failing to get at least a date with someone. It’s not his longest week, but it’s real close.

After a total of three weeks of getting ignored and laughed at by people he flirts with, his coworker, Robin decides enough is enough and- “maybe with this you’ll try harder”

Glancing behind him, she’s standing there with the whiteboard from the back but instead of the random doodles she drew, it looks like a score board with You Rule/You Suck on it.

There’s already three tally marks under ‘You Suck’ and he can’t figure out if it makes him want to laugh or cry, maybe both.

Definitely both.

“At least I’m trying here, you could find your soulmate with flirting!”

Robin rolls her eyes and hangs the board up behind her, “I’d rather suck on a lemon than flirt with guys”

It surprises him for all of three seconds before he rolls his eyes, whatever, he thinks. If she wants to miss the opportunity to find a soulmate, so be it. He’ll continue trying to find love, he doesn’t need whoever fate picked.

The board is definitely mocking him, he thinks several days later. Currently there’s five tally marks under ‘You Suck’ and a big fat nothing under ‘You Rule’. Robin thinks it’s the funniest thing on the planet.

He doesn’t find it funny, he finds it embarrassing and stupid, actually. Really embarrassing, especially when she brings it out when another girl their age walks in. It’s like she’s doing it on purpose.

Which is confusing, she told him explicitly that she does not like him and will only ever tolerate him. So, her practically chasing people away doesn’t make sense.

Her loud crackle of a laugh starts as his head nearly hits the counter, “That’s another one for the you suck column! Zero for the you rule, popeye!”

Standing up he turns around with a glare, “yeah I can read!”

“You sure about that one, Dingus?”

His wrist burns and he can’t stop his eyes from going wide. There’s no way, absolutely no way. This is a fluke, she must have seen his mark one day. That’s why his soulmate mate, fate’s pick, is his co-worker.

His disbelief and discomfort most show on his face because Robin shifts on her feet, “I’m uh, sorry. If I took that too far, really-uh I don’t think that way about you and, and- this is was” she looks uncomfortable now, tripping over her words.

Opening his mouth to calm her down, he find that his words are gone. The disbelief stopping him. He quickly shuts it and looks away from her. The shop is completely empty. When did that happen?

“Steve- I really didn’t mean to be well, mean.”

All he can do is nod back, “no, uh, I get it. Really- uh. It’s fine.”

How exactly is he supposed to do this? He’s never once called her a nickname! Unless she was his but he isn’t hers? He doesn’t know. Either way he’s still a little disappointed.

“You sure? Because uh, you’re looking a little pale there”

A laugh bubbles up and before he realizes it he’s on the ground with his back against the counter and tears on his face, “ye-yeah. Sorry.”

He hears her move around and then there’s a foot bumping his, he moves his head to look at her.

“We’re currently low on everything, did you know that? It’s unbelievable, just wiped clean.” Robin explains with amusement dancing on her face, “Scoops Ahoy is officially closed for the day”

That surprises a laugh out of him as tries to loosen the tension that built up, moving his arms he puts his chin on his knee, Robin copies him. They’re just looking at each other, comfortable in this silence.

“Sooo”

“Look-”

Their eyes meet and both burst out laughing. This feels different, at least for Steve. There’s something soothing coursing through him now, he never felt on edge with Robin but he wasn’t always this comfortable either. A smile spreading on his face, he didn’t know about this feeling when you meet your soulmate.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorts, “they might be worth more, Birdie”

Robin gasps and he looks at her, but her eyes are wide and locked on her wrist. He follows her look and he can’t exactly see what she’s looking at but he knows it’s her soul mark.

They really are soulmates.

This is where I’d put the continuation… if I had the idea for it! (Said in that fairlyodd parents meme)

Anyway! If this brought you some inspiration, you can totally take whatever piece you want and write something! But please know I had this ending up as Steddie with side of Rockie (Vickie&Robin)

Permanent taglist: @spectrum-spectre @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @bookworm0690 @strangersteddierthings

[babydollmarauders]

What do you think the morning after readers first time with Luke would be like? i feel like the brothers would notice somethings different and try to put the pieces together? maybe a small blurb on it?

i assume this is for the luke’s gf au, so that’s what i did! this takes place during the summer before dolly and luke’s sophomore year of college!

it wasn’t like i had intentionally saved myself for Luke. sure, i was a virgin up until last night, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. i’d had boyfriends, it’s just that none of them felt right.

but Luke? Luke felt right.

i grew up with Luke. i knew him.

i mean, we’ve been dating for six months and he hadn’t once pressured me to sleep together. we took our time to get to that step, and i can honestly say that it was worth the wait. he was sweet, and just the right balance of soft and rough. i could tell he was holding back for me, that he was struggling to keep the rougher side of himself at bay last night. and the fact that he did so just made me fall even harder for the boy i’ve known my whole life.

but now i’ve spent all morning in bed, a dull ache between my thighs. Luke stayed in bed with me awhile but went downstairs around an hour ago when Jack and Quinn started banging on our door, telling Luke to “quit being a lazy ass for the summer.”

officially deciding it was time for me to face the music and go eat something, i roll out of the bed, decked in a pair of Luke’s boxers and a camisole, and make my way down the stairs. i attempt to keep myself from wincing when i reach the kitchen full of boys, each step contributing to the dull pain.

“there she is!” Jack exclaims, throwing an arm over my shoulder as soon as i cross the threshold of the kitchen.

“jeez, put some pants on, sleeping beauty!” Trevor jokes, earning a smack to the back of the head from my boyfriend, who sits next to him at the kitchen island.

“good morning, dolly.” Quinn, my lord and savior, shoos Jack’s arm off of me, rather pulling me into his chest and pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“morning, Quinny.” i mutter against his chest before pulling away to make my way to my boyfriend, who has already kicked Trevor out of the seat next to him and slid a plate of waffles in front of it.

Luke leans over, laying a kiss on my lips when i reach him.

“good morning, love.” his words are mumbled against my lips, the vibrations making me let out a quiet giggle.

“good morning, Lukey.” i tell him, pulling away to sit in the empty seat beside him. but when i lower myself into the chair, i shudder, a wince taking over my face for a split second.

“you good, dolly?” Jack laughs, making me look up with wide eyes, nodding. “what was that?”

“what was what?” i feign obliviousness.

“that wince.” Quinn chimes in, concern etched all over his face, the opposite of Jack.

“the chair was cold, that’s all.” i shrug, hoping they’ll drop it.

“i was just sitting there, how was it cold?” Trevor laughs.

“it just was. okay?” i huff and they all go wide eyed, nodding.

i turn my attention back to the waffles in front of me, already slathered in butter and syrup, which i know is courtesy of my boyfriend.

“how you feeling?” Luke whispers, his lips ghosting the shell of my ear.

“still a bit sore, but i’m fine.” i whisper back, turning my face towards him, our noses almost touching.

“i’m sorry.” he tells me, but the smirk on his lips tells me his apology isn’t entirely sincere.

“no, you’re not.” i giggle, leaning in to press my lips against his again. “it’s okay, i have no regrets.”

“me neither.” he smiles.

“of course, you don’t! you’re not the sore one!” i whisper, chuckling. a laugh escapes his lips at my words, leaning in to give me another kiss.

“you guys are so gross.” Jack exclaims. Luke and i pull back from each other, turning to look at his brother, watching as Quinn smacks Jack on the arm.

“leave them alone, Rowdy.” Quinn rolls his eyes.

“no, something’s different.” Jack shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at Luke and i. i freeze, my fork hovering over the waffle. “they’re more clingy and disgusting than usual.”

Luke rolls his eyes, ignoring his brother and taking the fork from my grasp, cutting a bite onto the utensil and lifting it in front of my face. i grin, taking the bite.

“yeah, no, i agree with Jack. this is gross.” Trevor says, making a disgusted face.

“sex!” Jack shouts, making everyone snap their heads over to him with furrowed brows.

“what?” Quinn snaps, obvious annoyance on his face.

“Luke told me last week that dolly was a virgin. the wincing, the cringey loviness— they had sex!” Jack exclaims.

“LUKE!” i gawk at my boyfriend, smacking his shoulder. “you told him i was a virgin?!”

“he asked if we’d done it yet!” Luke tells me. “all i said was that we were waiting and he assumed it was because you hadn’t done it yet!”

“you said ‘was’! i’m right! you guys did it!” Jack grins, pointing at us excitedly.

“why are you so happy to know you’re right? you want to know our baby brother and his girlfriend, who we’ve known since she was a baby, did it?” Quinn looks at his brother, face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust.

Jack ignores his older brother, stepping over to pat Luke and i’s backs.

“congrats you two!” he smiles, placing an arm on each of our shoulders and leaning between us. i hide my blushing face in my hands, groaning.

“Quinny, make him stop.”

[cupidbedsy]

❃ ferris bueller's day off ; flowers

➪ summary: violet has one mission and one mission only for her trip to chicago, to recreate ferris bueller's day off

➪ warnings: none

➪ word count: 1.3k

➪ file type: au (flowers) fic and insta edit

➪ cupid's notes: guys bsfr i love these two so so much

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

“I’m outside”

In a matter of seconds Connor was rushing out the doors and knocking on Violet’s car window, “I can’t believe you actually drove all the way to Chicago for me.”

“Well believe it because you are now my new best friend and as my new best friend I’m making you drive because I don’t want to anymore. Just don’t crash because you’re not on my insurance.”

Instead of getting out of the car, Violet gracefully hopped over the middle console in her car to sit in the passenger seat. Connor chuckled, got in the car, and asked her where to drive to.

“I don’t care but all I know is that I have a list of things that I want to do that’s titled ‘Connor and Violet’s Fun and Exciting Time in Chicago’ waiting for us.”

Connor pulled out of the parking spot and started driving towards a parking garage, “I’m assuming you want to walk right?”

“Yes, please. I’ve been sitting for way too long.”

“So, what does this list have in store for us?”

Violet, with no concern for getting pulled over, unbuckled her seat belt and reached into the back to grab her notebook full of random ideas, and opened to the page that was decorated like a scrapbook with her list of activities. 

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I want to eat deep-dish pizza, authentic deep-dish pizza. I want to go to Navy Pier and just walk around the city in general. I want to take photos of us because we have none,” Violet continued to ramble off a bunch of things she wanted to do and when she got to the end she grinned, “I want to recreate Ferris Bueller. And by that I mean we have to at least go to a Cubs game, holler ‘Swing batter batter’, go to a parade, run through a neighborhood, and look what I got us-'' She once again reached into her bag and pulled something out, “Save Ferris pins!”

“I would love to do that, but I have never seen Ferris Bueller.”

Violet looked shocked, “You’ve never seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?!” 

Connor shook his head as he pulled into a parking garage, “We are watching that when we get back to my hotel room.”

They wandered around Chicago for a while, trying to decide the best way to complete everything. Violet wasn’t expecting to do everything on her list, of course, she wanted to but it was almost completely unrealistic. But, Connor wanted to do everything on that list. They would get to spend more time together and it would make her happy.

The first night they were there, Connor took her to Navy Pier and took her to Giordanos for deep-dish pizza. She moaned in delight when she tasted the pizza, “Oh my god. This is so good, why didn’t I do this sooner.”

Connor laughed at the girl, eating his piece. They talked about the beginning of Connor’s season, Violet asking him if he was nervous. To which Connor replied with a yes and Violet reassured him that it was alright and that things were going to work out. 

Ever since they met Connor and Violet have been attached to one another. They texted every day, Violet giving him random updates on what she was doing. He would watch every one of her videos with a cheesy smile on his face as she talked about flowers or what she was taking in the upcoming semester.

When Connor figured out that she was going to UofI he was elated that she was only going to be two hours away instead of four. He could only hope that she would want to go to some of his games so he could get her tickets to them. 

When they got back that night, she made him watch Ferris Bueller with her on her laptop as they laid side by side in the hotel bed. Violet pointed out the things that she wanted them to do throughout the movie, also making random comments about the things that reminded her of her brothers. 

The next day, she made him go on the tour boat on the river, gazing at the buildings and reaching out for the water below. Connor watched her happily and joined in at her silly antics as they walked the boat, pushing one another. 

They then went to Water Tower, where Connor bought her a couple of sets of flower legos. She walked out skipping and stopped when she saw the American Girl Doll store, “Con, we have to go there!”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never had an American Girl Doll before and I just want to look at them, please.” She dragged out the e, Connor giving in easily. 

He let her drag her into the pink store and she looked around in awe. They looked at the recent girl of the year who sat right in front when they walked in and then went to look at all the different sections, stopping at the hockey one. 

She then dragged him downstairs where all the other previous girls of the year were. She practically skipped through the store, “I’ve always wanted Julie.”

“Who’s Julie?”

“She’s one of the dolls from the historical collection. She’s from 1974 and she’s kinda characterized as a hippie but she wears a lot of floral print and decorates with flowers.”

“That seems like you.” He continued to follow her around the store, making a mental reminder of the doll she wanted so he could later buy it for her, before they exited and then went up to one of the sports shops they had, “Hey look Con!”

Connor looked to the wall where there was a jersey with his name on the back, “I gotta get it. Lemme make sure I have enough money in my account.” She whipped out her phone to check the funds in her account, sighing when she realized she had lent Luca and Adam money earlier in the week to buy something. 

“Never mind, let's just go.”

“Wait, come on I’ll buy it for you.”

“No, Con. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m telling you I am. Plus, I’m a professional hockey player now, I have the money.” Violet slapped him on the chest before walking out of the store, slightly embarrassed. Connor purchased the jersey and handed it to her, “Connor I told you not to.”

“But I wanted to. Honestly.” She smiled and wasted no time throwing the jersey on and walking out of the Water Tower. 

They then walked to the Sears (Willis) Tower just like in the movie and stood on the glass floor, “You have no idea how terrified I am right now.”

“You’re the one that wanted to do this.”

“I know and I am seriously regretting it.”

They then walked down to Billy Goats, a classic restaurant downtown, which Violet loved all so greatly. She got lots of remarks about her jersey, some nice and some mean but they paid no mind to those. After eating, the two of them were tired so they headed back to her hotel to rest and watch something on the TV. 

The next day they just wandered around and took some pictures before going to Wrigley to watch a Cubs game. It was a night game and the Cubs were playing the Nationals. They cheered from their seats and as Connor promised her they yelled, “Hey batter batter batter batter swing batter.” Sitting through all nine innings, or eight and a half technically, they watched as they scored 17 runs, singing “Go Cubs Go” along with the other thousands of Cubs fans in the stadium. 

They ended up checking off all of y/n’s bucket list in four days together and Violet would definitely rank this as her favorite road trip to ever have happened.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 『 instagram 』

violetsflowers

liked by _connorbedard, adamfantilli, luca.fantilli and 74,221 others

violetsflowers chicago is mighty fine this time a year and i'm so glad i got to have an amazing tour guide as well.

picture tour: first i decorated my mirror with some daisys i found, i made (him) my yogurt bowl, (he) gave me a tiny flower, some pretty chicago sights (and me), i'm a cubs fan now?, ice cream!, the river, and finally i finished reading happy place by emily henry!

new vlog and book video coming soon, my loves :)

view 242 comments

lhughes_06 why didn't i get an invite

↳ violetsflowers you aren't cool enough

username she's so pretty 😩

username she was in chicago and i didn't see her???

username i met her there! she was super nice. the rumor is true! she gives a flower sticker to everyone she meets

↳ violetsflowers it was so fun meeting you :)

_connorbedard you invaded my city?

↳ violetsflowers maybe.... but shush

adamfantilli she's a city girl now 🫢

↳ violetsflowers yessir

『••✎••』

messyviolet

liked by colecaufield, luca.fantilli, markestapa, and 17,698 others

messyviolets save ferris!!!!!!! (i'm convinced all i did was eat there)

view 53 comments

colecaufield she watched it again smh

↳ messyviolets watch it or i'm coming to montreal to hit you this season

↳ colecaufield my plan is working, your turn @/lhughes_06

lhughes_06 violettttttttttttttttttt

↳ messyviolets yes?

↳ lhughes_06 come visit me? 🥺

↳ messyviolets sure

↳ colecaufield you're telling me all i had to do was ask?

_connorbedard chicago girl 🫵🏻

↳ messyviolets chicago boy 🫵🏻

FLOWERS MASTERLIST ; AU'S

TAGLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION

[askascendedastarion]

Welcome, welcome! So, I made a post asking if you guys would be interested in writing commissions, and while only one person replied, a lot of people liked the post, so I will assume that means people are interested.

This post will go over prices and guidelines and such, but not everything that I am or am not comfortable with is on here, this is just everything I can think of and some things may change.

Guidelines/Rules

First and foremost, I have the right to say no to anything I am not comfortable with, granted as of right now that’s not a whole lot, but regardless. If you ask me to write something that makes me uncomfortable to a point I cannot stomach writing it, then I can and will say no.

Some things I will still write even if it makes me uncomfortable, but it might affect the price depending on what it is. [Example: If you are commissioning a smutty oneshot from me, I am likely to just say okay to something like anal, but if you want me to write something that involves vomit, I might ask for a little more compensation.]

I ask that you are patient with me. I am a student and I have to put school before everything else, so some commissions might take longer than others depending on deadlines with my classes.

I will not write Tavs/OCs UNLESS I am given a thorough explanation of their personality, how they talk, and act. This is to prevent you from getting a piece that is out of character for your Tav/OC.

If you are rude to me I have the right to not accept your commission.

Let me know if you want your commission posted or not! Either way I will dm it to you :)

Things I Will and Will Not Write

I will write for any of the companions minus Shadowheart and Halsin for now, as I don’t have a good enough grasp on their characters to write them. I will absolutely write for Ascended Astarion, obviously, as well as God Gale. I will also write for Raphael, Haarlep, Gortash, Nere, Minthara, Rolan, Zevlor, and more!

I will not write for Mizora, Mystra, Kar’niss and maybe some others.

Didn’t see a character on these lists? Just ask! There are too many characters to list everybody. As far as ships go I will write Tav/Canon, Reader/Canon and Canon/Canon. As I mentioned, if you want me to write for your tav, you have to send me a detailed explanation of their personality and such.

I will write AUs! I love AUs! I’m most experienced with college and royalty AUs, but I will write plenty others.

I will write angst, fluff and smut 😄 as well as some Dead Dove: Do Not Eat content.

Most things can be negotiated, so here are my hard nos. These cannot be negotiated.

Anything that is (canon) abuser/(canon) victim in a romantic or sexual sense. What do I mean by this? I mean I won’t write Gale/Mystra, Karlach/Gortash, Astarion/Cazador, and so on, but I will allow it if one character is a Tav/Durge or the dynamic is not canon, an example would be Ascended Astarion/Tav (or another npc).

Scat (poop)

Extreme sexual violence (nothing more intense than knife play. if you aren’t sure if what you want counts as extreme then just ask!)

Full blown noncon, dubcon is fine.

Anything romantic or sexual with the kids. Absolute no go.

Prices

After talking with some friends I’ve decided I will charge $10 per 1k words, and $20 per 1k if it is smut. Again, based on what you ask me to write these prices may vary. I will only accept payment through Cashapp as that is my only option, and I will have you send the first half of the payment before I start writing and the second half after.

Ready for a commission? Dm me here (Tumblr) and/or email me at skullishere512@gmail.com ❤️

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Refrain, chapter four - a Malevolent fic (The start of Surrogate, season two!)

Kayne's "season one" ended with a choice: whichever father Faroe picked, he was ready to let that slingshot fire.

She picked Arthur. Well, that was nice, wasn't it? Especially since he'd spent almost a year pulling that rubber band back, loaded.

Of course, he had no idea how well it would work. Humans are weird, and pieces of Hastur seem to respond particularly well to prolonged exposure.

It was time to deny a wicked man his prize.

Time to give a good man a second chance and see what he did with it.

Time to take the abused piece of a god and find out how it changed when given to someone else.

Part of Surrogate, a Malevolent AU. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3 (chapter four)

-------

They got used to sleeping outside, when the weather permitted. They also got used to welcoming other travelers.

These moments, to Sunny, were unreal. Seated around a campfire, sharing stories; lying beneath blankets of stars. The freedom. The living.

Maybe Parker was right. Even if they eventually did get caught… maybe this was worth the journey.

#

Parker-watching was a good thing to do. Sunny liked when they were in places with reflections; he could see the planes of Parker’s face, and the steady, sharp gaze that missed nothing.

Sunny also noticed whom Parker watched. And whom Parker… watched.

In one small town, within spitting distance of Myngar, they took a room at an inn with some fantastic roasted fisher-bird. The rice-like grain from the nearby floodplains made a light, flavorful beer that was easy to drink, hard to overdo, and just potent enough that even Sunny was warm from the buzz.

Sunny had taken a liking to people-watching, as well. It was good to keep an eye out while they were on a case, but there was a certain kind of simple beauty in watching others, humans and otherwise, go about their lives. It reminded Sunny of a lifetime ago, when he had watched strange and stilted dancing in a bar in Addison, but it was so much better.

Today Parker’s gaze wandered, dragging Sunny’s along with it, but when it got to the bar… it lingered.

The barkeep’s son was a tall, handsome man with lowered lashes and a shy smile who seemed keen on keeping Parker’s glass full. Sunny did not miss when their hands brushed against at another exchange of a glass. He also did not miss how the man’s gaze lingered, too, sweeping back towards Parker, and how Parker met and held that gaze. Sometimes, when the man leaned just right, it was if the flavor in Parker’s mouth changed. Almost like hunger. Almost.

You prefer the male form, Sunny observed.

“Yeah,” said Parker, still watching the guy.

You like that form.

“Kinda,” said Parker. “Guys like that, they know how to move. I like spreading ‘em. Like butter on toast.”

Sunny thought for a long moment. If you wish to indulge, I will not interfere.

Parker had a coughing fit. “Buddy… come on, I’m not doing that to you.”

Larson did. I learned how to… step aside. Away. To put myself away.

“To what?” said Parker, soft. “You what?”

To remove myself from it.

“What, you… you dissociate?” said Parker, recalling the word from a case four years ago. “Are you serious?”

Sunny seemed lost. Yes?

Parker put his hands around his beer. He was silent for a long moment, and no longer watching the barkeep’s son. “I’d rather you didn’t do that, buddy. I’m not gonna put you in a position where you have to.”

But you deserve pleasure, Sunny said, intensely. You deserve good things.

“I’ve had plenty of fun. You know what’s not fun? Screwing over a partner, you hear me?”

It was Sunny’s turn to be silent for a long moment.

“That son of a bitch,” Parker muttered, and did not bring it up again.

#

Two weeks later, Larson hired non-magical goons—natives to the Dreamlands—and these, Parker found harder to spot.

The group caught him fair and square, dragging him out of a town before he’d reached an inn for the night. They beat him up. They threw him in a half-wrecked room with a heavy door and locked it, then got rowdy-drunk in the main room to celebrate the payday they’d snagged.

Parker used a board from the bed and a block from the wall and levered the door off its hinges while Sunny hissed, Yes, Parker!

From that point, they both were a lot more careful.

#

I never want to go back to him, Sunny told Parker after the fourth failed capture. He spoke with the same desperate pleading he’d used when begging Parker not to hurt him on the day they had met. Parker, please. I never, ever want to go back.

“I hear you, buddy,” said Parker, breathing a little hard as he jogged in the wilderness. “But if they catch us and we can’t get out, that only leaves one option, you know?” And Parker wasn’t Larson; he never used Sunny’s words against him, so he didn’t say, you didn’t want to die, or anything like that. He just let it sit. This was Sunny’s hand to play, however he wanted to play it.

Instead, Sunny began to recite a poem.

If we must die—let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursed lot, If we must die—oh, let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead! Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe; Though far outnumbered, let us show us brave, And for their thousand blows deal one deathblow! What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

Parker sounded stunned. “Oh,” he said, softly. “That’s… that’s it. That’s… everything. You just… damn, Sunny. That’s… that feels right. What is that? And don’t say ‘a poem.’”

If I can’t say it’s a poem, Sunny said wryly, I will call it a war cry. I will not let him take me. I won’t execute you to do it, but… It would be an honor to die by your side, my friend.

Parker set his jaw. It was a good sign; Sunny knew that by now. It meant Parker was ready to throw himself into something, head, hand, and foot, heart, soul, and spirit. “I’m in. I won’t let them get you, if I got any say in it. Let ‘em try.”

#

They said this man was strong. Had knocked out a casting sorcerer, somehow, with just his fists.

They said this man was smart. He’d reinstated the true rulers of Karnath, unraveled the mystery of the Mummy Caves, and somehow brought peace to Princess Y’thgna in her final moments.

They said he was also on some kind of personal quest to taste every single food in the Dreamlands.

Of course, all of that couldn’t be true. But it sure was fun to talk about.

And people did.

#

Parker traveled smart, and kept their head down, sticking to crowds; and so they got to hear the news.

The Games were in Carcosa. (And Sunny waxed eloquent.)

Carcosa was attacked. (And Sunny freaked out.)

The Carcosan princess was missing (and Sunny twisted, trying to figure out who the hell that could be).

The Carcosan princess was found (and maybe was human, and Sunny didn’t believe that at all).

A storm like no one had ever seen crash-landed in the Middle Sea. (And Parker and Sunny were very glad they hadn’t gotten to the coast yet to catch a boat towards Carcosa, because every boat on the water had been turned to toothpicks.)

This slowed them down a bit. Parker knew they were being chased, but… when the storm finally passed, everything was kindling. The closer they got to the sea, the more damage they found. People wept; voices cried names, hoping for response against impossible odds. The wounded moaned, sometimes still trapped in buildings that had fallen.

Parker couldn’t just keep going. He knew they were close; Carcosa was across the water, or so Sunny said. But they couldn’t ignore all of this. “We gotta help, Sunny.”

Sunny had lapsed into that heavy, meaningful silence, but at last: I agree. People are wounded, or hurting, or need to find family, and that is what you and I seem to excel at. Plus, there’s talk of Carcosa being allied with Celephaïs, now—we can always go there to resume our quest, after we’ve helped.

And Parker had to say it, because he wasn’t in the business of tricking Sunny. “Means we’ll be in the crosshairs. And in one place longer than we should be. You still up? Because I am.”

I’m still up, my friend. Larson we will deal with when he comes—we always do. His voice still trembled when he talked about Larson coming after them.

“Glad to work with you, buddy,” said Parker. And they dove in.

#

They weren’t caught for three weeks. Maybe Larson hadn’t considered they’d stay behind, risking themselves. Maybe he’d just assumed they’d avoid the worst of it, because (both were sure) he would have.

But they stayed, and they helped, and though Parker tried to keep it all under wraps, the weird hooded guy with the wisp of gold in his mouth just wasn’t something people wanted to keep quiet about.

#

“Mister,” said a woman one night. “Please. You’re the one helping people, right? Please.”

Parker was tired. Sunny was tired. They hadn’t even had the chance to enjoy their truly excellent hot and sour soup. “Maybe?” said Parker, turning. “What’s up?”

She was a worn woman, tired, too thin. She’d chopped her hair off rather than trying to maintain it in all the chaos, and her clothes were threadbare. “My son. Please. He… we thought he was getting better, but he’s not,” she said, wringing her hands.

“I can’t make any promises,” said Parker, because he always did, “but I can at least try. Where is he?”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” she sobbed. “This way. I’m sorry, it… my home is on the other side of town.”

“Eh,” said Parker. “Nice evening to stretch our legs. Lead on, ma’am. I’m Parker. Nice to meet you.”

“Pah… Pakah,” she repeated. “Cill.”

“Hi, Cill.” And Parker did a thing that he sometimes did: he offered the soup to the woman.

Sunny didn’t sigh this time. They could get more soup. They would. That looked really good, too.

She looked shocked. Took it. And, her eyes filling, she turned and hurried off.

Parker followed at speed, hood up. “Spot our tail yet?”

I can’t tell. I still think you’re right and we’re being watched.

“I’m sure we are.” His gut was never wrong. “You ready to move on yet?”

They’re not ready.

“I agree.” Parker navigated around a cart filled with debris, being taken for burning. “Let’s just be careful.”

Cill wasn’t kidding; her home was more than just on the other side of town. It was outside it, on the outskirts, far enough away that its flickering, candlelit windows shone in the night.

So this felt suspicious as hell, but the woman’s distress was real. Her glance, over her shoulder, was desperate and just a pinch guilty as she clutched the soup to her chest and went inside.

Had Larson hurt some kid? “Batter up,” Parker warned softly, and stepped in behind her.

It wasn’t a wealthy place. Essentially one room with bits of mismatched furniture here and there, it had a single bed with a boy, a child who had to be five, at most. Half his face was bandaged; the wound, whatever it was, had turned, seeping brown, and did not smell good. The boy’s breath came fast and shallow.

“Aw, kid,” said Parker softly, and headed for him.

Sunny let out his insubstantial breath. This will be an easy one. It’s like we did for that woman in Thraa, remember? I’m going to let you do this one: focus, and let my magic flow through you.

“Yeah, that’ll work. Cill, how’d he get hurt?” But her look made him pause.

She kept glancing behind him.

Parker looked. There was nothing there. Oh, boy. “Cill?”

“He… when the shipyard was destroyed. It was flying debris. Nails and wood.”

“We can help him.” Parker needed her to know this. “Okay?”

Her look was pleading.

Why does she keep staring at us like that? Sunny’s voice was low.

“Pretty sure it’s a trap, but that kid is really hurt,” said Parker.

“Now, I wasn’t gonna let such a golden opportunity pass by,” said Larson, and he appeared from shadow, hand held palm down over the kid’s head.

Sunny gasped, but it was almost second nature as he took hold of Parker’s voice. “Larson,” he said, softly. “That’s a child. An innocent. Don’t hurt him. Please.”

“You,” Larson sneered, “ain’t in a position to bargain, you truant little shit. Now, let me talk to the big man.”

Parker took in a soft breath, his jaw his own again. “Speakin’,” he said. “You’ve got us where you want us. Yeah? Let the kid go.”

“Sure. Soon as I really get what I want. You are gonna hold damn still, aren’t you? No spells. No tricks. This little game of ours has been fun, but it’s over. I win.”

More men stepped out of the shadows. There was real power here; this must have taken days to set up.

Cill was softly crying.

The kid…

Parker, Sunny whispered. The kid.

They were on the same page, but they’d only get one shot—and only if Larson was distracted. Sunny began prepping the spell like a slingshot, and Parker drew focus back to himself. “So much work for just one guy, right? I must’a really busted up your plans. Whatever they were.”

“You’ll never know them,” Larson smugged.

“Really? I got a few guesses. Educated ones, even.”

“I don’t care,” said Larson, baring his teeth a little.

“No? You don’t even want to know how I keep getting away from you? Just some guy from Boston, fooling the Great White Hunter?”

“What you’ve been, boy, is lucky. And I think we both know why.”

Parker could feel the magic building. Just needed to keep him talking. “Because I’m smarter than you?”

“Because of what you stole,”  Larson snarled.

Parker leaned on his accent, knowing without question that it would grate on Larson’s nerves. “Didn’t steal nuttin’. You know, Lahson… for all we’ve been playing cat and mouse, you haven’t showed up all that much. Ah ya scared?”

Larson was turning colors again. “Just trying not to crack the chamber pot too soon,” he snarled.

“Ooh. Funny. Get that, Sunny? He’s calling you shit.”

I’ll fucking show him shit, Sunny muttered, the power coiling beneath their tongue.

“Enough of this,” said Larson, and his goons shifted, in position. “Stand down, or the kid dies.”

Parker could do that. After all, Larson didn’t say not to speak.

He relaxed his jaw, his lips, his tongue. He gave Sunny his mouth. And Sunny sang.

The power flowed from them like a wave, surging over the kid, bandages burning away as the infection was purged and the wounds knit themselves closed, sight even returning to the eye that was mangled. It was golden light, pure poetry in R’lyehian, and Parker could feel his face smiling as it left a golden glow of protection sweeping around not only the boy, but Cill too.

“You can’t hurt them now,” Sunny said. “As it turns out, this shit don’t stink after all.”

Parker laughed.

Larson stared as if he fully believed they’d gone mad. “That was your shot? Are you out of your damn mind?”

And they came at him, fists and ropes and anger, too much to fight through—but not before he saw the gratitude on Cill’s face.

Take that, you asshole, he thought, and tumbled into darkness.

#

They say he single-handedly turned the tide of the death-toll after the Storm in Zakarion.

They say he lost his life there, captured by whatever evil tracked him down (and various Dreamers imagined this immortal clash as various things, from angels and demons to good and evil enfleshed).

They say he even saved the child of an enemy before he died.

They say a shrine had already been raised, and there would be more. No one would ever forget the names of Pahkah Yang and Sunny, his golden friend.

#

There would definitely be no further chances to get away.

Parker woke and found himself bound to a ridiculous level; chains and ropes, up his arms and legs, around his torso. Every finger had been individually tied. There was some kind of muzzle on his face, keeping his mouth from opening, its straps digging into his cheeks. He couldn’t even turn his head—blocks had been strapped to it, keeping it straight.

Well. It had been a good run.

Honestly? He’d always believed he’d die young, but here, he’d gotten to live twice. He’d helped people. He’d seen things so few had, and really loved this new world.

It was Sunny he felt sick for.

Parker didn’t really know from spells. Not really. But the things Sunny had described about that last one—the one the Outer God interrupted—made him certain Larson had been about to do something terrible to Sunny. Sunny was the one in real danger here.

Parker, Sunny said. Can you hear me? Blink twice if yes, three times if—well, I suppose I’ll know if the answer is no.

He could blink twice. Easy. Also, ow. His head hurt. Whoever did him had done him dirty. Fuckers, he thought, and really wished he had a way to silently communicate with Sunny.

He didn’t want Sunny feeling bad over this. They’d done the right thing, even if it meant capture.

Oh, thank the gods, Sunny said. His voice was soothing and gentle—Parker was reminded of how Sunny had spoken after he’d passed out, when Sunny had healed his bullet wound, what might have been a lifetime ago. I… This is perhaps selfish of me, but… I was afraid of being alone. I’m glad you’re still here. He went quiet for a moment. I’ve decided… I think there are some ways for me to fight against him now. I promised you that I wouldn’t go down without a fight, and I’m going to keep that promise.

Parker blinked twice.

Sunny let out a soft, desperate laugh. Thank you, Parker. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I feel like, maybe, I did something very good. That we did something good. And I don’t know about you, but I can face my end with… fewer regrets. He took a lungless breath. If I have the opportunity, I’ll make it quick for you, my friend. And I’ll look for you on the other side.

Two blinks. And Parker set his jaw. He was all in.

Heh. Heh, heh. Fuck. Somehow Parker could feel Sunny shudder. Should I try to fill our time? Talk? Close your eyes for two seconds if no, or… one blink for poetry, two blinks for songs, three blinks for… something else, I suppose. I’ll figure something out.

Three blinks. Always, he encouraged Sunny to explore. That was just who he was. Consistently.

Sunny knew who Parker was. Parker had lied plenty—Sunny had seen him do it, to get out of things, to get information. But never to Sunny. Parker had tricked, too. Fought. Been quite aggressive… but never to Sunny. And Parker had always had a reason for doing those things, and explained. It made everything better, somehow. Good. Living.

Parker’s heart raced now, of course. His wriggled attempts did nothing. There would be no getting out of this.

Sunny sniffled. Something else, he said. You know, I don’t remember tasting anything before you. I think the entity that put me in Arthur’s head ensured I remembered nothing. So I think that made this the most wonderful. To be able to taste.

“Mmmm,” Parker agreed.

This is perhaps a bit embarrassing, Sunny said with a laugh. But I think the sweets were some of my favorites. I really liked that sipping chocolate we had in Jaren. I think that might have been my favorite—at least of the drinks.

Parker chuckled just a little. A couple of tears slipped down his face, but he said, “Mm-mm-mm,” encouraging.

My favorite meal, though, was when we had—do you remember, Parker, when we had to catch that fish, on the Oukranos? A real laugh, now. And despite the fact that we had it in a trap, it still took us twenty minutes to catch the fucking thing. You got all wet. It tasted so good, though, probably because we were both tired. But you were laughing, and I was still having such a good time. It was like we didn’t have to worry about anything but—

“Fucking hell, you two,” said a bright voice, a strident voice, a voice that Parker sort of knew. Had heard briefly. Most recently, when something pulled him to the roof, when they were going to be caught. “If I wanted mush, I’d have bought the damn cable package.”

Sunny gasped. Parker, it’s him! The Outer God!

“Mmm?” managed Parker, because what the fuck? What does he want? he thought.

“Eh. The usual. A better lemon pie. Six Amy May Wongs with some sharp toys. A better use of time, for fuck’s sake. Anyway! You’re all wound up. Ready to go. It’s time to fulfill your actual purpose, babes.”

That sounded bad. Parker couldn’t see him; he wanted Sunny out of this. Maybe he could bargain.

“Nope, sorry. He’s blow number two to that tender psyche. Ciao!”

Parker! Wh—

Wh—Parker was ripped from the restraints (it hurt, damn it) and hurled.

He hit the floor, staggering into blazing white light that took his sight, into some… presence that thrummed through the room and made his skin tingle, and discordant trumpets hurt his ears.

If this was the Pearly Gates, they needed a tune-up. “What the fuck?” he cried, blinded, half-deafened, staggering

“Parker?” came a voice.

A voice he knew.

A voice he’d listened to, and coaxed to laughter, and pulled into intense detective work, and thought about, and jacked off to, and dearly loved until the owner of that voice had turned around and strangled him dead.

So was he dead again? “What?” he said. “Arthur?”

He turned and threw his hand over his eyes—that was it, that presence, too grand and huge to look at, blinding-bright golden robes shimmering with faint patterns that bloomed and died in his vision, and some sort of limbs like waves of ink spread along the ground.

And he could feel that if not for Sunny, tucked into his head, he would have been overwhelmed.

Buoyed in those tentacles were two people, nestled up against the robe, one a little girl, and the other—

A voice that was and was not Sunny’s spoke. Arthur? Arthur, it… it can't be.

“Parker?” Arthur Lester said.

Arthur… something terrible had happened to him. Scars pockmarked the right side of his face. His hair was long and sweat-sticky, falling past his shoulders. His beard was salt-and-pepper, and gray threaded through the hair at his temples, and those eyes—

They were still fucking yellow.

“Put…” Arthur said, looking up into the darkness of a crowned hood on that massive shape. His voice was ragged. “Put me…”

Gently, tenderly, the tentacle set Arthur on the ground. Arthur staggered forward on weak knees, but his face wasn’t quite orienting the right way.

John had his eyes, Sunny had said, and Parker swallowed.

They weren't looking directly at him, but they sure could still cry. “Parker? Y... you're alive?” Arthur said, voice cracking (and Parker had not forgotten, had not lost any of the memory of that voice).

There was so much… much. Right now. Had Sunny been right? Arthur had murdered, and… vanished? To this place? "You're alive?" said Parker. "Fucking... you... son of a bitch, you're here?"

A snare drum rolled. “And guest star number two!” that voice rang out, the voice of the Outer God.

Watch out! It was a desperate cry, sharp and snarled and full of terror.

“I got this,” soothed Parker, though he absolutely did not.

Arthur stopped as though he’d been gut punched. “Yellow?” he choked.

Parker winced, just as Sunny began to seethe in the back of his head. MURDERER! Sunny cried.

“Easy, Sunny,” said Parker.

No! Parker, get away from him! He’s fucking dangerous! Sunny snarled, a dog with its leg in a trap. He'll hurt you! He... he'll... get away from us!

And then it got worse. Impossibly, it got worse, and it got complicated.

The drum roll rioted, and instruments blared from nowhere, painfully loud. “And of course,” cried the Outer God, his voice weirdly distorted and echoing, “what’s a new season without a new villain? Guest star number three, straight from the wilds of the sweetest digs in the Dreamlands! Covered in the sins of his youth, filled with power from the nastiest rituals you’ve ever seen, scion of the Order of the Falling Star, and one of my favorite puppets… Wallace (ace… ace…) Larsooooooooon!”

The music shrieked, and an unseen crowd bellowed.

And Larson stepped into view, staggering like Parker had. "What? What is... where am I? I do declare,” he said, smooth and calm like this happened every day. “What is this place?”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand action!" the Outer God bellowed—and disappeared, along with the spotlights, the crowd, the ambient noise, leaving them all alone in a dark throne room, in thick and near-complete gloom.

It still hurt to look toward that being, whatever it was, though Parker briefly couldn’t see anything but silhouettes. “Fuck,” he murmured.

Larson heard him. “You! Thief! How in the hell did you get loose again?”

Hastur, said the voice that was and was not Sunny's.

You’ve got to be kidding, thought Parker, and wondered if this meant they were all in hell. “Oh, fuck this guy,” he said, wanting to lend Sunny strength. “He ain’t getting you back. You hear me? Try it, asshole!”

Parker, I’m scared, said Sunny, which made him feel half-feral.

But apparently not all feral. Not nearly as feral as Arthur.

Parker knew Arthur. Knew him as a man who’s studied another for years can know, and saw the change. Even in the gloom, he saw the switch flip.

Saw the moment that body language stiffened, saw the moment Arthur’s brain turned off.

Larson turned toward that radiant something that hurt to look at, fell to his knees, and proclaimed a bunch of gibberish.

And Arthur—

Hastur! shouted not-Sunny’s voice.

Arthur lunged with murder his every inch, teeth showing in a white rictus as though he planned to bite Larson to death, fingers curved like claws.

Maybe it’s not hell, Parker thought. Maybe I’ve just gone crazy. And with the habit born of years past, of chasing this man down from the time he was self-destructing in Jack’s Bar to their most twisted child-murder cases, Parker ran after Arthur Lester to stop him from doing something dumb.

[bloodgarnet]

final piece in my trio of funny little unconnected oneshots for smoshblr – based loosely on an au I once read in Arrowverse fic but don’t sweat the details.

3/3 – Love is Blind (But Negotiable)

Shayne wipes his palms against his thighs, counts carefully in-one-two-three, out-one-two-three, and opens the door to let himself into Ian’s office.

It’s probably nothing, he thinks to himself. Totally just a super minor, unimportant matter. Catastrophising is a bad habit and nothing big is going on.

“I won’t lie to you, something big is going on,” Ian starts. It’s a bad start, made infinitely worse by the way he won’t make eye contact. Shayne instantly feels clammy all over.

Before he can ask the eponymous question—do we still have jobs?—Ian quickly clarifies, “It’s not bad. Not that bad. Well, it’s… okay, there’s been some, like, issues with the old Defy CEO.” Oh, Jesus. “Obviously, that shouldn’t be possible but there’s a couple of loopholes and, uh… you’re going to be hearing some things about Smosh entering a marriage contract.”

Words cannot express the sheer horror that Shayne feels in that moment.

“A marriage contract,” he hears himself repeat distantly.

Ian winces. “That probably sounded—okay, I’m going about this wrong. Smosh is going to be… on the market. For a suitable partner. That’s the easiest way to get out of the whole Defy issue without doing anything too reckless.”

Bad. Very bad if they’re having to resort to those kinds of extremes.

“Are there any other options?” Shayne asks desperately. A fucking marriage contract, what the hell.

“I’ve talked with legal and there’s really not much else besides, like, shutting down everything and restarting, which has, you know, massive ramifications all over the place we might not be able to undo later, so yeah.” Ian coughs awkwardly. “I wanted to let you know personally first because it’s going to sound like you’re the one being put on the chopping block for a, haha, bride price. Dowry. Whatever. And we’re not going to do that to you, because that’s crazy.”

Shayne stares at him. His eyes kind of ache a little with how wide they’ve been this whole conversation. “Why would it sound like that?”

“Because for the contract to work properly, it has to be the face of Smosh,” Ian says. “In this case—the business sense, I mean—that’s me.”

---

Later, Shayne will reflect guiltily on the instant deluge of relief he’d felt, before the whole oh shit sets in. Marriage contracts between companies are serious fucking business. Sure, content creators have taken a lighter approach in modern times with the whole perma-collab trend, but it’s still a binding marriage. There’s a big difference between two D-rank solo channels partnering together and Smosh searching for an equal with its thirty-some full-time employees.

Back in the day, partnership contracts had been one of the few ways to guarantee sustainability, but duo channels hadn’t needed to bother with that. Things have changed a lot since then.

At the very least, there’s a certain amount of schadenfreude to watching everyone else’s faces go slack in shock when they collectively receive the news at the all-hands. Then the second bomb hits when they realise that going through traditional processes means that the company itself has to act as the negotiator, aka The Matchmaker.

It’s totally the setup for a high-larious sketch, if not for the terrifying reality of looming financial ruin.

Angela just looks around the room blankly, clearly not getting it, and asks hesitantly, “So, uh… what are we actually supposed to do? We gotta hook Ian up with someone? This is fucking wild, guys.”

“I know some women in the comedy scene who would be up for a shotgun wedding,” Amanda says thoughtfully. “Not very picky, very business-minded. No offense.”

The empty space where Ian might once have been before he cringed out of existence does not seem offended.

Their Mythical representative clears her throat. “Unfortunately, for legal reasons, we can’t just pick anyone. The partnership has to meet certain criteria for the match to be ‘successful’, so to speak.”

She lays out the terms and, impossibly, the situation gets even worse.

The match must: - be a celebrity or business owner (preferably both) of relative social standing - have a generally positive reputation - have an active and well-liked social media presence - not be currently or previously involved in any scandals - be available/unattached

It goes on.

In the smaller text way down below all of that, negotiable conditions include business acumen, age (yikes), education level (why?), YouTube channel ownership (ironic), further details on specific threshold statistics they’ll need to meet…

“We’re so fucked,” Shayne mutters under his breath. Courtney absently puts a hand on his shoulder, their eyes tracking the extensive list with palpable concern. There’s a lot to take in.

A couple hours and a few trips to the crying bathroom later, Shayne volunteers to track Ian down and squeeze some more answers out of him, because as a group they’d come to the horrifying conclusion that the list wasn’t specific enough, i.e. it said nothing about the kind of person Ian himself was actually looking for, or if he had anyone in mind. If, you know, that was at all possible to accommodate.

Probably not. Shayne wanted to actively avoid thinking about Ian’s feelings, given the usually hard to read guy visibly wants to die every time he’s been spotted since the meeting.

“We probably should’ve guessed, but he’s pretty close-lipped about it,” Shayne reports back. “All he would say is ‘someone who will marry me’.”

“Incredibly helpful,” Tommy states dryly. “We’ll add ‘won’t destroy Smosh’ and ‘good with divorces’ while we’re at it.”

Shayne purposefully leaves out Ian’s ‘will kill me when I ask for it’ because, yeah, unhelpful.

Predictably, their schedule gets rapidly shuffled around to make up for the lack of upcoming shoot days, and the editors get a lot of paid overtime if they can figure out how to stretch out the content backlog before it runs dry. Spencer starts making ominous comments in a very post-apocalyptic Chosen kind of way.

Management helpfully provides outlines and example precedent for the legwork they need to do, which mostly boils down to a fuckton of email negotiations and setting up face to face meetings. It’s an odd sort of office-themed hell.

Shockingly, there’s actually quite tons of interested parties to sort through, though the majority get ruled out immediately as ‘rising star’ TikTok clout-chasers. The entire cast and crew has a grand old time laughing at the absurdity of barely legal thots bragging about their follower counts, like that means anything. Some of them don’t even know how to pronounce Smosh.

They start cracking open the cases of alcohol when they get to the YouTubers who are of appropriate age but can best be described by the term ‘open relationship’ or ‘throuple’.

Ian coughs awkwardly when he’s informed that the top matches so far are male and, looking anywhere else, asks for them to be sent his way for review. Chanse has a lot to say about how shitty it is to be forced out of the closet, but it’s not like Ian sticks around to hear it.

Shayne suspects if they do get him to sit down for the marriage interview, he might just bolt. And if he does, none of them will be able to catch him.

Nearly a month goes by before their first successful in-person is arranged, date set and room booked, when—“They cancelled?”

“Last minute,” Courtney confirms, baffled. “The reason they gave was… kind of bizarre?”

He reads over her shoulder. “Arrangements, timeline, blah blah blah… other party has already expressed interest? What?”

“That implies she was told there’s already a confirmed partner, right?” Courtney frowns. “I fucking wish there was. Is someone trying to sabotage us?”

“Oh, shit,” Shayne murmurs. “No. You don’t think…? It could be a rumour that’s gotten out of hand.”

A notification pings on his computer: another DM declination, this one more transparently stating that they had been convinced not to pursue the deal. Slowly, he and Courtney exchange looks.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” they declare. “If someone is hunting down all our potential matches and getting them to cancel, maybe we should hunt them down instead.”

Logically, it could be Defy trying to interfere—incredibly illegally, might he add—or it could be a no-name scumbag trying to ruin their work and force them to accept a shitty, lop-sided deal. Either way, not great for them.

“We could force this guy to attend the marriage interview,” Shayne jokes, but Courtney’s eyes shine with mischief.

They grin. “I like that. I like that a lot.”

And yet despite all their preparation, none of them could have guessed who shows up.

[borahaerhy]

Dealer (5) - myg

Summary: Your boyfriend seemed like a dream come true: always wanting to be around you, making sure you would get home safe, never taking his hands off you. These little comforts became your whole world, and then the only thing you were allowed to have left in the world. Luckily, your boyfriends drug dealer turned out to be a much nicer guy.

Pairing: DrugDealer!Yoongi x Female!Reader

Genre: Mafia/drug kingpin au, Y/N coming from nothing, found family, Eventual smut

Warnings: Obsession, hit men, non-graphic unaliving, a lot of guns, Seokjin's house is a labyrinth, Jimin's father kinda sucks I'm ngl, Yoongi isn't in this as much as I planned for him to be, but he will be for the next one, also a lot more action in the next one :))

Word count: 2.3k

Previous | Next

Note: If you are sensitive or triggered by abusive relationships or manipulation in any way, please do not read this fic, it can be very triggering. It will also be referenced that Y/n used to self harm, and has self-harm scars. This is fic is going to cover a lot of intense topics, and there will be a lot of drugs.

The past 24 hours have been odd, to say the least. Yoongi never really saw himself as someone that would intervene in the personal life of someone he knew nothing about. Being a drug dealer for as long as he’d been one came along with seeing your fair share of sketchy shit; but Yoongi had always been able to separate that from his personal life.

Until you, that is.

“I’ve dealt with these guys before, don’t worry, I know how to deal with them,” Yoongi was pulled from his thoughts by Jin, who was now seated across from him, eyes trained on the laptop in front of him.

“When you say you’ve dealt with them before, you mean…?” Yoongi’s voice trailed off slightly at the end, wanting to make sure he completely understood what Jin was talking about.

“Many people have tried to put hits out on me, and these guys are usually the ones they hire. More often than not, they’re dead before they even see me,” Jin’s eyes never left the screen as he spoke softly, the majority of his attention falling on what he was looking at rather than what he was saying.

“You don’t plan on just keeping us here until you kill all of them, do you?” Jin lips curled up slightly, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he shook his head.

“Of course not, we’re taking out their leader and their most high-profile killer. Once they’re gone, the rest will disappear, hopefully to find better, more productive jobs,” Taehyung and Hoseok were both on their second cups of coffee, neither of them really having said anything. “Hobi, you’re the one that knows this Zeke guy the most, right?”

Hoseok straightened himself in his seat, bringing his full attention to Jin in an instant. “Uh, yeah. We used to hang out a lot before him and Y/n started going out.”

“What do I need to worry about in terms of him?” For the first time since they’d gotten downstairs, Jin looked up, his full attention now on Hoseok, waiting for his response so he knew how to move forward.

“He’s no hit man, that’s for sure. But he is obsessed with Y/n; has been since before she even knew he existed. I don’t think he’ll stop until he’s dead or in prison, and even then, prison is only stopping him until he can get out,” Jin’s face fell slightly as everyone else in the room tensed. Hoseok never liked talking about Zeke, but he was the only person that fully knew what he was capable of; so he was going to have to start.

“He’s that bad, huh?” Hoseok nodded slightly as the weight of the situation everyone was in finally settled on their shoulders; and it was a lot heavier than any of them had fully realized.

-

“Have you made any progress?” Jimin sighed, his fathers voice ringing through his ear piece a little louder and sooner than he would’ve liked it to.

“Can’t talk, I’m on his property,” Jimin’s voice was low as he covered his mouth in a way so that if there was anyone nearby, they wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“Fine, then I’ll talk,” Jimin rolled his eyes as he internally cursed himself, jumping from the branch of one tree to another, his landing silent as his footing was perfect. “Zeke just showed up and he won’t shut the fuck up; you have an hour to get her or I’m sending in reinforcements,” Before Jimin could protest or further explain his situation now that he’s reached higher ground, His father had hung up the phone.

The thing about being on Seokjin's property was that it was thousands of acres of mostly wooded land, and his house was very well camouflaged within that. Jimin was dancing across tree tops to try and silently move around to find it without being detected, having already spotted two heavily armed guards on the ground in the twenty minutes he’d been there.

Finding his house within an hour would be practically impossible.

-

Namjoon let you know there was clean clothes in the dresser and a shower in the bathroom connected to the room in case you wanted to take a shower before you got some rest; an offer you gladly took. You sat in there for almost 30 minutes, just letting the near boiling water turn your skin red before you tried to get some rest.

But nearly 3 hours later, you were still wide awake.

You found yourself completely unable to sleep, tossing and turning in the room far too big for your liking. Your thoughts are loud and never ending, a new concern or worry entering your head before the last one can even finish settling in.

You sat up with a huff, throwing the pristine white blanket off of you as you brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and pulling them further into you. You took a few deep breaths as you took in your surroundings, attempting to ground yourself before your panic fully set in. The room you had only been in for a few hours almost looked to be staged; nothing looked like it had ever been used, like it was only there to look like a bedroom - not to actually be one.

You stood from the bed when you felt safe enough to do so, and made your way to the door. If you couldn’t sleep, you may as well help the guys figure things out.

You stood with your hand on the door knob for an unnecessary amount of time, mostly just trying to gain the courage to leave the room. You took another deep breath and closed your eyes, things always being less scary if you can’t see them, and opened the door.

Right outside the door was the more intimidating of the two men from earlier; Jungkook if you remembered his name correctly. He turned abruptly to face you when he heard your door open, only looking at you for a split second before he looked behind you, searching the room for any signs of danger.

“I-I’m sorry, I just can’t sleep. I was going to see if the guys needed any help,” You stuttered out, not expecting someone to be standing right outside the door, and still looking absolutely terrifying.

His demeanor seemed to relax significantly once you spoke, yet he still seemed tense; hands clasped behind his back and his jaw tensed. He shook his head silently as he still continued scanning the room behind you, though much less frantically now. You furrowed your brows, still waiting on him to speak, but he never does.

“I can’t go help?” You questioned, a little confused at his silence. Jungkook finally looks at you, his eyes looking at your concerned expression for less than a second before he looked away again. He shook his head softly, his gaze moving down to look at the ground in between the two of you

“Uhm, no,” He cleared his throat, his eyes still looking down as he continued. “You can’t go downstairs. It would be, uhm, upsetting, to have to listen to that,” Jungkook stuttered out, his voice a lot softer and gentle than you had initially expected.

“Oh… is there anything I can do besides sit in here and freak out?” You lighthearted tone made him smile slightly. You took pride in knowing that your outgoing nature was still there, even if you hadn’t used it in a while.

“I’m afraid n-” Jungkook was cut off by a loud bang, a gunshot, if you had to guess; and he reacted before you even knew what was happening.

He pushed you back into the room and closed the door silently, before he pulled you towards the closet. He let go of you and opened the door, pulled the giant dresser out of the closet effortlessly to reveal a trap door that led god knows where. He opened it up and waved you over, silently asking you to go down.

He was right behind you, pulling the dresser back into place before he rushed down the stairs.

At the bottom was a small cellar that, from what it looked like, was used as an armory. Racks and cases that covered the walls were all filled with guns, guns that Jungkook was taking off the walls.

“Here,” without looking at you, he hands you a gun with one hand, the other taking ammunition out of a box.

“You’re giving me a gun?”

“You shouldn’t need it, but just in case,” You took a deep breath before nodding and putting the gun carefully in the waistband of your jeans.

He slung a shotgun over his shoulder and put two more handguns into the waistband of his jeans, accompanying the one he already had there, along god knows how much ammo he had in a bag slung off his other shoulder.

He had one more in his hand, before he moved over to one of the walls and pushed in a brick. The wall next to the brick moved back and slid behind the wall next to it, revealing a pathway. What is this, an episode of Scooby Doo?

-

That was definitely less than an hour.

At most, another 45 minutes went by before Jimin noticed several large black cars driving through the woods he’d worked so hard to stealthily get into, followed by extensive gunshots filling the otherwise serene area.

Jimin now raced on the ground toward the sound of gun fire, passing the bloodied bodies of hit men he’d known and Seokjin's guards alike.

He hated to benefit off of the deaths of others, but the less skilled hit men running in guns blazing were really a good distraction for him to sneak in the back.

Sneaking in certainly shouldn’t have been the easiest, but Jimin’s gun had a silencer, so he just shot through a door knob and was in.

Where he had managed to break into, was still to be determined. This could be a completely different house on the property to throw people off, a staged home of someone completely different to make us think were in the wrong spot; maybe even a part of the same building they were in, only there was no way to get over there.

One thing Jimin had always known when it came to certain high-profile cases - especially Seokjin - is that nothing is exactly what it seems, so stay alert.

He knew that Seokjin liked to have secret rooms to hide people and things in, something they’d learned on the fifth hit someone tried to put out on him.

He made his way to the basement, every room he entered being completely empty as everyone had run off to deal with the people obviously trying to break in. His gun was drawn as he swept the basement, looking in every nook and cranny knowing that there was something down here he was missing.

He almost gave up when he tripped over a piece of carpet that wasn’t laying flat. He looked back at it, noticing a small portion of the carpeting was a different color than the rest of the room.

After scanning the room one last time to make sure no one had snuck down when he wasn’t paying attention, he put his gun in his holster before he leaned down to lift the carpet.

A trap door. Nice.

A small smile crept onto Jimin’s face before it quickly washed away. He opened the door and took his gun back out before he started down the dusty looking steps.

It took him longer than he would’ve liked to find the light, but once he did, he realized it was just an empty room. Dusty and full of cobwebs, it didn’t look like anyone had been in here for at least a decade.

But that was exactly why Jimin knew he was in the right spot.

-

What seemed like hours later, and several layers deeper into the labyrinth that was Seokjin’s house, Jimin felt like he was no closer to finding you than he had been when he was hiding in the trees.

But at this point it was too late to go back, not that he even knew how to get out at this point; so he kept moving.

Jimin was now in a pitch black room with no idea how big the room was, or if there was any way out. His steps were slow and careful, as he held his weapon up, ready in case anyone pops out at him.

He evidently stepped wrong, the creaky floor giving way under him; an actual trap door meant to get him stuck so that he couldn’t escape.

He landed on the cold ground with a thud, his gun flying from his hand and landing halfway across the room as he groaned, letting his now very sore body relax on the ground; though that didn't last long as he heard a gun cocking above him.

He sighed, eyes clenched shut as he slowly pushed himself off the ground, making sure his movements were slow and hands stayed visible the whole time. As he sat up though, the fear that coursed through him turned to relief.

“Y/n?” You lowered the shaky gun in your hands slightly, just enough to see the face of the man you had it pointed at.

“Jimin?”

-

Note: SO SORRY IT'S BEEN MONTHS SINCE I'VE UPDATED-

I know this isn't as action-packed as I would have liked it to be, but trust me, the next chapter will be following the hit men and the guys, guns blazing.

I'm hoping to have that one up by July

(That's a joke. But seriously if I don't have another chapter up by July, shoot me)

 Taglist: @pamzn @fvcuidk @cybm1n @limiworld @scuzmunkie @hyunjingin @nellyboosworld @giselleg7784 @zaeve @lovelgirl22 @rosquilleta @kooliv @bangtannie7 @strawberryjimin13 @anjoellamorte @limitlessdespondency @lalaoise @roxy1205 @lavender-ivy @orangecarrotlemon @billy-jeans23  @jwlmnbt @artemis1862 @namjoonsbuspass @luaspersona @wittyreader @be0mluver  @acquiescence804 @dustyinkpages 

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

ice hockey!tom x figure skater!reader — smut.

summary ↠ you can’t stand the ice hockey team. they’re loud, brutish, and incredibly annoying. it’s just inconvenient that you can’t seem to stop running into their star player, an irritatingly suave man called tom, nor deny the way your pulse quickens every time he’s around...   word count ↠ 20.2k. warnings ↠ mild depictions of sport-related injury including blood and nose breakage, a lot of bad language, some jealousy, and nsfw smut material! extended smut warnings are beneath the cut, but this is 18+ !!! minors dni.   a/n ↠ it’s funny because I tell myself I don’t like sport aus, yet this is somehow one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written...? the au is kinda ~obscure~ I guess, but it checked so many of my boxes whilst writing it, and I had a great time. it’s also the longest thing I’ve ever posted?! ahh !! I hope you’ll like dutchy, and give this a go even if you’re not really into hockey <3   —↠ there are so many different people that helped me out with this!!! in addition to all the wonderful anons that sent in ideas last month, I want to extend a huge thank you to @geminiparkers @tetralea @hollandharrison @honeyspidey @stixnstripesworld and @uglypastels for each helping out in some way, whether that be through brainstorming ideas, making incredible art, or teaching me about hockey and/or skating! <3<3 also—the biggest thank you ever to the lovely sammy @t-holland2080 for not disowning me after editing this for me and seeing my basic spelling errors lmfao. ily <3 hope you all enjoy !!

extra !! @uglypastels made two beautiful pieces of fanart for tom aka dutchy — you can view these here + here !!! @softholand​ also made an absolutely incredible moodboard based off the fic, and you can view that here :’) thank you to both of them for using their amazing artistic talents on this fic + making me literally like. the happiest writer on the planet :’) 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended smut warnings ↠ two sections of smut. this is a certified Horny Warmy™️ (thanks chlo for that category) so it’s very gentle, very wholesome. includes oral and fingering (fem-receiving) and protected MxF sex :’)

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

“Why are they always so noisy? How hard can it be to hit a bit of plastic?”

You laugh quietly, glancing at your friend, Yelena. She’s staring out across the rink, hands resting on the plastic barrier that lines the perimeter with irritation in her icy blue eyes. A warming blush tickles the apples of her cheeks, and it softens the expression of frustration that she wears so well.

“Seriously,” she adds. “Listen to them… It’s so… unpleasant.”

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you bring your gaze away from Yelena and instead onto the object of her anger: the hockey team.

Your eyes zip around the rink, watching as the players run through yet another drill. The team—Kingston Kites—, 20 in full, 7 currently on the ice, crash around the arena like a cyclone of a thousand moving calamitous parts. For the last few months, the practice rink at your sports centre has been closed, which has led to the pre-existing rivalry between the hockey team and your own team of figure skaters deepening. There have been arguments between your managers and theirs about which team gets priority over the exhibition rink. What’s emerged has been a bitter taste in the air. Simply put: the figure skating team dislikes the ice hockey team, and the feeling is mutual.

“I dunno,” you mutter. “I guess it means they’re working hard.”

The noises are rather distracting. You watch as the blurry figures, shrouded in the team colours of white, green, and orange, line up and take shot after shot at the small net on the ice. After each attempted shot on goal, the players have a tendency to release loud grunts and exclamations of exertion, and they echo around the empty arena. Whilst you agree with Yelena that the noises are irritating, a small part of you also admires their commitment.

“Perhaps.” Yelena steps back from the side and starts to stretch her arms. You do the same. There’s a fifteen-minute overlap in the scheduled slots on ice when the figure skating team uses half the rink to warm up as the hockey team uses the other to cool down. After the fifteen minutes play out, the Zamboni skims out the cuts in the rink, and the hockey team finally leaves you alone. It’s not ideal to share the rink, but every second you can spend practising helps. “I can’t stand them.”

You smile softly, slowly rotating your right arm as you warm up the muscles. “I know,” you agree. “You always complain about them.”

She scowls, eyes glistening with fierce irritation. “Because they’re annoying. So dramatic and messy.”

“Mmm, well, I don’t think they’re very fond of us either,” you respond. You bend over, slowly rubbing your fingers over the bandage you have wrapped around your right ankle. “Did you hear about Jenna and Lou in the gym last week?”

“No. What happened?”

You sit down on the cool floor of the arena, thankful for the many layers you’re wearing. As you slowly start to massage your ankle, you glance up at your friend.

“They got interrupted by a couple of the guys. Uh, Osterfield and Barrett? They wanted to do a weights competition or something.”

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

You smirk. “They won, though. Lou and Jen. Apparently, the guys stormed out. Couldn’t take getting beaten by a couple of skaters.”

Your friend cackles then offers you a hand up. You grunt as you stand and steady yourself, glancing down at your skates and checking the laces. A loud buzzer goes off, and you hear a few yells of disgruntlement come off the ice as the players realise it’s the end of their solo practice and the start of your turn on the rink too.

“Can’t wait to get out there,” Yelena murmurs, eyes sparkling. You nod in agreement and crack your knuckles in anticipation.

Together, you walk over to the small gate in the side of the rink, joining the line with the rest of your team. Ten of you make up the competitive figure skating team, and all of you wear varying articles of black, thermal clothing. You’re in a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a loose burgundy t-shirt, drifting over the top. The cold doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, but that’s only through the years you’ve spent gliding around at sub-zero temperatures.

You sigh happily as you inhale a breath of the frozen air that hangs crispy above the rink. You step onto the ice, closing your eyes as you skate forwards, your body supported effortlessly by the skates you wear so well.

There’s a line of bright red cones set out across the middle of the ice, sectioning off the hockey players from the rest of you. You smile to yourself as you risk a glance across the rink and take stock of a few of the players, huddled together, grunting and exchanging low words of irritation. They look very funny, wearing various layers of thick padding and helmets—less formal than they’d be at a match, but still dressed up enough to mean business. You feel them staring at you, glaring and bemoaning the fact they have to share the rink, but you let it brush off you like water.

“Y/N! Show me your cannonball. Weren’t you working on it?” Yelena’s back, skimming to rest beside you, plaited blonde hair hanging in two bunches either side of her face. You nod, pushing off and checking the ice is clear ahead of you before skating into a space.

Nothing beats the rush of adrenaline that comes with skating. You think that you’re addicted to it now. The charge of the nervous build-up, followed by the relief of the payoff never gets old. Your fears of failure get swept away the moment you sink into the ultra-focused headspace of an athlete, and the buzz of reward you get every time you land a move perfectly trumps the blood, sweat and tears that such an unforgiving sport has taken from you. You wouldn’t be able to quit skating, even if you wanted to.

A cannonball sit spin is one of the hardest spins in your repertoire, and the element that has been giving you the most grief in your show routine. This season, you’re competing in the national circuit for solo ice dance. It’s not your first time taking on the competition—in fact, consistently over the last few years, you’ve been ranking higher each time you compete. Last year you finished third, and so this year, your eyes are fixed very firmly on the prize. You know securing first place in the competition will attract the Olympic scouts’ attention, and that’s your greatest dream.

Moving quickly, you skate in a brief semi-circle to build momentum before getting low, resting on one leg as you stretch the other out in front of you. Your hands curve around the ankle of your extended leg, and you use the energy to carry you into a spin, the fresh air wafting off the ice and cooling your cheeks. It carries out for a few seconds, then you have to concentrate as you exit the manoeuvre, brows creasing as you continue to turn. You end in a standing spin, arms held out as you slowly bring them back into your sides and end elegantly with a little bow.

Yelena claps, cheering from across the ice. “Fuck, Y/N, that looks perfect now,” she calls out. “Wouldn’t ever be able to tell that it was causing you trouble— oh, look out!”

Your eyes are only just beginning to widen in response to her concern when you feel a very strong figure slam into you, hurtling at top speed and taking you both down onto the ice. You don’t need to see anything beyond a flash of white, orange and green to know that it’s a fucking hockey player, and the ache of getting thrown to the hard ground is quickly overcome by the anger that replaces everything else.

“Oh, shit,” you hear a gruff voice say.

You groan as you try to sit up, opening your eyes just to see that the player is crumpled on top of you. Your chest feels heavy from where he’s laying sprawled over you, and you glance down to look at his face, a scowl holding tight over your features.

Despite the helmet and the visor sticking over the top of his face, you’re able to make out a few details of the man. He seems to be around your age, his skin pale but flushed warm from the cold and such a vigorous practice. The brown depths of his eyes swell with concern and guilt, pairing nicely with the regretful smile that pangs across his thin pink lips. You get a peek at his brown hair sticking out from beneath his helmet, and can’t quite stop your eyes from catching on the hard line of his impressive jaw.

“You idiot,” you mutter, shaking off the daze that comes with admiring such a handsome stranger. “Did you even look where you were going before deciding you were going to try and kill me?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression of concern burning into irritation as he scowls at you.

“Fucking hell,” he replies. His accent twangs prominently, cool and unyielding. “It was an accident, darling.”

You grunt, rapidly scooting back across the ice the moment he’s clambered off you. He sits across from you, brushing at the pads on his knees as he stares at you remorsefully. You can’t tell if he’s pouting at you or the shards of ice messing up his knees.

“An accident is brushing into someone, not slamming them onto the ice,” you mutter. Bitterness sweeps into your voice. “Twat.”

“Alright, alright.” He throws his hands into the air and leans closer. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

You draw your lips into a tight-lipped frown and look away, ignoring him as you try to stand, only to end up wincing as pain shoots up your bad ankle. “Fuck,” you whisper, your irritation growing stronger as you try to rotate your foot and feel the pain thicken.

Opposite you, the man clambers to his feet, getting his bearings on his skates before begrudgingly sliding up you. Your eyes take in his figure, running the lines of his stocky form. It’s always hard to tell what the guys look like beneath the padding and the helmets, but he doesn’t look as tall as you’d expected when he was laying on top of you. He’s smaller than the rest of them, but you have a suspicion he can probably move remarkably fast. How else would he have been able to take you out so easily?

He offers you a gloved hand, staring at you through cold eyes. “C’mon,” he urges, when you do nothing but stare at his palm. “Let me help you up. It’s the least I can do.”

You eye him suspiciously, but you know you won’t be able to get up without some assistance. A brief glance at your team around you suggests they’re all watching your exchange, intrigued. So, you swallow your pride, grit your teeth, and slip your hand into his glove, digging your skates into the ice as he helps you back to your feet. A short hiss of pain falls through your lips as your ankle throbs. When your leg threatens to buckle, the man moves in closer and grabs at your waist.

“Woah!” he exclaims, holding you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, trying to steady yourself, “no thanks to you.”

You hear him release an exasperated sigh, and he lets you shake yourself free, but his hand drifts down to pull at your arm and hold you back when you try to skate off.

“What do you want?” you snap, tension in your voice. Beneath the visor, you can make out the guilt dusting his face, but you’re too focused on your recurring injury to pay it much mind.

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

You pull your arm free again, and you hear a few hoots drift over from the other side of the rink. The word Dutchy rises louder, and you watch his expression twitch with irritation.

“Whatever,” you reply. You skate backwards, moving away from him, only relaxing when you feel one of your friends link her arm with yours. “Just forget about it.”

The hockey player looks as though he wants to argue with you, but when you harden your glare, he seems to let it go. He shoots you a very tight-lipped smile, mouth puffing a little with air, and then he picks up the discarded hockey stick and skates back to the other side of the rink. Your eyes briefly flutter over the bright text of Holland before he disappears, being enveloped back into the fold of raucous players as you sink into your friend’s side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, touch far gentler than his had been.

You grimace, looking down at your ankle. “Yeah,” you reply, frowning sourly. Your eyes lift up across the rink, and you let yourself scowl. “Just pissed off.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Following the incident, and an incredibly bad skating practise, you find yourself reprimanded by your coach and put on bed rest for a few days so you can rest your ankle. It’s hard not to blame the distracted hockey player, but you know you probably had it coming. You’ve been walking the knife’s edge for several weeks with your injury, and as much as you hate to admit it, the time off is necessary.

The moment you’re allowed back on the ice, you’re there in a heartbeat. The training arena also operates as a commercial venue, and there are different slots available during the day for the general public to skate. After receiving the thumbs up from the team physiotherapist, you immediately turn up to one of the open slots available to the public, hoping to brush up on a few things before you rejoin your team in the morning.

For the first ten minutes of your practice, things go well. Your ankle is better for a few days off, and you’re able to sink back into your routine and get back to focusing on the gnarly parts that always throw you in a loop. It isn't too busy either, so there’s room to skate around and feel the air running over your face. It’s easy to get lost in it, your chest full of a lightness you’d spent the last few days bed-bound and dreaming of.

You take a break to drink some water after a while, leaning up against the barrier at the edge of the rink and bending over it to rummage through your bag. When you feel a presence behind you, you stand up, glancing back expecting to see a stranger, and feeling your eyes widen as instead, you recognise the man.

He looks very different without the shoulder pads and the rest of his ridiculous costume, but it’s him: Holland, the hockey player responsible for your skating ban. Still tall, and perched on hockey skates, but more relaxed. Like you, he’s wrapped up warmly, with a tight black thermal shirt curled around his arms, and another t-shirt resting over the top. His brown hair flies freely, bouncy and slightly curled, and his eyes are soft.

“Hi,” he says, biting at his thin lower lip. “Do you remember me?”

You frown as you skate to be in front of him, nodding slowly. “The guy that smashed me into the ice the other day?” you tease, voice cool. “Of course. How could I ever forget?”

You watch as his face darkens in shade, his eyes flickering down to your leg. “I’m, uh, Tom,” he leads with. “I saw you skating and I just wanted to see how you were doing… I haven’t seen you at practice in a few days, and I was, uh… sort of worried I’d seriously hurt you.”

Tom looks at you like he’s scared of you, and you have to bite back a smile as you wonder if you were too harsh on him the other day.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest and inspect him, gaze following how pronounced his biceps look, pushing up against his shirt. “Well, I was benched for a week.”

He curses softly, accented voice sounding out of place speaking such vulgarity.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says. He looks as though he means it, too. Shoulders sagged, eyes concerned, lower lip bitten red. “I promise, love, it wasn’t intentional. If I could go back in time and stop myself from behaving like such an inconsiderate twat, I would.”

You giggle slightly, unable to disguise the glee that comes with hearing him call himself a twat. You watch as his eyebrows arch up, confusion replacing his sincerity as he slowly crosses his arms over his chest. You’re still irritated by the situation, but you’re no longer incensed. It’s hard to harbour a grudge whilst he’s pouting so acutely.

“Well, Tom, I forgive you,” you say, voice lighter. He releases a deep breath, and you nod to affirm your point. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Instinctively, you offer him a hand and find a shiver rolling down your back as his warm palm presses up against yours. Tom’s grip is firm and grounding, and his skin is a lot softer than you’d expected.

“Y/N is a nice name,” he says, voice perkier. His eyes seem more alive, and you don’t miss the way he takes in your form with an inquisitive gaze.

Your lips twist into a smirk. “I’ve already forgiven you, you can turn off the charm now.”

Tom shrugs, eyes glinting cheekily. “It’s not charm, darling,” he returns. “This is just who I am.” It seems to be true, too. He’s a lot bolder now the air between you has cleared, no longer looking like he wants to melt through the ice.

You snort loudly and feel your heart quicken when he smiles. “Well, Tom, what are you doing here?” You quirk an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys practice in the mornings?”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. He breaks off as he looks over his shoulder and waves a hand at the near-deserted ice. “Coach said I need to work on my sprints, though, and it’s a lot easier to do that without the rest of the team hanging around.”

“Makes sense,” you say, deviously deciding you want to see how far you can push him. “You hockey guys are always so slow on the ice.”

Tom’s jaw drops, and you watch as he straightens up and stands a little taller. He meets the challenge directly, and you can’t deny it—it’s attractive. The way he squares his jaw, flares his nostrils and hardens his gaze is hot.

“Fuck you,” he says, voice light, “I’m definitely faster than you.”

You smirk. “As if,” you quip. You raise a hand, twirling a finger around in the lazy direction of the centre of the rink. “Show me what you’ve got. I might give you some pointers if I’m feeling nice.”

Tom releases a very loud laugh, the skin by his eyes crinkling into fine lines. “You’re hilarious, love,” he responds. “Like a figure skater is going to be able to teach me anything of importance.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you cross your arms as you stand a little straighter. “That’s bold talk from someone who doesn’t look where he’s going,” you tease. You run a hand through your hair, eyeing him closely. “I could easily beat you in any skating-related activity, and I wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, seeming to feed into the idea of a challenge just as much as you. There’s something about him that fires you up the right way—a shared competitiveness that burns as brightly in you as it clearly does in him. It overpowers everything else, taking over, enticing you into letting go of any residual resentment and embracing the chance to beat him.

“How about we put your bragging to the test, darling?” he suggests, tongue tracing his lower lip. His eyes flutter around the curves of your mouth. “A few races, just to see who’s really better.”

You don’t hesitate to nod. “Sure, Tom,” you agree. “But don’t be too pissy when I beat you.”

There’s something endearingly irritating about how confident he is as he smirks at you and leans forward to briefly rest a hand on your shoulder. “Same to you, Y/N,” he responds. “I know it’s annoying to lose.”

You just shake your head, scoffing as you push away from him and move down to the end of the rink. He follows you, coming to a stop on his chunky skates beside you.

“First one to the other side wins,” you announce, reaching back to rest a hand on the barrier. You tilt your head and stare at him until he does the same. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

It’s slightly ridiculous how badly you want to beat him, but there’s just something so infuriating about Tom. Your competitiveness burns in your chest, makes your blood boil and your hands clench into fists, and you find your eyes zeroing in on the opposite side of the rink as tunnel-vision encroaches. You block him and everything else out, your desire to win taking over as you swiftly launch across the ice, skates clipping the surface with metallic sounds as you sprint it. You don’t break—you don’t give up, slow down, or even turn back until you’re slamming into the barrier at the other side, turning around just in time to see Tom come in behind you, lagging about a second behind.

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

Tom pulls a sour face, and it makes you giggle. “Best of three?” he offers. “C’mon, Y/N.” His elbow nudges against your side. “I’m still warming up.”

“Alright,” you agree. “But for the record, I still won.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom mutters, shooting you a sly smile. “Just you wait.”

You win best of three skating forwards, but Tom manages to snag a victory when it comes to speed skating backwards. You can’t take the smirk of triumph on his face, so you offer up a third competition, yearning to prove yourself.

“Can you do an axel?” you ask. Your eyes drift down to his heavy hockey skates. “Or are your boots too chunky and annoying?”

Tom’s face twitches with doubt, but he’s quick to smooth it away. “Fuck yeah,” he states boldly. “I can do anything you can do.” If he doubts the truth of his words, he doesn’t let it show. “Just, uh… Show me how you do it first.”

You have the suspicion he can’t remember what an axel is, so you decide to oblige him.

“Alright,” you agree, boosting away from him. His eyes follow you, and their presence on your figure brings a hidden smile to your face. “Watch this.”

You perform the trick easily. An axel is the simplest of all the jumps, and it gives you no bother to glide forwards, leap into the air, do a swift, neat turn, then land on your back foot gracefully. You could probably do it with your eyes closed.

“There!” you announce, smile on your face.

Tom gulps nervously.

“Easy,” he says, voice slightly quieter. You cross your arms and watch, incredibly amused, to see how far he’ll take his act before giving up. Tom skates forward, confident in his movements, eyes focused, eyebrows furrowed. He takes his time, failing to do anything beyond skating in a straight line before he suddenly, jerkily, attempts the trick.

Time moves in slow motion. It’s with a combination of glee and horror that you watch him fail spectacularly, doing a rotation of approximately 180 degrees before slipping on the return to the rink and landing flat on the ice, groaning loudly. The few of the people sharing the rink with you look around, concerned, and you’re quick to skate over to him, biting your lip guiltily.

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of him. Tom’s still on the ice, arms crossed, glaring angrily at his skates. “I admire you for trying.”

His attention shifts up to you, and his scowl intensifies. “Whatever,” he mumbles. There’s an element of amusement in his eyes, and he takes your hand when you extend it out towards him. Tom’s heavy, but he springs up easily, his fingers tangled in yours and jerking you a little closer. “That was way harder than it looked.”

You hum, and then gulp as he drops your hand. He’s near to you, breath crystallising into a cloud of icy fog in front of you. Your eyes glide over the spray of brown freckles on his face before skimming down the curved line of his nose until you can admire his mouth.

“Well, it is a sport,” you say, voice a little tight. You clear your throat, shaking yourself from your funk as you realise you’re just staring at his lips. “Just like… Like hockey is a sport. I know we make fun of it, but I doubt me or anyone else on the team could play like you guys do.”

Tom seems to enjoy the praise, standing with a little more confidence as you finish speaking. He nods, then brings two slender fingers up to nimbly scratch at his chin.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

Tom smirks. “Well, we need to change that. Go down the end, I’ll grab a net.”

You don’t know how he manages to convince the supervisors of the free skate to let the two of you set up an attack zone in the end segment of the rink, but you don’t question it. The sight of Tom reappearing, haphazardly balancing a net, a hockey stick, and a puck in his arms makes you smile, and you briefly think about how easy it's been for your resentment to melt away. There’s something about him that’s incredibly warm, and you don’t dispute the realisation that he’d probably make a good friend.

“Right,” Tom announces. He’s set up the net and shown you how to hold the plastic stick. Now, both of you are staring at the puck, black and stark against the scratched white ice. “Just hit it.”

You glance up at him, sceptical. “Surely there’s more to it than that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know what I’m working with until I see you take a hit at it, darling.”

You nod. The stick feels unfamiliar between your hands, but you’re determined to make a better show of it than Tom when he tried to do the axel. After staring at the small open area of the net, you grit your teeth and hit it, watching with widening eyes as the puck soars wide out to the left.

Tom cackles.

“Well… That was an attempt,” he says. His grin doesn’t falter at all, even when you turn around to glare at him.

“Teach me, then,” you quip, scrunching up your nose playfully.

Tom hums, and you watch as he briefly skates away after the puck. You can’t stop yourself from staring at him as he bends over, the bottom of his shirt briefly riding up and exposing the printed band of his boxers. The words Calvin Klein burn into the back of your eyes, still lingering there as he turns and skates back to you. You blink rapidly, shame burning at your face as you try to look more like you’re focused, and less like you can’t stop your eyes from gravitating towards his figure.

He drops the puck back on the ice, just in front of your stick. “Your angle was wrong,” Tom says. “Show me your hands again.” When you do as instructed, he frowns and shakes his head. “No, it’s… It’s more like, your top hand higher, and the lower more angled… Uh… No, no, no. Can I just touch you?”

“Okay,” you squeak, standing a little straighter.

Tom skates forward, resting behind you. He doesn’t hesitate to carefully wrap his arms around you from behind, slender fingers curling over your hands and repositioning them on the stick. You feel like you’ve been electrified—eyes wide, skin responding to his touch. His breath, warm and minty, wafts across the side of your face, and you realise you’re holding your breath.

“Yeah...just like that,” he coos, voice a little softer. He squeezes your hands before letting them go. “Give it another go.”

You swallow back your nerves as you nod, waiting until Tom’s drifted back to hit the puck. You can’t stop yourself from smiling when it goes sailing into the back of the net, and Tom lets out a loud hoot.

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaims, laughing gleefully. “Look at that!”

You glance back at him, enjoying the expression of pride that finds his features. “Pretty good, right?” you say, playing it cool.

“Spectacular, darling.” Tom’s nodding, face alight. “Let’s step it up a notch.”

He brings you through a few drills, and you find yourself enjoying the game despite your early blunder. Before you know it, there’s the sound of a buzzer ringing, signalling that there are five minutes left of your session together. Tom rises to the challenge, announcing that he wants to end by watching you skate at the goal and shoot a point whilst moving. You fail at your first three attempts, unable to coordinate moving the stick, the puck and yourself without something going askew.

“Show me again,” you whine, growing conscious of the timer ticking down.

Tom skates closer, gliding easily with his hands behind his back. His thin lips wear his smirk well.

“Just visualise it, darling,” he says. “Believe in yourself, and you’ll do it.” He pauses, eyes skimming over you. “I believe in you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

Tom skates backwards, beckoning you forwards with outstretched hands and a smile like you’re a toddler he’s teaching to walk. He leads your attack, mapping out your path before shifting out of the way just in time for you to successfully skate and hit the puck into the back of the net. His expression clears into relief, but as you start to celebrate, it’s quick to fall flat. You watch, eyes widening, as Tom gets distracted by you and drifts backwards into the goal, skates getting tangled in the netting. You lunge forward to try and catch him, only to make the situation a thousand times worse as you crash into him, grabbing at his shirt just as he manages to steady himself.

It feels like a cruel trick of fate. A repetition of the past, just, instead of Tom tackling you to the ground, it’s you that manages to slam him back onto the ice. It’s more comfortable this time around, though. For you. Tom’s chest is a lot warmer and softer than the ice.

“Fuck,” Tom groans. His face twists into an aching expression, then his eyes slowly blink open. As you make contact with his brown orbs, you’re surprised to see amusement shift across them. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

You snort, taking stock of how muscly his front feels. You’re sprawled out completely over him, face suspended above his, Tom’s palms holding your waist. It’s intimate, especially when he reaches up with one hand and pushes your hair from your face so he can peer at you better. You can’t stop your eyes from going straight to his lips.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, voice breathless. You admire the way his hair is spread out around his head, bold against the ice like a halo. “I don’t know what happened.”

“‘S okay.” Tom’s quieter too. His gaze circles quickly between your eyes and your mouth. There’s something cockier about him, and you know the way you’re clinging to the front of his shirt has something to do with it. “I think you fell for me. Again.”

He’s leaning in. You start to do it, too, even go as far as to let your eyes drift close. He gets so close that you can almost feel the warm outline of his lips, brushing against yours, but then there’s the loud noise of a buzzer vibrating through the air. As the sound dies, it serves to signal the end of such a tender moment, as well as the end of the session.

You startle and push off him as you shoot him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry,” you say. You’re shaking a little, but you hope he puts it down to shock. You manage to clamber up and offer him your hands.

Tom accepts your help, and he groans as you help him up.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, pausing to shake out his legs and slide forward. He swings your palms through the air, squeezing at your fingers as he very gently twirls you beneath his arm, then moves in nearer. “Accidents happen. I’m not surprised you wanted to be on top of me.”

All you can do is laugh and hope Tom can’t tell how he makes the base thrumming of your heart pick up.

“As if,” you return. You glance down at your intertwined fingers and feel your heart pang. “A hockey player? I could never.”

Tom just smiles, then squeezes your hands before letting them slip from his grasp. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. He nudges your shoulder then shifts away, off in the direction of the net. “You know there’s no one that could give you as good a time as me.” He’s joking—it’s obvious in the cadence of his voice, the smile on his face. But why does it feel so layered?

“Ha ha,” you respond, skating over to him. When you notice him struggling, you dart forward and grab the net, slinging it over a shoulder. You glance back, arching an eyebrow as you decide to test the water. “I have had fun, though,” you add. “With you.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, ruffling up his hair with a hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Almost a week passes, and though you don’t see Tom again, he’s certainly on your mind. You find yourself thinking about him all too much, considering he’s a hockey player, and it goes against the team ethos you’ve been surrounded by.

One day, after practice, you end up sitting on a bench outside the rink, waiting on Yelena as she finishes talking with one of your coaches. Bored and curious, you pull out your phone and decide to open Instagram. All around the arena are banners advertising the hockey team’s social media, and you find yourself drawn to the official account with a few easy taps. You start to scroll through the feed, eager eyes skimming over every face until you find the one you’re looking for.

It’s Tom, from last season, clutching the victory trophy in his hands as he’s held on his team’s shoulders. His face is animated, pulled wide in a large grin as he stares at the camera, the skin by his eyes pulled into smile lines. He’s tagged in it, so, curious, you click through and look at his profile. Unsurprisingly, it’s set to public, and you’re careful as you scroll down.

His photos are exactly what you’d expect—a collection of team photos, action shots, and gym selfies. Typical hockey player, but the longer you spend staring at one of his selfies, the cuter he seems to get. Trying to shake yourself out of the daze, you scroll back up, thumb absently wandering over to his Following list. Your eyes widen as you see your profile, at the very top of the accounts.

Tom follows you…?

Brows furrowing, you flip onto your own account, double-checking this new fact by typing out his username in your followers tab. He pops up, at the top, and you sit back, blinking.

Interesting.

After taking a brief moment to compose yourself, you go back to his profile and follow him. You start to flick through his story from the day. You get about halfway through when a shadow casts over your figure. You glance up, expecting to see Yelena, only to startle when it’s Tom.

“Hi,” he offers, raising a hand in greeting. You blink a few times in quick succession, glancing between your phone which shows a mirror selfie from him shirtless in the gym to where he’s now standing in front of you, burgundy hoodie on, flask in hand. You immediately turn your phone off.

“Oh, u-uh, hi,” you say, voice suddenly thick. He tilts his head to the side, an amused smile finding his lips as he sees you flustered. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I was in the gym,” he says, telling you information you already know. “Saw you down here on my way out, thought I’d say hi.” He rocks back on his feet, looking a little nervous. “I, uh… Keep thinking about last week. On the ice.”

“Oh?” Tom nods. He hesitates, and you realise he’s just awkwardly standing in front of you. “Wait,” you say, shuffling up the bench. “Sit.”

He perches on the wooden slats beside you, offering you his flask. “It’s hot chocolate,” he says, cheeks blushing slightly.

“After the gym?” you return, arching a brow.

Tom smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, pressing the flask into your hand. “It’s good, trust me. And, uh, I don’t have any germs or anything. I think.”

You snort, clicking the top open as you look at him over the brim. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching anything from you,” you say, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom’s eyebrows soar up his forehead, a short chuckle leaving his lips as you hide your embarrassment behind the metal flask. The burn of revealing such a humiliating thought is quickly soothed away as you taste the deliciously sweet liquid.

“Well?” Tom coaxes, stretching an arm up as he scratches the back of his neck. His hoodie smells of fresh fabric conditioner. “Good, eh?”

Begrudgingly, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, shooting him a soft smile. Trying to move on the conversation, you return to what he’d said before sitting down. “Uh, what was that you said? About last week?”

Tom nods, seeming a little less apprehensive now to speak to you after your enthusiastic praise. “I was just thinking about how fun it was to skate around with you. It sort of made me regret not getting your number, darling.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You can have my number if you want, Tom,” you say, speaking softly. His eyes are so pretty up close. “And I’d be down doing it again. I’m free every Wednesday afternoon.”

He nods his head, curls bouncing from the enthusiasm. You pass him back the flask, carefully angling your phone away from him as you unlock it, quickly exit from Instagram, then open up contacts. You watch him input his number, tongue between his lips as his brows furrow. He curses softly as he messes up the numbers and has to backspace a few times, and you have to focus hard on not letting your face betray how cute you find the whole interaction.

He’s cute.

“There you go,” Tom says, passing your phone back. He stands from the bench, tilting the flask towards you. “I’ve gotta go,” he adds. “Carpool. But, uh… See you tomorrow?”

You nod, biting back your smile. “Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds good.”

Before he leaves, Tom darts down to gently kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he springs back and walks away, waving as he goes. As his broad smile fades from sight, you find your hand drifting up, going to your cheek and touching the spot which tingles with the remnants of his kiss.

Swallowing back your nerves, you return your attention to your phone. You open your contact, clicking on Tom and opening up a text message. After a brief moment of contemplation, you decide to play it safe.

Y/N: hey x

A moment later, the notification changes from delivered to read, and the typing bubbles pop up. You shift on the bench, holding your breath.

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

Despite already spending most of your days on the ice, you carve out another hour every Wednesday afternoon and dedicate it to Tom. Over time, he teaches you hockey, and you continue to give him pointers on his skating. After a while, you even manage to coach him through a jump. It’s easy with him. There are no expectations, no routines you need to nail. All you have to focus on when you’re with Tom is having fun—and also trying not to fall too deeply into the reserves of his deep brown eyes. Tom feels like a breath of fresh air—if the air also happens to be loaded full of charm, cheek, and wear an irresistible smile.

Halfway through the hockey league, you end up at the arena on a Saturday night, staying late with the rest of the figure skating team. Your competitive season begins in two weeks, so the team is in for outfit fittings, everyone split across the changing rooms at the arena. You’re competing solo this year, which grants you the rare position of having the freedom to design your dress—a privilege you’ve had a lot of fun with.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp. “I can’t believe how nice it looks.”

You’re staring at a clothes mannequin, wearing the costume you’d spent hours conceptualising with the team’s designers. It’s a shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin, accented with silver and gold detailing in a beautiful pattern over the front. Gems glimmer and sparkle, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up as you look at an object of such beauty.

“Do you like it?” Standing beside the masterpiece, eyes nervous, is Jazzy, the lead costume designer. When you clasp your hands together and nod, she releases a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in it and start marking out the alterations.”

You feel a little bit like a doll, standing on a raised platform as you pull on your costume, but it’s worth the reward of seeing yourself in the dress. After slipping into it, you pull your hair back and pin it sloppily, so you’re able to admire the ensemble fully. You’re in tights, matched to your skin tone, and the tops of your thighs are covered by the red material. It floats down, and you run your fingertips over the hem of the velvety skirt as a smile finds your lips.

“Stunning,” Jazzy compliments. She passes you a tube of lipstick. “Try that one.”

You carefully smooth the shade over your lips, noting with enjoyment how the hue matches the bodice of the dress. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you release a breath. When you have your face painted and your hair done properly, you’ll look the part, and clinging to the image of what you’ll look like on competition days is enough to steady some of the nerves. Even if you mess up your routine, you’ll do it looking like you deserve to be there.

“I love it,” you say, releasing a breath. You reach up and pull your hair free, running a hand through it and ruffling it, so it sits normally. You do a small spin, smiling as the material drifts around the top of your legs. “You did an incredible job. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you for wearing it so well,” she returns, winking. “Let’s get a few more opinions.”

It isn’t long before the changing room is swarmed with the rest of your team, each one of them wearing garments in various stages of completion. The men are here too—four of them, combining with the five other women and yourself, bringing your team up to an even ten. Each season, your team puts forward various combinations of skaters for the duet, team, and solo events. You’re one of the only skaters competing solo this year—a decision your coach had made as she decided she wants no distractions for you as you try to reach Olympic level. The only other member of your team in a similar position is Tai, your lean, incredibly friendly male counterpart.

Tai saunters across the room, running a hand through his thick black hair. His outfit is deep purple and shimmery, and you wiggle your eyebrows as he does a little spin.

“Pretty sick, right?” he says, shaking a sleeve at you. “I look like Dionysus.”

“So cool,” you compliment. You do a small spin too, smiling widely. “What do you think?”

“Stunning,” Tai returns. He nods to affirm his point. “You’re going to kill it, Y/N. This is your year.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so,” you reply. You take a tight breath. “I really hope so.”

Before the conversation can continue, there’s the slamming of a door opening, followed by an approaching wall of noise—men, talking loudly, a few of them hollering. You raise an eyebrow towards Tai, who scowls.

“Saturday night,” he says. “The team are in the playoffs.”

“Wait, is it a home game?”

Tai nods. “Starts in twenty,” he says. His frown intensifies. “They’re so loud. Idiots.”

You watch from your position on the dressing podium as flashes of white, green and orange pass by the open door. It’s the hockey team, alongside their coaches and their managers. They walk determinedly in the direction of the hockey changing room where you presume they’re going for a pre-game pep talk. You can’t stop yourself from scanning the crowds, looking for Tom. When you fail to seek him out, you feel your heart pang sadly in your chest.

“Y/N?” Tai’s looking at you, amused. “Are you okay?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

He hums, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Me too. It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?”

It’s easy to agree. At this point in the season, with so few weeks to go before the competition begins, you’re at the rink every day.

“Absolutely.”

You stifle a yawn. Your eyes flutter back across the changing room, and you see your tired sentiments seem to be shared by the rest of the team. As they slowly start to leave the room, it grows quieter. Tai drifts away, lingering in the corner and talking with Jazzy and Yelena. It isn’t long until you’re the only four people remaining. You spend a few moments taking photos of your fit in the mirror, trying to get in all the angles so you can send them to your family and fuel their excitement about the season. Your actions are interrupted only when there’s a tender knock on the door, and you glance up towards the entrance to see a bulky, padded figure. Tom.

“Uh, hello? The hockey room is across the corridor,” Yelena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom isn’t in his helmet, but he is perched tall on his skates. You’re able to watch as his face twitches with annoyance. He offers a tight smile to Yelena before glancing straight at you, raising a teasing brow.

Chest feeling tight, you step forward, padding quietly towards the door. Your friends are all looking at you, but you’re more preoccupied with Tom and the way his eyes seem to glint as they take you in your form. There’s a small swagger to your step as you watch him shift from leg to leg, his cheeks warm and red, eyes full of appreciation as they stick on the curves of your hips, chest, and then your lips. Your suit is tight, and it brings you enjoyment to watch him admire you. He clears his throat as you fall to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, voice quiet, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game?”

Tom nods. “Yeah,” he says. His tone is darker, and it catches slightly. “I, uh… I wanted to see you.”

You bite your lip, standing a little straighter. “Oh.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well… Do you like it?” You toy with the hem of your skirt. “It’s my outfit for the competition circuit.”

“Give me a spin, darling.”

You oblige him, feeling slightly giddy as you do yet another rotation. You hear him hum, and when you fall to a stop in front of him again, you’re closer.

“Beautiful.” Tom rubs together his hands, slender fingers gloveless and unaffected by the imminent game. He rocks back on his skates, clicking his tongue as he looks a little apprehensive. “I, uh… I was thinking about what you said last week about never going to a hockey game before.” He pauses to dig through one of his deep pockets, pulling out a few pieces of paper. He offers them to you tentatively. “If you want, I have some spare tickets for tonight’s game. Pretty good seats. My family normally use them, but they’re busy tonight, so…?”

It’s with a mix of shock and gratitude that you nod your head immediately, reaching out to take the tickets. “I’d love to, Tom,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

He grins, face lighting up. “Perfect,” he returns. “Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Your teeth graze your lower lip, and you smile. “I hope so.”

Tom opens his mouth as if to say more, but then there’s a holler from further down the corridor.

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s me.”

“Dutchy?” you question.

Tom shrugs, then turns around and extends his thumb over his back to gesture at his jersey. “Holland,” he says. He turns back to look at you, grinning. “Just a nickname.”

You coo. “That’s cute.”

Tom licks his lip. “‘S not the only thing that’s cute.” You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning forward to quickly kiss your cheek. “Have fun!” he says, already on his way down the corridor.

“Good luck!” you return. You can almost feel the ghost of his touch, resting on your face so perfectly.

Tom turns, right at the end of the corridor, and he winks. You don’t realise how tightly you’re holding yourself until he disappears, and your lovestruck muscles unravel.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s hard to explain to Tai and Yelena the relationship you have with Tom, so you just give up after a while. They accompany you to the arena. You manage to change your dress for something more casual, deciding to keep the red lipstick on. Tom’s seats are at the end of the rink, positioned mid-way up the stands. They give you a clear view across the ice.

The atmosphere is electric. You’re surrounded by the home crowd, decked out in replica jerseys, printed scarves, and hats that have Kingston Kites printed all over them. It’s a sea of white, green, and orange, and you can’t stop yourself from slipping out during the first break to buy yourself a scarf—just to support the team, and Tom. The teasing you receive from your friends when you reappear is hard to ignore but mellows out when you procure a bag of Maltesers you’d also bought from the stand.

And Tom… Tom.

Tom’s incredible. You can’t keep your eyes off him. The silhouette of his padded figure feels like it’s burnt to your memory. When he’s on the ice, he’s magnificent, commanding the space well, grunting and spinning as he plays. When he’s waiting for his turn on the bench with his team, he’s focused and calm. His eyes are sharp and intense, glinting almost black beneath the harsh rink lighting as they follow the puck across the ice. You find yourself admiring everything about him—watching the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy red, his jawline sharp and fierce. He’s on fire, passion rolling off every part of him, and, quite honestly, it’s incredibly attractive.

Tom’s explained the basic rules of hockey to you a few times, but there’s a stark difference between him telling you, quietly, how line rotations work and actually seeing them in action on a scale like this. The players swap out every minute, only staying on the ice for a short burst of energy as they chase the puck around. Tom, holding the loose position of centre forward, goes wherever needed, carving up the ice like it’s his one task in life. You’re high in the stands, but even from so far, you’re able to see the determination and the passion burning in his eyes.

The game is brutal. By the time it reaches the third and final twenty-minute segment, the score is tied 2-2. You watch, on tenterhooks, as Tom jumps the barrier on the side of the rink, swapping in for one of the players and taking his spot on the ice.

He’s antsy, as are the rest of the team. You know it’s an important match, and if they want a chance at continuing to the next stage of the competition, they need the result to swing in their favour. Your eyes are wide, fingers curled into fists as you watch Tom cut up the ice. The helmet on his head protects his skull, but you can make out a few strands of dark brown hair sticking out, and you find yourself struck with the very prominent and aching thought that you’d quite like to play with it.

The puck ends up at your end of the rink, and the Kingston Kites take on a defensive strategy as their opponents try to put pressure on the goalie and get in another shot. You find your eyes trained directly on Tom and startle as you catch him looking up at you. Through panting breaths, his lips quirk into a brief, tight smile of recognition, but then it sours as his eyes slip beside you and look at Tai. Your friend is sitting to your right, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, and you’re casually leaning into his side. It’s entirely platonic, but you don’t miss the way Tom’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze hardens and his jaw sets with determination.

The whole interaction lasts less than a second, but as Tom refocuses on the game and hurtles after the puck, he seems more aggravated. You sit forward, gaining a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you shrug off Tai and stare at Tom. Your eyes follow him as he goes in hard, trying to wrestle the puck out from beneath his opponent’s stick. It looks to be a bit of a mess, and you hear everyone in your section gasp as Tom roughly elbows the other guy. He goes spinning with a yelp, and the referee blows on the whistle, pausing the game. There are a few yells of ‘Dutchy’, coupled with disgruntled hollering from the people around you as they question the referee’s decision to pause.

“Fucking hell,” Yelena murmurs, leaning forward on her elbows and staring across the ice. “Your guy is crazy.”

You suck in a breath, watching as the referee points at the penalty box and Tom stomps towards it. You can almost see the frustrated steam pouring from his ears.

“He’s… passionate.” You bite your lip. Somehow, you feel responsible for his outburst.

“Shit,” Tai mutters. He too leans forward, until all three of you are sitting there, elbows on your knees, staring at the penalty box. “That’s kind of hot.”

Your throat feels dry as you watch Tom throw his stick on the ground of the penalty box. Given all the walls are made of plastic, you have an unobstructed view as he pulls off his helmet and tosses it on a seat too. He marches a few paces up and down, speaking angrily to himself, his expression one of pure irritation. When he finally sits down, he runs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing away the sweaty strands that stick so deliciously to the top of his flushed forehead. You watch, your breath light and shallow, as Tom jerks off the glove and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pulling out his mouthguard before picking up a bottle and squirting a long stream of water into his open mouth.

“Fuck,” you murmur, eyes transfixed. There’s a heat in the pit of your stomach, building as you take in the way Tom’s glowing with a mix of exertion and anger. The match is continuing back on the ice, but you can’t stop looking at the hot flush of his cheeks and the angry lines of his flexed brows and curved jaw. “It is.”

A minute passes, and Tom slowly seems to chill out. It’s only as the seconds fall down into the 30s that he finally seems to release his tension, fixing his mouthguard, and his glove before glancing up at the stands. You’re surprised when, again, he looks directly at you, his entire demeanour shifting when he sees the concern in your eyes. His features soften, lips losing their angry frown and mellowing into a warmer smile, and you watch as his gaze grows fonder.

Yelena hits at your knee immediately. “He’s in love with you,” she announces, certainty in her voice.

You can’t stop looking at Tom, not even when he breaks contact with a wink and shoves his helmet back on.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

Tai cackles. “Fuck off,” he says. “Yelena’s right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “Like what?”

He smirks. “Like you want to jump each other.”

It’s hard to dispute that one, so instead, you just cross your arms over your chest and stare back at the ice. “You’re wrong, but okay.”

Yelena nudges your side. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

You swallow nervously, briefly looking at her. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But… If I am, I’ll let you style my hair for the rest of the season.”

Your eyes light up, and the way that Yelena smirks, you can tell she knows the offer is too good to refuse.

“Fine,” you agree. Your eyes shift back to Tom, watching as he vaults back over the barrier and joins his team. Apparently they’ve forgiven him for the penalty, as he’s welcomed back with firm pats on the back, and you can see his blinding smile from across the rink. “I’ll do it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The Kingston Kites win the match, and the arena is quick to empty. You part ways with your friends as they head home and you end up wandering the changing rooms as you try to hype yourself up. There’s a text from Tom waiting on your phone, simply asking how you’d liked the game, so you respond and tell him that you’d much rather go over it in person. After agreeing to meet him outside his locker room, it’s just a waiting game.

You reapply your lipstick and mess around with your hair to kill the time. It’s a little eerie being alone in the skating changing rooms, and as time passes, you hear fewer people hovering around the arena as the players slowly leave the building. It’s hard not to get stuck in your head as you think about your plan to confess your feelings, so you end up pacing in the long corridor that winds between the skating changing rooms and the hockey locker room.

The corridor is bright white and decorated with various sporting memorabilia. Autographed jerseys, shining medals, and printed photographs hang framed on the walls. On your side of the corridor, you catch glimpses of yourself, wearing a tracksuit and hugging your friends, showing off your medals, mid-action on the ice… It makes you proud to see that your team has placed you so frequently in the collage, and you feel a swell of bittersweet gratitude in your chest as you look at snapshots of competitions gone by.

On the other side of the corridor is a similar spread for the hockey team. You stroke at your chin as you examine this season’s photos, skimming your eyes over the group shot and trying to spot the people that you know. When you see Tom, dead centre, grinning widely, it makes you smile.

“—I’m just saying, Dutch, something was going on with you tonight. It can’t happen again. We can’t have you losing focus at this stage in the competition.”

The sound of a gruff voice drifting up the corridor makes you startle, and you glance down to see two figures emerging from the locker room—Tom, and one of his coaches. Tom has traded his gear for a pair of blue jeans and a loose black hoodie, and you watch as he nods and looks at his coach with wide-eyed respect.

“Of course, Spike,” he responds, voice clear, open. “It won’t.”

You watch as Spike sighs, then gives Tom a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good lad.” He walks back, then makes the okay sign with his fingers. “Your final goal was phenomenal, though. More of that next game, and less time in the penalty box. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

Tom grunts and the two separate. You watch as he tugs on the front strings of his backpack before turning, his face lighting up as he spots you, leaning against the wall. He quickly strides towards you, footsteps echoing against the cold passage.

“Hey,” Tom calls out, voice bouncing down the hall.

There’s an uncontrollable smile on your face as you stand up and walk to meet him halfway. Tom instinctively wraps you in a hug, lips catching on your cheek when he pulls away.

“Hi,” you reply, voice shy. Tom smells of shower gel and mint, his curls a little damp and darker than usual. “Congrats on the win.”

Tom smirks, nodding as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks, love. Did you enjoy it?”

You release a short laugh. If enjoyment equates to found it incredibly erotic, then, of course, the answer is,

“Yes. Loved it.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Did you get in trouble for the penalty box?”

He winces, grimacing at you with his teeth glinting. “A bit,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter though, ‘cos I scored a goal after. I just need to, um… Not do it again.”

The air between you is thicker, and you find yourself swallowing as you note the way Tom’s looking at you, eyes hungry.

“What happened?” You say, testing the waters tentatively. “You seemed fine, and then you got… Fired up.”

Tom swallows. “I… Just got tetchy.” He clears his throat. “Who, uh… Who were you at the match with?”

You smirk, realising that your hypothesis was right. “My friends. Yelena and Tai. They’re on the team with me.”

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

He steps closer. “Did they like the game?” he asks.

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

Tom chuckles, briefly glancing at the floor before drawing his eyes back to you. They linger on your lips, and your breath hitches as he tentatively, testingly reaches out and places his hands on your hips. When you sink into it, he grows bolder, pulling you closer until your faces are near. You love the way his hands feel as they rest on your waist.

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

It’s hard to concentrate when Tom’s standing so close to you, looking at you with his eyes so intense, but somehow you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and nod. “Yeah,” you admit. You toy with his curls, giving them a short tug when he groans enjoyably. “I always think you’re hot.”

Tom wears his smirk so well that it’s almost infuriating.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asks, fingers softly caressing your sides. When you squeak out a noise of affirmation, Tom lets his nose brush up against yours. He swallows deeply, nervousness mixing with his teasing. “I think you’re stunning, too. All the time, but especially tonight, when you were sitting up there, wearing a team scarf and watching me play.”

“Oh,” you murmur. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him when there’s so much going on in the depths of his gaze that it dizzies you. “Thank you.” Growing a little bolder, you let your fingers glide up, tangling in the ends of his hair. “It was fun watching you play. You’re really talented, Tom.”

His nose is still cold against yours, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slowly traces patterns over your sides.

“Thanks, darling.”

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as the pet name falls from his lips. Usually, you’d be able to play it off from the cold, or like you’re stretching a muscle, but he’s holding you so close that you’re sure he felt it.

“Tom,” you say, voice hushed. You feel safe in his arms, you feel loved in his arms, but your skin is still crawling with built-up desire. There’s an ache in your chest that burns brighter with each second he lingers so close, but yet remains so far. “Do you want to…”

“What, sweetheart?”

Again, your breath catches. You hear Tom release a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, his lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as his lips, warm and slightly chapped, explore your own.

It’s a little fumbly, and it takes a few moments for you to learn the slopes of his face so intimately, but once you’ve both readjusted and altered your positions, it’s quick to heat up. Tom’s fingers grip your waist tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into his hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, you feel him slip his tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

You end up against the cool brick wall, making out like you’re both teenagers again. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. You moan softly as Tom pulls away from your mouth, his attention shifting to your neck. As you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to him, you whimper as you feel his lips drag over your exposed skin. He nibbles and suckles until he finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You tug on his air-dried curls, coaxing him back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours. Tom sighs, and you can feel him smiling into it.

There are noises, coming from further down the hall, and when they increase in volume, Tom reluctantly pulls back from your mouth. He links your hands together and swings them through the air, looking up to meet your eyes. His face is cute, lips puffy and red, eyes dancing with hope.

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

You jump as a holler comes from down the hall, echoing off the vast brick walls. Tom’s expression shifts, his lips pursing as he glances down the corridor. He turns away from you to yell back.

“What?”

You think it’s Osterfield, one of Tom’s friends. He too is dressed casually, standing tall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“We’re going out! Don’s got us the VIP section down at the Grove. C’mon!”

Tom looks torn, a ripe line carved out between his brows. He glances back at you, biting his lower lip.

“Go,” you urge, smiling softly. “Celebrate with your team.”

He frowns slightly. “Come with us?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it should just be you guys.” As much as you like Tom, you can’t think of anything worse than going on a night out with the entire loud, boisterous hockey team. You smile encouragingly when you see the turmoil in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can stay here, and we can—”

You lean up, moving your hands back down to his shoulders as you kiss him very softly. “Go,” you urge, whispering against his thin lips.

Tom leans into you, keeping your lips pressed until you can feel him smiling into it. He begrudgingly steps back. “Thank you,” he says, “for coming to the game. And being so lovely.” His lips quirk a little taller. “And for letting me kiss you.”

“Well, it didn’t take much convincing.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the wall, your figure feeling colder without Tom’s touch. His eyes run the lines of your face, gaze warm and comforting.

“Have a nice night,” he says. There’s still hesitation on his face, so you step forward and kiss his cheek before gently pushing his shoulder.

“You too” you respond. Tom finally walks away, but only after shooting you a wink.

You lean back against the wall, pulling out your phone and staring at the blank screen as you discreetly keep your focus on Tom. When he reaches the end of the corridor, Osterfield thumps him on the back and murmurs something unintelligible which earns him a shove into the doorway as the two friends leave together. Tom glances back just before disappearing, and you smile at him as he waves his hand playfully.

Once alone, you release a tight sigh of contentment. You deflate, sagging against the wall as you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. Absently, one of your hands drifts up, fingertips resting on the outline of your lips. Your mouth is still warm from Tom’s kisses, and your heart feels a little softer, too.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly on your mind. At some point, Tom adds you to his private Instagram story, and it feels like a gentle confirmation that he feels the same way as you. You stay in constant contact, and he starts to send you more memes and silly texts each evening. The smile on your lips barely fades, and every time your phone lights up with a new text from him, you get excited.

Unfortunately, the high doesn’t last forever. All too soon, it’s a week before your first competition, and the good feeling finally goes away. As extended practices cut into your life, you’re left frazzled and stressed, trying to balance your team’s expectations against your own personal competitiveness. It doesn’t help that your ankle is giving you grief again.

“No, no, no. You’re better than this, Y/N! Stop cutting the spin too early. You have to extend it into the end of the beat!”

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re exhausted. The bags beneath your eyes hang heavy, and every manoeuvre you try to execute just seems to leave you worse than before. You’re cold on the ice, and your bones are chilled from fatigue and stress. Everything aches, and try as you might, you can’t land the final ten seconds of your routine. Your coach has forced you to go over it again and again, minutes blurring to hours as your frustration festers.

“It’s not working,” you call back, reaching up to tug on your hair. Your coach is leaning against the rink barrier, resting on her elbows as she watches you, pursed lips.

“Do it again,” she encourages. “Faster!”

You grit your teeth, skating back into the centre of the ice. The music starts again, and you run through the entire final section, nailing the parts that you know. Yet, as you reach the big finish, you falter. You end up flat on the ice, frustrated tears burning your eyes as your ankle throbs. As the track cuts out again, you hear your coach’s loud sigh, carrying across the ice.

“Pack it in. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You grimace as you climb back to your feet, wincing slightly.

“I can do it again,” you call back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You want to. You have to.

Your coach shakes her head, lips set in a firm line. “You can’t,” she responds. “You’re worn out and making mistakes. Your injury won’t sustain you.” She pauses to shake her head. “This isn’t what any of us want, Y/N, but you need to rest.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms as you grit your teeth. “But—”

“No. Go home.” Your coach pushes off from the barrier, shaking her head. When you fail to move, she turns back, arching a brow. “Go.”

A string of irritated cuss words falls quietly from your lips as you reluctantly skate from the centre of the rink. Your fingers go to your cheeks, wiping away the cool tears that fall from frustration. It’s a private session, but a few of your team are hanging around. Their sympathetic smiles and gentle arm pats make you bristle, and you’re silently seething as you stomp over to one of the benches and throw yourself onto it, groaning.

You lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to focus on your breathing. It’s just one bad training session. You’ve landed the end section of your routine plenty of times before. It’s just a bad day.

…But it’s also a bad day, one week before the first rounds of competitions, where a performance like the one you just gave would have you finishing in last place, your Olympic dreams crumbling to pieces.

You close your eyes, clenching your hands into fists as you stretch out over the bench. Your teammates know to give you space, so you aren’t sure why you feel a shadow falling across your face. You ignore it for a few moments, putting it down to someone unknown peering at you fleetingly, but when it persists, you pry an angry eye open.

“What— Tom?”

For the second time, you find yourself surprised by his presence. Tom is standing beside your bench, swallowed by a deep green hoodie with a blue denim jacket pulled over the top of it. In his hands are a stack of papers and his eyes are full of concern.

“Hi,” Tom says quietly, looking a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dusted light pink. You wonder how long he’s been staring at you for. “Are you okay? I, uh… I saw the end of your training.”

You feel rigid and breakable as his eyes pool with warmth, his gaze like tender sunbeams. When he steps closer and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, your stress bubbles over. As you bring your knees to your chest, you press the side of your face into them, blinking up at him as a few tears skate down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, cooing softly. “Don’t cry, darling.”

Tom gently coaxes you up the bench and sits behind you, throwing a leg either side of the wood to straddle it. You let him pull you back into him, his arms feeling warm and strong as he hugs you tightly from behind. He burrows his face into your neck, warm hands going up to cup your cheeks as his fingertips carefully flick your tears away.

“I’m not sad,” you murmur, swallowing back another wave of tears. “I’m just annoyed.”

“I know.” Tom pauses, and you take a moment to breathe in the scent of fresh laundry. “It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you can’t get something right. But if you work yourself into the ground, you won’t ever be able to do it.”

“But- but what if I want to work myself into the ground,” you mutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Then you’d be silly.” Tom kisses your cheek, his lips warm and light. “And you’re not silly. You’re the strongest athlete that I know, Y/N. You just need to let other people look after you. Let… Let me look after you.”

Your breath hitches and slowly, you pull your face away from your knees. You stretch your legs out in front of you and turn to look at Tom, curiosity in your gaze as you think about how close he’s holding you, and how passionately he’s speaking to you.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet. A shy smile curls across your lips.

Tom hums. His hands fall down to your shoulders, and he gently squeezes your arms. “Go have a shower,” he says. “You’ll feel better, and then I’ll look after you some more.”

You reach out, fingers twirling around the strings of his hoodie. “You’re too nice to me,” you murmur, shyly ducking away from his gaze. “How are you so perfect?”

He laughs, the sound so ripe and joyful that it brings warmth back to your chest.

“I’m not,” Tom disputes. “I just care about you.”

You hum, and before you can lose your cool, you lean in and softly kiss him. Tom’s still for a moment, but then he pushes closer, gently and delicately kissing you back. His hands swoop down to hold your waist, lightly stroking over your sides. When you pull away a few moments later, you feel steadier.

“Hmm,” you say, mind running slow, ensnared by the glimmers of warmth in his eyes. “I like kissing you.”

Tom chuckles, nose brushing yours. “I like kissing you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It turns out that Tom’s right—you do feel better after having a shower. As you find yourself in the deserted skating changing rooms, the sight of your troubles being swirled away down the plughole releases a large part of your stress. The hot water coaxes your good mood back, and it continues, even when you have to wrap up your ankle again.

By the time Tom reappears, knocking gently on the changing room door before entering, you feel better. You’ve changed clothes, washed your hair, cleansed yourself of all the bad energy that had clogged you up. You feel like you again.

“I got this for you,” Tom announces. He holds a disposable cup in his hand and presents it to you with a grin. “Hot chocolate, for m’lady.”

You roll your eyes as you accept it, looking up at him with gratitude warming your chest. “Thanks, Tom.”

He glances down, eyes taking in your form. You’re again stretched out on a bench, one of your legs bent at the knee, the other laying out in front of you. A few bandages hang around, and Tom looks at them curiously.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at your fluffy sock.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I braced it. Should be alright as long as I take it easy.”

Tom nods, then very slowly walks to the end of the bench. He runs his index finger down the bottom of your leg, his touch light but warm. You’re in a skirt, your legs bare and exposed, and as you take in the mischievous glint in his eye, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Y/N,” Tom starts, voice gentle. His fingertips play around with the top of your sock as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes. “Can I kiss it better?”

You’re breathing a little lighter as you look at him. “Yeah,” you agree. “Go ahead.”

Tom kneels on the floor, settling beside the bench with ease. With gentle fingers, he rolls down the top of your sock, just far enough so he’s able to leave a very soft kiss to your tender skin. He doesn’t linger there too long, his eyes fixed to your face, but his lips don’t leave you, either. Very carefully, taking his time, Tom starts to drop kisses to your skin. He gradually works his way further up your leg, dusting warm, open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your shin, then your knee.

You shift on the bench as Tom starts to come higher, one of your hands drifting down to rest in his curls. You put the disposable cup on the floor as you watch him. There’s a heat slowly building in the pit of your stomach, and with each meeting of your flesh and Tom’s mouth, it grows more pronounced. It isn’t long before you’re parting your legs, his lips pausing at the bottom of your thigh as he changes from light kisses to deeper, needier sucks. A short whimper travels from your mouth, wobbling into the air as his lips draw the blood to the surface of your skin.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, looking up at you from the ground. His eyes are wide, darkened with lust. He splays his hand along your neglected thigh, rubbing gentle circles to the skin. You whimper when he drops his tongue to lap over one of the marks he’s pulled to the surface of your skin. “Do you want me to go any higher?” His voice is raspy.

The space between your legs is throbbing, and immediately you nod. “The, uh, the door,” you murmur, voice shaking. Tom presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. He winks at you before jogging to the changing room door, easily flicking the lock, then coming back towards you. “Are you, um… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom grins. He sinks down to his knees beside your head, his hands tugging the bottom of your legs. You sit up on the edge of the bench and turn as your thighs open over his shoulders. Tom kneels between them, his bed of brown curls complementing your skin tone nicely. He presses a kiss to your neglected leg before his hands carefully skim up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit,” he replies, his voice a little darker. He tilts his head as he meets your gaze, smirking softly. “I’d really like to. Do you want to know a secret, darling?” Tom’s fingers slide up, his index and his middle making contact with the front of your panties. As he traces delicately over the front of your core, small arcs of pleasure roll out from your centre. The way his lips twitch taller makes you wonder if he can feel the way your cunt seems to throb.

“Yeah,” you respond, voice light. A whimper passes through your lips as Tom applies a little more pressure to your covered clit, your hips gyrating down to meet his fingertips in response.

He pulls back, only to push your skirt out of the way, tutting quietly when you mewl.

“Been wondering what you’d taste like for ages, love,” he coos. He uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer, and you moan when he buries his head between your legs. Your panties are still on, but that doesn't stop Tom from nosing up against your slit, hot breath fanning out across your warmth. When he draws his tongue over the front of your panties, you release a breathless whine. “Bet it tastes as pretty as you are.”

You reach down and bury your hand back into his curls, pulling Tom closer as he ghosts his tongue over the front of your panties. He’s lapping lightly up your slit, the pleasure muted but still there, and your eyes fall shut as the muscles in your thighs tense.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, feeling your cunt pulse. “Take them off. I need more.”

His nimble fingers are quick to follow your instructions, and as soon as your hips are falling back to the bench, his mouth is on you. You cry out as you finally feel him, the pleasure direct and far greater than you’d expected. Tom devours you, using both of his thumbs to press your lips apart as his tongue travels all over your heat. He spends a while focusing on your clit, the tip of his tongue firm and unrelenting, but when you start to whine a little louder, he teases you by drawing away. He flattens his tongue and licks a few broad strokes up your centre, moaning against you until you’re fisting at his hair and shaking.

“Fuck,” you whine, voice barely there. “Feels so good.”

Tom’s complete attention is on you and your eyes roll back when he teases your entrance with his mouth. One of his thumbs rolls up to toy with your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, your walls throbbing as he explores you. You push him deeper, obscenities mixing with slurred acclamations of his name, and it’s as though you can feel your pulse hammering in your head.

“Knew it. Tastes like fucking heaven,” Tom murmurs, pulling away from your entrance to shoot you a smirking smile. He brings two fingers to your pussy and teases you there, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead when you moan and rut down against them, taking agency and fulfilling your desires. “Shit, baby. You’re so wet.” He fucks your heat, eyes moving off your face and fixing on the mess between your legs as he coos. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you whine. When Tom drops his head and wraps his lips back around your clit, you cry out. “Getting so close,” you say, words tangling together as your chest heaves. You feel so hot, your body trembling as your edge hangs in sight. “Keep going, f-fuck, Tom. You’re so good.”

He adds a third finger to your heat, and your jaw slackens. Tom changes the angle of his digits a few times before curling them just right, and he continues to stroke up against your g-spot as you cry out. You stammer out a few words of warning, and he moans in response. The vibrations of the sound coupled with the way his tongue is applying the perfect amount of warm, sloppy pressure to your clit push you over the edge. As you peak, you fall back onto your elbows, tightening your grip on his hair as your pussy throbs, taking wave after wave of pleasure as it rocks across you and smothers you.

Tom doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it out completely and you’re sensitive. With a push at his hair, you coax him away, still trying to gather yourself as your throat feels dry. The expression of cocky fulfilment hanging from his lips makes you shiver, and you almost moan again as you take in the sight of his chin, glistening with your arousal.

“How was that?” he asks, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. Tom carefully stands up, still looking at you as he leans back and picks up a box of tissues from one of the benches. He passes a few to you then leans back against one of the lockers, looking at you admiringly with his arms crossed.

“Really good,” you manage, voice still a little hoarse. You clear your throat and ignore his chuckle as you take care of the mess between your legs with a tissue. Your eyes soften when you look back to him. “Thank you.”

Tom just nods, taking the used tissues and binning them before making a quick stop by a sink to wash his hands. When he strolls back over, he stands in front of you and cups your cheeks in his palms. You stare up at him, smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Glad I could make you feel nice,” he says, voice soft. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now… If you have time, I want to take you home. Run you a nice bath, make you some lunch. Make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

You feel your face warm as you listen to his musings, and find yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “You’d want to do all that for me?”

Tom nods. His hands run over your face, fingertips gently caressing your cheekbones. It’s as if he’s examining you, trying to ensure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re happy. It makes your heart soar.

“‘Course, darling. I care about you a lot.”

You tilt your head to the side so you can kiss the inside of his palm. “Okay,” you agree. You stand up, wincing slightly as your ankle disagrees with taking your weight. Tom’s hands move down to hold your waist, steadying you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You start to walk, only to look back at him and glare jokingly. “Can’t believe you ruined my underwear,” you say. “Feels fucking freezing without them on.”

Tom arches a brow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back before catching up to you. “Um, I think technically it was you who ruined your underwear.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, only for your scowl to melt when he kisses it. When you reach the door, you undo the lock and open it, letting Tom through before following him out into the corridor.

“Whatever,” you reply, sinking into his side. His hand is warm in yours, your fingers tangled together nicely. “Worth it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

With the final match of the season underway and the league title up for grabs, the atmosphere is electric. The stands are packed, frenzied by the presence of the large broadcasting cameras that stream the match live to thousands online. Sitting in the home section, the noise seems louder than it would be elsewhere in the arena. Everyone around you is as invested in the result as you are, and as the energy rises and falls, you feel connected to the mass of strangers around you. You know that they share the ache in your fingers built from the tight clenching of your knuckles into fists, and the strain of your eyes as you spend too long staring at the bright white ice.

The score is 4-4. The players from both teams have been giving some of the most convincing performances of their careers. It’s been close all match.

You hadn’t been sure that you’d be able to make the game, your own days filled with the later stages of your competition, but you’re glad you managed to swing it. Tom needs you.

He’s skating well. He’d assisted one of the team’s goals, and managed to subvert several other shots on goal attempted by his rivals. Tom looks as handsome as ever, face flushed, eyes focused, figure bulked wide with protective padding, but you know he’s nervous. He’s looking up at you more than usual, his teeth gritted together, and his jaw tensed. It’s clear just how much the title means to him.

It’s been a few weeks since Tom came and picked you up after your meltdown at practice, and since then, your feelings for him have escalated. You think it must be a form of torture to watch someone you care about so much getting pushed around, and injured, and hurt on the ice, knowing you can’t do anything but sit and watch it play out in front of you. Every time he gets slammed up against one of the plastic wall barriers, you wince, almost feeling the pain yourself, and despite him always brushing it off and getting on with the game, you worry for him.

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

Beside you is Harry, one of Tom’s brothers. You’d met him before the match when Tom had thrust a ticket at you and told you that he’d wrestled it off one of his other brothers. Your guilt had been assuaged when you’d been told that Paddy finds the finals too stressful to sit through. Harry’s been entertaining you all evening, acting as a buffer between you and his parents, who make you feel nervous being so close to.

“Shit,” you agree. You wince as Tom gets barged into and goes spiralling across the ice, only stopping when one of his teammates catches him. “This is actually brutal.”

Harry makes a low humming noise. He turns to glance at you, then he hesitantly reaches down to pat your knee.

“He’ll be fine, though, Y/N,” he says, speaking a little awkwardly. “It’s uh… just part of the job. He’s used to it. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken his nose.”

You hum as you think about the wonky lines of Tom’s face. “True,” you agree. You pull your team scarf further around your figure, snuggling into it in search of relief. “Just isn’t nice to see him hurt.”

Harry makes a humming sound of agreement and releases your leg with a final pat. The game continues, and before you know it, they’re into the last third. As the clock ticks down from 20 minutes, things are tense. Tom blurs with the rest of the team, and your eyes skim around all the figures, moving and spinning across the ice like it’s choreographed. There’s something quite beautiful about how they’re able to execute formations and manoeuvres amidst such chaos.

Your eyes stick to the back of Tom’s jersey, screaming Holland in bright orange. He’s closing in on an opponent, trying to steal the puck with gritted teeth. The air leaves your lungs as the scene plays out in slow motion, your eyes widening to the size of gold coins as you watch the larger man smack the puck with ferocity, attempting a shot on goal before Tom manages to steal it. Instead of the puck flying near the goal, the angle flicks it to the side, and the entire section around you gasps as it soars through the air and collides with Tom’s face. His eyes are fine, given the visor on his helmet, but his nose is exposed, and it bears the brunt.

Your heart stills for a moment, the volume of the arena fading out completely as you see Tom go down, clutching at his nose as a trail of blood drips over the ice. There’s the sound of a whistle, and you only start to breathe again when you see one of Tom’s teammates haul him from the rink. His blood freezes to the ice, leaving a trail of dark marks staining the ground behind him.

“Fuck, fuck,” you find yourself saying, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom to stare at Harry. Tom’s brother is wincing. “What do we do?”

Harry shrugs, grimacing. You look back to the ice to where Tom’s being dragged on his skates back to the team bench. You can see him smiling, but it's indisputable that he’s in pain. You can see it in his eyes, and the way his blood mixes with the salty blend of aching tears. “Can’t really do anything,” he says. “Told you his nose gets it.” Harry pauses for a moment, then gently elbows your side. “You could go down, though. They’ll probably do a quick fix in the tunnel. I doubt he’ll want to be benched for the rest of the match.”

You nod stiffly, but find yourself hesitating. “Are you, uh, sure that he’d want that? It wouldn’t be annoying?” When Harry turns to raise an eyebrow, you chuckle nervously. “I don’t want to knock him out of the zone, y’know?”

Harry’s eyes fill with understanding, but you think you can still detect a layer of teasing to it. “My brother is actually obsessed with you,” he says. “He watches compilation videos from your competitions every single bloody night. Even if you broke his heart, I doubt he’d ever be able to find you annoying. So…” Harry pokes your shoulder. “Get down there, alright?”

You shoot him a smile, unable to pretend that his words don’t warm your heart.

The game is still paused, yet you hurry down the aisle, stepping over trays of discarded nachos and half-filled plastic pints of beer as you utter words of apology to the disgruntled fans. Moving quickly, you dodge up and enter one of the back stairwells, flashing your team ID at security. The arena is a complex system of back corridors and passages, but you know them inside out.

You reach the long corridor that connects the changing rooms to the ice, and you see Tom standing in the middle of it. He’s surrounded by people—doctors, his coach, a few reserve players. Out in the arena, you hear the game pick up, but back here, time is standing still.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says. Tom grumbles something before yelling out a light curse word. The closer you walk, the more you see. Tom’s holding a bunch of stained tissues to the bottom of his nose as the medic quickly bandages his bridge. It’s not advised for him to go back on the ice with a broken nose—but you also know that with ten minutes left on the clock, the patchy fix-it job probably won’t cause permanent damage. You quite like Tom’s wonky nose, anyway.

“He’s such a twat,” Tom grumbles, wincing again. “Did he get benched?”

“Yeah. Penalty.”

“Good.” Tom folds his arms over his chest. When the medic pulls away to dig through his bag of bandages, Tom glances up the corridor. His eyes widen as he sees you, and you watch him do a double-take. When you raise a hand in greeting, his face softens. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you call out, stepping closer. “Is it okay I’m here? I, um… I was worried.”

He nods, only to receive a scolding from the medic. Smiling sheepishly, Tom beckons you closer. He offers you a hand, gloveless and cold, and you hurry forward to take it.

“‘Course,” he murmurs. Now close, you’re able to see the flecks of dried blood on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, speaking softly as if he knows how frazzled you feel. “Happens all the fucking time.”

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How is he? Looking after you?”

You chuckle. “He’s funny,” you say. You roll your thumb over the back of Tom’s knuckles as he winces again, the medic pushing his ice pack out of the way so he can dab a wet tissue at Tom’s nostrils. You realise that his nose has stopped bleeding.

“Funnier than me?”

“Never.” You squeeze Tom’s hand. “You’re doing well out there.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tom glances away from you, looking back at the medic as he finally steps away to gather his stuff. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms. “Just don’t touch anyone. The second you’re done, come find me and I’ll fix you properly.”

Tom nods, then bites back a noise of pain. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmurs. Tom looks back to you, dropping his voice as you’re left alone with him. “I, uh, I gotta go,” he says, tilting his shoulder back in the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” You shoot him a soft smile and squeeze his hand before stepping back. “Good luck, Tom. Smash it.”

He pouts slightly, a wedge forming between his brows. “Kiss?”

“Kiss?” you repeat, snorting softly. When Tom nods sadly, you step nearer and press your hands to his shoulders. You lean up and capture his lips in a warm kiss, smiling into it as his palms paw at your waist. For a very brief moment, you get lost in it, overcome by the round lines of his chapped mouth and the heat of his hands, but you force yourself to step back. You can feel how badly he wants to be out on the ice. “Good luck, handsome,” you say, whispering against his lips. You step back and cross your arms, smiling widely as he blushes. “You’ve got this.”

Tom gives you a final nod, eyes alight. “See ya in ten!” he says, before turning on his skates. You stay watching him until he reaches the end of the corridor, and the smile is still on his face as he turns back to grin at you. The arena goes wild as he reappears, and you find yourself biting your lips as you try to control the butterflies in your stomach.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom lives about twenty minutes from the arena, and you find yourself waiting on his front step. With your knees pulled to your chin, the chill of a March evening cools your face. You don’t feel the cold much—instead, you’re distracted by the images of the team winning, playing on loop in your mind.

It’s a blur. A snapshot collection of Tom scoring the tie-breaking goal, the sight of the crowd going wild as the final buzzer sounded, the spray of champagne foam sticking to the ice. You’d hung around afterwards, receiving a very messy kiss from Tom who was vibrating from excitement. After a round of celebratory photos, Tom had been hunted down by the medics, and he’d pulled you aside briefly to ask you to meet him here.

You sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you, looking down at the laces of your shoes and how they contrast the dark cement paving stones. Tom shares his house with Harrison and Harry. You’ve been here a few times, and it feels odd to be here without him.

“Y/N!”

You startle as you look up, so distracted by the loops of your laces that you’d failed to see Tom. He finishes clambering out of a large car, and you think you catch a glimpse of Harry in the front before it goes speeding away from the pavement. Tom approaches, his nose bruised but free of bandages, a wide smirk on his face as he picks up into a light jog. When he reaches you, he sweeps you to your feet, taking your hands firmly and kissing you before you have a chance to say a word. You shiver as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, craving the body heat, sinking into him and the scent of his fresh shampoo.

“You’re shivering,” Tom murmurs, pulling back to stare at you. His eyes widen as guilt shadows his features. “Fuck, how long have you been waiting for me?” He steps back to dig through his pocket, tongue settling between his lips as he hums.

“Ten minutes,” you estimate. When his eyes widen, you shrug bashfully. “Hasn’t been that bad. Next door’s cat came and said hi.”

Tom scowls as he steps past you, driving his key into the front door with ease. “Little ratty thing, isn’t it?” he mutters. He opens the door with a flourish, then steps aside to invite you in. When you walk across the threshold, Tom winds his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin to your shoulder before tilting his lips so he can kiss your cheek. His warm breath fans out across your face. “I’ll warm you up, darling. I’ll make you feel better.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bed. Despite his promise of warming you up, you seem to be losing more and more clothes. What had started out as a celebratory kiss has ended in you straddling him, grinding over Tom’s crotch as he gasps into your mouth and grabs at your waist.

You like being on top. It gives you better access to Tom—to the sight of his face constricting with pleasure every time you grind a little harder, and to the sound of his small moans. There’s a shadow along his nose and lining the swell of his cheeks from the break in his nose, and if he wasn’t so tender, you’d try to kiss it better. Instead, you decide to make him feel better in a different way. He’s calmer now than he’d been at the arena when he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you or his lips away from your neck, but the longer you spend making out with him, the more eager he gets. There’s a dark spark in his eyes that matches the fervour in his grip.

“God,” he murmurs to your lips. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

A hot flush travels through your body, and you shy your face into his neck. You distract him with kisses, dragging your lips over the firm flesh of his warm skin.

“Can I mark you?” you whisper, dragging your lips up to his ear. Tom moans loudly as you move your teeth over his earlobe and bite lightly.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up against you. You’ve ditched your jeans, and so has he, but where you’re still draped in a shirt, Tom’s chest is bare and exposed. You run your hand over his arm and feel his muscles there as you kiss up the side of his neck. Deep marks follow in the wake of your lips, but they aren’t nearly as pretty as the sound of Tom’s moans. “Fuck, darling. Shit. Feels so good.”

Tom lasts about a minute more before growling and pushing you from his neck. His eyes glint and a shrill squeal leaves your lips as he picks you up and presses you down onto the mattress. As your back sinks into the bed, the slats creak. Tom cages you in with a forearm either side of your head, one of his hands drifting into the ends of your hair as he very lightly rests his nose against yours.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Your smile twists a little darker as Tom rolls his hips against yours and you feel his cock straining against his boxers. You reach up to play with his hair, tugging on the strands when Tom moans. His curls are fresh and fluffy, air-dried after the shower and silky smooth to touch. You’ve been together a few times since he ate you out in the changing rooms, and though you’re yet to go all the way, you’ve picked up on a few of his preferences. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

mlist and taglist can be found through the link in my bio!

[theficblog]

CATS, BRUSHES AND YOU

TEN LEE

Prologue: How far will things go with this random guy you met online? It might not always be as simple.

Genre: Fluff + Social Media AU

Wordcount: 1,808

Warnings: Mild language

It wasn't too long ago since you started stalking this one account, banana_brushes. All their feed ever had to offer was art, which was probably their own, and cats, which you assumed were also theirs. You were sure you had seen a hundred other profiles updating with the same thing, but this just felt different from day one.

You still consider yourself very lucky though, the astonishment on your face was very real the day the same user slid into your DMs. No, you never interacted with any of their posts so there was no chance of getting caught, all you ever did was simply view. 

"Hey there, I hope I'm not being annoying but would you let me know what medium did you use for the watery thing effect in your last post?" You thought it was a genuine query, which it was, making you leave an immediate reply.

"Thanks, I run an art account too, though."

It was from that very moment you started talking with this random guy online. In a week or more the talks matured from arts and cats to somewhat general ones, you see, how any two strangers would get to know each other.

The two of you now held deep conversations, as time passed. Even though it was only via typing on a social media platform. Maybe it was due to the fact that you knew things would always stay anonymous. There was an absolute zero possibility of seeing or meeting him in the flesh, your real identities would never be revealed, thus blessing you with the freedom to not hold back any opinions, or to spit out whatever the fuck your heart wanted you. You knew you could always block him or report him if things ever went south. To you, it was so much better than having to interact with real-life people. Yeah, call it living in a fake world or whatever, but at least this was something that made you feel at ease.

Your conversations with banana_brushes still continued as smoothly as a rom-com movie, and it was not until this fine evening that you started to see him in a different light.

Your attention was diverted to your notifications as soon as you came home from a trashy day of work, it was him again, and you didn't know for what reason in the heavens, it made you smile.

"Since I've never seen you, I drew what I think you would look like."

He captioned a picture with another one of his works, which he made keeping you in mind, making your lips curve themselves again. Just pondering over the thought that a person did put in some sort of effort while thinking of you was beyond precious, provided the fact that he was not "real". You never saw him, let alone meet him in the flesh. The art piece was phenomenal, as expected. He really knew his brushes. It was not like he traced an angel onto the canvas, it was what anyone would label as "ordinary" but maybe that was what made you resonate with it in a flash of a second.

"Hmm, well full marks for the effort, and that's actually quite pretty! thanks." You replied back without wasting a minute.

"And, I kind of think I look better than that." You teased him, and the text was sent along with a tongue-out winking emoji. 

"Oh! I would have no clue." He was still typing as you glued your eyeballs to the screen. "The only thing I have ever seen is your art."

With a raised eyebrow, you ran your fingers across your keypad. There was no way you were going to let this sassy stranger win. 

"The only thing I have ever seen is your cats". With this, you dropped your phone onto the bed. This was one of the many perks of talking to people online, disconnecting at any time you felt like.

-

The next morning was nothing special. The same cycle of waking up, getting ready, and leaving for work. There were times you really sat and pondered something interesting happening in your life, at least for once as you sipped on your coffee. Life was no better than the stagnant lake waters. 

The last time you remember having an adrenaline rush was probably the night before your job interview. It has been two years since then.

-

"No way in fucking hell!" You cursed under your breath, making sure you blinked a dozen times and pinching yourself. 

You took quick steps towards the table, grabbing the canvas in your hands. It was the same that the Instagram guy sent you last night. What on earth was it doing here at your office? Did he manage to track your address down? What if he were a creep? Oh, how could you ever be so stupid to forget the dark side of this alluring internet?

It also seemed like your morning wish had come true, for the adrenaline hormone kicked it, along with this strange feeling in your gut.

"Excuse me?" You heard a voice from behind, you turned back out of reflex, with a pale face and mouth hanging open.

The man looked at you with an uncomfortable stare, pointing to the article you held in your hands. "Ummm, that?" He questioned. Did it by any chance belong to him? For the sake of God, let it be his.

"Ten?" You asked in disbelief.

"You know me?" He inquired back, with a change of tone.

Of course, you knew him. Even though this was the first face-to-face interaction you both had had in the last two years, you were well aware of his presence.

"If I'm not wrong, you are Y/N? I think I've seen you at the cafeteria a few times, you're a part of the-"

"Wait, you have cats?" You cut his unnecessary words off.

He was taken aback, how did you come to know about his precious babies? Before he could comprehend, you thew another question on his way. "And since when do you draw?"  This guy was not understanding a thing, his face showed that he could not make out, as though you spoke Greek. 

There was no time to waste. You hurriedly rummaged through your tote bag, pulling out your phone. 

"User banana underscore brushes?" You flashed your Instagram screen right before his eyes, which kept on getting wider and wider.

"User i know my underscore brushes?"  He took a long breath, nodding his head. "That was you?" He reciprocated the same reactions you displayed about a minute ago.

"Now you know embarrassing things about me! Hold on you also know my life problems?! Please don't tell the boss I called him a dick the other day!" He blurted out in a single breath, eyes wandering from left to right at the speed of light, palming his face out of embarrassment.

But it was not only you that had this advantage, texts had always been mutual.

"Only if you don't tell him that it was me who changed the PPT link to that of Dora the Explorer last week, and also just ignore all the bitching I've ever done about this place." You declared, resting your hands on your hips. 

"What the fuck? That was you!?" He burst into a shrill laugh.

"Huh?" You exclaimed.

"I mean that was super fun, also, I won't tell anyone. Deal?" His offer only made sense.

"Deal!" You raised your hand up, earning a high-five from him.

Before you could go back and continue with your otherwise boring day, ten interrupted. "Y/N!" 

"You're good at drawing and stuff." This came out of nowhere, why was he trying to make it awkward?

"Thanks, you've told me that before, and so are you!" You shined a tooth-wide smile as you turned back again, signalling your leave.

"Do you have any pets?" He asked abruptly, as though he had been caught with a gun near a corpse.

"I already told you that I did not." You laughed awkwardly again.

"Then let's go get some coffee." Ten offered. 

"Right now?" This was not a confirmation from your side but a denial. You stood there as you looked at him with a confused face again. 

Confusion has reigned supreme in this scenario throughout.

He took out his phone with the Kuromi phone grip out of his back pocket, his fingers were running like crazy, and there were visible beads of sweat on his forehead. You thought he had just offered you coffee.

You too started to do the same, smartphones turned out to be lifesavers in awkward situations. 

The first thing you noticed was the unseen messages from Ten yesterday, you must have ignored them last night until it turned out they were not meant to be ignored.

Ten, on the other hand, buried his face in his palms, not having the courage to face you, he was too late, by now you had read it all.

"You what?" You questioned in disbelief. "Yo-you have a crush on me?"

He was ready with an explanation even before you finished. "I think it's a bit more than that now that I know who you are, Y/N." He expressed, his tone sincere, looking at you directly and making eye contact with you.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry Y/N I did not want to let you know like this, who confesses like this-"

He talked a lot, and you were cutting him off, a lot.

You took steps closer, inches away from his body, holding him by the shoulders, trying to lean closer.

"Are-are you going to kiss me now?" He stammered. 

"May I?" You asked.

Ten nodded before shutting his eyes. You did the same and brought yourself closer, his awkward hands held you by the waist. The touch was sweet, creating a tingling sensation in your body. No, this was not your first kiss, but it sure felt special.

It felt like the blow on a wound, comforting. It felt like a scratch on the neck, satisfying, and it felt like a glass of wine, soothing. 

You caressed his pink lips with your thumb as you pulled back. 

"Does this mean you like me back?" He asked with curious eyes and now you could clearly appreciate his cat-like features. Soft, yet sharp.

"I think it means that most of the time, so yeah." You said.

"Makes sense." Ten giggled, his sassy self seemed to have melted away with one kiss.

"Also" he continued "That painting stands nowhere in front of you, you're way prettier." He remarked with a subtle smile.

"No no please this doesn't suit you!" You hit his hand playfully before the laughter erupted between you two once again.

Finally, in the midst of a boring life, a bright spot.

LET ME KNOW YOUR VIEWS + ALSO SEE : MASTERLIST

PLEASE REFRAIN FROM PLAGIARIZING ,TRANSLATING, OR POSTING OUTSIDE THIS PLATFORM.  

[nataliedanovelist]

I am in a Desperate Situation

Hey guys. As some of you may know, I lost one of my two jobs in January due to the business shutting down. My other job has been only working me one day a week, sometimes two if I beg, and I’ve been looking for a second job. I’m currently in the works to be a substitute teacher, but the process is long and I desperately need money to pay bills, get groceries, and put gas in my car. It’s getting to a point where I will make any excuse not to drive somewhere because I don’t know if I’ll have enough money for gas. This has put me in an incredibly disheartening situation where I want to work, I’m capable of working and have been known to be a good worker, but it’s just not happening for me right now. Good times are coming, but I need help until I get there.

That’s where my big announcement comes in…

I AM TAKING FANFICTION COMMISSIONS!

$20 = 1,000-1,500 word fanfic (ex: Sweatertown, and Tiger Stripes)

$30 = 2,500-3,000 word fanfic (ex: Braid Braid, Boxing, and Dr. Mystery)

$50 = 2,500-4,000 word NSFW fanfic (ex: Time to Relax, and You’re F*cking Beautiful)

Payments will be made via PayPal. I will be happy to communicate via Tumblr, email, or Discord. Whichever makes you most happy.

WILLS AND WON’TS:

WILL do OCs and AUs

WILL do self-insert / second-person view

WILL do third-person view

WON’T do first-person view

WON’T do any type of hate fic

WON’T write a fic featuring an OC without the permission of the creator of said-OC

WON’T write an NSFW fic for anyone under the age of 18

Thank you all so much for all of your love and support! Even if you can’t afford a fanfic, I completely understand, and just know that a reblog would also help me tremendously. I wish you all nothing but happiness!

FULL DISCLOSURE: I’m as virgin as they come and a proud asexual 🖤🤍💜, but I do know some sexual activities and have read some fics. However, there are some things I either do not have enough knowledge on to write well for it, or simply feel uncomfortable writing it. With that being said, I am happy to talk about whatever you wish to read and I am willing to push my boundaries and learn. I am willing to read sample pieces or other fics to get an idea of what you want, but straight-up porn is a no for me.

[folkloreguk]

French Class [2]

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this part! I’m excited to put out more parts soon!

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), smut, oral (f receiving), car sex, dirty talk, college!au, nerd!reader, fuckboy!bias

words: 4.4 k

✽series masterlist✽

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez

“And then he asked me if I would wear his tie around my neck while he- Hello? Earth to Y/N? Are you there?” Your roommate, Chohee, waved her hand in front of your face from across the table. You had occupied the seats in the back of the Chinese restaurant, in a niche where you were mostly hidden from other customers. Turns out, for all the spicy stories she had in store – as always – that had been a great idea.

“I swear your thoughts have been all over the place lately. Are you sure you have nothing to talk about?” She twirled a strand of her dyed pink hair around her fingers while she mustered you suspiciously.

“I’m sorry, I zoned out. It’s nothing, I’m just tired. I’ve been studying day and night. Looks like you’re the only one with the stories today. Just start again from the part where he got the whipped cream from the fridge,” you said.

“We went over that part five minutes ago! Have you paid any attention?” Chohee shook her head with a grin. Then she began her bedroom-adventure story from the beginning, because she knew as well as you, she loved talking about it.

Truth was, you had one hell of a story to tell. And no, you had not been paying attention. Not because you were tired. Not because you had studying on your mind. But because one hundred percent of your focus was currently directed at the boy only a few tables from yours. You only saw the back of his head, but there was no doubt about his identity. The mop of hair was unmistakable. Plus, he was in his famous black leather jacket. There was no mistaking this piece of clothing. It was decorated with white splatters of acrylic paint and had his name written messily across the top of his back. You could just about make out the tips of the letters as he leaned back comfortably, legs spread on his chair, chatting to his friend.

Chohee had no idea about the grip the person behind her had on you. She was your closest friend, and yet you hadn’t broken the news to her: You were hooking up (and not just once) with the so-called “hottest guy on campus”. AT least those had been her words when she had first told you about him. Lately you had to admit, you were starting to agree. It wasn’t like you wanted to keep secrets from her. In fact, on many occasions you had almost crumbled and told her the full story. Had she not been such a chatterbox, and did she not love gossiping as much as she did, you swore she would already know about your little arrangement with him.

She was aware of this much: You and him were casual friends. Study buddies, one would say. You had subtly passed over the little details of your friendship. How grocery store visits sometimes turned into visits to his dorm because of a simple text of his, or how you had sneaked out on more than one occasion in the middle of the night because he had told you his dormmates weren’t home. It wasn’t weird to Chohee that you brushed over the particularities of your “one-night-stands” when you returned in the mornings. You had never been as big on sharing as she was.

Maybe you wanted to keep things to yourself out of fear what people would say, too. You couldn’t care less whether people knew you were sleeping around. But everyone knew him, or so it seemed. Girls wanted him. Boys wanted to be him. All you desired was his friendship and some fun. You had no interest in being known on campus or having people you’ve never met giving you the side-eye over having sex with an oh-so-special boy. One day you would tell Chohee all about it. You weren’t technically lying. Just not sharing the entire story.

“Remember how I said H/N was the hottest guy ever?” Chohee suddenly said. The sound of his name made your head snap back to reality.

“Oh, now you’re listening, I see. All it takes is for me to mention your new bestie,” she teased. “You shouldn’t get too attached to him. I have a feeling that girls are interchangeable to him, either way. Anyway, I’ve decided I find his friend Korain much more attractive, since I’ve been hooking up with him.”

Would it be weird to correct her? To promise her, when you had more time and weren’t so distracted, you would lay the truth on her? He isn’t like that at all, you wanted to say. Yes, he liked female attention. But that didn’t make him a bad guy. Would it sound crazed to explain how he knew how you took your coffee, and how he sent you pictures of your favorite animals before your exams to take some of the nerves away? Or how he reported that it took him exactly 1,012 steps to get to your dorm from his place? Multiple times you had tried to count the distance yourself, but you never seemed to have enough focus to make it. Something always caught you off guard. You had doubted his credibility, but he swore he wasn’t bluffing.

Speaking of his friend Korain – who was at this very Chinese restaurant with H/N – he was suddenly making eye contact with you. Before you could slide lower into your seat like a frightened animal, he had grinned at you. Oh no. Prompted by his friend’s smile in your direction, H/N now turned his head. You were thankful Chohee was still deep in her explanation on why she had changed her opinions on the two very boys only a few tables away. If only she knew.

H/N’s eyes caught yours and a smirk plastered on his face. You assumed the tiny smile you sent him would do, but no. The two young men had collected their things and were getting ready to leave. The exit was the opposite direction, and yet H/N took the long way there. His stride was that of a model as he approached your table.

“Y/N,” he said, voice sweet like sugar candy and his smile charming like famous artwork. “You wanna hang at the library later?”

Chohee was now eyeing him as if she was your bodyguard and he was an obsessed fan who had crossed into your personal space. All you could think of was how you wanted him as your dessert. Now. But you had an exam coming up in a few days. So, his invitation fit just right.

“I’ll be there.” You smiled politely. He gave you a raised eyebrow, but then nodded, said goodbye, spun around and followed his friend out of the restaurant. When you looked at Chohee, she was already giving you eyes that asked a billion questions at once. Fantastic. Now you’d have to explain that “hang at the library” was not some sort of codeword for sex, but you had – against all odds – convinced the local prince of fuckboys that studying wasn’t such an atrocious idea after all. But fate saved you before you could begin your clarification.

“Oh no! Where has the time gone? I have to get to my afternoon lecture!” Chohee exclaimed, quickly gathering her purse and jacket. “My professor will curse me if I’m late again!”

And with that, she scrambled up from the table. “Don’t think you’re getting off easy just because I have to go! I demand a good story when I get home!”

You knew she was just being dramatic, and should you decide to keep everything to yourself for another month, she wouldn’t be mad. And yet, the urge to tell her crept up on you as you watched her hurry out of the door while waving one last time. Your morning classes had been the only appointment in your calendar for the day. So, with nothing else to do, you fished for your phone to message him for a time to meet at the library.

~

“What were you being so weird for earlier?” he asked as he plopped down on the wooden chair across from you. His books slammed on the table, and you flinched a little. Boys.

“Thanks for reminding me why I chose to sit in the group project area today. Could you be any louder in a library?” you said. “And thank god we’re the only ones here.”

“Thanks for reminding me that you’re still great at avoiding questions,” he returned.

“I just didn’t want my friend to ask questions.”

“So you talked to me like a five year old would respond to their kindergarten teacher? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? The guy with the reputation?”

“No, I’m not. Wait? What? And what kind of reputation would that be, if I may ask? The you-only-sleep-with-a-girl-once-reputation?”

“You should know the nastiest rumors mostly prove to be false. I was thinking of something more delightful. Like a gives-the-best-head-on-campus-kind of reputation.”

You snorted. “And who is going to do the research to prove that?”

“Why don’t you look around and report back to me?” he smirked.

“No thanks. I’m already hooking up with a guy who’s more than a handful.”

He faked taking offence in your words with a theatrical gasp. “Is that so? The girl I’m hooking up with isn’t much better. Always asks to hang at the library like she doesn’t beg me to fuck her the second we get out of there.”

“Let me remind you that you were the one who suggested this place today,” you said. “I was ready to jump into your bed and you had to stall time like this.”

“Are you for real? What are we still doing here, then?” he asked, and you tilted your head with a suggestive grin that mirrored his.

15 minutes later:

“Who the fuck stores five umbrellas in their car?” You kicked another one off the backseat you were lying on. Your bra was exposed beneath your shirt which he had pushed up on your chest and was now attacking the exposed skin with hungry kisses.

“That’s what you get for not getting it on in the library,” he muttered against your skin without looking up.

“We’d be asking to get suspended from there by doing that,” you said. “And I cherish my library very much.”

He only made a snickering noise and shook his head before he went to take off his shirt – and promptly hit his head on the car roof. “Ow! This sucks. I can barely move.”

“That’s what you get for not waiting until we’re at your place,” you teased him with his own words. But judging by the prominent bulge in his pants, you supposed you didn’t want him driving anywhere. Not with naughty things on his mind, and with you next to him to only make him hornier. Your eyes fell on the dark purple spots on his abdomen, and you grinned.

“Wow. Someone must have worked hard to make that stomach even prettier,” you said.

“Yeah, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He bent down to your ear and his husky tone sent cold shivers up your spine. Of course, you knew. You were the one who bit and sucked the hickeys into his skin two days ago, after all. His hands palming your boobs through your bra drew out a desperate sigh from you.

“Let’s play a game. What do you say?” he asked.

“What kind of game would that be?” Your interest was roused. He was lost in thought for a moment, hands slowly running up and down your exposed legs. Luckily, you had opted for a skirt today. All he’d had to do was to push it up to your belly and get rid of your underwear after your short but very steamy make-out session on the backseat. The cool air on your exposed core was only magnifying your impatience.

“Whoever comes first, loses.” You couldn’t suppress a chuckle at his idea, and he eyed you with indignation. “You don’t like it?”

“Everyone knows women take longer to orgasm than men do,” you said. “Are you trying to dig your own grave or what?”

“That’s why I’ll have a head start,” he announced. His hands circled the skin close to your core, creeping up your thighs slowly.

“And what’s the prize for winning?”

“The loser owes the winner a favor.”

“Too vague. I don’t trust you with that.”

“I don’t trust you, she says as she waits for me to fuck her in my car,” he mocked.

“I don’t trust your crazy ideas,” you clarified. “What about this? The winner pays for the loser’s next meal when we eat together.”

“Deal.” He slid his fingers over your pussy, and you crumbled into a whining mess within seconds. No matter how much your head denied it, he really was the best. He caught your clit between his digits and your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment.

“Shit, you only turn me on more if you’re going to moan like that.” He lowered his head and spit on your center, and the laughter that had been bubbling in your throat died in an instant. His fingers rubbed your nub fast and spread his saliva – without doubt his attempt at tipping you closer to the edge before he had even begun to fuck you.

“Too bad you find me so hot,” you said, and let out a purposely dramatic whimper, followed by his name in your best fake-porn-voice. His smile had something wholesome, as if he was admiring his friend making silly jokes, but also a glint of playfulness. You knew had been a mask when he bit his lip and exhaled slowly. With ease, he slid his middle finger into you. As he curled it against your sweet spot, he bent down to suck on your clit and your back arched at the sudden pleasure.

“Too bad you’re going to lose,” he said, and then continued his antics. Had he continued this way for another few minutes, his words wouldn’t have been so far from the truth. But you had other plans.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” you asked. “That’s enough of your head start.”

“I only just tasted you. Why would it be called a head start, if you’re going to stop me two minutes into giving you head?” he asked and you would’ve slapped his shoulder, had he been close enough. Instead, you closed your eyes for a few seconds. He was the competitive one here, and you didn’t mind enjoying yourself for now. Sighing in temporary defeat, your head fell back onto the seat. The sun was shining its last rays through the car window. They caught in his curled eyelashes and on his skin, coloring him golden.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, arm snaking around your thigh. He held on to you, but it wasn’t as if you could have moved away from him. Your head was right by the car door. His lips around your clit paired with his finger steadily rubbing against your sweet spot inside of you made you feel like floating. His free hand touched your leg gently, caressing your skin as if he wasn’t also simultaneously pushing you to the urge to yell out his name in pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his soft hair, as if you needed to do so to keep him in place. But something in the back of your mind still had a desire for winning. Trying to collect the last bits of your dwindling sanity, you hatched a plan. Good on you – you knew just what rode him into madness.

“I- I need you to fuck me, please,” you begged, making sure to add an extra layer of tragedy to your voice. “Please, I want it so bad.”

He looked up at you, a dark glint in his eyes. Of course, he did. All was going according to plan. It wasn’t like you had known him all your life, but you were perfectly aware of one thing. He could never resist your dirty talking and begging.

“Please?” you bat your eyelashes ever so longingly at him.

“Is that so?” He was now straightening up. His black pupils were dilated, and he was looking at you with the expectation of a loyal puppy waiting for his treat. You grabbed the front hem of his pants and pulled him towards you. In a moment, you had unzipped the material for him.

“I want you to fuck me like you did the first time we met. At the party,” you said. “Do you ever think about it, too?”

“Fuck, of course I do,” he said. Faster than you could register, he was ripping a condom wrapper and sliding it onto his free length. His cock stood angry and hard against his stomach. Perhaps your dramatic words weren’t so far-fetched. You couldn’t wait for him.

“Then do it, please,” you said. “Right now, this pussy is all yours. Use it the way it should be used.”

He muttered a swear under his breath and you knew he was in the palm of your hand. His hot breath fanned your neck as he bent over you, cock aligned with your exposed core. For a moment his length slid through your wetness, and he groaned at the warmth that was about to engulf him.

“I’m so fucking wet,” you moaned. “And all for you.”

You would have been lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the exaggerated show you were putting on for him as much as he did. Although, you weren’t sure whether you were allowed to call it exaggeration, at all. Your walls clenched around nothing as the tip of his cock touched your juices and he eyed you like he could’ve eaten you up right then and there.

When he finally entered you, he instantly sighed. His eyes were shut tightly as he dealt with the impact of feeling you around his shaft. A small spark of triumph went through you. That was, until he pushed your legs up and snapped his hips against yours. A sharp, sudden burst of pleasure shot through you and the coil in your stomach tightened all at once. You suspected your plan was backfiring slightly. Your words not only appealed to him and his famished mind and body. They also got to your head, and there you were, barely able to contain yourself under a load of blind hunger.

“You want me to fuck you senseless, huh?” he asked. His words went straight to your core. Nonetheless, you had a goal to work towards and you weren’t set on giving up.

“Yes, oh my god,” you whimpered. “That’s all I’m asking for. Please, I know you can. You always fuck me so well.”

In response, he rammed his body into yours so abruptly, you gave off a noise of surprise and pleasure at the same time. He bent his upper body over yours to support himself. His hands lay flat on the seat on both sides of your head. His thrusts made your legs shake now and then, when his cock hit that one spot inside of you. It was causing you to see entire galaxies on the inside of your eyelids. When you blinked up at him, the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. Darkness had always suit him better than the golden sunset, either way. The muscles in his arms flexed and his eyebrows furrowed, and for a moment you called victory yours. But you couldn’t be sure for longer than a moment.

Because from one second to another he straightened up and slowed his thrusts. The gradualness had something equally as striking. He dragged his cock through your scarlet walls and his fingers found your clit. You drew out a ragged breath and cursed him for regaining the upper hand. Yet, you quickly abandoned the thought of defeat. When you allowed yourself to feel the pleasure, every last thought vanished at last. You moaned and whimpered helplessly. Without overthinking, you wrapped your hand around his wrist. He shot you a confused smirk.

“Too much, baby?” he said. “Think you won’t be able to handle it? A shame. It would really be too bad if you lost. You were doing so well up to now.”

You swallowed, hard. His patronizing voice tugged at your nerves and yet you loved when he spoke to you this way during sex. And he was aware of it – hence his knowing grin.

“Don’t stop moving,” you asked him to keep up his thrusts. “It’s not fair, otherwise.”

“Oh no. I would never dare break the rules,” he said.

He did as you said, and it only made things more mind-consuming for you. You were again reminded of the small tornado raging in the pit of your belly, threatening to consume you all over. It was only a matter of time. But what he could do, you could do better.

“Do you like fucking me in my skirt?” you taunted him, blinking ever so sweetly. Your eyes were dripping honey as you put on your most innocent gaze. “Am I pretty like this?”

“You’re the prettiest,” he muttered, biting his lip as if he was stopping a thousand moans from spilling out. “So. Fucking. Hot.”

“If I wear this skirt to class tomorrow, and you see me in the halls, will you think of this moment?” you asked. His fingers on your clit were shaky and moving unevenly. You might have been digging your own grave along with his. You didn’t care. Too many lectures you had wasted, barely able to concentrate because of the boy on top of you.

“Definitely. You weren’t wearing that earlier, at the restaurant,” he said. You wondered how many people had ever seen him this way – utterly breathless, all his cool vaporizing at once.

“Good observation,” you said, but you were struggling with your words as much as he was unable to keep calm. What was meant to sound lazy and seductive had morphed into a whimper and small sighs. “I wasn’t. I- I put it on just for you.”

He cursed again and abandoned all his remaining self-control. His grip on you was iron-tight and you clenched your fists. Oh, how you wished you could have buried your head into a pillow, or better even, the crook of a neck. Instead, you moaned his name almost soundlessly and searched for his dark eyes.

“Say my name again,” he demanded, like it was his last request on earth. So, you obeyed, only because you would have done anything for him right now, if it meant that he would keep fucking you that way.

“Oh my- my god,” you moaned. “Please don’t stop, fuck-“

“You look so hot right now, baby,” he groaned. “Shit- I could come just looking at you.”

“Then do it,” you said. Challengingly, you both smirked at each other. It lasted only the blink of an eye. You felt your insides twist before you could have prevented it. And all of a sudden, you crashed. Your intense orgasm erupted, and it took you several seconds to realize it, but then you heard it. His high-pitched moans, quiet and curse-stricken, could only mean one thing. You weren’t the only one, and therefore not the first to reach your high. A content smile spread on your face as his messy thrusts went on for a short while and you bathed in the remaining moments of bliss.

Silence set in as you both kept still to catch your breaths. You worried he would pin the loss on you, nonetheless, and inwardly braced yourself for his accusations. But to your surprise, he only laughed and collapsed on top of you. His breath tickled your neck slightly.

“We’ll be splitting the bill, I suppose?” he said. He straightened up to look you in the eyes playfully.

“Looks like it,” you said. You guessed his fighting spirit had been appeased and his energy had been spent on better things than arguing with you. You never minded it.

~

“Did you have a nice study session? Does the library lady assume you’re homeless and actually living there, yet?” Chohee teased as you entered your shared kitchen. She was typing on her phone but looked up when you only laughed.

“Is that a hickey?” she asked, and you knew you were done for. “What exactly is it you were studying? H/N’s body?”

“I guess I should tell you. Sooner or later, you’ll know,” you relented.

“Tell me what? Oh my god. Are you guys dating? Are you dating H/N?”

“No! You know I have no time for a boyfriend,” you said. “But…we’ve been hooking up.”

“Damn girl,” she said. “What do you have on him that he keeps coming back?”

“Excuse me? Am I really that boring of a company?”

“No. You’re the best company I could ever ask for, obviously,” she said, smiling at you. “But you remember his reputation. He sleeps with the same girl only once.”

“It’s just a stupid rumor,” you said. “Besides, we’re not just hooking up. He’s my friend. You already knew that.”

“Friend, huh?” Chohee asked. “Alright. So, you’re telling me he can hang out with you without trying to get it on?”

“He can, actually. And let me tell you, he’s cool. And pretty funny, too,” you said. She raised her eyebrows at you. “We’ve set some rules. We hook up, but also hang out as friends. Neither is allowed to be upset when the other turns down sex. We can both hook up with anyone else, still. No jealousy, no attachments. Just a good time.”

“Alright,” Chohee nodded. “If you’re so close, do you think you could introduce me to some of his friends sometime?”

You laughed, nodding. Chohee and H/N had quite some things in common, you realized then. Maybe that’s why you liked the two of them so much.

“Let’s see how long that lasts, then. Don’t wrap him too tightly around your finger, or he might trip and fall,” she winked. It was your turn to raise your eyebrow. Whatever she might have been insinuating – you had zero plans of making it reality. (Yet.)

[h0neypjm]

Confident 02 | jjk

↳ Summary: After giving Jungkook the best suck of his life he’s left wondering if what you said was true. Was it really your first time? ‘Cause Jungkook thinks you might’ve lied.

↳ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, college au, fuckboy! jk, our fav cheeky virgin reader!

↳ Rating: 18+

↳ Word count: 8.8k

↳ Warnings: swearing, mentions of past toxic relationship, mentions of being pressured into sex, mentions of body image, mentions of stds, Jungkook being very confused, no smut in this part

↳ a/n: here it is !!! thank you for all the love for the first part, i hope you enjoy this part ! please feel free to leave any feedback <3 

↳ Series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Previously...

“She said it's her first time.” He pauses, looking up at his friends' concerned faces. “I think she might’ve lied.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Jungkook groans, cradling his head before banging it on the table. The utensils on the table rattle and clang, bringing unwanted attention to his mini breakdown. Taehyung is quick to place his hand under Jungkook's forehead just as he goes in for another blow. “Ok, Jungkook- Jungkook!” Jimin giggles beside him. “Fucking stop, people are staring.”

Jungkook pauses and subtly peeks out of his long bangs, checking to see that Taehyung’s words were indeed true. He breathes out and sits up in his chair, fixing his shirt to play off that he wasn’t just having a mental meltdown.

Jimin rolls his eyes, “soooo are you gonna talk now, cause’ I have a horrible headache and you’re really not helping.”

Jungkook nods opening his mouth to speak. “Alright so uh, I met a girl last night and-”

“I thought you went home?” Taehyung shoves Jimin’s shoulder and Jungkook glares, “yeah, well that clearly didn’t happen.” He rubs his temples, “could you do me a favour and let me speak first, and then you can ask the questions. Ok?”

The two boys nod, settling into their seats as Jungkook delves back into his story.

“Alright so anyways, I saw this girl and like, I haven’t ever seen her before? She was literally perfect”. He exhales looking at nothing at particular as he continues. “Gorgeous face, prettiest lips and oh! speaking of her lips, God the way she sucked-”

Despite what Jungkook said earlier, Taehyung feels the need to intervene. “Ok as much as I love a good suck myself, I need you to stop here, we don’t need the graphics.” Jimin nods in agreement even though it’s clear he’s not paying an ounce of attention. Jungkook smirks at the memory, but it soon drops as he remembers one tiny detail. He places his hands on the table, total seriousness etched onto his face. “But here’s the kicker, she said it was her first time.”

Confusion. 

“So did you or did you not take her virginity?”Jungkook crosses his arms. “No, after that she just up and left.” “Wait, fuck”, Jungkook suddenly realises, “I didn’t even make her cum”, he groans and Taehyung bursts into laughter. This finally garners Jimin’s attention, his dazed eyes squinting. “Who’s the girl?” Jungkook sighs, “if you were listening before you would’ve heard me say that I don’t know her.” Jimin leans forward,“well can you at least describe her? I pretty much know everyone who attended the party”

Jungkook doesn’t have to think that hard. “She was wearing this plaid skirt and like a white top-” Jimin’s eyes widen, “Holy shit, Y/N?! Man, Jin’s gonna kill you.” This makes Jungkook pause, thoughts running back to the text he had received from Jin. “Wait, they’re not a thing are they?” Jimin chokes, “God no, they’ve been family friends since like forever, Jin’s practically her protective older brother.”

That explained his text earlier. Jungkook furrows his brows, more questions beginning to arise and spill out of his mouth. “How come I’ve never met her and if she’s a virgin, then how- how did-”, Taehyung cuts in, “dude she’s done other things before.” More confusion. “And how would you know that?” Taehyung smirks, shrugging as he gets up out of his chair. “I'm gonna get a drink, Jimin, you want anything?” God, his head is spinning. “Sure, you know my usual.”

It was the way Taehyung spoke too casually, like your lifestyle choices were common knowledge. How the fuck hasn’t he met you, yet his friends seem to be well acquainted with your existence? “What the fuck was that look?” He focuses on Taehyung from where he orders his drinks. “Did you see it Jimin? Kinda sus.”

Jimin remains nonchalant, blowing a strand of hair out of his sight before answering one of Jungkook’s urgent queries. “Jin never introduced you to her because well…” He looks Jungkook up and down with an unimpressed look. “You would get your grimy hands on her immediately. And Then after that, It’s like she never existed ” Jungkook opens his mouth, rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t argue with me boy, the second you met her, you already wanted her on your dick, did you not?”

Jungkook is shocked to say the least, jaw hanging open as Taehyung makes his way back to the table, drinks in hand. “Oh God, what did you tell him?” Jungkook slams his fist on the table, yet again grabbing the attention of people around them. “That is not true! I have standards, and what about you two. You guys are just as bad.” He points accusingly at the bruises peeking out of Taehyung’s loose shirt, “Look at Tae! Those hickies are probably a combination of the three girls he fucked last week!”

Jimin doesn’t want to get kicked out of the cafe, so he attempts to calm down a soon to be raging Jungkook. “Look, to put it nicely, you’re a heartbreaker, you lead girls on whereas Tae and I actually tell people we’re not interested in anything more than a hookup.”

Jungkook seems to understand where he’s coming from. He can admit, he does have quite the reputation if the amount of times he’s been slapped in the face says anything. But now, with this newfound information, he can also admit that you’ve certainly intrigued him, that was for sure.

Jungkook wants to see you again.

Not for a rump in the sheets, but rather a friendly conversation. 

It was just his luck that he had heard through the grapevine that you had been invited to one of Jin’s small pool party get togethers. If Jungkook was being honest, he’s quite excited to be within your vicinity again but he knows he needs to keep his cool. Especially after the series of death threats and slaps on the neck from Jin. He shudders at the memory.

And so, Jungkook prepares himself more than he usually does. He wants to do it right this time. No flirty teasing, just friendly innocent conversation. He makes sure to carefully pick out the right swim shorts that display the thickness of his thighs. Not for any sexual gain, more so to show off the hours spent at the gym in hopes that maybe he can get you to become more interested in him as he is to you. He sounds desperate, and he’s sure you’re not that materialistic, but he has this nagging want to impress you somehow. He huffs and does a few pushups, for extra measure of course.

He’s not sure as to why his brain decided to make him act this way. You’re more or less a stranger to him. However, when Jungkook begins his short journey to Jin’s house he really lets himself think, which usually isn't a good idea. 

Jungkook doesn’t know you, but you’ve definitely left an imprint in his mind which makes you all the more fascinating. It’s news to him that you seem to be very close to his small circle of friends which is probably thanks to your deeply rooted friendship with Jin. That new piece of information had been bugging him since the day he met up with Taehyung and Jimin. Surely his reputation couldn’t be the only reason why you’ve never met him. Right?

Parking his car in Jin’s enormous driveway, he makes his way up to the grand front door. Sometimes he wishes he could live a life like Jin. He grew up being fed with a silver spoon his whole life. Having everything paid for instead of rolling in the miseries of college student debt.

Once Jungkook makes his way into the large house, he sets down the drinks he had brought onto the kitchen counter and watches his best friends goof around and enjoy the summer sun with a warm grin. He chuckles quietly when Jin pushes Jimin and his perfectly styled hair into the pool. Jimin screams a slur of curses while Jin quickly runs beside a sleeping Yoongi for protection.

Slipping out of his loose oversized shirt, Jungkook scans the entirety of Jin’s backyard, looking for the face that has been haunting him since that fateful night. She’s not here. He reexamines the pool seeing nothing but the chaotic mess of his favourite people, and he sighs. Just as he prepares to step out into the blazing sun, the sound of his stomach growling stops him in his tracks. 

Thinking about you made him nervous. So nervous that his stomach couldn’t bear the thought of breakfast. However, after the realisation that you hadn’t arrived just yet, makes him do a full one eighty, long strides taking him to Jin’s expensive fridge.

His head is already deep into the fridge when he hears the sound of the sliding door opening, revealing a dripping Jin with a small scowl on his face. It seems Jimin finally got his revenge. “I’m starving you got any leftovers?” Jungkook queries, his head popping out from the cool air of the fridge.

Jin grabs a fresh towel and whacks it against Jungkook’s naked back. “What’s the point of even asking when you’re already going through my damn fridge!” Jungkook flashes Jin an innocent grin and glows when he discovers a small bowl of Chinese takeout. 

It very quickly dawns on Jungkook that in order to enjoy a nice warm meal, he would need to heat it up. His stomach all but roars, not used to the lack of food in its system and Jungkook wants to cry. He wants to cry and it's not from the angry hunger pains, but rather something extremely laughable. He has to use a fucking microwave. 

You’re running late, there’s sweat running down your brow and you feel like your arms will fall off any second. The weight of snacks and alcohol you had brought making you stagger as you finally enter Jin’s enormous home.

The one and only thing that’s on your mind is the refreshing feeling of slipping into Jin’s pool while sipping on an iced beverage. This motivates you enough to put all the strength left in your exhausted being to speedily walk into the kitchen and throw everything onto the counter. 

“AHH FUCK!” You flinch at the sudden scream, hugging your body protectively. Jungkook slowly pops out from behind the other side of the counter, his doe eyes big and wide. “You fucking scared me Jesus!” He exclaims, running a hand through sweaty bangs.

The air had escaped your lungs long before you could utter your next sentence as the sight before you has you freezing. There he was, Jeon Jungkook in all his glory. Tanned skin and taut muscle sculpted by the Gods. You didn’t mean to stare, but how could you not! Your eyes had a mind of their own. He’s glorious, every single part of him, and you’re not even afraid to admit it. Your eyes are quick to eat him up, tracing the art staining the whole of his right arm and you wonder what every swirl of ink means to him.

Jungkook coughs awkwardly, going in to scratch at his neck. You imagined he would tease you about your obvious ogling, but it never came. Strange. “Why were you hiding?” You ask, dropping your gaze from his body in order to arrange the snacks into neat piles, using it as an excuse to slowly step closer to him. “Oh! Uh-”, he scratches his head, looking down at his feet before jumping five feet into the air, a startled gasp leaving his lips when the timer of the microwave goes off. 

You burst into laughter and Jungkook flushes in embarrassment. Jin had told you about Jungkook’s embarrassing fear of microwaves but you never thought you would see it first hand. You hold in the laughs that tickle your throat and try to settle him down by lightly touching his shoulder. He flinches at your touch.

“Are you okay?” You’re really close to him now. Your chest is practically pressed up against his and Jungkook gulps. How was it possible that you could look even more stunning than the last time he saw you? Your cheeks are glowing from the soft golden rays of the afternoon sun and the way you look up at him, your soft smile curling makes his head spin.

“Yeah, I’m good”, he breaks eye contact in embarrassment. “Sorry, just uh, microwaves are scary you know?” You giggle up at him. Is this really Jungkook? The Jungkook you’ve seen flaunting a new girl every week just to abruptly break her heart when he can’t promise anything more than sex? 

You’re not complaining, he’s quite adorable like this.

You’re not too sure why his personality has the sudden switch up. It could possibly be the fact that he’s with his closest friends and doesn’t feel the need to put up his playboy persona. Although, the way he blushes when he looks at you plays a different story. Do you make him nervous? Surely not, if the memories of that heated night are anything to go by.

“So uh, are you gonna head into the pool?” His empty stomach is long forgotten as he gestures to the large backyard, you nod up at him excitedly. It’s then Jin decides to bust back into the kitchen, a stern gaze set on his face. “Y/N, can I speak with you for a minute?” Jungkook cautiously takes a step away from you, your bodies no longer close to each other and you notice this with a small frown.

“Yeah, sure”, you relent walking over to Jin who places a protective arm around your shoulders. Unknowingly to you, Jin traps Jungkook down with a hard stare and signals Jungkook to go outside, to which he accepts with a nod.

“I know what you’re gonna say, and no I do not see him like that”, you cross your arms defensively. Jin sighs, “I just don’t wanna see you get hurt again.” He places his hands on your shoulders, full lecture mode on. “Let’s face it, you’re a hopeless romantic, I can’t trust that you won’t do something stupid, but you and Jungkook… You’re both important friends of mine and-” 

You’ve heard his overprotective brotherly speech plenty of times, “I know, and I’m so thankful that you’re looking out for me. I just don’t see the harm in befriending him, you’ve never let me speak to him before.” Jin releases his hold on your shoulders to fix the mess of his wet hair, “and there's a reason for that.”

Why was he so damn hard-headed. Jin loves Jungkook like he loves his family. It just didn't make any sense to you that Jin could approve of their friendship but when it comes to you, he completely shields you away from any interactions with the so called playboy. 

“When are you going to stop protecting me from boys?” Jin senses your frustration immediately. “I may be younger than you, but I’m also an adult just like you. An adult that can make her own choices.” You exhale slowly, “You’ve let me befriend your whole group and they’ve been nothing but wonderful to me, I don’t see the wrong in getting to know Jungkook.” 

Jin lets his guard down. You do have a point, maybe he was being a little too overprotective. He gives you a soft smile, you look away. 

“You’re right, I am in no position to dictate your decisions and who you choose to hang around with, it was wrong of me to treat you like that. Jin looks out into the pool, watching Jungkook tackle Taehyung. “I’m sorry I was a bit too harsh, Jungkook’s a good kid, he just got into the wrong crowd at first. Although, you gotta promise to tell me if he hurts you, cause he knows I’ll beat his ass.” 

You laugh accepting his apology, “are you sure about that? He’s a literal muscle pig.” You both begin to make your way outside and Jin shoves you slightly, “hey! You know I’m right.” Jin shakes his head and brings you into a comforting hug. “Yeah, yeah whatever.” He rolls his eyes, you beam up at him and together you walk out into the warm sunlight.

It hadn’t even been a second since you stepped outside, and already Yoongi’s long term girlfriend, Jieun is squealing your way. “Y/N! I’m so happy you're finally here, the amount of testosterone out here was starting to make me feel faint.” You giggle at her exasperated tone, pulling her into a tight hug. 

Nonchalantly you peel off your flowy sundress, it’s stickiness from your sweat making you cringe. “I missed you last week, why didn’t you come to class?” Jiuen pouts, “I'm sorry bub, I somehow caught a cold, but I trust you have some notes for me.” 

The way Jieun flutters her lashes at you innocently forces a roll from your eyes. Slathering sunscreen onto your arms, you reprimand her, “I swear you’re only using me for my notes, you literally never listen in class! Can you get my back please?”

She hums while you turn around, her small hands kneading sunscreen from your shoulder bones to the small dip in your back. Jieun continues to blabber on about the joys of life, not even checking if you’re listening to a single word she says. Instead your eyes are zeroed in on a certain someone.

Your staring is blatantly obvious but you don’t care. It’s only when Taehyung spots your burning gaze with a small smirk does he signal Jungkook to turn around to meet your flirty grin.  

Holy shit

The sun does a real great job of highlighting the gorgeous curves of your body adorned in quite possibly the smallest baby blue bikini he’s seen on a woman. Your breasts practically spill out of the tiny triangle cups and the pretty colour compliments your skin beautifully. 

Whilst Jungkook can admit you have one of the hottest bodies he’s seen in a while, his eyes surprisingly don't linger on your delicious curves for too long. Instead, he finds himself utterly enamoured by the way your eyes crinkle slightly when you smile prettily at him, your cheeks glowing with it. 

It suddenly dawns on him that you are the first girl that has truly enchanted him, and no, your ridiculously gorgeous body had little to do with it. 

Jungkook does not mind this change one bit. 

So, instead of staring at you like a gaping goldfish, he matches your flirtatious body language with a boyish grin and a small wave. His previous nerves dissipating only to be replaced by confidence and polished charm. He doesn’t want to scare you off with his sudden look of epiphany just yet, but the new unfamiliar feeling you give him is surely doing exactly that.

“My, my, Yoongi wasn’t lying.” Jieun stifles a giggle when she notices how Jungkook’s attention has steered towards you and only you. You’re quick to turn around, brows furrowed. “What are you on about?” 

“Oh you know… You and Jungkook”

You grimace, tired of the repeated topic of conversation. “Just because I sucked his dick once does not mean we're a thing” 

“Oh really? He’s asked me an awful lot of questions about you I was beginning to think otherwise”

“Wait, really?”

Jieun has the widest cheshire grin plastered on her face, it's starting to look quite unsettling.

“Really.”

You’re thoroughly shocked to say the least. You thought your fast, fleeting blowjob, sort of, was nothing special. A usual escapade to get his daily fill. Ordinary. Unmemorable.

However, it seems to be quite the opposite.

Jieun grabs your hand and swings it back and forth, exactly like a mother would do, although she’s merely two years older than you. “I know Jin’s been up your ass about Jungkook and frankly I don’t blame him he’s still a little shit from time to time but, he’s actually quite fun to be around and honestly I think his playboy tendencies seemed to dial down a bit since he met us.” The two of you giggle quietly amongst each other, quick feet making your way closer to the pool to avoid the scorching pavement.

Your toes are the first to dip into the pool and you practically moan at the cold water melting away the blistering haze that sticks onto your skin. The water is icy at your waist and you love it. “So my advice would be not to worry about him, instead it's his little army of plastic bimbos that you should watch out for.” 

“Ahh, internalised misogyny. We love to see it.” 

Jieun acknowledges you with a hum as the two of you float around the calming abyss. She then swims closer to you, nodding her head into the direction of a lonely Jungkook, who lazily stares at your alluring form. “I think your loverboy over there wants to talk to you.”

Jieun swims away before you can protest, leaving you to face the handsome man before you. His eyes are round and docile, yet his stare is tantalising, it pulls you in as if he’s slowly reeling you in with a rope. 

The water delicately ripples around your body when you approach him and you internally sigh in awe at the striking features of his stunning face. You want to use this opportunity to finally get to know him, and perhaps form a new friendship. 

You take note of the lack of Jin’s hawk-like eyes or for better the lack of any eyes on the two of you. You’re alone, huddled into one of the far corners of the pool, your conversation private, just for two pairs of ears. 

You open your mouth to speak, “So-”

“I-”

An uncomfortable silence stills the air and you both halt your words to giggle quietly amongst yourselves. God, this is awkward. 

“You go first”, You offer, tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Jungkook follows the subtle movement of your fingers before taking a deep breath. 

“I feel like we should discuss the elephant in the room”

You're stunned. “Huh?”

“You know… That Friday night?”

Of course you knew what he was referring too, yet you wondered why as you honestly didn’t think that night had much impact on the man. 

With a raised brow you ask, “What about it?”

“I’ve just had a lot of... thoughts”

You scratch your head feeling puzzled. You’re sure Jungkook has had better blowjobs in his lifetime. Hell, Jungkook did most of the work that night. “Do you usually discuss the past hookups you have, or am I just lucky today?”

You’re teasing him, nevertheless Jungkook tilts his head back towards the sky. All he wants is clarification, only this conversation is heading down an awkward path, so he decides to spit out what’s been bothering him for the past few days.

“Okay listen, I know this is odd to say, but ever since that night, It’s like I can’t get you out of my head.”

Your ego inflates at his statement and you smirk. You knew you could suck dick well, but according to Jungkook you seem to have quite the talent.

You smile proudly, “damn, look at me go, I can’t believe I have the campus playboy wrapped around my finger.”

Jungkook scoffs, both in annoyance and embarrassment because shit, he could have worded that differently, now he sounds like the clingy girls he fucks.

“Yeah, yeah let’s not pretend like I was the only one enjoying myself here. Weren’t you the one practically begging to be touched?” 

You’re amused. “Weren’t you the one who couldn’t make me cum. Yet came from their own handjob?”

Jungkook tongues his cheek and looks away. The way you speak so casually intimidates him. No girl has ever spoken to him this way, in fact, Jungkook’s the one who usually likes to tease. He can slowly feel the creeping heat alighting his cheeks and God does he hope you don’t notice.

You patiently wait for Jungkook’s reply, a sly grin adorned on your pretty face. However, Jungkook doesn’t say anything, rather he frowns and immaturely splashes water at your face. 

“Jungkook!” You sputter, wiping at your face to rid of the chlorine in your eyes. “What the fuck was that for?”

He shrugs, “sorry my hand must’ve slipped”

You don’t take that for an answer, your petty nature crawling out as you splash him back harder than he had done. “Hand slipped, my ass.”

You cross your arms smugly, a small laugh blossoming out of your mouth when Jungkook cutely rubs at his eyes. 

It’s after a minute when you realise Jungkook hasn’t stopped furiously rubbing his eyes. The circular motions of his hand move so intensely that it begins to look painful and irritating. “Fuck, it stings”, he exclaims in agony.

Shit, you inwardly curse, gently touching his wrist, concern lacing your features because you didn’t think getting chlorinated water in one's eye would sting that much. You analyse his facial expressions closely and you wince at the redness surrounding his eyes from his harsh rubbing. 

On the contrary, Jungkook knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s competitive and won’t back down from a fight, even if it’s just fun banter, so he continues his little scheme just for the fun of it and hides his small grin under his large hands.

You’re now slightly panicked, “fuck, Jungkook I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit the water that hard I-”

Jungkook cracks.

Ever so slowly, he peeps his eyes out at you and watches with a mischievous smirk as your face morphs from alarmed to annoyed in less than a millisecond.

You tighten your grip on his wrist and attempt to slap his hard chest with your free hand, however Jungkook’s reflexes are fast and he grasps your hand tightly, a teasing glint in his eye. 

“You little shit-”

All of a sudden a loud holler is heard from the front door, rousing a relaxed Jin out of his chair as he sprints while simultaneously yelling at the ruckus being made. It’s then a stampede of both familiar and unfamiliar faces come crashing in. Some jump straight into the pool to cool off from the blazing sun while others rush to the table of assorted alcohol, desperate to get an ounce of it in their system.

Word seemed to go around about Jin’s supposed small get-together unbelievably fast, causing the once tranquil Kim Seokjin into a raging volcano. 

You’re pressed right up against Jungkook’s solid chest and he surprisingly pays you no mind, even though your perky tits are deliciously pushed up perfectly against his body. Jungkook’s eyes are not settled on them, rather he pays close attention to the amount of people dangerously plunging into the pool at a fast rate.

Jungkook protectively hugs your shoulders to shield you from the rowdy party goers who definitely do not understand the definition of personal space. Your heart swells when he then delicately places your head in the crook of his neck and wraps an arm around your fairly exposed body, essentially guarding you from frantic wet limbs and ignorant individuals.

You feel comfortable and safe, so comfortable that you wouldn’t mind staying like this for a while if it weren’t for the throng of college students delving into the cooling water. 

Jin’s house begins to fill with unexpected guests very quickly and you wonder how Jin is handling the situation. You suppose not very well when you see him whipping people with towels, red ears making an appearance and his booming voice following him.

Jungkook wants to get out and he’s sure you feel the same way which is why he smoothly slots his hand into your own, long fingers wrapping around your hand to carefully pull you through the growing crowd of people in the pool.

Whilst pushing past a variety of college students you are met with many stares, even worse, numerous envious eyes and whispers of possible gossip. You try your best to avoid their gazes, the hard stares reminding you of the last time Jungkook held your hand to push through groups of people. 

Water drips down the curves of your body and lands in little pools around you when you step out of the pool. At this point you’ve garnered even more turning heads that examine every inch of your skin closely. Their stares itch your skin and you feel akin to an animal kept in a zoo enclosure, curious eyes breaking down your confidence, you want to hide. 

You usually like to pride yourself on your confidence because you know you’re hot and you know your worth. It had taken many failed relationships to build up your self love and nourish the scars and memories of questioning if you’re good enough. 

You fight on and squeeze Jungkook’s hand, mostly for some sort of reassurance. It shocks you when he astonishingly squeezes back and softly rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s almost as if he knows how you’re feeling. 

You glance up at him shyly. Jungkook keeps his eyes straight ahead. He smiles a different kind of smile than the one he had directed to you a few hours ago. His lips are in a permanent smug smirk. His usual playboy smile. He flashes it at everyone as if he’s asking for their approval and even goes in to high-five a few people who are unrecognisable to you. You soon realise that this is what Jungkook thrives on. People, validation and his notorious reputation he’s created for himself.

Jungkook lights up at the presence of crowds, flirty smiles and people calling his name, whereas you want to crawl into your skin and run away because from the perspective of outsiders it looks like you’re just another one of Jungkook’s flings that will soon be forgotten by next week.

Well, you hope you won’t turn out to be one of them.

At last you find yourself away from the heart of the party, your dress in hand but your body still wet nonetheless. Jungkook is in the same state as yourself, droplets of water dribbling from his dark hair and onto the timber flooring. He leans into your ear, “I’ll go get us some towels, stay here.”

He’s gone before you can reply, making small conversation when he passes by various people, his boisterous laugh echoing down the halls. 

You’re alone now, and defenceless at that. There’s not many people you know here, besides the few odd people you share a class with and some sleazy frat boys that hold a similar reputation to Jungkook. You want to find Jieun so you can hug her or maybe ask her if she can take you home, but she is nowhere to be found.

Fuck, You remember leaving your bag on the kitchen table, unsupervised with many personal belongings stowed away inside. Using your dress to cover the most of your exposed skin like a blanket, you stride over to the kitchen and sigh in relief when you find your bag untouched and in perfect condition.

Snatching up your bag, you grab your phone and immediately text Jieun to find out where the fuck she’s hiding, but there’s a part of you that knows she’s probably fucking Yoongi somewhere. Traitor.

Jungkook finds you to be in a completely different part of the house than where he asked you, one towel wrapped around his neck and the other draped over his arm. You haven’t noticed him yet, your frantic fingers texting a treacherous Jieun, “princess, didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

You’re startled. Switching your phone off you stick your arm out, waiting for Jungkook to pass you the towel but he doesn't. Jungkook gently pushes your shoulders so that you turn away from him and carefully wraps the towel around your body like a cape. You hold the edges of the fabric to help him hug the towel around yourself, keeping it tighter to your body.

Your voice is quiet, “thank you.”

Jungkook leans down to meet your face, “What was that?”

Even though Jungkook had been in the pool longer than you, his cologne still sticks to his skin and you kind of want to breathe more of it in, but that would be weird.

“Oh, I said thank you.”

You’re close to him again, although this time he towers over you with a look almost identical to a predator meeting its prey.

Jungkook’s eyes flirt around your face and descend. He shamelessly drinks up the swell of your breasts and whatever skin is visible amidst the fluffy towel around you. It’s strange. You had noticed Jungkook doing the exact same thing when you were alone with him. The difference though was that his looks were cursory as if he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Now, It's like a new persona had taken over him and he was ready to pounce at any sign of a green light. 

He’s stuck in a trance, fuckboy tinted glasses fogging his vision.

You force out a giggle and playfully shove his shoulder, “my eyes are up here, you know.” 

His reply comes lighting fast, he’s definitely been in this position before. “I know, just admiring them.”

Jungkook wants to hit himself the second his reply spewed out of his mouth. He desperately wants to reassure your unimpressed (though also very cute) face, because goddammit he wanted to be respectful. Jungkook knows he has a tendency to slip into a new personality when the right amount of people hyped him. Call it being two faced, he knows it's one of his fatal flaws. 

“I'm sorry.” 

He says it genuinely. 

Jungkook only just got to properly meet you, he doesn’t want to give you the wrong impression! He can admit, your first ever official meeting (moreso hookup) wasn’t ideal, yet the way Jin dragged him through the mud undoubtedly made him understand that you weren’t the type of woman that should ever undergo the treatment he puts his hookups through. Scratch that, any woman shouldn’t be treated the way Jungkook treats them.

You're now fully covered under the towel, not a sliver of skin on display. You don’t know if his apology was genuine. “It’s ok I guess, I expected nothing less from you anyways.”

“Right.” He’s messed up.

You clear your throat, “I’m gonna go get changed, maybe look for Jieun unless-”

Jungkook finishes your sentence, “-she’s fucking Yoongi.”

You exhale, “yeah.”

“Jeon Jungkook!”

The voice makes you halt at its familiar tone. Jungkook doesn’t notice your growing panic as he too freezes in his spot. 

No, it can’t be.

The world plays in slow motion when he walks into your line of vision. His assertive stride, smug smile and sharp eyes.

Jeong Suho.

His name explodes inside of you like a blistering fire yet your heart feels ice cold. He is the very man you have spent weeks trying to avoid and even more trying to get out of your head.

The world plays at a normal speed when he approaches Jungkook. Their facial expressions are the same, the way they greet each other is the same. They’re practically the same breed of fuckboy, born from the same mother.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen you around.”

Jeong Suho was a person that Jungkook didn’t really mind, In fact there was a point in Jungkook’s life where he would’ve considered Suho to be one of his closest friends. They were two peas in a pod freshmen year of college. Never giving a fuck about their education and always present for any opportunity to get completely wasted with as many girls they could possibly seduce. Nowadays, Jungkook would rather keep his distance from him.

On the contrary, you were one of the many girls that had fallen deeply for Suho’s alluring charm. You fell so hard, you thought that maybe just maybe there was a possibility that you could secure a future with him. Obviously that was not the case.

You thank your lucky stars that Jungkook was there to distract Suho while you make your haste escape. All you need to do now is somehow locate an unoccupied bathroom, preferably without having to walk in on someone getting it on, and then you could get the hell out of there.

You must admit, you look quite ridiculous right now. Navy blue towel wrapped tightly around your body, your small head peeking through. You could probably pass as some form of E.T cosplay right now. You don’t care if you look rude, pushing and shoving whoever stands in your way. You only have one goal and you’re so so close to succeeding-

“Wait, Y/N! Is that you?”

Fuck.

Do you run? Maybe duck behind some poor innocent student looking for a good time? You huff, you're already sticking out like a sore thumb, there’s no use in trying to hide when the enemy has already spotted you. Even worse Jungkook motions you over with a wide gleaming smile. If only he knew how much you’re dreading this interaction.

Grudgingly, you walk over, looking like an irritated gremlin with your towel still firmly secured around you. Jungkook makes matters worse by pushing the towel off your head, releasing your scruffy ball of hair. You grimace. 

“I didn’t know you knew Y/N?”

Suho sends a smirk your way. You however, glower.

“Yeah we go way back, don’t we baby?”

You force a tight lipped smile, howbeit you look as if you have a mild case of constipation. 

“Sure.” It comes out rough through gritted teeth.

Suho notes your frustration, a sly grin carving onto his punchable face. He turns towards Jungkook, seemingly blocking you from their conversation, yet you know Suho wants you to hear what he has to say.

“You know it’s a shame. Y/N’s gorgeous, ten outta ten body, knows how to put it to good use, however she never let me fuck her. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Jungkook stays silent for a minute, eyeing your shaking fists and angry eyebrows. Jungkook may be dumb, but he sure knows how to read a room, thus leading him to the conclusion that your relationship with Suho isn’t something you’re very fond of and that he should probably get you out of here.

“Uhhh no, that’s not weird at all actually. What I think is weird is the fact that you think you have this sick claim on every girl you’ve defiled and even worse, you’ve always had this strange need to chase after every virgin you see like some perverted cherry picker. Yeah, that’s weird.”

Suho laughs right in his face, spit grossly tickling his skin. “That’s rich coming from you Jeon, weren't you quite the cherry picker in your freshman days, no?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what he expected from this conversation. It definitely wasn’t this.

It's obvious that Jungkook isn’t a saint, he really fucking far from it. Although, one thing's for sure, it’s his absolute hatred for the way his brain was wired in his freshman year of college. Yes, Jungkook still remains as one of the standing campus fuckboys but he’s gained a few more brain cells since then. 

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, only to be met with Suho’s back as he turns his attention towards you.

“Y/N, darling if I were you i’d make a run for it, ya know keep your chastity intact or whatever.” His smile is saccharine sweet, though his words are sickly sour.

The months of pent up anger stored within your being bubbles and overflows like a bad science experiment. You’ve quickly decided that now’s that time to expose the shitty excuse of a man, and quite frankly you don’t care that you have an audience. Actually, an audience would make this all the better.

Your finger is strong, pointing accusingly at his broad chest. “You know what you stupid motherfucker? Don’t waltz in here with that dumb smile of yours when you know you have some disgusting cheesy infection growing down there.”

Suho’s eyes widen slightly. It was no secret he was a walking STD, just about infecting every girl that was naive enough to sit on his dick. 

Everyone at the party has definitely stopped to listen to what you have to say. You even spot Jin from the corner of your eye sending you a proud smile. “And while we're on the topic of cheese, Learn how to wash your fucking dick!”

You don’t let him have a moment to speak, grabbing Jungkook’s hand and pulling him out of the house.

A few people applaud, some girls praise you on your way out. You give them no mind, you’ve had enough for tonight.   

Jungkook starts his car, no questions asked. It’s obvious to him that there’s bad blood between you and Suho. What you don’t know is that Jungkook can also relate. 

Technically there was no bad blood between them, moreso the hurtful memories and manipulation Suho put him through. To put it simply, Suho was probably the worst influence Jungkook could ever have as a vunerable freshman. 

The crunch of gravel and soft melodies that spill out of Jungkook’s radio converse with eachother and fill the defeaning silence that sits between you and Jungkook. 

Jungkook doesn’t even know where he’s going, he just drives. 

Every so often he checks up on you from the corner of his eye. Your knees stick tightly together and point away from him. Your fingers curl and uncurl, leaving cresent moons in your skin. And to finish it off, your face remains still, hostility completely washing over your features. If Jungkook didn’t know any better he would think you’d jump out of his car and make a run for it at the chance of him stopping the car.

It’s seven sniffles later when Jungkook decides he knows where he should take you.

The night sky is clear and the stars burn brightly to accompany the full round moon. It’s the perfect setting for release and maybe a screaming session if you’re up for it.

Jungkook makes a stop behind a forest of tall trees and a dirt path. You sit up immediately. 

“Where are we?” Your eyes are rimmed with tears, “I want to go home.”

Jungkook shuts the engine off, “you never told me where you live.”

“Well you never asked!”

Maybe you shouldn’t have yelled because from the looks of it, Jungkook just wants to help you out and clearly you’re not being the friendliest right now. 

You curl back into yourself, “sorry”, another sniffle.

Jungkook brings your fists into his hands and warmly opens them up. You refuse to look at him, it doesn’t deter Jungkook one bit.

Tenderly he brings a finger under your chin, gradually bringing your eyes up to his. Jungkook takes his time with you, careful to not set you off until you’re face to face with his warm eyes. 

“I brought you here because it’s apparent we both need let out some pent up steam.” He drags his fingers delicately across the curve of your chin and back into his lap. His touch is fleeting, you miss it already. “I just thought you may want to vent or just shout out into the void, it’s up to you.” You nod, fully trusting Jungkook’s intentions. “And at any time you feel like going home just say the word and I’ll take you there, okay?” 

Your heart swells in adoration at his caring nature, though you can’t help but wonder how he can have such a sudden change in personality depending on where he is and who he’s with. It’s unnerving. 

Jungkook clicks his seatbelt off and heads out the car, “put your dress back on princess, I’ll be out here waiting for you.” You mutter your confirmation and do as he asks.

The cool summer air kisses your skin and runs through your hair as you step out of the car. Jungkook is already by your side dressed in an oversize hoodie with another in his hand as well as a fuzzy blanket. 

Jungkook steps closer to you, holding the hem of his hoodie to slip over your body. Without a second thought you raise your hands causing Jungkook to chuckle at how cute you look dwarfed in his clothes.

The same cologne you smelled on his skin earlier lingers on every fibre of fabric around you. His scent is everywhere, swirling around your head, instantly calming down your anxieties. You smile at him, “Lead the way Jungkook.”

Jungkook leads you up a small hill and you notice the trees opening up to display a lush field of grass. However, the sight before you leaves you in absolute wonder. You stand completely still and take it all in. 

The night sky is dark but the city below illuminates is beautifully. Your gaze bounces over all the buildings, skyscrapers and their dazzling bright lights. It’s peaceful up here, you decide as you take a glimpse of the hundreds of tall structures looking so tiny, so ant-like.

Jungkook is settled behind you, his legs comfortably folded underneath himself. He remembers what it was like the first time he saw the view, which is why he doesn’t blame your stunned silence and glazed eyes. 

“How did you find this place?”

You find your way towards Jungkook and plant yourself right beside him. “I don’t know, I was just driving aimlessly one night and found it, It’s nice right.”

You hum, “it’s beautiful.”

Jungkook murmurs in agreement as you lie down on the woolly blanket beneath you. The stars twinkle and glimmer amongst the deep blue sky, creating a serene experience. You shut your eyes.

“I hate him.”

Jungkook looks down at you, you don’t see him though. “Suho?”

“Yeah”, you exhale deeply, “I can’t believe I had to see him again.”

Although Jungkook knows you can’t see him, he swivels his body around to face you properly. “Did you guys date or something?”

You scoff, “pffft you know Suho doesn’t date anyone.” You open your eyes, meeting a pair of round docile ones. You continue, “Suho was the first guy who every gave me an ounce of attention. Before him guys never looked my way. Jungkook remains silent, letting you pour out what’s on your mind.

“Suho had me fooled, I thought I was special to him, thought he saw something in me that was different from the others. Turns out that was his game after all”

You speak so animatedly, your hands wave around in the air, your eyebrows scrunch when the memories come back to you. “It’s stupid really, how I used to gush to him about finding the one person in the universe that was created just for me. I guess he used this as my weak point.” 

Inhale, exhale. 

“He made me believe he was that special person for me, used it as an excuse to pressure me into sex.” A tear rolls down the side of your face, falling perfectly in a straight line. “I almost gave in, but something just felt so wrong. Every time I said no he would call me terrible names, tell me that no one would want me if I never gave them what they wanted. And I believed him.”

Another tear escapes your wet orbs, Jungkook is there to wipe it this time.

“I broke it off after I found out he fucked my roommate and gave her some disease.” You chuckle, “I guess I’m lucky I never let him fuck me huh?” 

Jungkook’s heart breaks at your saddened eyes and the way Suho treated you, he sweeps a stray hair out of you face. “I think you dodged a bullet there princess, what he did to you was pure evil, no one, and especially you don’t deserve that”

You sit up, wiping remaining tears and thanking him as you go, “It’s your turn now.” You pat his thigh, “tell me why Suho got you so riled up tonight.”

Jungkook shuffles in his spot, “It’s actually kind of similar to you.”

You gasp sarcastically, “no way he pressured you into sex too?”

He laughs, eyes squeezing shut, “No, no, nothing like that.”

You lean closer to Jungkook, giving him the same attention he had given you. “My father left when my mother found out she was pregnant with me, so growing up I had no male figure present in my life. My mother stopped at nothing to give me that to the point that almost every week I’d wake up and see a new man drinking out of my favourite mug. I didn’t mind it because I was only a child and some part of me always hoped they would stay, but they never did.”

“My mom was a hopeless romantic. She held so much sentimental and idealistic views on love that it stuck to me. She always told me that there was someone special out there just for me.” You smile at the similar belief, Jungkook sighs. 

“Cut to college, Suho was the first friend I made. I had no experience with girls whatsoever, and I still held on to my mother’s faith. Whenever I talked to Suho about it he would always shut me down or make fun of me.”

“He told me that all my feelings are bullshit, and that I only felt that way because I’ve never hooked up with anyone before. Next thing I knew we were going to parties every week getting absolutely shitfaced and fucking every girl I laid eyes on.”

You nod, listening intently. “And tonight, he hit a nerve. What he said made me realise that I’m just as bad as him. He moulded me into this person and now I have a reputation.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop, “he broke my concept of love before I even got to experience it.”

You never knew Jungkook was in a place like this. You always thought he was like Suho, built to break hearts and show no emotion when it came to love. Jungkook was nothing like that. His heart was truly big, desperately longing for someone.

Placing your hand on top of his own you comfort him as best as you can, “oh, Jungkook, trust me when I tell you this, the love in your heart is not broken. Think about it, most people you’ve met have been through college right?” He nods, “there are so many other people out there that you’ve never met, soon you’ll be able to find that someone and learn how to love. I know you present yourself as this emotionless playboy, but once you let that part of you go it’ll feel so freeing.”

Jungkook stares deeply into your eyes, he’s so thankful that he decided to bring you here, he can’t contain his happiness. 

“Can I like, hug you?” Jungkook asks shyly. You smile, and it’s so big and bright Jungkook might as well be staring at the sun. Before he knows it, you’re tackling him into the most wholesome hug he’s ever had. You’re warm and you smell like vanilla, It feels like home.

“Get up”, he says abruptly, extending his arm to pull up your confused self.

“What-”, Jungkook cuts you off, “have you ever just let yourself scream?”

Jungkook has intertwined your hands together, and your heart pounds at the realisation of how well they fit together. “Well, no but I assume that’s what we’re about to do right now.”

He pulls you closer to the edge of the small hill, the view of the city sparkles right in front of you. “On the count of three, one- two- three!”

You scream, you let it all out and God does it feel refreshing.

The two of you sound utterly insane, but none you give a single fuck. You scream until your lungs burn and your throat itches you to stop.

The volume of both of your voices ring out into the night sky only for the moon, stars and yourselves. The night is still young but Jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way.

With you he lets go of everything, all the past mistakes, all the hurt because at this moment he feels like he could fly, soar into the clouds. 

He feels infinite.

Taglist <3 

@zibermuda @uskookie @jeonscandies @melaninkpops @apollukee @hollowtree10 @liliskies @madygswich @pjmochii @eggbutnotyolk @gyukult @yukiehyukie @purplepearl07 (couldn’t tag) @tae165 @youurkryptonite @94ser0da @french-myfries @zippytheshark37 (couldn’t tag) @we8joon @tearvantae​ @emrysts @inspinkyring​​

[animeangsteng]

A bad day (college AU)

▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █ █ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▄ ▃ ▂

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : A bad day (College AU)

.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎… ⋙

Warning: mini friendly theft, stress cooking, stressful/irritating day (implicit)

.

College AU!

Student! Mikey x Student! Reader + Student! Smiley x Student! Reader

The reader and they have a bad day.

.

First of all: sorry I wrote Mikey too ‘cause I the first time I read Mikey in the first part of your ask and Smiley in the second so I did both.

And now that I’m writing this blurb and the warnings I just noticed you wrote Smiley.

And now I remembered our chat.

Sorry I’m a bit of a mess.

If I got it wrong feel free to tell me and I’ll fix it!

.

<Remember to take your time>

Yeah I just got inspired a lot by it.

Especially because I had quite a bad day today so yeah.

.

<Either way I’m sure it will be amazing tbh I love your content>

🥺🥺🥺

I love you too!

I love your interactions so pls don’t disappear after this!

I beg you.

And Idk about the amazing but I hope you like it!

.

<Thank you a lot again, and I congratulate you on another milestone of 300! Keep it up, you awesome person 🙌>

Thank you on the congratulations and the compliment!

I’ve began queuing some things to be able to focus and I should have enough pieces until May if I post once every 4 days but we all know I won’t 😂🥲.

.

<I just wanna squish Smiley to death>

Who doesn’t?

Or Angry.

Or both.

Or all of Toman, honestly.

These guys needs hugs.

And a therapist.

.

250 Followers celebration here!

.

█ █ █ █ █ 100% *Tuning complete*

.

@killerqueen-tr

.

Mikey

-Huff- he sighed, throwing himself over you.

Just from that you understood he had a bad day.

He always acted like that when he did.

Not like yours had gone much better.

-Hey! You're heavy, Mikey!!!- you jokingly protested as he slid off you.

As you took your shoes off and put them away he kept whining: -Y/n-chaan!-.

Shaking your head in amusement you went and joined the blonde man-child on the couch.

With a sigh he laid his head on your lap.

Almost automatically you began stroking his hair like usual.

Humming he nuzzled against you.

There was no need for words.

He just laid there, free of any pressure, as you comforted him.

And he knew you'd tell him what and when you felt like it.

Almost scared to break the silence you whispered underbreath, just enough for him to hear: -Today my professor got mad 'cause most of the class failed the class-.

Slowly he chuckled: -She's so mean!-.

Hearing his childish tone you giggled: -She is-.

And so you two spent most of the afternoon enjoying each other's company in silence, at times interrupted by small chats and laughter.

It was nothing extraordinary but, for you two, it was enough.

.

Smiley

Frowning.

Smiley was frowning.

You had just gone back from lessons to Nahoya's dorm when you found your boyfriend playing videogames with a frown.

For a moment you almost mistook him for Angry, though he didn't have the blue hair.

As soon as he saw you he got up and smiled a bit: -Hey!-.

-Bad day?- you asked, knowing full well the annswer.

He nodded and began to walk towards the kitchen as you washed your hands and out on an apron, soon followed by him.

Smiley readily began to take ingredients out of the fridge.

-The test sucked and Souya failed his exam. Then Mikey stole the bento you made me- he began ranting, going on about the irritating thing that happened to him.

In the mean time you two cut and cooked all the kinds of Ramen you two knew.

And they were a lot.

Luckily you always kept the ingredients there in case of bad days, such as this.

As he finished ranting about his day he looked at you with a much more relaxed and genuine smile, letting you to vent.

And, sure, stress-cooking wasn't the most common or economic way to destress (especially since you two always emptied the dorm's fridge) but you two enjoyed it and that was what mattered.

Not to mention that your roommates surely didn't seem to mind.

.

As your friends ate the banquet you prepared, you pulled Nahoya in a bear hug, squeezing him from behind.

-Do you feel better now?- you asked as he gently turned to hug you back.

Without uttering a word he hid his head in the crook of your neck and slowly nodded: -Yeah. Thanks. What ‘bout you?-.

After he felt you confirm that you felt better too he just kept hugging you for a while before chuckling: -You’re gonna squeeze me to death, Y/n-.

-Sorry- you apologised, not sorry at all and most certainly not letting him go.

-‘S fine- he shrugged, simply letting the both of you hug out the last remnants of stress, tiredness and anger.

-Do we have to let go now?- you murmured.

-My arms are ‘bout to fall off!- he joked.

-Do we really have to?- you asked again.

-Yep- he confirmed.

-Okay- you replied, not moving one bit.

Great.

Now he was the one that had to get out of your hug.

And that meant only one thing: tickles!