#i must say im not sure if the giving away her wedding dress thing is even like..... a good idea thematically | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

it-was-funeral-grey · 2 years ago

Text

Again (Ghost x F!Reader)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5(wip!)

Summary: Luck had saved you from death, and now it's going to throw you back into the life that you've left behind. Call you and Simon pessimistic, but you both don't think this is going to end well.

Warnings: Just a reminder that reader's CODE NAME is Dahila, reader is wearing a dress, ooc Soap? actually im pretty sure ghost is ooc in this whole series to (idk let me know), Simon is mean to Soap, mentions of wedding dances, falling backwards, vulgarities, injuries and passing out, mention of burning, a guy that can't accept a no, mention of sexual tension.

Word count: <3.7k

Inspired by: Robbers - The 1975

"There'll be a riot, cause I know you."

Author's note: ah yes, when i don't know how to describe something or get a block, what do it do? switch perspectives!

this is terrible im sorry i really tried!

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

Soap thinks he has had enough surprises today.

It was one thing to see his LT rage at nothing. It was another thing to see his LT handle his weapons so clumsily.

But this? This takes the fucking cake.

The moment he took aim at the target's head, Ghost had decked him so hard that he was sure something had broken.

He's wearing a bulletproof vest. Do you know hard you must punch to break a bone in that thing?!

"What the FUCK, LT?", Soap exclaims.

But Ghost wasn't paying attention to him, currently engaged in a staring competition with the target.

"Dahila." Ghost whispered. He's turned to face the target, but even without looking at the tall man's face- or rather, eyes, Soap is aware that he's seeing a new side of his LT he's not sure he's supposed to.

The target - perhaps he should refer to her as Dahila now, doesn't respond. She's been chained to the chair, and Soap would have felt sorry for her had she not been his target.

"L…T?"

"Dahila, why," Ghost's voice trembles. "Why are you here?"

Soap's never heard his LT speak so softly before.

Dahila's mouth opens, but no words come out. Her face pales as she clenches her fists. She looks like she's seen a ghost.

Ok. There's clearly some history between these two, Soap realises. Tired of being ignored, he slowly picks himself up, wincing when his vest digs into his bruised chest.

"What's going on, LT?" Soap asks cautiously.

The tension was so thick it was making Soap uncomfortable. And he's a Special Ops soldier. He's dealt with worse situations without batting an eye.

Suddenly, Ghost whips around to face him, the softness in his tone now replaced with fury.

"Did you know?" Ghost fumes, stomping towards him. "Did you know the target was her?"

"The name of the target was on the file!" Soap shoots back, backing away from the angry man. "LT! What's going on?"

More enemies might come any moment now. They have to finish the job, free the guy upstairs, and leave.

Picking up the gun, Soap prepares to take aim.

"Put the gun down."

"Ghost, we gotta finish this and run."

"I said put the BLOODY GUN DOWN!"

A whimper comes from behind Ghost, cutting the argument short. In an instant, both men look back at the bound woman.

"Simon." she sobs. Her shoulders drop in what seems like relief.

"Leave us."

"What?"

"Go. Please…go," Simon sighs, shaking his head. "I'll explain everything later."

Saying 'please'? His LT was pretty much begging him to leave.

His proud, commanding LT was begging.

Running a hand through his mohawk, Soap lets out a frustrated grunt and turns to leave the basement.

Seriously. That was enough surprises for the whole damn year, and it's only January.

He didn't know.

He just clicked the confirm button the moment the job was offered. All he knew was that it was a kill mission. He had been so caught up in misery that he had forgotten to check the file about the target.

He was becoming careless.

He had accepted a job to kill her.

He had accepted a job to kill his Dahila.

A lot is going through his head right now. Shame, shock, confusion - but Simon being Simon, decides to go with the one he's most familiar with.

Anger.

But really, it's actually concern in a bad disguise. Not that Simon will admit that.

("Now, number two!" she continued, holding up two fingers. "Never, under any circumstance, attempt to access the server after you retire from service.")

Why the fuck did she do that? She knew what was coming. If anyone else had accepted the job, she'd be long dead.

She'd be gone, and he wouldn't even know.

She'd be gone, and he'll be the only one carrying their shared memories.

"What on earth were you thinking?!" Simon shouts, turning to face her. "If anyone else had been sent, you'd be dead!"

She lets out a shocked yelp, flinching at the loud sound. This stops Simon in his tracks, any anger he feels disappearing in an instant.

She's scared

She's scared of him.

And who wouldn't be? If you a were kill-on-sight target of the world's finest soldiers, you'd be wary of anybody and everybody.

Even the person you had just admitted your love for.

("Because I love you, Simon!")

"I-god, no- I," Simon lets out a defeated sigh. "I'm not going to hurt you, love. Never."

She doesn't look too convinced, teary eyes eyeing him warily.

The distrust stings, and he wants to disappear, to punish himself for scaring her, to cut his arms off to prove that he would never hurt her, but he brushes it aside.

Getting her out of here safe was his only priority right now.

Everything else is inconsequential.

("Because I love you, Simon!")

Even his own feelings.

Composing himself, he takes a deep breath. Placing his weapons onto the floor, he raises his hands, showing her that he's unarmed now.

"I'm just going to get these chains off," Simon's voice now gentler as he takes slow steps towards her. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

She doesn't take her eyes off him as he approaches her and bends down to inspect the chain.

A while ago, if anyone had told Simon that he'd have her undivided attention, he would have been over the moon.

But not like this. And Simon swears that once he gets her to safety, he's going to hunt down the motherfucker that-

No, now's not the time for this, Simon chides himself. He can deal with these feelings later. Right now, feelings will only get in the way of his judgement.

And he is NOT risking losing her over a stupid, emotionally fueled decision.

The chains are a mess, some looping through each other, others locked together using padlocks. Simon doesn't think he's going to be able to break her out of it without the proper tools. Which, of course, they didn't bring. They weren't expecting to save the target.

Which reminds him that he still has Soap to deal with. He's going to need to convince Soap to let her live. How's he going to do that?

For a split second, the idea of killing Soap and escaping with her seemed really appealing, but he quickly dismisses the thought.

He did promise Soap that'd he explain everything. He'll table the idea of killing Soap for now.

The sergeant should be upstairs, freeing the prisoner he said he found.

Standing back up, Simon walks back over to his weapons, grabbing his pistol from the pile. He hears her chair shift noisily, trying to get away from him, and he makes the mistake of turning around too fast in an attempt to reassure her quickly.

"No! Hey, wait- I'm not going to-"

But then the chair tilts back a little too much-

The pain doesn't come.

Instead, you feel the chair jerk forward. Something has stopped you from falling all the way.

Opening your eyes, the first and only thing you see is a white skull mask.

Simon.

He's so close.

He has an arm around the back of your chair, his fingers brushing against your waist. His other hand holds your head, supporting your neck. His face is right above yours. And oh, his eyes-

("Ok, a hand on my waist," you had instructed, guiding Simon's hand. "And your other hand…goes…here!"

"Love, what are you doing?"

"Ok, I'm gonna lie back now!"

"Wait-"

Ignoring his protests, you lean back, and Simon scrambles to support you.

"Ok! Now lower me more!"

"What?"

"Lower me! Like in the video!"

"What video?!"

"Like those dancers in the ballrooms! Lower me!"

You were trying to get Simon to do a dip with you. After watching a video of a couple's wedding dance, you wanted to try it.

"Lower me!"

"I don't know how!")

His eyes gaze into yours with an emotion that you can't quite name. But it feels so warm, so calming, so much so that you forget that he's actually here to kill you.

For a moment, time stands still. The space around you changes into something more familiar, more like home.

It's just you and Simon again in the living room, trying to copy that couple's wedding dance.

("Ok, bend forward…yes! I think we're doing it! Are we doing it, Si!?"

"Love, if the neighbours hear what you just said, they'd think-"

"Si!")

But it's all over too soon. Simon looks away and leans back, pulling you upright.

"Are you alright?"

You nod your head.

"I… just wanted to give you this," Simon says, picking up the pistol and handing it to you. "I need to head up for a bit to talk to the other guy."

You cautiously take the pistol. Despite not knowing how to use it, the weight feels comforting in your hand.

"Just so you feel more at ease," Simon continues. "I know you're scared and probably don't trust me, but…I'm not going to hurt you."

With that, he turns around and leaves the basement, trusting you not to shoot him in the back.

The moment you're alone, you slump into your chair, dropping the pistol into your lap.

What the fuck is happening?

Simon is here!

Simon. Is. Fucking. Here.

To kill you! To rescue you.

You should be dead now! But you're not! Whee!

Why is he here?!

After two whole years of nothing, why is he here?

Conflicting emotions pop around your brain, and you feel like your head is about to burst. You press your hands over your eyes, hoping that the pressure will relieve the tension in your head.

You feel something cold press against your face. Your engagement ring.

Max.

Oh god, you forgot about Max.

Simon finds Soap on the third floor of the building, in a small room that reeks of gasoline.

He soon finds out why. In the center of the room, passed out and tied to a pole, is a man whose jeans are soaked with the liquid.

They were going to burn the poor lad, Simon thinks, watching Soap cut the last rope.

But then, Simon realises that he's seen the man before.

(He was wearing a slick black suit, eyes glowing as he looked up at the gorgeous lady he was kneeling for. He had a ring box in one hand and the other over his heart.)

It's him.

The fiancé.

Simon has to fight the urge to pull out his lighter and-

"So, gonna tell me what's up, LT?" Soap huffs, interrupting Simon's murderous thoughts.

Good question, Johnny. What is happening?

Oh, the love of my life - who I left two years ago to go on THAT mission- is actually the agent we've been sent to kill. And lying on the floor over there, like a pathetic dog, is her new fiancé. My heart is in shambles just thinking about them together. That's why I was acting so strange earlier! Now, we can't kill her. If you try, I'll burn you together with him.

That sounds about right. Now, all he needs to do is rearrange some words and voilà! An explanation that Soap would hopefully accept.

"We can't kill her," Simon replies, unable to look the frowning sergeant in the eye. "She's…my recommendation for 141's intelligent agent spot."

Ah yes, lie to make it sound more convincing! Great job, Simon! Instead of being honest with your best friend, who you know for a fact would hear you out and help, lie! Not today, emotional vulnerability!

"I'm sorry, what?"

"She's," Simon takes a deep breath. He's in for it now. He can't take this back. "She's my recommendation for the intelligence agent spot."

"You can't be serious, LT!" Soap scoffs in disbeilef. "She violated server access rules! She's selling information!"

"We don't know if she's done that-"

"She's a kill-on-sight target!"

"Soap, I know it looks bad, but-"

A faint jingling, followed by a heavy dragging sound, interrupts the two men from arguing further.

Simon immediately lifts a finger to his lips, gesturing to Soap to prepare for a fight. Nicking a pistol from Soap's thigh holster, Simon approached the doorway as quietly as he could manage before making a sharp turn into the hallway and seeing-

Your legs really hurt.

And so do your arms, but at least they aren't bleeding. Much.

The way the chains secured you to the chair looked complicated, but you quickly realised that there were only two parts to this whole puzzle after bending and twisting around weirdly in the chair.

One: A set of chains secured your ankles together. Not so much so that your legs stuck together, but enough to make walking a no-go. However, you couldn't tell what was linking these chains shut from where you were looking.

Two: Another set of chains secured each leg to the chair legs. The chain that was doing so looped into the chains around your ankles and linked itself shut using padlocks.

Since your hands were freed, nothing was stopping you from standing up. So, your next issue was getting rid of the chair. That was easy because all you had to do was…stand up and pull the chair upwards, past the chains.

That was anti-climactic.

Throwing the chair aside, you look down to get a better look at the chains securing your ankles. After shifting around and trying not to fall over, you find the two ends were linked by a padlock with a 3-digit code.

You tried easing your feet out of the chains, but they were bound too tight. There was no way to get these off. Not unless you were willing to try passcode combinations from 001-999.

But you have to get out of here. To get to Max. You can't let those two hurt him.

So the next best alternative was to crawl which was what you were currently doing. Well, more of dragging yourself, really.

Using your arms, you managed to drag yourself to the basement ladder. And by the sheer force of will and jumping, climbed the ladder and escaped the basement.

You could hear voices coming from above. Following the voices, you painstakingly drag yourself up the stairs, each 'step' becoming more painful as bruises, cuts and scratches begin to mark your arms and legs.

All in the name of love, right? You need to save Max. Your fiancé. The love of your life.

("Because I love you, Simon!")

It was a small building, so it didn't take you much time to reach the third floor, where you managed to locate the room where the two men supposedly were.

Dragging yourself as fast as you can, you're finally a step away from the entrance when a foot nearly steps on your fingers.

Yelping in surprise, you find yourself staring up at the barrel of a gun before it is quickly retracted.

"Dahila!?"

Simon looks into the room, signalling something before kneeling next to you.

"Are you alright? How did you-"

"Don't touch him," You reach a hand into your dress pocket, pulling out Simon's pistol. "Where is he?"

"Easy love, put-"

"Don't 'Love' me! Where is he?" You demand, pointing the pistol at Simon. Your arms are shaky, and you're pretty sure he could disarm you and snap your neck in a second, but you stand your ground. Or rather, lie on your ground.

"Put it down, lass." Someone warns. It's the mohawk guy from before. He's come out of the room and has a rifle aimed at you.

"Ok, both of you! Enough!" Simon orders, shifting to block you from the rifle. "Guns down! Now, Soap!"

Soap reluctantly obliges, eyes glaring at yours. Simon then turns to you, raising his hands up in surrender.

"Lo- Dahila, if you're asking about the other gent we found, he's in here," He motions to the room. "He's fine."

Simon shifts back slowly, allowing you space to move in front of the door. Lowering your gun, you drag yourself to the entrance and look in. There he was. But he wasn't moving.

"What did you do to him?" you yelled, turning to Simon. "You said that he was fine!"

"He's just passed out. Was like that when he found him." Simon replies, pointing a thumb at Soap behind him. Soap just shrugs, supporting what Simon said.

The gasoline was pungent and stung as it made contact with your wounds, but you press on, dragging yourself closer to Max.

"Max," you whisper, cupping his face gently. You shift to kneel beside him as you check him for injuries. His breath was steady, and he didn't seem to have any visible injuries, to your relief. "Oh, Max…I'm so sorry."

Your eyes begin to water again. This was all your fault. What was supposed to be a happy holiday has turned into a nightmare. Ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and now you're going to die.

"He has nothing to do with this," your voice quivers as tears begin to fall. "It was all me. Kill me and leave him alone."

Even though you had assumed they would save Max, thinking of him as a prisoner of your captors, that wasn't a guarantee. In the end, Max's life is still at the mercy of others. It's just a matter of who.

And that's why you did all this, right? To give Max a fighting chance at surviving this whole shitshow. Under Samuel, it was undeniable that he'd be killed. But the Special Ops may give him a chance.

So, you beg.

"Please, kill me if you must," you're sobbing again as you hold Max's hand. "Please, spare his life. He's just a banker, he's just a civilian- he's innocent, plea-"

"We're not killing either of you folks," Soap interrupts, sighing as he looks away from your crying figure. "We're just gonna bring him back to the base for observation."

Relief blooms in your chest, and you drop Max's hand. He's going to live. He's going to be fine. They'll protect him back at their base.

"And as for you," Soap continues. "We'll be taking you back there as well. To see the boss man."

Huh?

"Yes," Simon adds. "You're my recommendation for our intelligence agent spot, remember? You're going to need to speak with the Captain first."

What?

Simon's giving you a weird look. He's giving you that look. No, not THAT kind of look.

(This sucks. You want to leave.

But you can't really leave your own shop.

"So, Miss Flower," the man in an ugly green suit smiles. "How about we go in the back and…play amongst the flowers?"

Ugh. This is the fourth time this week he's tried to flirt with you. He really can't take a no for an answer.

"I'm sorry, but-"

"Oh, come on! I know you want it," He starts to lean in, invading your personal space. "I'll buy all the flowers we trample over."

"Love? Everything ok?"

A familiar, soothing voice sounds from behind you, and you stiffen as a hand snakes around your waist. You feel a warmth right next to your face as someone leans over your shoulder.

You turn your head, and there he was.

Simon.

He's so close.

He gives you a weird look.

Play along.

You nod.

"O-oh! Nothing honey! Just chatting with a customer here!" You stammer. But it's enough to convince the man. He mutters a rushed goodbye, as he storms out of the shop.

Immediately, the two of you separate.

"I'm so sorry, I just thought that-" Simon mutters, his hand doing a poor job of hiding his flushed face.

"No! No, it's fine," you cut him off. You're pretty sure your face is as red or even more so than his. "Thank you for dealing with…that."

It's so hot. It's cold outside, but it still feels so hot. The air has a spark to it. It feels like at any moment, the spark will set something aflame. And you kind of want to burn. Together with Simon.

You later learn that that is called sexual tension.

That very week, you and Simon start dating.)

He's asking me to play along.

You don't know what the fuck Simon has up his sleeve, but you nod, wiping your tears while you're at it.

"This is going to be hell to explain to the Captain, Ghost."

"He'll understand."

"How is he going to overturn a kill-on-sight order?"

"He'll figure it out."

"The higher up are going to hang us for this."

"Nah, they won't."

The duo bicker amongst themselves as they approach the two of you.

"Get the bloke. I'll carry her out after checking her wounds."

"Got it."

Soap picks up Max in a fireman carry and walks out the door. You wait until he is out of earshot before whispering to Simon, who now kneels beside you, inspecting your cuts.

"What the fuck, Simon?"

"It was the only thing I could think of to convince Soap not to shoot you."

"I left that life a long time ago!"

"If you want to live, this is the only way."

He's right. And you hate him for it.

There's silence as he tends to your wounds. What do you say to the man who broke your heart two years ago, and then saved your life? Do you curse him out? Scream at him for leaving you so coldly?

("Because I love you, Simon!")

Or you could just pretend that you didn't just confess your love for him on what you thought was your deathbed.

Yeah, that works.

There's too much happening. Too many conflicting emotions. You can't speak. Maybe it's better that you don't.

But whatever it is, the only thing you know for sure is that you're going to be returning to a life you thought you left behind for good.

You'll be working with Special Ops again.

You'll be sworn to secrecy again.

You'll be working with Simon.

Again.

This is going to be an emotional disaster.

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leafkingofbirds · 8 months ago

Note

Finished!!

Many thanks to @im-gonna-draw who gave me the idea for this one, because I had started and scrapped 3 different beginnings before this, haha.

Title: The Trouble With Tulle

Pairing: f!Kieran x Ella

Rating: General

Summary: Newly engaged, Kieran and Ella sit down with Oleander to discuss wedding preparations.

(if you see any typos feel free to let me know! I wrote this really fast!)

~~~

“Ella will wear white, of course,” Kieran announces like she’s issuing a royal proclamation. “Assuming you wish it, beloved.”

“Y-yes,” Ella confesses, heart fluttery in her chest. "Back home, we didn't have very much. People tended to marry in whatever their nicest clothes were. Only the very rich could afford a white gown that would get ruined immediately by mud..."

Oleander sighs and rolls their eyes. “Well, thank godness we aren't in your village, hmm? Obviously Ella must wear white. But shall it be the pure, blinding white of a full moon’s glow? Or the pearlescent sheen of a blossoming moonflower? Perhaps Her Grace wishes to sparkle like stars? Shall it be made of silk that denotes grandeur and finery? Delicate lace with silver threads? Layers of tulle skirts covered in diamonds? A cathedral-length veil that requires a full bridal party to keep aloft?”

“Surely that’s all rather too much,” Ella murmurs, already intimidated. “Surely we must start with Kieran. We can simply design mine to match?”

“I thought perhaps you would prefer it this way,” Kieran says. “I want to give my Ella a chance to design the gown she could have only ever dreamt of back in that little village. Whatever your heart desires, my love. Whatever makes you feel most beautiful."

The three of them are lounging in Oleander’s private parlor, Kieran reclining and relaxed at last on the velvet cushions, her arm around Ella’s waist. Oleander is pacing before a lifesize mannequin which glows softly, the image hovering a few inches off the floor. A painting of magic, faintly transparent. The magical image of Ella that Oleander has created is a ghostly blue. She smiles shyly and blushes as she gently swishes her incredibly ornate ballgown to and fro, showing off Oleander’s latest design tweaks.

The real Ella blushes back. She doesn’t even recognize herself in all that tulle and silk. Though it pleases the little girl in her, the one who could only ever dream of donning something so beautiful, it feels intimidating and strange, too, to think she would be wearing something like this and being the center of attention.

I’m an orphan who grew up with muddy petticoats and threadbare boots, she thinks. I never worn an apron without a stain from grease or ale. Of course Kieran had changed all that, but the little village child of poor farmers never even dreamt of reaching for more.

Though her hands are tempted to reach out and stroke the nonexistent fabric on the magical model, every detail too dazzling to take in at once, she can’t help but think how she’s never worn that many skirts before. What if she steps on her own hem in front of everyone?

Ella herself can hardly believe this is truly happening. She’s meant to be giving input as well - a royal wedding dress demands the most exacting of Oleander’s attention to detail - but she keeps getting distracted by the glittering ring on her finger, and how it catches the enchanted starlight from Oleander’s window. The stone itself is like a miniature night sky, midnight blue and shot through with sparkling white specks that catch the light. A halo of white diamonds cavort along the band like dancing fairies. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever owned.

The engagement is still new, and the wedding not until Autumn, still months away. But Oleander has absolutely insisted on a weekly wedding planning meeting, and this is but the first of many. She did not realize they were going to begin by designing her gown.

Ella realizes they are both staring at her, still waiting for her input on the newest details added to her magical reflection of herself as a bride. “Oh! I love it, of course. Just stunning.”

“Just as you have loved every iteration,” Oleander huffs, only slightly put out. "If you think you're being helpful, allow me to correct you: You aren't."

“Every design you make has been beautiful, Oleander,” Ella protests, blushing, as Kieran squeezes Ella’s hip and laughs softly. “I’m sure I’ll be over the moon no matter what you come up with.”

“Precisely the problem!” Oleander throws up their hands in exasperation. “Your soon to be wife is too easily pleased, Kieran. I can’t work without some guidance. And I cannot even start on a matching wedding ensemble imbued with all the grandeur due the Night Princess, until I know what the devil I’m supposed to be matching it to! Have you at least decided whether you are to wear a suit or gown?!”

“Take a breather, Oleander,” Kieran says. With a wave of her hand, a teacup is filled and floated over to Oleander, who huffs one last time and drinks it as ordered, polite as ever. “While I appreciate how invested you are in pulling off this whole affair – and I’m entirely confident you’ll do so beautifully - it’s not as dire as all that.”

“It’s not as though you’re slaving away before a loom or crafting the lace by hand,” Ella adds, earning a gleam of humor in Kieran’s eye. “You can just snap your fingers and poof! Instant wedding.”

Oleander puts their teacup down on the coffee table, somehow managing to give the move an attitude without even rattling the cup on its saucer. “Please. Now I am to be lectured on how much work magic is by the mortal who only briefly controlled all the power of Fae? You're quite the expert now, hmm? Your Grace, weaving the correct complexity of something as important as your wedding clothes will take more than a snap of my fingers. Not all of us control the flow of Moon Source magic, Kieran."

“Do you have a preference, my love?” Kieran asks Ella, with true concern on her face. “I know you care little for the finer things. But all we have agreed upon so far is the color. Whatever it is you desire to wear, you will be the pinnacle of beauty to me.”

Ella sighs and looks again at her engagement ring. It’s not as though she doesn’t care - she does! But it’s like choosing between two diamonds. Both equally beautiful, and far more grand than the little country mouse she still feels she is could have ever pictured herself wearing.

“You know,” Ella says slowly, as something occurs to her. “In my village, it was considered bad luck to for the groom to see the bride in her gown before the wedding.”

“Luckily for you, then, that our wedding will have no groom,” Kieran teases, with a playful touch to the tip of Ella’s nose.

“I still think it counts! And anyway, I…” Ella bites her lip shyly, until Kieran looks concerned and entwines her graceful fingers through Ella’s. “I’ve spent more time picturing what you will be wearing when I meet you at the altar. I’m useless when it comes to fashion. I’ve always preferred when you pick out my clothes, my love.”

The twinkle in Kieran’s eyes now isn’t teasing, but it makes Ella flush with warmth. “Is that so? Perhaps I’d choose something terribly revealing, and you’d be too shy to be seen in it by every Fae in the realm.”

“I would marry you in anything,” Ella says breathlessly. “I would marry you in rags. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me, because I won't notice anything else. I will only see you. And I want to look like the bride you’ve always dreamt about."

For once, it’s Kieran who is stunned speechless, and Ella blushes to remember that Oleander is still standing right there. She doesn’t have to turn around to know that Oleander has their head in their hand. They’ve gotten quite adept at enduring Kieran and Ella’s romantic overtures without too loud a complaint.

Kieran takes Ella’s chin in a sudden, surprising gesture, bringing their lips together in a forceful clash in which Ella feels so many of the words Kieran finds difficult to say out loud. The pain of her past loves and betrayals, her losses and broken dreams. Ella wants to mend them all for her, even though she knows it's impossible.

But what Ella can give her is a new beginning. A brighter one.

“You are the woman of my dreams,” Kieran whispers. “And I shall delight in making those dreams come true.”

Then Kieran pulls away, immediately back to business while Ella struggles to catch her breath and control her blush. “Then it’s settled,” Kieran announces with authority. “I shall design Ella’s gown for her, and Ella shall design mine.”

“Wait a moment–” Ella protests, at the same time Oleander exasperatedly says “The two of you are the bane of my existence.”

Kieran grins at them both, her face bright and self-satisfied. “Do you have a problem with your princess’s order?”

“I don’t know the first thing about designing an ensemble for a princess! We still don’t know if you prefer a gown or a suit!” Ella says. “What about all the rules for colors, fabrics, the symbolism and flowers and–certainly there’s got to be hundreds of Fae customs that must be considered for royal weddings.”

“There are. And no one knows them better than Oleander.” Kieran looks to Oleander. “Am I wrong?”

“No, of course not,” Oleander harrumphs and crosses their arms. “But this is absolutely breaking protocol.”

“Oleander, a Fae princess marrying a mortal woman is breaking protocol in so many other ways, I hardly think this one will count against us too terribly,” Kieran answers, smirking.

“But Kieran,” Ella says, gripping her hand. “What if I pick something and you hate it?”

“Unless you make great efforts to dress me like Opulence,” Kieran pauses to laugh when Ella makes a face. “What I wear is of no consequence to me. My main concern - my only concern - is declaring my undying love for you before the entire realm, binding our lives together in an unbreakable union, and making you my wife.”

Ella smiles wobbly, blinking away tears. She gazes into Kieran’s otherworldly beautiful face, taking a moment to give thanks that they made it this far - that she is marrying the most incredible woman she’s ever met.

“I love you,” she says, making Kieran smile.

Then she kisses Kieran, because how can she not?

The kiss is sweet and full of love, and Ella is reluctant to end it. But when she finally does, they both see Oleander, arms crossed, toe tapping impatiently.

“All finished? Yes? Good. Now, if you’re not going to be useful, kindly get out.” Oleander jerks their thumb at Kieran and then the door.

“Why me?” Kieran says, acting offended. But she’s smiling and standing all the same, making her way to the door.

“Because I’m sick of looking at you,” Oleander huffs. With an irritable wave of one hand, Oleander wipes away all the progress made on Ella’s gown, and a translucent, smirking Kieran replaces it, mirroring the real life one before Kieran herself bows to Ella with a promising twinkle that gives Ella a shiver, and disappears through the door.

Oleander turns to face Ella, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Now, Ella, I do hope you're prepared. Because you and I have work to do.”

May I please request a fic with f!Kieran & Ella? Any prompt, wherever your mind may take you!

Of course! I'll start brainstorming 😁

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kkodzvken · 4 years ago

Text

suit up - hawks x f. reader

the one where keigo marries the girl of his dreams, and then takes her home and shows her just how loved she is. title cred/inspo: suit up by jonghyun

notes/warnings: smut and fluff (your teeth may rot and fall out, you’ve been warned), soft dom!keigo, praise kink, slight size kink, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex + creampie. reader and kei use the traffic light safe word system and they review it beforehand, and he checks in with her at one point but she’s green, so everything is 100% consensual. they flirt + kei says explicit things at the reception but nothing /actually/ happens in public. mentions of alcohol

wc: 5.3k

a/n: this idea’s been bouncing around my head for a while bc i wanna marry this dumbass so bad :’) my first full hawks fic!! im so happy hehe

Beautiful.

You’re so beautiful.

Keigo’s always known, of course. He’s found you beautiful since the very first moment that he laid his eyes on you, all those years ago. He tells you that you’re beautiful every single day, no matter how much you roll your eyes or jokingly tell him to shut up.

You’re beautiful all the time, but there are certain moments that leave him especially breathless. The day that you foolishly challenged Rumi to an arm-wrestling match. The determined look in your eye as you clenched your fist, sweat dripping down your brow and arm muscles straining (you lost, of course – the rabbit hero was ridiculously jacked). The brilliant smile that graces your face whenever he brings you flowers or little souvenirs from his work trips. The very first morning after you moved into his penthouse, when he woke up next to your peaceful sleeping form, and realized that he’d have mornings like this for the rest of his life.

The day that he flew you up to the mountains for a starlit picnic. The smile on your face as you polished off your meal, and the way that your hand flew up to your mouth when he got down on one knee. Your teary-eyed look of pure love as he slipped the ring onto your finger, the diamond gleaming like one of the stars that shone down on you. The way that your eyes rolled back and your legs wrapped around his waist when he took you home and fucked you for hours.

And right now. Keigo swore that his heart damn near burst at the sight of you. The organist was playing, but he couldn’t hear the notes, couldn’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears. Your hands clasped an elegant flower bouquet, and Keigo was sure that the blossoms were pretty, but he couldn’t spare even a second to glance at them. No, his entire focus was trained on you. You, with your beautiful dress that perfectly accentuated the body that he loved so much. When your eyes raised to meet his, and that perfect smile worked its way across your face… he had to bite his inner cheek to try and hold the tears back.

In a simultaneous eternity and heartbeat, you were handing off your bouquet to a bridesmaid and clasping Keigo’s large hands with your much smaller ones. The officiant was speaking, but Keigo didn’t process any of it. The sight of your eyes shining up at him, more beautiful than any of the stars in the night sky, was the only thing anchoring him to the world. He felt like he was floating through a dreamscape with only you, the happiness in his chest powerful and all-encompassing.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re talking to a group of your old friends from high school when a tap against your shoulder grabs your attention, and you turn to see your fiancé – no, your husband – smirking down at you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Excuse me, ladies,” he says to your friends. “Mind if I steal her for a moment?” His amber eyes glint mischievously, and you swear that a whole swarm of butterflies take flight in your stomach.

Your friends giggle and nod, and then Keigo’s spinning you around so that you’re face-to-face. He’s stunning, in his black suit and red dress shirt, the shade of crimson matching his wings perfectly. “Dance with me, dove,” he says, before leaning down to press a quick kiss against your lips. You nod, and he leads you towards the center of the venue, where most of your guests are dancing to some cheesy pop song. Keigo nods at the DJ, who nods back and switches to the music. Soft synth notes travel through the speakers, before the singer’s dreamy voice floods your ears.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders. His wings move to wrap around you protectively. You’re not sure if he even realizes that he does it – it’s such a normal thing, now, for him to shield you, to create a little cocoon for the two of you. You frown as you feel his muscles moving underneath your fingers. “You’re too tense,” you say, fingers gently kneading at the parts of his back that you can reach. “Let me give you a massage once we get home.”

He chuckles, one of his own hands coming up to capture yours. He laces your fingers together before bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your skin. The look he gives you is so tender, the love radiating off his body so palpable, that it makes your knees feel week. “Sweet, but I’m the one who’s going to be taking care of you tonight.” You open your mouth to protest, but he tuts, and a feather flies up to shush at your lips. “No, listen. You’re driving me crazy. Every time I turn my head, I see you looking so damn beautiful that my heart stops. Makes me wanna just pull you away and rip that pretty dress off.”

You gasp at his words, a pretty blush dusting your cheeks. “Kei! People are gonna hear you!”

He shrugs, pulling you even closer and swaying your bodies lightly to the music. “Let them,” he says nonchalantly, but the glint in his eye is pure sin. He leans down so that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. You can’t help the shudder that wracks through your body as his warm breath hits your skin. “You’re so cute when you’re blushing like that. Did I make you flustered, baby?” His fingers release yours, instead gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Answer me, love.”

You nod, feeling small. Only Keigo can affect you like this, can reduce you to a trembling mess with just a few words.

You love it.

He smirks at your confession, pressing a kiss against your cheek before leaning his forehead against yours. “What do you say we jump ship, babe?” Your confusion must show on your face, because he continues. “I think I might die if I have to wait much longer to get my hands on you. And judging by the way you’re acting… I’d bet good money that you’re already dripping for me.”

“Kei!” You swat at his chest before burying your face in it. He laughs, one of his real, genuine laughs that makes your heart soar, before kissing the crown of your head.

“I don’t see you denying it.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, is my cute little wife flustered?”

Wife. The word sounds so pretty rolling off his lips that you can’t resist retreating from the safety of his chest to press your lips against his. He cups your face with one of his large, rough hands and kisses you back. His wings shift to cover you up before the hand on your waist moves down to pinch at your ass – or, at least, it tries. The layers of your dress obstruct him, and he growls in frustration.

You can’t help but whine as well. You want him all the time, of course. Years of being together haven’t changed how fucking badly you want him all the time. You’d used up all your willpower behaving for the ceremony and the reception so far. You’d been good, had kept your hands to yourself throughout dinner and the toasts. But now, the mix of his body against yours, the dirty words that he’d whispered into your ear, and the cocktails running through your bloodstream were making it very hard for you to ignore the pooling heat between your legs.

You wanted him. You wanted your husband.

“Please,” you whisper. Under normal circumstances, you’d hate how whiny and pathetic you sound, but you’re too far gone to care. “Please, let’s go, Kei. Need you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A few whispered words to Rumi, and a knowing smirk from her, and you were gone. It was surprisingly easy to slip out the venue. You’d expected to be stopped by some nosy family member, but it seemed that everyone was too tipsy and having too much fun to care. Nevertheless, you had to be careful once you stepped out into the fresh night air. The number two hero’s wedding was perfect paparazzi bait. You didn’t even want to think about the feeding frenzy that the media would go into if they caught sight of you now.

The night sky was like a shield, though, and it protected you from prying eyes. You’d been discreet when picking the wedding and reception venues, and even more discreet in choosing your honeymoon destination. Tomorrow morning, you and Keigo would fly up to the mountains, where he’d rented a little cabin for the two of you. By some miracle, he’d managed to get a whole week off work – a whole week where you’d have him, entirely to yourself.

But right now, you aren’t thinking about tomorrow morning, or the lovely, peaceful honeymoon that you were about to embark on. Right now, the only thing you can think about is Keigo. Keigo, with his beautifully messy hair that moved like ocean waves as you soared through the air. There’s nothing in this world that you love more than flying with him, pressed against his sturdy body with his strong arms wrapped around you. Light pollution makes it hard to see the sky from the ground, but up here, the moon and stars are breathtaking.

Almost as breathtaking as your husband, who’s eyes are prettier than any stars could ever hope to be.

He looks down and catches you staring, taking him in with your wide, wondrous eyes. You can barely hear anything through the noise-cancelling headphones that he makes you wear whenever you fly, but his words reach you, clear as day – “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Your voice comes out small, stolen away by the rushing wind. You try again, louder this time. “I love you!”

He chuckles, chest shaking as he tries to keep his laughs contained. “You trying to one-up me? I can be loud too.” He takes a deep breath, before tipping his head back and shouting an I love you up into the heavens.

His lips are soft and sweet as candy when they dip down to meet yours. “I’m just so happy,” he whispers against you. “You make me so happy.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The moment that you set foot into the penthouse, you gasp.

“Oh, Kei,” you breathe, hand flying over your mouth.

He bounces nervously as he locks up the balcony door, not meeting your eye. “Do…do you not like it?”

You march up to him and grab his face in your hands, before standing up onto your tip-toes and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I love it, baby. Really, you’ve outdone yourself.”

He perks up at the praise, kissing your lips once before his hands move down and he picks you up, clean off the ground. You can’t hold your shrieking laugh back as he spins you around, a smile lighting up his face like a god damn Christmas tree.

The house is beautiful. Really, he did outdo himself. Back when you’d first started dating, he’d had to call off your six-month-anniversary date because of a mission. You’d assured him that it was fine, that you understood, but you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t upset. He promised that he would be back in a week at the latest. You’d spent the night with your friends, eating ice cream and watching shitty movies, and left for work the next morning. You weren’t expecting him back for a few days at least, but when you opened your door after an exhausting day at work, he was there, waiting for you. Scratches on his face and bandages on his arms, but he was there. And he’d decorated your apartment with flowers and fairy lights, centered around a haphazardly made blanket fort in the center of the living room. Little candles were placed across the room, each with a red feather standing guard, making sure that the flames didn’t accidentally get knocked over and grow. After you’d gotten over your initial shock – how the hell did you get in here, Kei – you ran into his arms and squeezed him, tight. He didn’t let go of you for the entire night – his body always pressed against yours, fingers constantly entwined, even as he made you cum so many times that you forgot your own name.

It was one of your fondest memories, one that always brought a smile to your face. You’d mentioned it offhandedly last week, while you were in the weeds with wedding planning. Honestly, you didn’t think that he’d even heard what you said, with how stressed and busy the two of you were. He was picking up extra patrols to make up for his honeymoon vacation time, and you were working your ass off to get your overbearing boss off your back.

But he had heard. He heard, and he listened, because that’s just the kind of lover – the kind of husband – that Keigo is. Attentive, sweet, and intuitive. You swear, he spoils you beyond belief. You don’t even know when he got the time to decorate the apartment today, but it’s beautiful. Even more beautiful than the decorations from your six-month-anniversary, because this time, the sight is sweetened by the knowledge that this is your shared home. This isn’t just your apartment, that your friends helped sneak him into so he could fancy it up. This is your shared space, where you’ll spend the rest of your lives together. Where you’ll wake up in his arms every morning, his wings wrapped around you protectively, fragmenting the morning light into shards of red. Where you’ll make meals together and laugh at his bad cooking, where you’ll take sanctuary from the harshness of the world. This place is your home. Keigo is your home.

He finally stops spinning, but refuses to set you down. Instead, he readjusts you so that he’s carrying you bridal style. You almost laugh at how cliché it is. It feels like something out of a cheesy rom-com, but you’re so happy that you feel like you’re in one of those rom-coms.

You do laugh out loud when you see the trail of petals leading to your bedroom. Keigo feigns disappointment, dramatically sighing. “Don’t laugh, princess, you wound me.” That just makes you laugh even more, and soon, he’s joining in, burying his face in your hair as he walks the two of you towards the bed. “C’mon, I’m trying to be romantic! Quit making me laugh!”

“I can’t help it,” you giggle as he gently places you onto the bed. Thankfully, he had the common sense to not put any petals on the actual bed, but the floor is absolutely covered. Blossoms line the walls as well, along with candles that bathe the room in their gentle glow. You take a second to admire how beautiful your husband looks in the soft light. The shadows make his wings seem that much bigger as they unfurl to their full size. He looms over you, looking like the most delicious mix of devil and angel that you’ve ever seen. There’s still a playful smile on his face, but something mischievous simmers beneath it.

“Hope you didn’t forget what you said at the reception hall, baby,” he says, eyes glinting. “What was it? Hmm, something like, need you, Kei, need you to take me home and fuck me, I’m already so wet for you.”

You groan and try to bury your face in your hands, but he’s too fast. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, easily wrapping them with just one of his large hands. “You’re making shit up,” you pout. “I only said the first part.”

“So you admit you said it? That you need me?”

“Shut up.”

“Mm, no thanks.”

You groan again, trying to suppress your smile. There are plenty of times that you and Keigo have had “serious” sex, but you mostly find yourself like this, devolving into giggles and teasing. There’s something about him that makes you feel so safe and at ease, and you can’t help yourself from giggling at his stupid remarks. He laughs, and releases your wrists to cradle your face with both his hands. He shifts so that he’s properly on top of you, his thighs on either side of your hips, and bends down to press kisses all over your face.

“My wife,” he breathes, in between kisses. “My sweet, beautiful, amazing wife. This dress is so pretty, but let’s take it off, my love. You don’t need it anymore.”

It takes a few minutes of awkward wriggling and tugging to finally remove the lace monstrosity, but at long last, the dress ends up on the floor. Keigo’s hands are on your body in an instant, fingers trailing over the curve of your waist and snapping the waistband of your panties. “God, you’ve got such pretty little lingerie on.”

“Wanted to dress up for you,” you say, pawing at his tie and trying to loosen the knot. It makes you feel small, to be so exposed while he’s still fully dressed. Normally you love to savor in that feeling, but right now, you need to feel his bare skin against yours. “Now take your clothes off, please.”

You finally manage to loosen his tie enough to pull it over his head. After stopping for another deep kiss, your hands continue their path over his body. His suit jacket comes off next, although he has to help you gently maneuver it off his wings. His cuff links clatter to the ground as you almost viciously rip off his dress shirt, and you moan when you finally feel his warm muscles.

You’re practically grinding into each other by now. Little whines leave your lips as you shamelessly roll your hips, seeking any friction you can get. You can feel his hardness, even through his thick pants, and you chase it with vigor. He’s not much better, a light blush dusting his face as he meets your rolls with shallow thrusts of his own. “Off, off, Kei, need to feel you,” you babble, fingers desperately trying to undo this belt buckle. Breathlessly, he pushes your fingers aside and pulls his belt off, unceremoniously throwing it across the room. You half expect it to collide with a candle and set the entire building on fire, but a few feathers fly out to catch it and gently set it down.

You don’t waste a second in pulling his pants down and throwing them as well, trusting that a feather will keep it from crashing into anything. Your fingers try to pull down the waistband of his boxers, but he tuts and grabs your hand.

You look up at him with pleading eyes. “Please,” you whine.

The smile on his face is gentle beyond belief as he answers. “I told you that I was going to take care of you tonight, baby. Let me make you feel good, okay? Can I make you feel good?”

You want to protest, want to beg him to stuff your face or your cunt and fuck into you until you’re lightheaded, but Keigo’s insistent about making you cum at least twice before even thinking about his own pleasure. And you can’t deny that you’re aching for him. You’re certain that you’ve soaked through your flimsy panties by now, and your mind is hazy with want.

You nod. Keigo takes your face in his hand, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Can you give me your colors too?”

You force your mind to push through the fog, force your heavy lips to move and form words. “G-green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop.”

“Good girl.” The praise goes straight to your core, and you whine. “Oh, baby, I know I just vowed to give you everything you could ever want, but you’re so damn needy. Be patient for me, okay? Let me touch you.”

You nod obediently, but you can’t fight the urge roll your hips and feel him again. With a soft, scolding noise, he presses one of his hands into your hipbone, effectively pinning you to the mattress. Try as you might, you can’t squirm away. He’s so ridiculously strong, his muscles toned from years of training and hero work, that you’re no match for him. But it’s not so bad. You love the dominance that oozes off his body as he moves down, his hands and tongue exploring every inch of skin that they can find. His teeth nip at the sensitive spot on your neck, the spot that always makes you melt for him. You shamelessly sigh and tilt your head to give him more access.

His right hand, the one that isn’t currently pinning you to the mattress, plays with the lacy edges of your bra. He palms you through the thin fabric, making you groan and arch your back into his touch. It’s not enough, you need more, need to feel more of him before you lose your mind. He seems to read your mind, because he doesn’t even bother to unclasp the bra, electing instead to rip it clean off your body. The snap of the straps breaking makes you gasp, but you revel in the sting of the elastic bouncing back against your skin.

“Couldn’t wait,” he says, not a hint of shame on his face. “You know how much I love to tease, but fuck, I need you now.”

He’s a bit more ceremonious when he removes your panties, choosing to use a hardened feather to slice through the fabric instead of just ripping with brute force. He fucking moans at the sight of you, wet and needy for him. It sounds like absolute heaven, but you don’t have even a second to revel in it before he’s diving into you. The sudden rush of pleasure is electrifying, and you go to instinctively slam your legs shut, but Keigo’s hand is too fast again. His tongue doesn’t falter for even a second as his fingers dig into your thighs and push you open. His lips wrap around your clit and suck, and he’s outrageously loud as he moans into your sex. It’s all so much – he’s licking at you like a man on death row, coaxing little whines and gasps from your lips.

His beautiful eyes are trained on yours, pupils blow out with love and lust. He memorizes every little expression that flits across your beautiful face as he eases a finger into you, eyes only leaving your face to admire the way that your little cunt sucks him in. But he can’t tear his gaze away from you, and the way your mouth falls open, or the way that your eyes flutter and roll back. The way that your hands ball up into fists, alternating between grabbing the bedsheets and lacing through his hair. Fuck, he loves how you pull at his hair when his fingers curl up against that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Loves the little curses and gasps of his name that spill past your lips as he scissors and thrusts his digits deeper and deeper into your perfect pussy.

“Cum for me, princess,” he groans. “Please, cum for me, need you to be a good girl and cum for me.”

And, well, you did just vow to give him everything that he could ever want.

You throw your head back and almost sob as you gush all over his face and fingers. He’s insatiable, licking and fingering you all through it, desperately trying to lap up every single drop of your juices. Your body is shaking, and you whimper, the overstimulation building until it’s too much, until you’re crying out too much, Kei, ‘s too much!

“Give me your color, baby,” he says, slowing his assault against your body.

“G-green,” you stutter out, the words as shaky as your legs. “Green, don’t stop, it’s just – ah! Kei!”

Your verbal confirmation was all he needed to dive back in, sucking at you with even more vigor than before. His fingers twist and curl against your spot, and his tongue lashes at your clit. He doesn’t stop for even a second, burying himself in your heat. It’s all you can do to maintain your grip on his hair, tugging at it just the way that he loves. You’re thrust headfirst into your second orgasm of the night, crying out his name and positively sobbing at the onslaught of sensations.

When he finally pulls away, the lower part of his face is soaked with your cum. He makes a show of licking his lips clean, not breaking eye contact with you, no matter how much you blush and squirm. He saves his fingers for you, though. A gentle tap at your lips is all it takes for you to obediently open your mouth and take in his digits. You swirl your tongue around, eyes lidded with the afterglow of your pleasure.

But you’re not finished, are nowhere near finished. You suppose that you are being needy, but how could you not, when your husband looks like an absolute fucking god? The candlelight makes your cum on his face glisten beautifully. You whine and pull him in for a kiss, mashing your lips against his and greedily swiping your tongues together. It’s sinful. You can taste yourself on him, and it makes you shudder, makes you need him that much more.

“Please, please fuck me,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and trying to pull him closer, closer, closer. “Please, Kei, need you inside me, need my husband inside me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, so quietly that you would’ve missed it if you didn’t feel the word formed against your lips. “Fuck, baby, okay.” His hand slides between your bodies and quickly pushes his boxers down. He uses a feather to pull them all the way off, because he can’t be bothered to focus on that, not when you’re practically drooling at the sight of his cock.

Your fingers twitch, and you aren’t able to hold back any longer. Your hand finds his cock, marveling at how heavy and perfect he feels as you wrap your fingers around him and guide him towards your sopping cunt. You pause before you slide him in, though, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can I ride you? Please?”

He curses again under his breath, practically shivering at your words. His strong hands reposition the both of you, until you’re sitting on his thigh and he’s leaning back against the headboard. He cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Well, then? Get to work, princess.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh at his antics. “What happened to Mr. Let-Me-Take-Care-Of-You?”

“He’ll come out later. If my pretty wife wants to ride me, she gets to ride me.”

You laugh for real this time, but it quickly turns into a moan as you sink yourself down on his length. No matter how many times you take him, he always overwhelms your senses, always stretches you so deliciously. You lean your forehead against his and give yourself a second to adjust, and then you’re rolling your hips, little whines leaving your lips.

“Feels so good, Kei.” You throw your head back, your fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back to anchor yourself. “You always feel so good.”

His eyes are half-lidded and dark as he takes you in. He’s memorizing every inch of your body, every detail and movement that he absolutely fucking adores. “You’re the most beautiful thing in the world,” he whispers, seemingly more to himself than you. “So beautiful. I’m so lucky.”

Your thighs burn, but you force yourself to ignore the pain. You’d rather die than stop right now. His strong arms encircle your waist, and his wings surround your bodies, ruffling with every one of your movements.

You want to ignore your exhaustion, but your husband is perceptive as ever. His hips raise up to meet you, and it sends a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. You’re shaky, though, and you’re getting sloppy.

Before you can even process what’s happening, you’re being spun over and pinned to the mattress. A gasp leaves your lips, and you whine as his cock slips out of you. Your hand reaches out and paws around wildly, searching for him through your haze. Keigo’s quick to kiss you and shush your protests, entwining his rough fingers in your searching hand and stroking his thumb against your palm.

“Relax, angel. Let me take care of it.”

He slides into you again, making you both moan. Your pussy sucks him in greedily, clenching and fluttering around him. He pauses once he bottoms out. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and he presses sweet kisses all over your skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze, trying desperately to make him move. “Keigo, baby, please,” you whine, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back.

He coos, cupping your face and kissing you before he readjusts himself. “Of course, pretty girl.”

His thrusts are deep and hard, so hard that they make the entire bed shake. Your eyes flutter shut, but he grips your jaw and begs you to keep them open – please, baby, look at me, need to see my pretty wife fall apart.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans, teeth nipping at your lips. “So perfect, and all mine.”

“All yours,” you agree. You’re practically babbling by this point, unable to stop the noises slipping past your lips. You’re floating on a cloud, soaring through the sky, anchored only by his body against yours. “You’re so deep in me, Kei, can feel you so deep in me. Please, ‘m so close, just a lil’ bit more, Kei.”

He coos again, hand slipping down to toy with your clit. You wail, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the coil in your stomach snaps and you gush uncontrollably. You can’t do anything but cry out for him, can’t do anything but cling onto him and shake and twitch. The feeling of you clenching around him is too much, and with a broken fuck and a cry of your name, he spills inside of you. He fucks you through it, the obscene sounds of your combined release making you feel lightheaded and weak.

He holds you for a few minutes, just like that, bodies entwined. You both pant and try to catch your breath. The weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, so you protest when he finally pulls out and sits back to admire the way that his seed drips out of you.

“Come back,” you complain. “What kind of husband doesn’t give cuddles to his wife?”

“The kind of husband who needs to clean her up,” he says with a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s go take a bath.

Your body feels boneless with exhaustion and the hazy afterglow of your three orgasms, so you’re grateful when he scoops you into his arms. You tuck your face into his neck and hum contentedly, unable to stop the giddy smile that blooms across your face.

“I love you, Kei,” you say, planting little kisses over his neck and jaw.

“I love you too, princess,” he says, grinning and poking your nose. He laughs when you scrunch it up and scowl at him. But, with how cute he looks, you just can’t hold the scowl for long. Soon, you’re giggling too.

You look up at him with so much love that it makes his heart ache. His eyes grow a bit more serious, and he dips his head to kiss at your swollen lips. “I mean it, baby. I’m so happy to spend the rest of my life with you.”

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backandimbamon · 3 years ago

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hello! i saw you were taking bamon prompts, and I know you filled one of mine back in October, so please feel free to do others, but I like your work so I’m throwing my hat in the ring another time.

im forever bummed that we never really got to see a “dress” moment for Bonnie canonically. She never got to descend stairs with eyes all on her, she never got to steal breath away just by her appearance, whether at a dance or otherwise (if we don’t include her appearance in Damon’s kitchen). In fic, I love when she gets to have moments where she’s genuinely stunning, and Damon just looks at her in awe (because that is something we do see canonically!). It’s a little loose, but would you be able to write something that has her so captivating that Damon might even be at a loss for words? I just want a sweet princess moment for her basically.

I hope you are doing well and staying safe! Thank you 💕

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. everything u said was just like amazing and true. i’m doing so well, and i hope you’re safe! i’m so ready to bring this to life.. the idea popped up instantly for this, i was adamant in writing. hope u enjoy 🤎

Damon had the smallest notion that perhaps he had made a mistake.

Surrounded by tulle and layers upon layers of white and creme, expensive hangers, headless mannequins, and the quietly excited shopkeeper, Damon asked himself why he fought Caroline over being able to go dress shopping with Bonnie. There was no telling but he could possibly be sitting here for hours without a glass of bourbon or blood to keep him entertained.

The little lady who owned La Robe de Mariée was even shorter than Bonnie with light brown skin, mousy features and glasses that were perched lowly against her nose, she had a bad habit of tilting her head down and looking at Damon beyond her lenses, especially when she asked probing questions.

“You must be the gay best friend?”

Bonnie laughed at that, openly and cheekily, deciding that she did like this bridal shop if the dresses were anything close to being as remarkable as she was. Damon rolled his eyes. When he pointedly said, “no,” without even a snort or a chuckle the lady, Miss Belinda, stated,

“You do know it’s bad luck for the husband to see the dress.”

And Bonnie sobered up quickly, her fit of laughter untimely concluded. “Oh we’re not- he isn’t my husband!”

Miss Belinda rose an eyebrow. “Not technically.”

“Not at all.” Bonnie politely affirmed, tugging at the hem of her sleeve. “He’s my best friend.”

“Hmm.” The older woman didn’t say much after that, just pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose before giving them another once over. “Follow me.”

So there Damon was, on a white velvet couch, waiting for Bonnie to try on wedding gowns. Just him and him alone since he had the tendency to want his best friend all to himself, which seemed increasingly difficult to achieve as of late.

Actually he’s had to fight for Bonnie’s attention because Derek, the groom, seemed hellbent on kicking him out of the picture.

Either that or biting his head off.

Their relationship was almost cordial, but the thing about Derek was, he reminded him of a big burly wolf. And after getting to know him, he wondered what was so interesting or funny about him that elicited a signature starry-eyed smile Bonnie gave him when he wasn’t paying attention.

Whatever.

“Your dream wedding dress: what does it look like?” Miss Belinda asked, a notepad in hand as if she were a therapist.

Damon observed Bonnie when she gave a little pout. There was a pregnant pause as she took her time to think, glancing around her in curiosity like one of the dresses would hop out and tell her.

“You know, it’s crazy to say but I’m twenty-seven and I’ve never thought of what my perfect wedding dress might look like. I could describe Elena’s perfectly. I could tell you Caroline’s to a tee. But mine… I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“Okay well let’s get whoever these Elena and Caroline are out of your head and let’s fill it with- what’s your name?”

“Bonnie.”

“Let’s fill it with what Bonnie wants.”

“Right.”

“And I’m Damon, by the way.”

“Damon, the best friend. Got it.”

He realized then that her voice and disposition reminded him of Sheila.

To not know what she wanted, Bonnie was very selective. She looked at dresses without even trying them on and shook her head dismissively. They had already been there for forty-five minutes and she had yet to find a dress she actually wanted to see herself in so she realized a traditional style in the big and poufy sense was not her thing.

“I don’t want to drown in a dress.”

So they looked at silhouettes that were figure-hugging up top and flared out like a mermaid to the bottom. She did enjoy those. However, not enough to be ushered into the dressing room.

Thirty minutes later, Bonnie declared, “I want an unconventional wedding dress. One that’s kinda sensual but still classy. I want a dress that looks like it’s fresh off of the runway.”

Miss Belinda looked like something clicked. “I think I might have the perfect one for you.”

It was a vintage Thierry Mugler gown, definitely a couturier’s version of bridal with a price tag that made even Damon’s eyes widen.

“I’ve been waiting for the right pair of eyes to show this to. It’s not everyday that a girl decides she wants a gorgeous gown that is unlike anything she’s ever seen before. They come in and say they want a dress like Carrie Bradshaw’s or Kim Kardashian’s.” She blew a raspberry. “The girls are supposed to find their own dress…and fall in love with it.”

Miss Belinda held onto the hanger with great pride, extending what looked to be a flesh-colored set: a strapless bodysuit, and the mesh with little ruches in excess towards the bottom like flowers that decided to bloom right out of the dress.

“It’s beautiful, it really is.” Bonnie hesitated.

“You should try it on.”

She had no clue if Damon made the suggestion because he was bored of the ample time spent looking at dresses with only slight variations between them or because he genuinely wanted to see her in it. But she relented anyway.

“Fine.”

Miss Belinda looked through her lenses at them as if she were going to ask another question before opting on silence and showing her to a breathtaking fitting room.

“Oh my god!”

Bonnie said it from the fitting room, followed by a gasp and eventual silence.

“That’s normally a good sign.” Miss Belinda explained to Damon with a knowing smile.

“Oh my god.” She said it again with a finality as she opened the fitting room door with fumbling fingers and walked out on shaky limbs.

Breathlessly Miss Belinda asserted, “That’s the one. My job here is down, child.” Politely, she walked away to give them some space to admire how a dress like that could bring forth the magic that young lady already possessed.

“What do you think?”

Damon was robbed of any logical thoughts to piece together.

She was standing there in a corset that made her waist invisible and a gown that looked like a beautifully designed layer of second skin. As tiny as she was, her legs, which were completely revealed, looked extended from the high cut of the bodysuit. Her skin was like gold. The veil interwoven itself with a train that reached far beyond her for a few feet, gossamer enough that it trailed behind her when she walked and caught air in the slightest of movements.

Bonnie Bennett was ethereal.

Bonnie Bennett was unreal.

“I feel naked.” She filled in at Damon’s unusual silence. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” She giggled as if the awkwardness could banish with her little lilt.

Oh he was gaping on the inside, bad. He had to tighten his jaw to make sure it didn’t go slack, that’s how paralyzingly beautiful she was.

Was it bad of him that he didn’t want Bonnie to marry Derek? Not in that. Not looking so stunning. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to look for another gown. There was no way in hell he could lie like it wasn’t made for her.

“Bonnie-you look…”

He was grasping for the right words but they weren’t extravagant enough. They weren’t dynamic or remarkable or pertinent enough to express his admiration and actual butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of feeling she was giving him. His palms were sweating.

Damon could imagine himself at the wedding, those same butterflies turning into eels, his insides flipping a few times over when Bonnie and Derek kissed. When Bonnie Bennett became Bonnie Hale.

That Derek.

What a lucky bastard.

“Honestly, Bonnie, you look like you have wings.”

(the dress)

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hansolmates · 4 years ago

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here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

summary; You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; fake dating!au, fluff, crack, mentions of cheating, lang, alcohol, mc eats meat, tw sexual harassment, toxic family, dick talk, making out, if u have that one family member that pulls bs on you constantly this is it, this fic is for all the people who have a huge ass family who wont leave them alone w.c; 17.3k a/n: my second fic for gcn’s 23 birthday project! the fact that wedding szn zoomed by us like that... and so bc im sad that so many weddings had to be postponed this fic was born! a huge thank u to vivi @eerieedits / @chillingtae for creating this BEAUTIFUL fic banner and separator pls check vivi out to make your fics all purty

prompts used: “You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?” and “I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

if you enjoyed this pls consider giving a like and a share💕💕

Doyeon likes to call Jungkook, “the one who got away.”

You like to call Doyeon, “the one who drove him away.”

In secret, of course. In fact, the only person who knows how much you loathe Doyeon and her behavior is your father. And all your co-workers. And your boss. And your boss’ ex-husband.

And Jeon Jungkook, but of course you haven’t seen the man in two years and back then he was far too polite to address his concerns of your hatred of his then-girlfriend.

Okay, so everyone and their mother knows how much you don’t like your cousin. Kim Doyeon and you have had beef since the sandbox, and for whatever reason is always out to one-up you. A strange competitive nature in everything, academics, family, and even boys. The sick, twisted part of you has come to enjoy it. While you’re not a fighter as devout as Doyeon is, you have your own callous tendencies farmed from the seeds Doyeon has planted in your brain. She gives you a comment? You can’t help but throw one back. Since you’re a painfully mature soul you don’t have any mortal enemies as far as you know, Doyeon is the perfect amount of hot water to keep you on your toes.

“I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be a bridesmaid,” Doyeon cooes next to you, swirling her champagne glass with a too-jutted pout, “but if I did there’d be an odd number of pairings and you’re a little too old to be walking as a bridesmaid, am I right?”

Your nails. Are digging. Through your dress. Alas, you’re in public and you have class. Doyeon smiles at you with all teeth, reminding you of the Beldam from Coraline. Aside from that she looks absolutely stunning in that Lirika Matoshi strawberry dress that has her Instagram aching with likes and love from her baseless followers.

“I don’t know,” you reply lightly, leaning back in your seat, “I mean, if Yoojung and Rena can be bridesmaids and they’re three years older than me, wouldn’t I make the cut? It’s okay to be honest and say you just didn’t want me in the bridal party.”

Doyeon laughs, slaps your thigh like you told her the most hilarious joke in the world. Anyone passing by would think you’re best friends. You laugh too, incredulous at the amount of power she thinks she holds.

“Nice party,” you tack on, surveying the room. It’s filled with pastels and beiges, bright and airy. It’s Parisian themed, and while you’re not a fan of theming cultures, you can’t deny that you’re loving the infinite supply of macarons.

“Oh, yes. This is just a taste of the real wedding,” she laces her fingers together, as if she thinks she’s living an Elizibethean love story, “speaking of, you put on your RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one. Am I allowed to know who’s the unlucky date?”

“As if you care.”

“I care if you’re bringing Jimin. That tiny thing nearly gave Aunt Lillian a heart attack when he gave a striptease at Yoongi’s graduation party.”

You smirk softly at the bold memory. That was the plan.

Doyeon sighs dramatically, crossing her legs and popping out a cherry red heel. She plays with the back on the balls of her feet, letting the little pearly rhinestones glisten in the candlelight, “I should really commend you, cousin,” she drawls, “I mean, how kind of you to be so charitable and give your dopey friends a chance to have fun. After all, I’m sure it is difficult for someone like you to find a date.”

It’s no surprise as to how you end up with a date at any family formal gathering. You say you bring a plus one, and then between Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok. The three of them draw straws as to who gets to gorge on free alcohol and food for that night.

“Difficult?” you arch a brow, “I get plenty of dates.”

Doyeon giggles. She must be feeling extra vindictive today, high on her impending marriage and the taste of bubbly champagne. “By taking turns with those three? You gotta be kidding me,” she snorts, tipping back her crystal, “please y/n. Don’t get so defensive because I’m getting married first. Your time will come. That is, if you stop dicking around with your friends.”

Normally you’d smother any attempt at Doyeon to call out your friends, but now she’s just done that and insulted your ability to get some, and you are livid.

“Actually,” you quip sharply, “I’ve been dating someone. It’s been a couple months, actually.”

“Oh?” Doyeon’s genuinely interested, face falling slightly, “you’ve never mentioned anyone, I don’t see anyone on your social media.”

“Yeah well,” you feign sympathy, pressing your lips together and tilting your head accordingly, “I’ve had to keep it private for a couple of reasons.”

“What, is he ugly or something?” she chuckles, “but really, who’s the person who has the misfortune of being in a committed relationship with you?”

Maybe it’s because Doyeon’s right, the both of you are too old. The two of you have been running around each other for years, with no end in sight. Maybe, the words that linger on the tip of your tongue will be the final nail in the coffin.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state proudly, clear as day. “Jungkook and I have been dating for three months.”

And you pick up the vanilla macaron that sits innocently on your plate, ravishing it up like it contained all the tension in your table. Between you and Doyeon’s bubble, you could hear a pin drop.

“Jungkook?” her smile is concrete-solid, “my Jungkook?”

“My Jungkook,” you correct, giving her a puppy-eyed look, “I’m really sorry I never told you. I mean, is there ever a right time to tell your cousin they’re dating their ex-boyfriend?” you laugh, either to lighten the mood or because you love the way Doyeon pinches her face, you don’t know.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We reconnected through Seokjin. You know how the two of them play Starcraft together, I just ended up joining the call and he was so funny and nice. We just sorta… felt it.” Doyeon nods like a slow bobblehead, still comprehending in her pea-sized brain, “I just hope it isn’t too awkward. I know it’s been awhile but, if you really don’t want Jungkook to come I can always take Hoseok or something.”

“No, it’s fine,” Doyeon says a little too quickly, masking on her picture-perfect smile. “I’m with Namjoon now, and I’m totally happy. Water under the bridge, it’ll be totally fine.”

“Really?” your eyes practically sparkle, thankful for the amount of glitter and highlighter you’ve dumped on your face today, “I really appreciate it, Yeonie.”

And she quickly downs her champagne glass, and gets up from her seat. It’s haunting, the way she gets up, pink tulle billowing around her ankles. “I have to attend to the other guests,” she says.

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

“But, be careful,” she gives you a little smile, one filled with a last-ditch attempt at a jab, “Jungkook, he’s a little hard to deal with.”

“Oh don’t worry. I know how to deal with Jungkook’s hardness,” you wink, and Doyeon’s face falls like a ton of bricks.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” you shrug loftily, “that’s what I meant, though.”

And you don’t bother watching Doyeon stomp off the metaphorical stage, double fisting two new glasses of champagne from an awaiting butler as she finds some other poor guest to pick on. Now, the matter of securing your date. Conveniently so, the most important man in the room is walking your way, and you manage to snag his tie just as he passes your table.

“Ow—ow! I’m choking!” Seokjin grabs, nearly throwing his tall body onto your lap, hands grappling to release the tension on his neck. “Leave me alone, woman! I just wanted to get some chicken tenders!”

“Jin,” you say sweetly, opening his blazer to retrieve his phone, “I need Jeon’s number, now.”

“Jungkook?” your favorite cousin pales, eyes widening as you take out your phone of your own, copying down the digits, “what did you do?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

Seokjin says your name again, firmer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s the last time,” you quell, already knowing how much Seokjin hates being in the middle of your fights. Once you’ve secured the phone number, you place Seokjin’s phone back into his pocket, patting his breast. “Thank you. You know you’re my favorite cousin, you know that?”

He grumbles a “damn right I am” before stomping away, resuming his race for his chicken tenders.

You: hey jeon it’s y/n. I see you’re doing great, i saw on instagram that you released your first app w/yoongi! Totally amazing, been playing for weeks, really upset that i can’t get past the flaming frog boss :((

You: Feel free to ignore this, i won’t blame you if you do. Im at doyeon’s rehearsal dinner, and she basically snubbed my friends and said i couldn’t get some prime dick even though im?? Me??? Anyway, im tired of her shit so im gonna throw it back at her, one last time before she ties the knot. I told her you and i have been dating, and im bringing you as my date to her wedding. Really sorry, the demons took over my brain and made the worst and best comeback of my life. So… if you’re up for being the hottest couple on the floor in three weeks and showing how madly in love we are, please text me back? Or not. You might think this family is crazy and i accept partial responsibility.

You: I’ll buy u every meal for every practice date we have if u agree.💕💕💕

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: thanks, i appreciate that. To defeat the frog boss, go back to the coconut cave and find the garnet garter. It absorbs his fire and u can easily defeat froggo w any level 15 weapon

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: and as for the real reason u texted me. Im in. let’s get pork belly tomorrow.

Two years ago, you were surprised that Doyeon could manage to snag a man as fine as Jeon Jungkook. Also unsurprised, because Doyeon is gorgeous and could snag any man she wanted, and has snagged every man she wanted.

Jungkook was different though. He had an air of innocence to him. He loved her, a little too much to be safe. Your heart would betray you every time you would find him at a family gathering, making her plate and counting the calories she so meticulously measured. How can someone so sweet be with someone like Doyeon?

Your heart ached for Jungkook when they broke up a year later. From what you heard, Doyeon was Jungkook’s first serious girlfriend. And then you wanted to rip your heart out a week later when you caught Doyeon smooching with her favorite graduate professor Kim Namjoon, wanting to erase any possibility you’d have at love. At that time, you never wanted to feel the pain you imagined Jungkook was going through.

“Y/n! Over here!” you’re a little taken aback at how much has not changed in Jungkook. His eyes still sparkle like fresh dew, his smile is still pearly white and infectious. He’s even early, snagging a table at his favorite barbeque place and waiting for you as if he is the one organizing your first date.

At the same time, there’s so much that’s changed about him. He’s confident, even going so far as to walk over to you and slip your jacket and purse in his grasp like a gentleman. He leads you by putting a hand lightly at the small of your back, making you feel impossibly small in comparison to his Dorito-shaped body, broad shoulders and a deliciously trim waist.

“How was the walk over?”

“Not too bad,” the conversation is casual, easy. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a napkin. “Could use a little exercise now and again. I did eat a whole tray of macarons at that rehearsal dinner.”

Jungkook laughs from his belly, causing you to smile. “Nonsense. You look great, by the way,” you don’t mind it, actually, you enjoy it when his eyes rake over your body. After all, he’s now your boyfriend and he needs to get familiar with all the important bits. He leans his arms forward, bracing him against the wooden table so his face is closer to yours.

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” your eyes gloss over the veins and intricate tattoos that paint his muscled upper half. Your smile morphs into a smirk, letting him know you’re enjoying the view just as well as he is.

And as soon as the tension sparks, it ends just as fast when your waiter comes up to light your grill.

“So,” Jungkook wastes no time in decorating your stove, making sure to add all the appropriate aromatics and infusions to season your lunch, “do you know why Doyeon and I broke up?”

“Cheated on you with Namjoon, I assume,” you keep your eyes trained on the darkening meat.

Jungkook slips a piece of meat in his mouth. Any expression of pain (whether it be from Doyeon or the barely cooked meat) doesn’t reveal itself as he stops to take a sip of water. “Who else knows?”

“Just me and Seokjin. The family loved you too much and Doyeon made up some sob story about how you two were going different life paths.”

He chuckles to himself, taking great care in flipping the meat. “I really was a fool in love, wasn’t I?”

“It… was mildly cute.”

“Tell me the truth, you have no reason not to.”

“Okay, you made me want to vomit rainbows and glitter every time I saw you.”

The two of you laugh, faces crinkling shamelessly as the two of you busy yourselves with setting up the table. Most of the food is done and the aroma of fresh onions wafts around your grill. As you place chopsticks on his side of the table, you think about all the times Jungkook made it abundantly clear how much he loved Doyeon: the love letters tucked into her purse, 100 day anniversaries, even just a simple Americano for her in the morning.

“Is that why you never hung out with us?”

“No,” you reply lightly, “Doyeon made it clear that I shouldn’t talk to you.”

Jungkook frowns, “You really don’t like each other, do you.”

You shrug, “Just always been like that,” you quirk a smile when Jungkook places the freshly cooked meat on top of your rice before serving himself.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We go to the wedding, make out a little, get Doyeon boiling. Even if she’s not interested in you, she’d still be upset knowing we are together.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s me,” you grin into your glass, staring at a water-stained Jungkook through the blue tinted glass. “And all you have to do, is enjoy your night and look pretty.”

His eyes crinkle, chopsticks pressing between his lips. “You think I look pretty?”

With a roll of eyes you don’t respond, preferring to dig your chopsticks in your rice. No need to inflate Jungkook’s ego too soon.

Pinning the main theme of your hangout to the side, the both of you dig into your meal. You throw conversation back and forth like pebbles, grains of sand that build and build until you’re caught up with each other’s lives. It feels so strange to admit it’s been two years since you’ve spoken to the man, and all of a sudden the once luscious meat feels dry in your mouth.

“Jeon,” you put your chopsticks down, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I mean, I know it’s all my fault and I dragged you into it. Don’t feel obligated to agree to this.”

“I’m a hundred-percent sure,” he doesn’t stop eating, shoving two spoonfuls of rice in his mouth. His cheeks puff up considerably, and your eyes trail down to his neck as he swallows, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna.”

“Right,” you don’t need a big explanation or a personal confession from Jungkook, just his consent. “Partners, Jeon?” you hold up your glass.

“Partners,” he agrees easily. The smile on his face disarms you, a full-fledged grin decked with pearly whites. Clicking his glass to yours he adds, “And it’s Jungkook, babe.”

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Seokjin thinks the two of you are the most boring fake-couple.

His eyes dart back and forth between your spot on the couch and his desk, where Jungkook is currently seated. Seokjin is hovered over Jungkook, who’s typing and clicking furiously over his PC game. You’re on your phone, feet pulled up to the coffee table while some old Netflix movie plays in the background. To top it all off both of you didn’t even try to dress like it’s daytime, nearly matching in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It doesn’t look like a couple coming to visit Seokin, it looks like Jungkook is playing video games with Seokjin while his cousin hangs around like she owns the place.

“Shouldn’t you guys like, I don’t know, go on dates or something?” Seokjin feels like he’s talking to the air. “Maybe get to know each other before the big day?”

Pulling your phone down to your lap and Jungkook taking off his headphones, the two of you shrug at each other, “No, we’re good.” Jungkook says.

“We know enough,” you agree cooly, “Jungkook likes Valorant.”

“I do like Valorant.”

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.”

“He’s ripped as hell.”

“I am ripped as hell.”

“Okay but have you guys kissed yet?” Seokjin interjects, probably compensating for the nonchalance in the room with his own brand of freaking out. You two only see each other when you’re hanging out at Seokjin’s apartment, and while he’s happy that you two aren’t doing the whole 9-yards and creating an elaborate scheme, the both of you are almost too relaxed. His anxiety is spiking.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, “at the barbeque place we went to.”

“It was nice," you tack on, "Jin, we got this. Don't worry."

"How can I not worry when you're trying to upset our cousin on her wedding day?" he's sweating in his fully air-conditioned apartment. “I get that she’s the devil’s spawn and everything, but she’s still a human being.”

“In second grade she pushed me on the treadmill because I was going too slow. I got caught on the roller and got a bald spot for two months.”

“Okay yes one bad example—”

“And in senior year she accused me of plagiarizing her essay just because we chose the same topic. I almost didn’t get into college!” Seokjin sighs, crossing his arms. All valid points, and arguing with you isn’t a route he wants to take. “Jin, the point is that she’s constantly pushing my buttons. I’ve always been the bigger person and now that I’m old and confident I just want one jab.”

“That’s valid,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing the spacebar a few times, “I want a jab too, she cheated on me.”

“See? It’s a mutual decision.”

Seokjin asks, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

"Because Doyeon isn't going to chew me out on her wedding day," you checked your aunt's seating chart last week and you are far, far away from the bridal table. "We're just going to show off a little bit. Get drunk, eat some bomb steak. Break up in three months or less.”

"You don't have to just convince Doyeon, it's your entire family! Not to mention you also have to go to the bachelor party!"

"Oh I almost forgot," you reach under the couch for your laptop, "Jungkook, in two weekends from now we're flying to Las Vegas for the bachelor party and wedding. I'll buy your ticket now."

"Thanks, babe!” Jungkook sends a cheeky grin to Seokjin, who is unimpressed. “See? I remember to call her babe.”

“Alright, get out of my house,” Seokjin tugs Jungkook away from his computer, causing the younger man to swivel around in his plush gaming chair.

Jungkook frowns at the monitor, “But I’m still bronze one. I’m aiming for silver one by this weekend.”

“Don’t care. As much as I don’t like this plan, I’m not letting you two slip-up.” Seokjin pulls out his phone, revealing Doyeon’s Instagram story, “Doyeon and Namjoon are at the mall buying swimsuits for Vegas. Go to the mall and ‘accidentally’ run into them.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head to the side. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you bound over to grab your jacket, giving Seokjin a big fat kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Jinnie, do you know you’re—”

“I’m your favorite cousin. Yeah whatever, bye.” He waves you off, plopping in his own chair so he can enjoy his games in peace.

“I’m driving,” Jungkook declares, swiping your keys from Seokjin’s opal dish.

“Oh, hell no,” you jump on your tippy toes to reach Jungkook’s grasp on your keys, but he’s so freakishly tall there’s no way you can reach. “I drive my car!”

“I’ve always wanted to drive your car back then,” Jungkook cooes, leaning in so your noses touch. “C’mon, you can trust me.”

“You two are gross already,” Seokjin admonishes from the other side of the room, “see, it’s working!”

Poking his cheek so he gives you some space, you whip your head to hide the flush that burns on your cheeks. “Fine, but if you crash you’re buying me a new one.”

“They’re over there,” you hiss between the racks, shuffling between the plastic hangers to point to Doyeon and Namjoon at the women’s section of the store. They look disgustingly adorable together, with Doyeon pointedly telling Namjoon which swimsuit suits his stature better while Namjoon nods along and goes with whatever she says. You crouch down lower, fearing Namjoon’s tall frame would catch you. “Now we just gotta act all couple-y and they’ll notice us. Or maybe we can walk over to them? What do you wanna do?”

“Do you think we should get matching swimsuits?” Jungkook pays no mind to your sleuthing, holding up a red pair of swim trunks to his thighs, “we could pretend to be sexy lifeguards.”

You tilt your head away from the pair, only because Jungkook has been genuinely interested in this store since you’ve arrived. Putting a hand under your chin, you scrutinize the dark red cutoff shorts. “They’re cute,” you nod appreciatively, “It’ll make your thighs look thick.”

Jungkook’s grip on his hanger lowers, and he regards you with dark eyes. “You think my thighs look thick?” he asks, leaning in and putting one hand on the curve of your waist. His fingers dance on the surface of bare skin between your top and jeans, and while you’ve agreed beforehand that you two could touch each other wherever in public, it still surprises you when gooseflesh rises to the surface.

“Easy there, tiger,” you chuckle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his sudden bout of flirting. “I’m just stating the facts, we get it. You lift.”

“You’re so cute when you try to put your guard up,” he’s brushing noses with you now, and you feel the plastic of the hanger crumple pathetically between you two as the gap closes further. “But you can’t hide from me.”

And just as his lips move to press against yours, a shrill “Jungkook!” echoes throughout the large store.

You nearly flop over the boardshorts rack if not for Jungkook’s arms secured around your waist. Oh right, you think dumbly, this is all for show. Doyeon and Namjoon are right in front of you, purchases already made and looking at you two in curiosity. Well, Namjoon is definitely curious, because you know for a fact that Doyeon speaks very little of you to him and you’ve only conversed with him a handful of times. Doyeon on the other hand, looks a little stiff in the grin.

“Hello to you too,” you remark to Doyeon, who’s barely acknowledged you. You reach over to squeeze Namjoon’s arm, “Hi Joonie,” you crinkle your eyes, and you fight back a squeal when he smiles back with dimples. Doyeon has such a cute fiancé, and if you’re keeping score he’s way too good for her.

Doyeon’s eyes glaze over to where you’ve touched Namjoon, and she links her arms with his. “What a coincidence, you two are buying swimsuits where we’re buying swimsuits.”

“Well, there’s only one mall in this town and we’re going on the same trip in two weeks,” you reply blandly, and you feel Jungkook pinch your side. “Oh, Namjoon. Have you met my boyfriend Jungkook?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Namjoon reaches over to clasp Jungkook’s hand, “nice to meet you, man.”

While Namjoon and Jungkook exchange small talk, you pointedly ignore the waves of negativity Doyeon sends your way in favor of observing the two large men. Namjoon just said it was nice to meet him, therefore he has no clue who Jungkook is. Interesting, considering Doyeon two-timed in favor of Namjoon. It gets you a little antsy, and you wonder if Namjoon is faking this whole interaction or if Doyeon is hiding something.

“Baby,” Jungkook rests a hand on your shoulder, regarding you with concern, “you spaced out there, are you okay?”

“She’s like that, Jungkookie,” Jungkook gently presses your shoulders down, blocking your view of Doyeon as she regards your not-boyfriend as Jungkookie. “My cousin’s a bit of an airhead,” her tone is sweet and jesting, the backhanded jab going right above Namjoon’s head.

“I’m just hungry,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

“Well, that’s perfect,” Namjoon clasps his hands together, “Yeonie and I were just about to go grab some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

Doyeon and you both reply immediately, “That really isn’t necessary—”

“Nonsense,” you don’t even have the heart to be upset at Namjoon because he looks so damn genuine, “It’s been two years and I haven’t even bought you a meal, y/n. After all, we’re going to be family at the end of the month.”

“Right,” you answer reluctantly.

“We’re gonna make reservations at the Cheesecake Factory,” he pulls out his phone, ready to make a call, “but you and Jungkook can finish shopping, okay? The wait will be a little long but by the time you’re done our table should be ready.”

You and Jungkook wave off Doyeon and Namjoon as they make their way to the restaurant. Your hand is caught in the air by Jungkook, who regards you with worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked spaced out,” he says, “tell me what you were really thinking.”

Subconsciously, you squeeze his palm for comfort. “I don’t know, it just feels weird knowing Namjoon doesn’t seem to know you at all. Normally Doyeon loves to talk shit about her exes.”

Jungkook scoffs easily, “I mean, if she’s marrying the guy I’m sure she doesn’t want to let him know the details of how they ended up together.”

“True,” you decide to let it go, and follow Jungkook to the register to pay for his swim trunks.

“So,” the little ‘ding’ of the register opens up the money box, and Jungkook quickly hands the clerk his cash, “we’re having dinner with them after this?”

“Only if you want to.”

“We need to, right?” Jungkook thanks the clerk, holding the bag in one hand and threading his fingers through yours as you head out the store.

“Well, do you want to?” you ask again. Jungkook stops the two of you on the sidewalk. It isn’t a fast stop, but a slow down that makes his walk a little more thicker, more deliberate as he trudges you down the lane. You move in front of him, clutching your hands between his. “Are you okay? You barely even acknowledged Doyeon.”

“I’m fine,” you flinch at his harsh tone, and he immediately moves to remedy it by squeezing your hand back. “I’m sorry. It’s just been awhile and I’m definitely over her but,” he bows his head, feeling embarrassed, “she hurt me, you know?”

Going into this is definitely one of the more selfish plans you’ve put your mind to. Your heart pangs thinking about what must be going through everytime he sees her. If he’s reminded about all the good times they shared, or how much he’s over thought every single conversation he’s had with her up until this point.

“Of course,” you completely understand, knowing from the beginning that this whole mess would end up with some dicey feelings someway or another. “I’m just thankful you chose to stick by me. And we can talk about it if you’re comfortable,” both of you being victims of Doyeon’s brand of torture, you hope the two of you can at least be friends after all of this is over, “we don’t have to go have dinner with them.”

“But, Namjoon got us a table—”

“Namjoon will be fine. We can always have dinner with him another time,” you smile softly, “what matters is that you’re okay.”

His gaze melts, and you feel his grip loosen in your hold. He regards you with weak eyes, betraying the confidence he held himself to moments before. “Thanks, y/n,” he says, “I really appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” you reply honestly. “We can go to Cheesecake and order to-go. I can make some excuse about how my stomach hurts and that we should do a raincheck.”

“Sounds good.”

“Do you wanna eat at one of our places or eat at the park or something?” you’re already pulling up your phone, checking out the menu. “We could invite Jin too.”

“The park sounds nice,” neither of you acknowledge the fact that you’re not inviting Seokjin, and for some reason that’s okay.

“Yeah,” you agree simply, “the weather’s beautiful.”

Under any normal circumstances, you would’ve been friends with someone like Jeon Jungkook, easily. A little part of you wishes that you could’ve met Jungkook first, but Doyeon has better connections than you and always had a good crowd around despite her inner motivations. No awkward exchange happens when you suggest to Jungkook to eat together. Even though you’re not technically dating, the two of you know that eating together is better than eating alone.

And you have to admit Jungkook’s great company. The two of you drive to a reserve nearby, overlooking a tiny lake. Instead of a fancy Italian tablecloth the two of you move your car seats down and set a spare picnic blanket in the trunk. Instead of a candlelit dinner the two of you find some emergency electric tealights in the glove compartment, lighting it up between you two as you dig into your to-go boxes.

You’re a little envious that so much time has passed by. You could’ve been a little sneakier and made a better effort to communicate with Jungkook when you saw him regularly at family parties, and maybe you two would have a better friendship today. Nevertheless, the two of you mesh like peanut butter and jelly, exchanging conversation that has your cheeks sore from smiling too hard.

By the time you get to dessert, the moon is out and the stars are floating above your heads. The two of you are at war, fighting with your forks over the last strawberry in your cheesecake slice. After some careful stabbing Jungkook manages to nab it with his fork.

He almost puts it in his mouth, but instead swipes up some whipped cream to press the last strawberry to your lips.

“I think it’s working,” Jungkook says randomly as you chew the sweet fruit, “you could see it on Doyeon’s face today. She’s unsettled.”

“Yeah,” you agree, lying down on the lavender gingham picnic blanket.

“Do you know why she fights with you all the time?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the dawn of time.”

“I think I know why.” Jungkook looks down at you with his large doe eyes, licking innocently on a spoon of whipped cream.

“Pray tell.”

“She’s jealous of you.”

“No,” you disagree easily, “she’s jealous that I have you.”

“Bzzt! Wrong,” Jungkook puts his empty container in your makeshift trash can, falling beside you and knitting his hands under his head. You have a little window on the roof of your car, so both of you are able to stare at the navy sky, “she’s always been jealous of you. Think about it. The two of you have similar lifestyles: same career path, confidence, taste, education. But even after all of that? People still like you more.”

You scoff, hands immediately reaching to fiddle with the frayed corner of fabric next to your fingers. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve met all of Doyeon’s friends,” he informs you, “they’re weird. Like yeah, they care about each other on the surface level. But they’re nothing of substance. They’re not like your friends.”

“Please, Doyeon has everything she could ever want,” you don’t know what kind of complex you have supporting Doyeon’s life, but something deep and insecure wants to separate you two as far away from each other as possible. “Like… she’s Malibu Barbie and I’m Polly Pocket.”

Jungkook turns to face you, resting his head between his palm and leaning on his elbow. “Do you not think you’re beautiful?”

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—”

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?”

You choke on your saliva, feeling small and skittish at the implication behind his words. It’s been two years. You’ve only been friends for two weeks. How can he possibly say that?

“I uh, saw you once,” Jungkook coughs, and you watch the way his pale cheeks unmatch the moon and instead flit to a crimson hue, “we were at some party and you were wearing this really cute black dress with a white bow in the middle. Doesn’t even matter what party because it was random, y’know? I was gonna go talk to you but Doyeon got to me first and well, the rest is history.” He breaks eye contact with you, unable to handle it.

You remember that party, vaguely. It was random, some sort of poetry slam in a shady part of town. Doyeon and you didn’t even go with each other, you were with Taehyung and she just happened to stumble in there from another nearby party. You didn’t even know Jungkook was there that night, or how you were a hair's breadth away from meeting him before Doyeon.

“Don’t ever think you’re lesser than her just because out of all the people she chose to pick on, she chose you. It’s why she never lets you get to know her boyfriends. She’s threatened by you because you’re just as special,” something low sparks in your chest at his words, “and now that you’ve finally decided to stoop to her level and fight back with a taste of her own medicine, she doesn’t know what to do.”

Feeling like your body is on a beach and you’re sinking in sand, you soften over your picnic blanket, mulling it over. “Did I make the right choice? Stooping down to her level.” Your voice is quiet, comparable to the chirping birds and buzzing gnats outside.

“We won’t know until after the wedding,” Jungkook answers honestly, “but I do know I’m sticking with you until the end. We’re friends now, got that? You have no excuse to ignore me anymore.”

You don’t want to ignore Jungkook, never in a million years. Now you know that you are envious of Doyeon, for having an opportunity to love and care for an amazing person like him. So in a sudden bout of emotion, you roll over to straddle Jungkook’s waist.

He’s shocked, hands flying to your waist to make sure you don’t wobble off. But you’re determined, and lean down to press your lips against his. He tastes like cheesecake and strawberries, the taste melding with your own as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You melt a little when he squeaks, breaking into a soft moan as he reciprocates the gesture. He’s warm and large and he makes you feel safe. Once your brain returns to your body, you break for air. You only pull back a few centimeters, and there’s no way for you to get off because Jungkook has locked you in place.

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly.

“Don’t know,” you’re whispering against his lips, unable to pull away, “just felt like we needed a little more practice.”

He blinks, before relaxing in a silly smile. “I agree,” he says simply, dipping you on your back so he can be on top the second time around.

“We’re in Vegas, baby!”

Every single terrible comedy movie set in Las Vegas has brought you to this very moment. You’ve always wanted to say that line. Dumping your luggage next to Jungkook’s, you flop on the nearest mattress. Thank goodness you only wore leggings and a t-shirt on the flight, it’s the optimal sleeping outfit after a long day. Feeling something hard and plastic dig into your brain, you hold up the culprit and squeal excitedly. “Look, Kook!” you wave the crinkly confection in your hands, “they put mints on the pillows!”

Despite your room being a square with two queen beds, the hotel does not skimp on quality. The decor is ornate, the white and gold trim on the doorknobs and metal appliances shimmering beautifully. The beds feel like clouds, as you try to imagine what a cloud could possibly feel like, this is it.

Jungkook immediately follows suit, ripping off his outer clothes until he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, flopping next to you on the mattress. He immediately opens his mouth when you shoot a mint, catching it easily. “I feel like we’re in a deleted scene of Crazy Rich Asians,” he says, letting the hard mint clink around his teeth, “is this the part where you tell me your family comes from old money and I’m gonna be your sugar baby?”

“Don’t be so hopeful,” you narrow your eyes, booping his button nose with your finger.

“I’m just saying, the first class flight threw me off.”

You giggle, slapping his chest, “No. If that was true, we wouldn’t be sharing a room with my cousin. Sorry you have to share the bed with me, I got the hotel with Jin and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“S’okay,” Jungkook replies softly, leaning closer to make grabby hands at you, “you’re softer.”

Tentatively, you scooch over so you can lean on Jungkook’s chest. You two have a little time before Doyeon and Namjoon’s combined bachelor and bachelorette party. The past two weeks have been nice—scratch that, the past two weeks with Jungkook have been wonderful. You never cared to measure how much time passed before meeting him, but now that you’ve begun fake-dating, time is the only thing you regard. You’re already beginning to miss him, knowing that in a week, this whole arrangement will be over.

Well, not exactly over. Jungkook says you’ll remain friends after this, but you don’t really want that. You want more, and it scares you to think he may not feel the same.

But right now you’re snuggling like an old couple, sleeping comfortably between pillow-like sheets and minty breath. Your pretend boyfriend, now your pretend boyfriend with benefits, looks soft and huggable and you want to bottle up this moment forever. You say benefits because, well, the cuddling is an added bonus. Practice practice practice, Jungkook sing songs the words you used that one night under the stars, excuses to seal his lips to your lips. You’ll never argue with that. So when Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer, you relent.

One second, you’re closing your eyes and the next, you’re waking up to Seokin’s wide eyes staring back at you.

“Eep, you creepo!” you shriek, scrambling away from him. That’s when you realize Jungkook’s missing from bed, the scent of his laundry detergent lingering between the eggshell Egyptian cotton.

“Jungkook’s in the shower,” Seokjin immediately reads your mind, pulling away so he can unpack his luggage. “My flight just got in two hours ago, you both were out like a light when I arrived.”

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.”

“Doyeon just texted the family group chat. She reserved the rooftop, the party starts in an hour,” he talks mindlessly, rifling through his stuff. Seokjin is fiddling with his clothes, despite the fact that you know Seokjin prepares his outfits days in advance so he doesn’t have to choose. He looks concerned, pulling out a flamingo pink boardshort and setting it down on his mattress. Finally he says, “I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because. It’s clear that you’re starting to fall for Jungkook.”

The words strike you straight in the place you’re trying to avoid. You’ve been living in a fantasy these past two weeks, thinly veiled by the whole reason you two are together in the first place. Doyeon’s wedding is just around the corner, and what then?

“I’m not saying that he doesn’t feel anything for you either,” that gets your heart skipping a beat, and you secretly hold a hand to your chest under the blankets, “but do you really want to start off a relationship like this? A relationship all messy and morally objective because it’s built on revenge?”

“Don’t worry about me,” the words easily fall from your lips, “I can take care of this.”

“I hate it when you say that,” the words are curt and harsh against Seokjin’s plush lips, “I’m allowed to worry about you, y/n. You know why? Because, because you’re my favorite cousin too,” he bites his lip, walking over so he sits on your side of the bed. “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t worry about. I want you to be happy, I want you to stop holding in this anger you have for Doyeon and move on.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning over to press your cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“For the first time in a long time, you’ve finally decided to lean on someone,” and both of you know who that someone is. “I don’t want you to lose him over some petty family issue. You should tell him how you feel.”

“I will,” you wrap your arms around your cousin’s slim waist in a silent thanks.

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?”

The two of you pull away to stare at Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and the red board shorts that you bought at the mall, cutting off mid-thigh and revealing the bulky muscle underneath. You were right, the shorts do make his thighs look thick.

Seokjin groans exaggeratedly. “Yes, yes you did.”

Jungkook immediately goes to replace Seokjin’s spot, and some stray droplets fall fresh from the shower due to his slicked-back hair. “Do you wanna get ready? First party’s soon.”

“Not really,” you admit, “you’re gonna meet the family all over again.”

“Second time’s the charm,” he winked, “I’ve already met your parents and everything. Not feeling nervous at all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really,” and the facade cools down a little, “well, maybe a little nervous for your Aunt Lillian. Her stares give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Aunt Lillian.”

“God the two of you get worse every day,” Seokjin has magically changed into his shorts, tucking himself into the bed, “don’t wake me up until we pre-game.”

Doyeon and Namjoon don’t skimp on the festivities, although in taste the ideas are Doyeon’s in its entirety. It’s lavish and colorful, with a beautiful infinity pool in the middle decorated with lavender and pink headlights. There’s a buffet table overflowing with tasty food. There’s petal pink champagne overflowing from fountains, decorated with fresh strawberries bobbing around the fizzy drink.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon and Jungkook have been talking for well over an hour, and it’s clear how well they mesh together. Heck, you’ve accepted that Jungkook may like Namjoon more than he likes you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as Namjoon discusses the various genres of rap and hip-hop music, explaining the potency of mature themes in a young community, “but I will say music is like another language, knows no boundaries when it comes to sending their messages to others.”

You fight the urge to chuckle when Jungkook sighs dreamily at the music theory professor. “Wow, that’s so deep.”

Getting up from your cabana, you nudge Seokjin, who’s currently flirting it up with one of Doyeon’s bridesmaids. “Hey, wanna get a drink?” you ask, throwing your wrap on the cushions to reveal your strappy red bikini.

“And chicken tenders,” Seokjin presses a kiss to the bridesmaid’s cheek, bidding her goodbye as he follows you out of the shaded area.

“Do you two lovebirds want anything?” you stare pointedly at Namjoon and Jungkook. While Namjoon’s eyes stay in contact with you, you can’t help but smile a little more when Jungkook has a hard time keeping his gaze in one place.

“I think we’re fine,” Namjoon answers for both of them, swirling his beer bottle. “I’ll meet you two at the bar once I’m done.”

“Sure thing,” Seokjin puts a hand on your back to lead you to one of the open bars. As much as you like being in a handsome hotel with money to burn, nothing beats the fact that your entire family is here to celebrate. The elders have corroborated two cabanas for poker and other games, while your younger cousins are playing ping pong and air hockey on the other side.

“Namjoon sure is a dreamboat,” Seokjin bemoans, handing you an electric orange drink. You take a sip of it, and bug out when you realize it tastes nothing like alcohol. You’re definitely in for a night. “Like I can hear him wax music thingamajib any day.”

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.”

“A mere diversion,” he sighs, leaning his tanned arms against the bar, “can’t ignore the deep voice Namjoon has, it’s intoxicating.”

“I’m sure Jungkook would agree,” you egg on.

“What are you two talking about?” you straighten up when the man of the hour shows up at the bar, absolutely glowing under the sunset. He orders a round for the three of you, and you immediately chug your own drink to get to the next one.

“Talking about how you’re stealing Jungkook away from me,” you joke, accepting another fruity drink from Namjoon. Damn, this stuff tastes like candy.

“Oh, never,” Namjoon replies brightly, waving the thought away, “do you see the way he looks at you? Hopelessly in love.”

Maybe it’s the copious amounts of alcohol, but you feel your stomach flip-flop at the thought of love. You’ve always known what love felt like, the warmth of Namjoon’s cheeks whenever he sees Doyeon, when your mom takes care of you when you’re sick, when Seokjin makes sure you’re not emotionally constipated 24/7. But the thought of Jungkook and you in love? It’s a feeling you secretly yearn for.

“Right? It’s disgusting,” Seokjin groans with an eye roll, “like, Jungkook wasn’t like that with Doyeon at all when they were together.”

The slip up has the three of you choking on your own thoughts, staring at each other like the three have just been told you’re on a prank show. But it is no prank, and you look at Seokjin who’s absolutely horrified.

“Oh shit,” he squeaks, looking at Namjoon guiltily, “did I say something I shouldn’t have said?”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies coolly, “did you?”

The ominous response gets you going, and you quickly place a hand on Namjoon’s arm, placating him. “They dated, yes. But it was only for a short time and we’ve sorted everything out. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Oh,” Namjoon quirks his head, and regards you two with pursed lips. “I’m not one of those guys who freak out over other people’s exes. I’m just surprised that I’ve only heard this now,” Namjoon takes a slow sip of his drink, and despite your drink also being cold and refreshing, you’re absolutely sweating.

“Well, I’m sure Doyeon didn’t want to worry you.”

At the mention of his future wife, he beams. “You’re right, she’s considerate like that,” and the conversation ends just like that. He holds up his drink to the two of you, and you and Seokjin do the same. With a sharp clink he leaves you two to mull, happily conversing with the next round of guests he needs to entertain for the week.

“That guy is too nice for his own good,” you shake your head, asking the bartender for your third drink within ten minutes.

Seokjin leans over you and warbles, “So you’re telling me that Namjoon has no idea that Doyeon cheated on Jungkook in order to date him?” he’s sweating just like you are, following suit to your actions and asking to make his drink a double.

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, your teeth worrying the dark skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while though. I just don’t want to get involved, you know?”

“But this is different!”

“But Doyeon’s family!”

“And all of a sudden you care about Doyeon’s feelings?” Seokjin gripes back, “it’s not about Doyeon, it’s about the both of them. And if we know something that Namjoon doesn’t, wouldn’t it be in our best interests to warn him before he seals a marriage deal that costs him over a zillion dollars?” he gestures to the extravagant wedding party.

“But we don’t even have any proof that’s the case,” you frown, “Doyeon could have changed—a little, not a lot—since meeting Namjoon, maybe she thinks it’s best to reveal as little as possible.”

Seokjin wonders what kind of family he has. One as chaotic as his takes a lot to stomach, and Seokjin likes to pride himself in his strong appetite. “Fine, let’s just keep a close eye on both of them this week. And if anything remotely fishy happens, we strike.”

“Deal.”

You return to the cabana alone, with a plate of fries for both you and Jungkook. Jungkook is also alone, laying on the lounge chair with his eyes closed. It gives you a chance to ogle your fake-boyfriend a little bit, reveling in the sight of his toned body.

Setting down your plate with a sharp rap of the glass, Jungkook opens one eye. “Hey,” he smiles, drinking in your muted expression, “you okay?”

Damn Jungkook for being able to read you so well. “I think so. It’s nothing, really.”

“Well, will you tell me if it’s something?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“So, I do have something to tell you though.” Jungkook sits up, regarding you wearily. “Can you… stand in front of me?” Confused, you shove a fry in your mouth and walk up to him as directed, your back blocking the entrance as you stand in front of him. “Okay, come closer. Now bend down,” you bend your back 90 degrees, and he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you, “no, no. With your breasts out, just a little—there! Arch your back. Like you’re doing the Sorority Squat.”

“Excuse me—”

“The music isn’t even that loud,” he mutters to himself, “no one would need to push their boobs in my face to hear me.”

“Jungkook, is someone pressing boobs to your face?”

“Why,” he breaks into a playful grin, “jealous?”

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.”

“Unfortunately it wasn’t,” he twiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts. “It was Doyeon.”

Doyeon? She didn’t walk by your cabana all day. Heck, she barely greeted you when you arrived with Jungkook. But when Jungkook’s alone is when she decides to pounce? And with what motive?

“I don’t know,” he’s rambling to himself, “maybe I’m overthinking it. It was only half a second.”

“Jungkook, I have something to tell you,” you say instead, panic in your features.

“Is it something urgent?”

“Well, no but—”

“Then tell me when we get back to the room,” Jungkook easily pulls you onto his lap, and you instantly heat up when you feel your bare butt press against Jungkook’s golden thighs. “Like you said, we’re in Vegas. Let’s have fun while we can.”

“Okay,” you tuck your head between his neck and collarbone, reaching to press a kiss to his smooth jawline.

Relaxing against the plush lounge chair Jungkook feeds you fries while talking about the things he wants to do this week. It’s his first time in Vegas and he wants to make the most of it. He wants to visit all the buffets he sees on Buzzfeed compilations, relax at the pool, maybe catch a show. The thought of spending all week with him and your family is nice, and suddenly you don’t feel so awkward sitting on his lap, and eventually he pulls you between his thighs so you can lay on his chest.

“And between you and me,” he fake whispers against the shell of your ear, as if he’s telling you the biggest secret, “we’re the hottest couple here.”

The next three days leading up to the wedding are relatively uninteresting.

Uninteresting in the best way possible. On Monday you and Jungkook spend time with your little cousins, taking them to The Adventuredome, one of the resort's indoor theme parks. On Tuesday you and Jungkook go shopping at the outlet malls with your parents, blowing hundreds of dollars on cheap Levis that have your luggage bursting with a new wardrobe. In between all of that Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon joins you two in your buffet journey, hitting up the top spots and filling your tummies to the brim with delicious food.

On Wednesday, Jungkook brandishes two gold-foiled tickets in front of you, waving them around like a fan. With one finger, he pushes away your Pokémon battle, “I got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” he announces proudly, “waited in line for an hour.”

You gape, scrambling off of your bed and throwing your Nintendo Switch to the side. “Jungkook,” you marvel, “these are so expensive. How’d you manage to get a show for tonight?”

He shrugs, “Looked around.”

“You’ve been impulse buying a lot this week,” you tease, “like really, you don’t need three pairs of the same ripped jeans.”

“This wasn’t an impulse buy,” he says, “I’ve been looking around for shows. Just managed to pick them up today, so go get dressed for our date.”

Did Jungkook just call it a date? Giddy with excitement you throw the covers off, running into the bathroom to get ready. What a surprise, you didn’t think Jungkook would be into spontaneous things like this.

Seokjin left the bathroom open, so when you walk in the room it is steamy and warm. Your dear cousin is still in the shower, probably waiting for his conditioner to pass three minutes of set-in time.

“What are you getting ready for?” Seokjin asks over the rain shower.

“Kook got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” you chirp happily, looking through your skin care products.

“I wanna come!”

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.”

“Oh, a date,” Seokjin drawls, putting his head under the water to rinse his hair clean. “Well then, should I vacate the room for tonight?”

“What, no!” you’ve closed the door, so thankfully Jungkook can’t hear you talking about him. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just two friends who are fake-dating going on a date.”

“Sounds like a real date, though,” Seokjin wraps a towel around himself to cover all his important bits before getting out of the shower, bumping elbows with you so he can brush his teeth. “Either way, I’ll be gone tonight. It’s my turn to watch the baby cousins. Don’t have too much fun while I'm in their room watching Despicable Me for the millionth time.”

“We’ll be sure to stop by with some pizza or something,” you tease, a little wiggle in your hips when you vacate the bathroom.

By the time you and Jungkook are ready, you two are dressed impeccably. Jungkook is wearing one of the ripped black jeans he bought on Tuesday, combined with a white button up and black blazer. A classic outfit with a little bit of Jungkook-themed flair. And to Jungkook’s surprise, you’re wearing the dress that he first saw you in, all those years ago. You’ve gained a little weight since college, but you still fill out the little black dress beautifully, the little white bow in the middle adding a simple yet adorable touch. It took a little sleuthing and searching through your old college clothes, but you were determined to find it when Jungkook reminded you how much you love the design.

Clearly from the way Jungkook is currently gaping at you like a bloated fish, he loves it too.

The show is beautiful and colorful, leaving you speechless and in tears by the end of it. Jungkook lets you hold his hand the entire time, feeling a bout of anxiety anytime the acrobats fall gracefully despite the large height.

Overall, it was a wonderful show, paired with your equally enamouring date. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish what’s fake and what’s real in your heart, and throughout the night you’re sorely reminded that you should tell Jungkook how you feel.

But by the time you get to the room your parents are calling you, asking to get their suit and dresses out of the car so hotel service can do a last minute press and dry clean.

“I’ll be back,” you say to Jungkook, “I need to go get their clothes out of the car. They’re always so forgetful.”

“Want me to come?” he offers, hand shying away from inserting the keycard in.

“No, I’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I guess this is this the part where I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks cheekily, leaning on his heels so his tall frame reaches yours. You don’t hesitate to give a short peck to his pretty pink lips. He pouts at the brevity, “that was too quick.”

“Go inside,” you insist, “the sooner you get ready for bed the sooner I can get ready for bed.”

“Then more kisses?”

“Then more kisses.”

Jungkook breaks into an all-teeth smile, unable to control himself when he dips down and steals a longer, more lingering kiss to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, mimicking every single teenage rom-com protagonist who’s deeply in love with the popular jock. “Don’t take too long, okay?”

You nod, pushing him inside, “C’mon, if you stopped talking I’d be back by now!”

Once the door closes shut, you let yourself do a little dance in the hallway, wiggling your butt and giving yourself a mini-celebration. You quickly text your group chat that you just came back from the Cirque show.

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

Jimin: whaaaaaattttt. U’ve gotta have sat in his lap at least. 3 times since you’ve started this ting

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college…

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious

Just as you’re about to send a heated reply, the elevator dings, revealing a pissed off Doyeon. She’s bare-faced, in a fluffy lilac bath robe and matching puff ball slippers. You slip in right beside her, making sure there’s a comfortable amount of space between you two.

“You’re going to the parking garage too?” you ask, eyes lingering on the lit button.

“Yeah,” she’s looking at her phone, a few stray hairs from her mahogany bun falling onto her forehead, “Aunt Lillian left her medication in the car. I don’t know why she has to send me, I’m busy getting married.”

“My parents left their formal clothes in the car,” you shrug, “you know, my parents and Aunt Lillian share the same brain cell. Gotta help them out once in a while.”

The icy silence in the elevator is probably the calmest you and Doyeon have been since you’ve announced your relationship status with Jungkook. You fight the sigh, opting to take out your phone and open some unread messages.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: hurry up, the bed’s cold without u

You: lool, why do u look constipated

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: because i am, hurry up. Im bringing ur switch to the toilet and playing on your profile

You: JEON WAIT YAMPERS AT 5HP GO TO THE POKEMON CENTER U HEATHEN

You tilt your head a centimeter, feeling Doyeon breathing down your neck like Puff the Magic Dragon. You look at her with wide eyes. Her long, slender neck manages to snake its way next to your head, “Can I help you?” you ask amusedly, clutching your phone to your chest.

“Are you two really together?” she asks, batting her lashes. All this week she’s left you alone, and you’ve been wondering when she’s going to make herself known. It’s a little self-absorbed you have to admit, but ever since Namjoon’s ignorance to Doyeon’s previous relationship, you’ve been on edge.

“Of course we are,” you spit back, “I love him.”

And you must be very convincing, because Doyeon’s gaze falters just a fraction. You glare at her, staking your claim. Ever since Jungkook told you the reason Doyeon hates you is because she’s jealous, you’ve started to feel a bit of sympathy for her. Doyeon is beautiful and smart, she has no reason to feel this way. But the brain holds fickle thoughts sometimes, bringing darkness to the mind.

“He loved me first,” she bites back, lifting her chin.

“And why do you care?” you laugh tonelessly. The elevator dings open, and you’re met with the open air and concrete of the parking garage. “He may have loved you first, but he’ll love me last.”

You leave the elevator first, a little pep in your step as you make your way to the rental car to gather your parent’s things. While the words you uttered are white in nature and may not hold any sort of weight to them, it manages to bring Doyeon to her knees, absolutely quaking in the elevator.

You’re tasting revenge, and it’s sweet.

“Okay, you need to leave,” Seokjin pulls away the shot glass from your lips, “I didn’t spend days planning the itinerary for you to mess it up. Bridal party in Doyeon’s suite and the groom’s party in Namjoon’s parents suite.”

“That’s dumb,” you chastise, crossing your arms, “we’re all meeting at the same club at 10. Why can’t we pre-party together?”

“Because it’s tradition!”

“Screw tradition,” you stumble on your heels as you purse your lips at Jungkook, “Kook, when we get married I don’t wanna do a whole boy-and-girl party. We’re equals, right?”

“Of course, baby,” he cooes, being careful not to smudge your makeup when he presses his lips to the crown of your head. “But for the sake of Seokjin’s sanity, you should probably go to Doyeon’s. It’ll only be an hour or two.”

You gasp exaggeratedly at the blatant betrayal. He only grins cheekily in response, dipping down to press a wet kiss to your cheek. “Fine,” you cross your arms, snatching back your drink from Seokjin’s grasp to knock it down.

Leaving the bachelor pre-party pains you considerably. They’re having such a good time joking around the suite, telling each other fun stories and relaxing in chairs as they watch TV. This is your kind of crowd, not to mention that you can peacefully check out Jungkook’s ass in those tight dress pants without any crazy club lights distorting your vision.

From past family party experience you already have a feeling what’s coming for you in the ladies’ suite.

Loud music pours from Doyeon’s suite, and it’s completely unlocked. The bridal party is raving, ten seconds away from being completely drunk and immobile. The lights are being manually shut on and off like some sort of cheap rager, and you have to tell Yoojung to tone it down before you get a seizure.

The stench of acidic drinks and the tang of alcoholic air is palpable, and instead of a shot you opt for a glass of peach champagne to slow you down.

As you walk deeper into the suite, you notice a crowd forming by the balcony. Tapping your cousin Nari on the shoulder, you regard her with a hug and kiss. “What’s going on over there?” you ask, heels not helping you see any better.

Nari’s all blushy and pink, hiccuping as she gestures to the balcony. “Her maid of honor got Doyeon a very special gift!”

Managing to weave through the women blocking your view, you fight the urge to gag when you have a clear view of the scene in front of you.

You really don’t understand the purpose of bachelor and bachelorette parties. “One night to be single all over again!” they all say, even though they’re not actually single? Like why does the couple suddenly get one night of forgiveness when you’ve already spent years being in a committed relationship?

Why is it okay that Doyeon’s dry humping a stripper on the balcony? Her white silk dress is ruched dangerously high, soon close to flashing her family. Aunties and friends and the like are cheering her on, and she flips her head perfectly to all the phones shoved in their faces, making sure to get the perfect angle.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back in the hopes that your other family members would be willing to have a good old-fashioned tip back with you.

You squeal when your hands accidentally land on a bare, oiled chest. You look up, mortified at the large man covered in black harnesses. “Hey babe, I’m Wonho,” he says, faking a sultry gaze as he looks at you up and down, “you’re part of the bridal party too? Wanna dance?”

Feeling naked, you push past him, careful not to get anything on your dress. Wonho? Wonno.

Jungkook loves your family.

(Except Doyeon.)

As much as he told you not to worry about him, and he’ll be completely fine when he meets your family, he couldn’t help be a little wary on the flight over. After all, it’s been two years and he didn’t know how things would be different.

Chaoticism and all, your family is a thing to be cherished. Even though Yoongi has been on mood swings that make Jungkook question his sanity from time to time, and Seokjin is secretly breathing down Jungkook’s back every time he so glances at you, he thinks things are right where they should be.

But despite all that they regarded him with familiarity, hugged and kissed him like old friends, something is different. They’ve turned over a new page for him. They don’t bring up Doyeon. They ask about his family, his job, his life in the city. They ask about how you and Jungkook met, and how happy they are for you. How happy they are for him.

Oh, how he wishes everything could be different. In another world, you two would already be together.

He wasn’t lying back at the cabana when he said you two are the hottest couple at the resort, including the bridal party (but don’t tell Namjoon). You look absolutely stunning in your sparkly red dress, accentuating all the right parts and lighting up the whole room.

When he finds you in the club you’re sitting down with your Aunties, keeping the elders company while the younger ones are flagging down the bartenders. He thinks it’s cute, how well you fit in between them, coddling you like you’re still a child in their eyes.

“Dear, your boyfriend is here!” your one Aunt yells over the loud EDM.

You lift your head up quickly, giving him the prettiest smile. Your teeth glow purple under the neon lights, and he fights the urge to laugh when he holds out a hand. “Mind if I steal her from you?”

“Of course, she’s gotta live a little!”

You pout, a little wobbly but nevertheless still in the right mind as you shuffle out of the booth to meet his awaiting arms. “Hey handsome,” your voice is thick and sweet-smelling, “come here often?”

“Only when my girlfriend does,” he replies cheekily, hands immediately coming to your butt to smooth out your dress. He shys a bit when your Aunties hoot and holler at his public display of affection, but all he wants to do was pull the hem down a little bit. No way is he going to let anyone get a flash of your goods.

“Let’s dance!” you take your hand in his, leading him to a comfortable corner of the dance floor.

Clubs aren’t really your scene, aligning with Jungkook’s sentiments towards the loud generic music and terrible smell. But you’re in Vegas, and he feels that it’s all part of the package to experience the nightlife at least once. He puts his hands on your waist and you giggle like you’re in prom, hands coming to rest on the collar of his button down.

“Hey,” he says with a lopsided smirk, “wanna make out?”

“Sure,” he notices that you don’t even check if anyone’s seeing, and it makes his heart flutter when you don’t hesitate to get on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

He’s always hoped for a moment like this, a moment where the room stops spinning and both your minds click into place. It’s almost comical, how he distinctly notes that the music fades once his lips touch yours. The kiss is hot, yet intimate. Even though he makes excuses to kiss you all the time because of practice, it goes to show that you two definitely never needed it. Your tiny hands grip the collar of his button down, bringing you two impossibly close despite the hot air. His larger hands grip at the strings that hold your measly dress together, grappling at any excuse to get to your soft skin. The two of you are a natural when it comes to each other’s intimacy.

The two of you pull away, mesmerized. You haven’t kissed like that before. He melts under your stare, his thumb reaching to nick off any lip gloss that’s moved in the process.

Seokjin comes down the floor to haul you both by the shoulders, “C’mon lovebirds, they’re taking wedding shots!”

The two of you follow your cousin to the crowd of people that is your family, already with their own drinks in hand. Doyeon and Namjoon are sitting atop the bar, making a very loud toast that consisted of a quick “thank you!” and “we love you!” before downing their drinks with their arms linked together. The room is thrumming with excitement for tomorrow’s festivities, and surprisingly, you and Jungkook included. He tucks himself in your body like a puzzle piece, hugging you from behind while he watches Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with love under the neons.

The nightclub gets a little blurry after that, with the copious amounts of alcohol and shameless actions from your family and friends. By the time it’s twelve Jungkook notices you swaying at a rate that you can’t handle. He knows your limits and knows when you have to urge to pee every five minutes, it’s time to go. With a chaste kiss you leave him at the bar, deciding to make a pitstop to the bathroom before telling Jungkook you want to head up.

You’re locked in a stall when you hear Yoojung’s voice.

“Ugh,” she groans, voice echoing through the tiny room. “Jungkook is so sexy. Do you see the way he’s dancing out there? He’s a literal babe magnet, I can’t believe he ended up with someone like y/n.”

You don’t move a muscle, pressing your ear against the door that hides you. The silly slander isn’t news to you, Doyeon has been feeding her friends all sorts of bullcrap so they wouldn’t bother talking to you.

“Yeah, Jungkook’s a real treat but he dated Doyeon first. Sounds like she’s into sloppy seconds,” Elly replies, another bridesmaid you’ve met in passing. “But I don’t know, they do look happy together.”

“Please, I’m sure Jungkook’s just using her so he can get one more chance at Doyeon before she ties the knot,” you bristle, the thought of Jungkook still having feelings for Doyeon makes your heart thud painfully against your chest, “like, what a downgrade. Namjoon and Doyeon do not deserve this drama. If Jungkook ever liked Doyeon at all, he wouldn’t have come. Period.”

You slam the door open, causing Elly to squeal and Yoojung’s YSL lipstick to fall onto the sink. You’re the epitome of relaxation, walking towards the sink to wash your hands. The bridesmaids simply stare at you, unable to formulate a comeback. When you finally dry your hands, you say your next words.

“Jungkook is here because he loves me,” an act act act. This is all an act. You shouldn’t be this offended because you know it’s all false. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Jungkook that doesn’t deserve Doyeon. Jungkook was too good for Doyeon.”

And you slam your heels against the tile, stilettos pounding to the beat of the music. Your exit is full of anger and frustration as you ignore the burn in your step and the ache in your heart, flagging the first bartender you see to get you a double.

Shot for shot, that anger soon melts into guilt as Yoojung’s words sink in. The thought of Jungkook using you to get to Doyeon is terrible, you can barely stomach the thought. But that’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’re using Jungkook to get back at Doyeon.

Why did you even want to get back at Doyeon anymore? Why do you have to prove anything to her? If she just continues to push you around, isn’t that more on her than it is on you?

Jungkook soon finds you after you’ve nursed a few drinks, leaning unceremoniously against a barstool. His eyes widen at your state, and he immediately sheds his jacket to wrap it around your waist.

“Why did you drink so much?” he chastises, “it’s the night before the wedding.”

“Jungkookie,” you warble, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good.”

He sighs, bending down. “Get on my back. Make sure the jacket covers you up, okay?”

He doesn’t even grunt when you put all your weight on him, feeling like a ragdoll as he hoists you up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him carry you to your room. Most of the older family already went upstairs to sleep, so none of your cousins could care less when they see you get hauled away by Jungkook.

You inhale, he smells like sweat and cologne. “I like putting my head between your neck,” you babble, and you feel Jungkook chuckle through his chest, “you smell so nice there. It’s the bestset! Comfiest place ever, ‘specially when m’sleepy.”

“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You love how smooth the petname falls from his lips.

“I will be when we get upstairs,” you reply, happy to see the elevator is empty. “I’m just all up in my head.”

“Is that why you were drinking so much? You said you were gonna stop earlier.”

“Yeah, but,” you shamefully tuck your head in his shoulder, “I was frustrated.”

“Frustrated? At who?” concern laces his tone as he struggles to hold you with one hand and fumble for his key in the other. You tighten your legs around his slim waist until the door clicks open, and he immediately walks over to your bed to plop you down. “Babe, are you crying?” he finally has a good look at your face, horrified to see the streaks of tears mixed with mascara running down your face.

“I wa-was jealous,” you confess tearily, clutching your face in your hands, “some girls in the bathroom were calling you sexy and that you were only here so you could try to win over Doyeon. I know it sounds ridiculous and you would never do that but. The thought of you getting back with her makes me so jealous and I hate it! I’m starting to feel so guilty about this, all of this. I put all of this on ourselves and I’m ruining it.”

“Ruining what? You’re not making any sense.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee, crouching down so he can look up at you.

“I’m ruining us,” you gush despondently, “I’m ruining any potential of us before we even start.”

Jungkook freezes, hand clutching your knee like a lifeline. The potential of you two together? You’ve thought of that? Jungkook didn’t drink much tonight, so his mind is definitely running on all cogs.

Coming to a conclusion, he rubs slow, soothing circles on your knee, his other hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. “You’re not ruining anything,” he declares firmly, “that’s impossible. I may have agreed to fake-date you because of Doyeon, but I stayed because of you.”

His heart aches seeing you so upset, and he decides to take initiative to get you out of your clothing and ready for bed. You don’t have any words, opting to let Jungkook take care of you as you try to calm yourself down. He finds a spare t-shirt, a long one so you’ll be comfortable. He doesn’t bat an eye when he unzips your dress, in favor of balling up the shirt and getting you clothed as fast as possible. He rifles through the bathroom to find your makeup wipes, and he’s gentle when he scrubs up the once pretty makeup you spent half an hour doing. Barefaced and fresh, you look sleepy and ready to crash.

But before Jungkook can tuck you in, you clutch his arm.

“Jungkook,” you murmur sleepily, “I think I lo—”

“I know, baby,” he doesn’t want a confession like this, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want it either. You still look a little green and you’re not sober, so he makes the executive decision to pin these feelings for later. “I’m not trying to invalidate you, I promise. I want you to tell me this, all of this in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” you melt in the sheets, pulling the blankets up to your chest. When you see Jungkook move away from the bed, you jolt, “Where are you going?”

Jungkook smiles, reaching over to tuck you back in, “I left my blazer in Namjoon’s room. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He walks out of your room as quietly as he can, making sure to close the door slowly. Once it’s sealed shut, he leaps up, giving himself a silent cheer as he bounds down the hall. You like him back!

The smile on his face is tired but full of fervor as he makes his way to Namjoon and Doyeon’s suite. He doesn’t even care that he probably has to talk to Doyeon to get his jacket back, thoughts filled with the excitement of his requited feelings and going back to his room to cuddle up with you.

He doesn’t even have to knock when the large double doors swing open. Dumbfounded, he looks down at Doyeon, wearing a tiny black nightie and dangling his jacket with one finger. It’s an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination, and he feels his neck heat up at the feeling he’s encroaching on an intimate moment.

“You left this,” she says slowly, a tiny smirk on her lips.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, making sure not to touch her when he grabs his blazer.

In her other hand she holds up her room’s designated ice bucket. “Could you also get me some ice, please? Namjoon’s fast asleep and I really don’t want to walk out all… exposed.”

He swallows his sigh, knowing it’s going to take significantly longer to get back to you when Doyeon drawls like this. “Of course,” he replies tersely, “after all, you are the bride.”

“Thanks, Jungkookie.”

He makes quick work of getting Doyeon the ice, pumping his long legs down the hall. The ice room is cold and cramped, barely enough for his tall frame to fit in. He jabs the container in the holder, pressing the button ten times per second to get as much ice out as possible.

As soon as he turns around with the ice, he drops the whole bucket.

Like glass, it shatters onto the ground, hundreds of little clear pebbles skimming across the floor like marbles. Doyeon’s pushing Jungkook against the ice machine, freshly manicured hands splayed across his chest. Her body is flush against his, making sure that he feels all of her with her thin silk gown.

“What the fuck, Doyeon get off of me!” a little part of him hopes she’ll come to her senses on her own so he doesn’t have to put his hands on her.

“C’mon, Kookie,” her voice is a sickly candy sweet, her eyes wide with hunger as she takes in his form, “just one more night, you and me. Like old times. One more night before I tie the knot.”

“You’re crazy,” he balks, running his hand through his hair, “this is sexual harassment, do you know that?”

“You don’t mean that, Kookie,” Doyeon dips a red-tipped nail down his chest, “why settle for someone like y/n when I’m right here?”

He grabs her wrists, firm. She winces at the contact, but doesn’t say anything when Jungkook delivers her a scary glare. It gets her quiet, fearful of this version of Jungkook. Doyeon’s never seen Jungkook like this before, so unwilling to bend at her whim and emanating all his power against her.

“Why settle for your cousin?” he whispers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because, I love her.”

Her lip curls in disgust, nails digging into the palm of his hand. “But you loved me first.”

“And I’ll love her last,” he spits pack, letting go of her. His anger splits for a brief second, regarding Doyeon with sorrow, “this is low, even for you.”

Jungkook pushes past the ice, wobbling out of the ice room. He doesn’t look back, he just knows that he needs you right now. He needs to tell you everything, figure out a plan to cancel the wedding or something.

But when he crashes inside the room, you’re dead asleep. He can’t find the courage to wake up Seokjin as well, who returned and is sleeping in his club outfit. He groans, feeling useless as he stares at the two of you, ignorant of what just conspired ten minutes ago.

And Namjoon, what is he going to tell Namjoon? Poor guy doesn’t deserve any of this.

Walking up to your side of the bed, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear. You look so peaceful now, so beautiful.

It’s just going to have to wait until the morning.

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone.

The first thought that runs through your head is that Jungkook has rejected you. The little, insecure bug that will never go away in your brain fills you with rash thoughts. He’s on a flight half way back home and he regrets this whole week.

But after that exaggeration, you notice two aspirin and a bottle of water on your nightstand, along with your phone that’s fully charged.

You pull up the screen to check the dozens of messages that flood your app.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: morning babe, im sorry i had to leave early. Namjoon showed up at our door freaking out that his suit is the wrong fit and shade. Now im running around vegas trying to find a replacement that doesn’t look like an elvis presley extra

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: but i didn’t forget what you said last night, i promise! Just go get ready and i’ll meet u at the chapel outside the resort.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: i also have something to say to you

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: wow i didn’t realize how ominous that sounds. Dw, everything will be fine

When someone tells you something will be fine, it’s a universal agreement that no, things will not be fine.

So you get dressed, and put on your makeup mindlessly. You don’t really know what to make of Jungkook’s cryptic message, but you decide to leave those thoughts in the back of your mind as you go to the other rooms to help your family get ready.

Seokjin is busy tying the ring bearer’s tie, looking handsome with his slicked back hair and polished grey suit. “Morning, cousin,” he sing-songs, “you look beautiful today!”

You smooth out your dress, a cascading silver number with starry sparkles. You feel like you’re living out your magical girl fantasies, wrapped up in layers of tulle and a sparkly sweetheart bodice.

“Right back at you. Say, you didn’t see Jungkook this morning, did you?”

“No, but I heard he’s with Namjoon hunting for a new suit. Why?”

“Nothing,” you lean against the guest table, “he just said something really ominous over text.”

“I will never get a peaceful day so long as I’m in this family,” he says this directly to the ring bearer, a toddler who’s obviously confused at his uncle’s weird sayings.

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: just got his suit. We’ll be there in fifteen. Meet me at the garden behind the chapel, please. It’s urgent

Now you’re just worried. So you tell Seokjin your sentiments, and that he should have his phone on hand in case you needed him. With a confused nod, you leave him to go down to the garden.

The groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the chapel taking pictures. Only the wedding party is really allowed at this time, but you manage your way through the gardens virtually undetected. Jungkook’s already waiting for you, hiding under a white gazebo overlooking the hotel’s fountain.

He looks gorgeous in his all black pinstripe suit, hair pushed back and pants fitted perfectly around his waist and thighs. When he sees you he gets up, full of skittish energy. You note that his hair isn’t even styled, only washed and curling slightly at the ends, as if he’s in a rush.

“W-wow,” he marvels when you rush up to him, “you look gorgeous.”

You drop the handful of silver tulle, letting it fall to the floor. “Jungkook,” you clasp his hand in both of his, guilt flooding your eyes. You’ve been thinking about this all morning, and you need to cut to the chase. Jungkook tries to open his mouth but you silence him with a finger on his lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I know this sounds really stupid and you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, but I shouldn’t have made this elaborate scheme,” you bite your lip, feeling even more antsy as Jungkook squirms in his grip. He however, is trying very hard to focus with his eyes, confused at your sudden confession. “I like you, Jungkook. I don’t want to parade you around like a revenge plot anymore, it isn’t fair and it’s wrong in so many ways—”

“That’s great,” he says simply, brown eyes swirling with thoughts, “um, ditto. But—”

“Wow,” you frown, “I pour my heart out to you and this is what I get?”

“It’s great that you want to be selfless right now,” Jungkook takes your hand, firm and tight, “but without this elaborate scheme, we wouldn’t be saving asses like we are right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You thought Jungkook rushed you down here so you could talk about each other’s feelings before the wedding.

“Doyeon just threw herself on me last night. I got her ice and she took that as an invitation to seduce me like an episode of Sex and the City. Namjoon needs to divorce her, like yesterday.”

Your face then morphs into something dark and ugly, and you fling your whole confession out the window. The thought of Doyeon going as far as throwing herself on Jungkook as a last ditch attempt to get back at you, has you seeing blood red. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!”

“You were asleep!” he shoots back, putting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs warm strokes up and down your bare arms, “please relax. You’re shaking.”

“And why didn’t you tell Namjoon when you were driving around all morning?”

“I tried to!” he retorts, hands swinging in the air. You huff when his hands land back on your shoulders, preventing you from running to the chapel to extract Doyeon out yourself, “but he just kept talking shit about how much he loves Doyeon and he can’t imagine being together with anyone but her and I felt so bad! I’m sorry I chickened out. I really don’t wanna be the one to break Namjoon’s heart. I’m just the plus one!”

You pinch your brows, mulling it over. “Fuck it, let’s crash a wedding,” you declare, “where’s Namjoon and how can we get him alone?”

Jungkook exhales, a hand carding up to loosen his thin silver tie. “He’s taking pictures with the groomsmen right now. It’s gonna be awhile before we get a chance to talk.”

“Fuck,” you curse, sitting down on the white bench. Jungkook presses soothing circles on your back. “We have no choice, we have to get to him before the ceremony starts.”

“You’ll have to get through me, first.”

Doyeon’s not even in her wedding dress when she strides up to the two of you. She’s in ballet flats with her hair and makeup done, but the only thing she’s wearing is the thin underdress of her actual ball gown, a simple silk negligee that reaches her ankles. You don’t even know how she’s managed to escape the bridal party, especially without her dress.

Feeling protective, you step in front of Jungkook. “Before you say anything,” you murmur, “I’m not ruining your wedding, and I never wanted to. You’re ruining it because of your mistakes.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, playing with her nails, “I didn’t even do anything wrong, everyone knows that on the bachelorette’s night she can do whatever she wants. Namjoon could’ve fucked whoever too if he wasn’t so faithful.”

“Namjoon is ten times the partner you are and would never do that,” You’re seeing red, unable to comprehend the complete garbage spilling from Doyeon’s lips. “You touched my boyfriend without his consent, and I will never forgive you for that,” your voice is scarlet, angry and thin.

“It’s not like he isn’t used to it, I—”

“NO!” the sound that comes out of your mouth has all three of you flinching, and you’re thankful the gazebo is far enough so that the rest of the wedding party is oblivious to your actions. “You’re not allowed to justify yourself anymore, Doyeon. What you did was fucked up, what you’ve done to all of us is fucked up!” You realize now that you didn’t need to get back at Doyeon with a fake date, what you needed was this. You needed a reprieve, a chance to lay down your law. “Jungkook was right all along. You are jealous. You’re jealous and selfish and have no shame. You think you own whatever you set your eyes on, but you’re wrong. We’re not objects, we’re people.”

You walk up to Doyeon, eye to eye. You jab a hand at her chest, pushing her back slightly. You soak up your cousin’s expression, and you watch as Doyeon’s eyes pop out in surprise at your act of boldness. “So you have a choice here. You can either swallow your pride and leave Namjoon at the aisle quietly and save whatever dignity you have left. Take your pathetic ass on the next flight back home and pack up your apartment. Or, we can start a big scene at your ceremony,” you probably look manic, filled with freshly injected power, “I know Seokin’s always wanted to yell ‘I object!’ at a wedding.”

“You have no proof,” Doyeon glares right back, taking a step closer to you. Your noses are practically touching, but you dig your heels in the white-stained wood, puffing up your chest and standing your ground.

“Doesn’t matter,” you bite back, “what matters is that Namjoon will doubt you. Namjoon knows we’d never do anything to sabotage a wedding without a valid reason. Even if you do get married tonight, we have Jungkook’s word and proof of a relationship that overlaps with his. I find this option to be far worse because it’s prolonging the inevitable,” you shrug, “I hope you two didn’t sign a prenup.”

Hot, angry tears mess up her meticulously done makeup. Black rivers carve through her porcelain skin, showing the feelings that have been dormant since been hidden under a facade. Doyeon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. She’s practically vibrating in combined fear and rage, seeing blurry images and memories and regrets of what could’ve been if not for her self-absorption. And finally, your cousin comes to a decision.

“I hate you,” she emphasizes each word with the most concentrated of venoms in her tone. WIth one last look at the two of you, she stomps away. Instead of going to the direction of the chapel however, she takes the shortcut back to the hotel.

Her grave words are unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing. A thinly veiled smile grazes your lips, sadder than ever as you watch your cousin go. “And I pity you.”

As soon as she’s gone Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hugging you tightly as you fight the urge to cry again. “Oh babe, that was really hot. The way you stood your ground? That was amazing!” Jungkook takes out his silver pocket square to wipe the stray tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. “You’re so strong, don’t you know that? You did it and I’m so proud of you.”

As much as you want to revel in the affection, go back and bed and fall asleep until noon, you can’t. Grasping Jungkook by the hand, you tug him to the chapel. “C’mon,” you say, “we have to corner Namjoon.”

The groomsmen photos are done by the time you get there. Thankfully, the to-be-groom doesn’t look too occupied. His eyes widen upon seeing you two stumble from the garden of all places.

“Oh, y/n. Jungkook,” Namjoon tilts his head curiously at how winded you two look, equally flushed and out of breath. From your state, Namjoon muses that it must've taken a lot of effort to finally get to the groom unattended, save for a few random family members he’s making small talk with, “The wedding isn’t for another hour but I must say, you two look radiant together. Doyeon always thought you’d end up an old spinster-catlady, but I always told her that you’re too beautiful to be single for long,” he pauses to send the aforementioned man a wink, “Jungkook’s a lucky guy. What were you two doing back there?”

“Uh, things?” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, not wanting to reiterate the fiasco between Doyeon moments before.

Namjoon smirks at the ebony-haired man, “Couple things?”

You can’t take this needless small talk anymore. With a teary groan, you throw yourself at Namjoon. You hug him tight, and you don’t even care when you feel a slosh of his water bottle sprinkle your hairstyle.

“Joonie,” you bemoan, “please, please don’t leave me. You’re the best not-cousin ever. I know it’ll be a pain to face Doyeon after today but you’re a strong independent man and when you’re ready Jin is single and ready to mingle—ow! Jungkook! Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Do you really think setting him up with the next cousin is the best idea right now?”

“I figured a little humor would lighten the blow,” you sulk.

“I’m sorry what—what blow?” Namjoon frowns, pushing you away from him. “Y/n, have you been crying?”

The tears resurface at that moment, like a kettle on overboil. Namjoon’s face is knitted together, unable to grasp at any conclusion. Namjoon feels something grave is upon the sky as he tenderly brushes away your tears with his thumbs before releasing you. Instantly Jungkook pulls you to his chest, patting you soothingly. As much as you two do not want to be the bearer of bad news, the time is now.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook says, finding the strength that was previously stuck in his throat, “we have to tell you something.”

Needless to say, Las Vegas is very forgiving when it comes to last minute wedding cancellations.

The whole wedding party, both Namjoon and yours, collectively feels like a whole ice bucket has been dumped upon your families. You would like to say that the whole issue was handled mess free, but that would be a bald-faced lie.

There was screaming, crying, hysterical laughter from all sides. Doyeon’s parents were of course furious, embarrassed, unable to calm down a hysterical Doyeon as they haul her on the next flight home. You have a feeling they won’t be showing up to family events anytime soon.

Namjoon’s family leaves quietly, frustrated, but classy. After all, they know at the back of their heads they dodged a bullet. Everyone leaves except Namjoon however, who isn’t quite ready to go back to his and Doyeon’s apartment. Namjoon invites Seokjin and some other close cousins to stay in his suite until their flight tomorrow afternoon, wanting to be surrounded by close friends and (almost) family.

As for your family, they decide to find the silver lining. While the chapel was able to cancel the wedding, the reception wasn’t as easy to sway. At the very last second, your grandparents decided to make use of the reception and renew their Golden Anniversary vows instead. The ceremony will be a quick, sweet affair. At this very moment, your cousin Yoongi is getting officiated online.

And for you? You’re in the place where you’ve wanted to remain all week. A fluffy hotel bed wrapped up with your not-boyfriend.

Or?

Would a not-boyfriend be snuggling against your chest like you’re the softest teddy bear in the toy shop? Would a not-boyfriend be hooking your leg atop his lap, forcing you to latch onto him so his hands can roam freely against your soft thighs?

“We have to get ready for the wedding,” you whine against his hold, to no avail when he only holds you tighter.

“But your grandparents are already married,” Jungkook whines right back, nuzzling his nose in your head. “This is like an afterparty fifty years later.”

“I wanna get dressed,” you insist, pushing yourself up, “and we still need to talk.”

Without Seokjin staying with you, the hotel room feels much bigger and freer for the two of you. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, uncaring of any wrinkles or smears that would get on the delicate fabric.

All that matters is that Jungkook is still here with you. Doyeon’s wedding is called off, but he’s still lying in bed with you. You want to burn this image to memory, and keep it forever. Jungkook laying in only his white undershirt and boxers, looking at you dreamily as if he’s still in nap-mode. Hair that was previously windswept and exposing his forehead is now out of place, fluffy and sticking out in all directions. His cheeks are flushed with coral-colored warmth, and a little puffy because you two have been sleeping most of the afternoon.

“Right, talk,” he repeats, letting you hand him his black button up so he can clothe himself.

You throw off your shirt somewhere behind you, not wanting to face him as you walk to the full-length mirror. “So, I think my feelings for you are pretty clear and out in the open…”

“Same, I think I made it pretty clear as well.”

“What? You turn around, looking at where he’s still half-covered in bed. “You did not. I distinctly remember almost confessing my love to you last night. And then this morning, only for you to cut me off and say ‘that’s great’.”

“Oh,” he stares at the white sheets that cover his lower half. “I guess I didn’t then.”

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.”

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips.

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline.

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.”

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair.

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?”

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs.

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.”

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now.

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.”

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.”

#jungkook x reader #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst

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h0nkch0c0late · 3 years ago

Text

Mad Thomas

Fear street 1666 Mad Thomas x Reader

Summary: Mad Thomas, Aka the town drunk. Y/n Miller, Aka Hannah Miller's sister and the Pastor's daughter. What happens when she gets stopped by Thomas on her way to the forest for the fruits of the land thing?

Warnings: smut I guess? Well kind of smut??? It's not really smut???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Y/n!" Her mother called to her from the kitchen, slight evidence of annoyance in her voice, causing Y/n to sigh and walk away from her chores in her room.

"Yes, mother? What is it?" She asked somewhat quietly as she approached her mother.

"Can you see why your sister is taking so long with her chore outside?" Her mother clearly looked upset.

Y/n nodded, walking to the door and opening it, seeing Hannah talking to Sarah Fier.

Y/n smiled at Sarah, having no problem with her she didn't see why not, Sarah smiling back at her as Hannah looked to her sister.

"What is it?" Hannah asked timidly.

"Mother wanted to know what has been taking you so long out here-"

Y/n was interrupted by their mother, "and that she has to come back inside!"

Y/n rolled her eyes, "and that you have to come back inside. Don't worry, I won't tell her that you've been talking to Sarah." She said in almost a whisper, careful to not let their mother hear.

Sarah sighed, "I'll see you tonight, Hannah."

Hannah nodded to her, "of course." She then walked past Y/n into the house, their mother starting to say harsh things to her as Y/n started to close the door behind her.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Miller's direction turned towards her other daughter.

Y/n turned her head towards her, "going to check on father, is all." She lied.

Mrs. Miller huffed as a response, letting Y/n go.

Y/n smiled at her mother before closing the door behind her, looking towards Sarah.

"The full moon rises before nightfall." She said with a smile.

"A good night to enjoy the fruits of the land. You're going too?" Sarah raised a brow in surprise.

Y/n chuckled, "why of course. I may be the Pastor's responsible daughter, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun once in a while right? And Hannah needs it since our mother has been especially hard on her lately." She sighed as she started walking with Sarah.

Sarah nodded in understanding, "it's because of me, isn't it?"

"Most likely. I wouldn't be too worried though. Just as long as you don't do anything bad, I'm sure you both will be fine." Y/n explained, examining the people around her, waving to Abigail as she dragged Constance off with her.

Y/n looked down to see a bag in Sarah's hand, and that they were headed in the direction of Solomone Goode's home. "What have you got in that bag of yours?" She asked.

"One of the piglets that had gotten stuck. I wanted to give it to Solomone as a gift." Sarah responded, and just as she said that, a small oink came from inside of the bag.

Y/n chuckled, "Ah, alright well I'll leave you to it. I might as well actually check on my father while I'm outside."

"I'll leave you to it, then." But just as Sarah was about to leave, the door to the outhouse burst open, a drunken Thomas stumbled out of it.

Both girls groaned in annoyance at the boy as he stumbled towards them.

"I can see A secret about you, girl." Thomas said as he walked straight towards Sarah.

"And a good day to you too, Thomas." Sarah replied calmly, though slightly annoyed by his presence, trying to step forward away from him but he stopped her.

"Don't you want to hear it?" Thomas questioned.

"Thomas, leave her alone she doesn't want to deal with you right now." Y/n said, grabbing his arm.

Sarah nodded, "please just leave me alone."

But Thomas didn't listen, he just shook Y/n's hand off, contuing to bother Sarah. "I can see everything. I can see all the dark secrets in Union."

Sarah scoffs, "you must be busy." She then pushed Thomas away and started to walk, Y/n gasping as Thomas persisted, grabbing onto Sarah again.

"I see darkness in you, girl!" He said as Sarah struggled in his grip.

Y/n grabbed him, forcing him off of Sarah and pushing him. "Be still, Thomas!" Y/n warned as Sarah glared at the man. Thomas just laughed.

"Sarah, it's best if you go now." Y/n sighed, eyeing Thomas to make sure he doesn't go after Sarah again.

Sarah nodded, then turned around and continued her walk to Solomone's home.

"Beware, Sarah Fier!" Thomas laughed again.

Y/n scoffed, "Thomas, would you please stop being so crude to Sarah? She's done nothing wrong."

Though it seemed that Thomas wasn't exactly listening to her words, only looking at her and grabbing her wrist, leaning in closer to her.

"And you, you hold many secrets." He told, holding her wrist tightly but not too tightly, which is strange for him.

Y/n's cheeks started to turn pink, her face feeling warm as she stuttered, "i-i have no idea what you are talking about. You are completely mad, Thomas."

Thomas smirked, letting go of her wrist, "you hide behind a facade, girl. But I know who you really are." His eyes practically pierced through her own.

Y/n's heart was beating erratically at how close he was, and the lowness of his voice...she knew he was just drunk and had no understanding of his words, but she almost felt like he did in fact know.

But it was something even she didn't want to admit. She didn't want to admit that Y/n Miller, the Pastor's daughter, was in love with the town's famous drunk, Mad Thomas. But she couldn't help it. There was just something about him that made her so strangely attracted to him, but she could never put a finger on it.

He laughed once more, walking away (more like stumbling away).

Y/n sighed, taking a moment to calm her flushed cheeks before spotting her father and heading her way towards him.

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Y/n took a deep breath as she took small, quiet steps down the stairs in her house quiet as to not wake up her parents, and saw her sister at the door.

They nodded at each other, linking arms and walking towards the forest.

Lizzie and Sarah appeared, stealing Hannah away to collect the berries as Y/n chuckled to herself, continuing on her way to the party.

As she entered the woods, she heard ruffling noises behind the trees. Of course she thought nothing of it, the thought of one of the party-goers or an animal only crossing her mind.

But as she walked further, she was suddenly pulled behind a tree, she shrieked, a hand quickly covering her mouth as she was pushed up against it.

She recognized it immediately, looking up to see the face of Thomas. Though she had calmed down a bit, she was still a little freaked out about the sudden actions of him. "T-Thomas what are you doing?"

Thomas had a smirk on his face as he looked at her, "you're mother and father wouldn't like if they found out you were out here at night. I expected this from your sister, but from you? I would have never guessed."

"What I do is none of your business, Thomas. And my parents do not control me." Y/n stood her ground, but Thomas was so close she could feel his warm breath on her face. She was trying her best not to show her blush.

Thomas chuckled darkly, "now now, there's no need to lie. I know you care about what your parents think."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, "you know nothing." Her heart was thumping so loud in her ears she swore everyone could hear it.

But Thomas ignored her, "I also know that you feel something for me. I see it in your eyes every time you look in my direction."

Y/n scoffed, "you really do live up to your name, Mad Thomas. I feel no such things for you. Your drunken mind must be playing tricks on you." Her breaths were becoming sharp as Thomas leaned in closer to her.

Thomas chuckled once again, "there is no need to lie, love. I've got secrets of my own." He lifts one of his hands that were pinning her against the tree, gently pushing away some of her hair away from her face, then stroking her cheek lightly.

The action and nickname caused a shiver to go down her spine, her cheeks getting warmer as she kept her gaze on his own, her breath hitching. "A-and what are t-those secrets, Thomas?"

He leaned in more, his lips close to her ear as he whispered, "why should I tell you mine, if you won't admit your own?"

Y/n went silent for just a moment, then sighed. "If I admit mine, would you tell me yours?" She said in almost a whisper.

He leaned his head back to her face, "I will do better. I'll show you." He moved his body closer to her this time, holding her gaze.

It made her weak at the knees, her trying her best not to fall. "Alright, you want to know?"

Thomas nodded.

"I-Im in love with you. I know I shouldn't be, but i can't get those thoughts out of my head. There's just something about you that irks me so much but at the same time makes my head spin."

His eyes widened in surprise, he was only just teasing her after all. He didn't know she actually felt that way about him. He quickly went back to normal, plastering his famous smirk back onto his face, "and what kind of thoughts are those?"

Y/n gulped, "that is something you do not need to know. Now, it is your turn. What is the secret you so desperately want to show me?"

Thomas kept his eyes on her as he slid his hands down to the strings that held the front opening of her dress closed, "my secret is this."

She gasped as he began to pull at them, loosening the top of her dress and having it come undone.

Her hand instinctively reached out to grab his wrist, stopping him. "What are you doing, Thomas?! We aren't even wed!" She whispered.

Thomas shushed her, putting his hand back onto her now-bare chest. "Don't worry, dear."

A shiver went down her spine again, "for a man who listens to God and tells one of my greatest friends practically the devil, you sure do a lot of sinning yourself." She smirked, suddenly gathering courage.

Thomas' eyes narrowed a little, "that is different." He growled.

"Oh? How so?" She began to tease him, though one of his hands were still on her chest, she thought nothing of it.

Thomas' mouth opened and closed, trying to find words but coming up with none. He then pushed himself away from her, turning around to leave.

Before he could, Y/n grabbed his wrist, making him turn towards him. "Now hold on a minute, Thomas. Who said I wanted you to stop? You cannot leave me here like this without having done anything to me." She snarked.

"Why should I? You did try and use my own words against me." He said as he walked closer to her once again.

"Surely you can take a joke?" She questioned with a smile.

Thomas rolled his eyes, then suddenly pushed her against the tree for the second time, leaning in close to her, their lips noses only a few inches apart.

Y/n didn't wipe the smile off her face as she guided one of his hands back to her chest, the sleeves of her dress slowly falling down causing it to slide off of her shoulders slightly.

Thomas smirked at her, his mood quickly changing before he kissed her deeply, hands gliding into places they normally shouldn't be, his lips traveling down to her neck as she leaned her head back on the tree in pure ecstacy, never having had this experience before, it was a new...amazing feeling.

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Y/n entered the part of the forest where the rest of the teens were, looking around to see Sarah and Hannah missing, while the others were all dancing and hanging around, some even making out with each other.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked to see Lizzie, who looked at her with a disapproving yet concerned look.

"You're late. What took you so long?" Lizzie asked.

Y/n's mind thought back to the previous events, a small smile appearing on her face, "I, uh, got... distracted."

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

Aaaaaaa I told you guys I would impulsively write a Mad Thomas fic and here it is! Pls there's just something about Thomas, man. Something about him that I just can't describe it 😩😩😩😩 anyways this turned out longer than I expected it to but its fine qkrhwbebejen3nej

#fear street #imagine #x reader #fear street 1666 #mad thomas #mad thomas x reader

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xiaowhore · 3 years ago

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so i was just thinking abt luke again,, mainly because i was literally 5 rolls before getting a guaranteed ssr,, but his rate up duration has run out :// and now im basically drowning in misery for not getting him ;((

with agonizing sorrow comes the ringing bells of angst <333 so i thought…

what if luke had attended mc’s wedding,, not as the groom ofc,, but as the best man ;DD and you know, he’s patently suffering because of these practically ancient emotions he’s been desperately grasping at straws for his entire life.

and this is where reader comes in :”)) because luke asks reader to accompany him to the wedding - perhaps the reason behind it is what you believe, as some trivial root of comfort for the regretful man, while he watches the only person he’s ever loved walk past him with a warm smile and down that aisle to another man.

but you were wrong of course - it wasn’t as simple like it had seemed on the surface, in fact you had barely scraped it with those groundless assumptions yet somewhat plausible theories,, because the moment you both step out of that wedding church, he immediately turns to you with beaming irises and…asks you to be his girlfriend.

crazy, right? you’ve literally just accompanied the damn man to his long time crush’s wedding, and now he was asking you out. there was no room for doubt or hesitation in what you offered him as an answer - hell no - to which his jubilant expression falters and your eyes begin to water with tears,,

because how dare he say such a thing? what gives him the right to finally admit it now - now that mc has already gotten married, now that he realizes he has not even a sliver of a chance with her anymore, now that he just so happens to finally look over to his right and all he sees is you?

you have been second to that woman for eight damning years - in everything.

“and i will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her.” you say, unable to stop the stream of liquid tumbling down your flushed cheeks anymore.

you can’t, and you won’t do it.

not when you’ve spent all those fucking cruel years loving him.

aaaaaaa bye time to disintegrate, that was so,, ugh disgustingly written 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ and thank god that’s all for her damn rant today 🤢 hope i don’t ruin your day with this bullshit bestie <333

wait 5 rolls until pity??? i- im not sure what to say to comfort you ;-; i hope you got the guaranteed ssr tho, since lost gold pity doesn't carry over the next 4ssr event... (i can say i empathize with you though, i didn't get luke either :'D it's always the person in the same banner as him)

anD WHAT DO YOU MEAN DISGUSTINGLY WRITTEN?? I MUST THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ME DELICIOUS LUKE CONTENT. IN FACT, I'D LIKE TO ADD ON TO IT.

you being his rebound just to soothe his pain is one thing, but what if- what if he does have feelings for you? small and fleeting, but it exists. he can't say it's enough, but it blooms, growing stronger with each day that passes.

it starts with a simple thought — “i enjoy spending time with you.” not as much as he likes being with mc, but his eyes sparkle in joy when you walk through his antique shop's doors to pay a visit, his face breaking out into a bright smile unconsciously. though he used to anxiously wait for mc in the past, he forgot how he even missed her; he couldn't remember, not when you came to scold him for skipping lunch and brought him a homecooked meal yourself. “take care of your health more,” you tell him sternly while pinching his cheek, and he felt unusually giddy.

the next moment happens when you asked him out to go to a newly opened cafe together, eager to take a look at the store everyone's been raving about. he silently admires your contemplative expression when you examine the menu, seriously pondering if the expensive prices were worth your wallet. luke shakes his head, sliding a hefty amount of cash onto the counter; “i'll pay this time.” and, well, who were you to refuse?

you take a seat by the window, visibly happier, and luke can feel himself smile again... that's been happening a lot lately. it remains on his face for the entire time you chat, both of you thoroughly engrossed by your conversation, but you falter when your eyes sweep over somewhere behind him. naturally, curiosity gets the best of him, and he turns around to glance at what your caught your eye.

it's mc, hooking arms with her fiance while looking over the menu together.

at once, luke prepares to feel that same pang of hurt he always endures, the harsh blade of reality piercing through his chest, cutting whatever meaningless what-ifs he may have had. but it... it's faint. it isn't as prominent as before, where he wants to leave the premises immediately, just to get away from the sight. no, it's faint this time... a needle prick, causing him to flinch in surprise for a second, and no more than that. it surprises himself how unaffected he is, but it's pleasant — he can tell he's healing, bit by bit.

(in comparison, your face is paler than his, the fear of being left behind hitting you full force. it knocks the air out of your lungs, and you forget how to breathe.

you only come back to your senses when luke grips your hand, concern evident in his gaze.)

still, luke isn't sure. maybe it was his desperation tricking him into thinking he loved you. maybe anyone would do for him, anyone that can make him forget his pain. it didn't matter, so as long as he doesn't have to think about mc again.

he glances at the ring stored away in his room. the ring he used to polish to perfection, fiddling and fumbling in moments he reminisced of mc. the ring he once dreamed of giving to her, his promise of forever.

he hasn't touched it for months.

his heart tells him, “you don't need it anymore.”

he wants to make sure of it, so he waits. he waits until the day of her wedding, to confirm if it still hurts.

when luke sees her in the white dress, flowers weaved into her hair, he quietly thinks “pretty.” (but when he sees your dazzling smile, his breath is taken away and all he can think of is you, you, you.)

when she walks down the aisle, her lips formed into a shy smile, he smiles in kind. “you look happy.” (at the back of his mind, he wonders if you'd look like this too.)

when she exchanges vows with her husband, tearfully professing her feelings, he doesn't feel envious. he onced wished to be in the space beside her, but not anymore. “i'm glad you found someone you can love this deeply.” (and he too, knows he found that someone.)

and yet...

the world comes to a standstill when tears stream down your face. “i will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her.”

the blade pierces his heart, and it pains him more than ever.

#mail — !#tot — !#luke pearce #tears of themis #tears of themis x reader #luke x reader #luke pearce x reader #tot x reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years ago

Text

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

#ben hardy fic #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast fic

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oddaodd · 4 years ago

Text

Her Eyes

· Tommy Shelby arranged marriage imagine ·

warnings : arranged marriage.

(Heapings of fluff and a pinch of angst if you squint)

Y/n never imagined her family would have the nerve to marry her off as part of a deal between the one Thomas Shelby and her father, who had insisted that he couldn’t properly trust the Shelbys if they weren’t united as a family, but there she was, standing outside the church ready to meet the man she would spend the rest of her life with. Her father was a powerful man with many important connections and despite Thomas’s desire to never marry again after grace, he found himself having to accept to the deal. When he fist saw her, scarcely some hours before their wedding, he was intrigued by her beauty and kind eyes, but he put on a nonchalant facade as he introduced himself to the woman whom he would have to live till death do them part.

“Thomas Shelby” he outstretched his hand.

She stared at him for a bit “y/n” was all she managed to say as his rough hand wrapped around her soft one with a firm shake. There was something about him, almost like dream she couldn’t quite place. He was a very alluring, almost hypnotic man and she felt oddly drawn to him just a few seconds after first laying eyes on him.

“Lets get this over with, shall we?” He monotonously said, breaking her out of her reverie before stepping into the church.

The first few months were really hard because Thomas refused to let her get close to him, both emotionally and physically, Grace’s memory still freshly lingering around him. Y/n however was determined to turn their marriage into something more than just a business deal. She would play with Charlie, she would bring Tommy tea whenever he was at home, and she always tried to get him to smile which wasn’t easy, but after a lot of persistence, slowly but surely Tommy let her in. Truth was, despite the circumstances he was somehow glad he met her. Thomas never thought he would find a match to his wit but there she was. They could spend hours and hours just talking as time unsuspectedly passed by. She was an unusual person to say the least, smart, kind, caring, prim and proper, sometimes ladylike, sometimes not, and with very expressive eyes. That’s the first thing he noticed about her when he saw her for the very first time, the pool of mixed emotions in her eyes before their wedding, she didn’t look perfectly sad, but she didn’t look perfectly happy either. He found himself enthralled by her eyes and in the end they were what made him relent to her subtle yet kind acts of affection. She found herself quickly falling for him and he too did for her, although he would never admit it to anyone least of all, to himself. Their relationship grew to become something along the lines of a friendship and she always made sure to give him space not knowing quite sure if he reciprocated her feelings or not, he was a difficult man to decipher after all.

One night he came home to find her sitting in the grass out in the garden all by her lonesome just staring at the sky and his stars. As soon as she saw him she invited him to join her. He sat next to her under the quilt, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the stars when she was sitting next to him. He had had an overly tense day and seeing her there, toying with the grass between her toes and a quilt over her shoulders, just enamored by the night sky made all his worries disappear for a while. . Thomas had learnt a lot just by looking at her, she was brought up to be the perfect high society lady, but when she was alone or with him or Charlie she could really be her own carefree self, knowing they wouldn’t judge her and he felt glad he had become one of the few who could see her like that. She felt his stare and turned round to look at him, she could feel her cheeks going red when their eyes met and in the heat of the moment, she leaned in to kiss him. A tiny pang of insecurity poked at her insides when he didn’t immediately kiss her back, thinking that she might have had misread the look in his eyes, she pulled away, but he stopped her by placing both his hands on either side of her face and looking into her eyes where he could see a strange strain of vulnerability before kissing her. Hesitantly she kissed back and they became so entangled in each other that everything around them became non existent. He made love to her that night with the stars as witnesses and after that, their relationship flowered into something else.

Time passed and they grew closer and closer together. She earned the trust of the rest of the Shelbys and soon enough she felt like a part of the family, even more so than with her own family.

Every year Y/n´s family held an event to “ rejoice with friends and family” as they put it, but y/n knew it was more of a “I´m richer than you” parade to which all of her family’s friends and relatives were invited to. Knowing that her mother would make a fuss if she didn’t attend, she and Tommy found themselves in y/n´s family home one Friday evening, dressed in the heights of fashion, drinking the most expensive champagne money could buy and sitting through her mothers inquiries about their married life. Y/n´s mother was relieved that y/n had married after all, her biggest fear was any of her daughters not living up to the standards according to which she brought them up to be.

“So, Y/n dear, are you with child yet?” Her mother asked in feigned sweet tone.

Y/n choked a bit on her champagne, not expecting her mom to blatantly ask that. Tommy turned to look at her and after taking a drag of his cigarette replied with a serious face“Not yet Mrs. Y/l/n”

“Oh but you are planning to aren’t you?” Her mother insisted.

“Not at the moment mother” y/n chimed in a bit too harshly for both her and her mother’s liking. Tommy grabbed her hand underneath the table with his free hand to reassure her a bit, but it did little to put out y/n´s feelings of discomfort “and anyway, why does it matter to you? You already have plenty of grandchildren from my sisters” she said this time with a politer tone.

“All im saying dear is that you are not getting ny younger and I would certainly not blame Mr. Shelby here” her mother said pointing at Tommy “ if he were to decide the deal he made with your father isn’t worth enough to put up with a woman of your likes” she finished before taking a sip of her glass of champagne and looking over at the couple to asses their reactions.

Y/n opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn’t find the words she needed. Tommy took her silence as an opportunity to get his word in after another long drag of his cigarette “with all due respect Mrs. Y/l/n, I think we are way past the business part of this marriage”

Her mother gave him a forced smile indicating that she didn’t believe a word of it before replying with “of course you are Mr. Shelby”

Tommy smiled at her mother in reciprocity before putting out his cigarette and turning to look at y/n “ Let’s dance, love” he said.

They made their way to the dance floor and swayed to the music “Now I know why you weren’t exited to come” he said looking down at her, trying to lighten her up a little. She barely nodded, too consumed in her own thoughts, her mother’s words ringing In her ears. She would be lying if she were to say it hadn’t occurred to her before, that the distant nagging thought of Tommy only pretending to enjoy her company for the sake of not having another problem to deal with hadn’t kept her up some nights in the past.

“Let’s just go home” she mumbled into his chest.

And so they did and for the next few days Tommy could see that she was a bit distant, sure she always smiled and acted like everything was fine, but no matter how well she acted, Tommy could see right through it, all because of her eyes. She was a proud woman and he knew she would never admit her mother’s words had gotten to her.

One day she was working on some of the flowers she had planted across the property as Tommy approached her. He must have been very silent for when he called her name she gave a little jump.

“God you scared me” she said with a laugh, wiping a bit of sweat of her forehead “Are you in a habit of startling unsuspecting gardening women?” She teased.

“Only on you” he replied looking down at her.

She could see there was something in his mind, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was so she stood up shaking some of the dirt that had collected on her dress before loosely wrapping her arms around him so that she could still see his face and inquired “ What can i do for you dear husband?”

He raised his eyebrows and his mouth curved up ever so slightly. She smiled at him knowing she was the only one who could get him to smile and waited for his response.

“Marry me” he said in all seriousness.

She gave him a coy smile “ But we are already married” she said doubtfully, not knowing what had brought Tommy to request such thing.

“Aye, but i want you to be my wife knowing that I married you for you, because I love you , not as a part of a business deal” he earnestly said before producing a small golden ring with a tiny orange opal from his coat pocket and grabbing her hand (that was covered in dirt) in his “ So, Y/n will you marry me?”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it wasn’t that, it was the fist time Tommy had verbally proclaimed his love for her. Her eyes welled up in tears, a whirlwind of emotions raging inside in full display. Tommy brought one of his hands to her face to wipe away the one tear that did dare to fall. “Of course I´ll marry you Thomas Shelby” she said grabbing his hand in hers and looking at how he, with his other hand effortlessly slipped the ring on her finger before chuckling tearily and crashing her lips on his. They had a small ceremony right there on the garden that same weekend, saying their vows in front of the Shelby family. Unlike their first weeding, everyone seemed happy and even though it wasn’t an “official” wedding, they both knew it was the one that mattered.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby one shot #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #tommy shelby fluff #thomas shelby fluff

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capaimagines · 4 years ago

Text

got7 - meeting the family

Pairing: Got 7 x Reader | Genre: fluff | Warnings: mentions of anxiety | WC: 2.1k

im jaebeom

Your grip on the edge of the car seat was so tight that Jaebeom could see your knuckles and fingers turning white. He couldn’t help when his lips quirked up a little bit; you looked cute.

“What if they don’t like me?” You asked as you took one of his hands in yours without thinking about it. He squeezed back gently, shaking his head as his thumb pad brushed over the top of your knuckles gently.

“They’ll love you, I’m sure of it,” You turned to him and while he knew you nervous to meet his family, especially his parents, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at how horrified you looked.

“It’s not funny, Jae! What if I say something wrong? Or what if I forget someone’s name? What if-,” He cut you off with a small peck to your lips before you could say anymore nonsense.

“They’ll love you because I love you and I’m happy. Now, come on. I don’t think my dad will like having to wait to eat.”

You got of the car and gripped his hand tighter, your nerves exploding but you did your best and had a smile plastered on your face as he rang the bell.

“Relax baby, everything is going to be okay,” He whispered in your ear and just like always, the sound of his voice helped you to relax a little.

Turns out, you were worried for nothing because his mom pulled you into one of the biggest hugs you’d ever received and you two ended up talking the whole time. She felt like your mom and you forgot that you were meeting Jaebeom’s parents. He could only smile, hand brushing over the velvet box in his pocket. All he needed was his parents approval and he knew he had it watching the way you and them talked and laughed.

He’d be getting down on one knee very soon and that’s a look he wanted to see on your face.

mark tuan

You were extremely nervous to be in foreign country. A language you could barely speak, let alone understand on top of meeting Mark’s large family was enough to have your nerves going haywire. You had been bouncing your leg up and down for the last fifteen minutes as you waited for them to arrive at the restaurant.

He smiled at you as he placed one of his hand on your thigh. You looked back at him and felt instantly calm, “They’re not that scary, I promise,” He said as squeezed the skin on your thigh gently right before his face lit up when he saw his parents walk through the door followed by his siblings.

“Y/N, this is my mom and dad,” He said to which you stood up and his mom instantly wrapped you in a hug. He didn’t even get a chance to introduce you to his siblings as they pulled you away and started gushing over Mark when he was little. In true parent fashion, his mom had brought his baby book to show you photos. While he was embarrassed, you found yourself feeling extremely welcomed into their family and Mark couldn’t wait to officially make you a part of it.

park jinyoung

Jinyoung didn’t seem nervous as you drove the last few minutes to your parents house. He was talking to you like normal, even teasing here and there. Althogh, you knew Jinyoung; you hadn’t been dating for over a year just to not know what his quirks were. You could see how he kept adjusting his shirt even though it was already perfect or how he kept brushing imaginary lint off his pants every now and then.

You pulled up to your parents house and grabbed his hand as you leaned over to give him a small kiss on the cheek, “Don’t be nervous. They are going to love you.”

He could only scoff at your words as he got out of the car and puffed his chest out and plastering his signature smirk on his face, “I don’t get nervous,” He said to which you just rolled your eyes with a small smile.

Jinyoung was even the gentlemen, hugging your mom and kissing her hand, a firm handshake with your father. He even played a few games with your younger siblings while you helped get dinner ready.

While he never would admit it, you knew he was terrified when you had first brought this up. Looking at him now, you could never tell with how he was laughing until the orbs of his eyes were almost non-existent. He looked up at you and smiled, quickly going back to the game once your sister had whined about him not paying attention.

That’s when you knew that you’d give anything to keep Park Jinyoung in your life for the rest of your life.

jackson wang

You were currently seated with your arms and legs crossed, refusing to look at your boyfriend of two years.

“Baby, come on. It’ll be fine,” He said to which you only scoffed, not wanting to talk to him.

Jackson had not told you that your impromptu trip to China consisted of meeting his family. Sure, you had known that’s where they obviously lived and you would have been totally fine with it if you weren’t currently dressed in your gray sweatpants and one of Jackson’s long-sleeved shirts with your hair thrown up in a top knot and no makeup on. You still had your slippers on and your socks didn’t even match! He had conveniently failed to mention that his mom had asked for him to bring you by today to meet her and his dad officially.

“I can’t believe you, Jackson Wang! What kind of first impression is this?” You yelled as you pointed down at your outfit. All he did in response was offer you a sickeningly sweet smile that you wanted nothing more to slap off his face at the moment.

“The best kind! They’ll see the real you,” You only rolled your eyes, too infuriated with the man next to you to respond.

He pulled up at a house that you assumed was his parents and you slammed the car door, stomping up to the front door without even waiting for him and ringing the bell. Jackson was a little shocked, expecting that your nerves would have kicked in, but that’s why he did this in part, if you were mad enough or feeling something else, you wouldn’t let your nerves get the best of you. His dad opened the door and before he could speak you were holding your hand out.

“Hello, Mr. Wang. I’m L/N Y/N, the girlfriend of your buffoon of son and soon to be, his murderer,” His father laughed, shaking your hand and pulling you inside and Jackson just stood there with his mouth hung open. He was glad your nerves didn’t kick in, but he was a little scared of what was going to happen when you both returned to the hotel.

Especially when his mom offered to show how to make his favorite pastry and you happily agreed while giving him the evil eye.

choi youngjae

You were surprisingly not as nervous as you thought you’d be to meet his family for the first time. It had been something he brought up months ago after you two had talked about it. He wanted to meet your family too, but they lived in another country, so you’d have to wait until you both had time to travel there. When he had suggested you to meet his family, you had instantly agreed and were more than excited. You wanted to know the people who had raised the man you love, see where he got his dashingly good looks from and understand more of his little quirks.

So, here you were, seated in his car only mere minutes away from arriving at his family’s home.

“You alright? You’ve been pretty quiet the past few minutes,” Youngjae asked worriedly to which you nodded with a bright smile.

“I’m just excited and don’t want to come off overbearing so, I’m trying to dial it back.”

Youngjae chuckled before kissing your cheek and getting out of the car to come around to meet you, “They’ll love it, trust me,” You nodded in understanding but still kept your excitement down enough until you knew for sure.

Once his mom had opened the door, she immediately wrapped you in a warm hug to which you let that crumble away and started talking her ear off. She seemed to like that because she didn’t even greet her son or give Youngjae a chance to introduce you to everyone. She had simply linked your arms together and pulled you through the house, both of you talking animatedly.

Youngjae could only smile as his dad let out a low chuckle, “Must be pretty amazing for your mother to forget to hug her own son,” Youngjae laughed along with him, following him inside, eyes still trained on your back as you continued to talk with his mom.

“Absolutely she’s more than I could ever ask for. She makes me happy.”

bambam

You were more anxious than nervous to meet BamBam’s siblings and mom. He had told you stories upon stories about all of them for the past year you’d been dating. You had briefly met some of them when he went to Thailand for a wedding, but you hadn’t been able to stay long as you were there for work. This time around, you were there without any work and had all the time to meet them and get to know them.

You were anxious because while you knew from his stories his mom was extremely sweet and caring and supportive of not just BamBam, but all her kids, you also knew she was a mamma bear. She had a large personality, in a good way, and didn’t sugarcoat things. So, you knew if she didn’t like you, you’d hear it and that’s what made you anxious.

“Why are you so tense, baby?” BamBam questioned as he placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing his thumb pads into your shoulder blades. You closed your eyes and relaxed, leaning your head back on his stomach as he kissed your temple.

“Just thinking about how crappy it’s going to feel when your mom doesn’t like me.” You sighed to which he chuckled before moving in front of you and kneeling down so he was eye level. He tucked a few of your loose curls behind your ear, eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration that you just wanted to melt into him.

“She’s going to love you, just like my sister did. Besides, if she doesn’t, you have my sister on your side and that’s a hurricane even I don’t want to go near,” You laughed, leaning your cheek on his hand and kissing his palm.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

Just as BamBam had told you, you had nothing to worry about because his mom did love you. She even offered for you to stay there in Thailand with her and Bambam could go back to Korea.

kim yugyeom

If anything, Yugyeom had seemed more nervous than you. You were the one meeting his family, yet you were calm whilst his leg was bouncing up and down and his fingers drummed on the interior of the car. You placed your hand on his leg that was still and sent him a teasing smile.

“Yugs, I’m the one meeting your family yet you’re sitting here like you’re meeting mine,” He chuckled at your comment before taking a hold of your hand to squeeze it.

“I’m just, I’ve never brought a girl home for them to meet,” He said to which caught you by surprise. Your eyes widened a little at the confession, trying not to let the thought of you being the first girl he brings home to meet his family officially trigger the nerves you had done a great job of keeping away.

“R-really? Why?” You stuttered because in fact you were a little shocked. You knew that Yugyeom had other relationships before you and you had assumed at least one or two of them had met his family. He only shrugged, seeming calmer now.

“Never felt any of them were worth bringing home. Until you,” You couldn’t help the blush that painted your cheeks and he chuckled, squeezing your hand again.

You were feeling fine up until you pulled up to his house and then your legs shook like jello and you froze. Yugyeom wrapped his arms around your waist and gently lead you to the front door.

“You’re worth bringing home and that’s why you’re here. They’ll love you just as much as I love you,” You nodded, gulping as the door opened to reveal his parents smiling brightly.

He was right, they loved you just as much as he did.

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sup-hoes-its-me · 4 years ago

Text

A Hero III (Shinsou x Reader)

A/N: okay, so this is definitely the last part. I had so much fun writing this tbh, i really hope you guys enjoy it. I love love love writing jealousy. This chapter is all fluff, so sweet it’ll give you cavities. God, the thought of seeing shinsou smile and be happy, wow. im in love with him. Have fun reading and comment if you want more shinsou in the future

word count: 5200

Part One/Part Two/Part Three

“Shinsou, what do you think of this?” she held up a dress on the hanger. The price wasn’t nearly as bad as the other things in here, and it wasn’t in an ugly color. It was purple, of course. She loved purple ever since she met her friend. Her notebooks were purple and so was her new bedspread. It was nice to curl up in a cave of violet each night, almost like a night-long hug from him.

Gosh, she felt herself becoming flustered just thinking about it. You’re friends, Y/N. just because someone is nice to you does not mean they want to go out with you, seriously. She kept telling herself over and over in her head to focus on the task at hand.

They were shopping, specifically for her uncle’s wedding. She had literally nothing that looked mildly appropriate, her closet just stuff to the brim with uniforms and jeans and sweaters, nothing fancy. Two days before the actual ceremony, her mother woke her up early on a Sunday. “Go out and get yourself something nice to wear. I seriously cannot believe both of my children dress like complete slobs everyday.” Y/N heard her hothead mother say in her head once more. Did she really dress like a slob? She didn’t think so. Her clothes weren’t in fashion but also weren’t ugly.

Shinsou peered up from his phone where he sat on the bench. He didn’t necessarily plan on going out to the mall that day, he was actually going to sleep for most of it. He was quite surprised when he woke up at 10a.m. to his phone ringing and vibrating on the bedside table. Without putting in much thought, he suddenly found himself dressed and walking down the road to her house.

“It looks fine.”

“Just fine? If it’s ugly, you have to tell me because mom will make me return it and get something else,” she complained.

“In that case, probably not. It’s kinda plain, don’t you think?” he commented. He stood from the bench. “Although, I do appreciate you only looking at purple dresses, let’s try something else.” He hummed to himself, as he walked past her. He didn’t really have an eye for women’s clothes, not at all. He just looked at them and tried to imagine Y/N wearing it. How the colors would look against her skin, and how it would flatter her shape. He tried not to think about her body too much, it would fluster him and he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eyes, he was sure of it.

“Let’s try red.”

“Red? Like blood?” she asked. He turned to look at her with a raised brow before he remembered she spent her days surrounded by her own blood, as that’s what he quirk entailed. Of course she would associate the color with it. Scrap that idea.

“Okay then, let’s try blue.” She nodded, agreeing with him. She never wore too much color, but that one wasn’t too bad. “Your budget is what? 100 dollars, right?” he asked as his eyes skimmed the racks in the area. Now that he looked at it, dresses really didn’t look that great when they just hung there.

She stepped up to walk at his side. “Yes. Do you see anything you like?”

“Not really. I have to see them on you to know if they’re good or not,” he told her. His eyes trailed down to a modest blue dress, okay for a party with family members. “Try this one. And then,” he scanned the room once more before walking over and grabbing another one. “Try this one. I’ll wait outside until you’re done.”

She took the dresses from his hands and pressed them to her chest. She would have never picked either of these dresses as they weren’t her style. She was self conscious in the first place, so she tended to avoid wearing anything that would draw attention to her. Just the thought of walking around in a nice dress, eyes turning to stare, it made her feel anxious.

Still, she was only with Shinsou. She didn’t have to worry about him seeing her. He wouldn’t judge or stare if she asked him not to. That’s the whole reason she brought him, because she wanted company and she trusted his opinion. If she looked bad, she was sure he would tell her to keep her from embarrassment.

In the dressing room, she slipped out of her casual clothes and threw the dress over her head, letting it fall down to rest against her body. The fabric was soft against her skin, and she felt herself running her fingers along the fabric, sighing at how delicate the material was. There wasn’t a design really, it was a pretty plain dress, but it fit perfectly. Usually clothes on fit right in one place and wrong in another, but this one wasn’t like that. She would have to see what it looked like with the zipper up.

“Hitoshi, can you come in?”

“What?”

“I need your help. My arms aren’t long enough to pull up the zipper,” she called to him again. Hesitantly, he stood from the little viewing bench and knocked on the door, which she had locked from the inside. She unlatched the little hook and cracked it open enough for him to slip in.

Admittedly, he felt weird, being in the dressing room with her; it felt so foreign to him. He kept his eyes trailed on the wall, not daring to look at her incase she was at all indecent. If Shinsou Hitoshi knew how to do anything, it was respecting women. “So what did you need?”

“Just do the zipper the rest of the way. I only got it halfway up,” she told him, and he looked down at her. She stood facing away from him, and indeed half the zipper was open. Carefully, with as much finesse as he could muster, he pulled up the zipper without touching much of her bare skin. He did rest a hand on her shoulder though to hold the dress in place.

You’re just friends. This shouldn’t even be a problem for you, he thought. But it was a problem. He felt flustered and a bit bothered, if he were being completely honest. He was so distracted he didn’t even hear what she was saying until she shook his arm.

“Yeah?”

“I said, how does this one look? It’s super comfortable, I have to say that.” First, she smoothed down the skirt and then she raised her arms slightly to her sides so he could see the whole thing.

He almost choked. She looked amazing. He loved seeing her in whatever clothes she wanted to wear. Uniform, big sweaters, jeans, pyjamas, it didn’t matter, she looked equally amazing in everything. It’s just something about seeing someone you care about so much in fancy clothes that leaves you shocked and mouth agape.

Subtly, he cleared his throat, and looked away from her. “Well, that’s settled. You’re gonna leave with that one.”

Y/N turned a bit in the mirror, checking herself and the dress out. It did look awfully nice on her, but she just couldn’t see herself wearing something so nice. She would probably think that about any dress she put on, and since Shinsou said he liked this one, it must be good. “Are you sure?”

He looked at her again, standing beside her so he could see her in the mirror as well. He ran a hand through his hair, and nodded. “Definitely. I don’t think you’ll find anything better than that one.”

“Really? What about this exact dress but in purple?” she laughed.

“Okay, maybe.”

He turned to leave, so she could get dressed but she stopped him. “Wait, you gotta unzip it too.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He walked up to stand behind her, his hands shaking only a little. He was surprised he wasn’t about to pass out. He rest one hand on her shoulder once again and the other pulled down the zipper slowly. It probably would have made it a lot easier on him if he just did it swiftly and then evaded the room immediately. Once it was down though, he was extremely quick to leave the room, undoing the latch, and sliding out of the room.

“Are you okay, Hitoshi?” the girl asked, and from outside the room, he could hear her slipping the dress off and the cloth hitting the floor.

Jesus Christ.

After a minute, the door unlatched and she walked out, carrying both the dresses on her arm. “Just have to put this one back and then we can get out of here,” she said, walking through the racks to hang up the second dress which she never even got the chance to try on. He was glad for that, as he didn’t have to go through that process again. He almost felt out of breath.

Why was he so immature? They weren’t little kids. She was his friend, and helping her put on her dress wasn’t anything to get worked up over. She was acting like everything was fine and nothing intimate just happened at all. It left him feeling almost ashamed with himself for overreacting. Clearly, she thought it was a normal thing.

As she bought her stuff at the counter, he shuffled awkwardly to the side. “Y/N, you wanna get something to eat after this?” Food would make him feel better. Carbs can do magic in almost all situations.

“Yes. Did you have anything in mind?”

“No, I thought I’d let you pick.” For a moment, she paused to exchange money with the lady at the counter. She hung the bag with her dress inside on her arm and turned to walk out of the store with her friend, who had his hands now shoved deep in his jacket pockets.

“Fried chicken,” she asked hopefully, looking up to him.

“Sure. You find us a table while I go and get the food,” he told her, and she could only nod in agreement. It was fucking hard to find a table in these crowded malls. Slowly, her eyes scanned the room and the dozens of people gathered around the tables eating their meals of choice. Finally, out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted a table with only one chair and some trash sitting on it, but that was as good as they were gonna get. She walked over and picked up the leftover tray and tossed it in the trash a couple feet away.

“Excuse me, can I borrow one of these chairs?” she asked the table beside them with a couple extra chairs around, and they nodded, but their subtle glares told her she was bothering them. She cringed, but still dragged the chair over and took a seat. Her eyes wandered back over to Shinsou, who was waiting in line, but surprisingly, there was a girl standing right beside him. She was way too far away to hear what they were speaking about, but the girl seemed to be talking up a storm.

Maybe he knew her.

Damn, she sure is pretty, Y/N thought. Why did Shinsou know such a beautiful lady? He could talk to whoever he wanted, it wasn’t her place to say anything, she was just curious. Really, really, curious. So, she buried her nose in her phone to avoid those thoughts. Shinsou was free to talk to whoever he wanted.

It was fine, whatever.

Really.

Y/N couldn’t care less.

...

Okay, so (not) secretly, she cared a fuck ton.

After a while, she heard the chair across from her scratch against the floor and a tray be placed in the middle of the table. “Y/N, what are you looking at so angrily over there?” he asked, and she looked up from her phone, bewildered. Was she glaring at her own phone, where she was just looking at memes?

“Oh, uh, nothing. Thanks for the food. I could have paid my share.”

He raised a brow, clearly confused. She never turned down free food. Not once. Who does that? “Why? I offered anyway.”

“I know, but like...Well, I don’t know. I guess you’re right.” She took a bite of her food, but it didn’t taste very good. Instead, it just tasted bitter, like how she was feeling.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said calmly, adding, “I’m just curious who that girl was you were talking to.”

He thought for a moment before remembering. He’d completely forgotten that some lady tried talking to him. She was so insignificant that he just pushed it from his mind. He had better things to think about. He replied casually, “Oh, her? I don’t even know. She just came up to me and started talking to me.”

“About what?”

He shrugged. He didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t even think Y/N noticed her come up to him, nor did he think she would care. “Well, quite frankly, she was flirting with me, I think. She asked for my phone number and stuff…” Really, he didn’t think it was that big of a deal.

She felt her skin turn hot with anger, and even some embarrassment. Anyone could flirt with him, it didn’t matter to her how many girls he had on his phone. It wasn’t even her business. He could have a girlfriend and she couldn’t do shit about it. He was her friend, and she had to support him.

Only, that was easier said than done.

“Did you give her your number?”

“No, actually I told her to fuck off and leave me alone,” he answered, very bluntly at that. “Are you okay? You sound like you’re mad with me now.”

She shook her head, frustrated that she let her emotions show through so much. She was never good at that kind of thing, but she wished she could have avoided this entire conversation all together. “I’m fine. It doesn’t even matter, let's just eat.”

“Are you...Shit, are you jealous?” he asked. His lips turned up in a grin, seeing her face morph into one of a person who has been caught red handed. Deer in the headlights sort of expression. He found it funny. He didn’t really care if she was jealous, of what exactly, he didn’t know. He just thought it was so incredibly hilarious that she was.

“N-No!”

“You definitely are.”

“And so what if I am?” she huffed, shoving a couple french fries into her mouth angrily.

“Nothing really. I’m just surprised,” he teased, “Are you not getting enough attention, Y/N?”

“Shinsou, shut up! Now you’re just making fun of me!” she cried, covering her face with her hands.

He smiled, watching as he squirmed in her seat. She was so cute. He was having fun, just sitting here in this food court was actually a ton of fun for him, and for him any kind of fun was pretty rare. She kept putting french fries in her mouth to hide how she was pouting and how she couldn’t even look him in the eye. He noticed, and it only made his smile last longer.

Dammit, he loved her.

________________________________

Y/N sat at her desk, packing up her books and pens into her book bag. Class was over for the day, which meant she would go to the dorms and do her homework. A few days out of the week, Shinsou would go to train with his mentor, and today just happened to be that day.

“So, you have training today with Aizawa-sensei?” she asked.

He shook his head as he leant against her desk, waiting for her to be done. “Not today, he’s out sick.”

“Oh, good. You can help me with my homework then.” She stood up from her desk and slung her bag over her shoulder. “You’re so smart, I’m jealous. I wish it was that easy for me.”

“You’re smart, just in a different way, Y/N.”

“Oh, yeah? What way? I’m stupid at everything.”

“You’re really good at picking friends.”

She laughed, pushing on his shoulder. Of course he would say that. He was never confident, in fact, he kinda hated himself. Most high schoolers do. But it was easy to crack jokes like that, and she always enjoyed them. It made him feel better about himself at the same time. To affirm time and time again that he was a good friend, good for her at least. Other friends he’d had before just ditched him because they didn’t like him.

Just as she walked out the door into the hall, the purple haired boy following closely behind, another student from their class approached them, his hand tucked behind his back. She didn’t really know him all that much. His quirk was very insignificant, and he didn’t have much of a personality either.

Truly though, when she was in class, she didn’t see anyone but the professor and Shinsou. It was pretty simple.

“Bakugo-chan, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Um, sure, Tanaka. Is there something you needed?”

His eyes slid over to the tall, brooding figure behind her, who just stared off into space pretty mindlessly. She noticed the boy looking, but didn’t think much of it. Shinsou was fine there.

“Go ahead,” she said, and he snapped out of his daze.

“You see, I’ve been watching you since the beginning of the school year. I think you are the most beautiful and kind person I’ve ever met,” he confessed, his words nearly slurring together as he spoke so fast. She blinked, not expecting a confession from the boy, or anyone for that matter. She swore they had only spoken maybe two times, maximum. Why would he like her?

Shinsou looked over now from the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to make the kid uncomfortable. He wasn’t a bad guy, just another student trying to become the best they could be. Yet, he really, really hated hearing someone else talk that way about her. He was almost sure only he thought those things about Y/N; how beautiful she was, kind, strong, smart, and perfect. Now it seemed other people did as well? The thought of other people...fantasizing about his sweet friend made him feel sick to his stomach.

Then, much to her displeasure, the boy pulled out a small bouquet of flowers that were obviously picked from outside in the courtyard as they were mostly a mix of weeds and leaves. He shoved them in her direction, urging her to take them. Reluctantly, the plants found their way into her hands. “I really hope you like the flowers. I tried to pick the colors that would compliment your eyes.”

Wow, okay.

“Thank you, Tanaka-kun. They sure are pretty,” she said. Desperately, she wanted to just run away and pretend this encounter never happened. She never thought this would happen to her of all people. A loser like her.

“If you aren’t dating anyone else, I would like to take you on a date this weekend. We can go anywhere you want,” he asked hopefully, his eyes full of anticipation and yearning. “Please, you won’t regret it. I’ll make you so happy, Bakugo-chan. Please.”

Oh, God, he was begging.

“I’m sorry, but you should take these flowers back and give them to some other girl,” Y/N said as gently as she could, taking the boy’s hand to place the flowers into his palm. Immediately, the boy’s face crumbled, and his cheeks turned a bright shade of red. She felt so terrible for embarrassing him this way. “I’m really not the girl for you. My heart belongs to someone else, so I could never feel the same way for you.”

“I see,” he sighed. The boy’s eyes slid up to enviously glare at Shinsou, who looked right back with a vengeance. Everyone knew who Y/N really wanted. Maybe just maybe, the pair were only friends like they claimed. Tanaka was praying the entire day that she would accept his offer and leave Shinsou behind. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? I just can’t understand why you’d fall in love with a villain like him.”

Shinsou felt his heart fall to the bottom of his stomach at those words. He closed his eyes and tried not to think much about it, but memories of those bullies in middle school just came back into his mind in full color. He felt that sense of dread hang over his head.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a monster! All he does is manipulate people to do what he wants. The only reason you love him is because he brainwashed you!”

Shinsou rarely felt like he might cry, but this was one of those moments. It was one thing for people to call him a monster in front of strangers, but he felt worse knowing that he was saying this to Y/N. She somehow avoided hearing all those insults and accusations until now, and suddenly he felt like his head was benign held under water, completely hopeless and weak. Y/N wouldn’t just betray him like that, trust this guys word over his own, he knew that for sure. He just felt so overwhelmed with shame. It made him feel terrible that people actually believed the only reason she was friends with him was because he brainwashed her. Couldn’t he have nice things as well?

He never wanted her to see this side of him, the side people perceived him as. He wanted to run away to his dorm and never leave the room again. What was the point now that he knew people thought of him like that still.

Y/N, much to everyone’s surprise, raised her hand and slapped their fellow student right across the face. “Fuck you!”

“Y/N-”

“Shut up, Shinsou.”

The boy who was slapped put his hand on his cheek and stared up at her in shock. She was so gentle and sweet most of the time. How could she slap him like that, enough to leave a mark? His precious and sweet crush.

“You call this boy a monster again, and I will beat your ass, do you hear me?” she commanded, and when he didn’t reply, she shoved on his shoulder. He stumbled back, nearly falling into the wall on the other side of the hall. “I said, did you hear me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Shinsou Hitoshi is more of a man than you will ever be. Men don’t stoop to insulting others insecurities just because a pretty girl rejected him. Boo hoo, get a grip. You will never be half the hero Shinsou is,” she told him bitterly, glaring through narrowed eyes. Maybe she was being a bit harsh, she didn’t care. If it was one thing she learned from Katsuki, it was how to defend the people you love (even if it’s unnecessarily mean). Perhaps, she learned a bit too much from the blond...

She stepped back, letting her arms fall to her sides. “If I ever hear my name or Shinsou’s come out of your mouth again, I will not hesitate.”

He nodded, grabbing his bag off the floor and turning to run down the hall in the other direction. She brushed a few loose strands of hair from her eyes and sighed, letting her shoulders finally sink into a relaxed state again. It had been a long time since she felt such pure rage burn in her heart. Normally, there was rarely a time someone bothered her enough to make her angry. It just wasn’t who she was.

Hearing those words about Shinsou sent her over the edge. No one would talk about him that way. Nobody, and she would make sure of it.

“Let’s go.” Her footsteps were practically stomps as she walked down the hall, her friend following close behind. “I can’t believe someone would have the nerve to say something like that to me about you? Like, who does he think he is?” Y/N grumbled, clenching and unclenching her fists by her side.

“Really, Y/N, you didn’t have to do that. I used to hear that stuff all the time.”

“Exactly! No one deserves to be treated like that, and you’ve already experienced far more than anyone should,” she told him. “He really tried to ask me out and then right after tried to talk shit about you. What an ass. Some boys just can’t take rejection, can they?.”

He only watched as she kept walking, but he didn’t feel like saying much. She was in too bad of a mood to reason with. He never imagined her acting like that. Even when they were training, she never got angry or even frustrated. She was so calm and gentle. For a moment there, she sounded exactly like her brother. It scared him, to be honest.

He appreciated her defending him though. It was the most anyone had done to stand up for him.

Worrying about her and his quirk completely washed away the fact that she admitted to loving him. It seemed that would be the topic of discussion another day.

________________________________

“Come on, come on. It’s almost starting!” Y/N rushed up the stairs, tugging Shinsou by the hand up . He was tired. He didn’t really have the time or energy to watch this firework show she was so excited to see. Still, he did it for her since she’d been waiting for weeks for it.

No U.A. students were allowed to dress up in their formal wear and go to the shrines like everyone else on New Years, since big crowds could pose a danger to the students' safety. Instead, groups of students from different classes gathered up some snacks on the roofs of their own family houses to watch the fireworks at the shrine a mile or so away. She had a bag full of her favorite drink, fruit milk, on her arm, eager to binge and drink it all. She would probably make herself sick, but it's like that sometimes..

“Five minutes until midnight,” she muttered. She pushed open the attic window and slid through onto the roof, and was met with emptiness. Only a few small groups of friends were spaced out pretty far and few in between on their class building. She walked over to the side in the direction of the shrine, and sat down on the bench. Her milk plopped down onto the spot beside her.

Shinsou silently took a seat beside her. He checked his phone. Only a couple more minutes. He couldn’t understand for the life of him why she was so excited just for time to pass and some colored lights to go off in the distance. The noise was so loud though, he realized he wouldn’t have gotten much sleep that night anyway.

Happily, she popped the cap off a banana milk and took a long sip. He took one from the bag as well, strawberry, and popped the cap. “Why are you so excited for this anyway, Y/N?”

“I-I don’t know. I just wanted to spend the holiday with you, and since we aren’t allowed back home for the holiday due to all those villain threats, I thought it would be a fun thing for the two of us to do together,” she told him. Honestly, she was just happy to spend more time with him. It felt so good, the cold air on her skin and the crickets chirping from the ground below. People around talked and laughed amongst their own groups.

It was the perfect moment.

Shinsou knew about this tradition some people had on New Years. He was sure it was probably an American thing since All Might and Midoriya were talking about it. Apparently, you are supposed to kiss someone when the clock strikes midnight, and it grants you good luck for the rest of the year.

He wouldn’t even attempt it. That was a complete invasion of her space. He just wanted her to enjoy the fireworks and her milk without any drama. Things had gotten a bit weird between them over the time they’d known each other. They were close, almost too close to be friendly. Other people clearly noticed; Bakugo, Aizawa, that boy from their class. Neither of them knew what to do about those feelings, so they just pretended they weren’t there, he supposed. It was easier that way.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to kiss her. He definitely did 100 percent want that kiss. He just couldn’t take the risk. What if everyone was wrong this whole time? What if she only thought of him as a very close friend this whole time and he got the wrong idea. He didn’t know enough girls to know how they acted with their guy friends.

He knew he was hopelessly in love. It used to scare him, the thought of being so attached to someone like that. Now, he just felt happy to have someone to hold in his heart. It didn’t matter much if she ever accepted his love. As long as he could hold her and see her smile, that was enough.

Soon enough, dozens of rainbow colored fireworks lit up the sky. The sound was dulled by the distance between them and the shrine, but it was still loud enough to dull Shinsou’s thoughts. He leaned back on the roof on one hand and the other lifted the strawberry milk to his lips, taking a sip.

Another year flew by faster than he thought. It was no doubt the best year of his life so far.

He didn’t even notice her begin to speak until she said his name.

“Shinsou,” she exhaled. “I really wouldn’t mind spending every year with you.”

He looked over to her. Her face was illuminated in bright pinks and blues, and she had that ever present smile on her lips. How could one person look like that? All he ever wanted and more, the girl of his dreams?

“I think I’d like that, too.”

“Would you really?”

“If I got to spend every single day with you for the rest of my life, it still wouldn’t be enough for me.”

She took a deep breath, tilting her head back to stare up at the deep blue night sky above, only a couple shining stars to be seen. For a long time, she felt like it was inevitable that he would find out, and now seemed just as good as any.

“You know, Hitoshi, I think I’m in love with you.”

His lips curled up into a smile. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, Y/N,” he confessed, “They say love at first sight isn’t real, but damn, it sure feels like it is.”

“God, why do you always know exactly what to say to make me feel like this,” she asked, placing her hand over her head and laughing. “Why are you so perfect?”

“I’m not. I’m perfect, but only for you.”

They sat beside each other in silence for a moment, taking in each other’s feelings. Her hand wormed over to rest on his, and he quickly intertwined their fingers. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. He could feel how warm her skin felt, and the smile on his face only grew. He would always remember this moment.

“Do you mind if I kiss you?”

“Please.”

And so, he got that kiss he wanted all along. Along with many, many more to follow.

For the first time ever, he felt like he made the right choice. He’d finally done something worthwhile with his life. He met his Y/N.

Thank you for supporting me and have a lovely day.

#bnha shinsou #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi #mha #mha x reader #mha imagine #mha oneshot #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha oneshot #shinsou oneshot #shinsou imagine #x reader #shinsou x you #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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the-dragons-knight · 3 years ago

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FFXIV Write 2021

Prompt #2 - A Father’s Blessing

Aberrant - ‘departing from an accepted standard’

————————————————

It was still so terribly strange to be walking the paths of the Churning Mists, walking upright with the feet and toes of a girl rather than the claws. She still remembered the day she was struck down and sank beneath the waves of the Ruby Sea, the day her life forever changed. In the eyes of a human, it had been a millennium. For most dragons, it had only been yesterday.

To her…to Kadlin, it felt like eons.

The wind around her shifted, a strong gust bearing down on her from above and the light horned auri woman turned her gaze to the sky as the great, white feathered wyrm, Hreasvelgr, floated down to land in the clear beside her. She smiled softly and followed him, standing before him as he lowered his head to her.

“Kadlin, my daughter,” His rumbling voice soothed her as she embraced his snout, rubbing her cheek and scales against his fur, “I have missed you. It is good to see you well and safe.”

Kadlin nodded, looking up into his eyes with a sad smile, “I’ve missed you too, father.” She was glad the ancient tongue of her scaled ancestors had not left her just yet.

Hraesvelgr hummed, “Your eyes always remind me of your mother…And she would have been proud of you.”

“Perhaps not of everything, but hopefully most things she would have. I at least avenged her partly…in some way perhaps.”

The wyrm sighed in a low hiss, “Revenge was never Ratatoskr’s way. Her nature was far too kind and understanding…but yes, you have set that vengeful spirit free.”

Kadlin nodded, “I um…I’ve had a lot to think about lately and…” She stepped back from him and moved to settle herself on a rock behind her, pushing back the skirt of her red dress to not bunch up the fabric around her scaled tail, “And I think…I have an answer for that question finally.”

Hraesvelgr knelt down to lay in the grass, curling his tail and wings around her as he listened. She took a deep breath before looking him in the eye, “I…I wish to remain amongst the mortals. Amongst man and his world.”

“Thou wouldst still trade thy wings for legs?” He replied, “Even after so long of being without them and being so far from home?”

“Please, do not misunderstand, Father. Full glad am I to be able to come home again and you know not how happy I was to see you all again and to still be able to see you when I like…but I have also lived in another world. I have seen its joys, its sorrows, and I have felt them myself. There are experiences I would have never dreamed of having while clad in the scales of my youth.”

“You say as if you are not still young,” He chuckled, earning him a look from the little blonde form of his daughter.

“The point I mean to say is…I love my home here, but I also love my home there…and I wish not to have to choose between them…if I may. Meaning i wish to be able to choose freely between my wings and my flesh as a please…if possible.”

The white dragon pondered this for a moment before a question rang through the air, “You have already learned to call upon your scaled form again after your battle with Nidhogg’s shade, but I sense that is not the issue. What made you come to this decision?”

Kadlin smiled weakly and looked down at her hands, fiddling with the ring on her finger, “I don’t mean to answer your question with a question but…do you remember…what it was like when you first met Shiva?”

Hraesvelgr growled softly at the mention of the Elezen woman, his eyes turning to the clouds where the setting sun was streaming through them, “I shall never forget that day. The moment our gazes met, our hearts never parted, and never have to this day.”

Kadlin smiled up at him, “I never understood what you meant as a hatchling when you would say that. I thought it was such a crazy notion to think about, but…now I…”

“You have found your heart in another then?” Kadlin froze, listening for the anger in her voice or the disappointment, yet it was entirely unreadable, “And He is a mortal, isn’t he? A son of Thordan.”

Kadlin’s hand shook as she fiddled with the ring more, swallowing hard, trying to keep herself calm in the face of the powerful wyrm, “Are you angry with me?”

There was a silence that felt as if it lasted a century until saw his shadow shade her and felt him push his nose against her head with a soothing purr, “Never, child.”

Tears spilled over from Kadlin’s eyes as she nuzzled against him again, smiling gratefully as he continued, “I have learned thy heart enough now to never be angry with you for following your heart. As I said, your mother would have been proud.”

She wiped her tears as he drew back, confusion rewriting her features, “You knew? How?”

The great dragon laughed, pointing his nose to her ring that she was still fiddling with, “I may be an old wyrm, but I still know the customs of man.”

She scoffed lightly, “I never said you weren’t! But I am sorry if it seems I deceived you or hid something from you. It was not my intention.”

“I know this. Your intention is ever the purest one,” Hraesvelgr lowered his head until he was eye level with her and they gazed deeply into one another eyes, “I have spent centuries isolating myself from the world, pining for the loves I have lost. ‘Tis a fate I choose for myself in remembrance of those we have lost, but I would not wish it on anyone, especially not you, little one.” He touched his nose to her hand and said, “Kadlin, my daughter and daughter of Ratatoskr, first of the name ‘Sailehsdran’…of the dragons chosen by Hydaelyn, you are always welcome home, my child, and you have my blessing to follow the path your heart leads.”

Kadlin smiled brightly through her tears, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand again and again to be able to see him clearly, happily laughing at her inability to stop them, “Thank you, Father. Thank you so much.”

“But tell that son of Thordan that if he dares to harm thee, I will see to it that there will be ought left but ash.” He chuckled darkly.

“I highly doubt you will need to worry about that with Ser Aymeric, but I’ll be sure to let him know, just perhaps a bit more gently so as not to scare him away,” Kadlin laughed with him.

He hummed in response, “I expect to see you before you are given away to him. Both of you, of course.”

“Whatever do you mean? I wouldn’t think of anyone else giving me over to my husband to be but im father. ‘Tis how the tradition must go, after all.”

It was sure to be a wedding Ishgard would not soon forget.

((‘Sailehsdran’ is actually ‘Hydaelyn’s chosen dragon’ in Dragonspeak, hence why is it my Auri version of Katsum’s last name ^^))

#kadlin sailehsdran #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv writing #aymeric de borel #ffxivwrite2021 #wol x npc #aymeric de borel x wol #dragon wol #dravanian #hraesvelgr #ratatoskr #heavensward #heavensward msq #slight heavensward msq spoilers

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horansqueen · 5 years ago

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You & Me : chapter 28

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

Sequel to AM CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 10 || CHAPTER 11 || CHAPTER 12 || CHAPTER 13 || CHAPTER 14 || CHAPTER 15 || CHAPTER 16 || CHAPTER 17 || CHAPTER 18 || CHAPTER 19 || CHAPTER 20 || CHAPTER 21 || CHAPTER 22 || CHAPTER 23 || CHAPTER 24 || CHAPTER 25 || CHAPTER 26 || CHAPTER 27

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -4.2k - 4.3k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- notes: filler chapter again sorry! but i tried to make it cute! i didnt plan a sex scene but its there sooo yea haha lol

if you want to be on the list of blogs i notify when this is updated, just message me :)

requests! : 2 requests! i hope i wrote them right! love them btw! please keep sending them!!!

Chapter 28 : Her chapter

OLIVIA

I thought we would have sex before we went to bed but I must have fallen asleep faster than I wanted to. Niall also probably undressed me because when I woke up in the middle of the night, I was wearing his shirt and nothing else. I smiled, keeping my eyes closed, and brought my shoulder closer to my nose. It smelled like him even if he probably didn't wear it for too long since he had a buttoned shirt at the wedding. I turned around in bed, trying to reach him with my arm but he wasn't there and I let out a short whimper before forcing myself to open my eyes.

The room was dark and quiet and it made a shiver run in my back. I got up and realized his shirt was a bit short. I searched through my stuff for a clean pair of panties and put it on before quietly getting out of the room. Everything was dark except for a very low and warm light in the living room. I walked slowly closer and leaned against the wall when I saw Niall sitting on the couch. He was writing very quickly in his notebook and he was so concentrated that he didn't even notice me. It was always special for me to see him when he seemed to be so deep in his thoughts that no one could get in his bubble. His hair was a mess and once in a while, he ran his hand in it, making the mess even worse. I stared at him for a while as he kept his focus on the paper, wearing only his boxers and making me realize he probably woke up in the middle of the night with an idea that he couldn't let go of. Something that he knew he wouldn’t remember in the morning but that he just had to write about.

I didn't know how long I stayed there but I didn't want to interrupt him or distract him. I just walked back to the room after a while and lied down in bed, looking at the ceiling. I couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened to me in the past few months and somehow, I felt like everything was going for the better. The more time passed, the more It seemed like I was discovering who I was and what I wanted.

It was so obvious that what I wanted was Niall but more than that, what I really wanted was a healthy relationship with Niall. I wanted us to be the kind of couple that would drip with sweetness but that also could spend time without each other without going crazy. I wanted him to be my best friend but not my only friend and I didn't want either of us to be afraid, insecure, jealous or unhappy. I knew I was asking a lot, and I knew not everything could be perfect all the time, but I knew Niall and I together could come very fucking close to perfection.

I tried to stay awake until he came back to sleep but once again, I probably had fallen asleep despite myself because when I woke up again, the sun was already up and I had a small headache. I groaned and this time, I knew he was still in bed. I could feel the warmth of his body close to mine and I turned in the sheets, wrapping my arm around his back. His cheek was flat against the mattress just like his chest and I watched him sleep, his lips parted and slightly twisted as he let out a low snore. Fuck, he was so hot and I just stared at him with my eyes half-open for a few minutes, or maybe 15? 20? Who knew?

When I realized how bad I needed to pee, I finally got up very slowly, making sure I wouldn't wake him up. He was always up before me but I knew he had been up a big part of the night to write something and I wanted him to get the rest he needed and clearly deserved.

I made coffee and stayed next to the coffee machine as I watched it fall down, yawning a few times before adding cream and sugar in my cup. I couldn't stop thinking about him going on tour and being separated from him for weeks and it made something twist in my chest. Of course, I didn't want to be the girl who would follow him everywhere. I was not that girl anymore. I was not dependent of the man I loved, and I had stuff to do and commitments, too. We were about to start filming the new season of my tv show and although I dreaded playing with Dylan I knew it was something we had to do. It would be awkward at first, for sure, but in the end, I knew he was professional and I promised myself I would be, too.

I finished my coffee but left the cup in the sink before walking to the living room. It was supposed to be a lazy day and I was surprised my head didn't hurt as much as I thought it would, or that I wasn't nauseous at all despite all the champagne I had drank the night before.

I sat on the couch and pushed the stuff on it to find the remote. It showed that I was spending time at Niall's : his place had never been so messy and I suddenly felt guilty. I finally found the remote but looked at it before sighing, putting it back on the coffee table as I took the decision to clean a bit while he was still asleep. Something caught my attention and even if I knew I shouldn't, I grabbed hos notebook to the page it was opened and started reading. Niall rarely shared his writing with random people until it was a final product and all the songs I had heard was because I had crept on him somehow. I was not proud of it but at the same time, he never really seemed angry about it. I remembered that time when we were all at his place and I had followed the sound of his guitar until I practically fell in the room like a loser as he was playing a song. At that time, I had thought it was about Heidi but now that I knew it was about me, I wished I could remember what the lyrics were. All I could remember was that I had deeply hoped that it was for me. That thought made something twist in my chest and I licked my lips before letting my eyes roam on the words I was probably not supposed to see.

"I want the world to witness When we finally say I do It's the way you love I gotta give it back to you I can't promise picket fences Or sunny afternoons But, at night when I close my eyes"

A lot of words seemed to be scratched a few times and then I could read something that seemed like a chorus.

"Yeah, I see us in black and white Crystal clear on a star lit night In all your gorgeous colors I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life See you standing in your dress Swear in front of all our friends There'll never be another I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life"

I swallowed and ran my fingers on the ink, feeling the tiny rifts and bumps in the paper and feeling my heart beating so fast in my chest that I had a hard time to breathe.

"Now, we're sitting here in your living room Telling stories while we share a drink or two And there's a vision I've been holding in my mind We're 65 and you ask "When did I first know?" I always knew."

And just when I thought it was probably not about me, I saw a word that was also scratched at the end of the lyrics and I could swear it started with a capital O. I grabbed the notebook, moving it up and putting the simple sheet where the song was written in the light. It appeared clearly. My name at the bottom. I didn't know why it was crossed out and I was not sure I wanted to know. but as I re-read the lyrics for the tenth time, I couldn't lie to myself anymore. It was a wedding song.

After a few minutes, I finally started moving again. I cleaned the living room, washed the dishes, started laundry and even started cleaning the windows. All while thinking about the song, the lyrics hitting inside my brain and doing something incredible to my heart : something I hadn't felt ever before. I would never tell him but if Niall asked me to marry him at this exact moment, I would say yes. Was it because of the great time we had the night before? Or maybe because we were so happy together these days? I had no idea. But I knew I'd say yes in a heartbeat. Tomorrow, I couldn't tell you what my answer would be but today? It would be a million times yes.

I saw him walk behind me in the reflection of the now extra clean windows and my lips immediately curled. He placed himself behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning his chin on my shoulder, and suddenly, I felt so much better than I did only a few minutes ago, even if I was still happy before.

"You should have waken me up." he whispered in my ear. "I would have helped you. Especially that you're cleaning wearing only a shirt and panties. I'd love to see you on all four as you clean the floor."

I laughed and raised my nose up as he kissed a spot near my ear. It was not only my love for him that made my heart jump when he was near, it was more than that. It was who he was, who I hoped he would always be.

"Tell me you'll always do that, that you'll always say things like that."

He pulled away slightly and turned his head more to look at me. I waited for his answer but he was waiting for me to look at him and I gave in, my eyes finally meeting his.

"Hold you? Kiss you? Tell you that I love and lust you?" he asked low, raising his eyebrows. I bit my bottom lip and nodded. "I promise. I swear. You have my words. And my heart. And my body, soul and mind."

My traits softened and I turned in his arms to face him, wrapping mine around his neck, moving my chin up to kiss him. He pushed me gently against the window as we kissed and I felt my butt press against it, making me chuckle.

"I'm gonna have to clean that window again." I let out with a smile as he chuckled against my lips.

"Or, you know, we can leave it like that." he proposed, shrugging a shoulder. "Your butt print seems like a nice decoration."

I'm the one who laughed this time. "You? Leaving a dirty window without touching it? Who are you trying to fool, Horan?"

"Don't call me that." he just said in a serious tone, raising his eyebrows.

"Or what?"I asked, teasing him with a sassy voice.

"Or I'm gonna tickle you." he pointed out, making my heart skip a beat. "I'm gonna tickle you until you beg me to stop."

"Sure, Horan." I tried to provoke him, putting emphasis on his last name.

He stared at me for a few seconds but suddenly and quickly, he picked me up and brought me to the couch. I was surprised that he could actually support my weight and he finally let me fall on the couch as I bounced on the cushions but he quickly straddled me, grabbing my wrists and pulling them over my head. When was the last time we played like that? It had been so long I couldn't remember.

"Apologize now." he ordered, looking down at me.

I could feel his grip tighten on my wrists and I licked my lips. "Never."

"Last chance." he let out, making me smirk.

"Bite me, Horan."

Quickly, he brought his free hand to my waist and started tickling me. Immediately, I started squirming, trying to get out of his grip as I let out a few high pitched yells. It made him laugh and it made me remember how much I hated to be tickled. After a while, he stopped and my lips parted as I started panting.

"You looking like that? God. Makes me want to tie you up and have my way with you."

I let out a short laughter and he started tickling me again until I started screaming his name.

"Niall! Niall stop! I c-can't!"

He did as I asked and smirked. "Beg me." he let out, shaking his eyebrows. "Apologize and beg me."

"Mm, I'm so sorry, Niall." I whispered with puppy eyes. "Please I'm begging you, stop tickling me?"

"Don't you fucking pout like that, it makes me want to fuck your mouth."

I laughed louder this time, tilting my head back slightly and closing my eyes as I felt his hand run up my breasts.

"And you say I'm the horny one!"

"Heyyy!" he argued with a frown. "I fingered you last night and I didn't cum at all, remember?"

My smirk disappeared and I just smiled at him. "You want to cum now?"

He groaned and raised his nose up. "I feel like all we do is fuck."

I shrugged and he finally let go of my wrists. I brought my hands to his pants and slid one in them, raising my eyebrows again but in surprise this time.

"You went commando?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he reached for my shirt and moved it up to expose my breasts as I took his cock out of his pants, stroking him slowly with both my hands. He breathed in and then out, letting out a very short whimper and one of his hands moved back to reach between my legs. He moved two of his fingertips on my panties, brushing against my clit and I pressed my lips together. I tried to focus on what my hands were doing and spit on his cock before running my fingers right under his tip. He groaned and brought his hand back to grab one of my breasts hard and I started stroking him harder.

"That feels so fucking good." he admitted, running his thumb on my nipple. "I tried doing that to myself and it just doesn't work. It has to be your hands."

I didn't tell him but it probably could have been anyone's hands except his and even if he probably knew it, I didn't want to point it out just in case. He took his cock in his hands, making me hold my breath and take my hands away and quickly, he tapped his cock on my tits before rubbing his tip on my nipples.

"Please, petal, push your tits together."

My heart jumped so high in my chest that I had to swallow it back.

"Niall, I don't think my boobs are big enough to-"

"Do it." he cut me.

I bit my bottom lip and did as he asked, just watching him spit in his hand and rub his cock again. My lips parted when he put his cock between my breasts and he was so focused on what he was doing that he didn't even look at me again. I could pretend otherwise but watching him using me to cum was actually exciting and when he groaned, I pressed my thighs together as I felt my pussy throb. I loved the feeling of his cock sliding quickly between my breasts and the thought in itself was driving me insane. After a while, he took his dick back in his hand and started jerking off harder until his lips parted.

"Jesus Christ." he whispered as I held my breath.

He shook slightly over me, moaning low as his cum spurted on my chest and breasts. I just remained motionless as he came down from his high, letting out a low 'fuck" and rubbing his tip on my nipples again, spreading his cum on me.

He sighed and sat on me, putting his cock back in his pants as I stared at him and he shook his head.

"I'm so.. so sorry. I was just so..."

"Horny? Yea I noticed." I chuckled, letting my lips curl as he finally looked back at me.

"I didn't really give you much attention, did I?" he asked, raising his nose up. I could read guilt on his face and my lips curled. "I'm sorry, pet."

"I'm just... I'm glad I made you cum. Didn't think that would be so exciting, but it was." I admitted, pulling my shirt back over my breasts as he laughed. "Also didn't think it was possible with my boobs."

"Your boobs are perfect." he pointed out before getting up and holding his hand out for me.

I put my hand in his and his fingers gripped mine as he helped me get up, letting his eyes roam on my face. He bent down to kiss me and I closed my eyes at the way it made my heart jump in my chest.

"Lazy day yea?" he proposed in a breath, his mouth still pressed against mine. "You go take a shower and I'll close all the curtains, find a good tv show to binge on netflix, and order something, chinese maybe?"

I nodded quickly and smiled. "That sounds perfect."

I took a quick shower and put on a pair of his sweatpants and one of his shirts and when I got back in the living room, he had brought pillows and blankets, a few beers and was waiting for me with the remote in hands. I stared at him for a while, just trying to live the moment and realize how lucky I was, before finally sitting next to him. He looked up at me with a smile and I pushed the pillows away to lean against his chest as his back was against the side of the couch. His legs were spread but they moved a bit close to both my sides, kind of to trap me close to him. He tried to put the blanket over us and I helped him before squirming slightly to be more comfortable.

"Hey, watch the goods, yea?"

I laughed but still took care of where I was moving and he wrapped one of his arms around me.

"Remember this spot because food will be there in half an hour and we're gonna have to do it all over again." he said, making me groan and making him laugh. "Seriously though, it feels good to have you here with me just to have a lazy day."

I felt my heart swell and smiled more, turning to kiss his jaw gently. He looked down and his lips met mine and he deepened the kiss just as the first episode of a series we both wanted to watch started.

"How will I be able to focus on anything but you today, mm?" I let out, half-joking.

He rolled his eyes with a low chuckle and we both focused on the tv for a while. I groaned when the doorbell rang and he laughed again. I sat up to let him get up and when he came back with the food, I realized how hungry I was. we ate again in silence but I couldn't stop glancing at him. There was something endearing in the way he used his chopsticks to push the noddles in his mouth and I only realized I was staring when he turned his gaze to me and chuckled. I blinked a few times and looked away as he swallowed his food.

"It's okay, you can stare. I stare at you too, you know. You just don't notice."

I felt my heart jump in my chest and put my food away.

"Just like I stared at you for about twenty minutes in the middle of the night." I confessed, making him frown. "You were sitting here, in only your boxers, and you were writing. You were so focused on what you were doing that you never noticed me."

I couldn't add that I had found him gorgeous with his messy hair and his tired eyes. I couldn't say that I had felt a wave of love so strong that I almost started crying. I couldn't tell him that because it still embarrassed me to be so in love with him. Not because I didn't want to be, but because I was scared I would end up losing him again.

His lips curled into a smile and he pushed the air out of his lungs. "I was writing a song. For you. About you."

My lips crashed against his and he replied to the kiss quickly, pushing his tongue deep in my mouth as I whimpered. He didn't know that I had read it and I suddenly felt guilty but he literally confirmed that his lyrics were about me and somehow, it made me ecstatic. So ecstatic that I surprised myself wishing he'd ask me to marry him as soon as our lips would part.

"I didn't know if I should tell you but, Olivia, I'm so happy we're both single right now. I know it's wrong to say that but fuck, I'm happy with you. Just you and I. No guilt, no stress, no question. You and me, living this moment."

I kissed him again, not knowing what to answer. I was happy too. I was happier than I had ever been, even before we broke up, and I didn't want anything to change. I didn't want to jinx this by claiming my happiness out loud. I didn't want to risk this happiness with an official relationship because last time didn't end well. It was ridiculous. All my fears made no sense, but it didn't make them vanish to know that.

"I love you, Niall." I whispered, leaving small kisses slowly on his mouth, jaw and cheeks. "I love you more than anything. No one is you."

He finally let go of his chopsticks to cup my face and he breathed in before his mouth found mine again.

"I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life." he murmured quickly before kissing me again.

My heart jumped when I recognized the lyrics and it made me wonder how often he talked to me with his own lyrics. I wanted to hear all of them. One time, twice, three times... a hundred fucking times. I wanted him to play me all the songs that were for me, to sing them, to whisper them, to yell them. I wanted him to make love to me while he'd do it, to hold my hand as we walked outside as he'd sing, to fucking marry me as he'd yell. I wanted him to claim his love for me until I'd be tired to hear it. And deep down, I knew I'd never be.

"I have a weekend left before I leave for tour." he just said sadly, breaking my heart. "I thought we could leave. Pack a bag, take the road, only you and me, for a few days."

My lips curled so much that my cheeks started hurting and I quickly nodded. I really wanted to spend quality time with him while it was still possible and I kissed his lips again.

"That's a yes?" he made sure as I nodded. "Okay then, we're leaving in 3 days. So cancel all the plans you had."

I laughed and licked my lips, licking his at the same time because of the proximity of our mouths.

"Niall? I'm sorry, I had planned to spend all my days with you but this super hot guy just asked me on a road trip so I'm gonna have to rain check."

He laughed and shook his head slightly. "Dork."

He pulled away slightly to stare at me as we completely forgot the show playing. I grabbed the remote and put it on pause before looking back at him and tilting my head. I needed him more than I ever needed him before and it was scaring me so bad I could feel my heart trying to escape my rib cage in intense thumps.

"Tell me you love me." I whispered as I bit my bottom lip nervously. "Please, Niall."

His face changed and he moved closer. I thought he'd kiss me again but instead, he got serious and I felt him grab my hands.

"I love you, Olivia. I'm in love with you. I never stopped, not one second. And I never will. Do you want me to repeat it every day? At which frequency? Every 6 hours? 4 hours? Two? I'll put a damn alarm on my phone to tell you in the middle of the night if I have to." he said in a soft tone. "I know it was different when we dated, but I will never let you believe that you are not perfect the way you are, that you are not everything I want and need, or that you are not loved. Never again. I swear, Olivia. I fucking love you."

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