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cinnaminsvga · 8 months ago

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Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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marvelfilth · 1 year ago

Text

🎥 girl (18+)

Part 2

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x f!reader

Warnings: camgirl!Tara, bottom!Tara, smut, strap-on sex (Tara receiving), blow job (R receiving), weed consumption, pet names

Summary: Tara asks you for a favor, you're more than ready to deliver

Masterlist

You have a simple agreement with your roommate - you ignore the whimpers and moans that echo throughout the apartment whenever she's shooting a video (which happens a lot, almost every day), and in return she stays silent about your own hobby.

The agreement is not the best, and you're definitely at a disadvantage, but, outside of her online persona, Tara is nice and considerate, and she tried very hard to soundproof her room, which didn't help at all to no-one's surprise.

It certainly does help that she greets you every morning with a bun or two from the bakery across the road, and lingers by the door when you leave for work, promising to cook something for dinner.

Really, it almost feels like a perfect life, until she locks her bedroom door and you have to plug your ears and roll a blunt to keep your sanity intact.

See, Tara is nice and considerate, but she's also breathtakingly beautiful and casually seductive, walking around the apartment in tight shorts and barely there crop tops, pressing against you in all the right places when she hugs you goodbye and looking so pretty when she walks out of her room after hours of filming, clad in a silky robe, with sweat still clinging to her as she skims past you to the bathroom.

You're not sure she's aware of the hold she has on you.

"Can I have some?" She asks from your doorway, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turn in your chair and wave her inside, your eyes lingering on her cleavage as she walks past and sits on the desk, pulling your chair closer so you're stuck between her parted legs. You look her up and down, noting the slight shakiness of her hands and her dilated pupils.

You reach past her for another blunt, but she stops you with a shake of her head, and pulls at the one still stuck between your lips. You watch her relax as she takes a drag, leaning against the wall. You can't help it, your eyes dart lower, catching a glimpse of her nipples straining against the confines of her white tank top, then even lower to the glimpse of skin between her shirt and her sweatpants. You curse her for choosing the least revealing clothes today of all days, when she is sprawled right in front of you.

She nudges your chin up. Her cheeks are reddened and she struggles to keep eye contact, biting her lip as she passes you the blunt, pressing it against your waiting lips, pads of her fingers grazing the plum skin.

"I wanted to ask you something." Her words are barely coherent, or maybe you're just too far gone from the weed and the pretty girl who doesn't know how much power she has over you.

"Yeah?" You swallow, playing with the hem of her pants over her hipbone. Her breath hitches.

Her blush deepens and you try not to swoon at the sight. "You know how I'm almost done with my student debt..?" She mumbles, catching your fingers and interlacing them with hers over her lap.

"Mhm," you hum, fixated on the way your hands fit together.

"I thought of a way to speed up the process." She trails a pad of her thumb over your knuckles. "I'll need your help." She looks up, her eyes glazed over.

"What kind of help?"

She takes a moment to respond, and eventually climbs off the desk and onto your lap, planting her hands over your neck. She takes measuring breaths, hiding her face, her chin tucked into her chest. "For my site," she reveals and launches on a ramble, not giving you time to respond. "You won't have to do anything, I'll do all of the work. I'll just need you to wear a harness and be you. You know, hot without even trying. You can wear a mask, if you want, or you can stay out of the frame." She chews on her lip, finally looking up to meet your eyes. One of her hands settles on your thigh, squeezing. "I bought something for this. It's perfect for you. And me."

You stop breathing altogether. "You want to ride me?"

She chokes on her breath. "I- well, yes, but- No! I mean…" She clothes her eyes and you hear her curse and her breath. "I mean, I had something else in mind…" she trails off, hiding her face in the palms of her hands.

You take her wrists and pull them apart, settling them on your shoulders, and plant your hands over her waist, squeezing in reassurance. "What did you have in mind?"

This time she doesn't hesitate. "I want you to deepthroat me."

Your jaw clenches. Never in your wildest dreams have you thought a moment like this would come. But here she is, on your lap, eyes full of hope and want, asking you to fuck her face, implying she wants to ride you.

She takes your silence as a sign of hesitation and continues on, sliding closer to you in your lap, pressing her chest against yours. "I'll give you a share, of course, and no one will know it's you, I promise. You'll be visible only from your waist down, I'll just get on my knees and-"

"Stop," you cut her off, "I'll do it, just stop talking."

"Yeah?" She asks with trepidation.

"Yes."

"Then let's go." She hops off your lap, tugging you along to her bedroom.

"What, now?" You ask, stopping her in the doorway.

"Now." She nods with fervor. There's a new glint in her eyes, one you've never seen before.

"Okay." You let her guide you to her bed.

She spends at least half an hour setting up her camera and rummaging through her closet, before she comes back to stand in front of you in a pink lingerie set. You gulp, taking her in. The undergarments do nothing to hide her pretty breasts and gushing pussy. Your hands itch to tear away the garter belt holding her fishnet stockings. She basks in the attention unapologetically, slowly turning around to let you see her butt, arching her back to grant you a glimpse of her folds. You feel like you need to be restrained in order not to pounce on her and run your tongue over her cunt. When she turns back to face you she pushes her elbows together, bulging her breasts as she hands you a change of clothes.

You didn't even notice she was holding something.

"You really thought this through, huh?" You ask to fill the suffocating silence.

She smiles, nodding, and reaches for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up. You follow her lead and undress as fast as you can with your shaking hands. She takes a seat on the bed, drinking you in, her thighs clenching when you're left in your underwear. She reaches behind her and hands you the harness without another word. You gulp when you notice the size, taking a double take before pulling it over your hips. She stands up and helps you fasten it, her hands lingering on your heated skin. You pull on black slacks, a white dress shirt and a silver wrist watch without a question, but hesitate when you notice black boots on the floor near the foot of her bed. You look up questioningly and see her nod, so you pull them on too. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she starts rolling the sleeves of your shirt up to your elbows, keeping her eyes pinned to your lips.

"Better," she whispers.

You nod, feeling her warm breath on your neck.

"Kiss me?" She asks, batting her lashes, and pushing you to sit on the bed, straddling you the second the backs of your thighs meet her soft bed.

Your hands find home on her hips, sneaking past the fabric of her panties, making her grind against your lap.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to do anything?" You tease, enjoying the way the tips of her ears turn red.

"I just don't want this to be awkward." She mumbles, threading her fingers through your hair. "Please?"

You grant her wish, pulling her in for a lazy kiss, languidly moving your lips against hers, pulling the softest whimpers out of her mouth. Your hands move up on their own accord, eagerly cupping her tits, barely holding back from tearing the lace of her bra apart. She moans at the intrusion, her grip on the back of your neck turning painful. It's not enough for either of you.

You pull away for a breath before diving back in with vigor. She parts her lips, letting your tongue in to explore the warmth of her mouth and you moan at the feeling. She parts her thighs even more, desperately rubbing against you.

You stop her before it's too late, pushing her off your lap and onto the bed.

"Hm?" She hums, blinking up at you in confusion.

You rub your palm over your face, gesturing at the camera with your other hand. "We got off track."

She exhales and looks away, before getting up and turning the camera on. You look at her for guidance and she pulls you to your feet, turning you so your side is facing the camera, her eyes fixed on yours the entire time. She takes hold of your wrists, placing your hand under her jaw, and your fingers automatically clench around her face, making the smaller girl close her eyes before sinking to her knees. She wastes no time undoing the buttons of your pants, placing sweet kisses over your abs, trailing down and finally pulling the silicone cock out, letting it slap the side of her face before placing a kiss to the tip.

You can't look away from the sight, your mouth falling open and your chest heaving rapidly as you try to control to urge to bend her over the bed and fuck her raw. She looks up at you innocently, before giving you a slow, long lick down to the base of the shaft of your fake cock and sneakily placing a kiss to the visible patch of skin of your inner thigh. Your other hand takes hold of her long locks at that, wrapping the strands around your fist before tugging harshly, placing her mouth over the tip and thrusting inside. She tears up but welcomes you eagerly, moaning loudly as she her fingers clasp on the backs of your thighs, nails digging in.

Tara ignores her own burning need in favor of finding a way to make you feel good, bobbing her head on the cock and watching your expression with lust filled eyes. She knows she found the spot when your hips jerk and eyes roll to the back of your head. Her throat hurts and her tears ruin her mascara, but she doesn't care, as long as she gets to see you like this, all flushed and panting because of her. She chokes when she notices a trail of cum rolling down your inner thigh. She can't help it, she pulls away, and before she knows it she's catching it with her tongue, moaning at the taste.

"Fuck," she whimpers when you tug her away and back to the fake appendage, your cheeks painted red. "Feels good, doesn't it?" She asks, sliding her hands up to grip your ass.

"So good, baby," you groan, pushing into her mouth, making her gag around the length. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

She looks at you like she does know, her eyes wide and full of need. She shifts on the floor, tugging one of your legs forward and you comply with no hesitation, pulling the wet hair out of her face before settling on gently massaging her scalp.

Her eyes fall shut and that's when you notice it. She's grinding down on your boot, painting it with her wetness as she desperately rubs against it.

"Look at you, getting off on my foot like a slut." You grip the sides of her face, and use your hips to thrust into her mouth. "My dirty girl, looking so pretty like this."

Her eyes bulge as she fucks herself against you, letting you use her and using you in return.

You can't take it anymore.

You pull out and give her no time to question you before pulling her up and crashing your lips in a heated kiss, full of lust and passion. You walk her back and she falls on the bed, scurrying up and tearing away her bra. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of her body, sprawled on the bed with her legs spread, granting you a perfect view of her puffy pussy, partially hidden away by a piece of fabric. She wiggles impatiently when you take too long to move, biting on her lip and reaching down to part her lower lips for you, her hips buckling against her hand. You take no time in tearing her lingerie away, carelessly throwing it over your shoulder as you lunge at the brunette, attacking her neck with biting kisses and littering a path down her stomach with hickeys.

"I need you so bad," she whines, trying to tug you lower.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck your pretty pussy?" You ask, spreading her folds open. She's dripped all over the bed already.

Her face turns beet red as she tries to hide it in the soft cushions, but you don't let her, forcing her to look at you with a tight grip on her chin. "Answer me."

"Yes," she whines.

"I don't think you want it bad enough." You start pulling away, but she catches your shoulders in an ironclad grip, pulling you back in and forcing your face down on her breasts. You suck on her nipple, rolling it between your teeth.

"I've wanted you to fuck me since the first day I saw you," she confesses, throwing her legs over your hips. "I wanted you to bend me over the counter every time you looked at my ass a little too long. I wanted to get on my knees and eat you out when you came back from a date with that bitch, to show you how it's actually supposed to feel, to make you forget about everyone else, but me."

You release her nipple with a wet pop and move to sit, trailing your hands over her sides. Her eyes are closed, like she's afraid to face your reaction. You cup her cheek, swiping your thumb over her cheekbone, gently coaxing her to look at you. You smile when she does, and circle her waist, tugging her up to sit on your lap. You're face to face now, and you waste no time in letting her know where you stand.

"Then I'll spend a lot of time making it up to you, angel. Does that sound good?"

She nods feverishly. "Please," she moans and claws at your shirt, tearing it off. "Want to feel all of you."

You quickly take off the rest of your clothes under Tara's watchful eyes. She doesn't waste a second in throwing herself over your lap once you're done, pulling you in for a kiss, moaning at the feeling of her skin pressed against hers. Finally.

"How about that ride?" You ask between the kisses, nudging her legs further apart. She shakes her head, nuzzling her nose against your cheek. "I- we can do that next time, right?" She asks, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

You see the hidden meaning of her question easily.

Will there be a next time?

Your heart melts. "Of course, baby."

She relaxes, and falls back on the sheets, tugging you down with her. "Make love to me?" She whispers.

Your chest fills with so much warmth it might spill over. You take hold of her hand, interlacing your fingers over her head and place a soft kiss on her lips. "Always."

She giggles happily, and you think this is what heaven must feel like.

You tease the tip of your cock against her heat, collecting wetness. She's so wet there's no need to get her ready, so you waste no time in bottoming out in one thrust, pushing her knees against her chest. You stay like that, letting her catch her breath, your entire body tense.

You wish you could feel her clenching around you.

You pull out until only the tip of the cock is left inside her tight pussy, before shoving back in. "Taking me so well," you mutter against her neck, enjoying the pain of her nails scratching your back. "Such a good girl for me."

She cries out, gasping. "Only for you."

You fill her up to the brim, hitting her in all the right places as you fasten your pace, chasing her orgasm. She has to bite your shoulder when you hit particularly deep, making her eyes squeeze shut and her toes curl. "Ah- just like that," she moans, "fuck- baby, feels so good."

You double your efforts, rutting into her hard enough to make the bed shake with each thrust. Your orgams is fast approaching, but you can't afford to think about it when she looks so utterly breathtaking under you, looking up at you with tears stricken eyes, her lips red and puffy from all the biting and her neck red from your lips.

You see the moment you take her over the edge. Her jerks hips jerk violently and her eyes roll back, the cry she lets out so loud it makes your ears ring.

You fuck her through it, watching as she comes down from her high, eventually pulling out when she starts nudging away. You take off the harness, throw it somewhere behind you, and tuck her into your side, basking in the way she clings to you, lazily pecking your neck every now and then.

Her hand moves languidly down your stomach, but you stop her, pulling it back up your waist. She sleepily whines in protest, but you know she won't be able to put up a fight. You kiss her on the lips, smiling. "Rest now, we'll have time for that later."

She pouts, blinking heavily, but relents in favor of burrowing into you even more, throwing her leg over your hips, pinning you down with her weight. "Later," she promises into the crook of your neck.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #tara carpenter #jenna ortega #camgirl!tara #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter x fem!reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #tara carpenter smut #jenna ortega smut

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updownlately · 1 year ago

Text

save your tears, it’ll be okay (all i know is you’re here with me)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 5.1k | a/n: this video's been living rent free in my head for a minute now so i thought i'd write about it. this was originally supposed to be a blurb but oh well. no plot just comfort. definitely not my best work, but we move. happy reading 🫶

~~~

You weren’t thinking as you watched the events unfold in front of you.

You weren’t thinking as you immediately started back tracking, sprinting to where you had just run from.

You weren’t thinking as you skidded to a stop beside Leah, mind a frenzy, panic clear on your face as your hand immediately went to rest on the blonde’s shoulders.

All you knew was you had to make sure she was okay, something that you knew she definitely wasn’t.

You knew the last corner ball sent in had hit her in the face, but you hadn’t seen just how badly it had hit her.

You had watched with mild concern as you saw her pinch the bridge of her nose afterwards, jogging up to her as you ran back to your defensive half, quietly asking her if she was truly okay as you matched her step for a brief moment.

Not fully convinced when she waved off your worries, you had cautiously taken her word for truth, hesitantly double checking but not pressing, for fear of being overbearing.

But as you watched in horror as Leah fell to her knees shortly after, head hung low in pain, you wondered if you maybe should’ve asked her to pause for a minute.

Maybe you should’ve gotten her to take a breather. Maybe you should’ve asked her to look up at you. Because then maybe you would’ve seen the dazed look in her eyes, would’ve seen the way her face was wretched in pain.

Maybe then, you would’ve been there to catch her as she fell forwards, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

But for now you’d settle for being by her side, the pounding in your chest increasing with worry as you did your best to steady the other woman, only moving slightly as the medics came in to check on her.

Taking measured breaths to try and stop your heart from climbing up your throat, you watched nervously as the blonde didn’t lift her head as the medics checked her out, her weight resting on her closed fists as she barely moved.

The fact that she had a concussion was clear as day- the way the english skipper refused to move her head, eyes screwed shut in a somewhat successful attempt to block out the surrounding light, slipping in out of consciousness as she was forced into a sitting position, being propped up by you and another team medic.

Watching carefully as the blonde finally came to a slightly more coherent state, you kept your eyes firmly on her as she faltered through the basic series of on-pitch tests.

Guessing randomly that she was at a training, unable to tell what day it was or what had just happened, and the clear dizziness as she tried to stand up in an futile attempt to convince you all that she was okay, never mind the increased irritability, it seemed that even she knew she was about to be ushered off, shooting you a pout as you lifted an arm of hers over your shoulder to stabilise her.

“‘m fine. I can play…” the mumbled words directed at you were followed immediately by her staggering slightly, a groan escaping her lips as she swallowed hard and steadied herself.

Sighing at the stubbornness you were well familiar with, you nodded along to the statement, keeping your voice low as you responded so as to not worsen the headache you just knew the blonde had, even though she didn’t say it.

“They’re just gonna check you out, yeah? Make sure you’re all a-okay before you come back.”

Even through the fog that clouded her mind, the defender could see right through your bullshit.

“If I go…I can’t play.”

The blonde just barely managed to mumble the words out, wrinkles littering her forehead as she tried her hardest to sound coherent.

Stopping in her tracks to prevent the inevitable, Leah planted herself to the ground, mere metres from the edge of the field.

Trying to nudge her to move along, you stepped forward, only to be pulled back abruptly by the arm over your shoulder.

“No.”

“Leah…” Pleading, you looked over your shoulder to see the ref patiently waiting near the middle of the field, eyeing the pair of you as she waited for the Gooner to exit off the pitch so that play could resume.

“No,” the blonde repeated, obstinate, the trainers around you two looking at you imploringly.

Trying again, you tried to be firm, not wanting to annoy the blonde but still get your point across.

“Leah, you’re hurt and you’ve got to get off the pitch- it’s not up for debate.”

Keeping a straight face, you did your best to put on a hard facade.

You watched as the girl hesitated for a second, nearly stepping forwards before pausing and standing still again, this time turning towards you and then the pitch, trying to move towards her position on the field.

Frustrated at the clear dismissal, you gently tugged Leah back towards you, catching her as she stumbled ever so slightly.

Lowering your voice just enough that your words would stay nestled between you, you brought Leah close to you.

“Leah, I’m not messing around. You’re headed off and that’s final. No ifs, no buts, especially if you don’t want to be sleeping alone for the next few days.”

“But-“

“Leah. Catherine. Williamson.”

The clear use of her full name was enough to cause the blonde to decide against any retort she had on the tip of her tongue, your rigid tone solidifying the decision for the blonde to listen to you, albeit quite annoyedly.

Muttering a quiet ‘fine’ as she turned around again, you sighed in relief.

Quickly placing your hand on her cheek and gently turning her head to face you, you kissed the blonde on her forehead before stepping back.

“Be good to the trainers, yeah? I don’t wanna hear a single complaint from them.”

And with a relieved look crossing your face as you saw Leah nod meekly in response, you watched anxiously as she was led the last few metres off the pitch, you sprinting back to your position in midfield, eager for the game to move on quickly.

The faster the game ended, the faster you could be beside your girlfriend.

~~~

All that you could hear was the rapid clicking sound of your studs against tile echoing as you raced through the hallway.

You’d made a break for the medical room as soon as the team had been dismissed from the field, foregoing meeting with the fans and the media, more important things for you to attend to- namely your girlfriend.

Reaching the medical room you were told Leah was in, you slowed to a stop, rapidly unlacing your cleats and slipping them off, opting to hold them as you walked in with only your socks.

Skipping the knocking for the same reason you took off your cleats, you instead cracked the door open slightly, softly calling out for your girlfriend, permission to enter granted as the blonde grunted in return.

‘Awwing’ audibly in sympathy, your shoulders dropped in relief at the sight of the blonde sitting up.

Making your way to stand beside the cot she was resting on, you navigated the room slowly in the extremely dim light and dropped your cleats gently by your side, hands instinctively reaching out as you neared your girlfriend.

“How are we feeling little miss stubborn?”

Letting out a soft chuckle at the immediate pout that crossed the blue eyed girl’s face, you grabbed her hands in your own, thumbs coming to gently rub the back of her hands.

“Shite. Everything hurts.”

The skipper kept the words to a minimum, it still clearly taking a lot out of her for them to be said.

Shaking your head amusedly at the clearly concussed, stubborn individual you got the joy of calling your girlfriend, you huffed in amusement.

“But I thought you were perfectly fine?” you teased, not wanting to pass the opportunity to rub the blonde’s stubbornness in her face.

God, she really needed to start listening to you more.

“Don’t…”

The quiet plea combined with the midfielders head coming forward to rest against your chest had you immediately taking a more protective nature, one hand coming to rub her back in sympathy as another gently carded through her hair in an attempt to bring her some sort of reprieve from the pain.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

Bending down, you placed a small kiss on her temple, lips lingering for a second as relief washed over you.

She was okay. She was awake, and okay, and doing alright, minus a concussion.

You wouldn’t tell the blonde, but you had initially feared the worst when you had turned around to see her dropping to her knees, dazed and confused.

Call it your anxiety, but the way your heart had sunk so deep, nearly burying itself beneath you, you’d felt so utterly terrified, nearly rooted to the spot if it hadn’t been for your adrenaline kicking in and causing you to sprint back across the field.

So for your own sake primarily (and then Leah’s), you stood there in the silence, revelling in the blonde’s touch as her hands loosely wrapped around your hips, you able to just barely feel her heartbeat as she sat slumped against your body.

The intimacy of just being able to hold her, her messy mop of blonde hair sticking out in every direction as it pressed against your jersey had your breathing slowing to a peaceful lull.

You knew that if it ever came down to it, all you’d ever want is the blonde in your arms, alive and well, regardless of what it meant for you or anyone else.

Closing your eyes as you stood there for a little while longer, you nearly let yourself forget where you were, the ease of the weight on your chest and the girl in your arms, your heaven on earth.

It was only when the team’s doc came in to brief you both (mainly you) on the injury, did you pull apart, only going as far as standing beside the blonde instead of in front of her, tucking her into your side as you listened intently.

You needed to feel her touch, it reassuring you that she was, in fact, alright.

Jotting down the key points the doctor mentioned into your phone’s notes app, you made a mental list of it all as well, one arm still firmly planted across the defender’s shoulders as she leaned against you.

‘No bright lights, no screens, no alcohol, no caffeine, make sure to hydrate, eat healthy, and get plenty of rest’- plus a few more you had listed on your phone.

And as he told you that they’d suggested taking Leah to the hospital just to ensure that further medical attention wasn’t needed, you nodded in agreement, worrying as the blonde muttered about how she was feeling slightly nauseous.

Pulling away from her, your eyes rolling fondly as the blonde whined in displeasure, you quickly grabbed your forgotten boots, straightening up immediately and beginning to help Leah stand.

“Boots before me? Ouch?”

The words were slurred as the blonde tried her best to string together a sentence and you couldn’t help but shake in laughter at her sad tone and pout.

“Love, it’s so I could help you walk without both of us toppling over…”

“Why take ‘em off anyways?”

Looking away as a red hue painted itself on your cheeks, you contemplated whether you should tell Leah the real reasoning, no doubt going to be mocked for how much of a simp you were- her words, not yours (damnit Beth for teaching her the word).

“I may or may not have taken them off so the clicking didn’t worsen your headache…”

“You’re cute…”

The words were muttered quietly as the midfielder rested more of her weight on you, nearly fully leaning against you as she closed her eyes, blindly trusting you to lead her, a comical sight really- the taller blonde nearly smothering you with her weight.

Raising your eyebrows in surprise at the lack of a teasing comment, you shrugged and accepted Leah’s admission without much of a fight, wrapping your arm around her waist as you both slowly began to walk out.

If it wasn’t clear before, then you most definitely knew now that Leah Williamson had a concussion, the easy chance to tease you overlooked, leaving you surprised.

But, as you led the blonde out however, the pair of you slowly making your way to the locker room to collect your things, it appeared that you spoke too soon, much to your chagrin.

“God, you’re such a simp…”

The words were spoken clearly, the blonde clearly having waited for the right moment to say them, lulling you into a false sense of comfort, you able to feel the lazy grin on her face as her cheeks pressed against your shoulder.

Cheeky woman.

Rolling your eyes because of course you weren’t that lucky, you shook your head fondly, your annoyance at her comment clear as the smile on your face grew slightly with adoration.

“God you’re such a little shit…I love you too babe…”

~~~

It’s a few hours later that the two of you are pulling up to your shared home, you in the driver’s seat, a rare occasion if you were honest.

Having driven ever so carefully, Leah very much reminding you how much she loved her car, you had been laser focused on the road, albeit only one hand on the steering wheel as the other sat intertwined with Leah’s in her lap.

You weren’t a bad driver, not at all. But, having only sat passenger in this car, you had definitely been cautious about being behind the wheel for the first time.

“Honestly, I think I’ll stick to passenger princess…that was a headache and a half…” you groaned, putting the suv in park and running a hand through your hair.

Clicking open your seatbelt, you paused your movement as Leah spoke, her voice quiet.

“I know…never again…”

Her comment had you whipping your head up immediately, an incredulous look on your face as you threw your hands up, facing the taller girl slumped back in the passenger seat, an arsenal hoodie nearly covering her whole face.

“Hey. Not fair! I wasn’t bad, it was just…stressful.”

“Whatever you say…”

Shaking your head, you turned the car off, muttering to yourself playfully as you did so.

“How are you so annoying with a near third degree concussion? Surely you’d be knackered by now…”

After leaving the Arsenal medical room, you had both waited outside the locker room for a handful of minutes, watching as your teammates slowly filed out, many of them patting Leah encouragingly, murmuring a few teasing words and some that were encouraging.

Even McCabe had managed to be nice, only going as far as mussing up the blonde’s hair before wishing her a speedy recovery, somehow miraculously managing to keep her voice at a reasonable decibel for the injured skipper.

You’d been leant against the wall, Leah pulled protectively to your chest, soft words of reassurance and comfort murmured to her in the passing moments, the two of you stood there patiently until you were absolutely sure the rest of the locker room was nearly empty, and most importantly, quiet.

It was only then did you slowly lead the blonde in, settling her down for a few minutes as you took what had to be the quickest shower of your life.

Helping Leah with her jacket and slides and lending her the baseball cap you stored in your locker for bad hair days, you had quickly packed both your kits and made your way to the parkade.

It was then that you had realized the conundrum that the injury brought upon- you’d have to drive home.

Now, driving wasn’t the issue. It was more so what you’d be driving- Leah’s car- a significantly larger suv compared to the sedan you typically drove.

Coupled with the fact that you’d never driven this large of a vehicle around London’s smaller streets before, not for a lack of you trying- the damn thing was just too expensive for you to enjoy being behind the wheel like you normally would- you weren’t looking forward to the trip home.

And neither was the blonde apparently.

It was only after a lot of convincing, grumpy looks, dejected sighs, and pinky promises of dinner and unlimited cuddles that Leah agreed to hand you her keys, unhappy about the outcome but wanting to go home.

And with that you had been off, headed to the hospital for a checkup on the concussion.

Having your suspicions confirmed during the visit, it was cemented that the blonde likely had a second, possibly third degree concussion.

With another list of do’s and don’ts written safely in your notes app, the two of you had finally taken off for home, nearly two and a half hours later.

It’s what led you to now, you making your way out of the car, rounding it as you opened Leah’s door to help the other girl out.

“Okay drunky, careful now…” you teased, hand coming to hold hers as you helped her out of the vehicle.

“Y’know I’m not drunk…” the blonde grumpily stated, nevertheless taking your help as she slowly but surely made her way out.

Shrugging in response as your eyes twinkled with mirth, you just hummed in confirmation as you shut the door behind her and made your way to the front door.

Unlocking it, you led her to sit down on the ottoman by your entryway, kneeling down to help unlace her muddy cleats- something you’d deal with later.

“Gosh. Take a woman out to dinner first…”

You looked up from your knelt position just in time to see Leah’s poor attempt to roll her eyes, followed by a wince as her shoulder’s curled in at the pain that no doubt flashed through her head.

“You’re insufferable. I hope you know that.”

“You love me anyways.”

Sighing in faux displeasure, you shrugged your shoulders.

“Sometimes I wonder why I do…”

Pleased at the scowl that crossed the other girl’s face, you bit back your smile as you rose to stand.

“Not so fun when you’re on the other end now, is it?”

Silently laughing as she crossed her arms at your words, looking nearly like a toddler throwing a tantrum, you pressed a gentle kiss to the top of the blonde’s head as you straightened, placing the dirty shoes on the mat by the shoe rack.

“I’m going to grab our bags, yeah? Don’t move from here.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I’d love to see exactly how far your old, concussed arse could crawl...”

Chuckling to yourself as you heard Leah sputter, you turned around to head back to the garage.

“I’m only 8 months older!”

~~~

You couldn’t believe you managed it, but you somehow got Leah cleaned up and into a fresh set of clothes- the blonde now slumped on a barstool, head resting on the cool counter as you slowly shuffled around your dark kitchen.

It had taken the bribery of letting her pick dinner (resulting in ham sandwiches for her of course) and letting her sit at the island, hence the dim hue of the range the only light on in the apartment- to get Leah to step into the shower for a quick wash, you keeping a close eye as you sat on the counter, ready to help if needed.

After wrapping the midfielder-turned-defender in the fluffiest towel you could find afterwards, you had helped her dress into the comfiest pair of sweats you could find.

It combined with you returning an old hoodie of hers that you’d borrowed eons ago, one that now smelled like you, much to the blonde’s liking, all that was left to focus on was having a bit of food before the two of you headed to bed for some much needed rest.

“Would you be mad if I told you I wasn’t feeling hungry?”

The soft words have you stopping your tracks, a nearly assembled sandwich glaring at you as you stared at it, contemplating your next move.

“If you’re not hungry I won’t force it down your throat, but I do ask that you have a few bites.”

“My head hurts too much…just wanna sleep.”

Eyebrows furrowing in concern, you grabbed the plate and a glass of water and made your way towards the blonde, gently putting the sad excuse of a ham sandwich in front of her, grimacing at just how plain it looked.

Placing a comforting hand on the other girl’s shoulder you rubbed gentle circles and kept your voice low.

“Three good bites, yeah? And then you’re all done.”

Seeing Leah gingerly lift her head and eye the sandwich warily, you held your breath.

You really needed her to eat, even if it was just a few bites. The last meal she had was nearly six hours ago, before the game.

“It might not stay down…”

Gentle concern taking a hold of you, you tried not to let your worry seep into your voice.

“That’s alright. If it stays down, great. And if it doesn’t, then so be it. I just need you to have a little bit so I won’t worry when you sleep.”

You figured if you could convince her she wouldn’t throw up, then she just might not.

Letting out a small sigh of relief as you watched the blonde nod in understanding and pick up the sandwich to take a small bite, you relaxed into your own seat, your own sandwich you had prepared earlier waiting for you.

Sitting in the peaceful silence, the pair of you made quick work of your basic dinner, you finishing yours off as Leah picked at hers, managing to get a little under halfway through until she set the sandwich down and began to rest her head on your shoulder.

“Lee?”

You kept your voice low, wrapping a gentle arm around her shoulder as you rubbed it soothingly in an attempt to bring her comfort.

Hearing the blonde grumble in response only to nuzzle closer to you, barstool scraping against tile as her forehead went to rest in the crook of your neck, you couldn’t help but smile amusedly.

Of course the big, scary, stern English skipper was an absolutely softie- an oh-so-fluffy teddy bear- at heart.

Bringing your hand to lovingly comb through her hair, you let Leah have her moment, content with passing a few minutes providing her the comfort she craved.

Moments like these- minus the concussion- were your favourite if you were honest.

Times where it was just you and your girl, one in the other’s arms searching for a comfort you knew would only be found with your other half, the tender blanket of your love wrapping the pair of you up, did you finally understand what all the poets and artists would rave about.

It was as you could feel her relaxed heart beat against yours, small puffs of breath fanning the expanse of your neck or the top of your head did you realize what feeling ‘light’ meant.

Wrapped up in her arms on days that felt just a tad bit too hard was when you understood what having a rock, a constant support, a shoulder to lean on, a hand to grab, always and forever was.

And when you got to hold her- the few times that you would- each time it would hit you like a truck, the understanding that you’d die for her but you’d also fight anyone who tried to take her peace away, without a second though, wanting to wrap her in a bubble of happiness for the rest of her life, only a smile on her face if you were in charge of the universe.

Snapping out of your thoughts as you felt the blonde shuffle, the barstools most definitely not made for the tangle of limbs the pair of you were, your smile didn’t leave your face as you quickly placed another comforting kiss on the blonde’s temple.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

~~~

“Stay.”

The single word had you stopping in your tracks.

You were headed to the bathroom after having helped Leah settle in.

Deciding early on that you’d get her sorted first so she could get her much needed rest in peace, and you be able to actually cleanse your face with a light on, you’d tucked her into bed, kissing her cheek with the promise of only being gone a few minutes.

Ignoring the whine of protest you got, you figured she’d get over your brief absence rather quickly.

You were proven wrong however, the quiet utterance laced with a desperation you’d never heard tugging at your heart strings ever so persistently.

Turning around to face the blonde in the dim light of the moon, your shoulders dropped at the absolutely miserable look on her face, one eye barely open as she looked at you pleadingly.

“Three minutes, yeah? I’ll be back before you know it.”

Squeezing her hand, you nearly sprinted to the bathroom, and began running through your night time routine, easily making the decision to skip a handful of skincare steps- you had more important things to take care of anyways.

Brushing your teeth and washing your face, you listened carefully for any sounds of discomfort from the other girl, relaxing marginally as it seemed that the day was finally catching up to her.

Leah wasn’t the overly affectionate type, so to have her press you to stay, you’d be lying if it didn’t kill you a little inside.

It’s why you ended up tucking yourself into your side of the bed within two minutes and fifty-three seconds of your promise, with seven seconds to spare on your watch and a proud smile on your face as you invitingly opened your arms.

And with the way Leah immediately snuggled up to you, head tucked easily into the crook of your neck, her arm coming to wrap around your stomach as her leg came to rest across your torso, you knew you made the right call.

*********

Your bedroom felt oddly quiet with the pin-drop silence that covered it as night descended.

With only Leah’s and your gentle breathing to be heard as she tucked herself into your side, you let your shoulders relax, wrapping your arm around her waist as you pulled her closer.

Nights spent together were rarely this quiet for you two.

They more often than not consisted of gentle murmurs and jokes, the blonde always, and you mean always, finding one way or another to tease you or get on your nerves.

And if it wasn’t the lot of you annoying each other good-naturedly to your wits ends, it was soft murmurs, dreams quietly being spoken into existence as you discussed your futures, your plans, ideas, goals.

Careers, education, kids, dream wedding, homes, families, champions league games, world cups- nothing was off the table as you’d both be cuddled up into each other, a head on a chest or the barest of space as you two laid on your sides in the dim moonlight. hands intertwining with each other in the space between your bodies as promises of a ‘forever’ kind of love were whispered between chaste kisses and soft touches.

Of course you had other nights, where the hours bled into one another, the pair of you only falling asleep when matching sated smiles crossed your faces, an early night turning to a late one, the rising sun signalling for you to go to bed.

But right now?

Right now, as pitch black darkness covered your room, you wondered if this was what true, unconditional love was like.

Missing the ordinary, the mundane that you never thought you would once achieve- it now something you felt odd without, a hole in your heart- yet you didn’t mind.

You didn’t mind if the rest of your nights went like this- curtains drawn shut, not a single sliver of moonlight peeking through.

You didn’t mind the silence (yes, you missed your late night confessions with the blonde but you’d survive without them).

And you definitely didn’t mind the way Leah was curled up into you, a sight you didn’t see often, her typically the bigger spoon, but one you wished to ingrain into your memory.

Swallowing hard as you realized you were a safe space for the blonde- a safe haven for her to heal whilst she trusted you to keep her well, you let your fingertips absentmindedly trace gentle patterns into her back.

You knew she wasn’t asleep, she never fell asleep easily, hence chattering your ear off (not that you ever minded- though you wouldn’t tell her, teasing her for her late night energy always amusing).

“How you feeling bub?”

Feeling her exhale deeply against you, you nearly audibly awed as she sunk impossibly closer.

“Head still hurts, but better now.”

“Yeah?”

Feeling her nod, you hummed in response, choosing to close your eyes and let the day wash over you.

What you didn’t account for in your attempt to relax was the mumbled statement that came your way.

“These next few weeks are going to be weird…”

Well aware of how much the English woman breathed football, you nodded in understanding.

“They probably will be, and nothing can be done about it. but, I can promise you infinite cuddles, kisses, and snackies to make up for it?”

Feeling Leah nod sluggishly at your words, you squeezed her waist gently, letting out a deep breath as you mentally reminded yourself she was okay.

You knew she was right- these next few weeks were going to be weird, but you were damned if you were going to let the blonde suffer through her concussion alone, very much ready to be at her beck and call, her rock through the storm.

Feeling your heartbeat match Leah’s slow inhales and exhales, you closed your eyes as your hold on her got a tad bit stronger, grounding you, and your touch grounding her, as the both of you let the comfort of each other lull you to sleep.

She’d be okay. She was okay. It would all be okay, with her beside you, snuggled up into your hold.

All would be okay as long as she was with you.

#not proofread as usual #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #woso #my writing #fic #hurt/comfort #sytibo

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reminiscingtonight · 1 year ago

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Sisters Know Best

Ana-Maria Crnogorčević x Wälti!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I may or may not have forgotten the Olympics was a thing. Oops

[WOSO Masterlist]

Consciousness comes to you slowly. Eyes gently fluttering open, your smile is automatic at both the feel and sight of your favorite person wrapped around you.

Ana’s face is peaceful and relaxed as she still remains fast asleep, arms securely locking you against her body.

You’ve missed this. Being able to fall asleep and wake up to Ana is something you took for granted until suddenly you weren’t able to do so anymore.

Her departure from Barcelona was unexpected, for both you and her. None of your teammates knew it was coming as well. A relationship that blossomed during the last half of your one year overlap at Barcelona was suddenly subjected to the distance between your club teams.

But the two of you made things work. Facetime dates were a regular occurrence, so were the trips to visit one another during short breaks of play. One and a half years after you began dating, your relationship is still going strong.

As much as you would have loved to stay trapped against Ana until she woke, eventually your bladder wins, urging you to find an escape to the bathroom. It takes a couple minutes, but eventually you wiggle your way to freedom without waking Ana.

After relieving yourself, you’re halfway between the bathroom and your bedroom when you notice the jacket hanging from the hook by the front door. The jacket that very much was not present when you and Ana got to the house earlier in the day.

Eyes wide, you have to remind yourself to stay calm.

A year and a half into dating, you’re already certain Ana’s the love of your life. But that doesn’t negate the fact that you’ve known her nearly almost all of your life. And of course you had no one but Lia to thank for that fact.

Ana’s been your sister’s best friend for as long as you could remember.

And that would be cool, everything would be 100% fine. Except… maybe Lia’s still unaware of your relationship.

Initially, the two of you kept it under wraps, not wanting Lia’s unwanted opinions to potentially interfere with whatever was happening between the two of you. But then as time moved on, as you and Ana settled down into a smooth relationship, separated from your sister by both a country and the English Channel, you didn’t feel the rush to disclose your relationship to her.

The stress of the world cup last year allowed your relationship to remain undetected during the off-season. Lia didn’t have the time or brainpower to focus on anything other than keeping your national team together and functioning under the direction of your head coach who could barely string a coherent play together.

But that was last year. And now, more than a year after you and Ana made things official, you still have not told Lia about your relationship. And with the beginning of this off-season, you’re about to spend the majority of two months together with no major tournaments to act as a distraction.

A part of you is really hoping you just missed the jacket when you arrived earlier, but the more logical side of your brain tells you you’re as fucked as you think you are.

Tip-toeing down the stairs, you pop your head around the corner into the kitchen.

Lia looks up from where she’s sat by the counter when you push the door open. You were already expecting to see her there, but you still can’t mask the surprise in your voice. “Lia? What are you-- You’re home!”

Your sister raises an amused eyebrow at the tone in your voice. “It’s great to see you too.”

Shaking yourself out of your shock, you lunge forward, letting Lia pull you into the comforts of her arms. “Missed you,” you grin, momentarily forgetting your girlfriend is fast asleep upstairs.

Though the thought quickly returns when Lia gestures towards the front door, hidden behind the wall. “I noticed you got new shoes?”

Paling, you remember the way you had to bribe Ana with kisses to neatly place her shoes next to yours by the rack.

“Yeah! I did a little bit of shopping in Barcelona before coming home,” is the first lie that passes through your mind, something you’re quick to voice.

“I can see that,” Lia chuckles, tugging at your unfamiliar but also so obviously worn down sweatshirt. It’s just your luck that you’re also wearing one of Ana’s sweatshirts right as this moment. You find yourself wanting to curse your girlfriend out. Dubbed Ana’s ‘favorite,’ this piece of clothing is your go-to for stealing. It just always smells like her and makes you feel safe, but safe is the last thing you feel as you are quick to nod again, lying that you did indeed get a new piece of clothing too.

The two of you chat about everything and nothing, making up for lost time. While you’re so obviously just trying to buy time as you try to come up with a way to either sneak Ana out of the house or come clean to Lia without facing her wrath, you come bask in the presence of your sister. You really have missed Lia.

After spending the majority of your career chasing Lia from club to club, you finally made your break away from her two seasons ago to Barcelona. Leaving Arsenal was hard, but you were ready for something new. And Lia was more than happy to support you.

Some time in between Lia praising how well the new Arsenal players have cemented their place on the team over the season and discussing which possible movie the two of you should go put on, Lia ducks under the cabinet to pull out the kettle, intent on making some tea. You use the brief moment of distraction to make your getaway.

“Oh shoot, I forgot my phone upstairs in my room. Do you mind waiting here for me while I quickly go get it?”

Lia chuckles, gesturing to stove. “Go for it. I won’t be joining you until our tea’s done.”

Your trainers at Barcelona would be proud of the speed to which you race out of the kitchen and then back up the stairs to your room.

To your delight, and horror, Ana’s already awake, sleepy smile sent your way when you shut the door behind you.

“Hi baby--”

“Lia’s home,” you whisper, cutting Ana off.

The blonde’s eyes grow in size as she bolts upright in your bed.

“What do you mean? I thought you said she wouldn’t be back until…” Ana’s words trail off when she flips over her phone and sees the time.

The two of you definitely napped for longer than you originally intended to.

“You’ve got to go. Lia’s about to hunker me down with a movie marathon. God knows how long you’ll be stuck here if you don’t try sneaking out now.”

Ana blinks. “How exactly are you going to sneak me out then?”

You point towards the window in your room. “I’ve snuck out of the house multiple times growing up. There’s a tree that you can climb out and get into the front yard from.”

Ana balks, looking at you as if you just grew three heads. “You want me to sneak out the window and climb down a tree?!”

You roll your eyes, pressing a sweet kiss against Ana’s panic-stricken face. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe.”

Turning around, you head for your closest. After a bit of digging you finally pull out an old pair of tennis shoes.

“Here, wear these,” you whisper, shoving the shoes into Ana’s hands

Ana frowns, though she does as you say and slips on the offered shoes. “Why can’t I just wear mine?”

“Lia was asking me whose shoes they were and I said I got some new shoes in Barcelona.”

Ana shoots you a look that tells you she’s less than impressed with your white lie. “I better get those shoes back. They were expensive.”

You have to muffle your snort, both of you knowing very well the chances of you returning them would be close to 0. “I know, I was there when you bought them.”

Ana pinches your cheek for the sass, and you respond by giving her ass a little slap as she slips pass you towards the window.

Though she rolls her eyes, you can see the smile on her lips.

“If I break my neck before the international break I’m blaming you,” she mumbles, swinging her legs through the opening.

“Such a sweet-talker,” you shoot back, ignoring her huff of faux-annoyance. Instead, you lean in to press a light kiss against Ana’s lips.

“Call me?”

You nod. “As soon as Lia lets me go.”

With one last grin over her shoulder Ana shuffles fully out the window onto the roof. You only wait until you see Ana begin her descent before hurrying back down the stairs towards Lia.

The brunette’s already sitting in the living room, movie pulled up when you come skidding to a stop next to her. To your relief it seems as if Lia’s been engrossed in her phone the whole time you’ve been gone.

She looks up with a grin, lifting up a corner of her blanket for you.

“I’m thinking we can start with The Sorcerer’s Stone and make our way down from there.”

It isn’t until the sun’s long set and the two of you have switched to watching cooking shows for the past two hours that Lia rises with a yawn.

She pats your leg, stretching as she stands. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Sleepily nodding, you sink deeper into the blankets. “I’ll probably watch another episode or something before heading up,” you mumble, fully content with letting your sleepiness take over right here right now. Though your body would most likely hate you tomorrow when you wake, your bed on the second floor just seems so far away.

Lia doesn’t say anything else, giving you a gentle hum as she makes her way towards the light switch. Dimming the lights a bit, she watches with amusement as your eyes slowly flutter, trying, but failing, to keep yourself awake.

You’re two seconds from drifting off into a peaceful sleep when Lia speaks up, not having fully left the living room yet. Spoken over her shoulder almost as an afterthought, her parting words have you suddenly snapping wide awake.

“Next time Ana comes over let her know she can use the front door to enter and leave like a normal person.”

---

Closing the door as quietly behind her as she can, Lia pops her head over the wall separating the front door from the living room.

Her face falls into a frown when she doesn’t see you anywhere on the first floor.

You had texted your sister that you made it back to Switzerland only hours ago. Surely you haven’t already left the house without waiting to see her first?

Sighing, she toes off her shoes, not without noticing a new pair of shoes sitting by the shoe rack. You must have gone shopping or something, Lia muses before heading for the stairs.

There’s really only one other place you could possibly be if you were still in the house. Dropping her bag off in her room, Lia lightly skips towards your bedroom. It’s only been two months since you last saw each other in person, but you and Lia have always been extremely close, and paired with how her season ended, Lia just really wanted to see you.

Quietly cracking open your door, Lia pokes her head into your room.

The first thing she notices is how dark it is. The blinds in your room have been drawn, the only light filtering into the room being through the door she has opened.

It takes a couple seconds for Lia’s eyes to adjust, and when it finally does, she can’t stop her mouth from dropping open.

Well there you were, definitely not roaming the streets of your childhood town. But what she’s not expecting is the extremely familiar head of blonde hair tucked around you like a protective shield.

The shock quickly turns to affection as Lia smiles to herself at the adorable sight of you and Ana cuddled together in your sleep. Pulling her phone out to snap a quick picture of the two of you deep in sleep, Lia quietly closes the door behind her as she sets her sights for the kitchen.

Her sister and best friend? Together? Totally unexpected but Lia couldn't be more than happy for the two of you.

And when you sleepily stumble into the kitchen nearly an hour later, panic crossing your face at the sight of Lia already home, well who can blame Lia for having a bit of fun at your expense?

Especially when it means she gets to see Ana ungracefully scale the tree outside your bedroom window.

#ana maria crnogorcevic x reader #ana maria crnogorcevic imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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charbies · 26 days ago

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linktober 31 - HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

I thought for the last day I'd write a little retrospective on what this whole thing was like and what I learned. I'm too tired to draw literally anything else I'm due for a break lol

So this was my second time ever attempting a linktober/october drawing challenge, but my first time managing to complete all the days and prompts. I feel super proud of myself and accomplished for pulling it off.

There were a number of things that were surprising and that were challenging for me that I wasn't expecting this month. If anything, I think this challenge really highlighted my flaws and mental blindspots with how I approach making art.

For one thing, I came away from this not liking everything I made. I think I only like about 9 or 10 of the 30 pieces I put out there. When I don't like my art, I tend to get stuck in this mental stalemate of refusing to finish a piece until I like it, but also refusing to retrace my steps and erase/rework what I have so far for fear of losing progress or not being able to replicate the line/angle/color/etc that I liked.

It was surprisingly hard to accept when I didn't like a piece but had to move on for the sake of time and post it anyway. But once I did it a few times, it got easier. I realized prioritizing my standards over my available energy is not gonna promote progress. If I kept sinking myself into one piece and not moving on until it was optimal, I never would have finished anything-- that was the pitfall that ultimately made me bail out 10 days in last year.

I also realized my sunk cost fallacy/"what if I erase this and can never redraw it good again" stems from some real lack of confidence in my knowledge and techniques with art. I'm self-taught, and I think I tend to believe that everything I make is a dumb happy accident, even though I have mental rules when I draw, use tons of references, and have a process lol. There are a few pieces I started over 2-3 times before I got them right, and that's starting to feel liberating instead of like failing to me now, which I never expected to come out of this experience so that's cool.

Another place I had to learn to let go of control in this was with allowing for style variation. I really wanted each and every piece to be coherent and painterly, like they all came from the same book or something. But then I couldn't decide whether I wanted to do all/no lineart, all/no detailed background, all/no heavy rendering, etc. At the end I settled on just keeping the same canvas dimensions and just prioritizing filling up the space. Glad I ended up doing this, because I really would benefit from continuing to chill out and scale back how much I default to making dramatic, high-render pieces. I gotta break out of my comfort zone and make more sketchy little guys!

Sometimes my attachment to the prompts fluctuated; some prompts I thought I would love and then just wanted to get them over with. Some prompts I thought I would hate and subsequently half-ass, then I ended up redoing them and putting more effort & time into and loved the end result!

It was funny to also see how some pieces that I loved straight up did not get a whole lot of notes or attention. Some pieces I was "meh" about did crazy numbers lol. I'm used to posting maybe 5-6 times a year on here, so I'm usually indifferent to getting notes (by which I mean, I'm super grateful for likes & reblogs and the super sweet & funny messages in y'alls tags, but I'm not butthurt when I don't get notes because whatever happens, happens). Churning out 30 pieces in 30 days made me sometimes get bewildered by what did and didn't get notes, but frankly in the end I think it helps reaffirm that I should continue putting whatever I want out there because it! is! not! graded!!!

So would I do Linktober again? Probably not, sorry! it was a lot of time & effort and took me away from fall festivities more than I would have liked. I kinda only managed to pull this off because I was transitioning between jobs this month and had a week off to just draw. But I also completely see the value in taking on a challenge like this and finishing what I started, I'm super glad I did this, I think my art improved from it. I would definitely do future drawing challenges/prompt things that are quicker or have less prompts!

My advice to prospective future linktoberers: pace yourself and be gentle; this is a great chance to do something exciting and new with your art, but above all it's about you having fun. There are no prizes at the end except for what you've learned and how you feel about it, and that's for the best!!

One thing's for sure, I am zelda'd out lmao so I'll be branching out towards some little projects I have lined up for personal art and other fandoms I'm into right now

So anyway thanks to all of you who read this or who gassed me up this whole month, I appreciate you!!!!!!!! ヾ(＾∇＾)

#time to go to bed lol #linktober #linktober 2024 #my art #charbies art tag

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syoddeye · 2 months ago

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kinktober - day 09 - anal

nikolai x transmasc!reader | 1.6K words cw: established relationship, anal fingering, rimming, anal (duh) a/n: the words cunt and cock are used to describe genitalia of a transmasc reader’s body. summary: nikolai had a good day. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“Nikolai, you’re killing me—“

“Maybe. Dying men tend to squeal.”

You hear the smile in Nikolai’s voice, but you’re too far gone to even roll your eyes. All of your focus is dedicated to remaining still, an impossible task with your boyfriend’s hand on you. His fingers dig into a cheek, holding it open for his viewing. It’s slightly humiliating, not to mention torturous, knowing exactly what his free hand is doing. With your arms crossed and braced beneath you for support, your head hangs, forced to watch him leisurely touch himself. A shudder passes.

“I can’t, I can’t.”

“Patience. You can.” Nikolai hums from where he’s knelt beside the bed. He kisses a thigh before his other hand joins its twin, tacky with pre-cum. You nearly sob when his tongue drags through your cunt with a broad stroke. He languishes over your weeping hole, offering it consolation, you think, for leaving it empty. His tongue darts in once and lingers, prying a sound from behind your teeth. He presses closer to lave over your cock, swirling around for a brief suck. He pauses to rasp a compliment straight into your core, and then his tongue returns, this time to your rim. You expect it, yet jerk backward with a choked cry, trying to meet his mouth.

Nik pulls away and you barely smother a whine. He brushes a cheek, breathing heavily. “You’re acting so spoiled. Are you in a hurry? Are you going somewhere?”

A few frustrated tears escape, mingling with the sweat on your forearms. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, be still.”

It takes a moment to settle, but Nikolai shushes you and caresses your sides. After gently patting your flank, he returns to his work, warning you with a squeeze.

You can’t hide a thing from Nikolai, in the bedroom and beyond. The second he walked in the door, he saw through your fidgeting and rushed greetings. He knew you were aching. Maybe once upon a time, you’d act more coy, deny it when asked, but no more. He trained that habit out of you, perhaps too well.

After he had dropped his bag, you panted into his mouth, pinned to the wall with his knee slotted between your legs. You told him you’d prepped yourself as much as you could. Now, his thumb tests and tugs your work, underscoring how little you’d managed on short notice.

> Home in 20.

>> Did it go good or bad?

> Good.

You clench all over when his thumb slips in and saws slowly, and breathe deep to relax. The first hints of acquiescence, of your muscles giving him room, are rewarded with a rumbling groan. Nikolai plunges his thumb to the webbing. You risk another scolding by slightly canting your hips, seeking friction. He ought to withdraw, admonish you, but you don’t question it when he remains attached by the mouth. Every push of his thumb alongside his tongue elicits a filthy moan, each dirtier than the last, as you think about what’s next. You imagine Nikolai’s cock, swollen and leaking against his thigh, begging for his attention, too.

By the time Nikolai’s satisfied, you’re a mess. Covered in sweat. The tears streaming down your face join at your chin like a faucet, and your thighs quiver, chilled from the amount of slick coating them. He keeps one hand on you, thumb buried to the hilt, and hooked into your stretched hole. It flutters around the intrusion, voicing your need before it spills out of your mouth.

“Kolya, please. Fuck, I need you inside me.”

He wiggles his thumb. “But I am inside you. Unless you mean my—“

“Cock, please. I need your cock inside me, please.”

“Good boy, asking so prettily.” Nik chuckles. His thumb pulls free with a pop. “Show me.”

You clumsily scramble further up the bed, barely coherent as you present, pressing your tear-soaked cheek to the mattress. You tilt your hips up as high as they’ll go, hands reaching back to part yourself, and swaying as if your man needs enticing.

The bed dips, and your eyes shut in anticipation.

The heat of his body radiates against yours as he shuffles closer, nudging your legs wider with a knee. A hand ghosts up your calf, then trails up and around to splay over your heart. He drapes over you, chest hair tickling your back, and kisses your shoulder. It makes your chest hurt. This big, solid mass of a man, whose name is uttered in equal parts reverence and fear on the block, and he’s yours. He’s your—

“Kolya…”

“I know, I know, hush, darling.”

He lifts, weight disappearing, and his other hand maneuvers between your bodies. Your breath hitches as the tip of his cock brushes your rim, then exhales in a moan as he guides it slowly around your hole in several agonizing circles. The words please, I can’t anymore get lost in the linen as you bite into a fold in the sheets, but when he starts anew, you whip your head up before you can stop yourself. Indignant, an incoherent complaint on your tongue, but it implodes into a gasp as Nikolai chooses that moment to press in.

“Oh, f-f-fuck!”

Nikolai’s laugh fizzles into a groan. Even after his mouth and fingers, it’s a tight fit. Liquid heat that streams down your spine, molten like a lahar, heavy enough to push your shoulders and head further into the mattress. Your nails dig into your sensitive skin and fat with a whimper. Spots dance behind your eyelids as the length of him rests, hands smoothing over your hips. After a minute of counting breaths, you let go and bury your hands into the sheets beside your head.

He takes it as his cue to slowly pull out to the tip, then pushes back in a single steady plunge. He fucks you open a little more, then grinds marginally deeper, hissing when you inch backward to chase more.

“Needy,” he sighs. “But if you insist…”

After that, it’s difficult to catch your breath. It doesn’t matter if Nik’s work went good or bad, fucking him always straddles the line between reward and punishment. He builds a pace that lets him bottom out on nearly every thrust, giving you something you’ll feel for the rest of the week. He’s got you moaning and babbling, forced to just take it as he loses himself in it.

Drool saturates your skin, the snap of his hips rubbing your face in the puddle beneath your mouth. Your cock throbs angrily as he pistons in and out, begging to be touched, but the last time you snuck a hand down, Nik spanked you raw. You’re sorely tempted to try it anyway, fingers loosening their grip on the sheets.

As if he reads your mind, he tuts, voice gravel-thick. “Need something?”

You swallow, tasting salt from tears and sweat. “Need to touch—need to touch my cock.”

There’s a pause as he slows to shallowly rock his hips, his deliberation physical. You bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from barking something foolish and turn your head to peer at him over your shoulder.

“Fine. I suppose you’ve been mostly good. Touch yourself. I want you to make a big fucking mess.” He issues his decree with a loud slap of his thighs against yours, driving a sharp cry from your mouth.

Nikolai wastes no time in returning to his furious rhythm, and neither do you, wrapping your fingers around your cock. It’s soaked and aching, and the first few glides of your fingers make you sob. Between Nikolai jackhammering into your ass and your toying, you hurtle toward the edge in record time. You try to stay there, wanting the sweet torment to last a few seconds longer, but Nik adjusts, one of his hands slips around, and—

You come hard, cunt clenching around two of his fingers, your own curled around your cock, and holding him tight. The world burns away with a white-hot pleasure that reduces you to a lump of raw nerves with vocal cords.

Nik’s orgasm follows, heralded by a litany of curses, and his thrusts devolve into an erratic rutting. The sudden deluge of warmth filling you up reels you back to the present. You hiccup and choke on a sob, wanting to drown in how good you feel. His fingers retract with a lazy stroke around your twitching cock, but the thick of him stays buried as he drops more of his weight on you. He smushes you as gently as he can, sloppily kissing where his mouth can reach on your back.

“You still with me?” He pants against your damp skin, pumping the last of his cum in with a glacial grind.

“Y-Yeah, think so.” You hiss at his withdrawal, then flatten completely when he drops onto the mattress beside you. Your eyes are still stuck shut, exhaustion rolling over like a lead blanket, but the bed shakes with how deeply he exhales. You’re both well on the way to sleep.

“Good.” A hairy arm snakes over your waist. “Give me a moment and I’ll clean you.”

You struggle to push to your knees. “I can do it this time.”

“No, no…Can you even walk?”

“Not as fragile as you think.”

You’re glad his head is turned when you limp-waddle to the bathroom, anyway. Upon your return, you open your mouth to ask him for help changing the sheets—only to find him snoring and sprawled on the bed. Hogging the entire thing, both pillows crushed under an arm, and bare ass pointed to the sky.

Well. At least you’re not the one belly-down in the wet spot for once.

#nikolai x reader #nikolai cod #nikolai x transmasc!reader #transmasc!reader #sy kinktober #kinktober #the self-indulgence jumps out in this one

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intimacyequalsdeath · 1 year ago

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Bubz's Slasher Fictober Day 11: Poly Ghost Part 2 (Billy and Stu) (Pumpkin Spice)

Day 11 is here, and with day 11 comes something you will probably only see this one time during Fictober. I'm doing a part 2! A lot of you after reading the original day 3 Billy and Stu fic wanted a part 2 to that so here it is during what I have dubbed smut or pumpkin spice latte week. I hope you all enjoy part 2 <3

Go back and read part one here!

Notes: Minors DNI, Smut, Nsfw. No reader description or pronouns are used at all. This is a poly relationship fic, if you are not into that please do not read it.

Last time on Billy and Stu...

"Maybe you should spend some time with us and show us what we're missing" You smirked at him.

"Maybe I will"

Now for this weeks installment...

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Billy leaned towards you at once and brought your lips together. Stu's lips still made their way up and down your neck leaving soft bites as they went as Billy's tongue probed your mouth.

Billy pulled away and stood up to remove his shirt and pants before taking his seat on the bed once more.

When his cock was freed from his pants you watched in a trance as it smacked against his stomach then bounced in the air a bit before settling.

Suddenly Stu's hands wrapped around your hips and he hoisted you onto to Billy's precum covered cock. You gasped at the feeling of being lowered onto it and filled at once.

"C'mon baby you can take it, We all know you can" Stu murmured into your ear, holding you still and not allowing you to move away from Billy. Billy put his head back to revel in the feeling as you began to move back and forth on his cock instinctively grinding on him.

You tried to give yourself some space but again Stu held you back and forced you back down into Billy. Billy's hands overtook Stu's has be starting thrusting up into you from underneath.

One of Stu's hands gripped your hair forcing your head back to connect your lips as Billy fucked into you. Stu's free hand roamed your body rubbing up and down your stomach.

Stu then lifted your legs, putting you into a spread eagle position facing Billy as his cock continued in and out of you. You look down to see where your two bodies were connected almost mesmerized by seeing Billy's entire length disappear inside you.

With both Billy and Stu slamming you onto Billy's cock, your eyes started to roll back in your head as the only coherent things you could say were begs of harder. When the drool started to come you knew then you were really fucked both figuratively and literally.

"Am I already fucking you dumb baby?" Billy asked, You couldn't even answer which seemed to only fuel his fire. At once Billy's cock was removed from you and replaced by another, Stu.

Billy and Stu switched positions , now Billy was forcing you onto Stu's while he sat in front of you on the bed and stroked his still hard cock. Neither of you had came before you got swapped to Stu so you figured it was Stu's turn to cum in you.

It wasn't long before your walls clenched around Stu milking his cock of cum while you both came together. You leaned over to take Billy into your mouth to finish him off yourself.

Once the three of you were spent, you all collapsed back onto Stu's bed with you in the middle of your two boys. Stu brough his blanket around you while Billy stroked your sweaty forehead.

"You're so good to us baby, You take us both so well" Billy cooed as you cuddled yourself down into his chest.

Stu wrapped his arms around your middle and began to spoon you.

"We both love you so much doll" Stu mumbled already falling asleep.

You smiled and hummed into Billy's chest. No place in the world you would rather be then right here with your boys.

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #scream #billy loomis #stu macher #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x reader #poly ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface #polyamourous #Halloween #Fictober #ghostface smut

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wantonlywindswept · 2 months ago

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10/10 fox day: forgotten fox bit

to celebrate fox day you get more of the next section of the forgotten fox au, which contains...zero fox actually present x_X

i am trying okay

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Bucket, for the crimes of having an excellent sabacc face and a hip that seized up when moving any faster than a light jog, was often stuck manning the Guard HQ front desk.

They didn't get too many natborns coming through these days, at least, now that the CSF were forced to do their own jobs and had taken over guarding the prison. The Guard was back to being a protective, high-level military force instead of doing all the domestic policing and drudgework they'd been relegated to. They were still beholden to the Senate, but things had gotten better since Palpatine died and Organa took office, even if some of the Dome's denizens still saw them as little better than droids.

So Bucket didn't have to deal with that at least--he could, he got his name from being able to fit his demeanor to whatever the situation needed it, swapping faces like you could swap a helmet--but he did still have to deal with the regular comers and goers. Thankfully, that was mostly clones, plus the new addition of the pack of Jedi healers that descended on medbay once a week.

Interesting bunch, the Jedi. A lot more personable than Bucket had thought they would be. Surprisingly calm up until you admitted to using a soldering torch to close an acute laceration.

(It wasn't even a recent injury--it happened so long ago that it was already healed. But now Master Nema gave Bucket the stink eye whenever she saw him, like she was trying to determine how medically stupid he'd been in her absence.)

"--figure what they were going on about?"

Bucket snapped to attention as the exterior doors slid open, a placid expression settling across his features. He turned toward the voice--only to relax when he caught sight of the visitors.

"Just something about another shift in the Force," Marshal Commander Cody said, offering Captain Rex a shrug. "It's not as bad as when Palpatine died; nobody passed out this time, at least."

"Small mercies," Commander Gree observed, bringing up the rear behind them. He had four takeout containers cradled in one arm, and by the smell they were from the offensively good noodle cart that parked near the base of the Rotunda. Bucket took a deep, envious breath and decided he was definitely going there for latemeal.

This particular group of GAR troopers--along with Commanders Bly and Wolffe--were a familiar enough sight at Guard HQ. They didn't visit often, almost eternally deployed to the front lines, but whenever their leaves lined up they usually made an appearance. Bucket had never seen all five together at once, but maybe that would change now that the war was over and battalions were being called back to Coruscant.

"Commanders, Captain," he greeted, standing up behind the counter to salute. His second for the day, Kelari, hastily copied the action.

Cody waved the formality away with the sign for 'at ease', nodding at the two of them in turn.

"Sergeant Bucket," he greeted. "And I don't think I know..?"

"Private Kelari, sir!" Kelari chirped. She was still painfully shiny, wide-eyed and awestruck as she stared up at the Marshal Commander, and Bucket allowed the gaping with fond indulgence.

She was one of their most recent acquisitions, part of a squadron that arrived after the death of the Chancellor. The group didn't have any direct experience with the war or the suffering that came with it, and the entire Guard were doing their damndest to make sure they never would.

"Private Kelari," Cody acknowledged, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Good to meet you."

Kelari beamed; Bucket shooed her away so he could get back in front of the security screens.

"The Jedi up to shenanigans again?" he asked as he pulled up the admittance forms.

Rex sighed, heavily, and Cody shot him an amused look.

"Let's just say," Gree said, "That it will be nice to avoid more half-coherent explanations on how the Force works in the future."

Bucket snorted, starting to fill out the usual info. The Guard never got a Jedi--and with the reveal of Palpatine being a Sith, they now knew why--but he had to admit he was glad they never needed to deal with the often-inexplicable Jedi tendency to rely so much on some invisible cosmic power.

"Captain CT-7567," he recited idly as his fingers flicked across the keys, "Commander CC-2224, and Commander CC-1004, here to see Commander--"

Bucket blinked at the 'reason for visit' box.

This batch of clones had been visiting the entire war, either by themselves or together, whenever their rare leave allowed. They came often enough that if Bucket wasn't the one that would suffer the datawork hassle later, he would have just waved them on through.

He was familiar enough with them to know that Cody's infamous scar came from a sparring accident, that Gree had three half-finished xenobiology research papers that he hoped to someday publish, and that Rex had been forcibly adopted by the CC clones without being allowed any input in the matter. He knew that Wolffe had three implanted teeth from multiple attempts at biting trainers through their armor as a cadet, and that Bly sometimes mixed up his letters and numbers and had almost been decommissioned as a result.

And Bucket had no idea what to put in the box.

He slowly lifted his gaze from the half-finished form to meet Cody's eyes.

Missing memories weren't that uncommon, in the Guard, but as Bucket watched confusion steal across Cody's face--as that confusion shifted into rising unease and panicked alarm--he didn't think it was just a Guard problem, anymore.

#tcw fanfiction #forgotten fox #commander fox #clone trooper oc bucket #technically also #clone trooper oc kelari #but i don't really have much on her yet #anyway hey we're getting closer to The Reveal!#slowly #very slowly #this also marks a tone change from the Shenanigans from previous bits #which ngl is probably part of why i'm having trouble with it #i usually have a srs writing project and a shenanigans project at the same time #but the shenanigans have become the srs #it has Thrown Off My Groove

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after-witch · 5 months ago

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For your yandere Summer oc, i offer you a quote.

What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness?

notes: just vague fae-ish stuff, reader was whisked away unwillingly

Sweat sticks to the back of your neck, but you no longer bother wiping it away. It will be there again soon enough--perhaps tomorrow, if you spend the afternoon stretched on some sandy beach, while monstrous machines you barely comprehend fly overhead and poison the air.

You hate these days, and tell him so; but he's seen so much more, and sometimes forgets that you have not--that you do not wish to--and he only gives you a grin and pulls you back down onto the sand. For a kiss or a secret or to sink underneath like turtles burying eggs.

Or perhaps that sheen of sweat will come in a week, where you might taste frozen ice cream made with fruit you've never heard of before. Maybe it will come in a year, in ten years, a century from now, when you are spending yet another summer day underneath the sun, its rays soaking into your clothes, your skin, penetrating down to the marrow of your bones.

God, how you have grown sick of summer. The thought would have never crossed your mind, before. How could it?

If you found yourself wishing for an end to the hot humid days, all you had to do was look ahead on your mother's calendar, picked up every year from town. Summer would be over and the coolness of autumn would settle in, sparing you from the sweat and heavy lead of heat.

And then, when the dead frigid beauty of winter grew dull and you began to miss the way the sun beat down on your back until it was late in the evening, there was only a matter of counting the days until the season began again.

Now? Now, there is no end in sight. No blissful moment when the heat will break and cool autumn nights will come sliding in through a cracked window.

"You're thinking awfully seriously about something," he says, suddenly standing above you; you jump, never used to his surprise appearances. "But what?"

When you look up at him, he is wearing the clothes of a farmer's son. Hand-me-downs, with patches that would have--if he were really a farmer's son, and every angel and devil in the world knows he isn't--been carefully stitched on by a mother or sister or spinster aunt.

Today his hair is blonde and his face is sun-kissed, brown freckles splayed across his nose like specks of paint. He grins at you, tucking his hands behind his head like he hasn't a care in the world.

Well, it might be the truth.

"Does it matter?"

You pull your knees in closer to your chest. Today is a day for being petulant, you decide. It's too hot. You're too sweaty. The beach is deserted and you can't even swipe a coin from someone's purse to buy an ice cream from a cart. There's no one here but you and him and the damned heat of the sun.

"Aw," he says, just as petulant. He has those days, too. Maybe you've rubbed off on him--or is it the other way around? "Don't be like that." he gives you a light poke to the side, and you flinch. "It's a beautiful day."

Your expression must be that damn dour, because even he looks taken aback when you glare at him.

"It's too hot," you say, the words like bitter lemonade. "I'm sick of it. How can I enjoy a hot day, when every day is like this? There's nothing to look forward to, no--no autumn chill that makes you want an extra blanket in the morning, no foggy morning breath while you milk the cows, no..." The endless list of things that are no longer available to you tumbles out, only some of it coherent.

All the while, he simply watches you, waiting for the moment that you run out of steam. When you do, you simply go limp, letting the sweat drip down your neck and drip on the ground with your frustrations.

He tilts his head, and looks more serious, just for a moment. A flicker. So quick that it might have just been a heat mirage, and you blink, just to be sure.

"I can't give you winter," he says, softly. Like you're a stubborn horse in the barn he has to coax. "I wouldn't know how, if I wanted to. But," he adds, and his grin is boyish again, light and airy. "If you want a change, how about a summer storm? I know the perfect place!"

He hops to his feet, and stretches his arm down towards you.

A summer storm is not winter. But it is not this endless heat, either.

What can you do, but take his hand again, and follow where he goes?

#seasonal spirit #yandere ocs #yandere #original stuffs #afterwitch writes #summer spirit my beloved!!

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mx-jinxous · 8 months ago

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For @lexirosewrites for this little corroded king universe. Whenever I get around to posting new pieces to this it won’t be in order.

Not betad and also I don’t really write smut so this is the closest I’ll probably get so if it sucks, it’s not my forte.

Gareth shuttered as he splashed through the rain, arms wrapped around himself as he let his feet guide him. He planned on nothing but getting out of that house when his parents found out about Steve and the baby. His dad seemed indifferent, but his mom went on a rampage. She called Steve a whore, demanded that if he wanted to keep his 20-year-old ass in her house then he was to step away from the omega and other alphas. It didn’t take Gareth a second to march out of that house.

So here he was, marching up to an apartment complex, nearly sprinting up the stairs as the maintenance man yelled at him about the water. He should have gone to Eddie’s trailer, or any of the other boys' places, to homes that were excited for their sons, yet his feet led him to the familiar red door that held the only comfort he had. His knock was weak as he shivered, the door opening within seconds, a bright smile on Robin’s face that immediately fell.

“Hey Steve!” She called, the omega joining her to stare at the young alpha dripping and shivering. Before he knew it, Gareth was wrapped in a blanket in Steve’s nest, the omega snuggling him, pressing the alpha into his scent glands. He was hushing him as he ran a hand down the younger's back.

“Hey baby, back with me?” He nodded, words lost as he tucked in close to his omega. “Sweetheart, you’re burning up. Why were you out in the rain if you’re sick.”

“N-t si-k.” He mumbled into Steve’s shoulder.

“I beg to differ. You’re shivering, whimpering, and you have a fever. Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No. Just want to stay with you.” He mumbled, words starting to be more coherent. “You and the baby.”

“Okay, but let me get you something to drink. Then we can cuddle up, maybe talk about what happened.” Another whimper left Gareth, but he didn’t argue as Steve pulled away with a kiss to the younger’s head. It felt like hours before Steve returned with a water glass in one hand, a kiss to Gareth’s cheek once he got settled.

“Take a sip for me and then we can go back to cuddling.” With what little strength he had, the younger sat up and drank from it before falling back in bed. Once it was put up they went back to cuddling, Gareth returning to his scent glands to find comfort where his mind traveled for pain. They laid like that for what felt like hours, the young alpha starting to drift when the sound of the bedroom door opened. He shot up, covering Steve, his body on autopilot to protect his mate. He growled at the intruder that dared to breach their nest, stopping when the scents of the other alpha’s hit his nose.

It was then he saw clearly it was his other mates and returned to Steve’s scent glands without another thought until he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, pulling a whimper from him. “It’s okay Gare-Bear. You want to cuddle?” It was Eddie, his tone coated with worry as he checked the younger's forehead. “You’re burning up. You shouldn’t be playing in the rain when you're sick, silly.” He said, the three climbing into bed the best they could, snuggling the two in the middle.

Gareth didn’t say anything, just tangled his fingers with whoever’s had landed on his hip. The five of them stayed quiet, Eddie’s lips grazing over his neck and shoulders. They were pampering him, like they did for one another on their bad days. Being the youngest and last to present, Gareth is naturally a softer alpha… yet another thing to disgust his parents. Typically an alpha wouldn’t surrender to another or seek comfort from one or their omega, yet the young man couldn’t help but turn into Eddie. He scented him too, hiding from the older man, from the reality that his pack wouldn’t accept them, accept him. An ugly sob fell from his lips, the other men wrapping around him the best they could.

“It’s okay Gare. Let it out.” Steve whispered into his ear, making him cry even harder. He should be comforting his pregnant omega, but instead he's emotional. He wasn’t fit to have a pack, nor his mates.

“They kicked me out.” He cried into Eddie’s ear, tight hands tangled in his crop top. “I didn’t even get a chance to tell them before my mom knew. She ripped into me, insulted you guys, called Steve names. Said if I wanted to stay with you then I’m not welcome in her home. I just walked out without anything.” His voice broke, the arms tightening around him.

“Oh baby, you’re going through rejection sickness. No wonder you’re burning up.” Eddie mumbled, nudging his nose into the fluffy curls.

“Well fuck them! If they want to kick you out of their pack then it’s their loss. You have this pack.” Jeff spoke up, climbing over Eddie and dragging the younger's eyes to face him. “You got us, the baby, Wayne, hell all of our parents. You have a pack still and if they want to kick you out, you’ve got a bigger pack.” Gareth just stared at the other alpha, taken back by the long stream of words that came from the usually silent man. He was what he pictured the perfect alpha to be like, one he wished he could be.

“B-but I’m a shitty alpha. Too moody.” He whimpered, being pulled back into Steve, the omega resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Unless you’re like my dad, you aren’t a shitty alpha. You all are different and perfect alphas, I don’t care what others think. I like the softer side of you, the caring one that’s like a puppy. Fuck your parents if they don’t want to part of your pack, you don’t need them. Their opinion doesn’t matter, just yours.” Steve huffed, cuddling the younger.

A quiet fell over the mates, Steve nipping at Gareth’s bonding gland to comfort them both. The only noise was from Robin letting them know she was going to her girlfriends before leaving them to their pile. It was inevitably broken by the youngest alpha pulling back from Eddie. “My drums and other shit is still at my parents.”

“It’s okay, we’ll get them back.”

“Just sucks.” He whimpered.

“Do you want me to slash their tires?” Freak said abruptly, getting a snort from Gareth.

“We don’t need to bail you out of jail, but thank you Dougie for trying to cheer me up.”

“Then how about I sit on your face and you can go nuts?” Steve’s offer was met with several heavy pheromones filtering through the room.

That’s how Gareth found himself between Jeff and Eddie, the two taking turns cleaning the mess of slick that painted his face with their tongues. Eddie was currently devouring the younger’s mouth, rutting against his front, Jeff mirroring his movements against Gareth’s ass. He could feel both of them were hard and worked up from the whimpers and cries from Steve beside them, his hands buried in Freak’s hair as he led him into his fifth orgasm. The first four had been from Gareth until he had his fill and swapped out with the older man.

Eddie pulled away from Gareth’s mouth to address the two, Jeff taking the moment to crane the younger’s neck and take his turn devouring his mouth. “Still doing okay sweetheart? Need a break?”

“No…maybe.” He huffed, throwing his head back into the pillow. “How are you feeling, puppy?” Steve turned to face the other boys, Freak wrapping around him.

“I’d say horny if this is anything to go by.” Jeff snickered as he broke the kiss, gripping the bulge in Gareth’s pants, causing a moan to escape from him.

“Don’t tease him.” Eddie smirked, pulling the younger boy's head back by his hair, exposing his neck. “Do you want to give me your knot like a good alpha? Make me beg for it until I can’t take it.” This wasn’t a conventional expectation of an alpha, asking another to knot him, but they weren’t conventional in many ways. Gareth did his best to nod, humping into Jeff’s hand. “Let’s get your pants off th-.” They were interrupted by a continuous knock echoing from the front door, a groan leaving Steve.

“God damnit.” He huffed, trying to stand, but Eddie stuck his hand up.

“I’ll go get it, send them away before we get to the main event.” He stole a kiss from Steve before peeling away from the men. He hollered as he marched out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked enough to give the barest glance at the front door. As soon as it was thrown open, Jeff was up as well followed by Freak, leaving Steve and Gareth alone to question. Glancing out the door at what had caught the others attention, however, they couldn’t see past the three crowding the door.

Gareth wanted to get up and see who drew his lovers away, yet he didn’t want to leave Steve alone in bed. Turning to look at the older man he was met with Steve already wrapping himself in his favorite robe. He was out the door before Gareth could even sit up, the younger boy falling out of the bed when the sheets wrapped around his feet.

By the time he was up, he could hear Steve yelling at whoever was at the door. It wasn’t until he got out of the bedroom did he glance of their visitor and he froze when he locked eyes with his father. The older alphas stopped arguing, noting his attention no longer in them, eyes dragging to Gareth. “Gareth.” He took a step forward into the home, only to be shoved back out by Steve.

“Stay out of my house!” He growled, Eddie stepping between them.

“You heard him.”

“Please, I just want to speak to my son.” His father begged, this time a growl escaped the alphas.

“You’ve said enough! You kicked him out so leave him alone!”

“How’d you even find us?!” Jeff gripped his fist, ready to lash out.

“I talked with Wayne to see where you boys were. Took a hell of a long time to get him to trust me. Look, can I just talk to my son for five minutes and that’s it. If he doesn’t want to talk to me after that then I’ll leave.”

“No, you’ll leave now or I’ll have the chief here to arrest your ass!” Steve yelled from behind Eddie, trying to get past the oldest man, only to be restrained by Freak.

“Five minutes, that’s it. Then you get out.” Gareth said, arms crossed as he stepped forward. That seemed to disarm Steve’s temper, worry painting his face as he stepped into the younger's space.

“Gare, you don’t owe him anything. You can just tell him to fuck off and stay here.”

“Five minutes Stevie…just to get some peace. If I’m not back in by then, then you can come out and defend my honor.” That didn’t quell the pout, but it seemed to be heard as Steve allowed himself to be pulled back towards the bedroom by Jeff and Freak. Eddie stayed behind, glaring at the man, hand on Gareth’s shoulder.

“Five minutes and if he’s crying or hurt when I come out I will rip your throat out with my teeth.” He growled before turning and joining the others. They waited till the door shut before either spoke, the younger alpha keeping a glare on his father.

“That’s your omega? Got a bite to him.”

“Just say what you came to say. This is Steve’s home and he obviously feels uncomfortable with you here. If you come to talk me into coming home with you then just leave. I have a pack that does care, I don't need you or mom to have a family.”

His father sighs, smiling at his son as he sits in a chair. “That’s not what I’m here for, nor am I here to try and make you choose like your mother. She is a traditionalist, not an excuse, but our opinions don’t really align.”

“Then why are you here?” Gareth asked, standing over his father. He seemed tired, more than usual, probably from his mother.

“Did I ever tell you of how your mother and I came to be, how… cold of a couple we are?”

“You’ve never been the typical type of alpha and omega, just figured she had you by the balls or something.” His father snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Or something. Your old man was anything but typical. I swung all ways, betas, omegas, and alphas. The thing your mother doesn’t understand is that the younger generations constantly adapt, expanding. Traditional is just old fashion and restricting, and much like you, I wasn’t traditional. I was in love with another alpha, we were a secret with how people were. He was scared, but I wanted to be out and proud, even if it meant being disowned. We would argue about it constantly, our last one being so bad we broke up for a week.”

Gareth had slunk down to sit on the couch, staring at his dad displaying the most emotions he’d ever seen.

“In that week, I went on a binge, slept with your mom, and by the time me and him reconciled… she found out she was pregnant. She went to my parents first, so that was the start of our life and the end of mine and his. He left town and I haven’t heard from him since. When I held you for the first time, all your moms conniving with my parents was mostly worth it… but I’m not telling you this to win you over. I don’t want you to come home, back to her. You’ve escaped what I can’t, but I did have some stuff I wanted to tell you about.”

“Dad.” He said, tears coming to his eyes. “She baby trapped you. That’s so not right and grandma and grandpa endorsed it?”

“It’s the past and I’m not letting you face what I’ve faced. That being said, your mother will be out of the house for a few hours tomorrow on a spa trip I bought her to help her “relax.” He scoffed, looking his son in his eyes. “I’ll pack what I can in secret for you tonight, but come over tomorrow afternoon and I’ll help you load your stuff. We can put what doesn’t fit in your new place.”

“Wait- wait. So you’re fine with everything? Me and the guys, with Steve and the baby?” Reaching over, his father wrapped his hands in his own.

“I want you happy and if that’s with them, then I don’t give a shit. Your mother believes she talks for both of us, but I speak for my own beliefs. You know my side of the family is wealthy, that’s never been a secret. When you were born I had an account made to put money in for you, an inheritance that your mother doesn’t know about. You turn 21 soon so that money will be yours. If you want we can go finance it, help you boys get a home or start a fund for the baby.”

“I-I don’t know… I can’t even process this.”

“Nothing has to be done now. Don’t worry about anything, just talk to your mates and tomorrow I’ll call you once I take your mom to the spa.” Gareth opened his mouth to respond when the bedroom door creaked open, Steve walking out with arms crossed and a pout.

“It’s been five minutes.” He huffed, the younger smiling as he waved him over. He let him cuddle up against him on the couch, Steve scenting him for any distress.

“Perhaps I should go before I outstay my welcome. You seem to have some people that want to comfort you. I shall see you tomorrow.” His father stood, roughing up Gareth’s hair. The young man snorted, shoving the hand away with a wide smile.

“Yeah. Maybe you could get dinner with us tomorrow and we could talk over everything… get to know each other.”

“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow Gar.” He said, giving his son a squeeze of the shoulder before letting himself out of the home. It was then that the other alphas joined their mates, huddling together on the couch. It was quiet, the scent in the room unreadable. After what felt like hours, Gareth cleared his throat, looking up at the others.

“So, we have a lot to talk about… but can we wait until we finish what was interrupted.” He smirked, looking over his shoulder at Eddie. The older man nipped at his neck before pulling the smaller alpha over the couch and on his shoulder. A shriek of laughter left Gareth as he was carried back to the bedroom, the others following behind, Jeff slamming the door behind him.

Tag list: @marklee-blackmore

I will take prompts for this au, just note I may not be fast on them.

#stranger things #omegaverse #corroded coffin #steve harrington #corrordedking

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forever-rogue · 2 years ago

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Heart Out

AN | Once again, no one asked for this. Absolutely no one, but here we are - bone app the teeth. Basically - in which you meet Peter Parker, fall in love, accidentally fall pregnant, and have everything blow up in your face…or so it appears ❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Pregnant!Reader

Word Count | 6.3k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hello there,” you shrieked at the sound of the warm voice, clutching at your heart as you turned to find the source of your heart attack. Turned out that the man standing across the hall with a cheeky smile on his was about to give you another heart attack. Holy fuck - he was gorgeous. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, any coherent thought already out of your head, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me coming.”

“N-no,” you stammered out dumbly, unable to say anything else. Well then; he probably already thought you were a complete idiot, “I just, umm, didn’t h-hear you.”

“I’ll be louder next time,” he grinned, and his face took on a boyish quality. Funny; he could go from ridiculously handsome to outrageously cute in a matter of moments, “I just wanted to introduce myself - you just moved in right? I’m Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”

“Peter,” you repeated softly and oh. He shouldn’t have you feeling this type of way already. You offered him your name, which he also repeated, testing it out to get a feel for it. You liked the way it sounded coming from him, “I moved in last week. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, sweetheart,” and there he was, already hitting you with the nicknames. The audacity, “if you ever need anything at all, feel free to let me know. You’re welcome any time, day or night.”

“T-thanks,” your mind absolutely did not have to go and immediately think about going over to his place late at night when you needed something and then - no. Nope. You were definitely not going to let your thoughts go there, “that’s very kind of you.”

“You’re new to the building - it’s nice to know at least one person,” he shrugged lightly, “and maybe make a new friend. But I mean it, my door’s open - metaphorically - anytime.”

“Well, thank you again, Peter,” you opened your door and turned around to cast one last little wave goodbye, “see you around - have a good night.”

“You too, honey.”

Peter stood and watched you close your door, not moving until he heard you lock it. A soft little smile settled on his face as he went back into his own apartment. He didn’t mean to be so invasive, but curiosity - and his spidey senses - got the better of him and he listened to you shuffle around your apartment, muttering softly under your breath. Damn; he liked you already.

He’d known you when you moved but had been tempted to come over and help, but he also didn’t want to scare you off either. But he had also just offered himself up to you practically 24/7….maybe it was too late. Either way, he hoped he’d get to see you again.

Meanwhile in your apartment, you were trying not to have a breakdown. How did you manage to fuck up a simple conversation? He probably thought you were an idiot; he probably didn’t even want you to come over. Peter seemed like he was the type of guy that was nice to everyone. Maybe you could just avoid him forever and pretend this never happened.

“Peter Parker,” you whispered to yourself, flopping on the couch and pulling out your phone. A little online…research wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? You cast a furtive look around, as though he was suddenly going to appear in your doorway, “let’s see what you’re about.”

Several background episodes of some old TV show, a helping of chocolate, and over an hour of online snooping, you’d found out a lot about Peter Parker. He was some sort of genius scientist by day, an amateur photographer on the side, and apparently a huge geek. Ugh. As if you needed more reasons to like him. How could he be hot, smart, and nerdy? Unfair.

You closed out every app and tossed your phone to the side before sighing heavily. This might prove to be harder than you’d thought. Peter Parker was going to be a menace…you could just feel it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As fate would have it, your plan to avoid Peter Parker did not go well. It did not go well at all.

From the first time you met him, you seemed to run into him all the time; leaving for or coming from work, in the laundry, even out in public. At first you had tried to play it off and keep interactions brief, but the more you kept seeing him the more you wondered if it was all a sense of timing…or was it fate?

Either way, you stopped questioning; you allowed yourself to become friends with Peter. Friends that just so happened to be flirty with each other. Which was totally normal…who didn’t flirt with their friends every once in a while. Right? Right. What happened between the two of you would happen and you decided to let things flow naturally.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That all came to a head one chilly winter night.

It was later in the evening and you were winding down for the day when your heating went out. And as luck would have it, it was just cold enough that you needed the heater. You had no clue how to fix it and it would be too late to call the maintenance line and your mind only went out to one thing, or one person rather, Peter.

You pulled on a hoodie and toed on your slippers before padding across the hall. There was a moment of hesitation as you raised your hand but couldn’t quite bring yourself to knock. Before you could make a decision one way or the other, the door opened and Peter stood on the other side, “hi.”

“H-hey,” you hadn’t even made a sound and yet he still knew you were at the door…weird. But that was the least of your concerns at the moment. You were desperately trying not to stare at him too closely; he was wearing a pair of sinful gray sweatpants and a well fitted t-shirt. The urge to throw yourself at him was ridiculous.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

Right. You were here for something entirely different. You mentally slapped yourself before nodding, “I’m sorry for coming so late, and I don’t even know if you’d be able to help but my heating went out and I have no clue what to do. Umm...you know what, it’s okay. I-I’ll figure it out.”

You’d turned to leave, regretting your decision to bother him, but before you could run away, you felt his long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist. You turned to him with wide eyes and he shook his head lightly, “you’re in luck. I happen to be very handy with things like this.”

“Is that because of all the science-y things you do?” you blurted it out before thinking about it as he raised his eyebrows. Right. You weren’t supposed to know about what he did for a living…it had never really come up. You also weren’t supposed to give the fact that you’d stalked him on the internet, “j-just because you seem like a STEM guy. ‘s all.”

Smooth.

“I do happen to be a STEM guy,” he grinned, “let me come over and take a look. I’m sure it’ll be an easy fix - the heating here is just a little finicky.”

“Thank you,” you slinked back to your apartment, handsome man in tow. You were glad that you’d just cleaned up and everything was tidy. Peter looked so good in your apartment and it made the whole domestic daydream hard to ignore, “I’m assuming the heaters are in the same spot. So…yeah. Can I help with anything - get you anything?”

“I’ve got it,” he promised, already walking into the living room where your heater was, “it shouldn’t take too long.”

You made a small sound of acknowledgement as you retreated into the kitchen, deciding to finish up the dishes you had started…while stealing glances at him. It was hard to ignore such an attractive piece of art in your own home. At one point he stretched and his shirt rode up, revealing the patch of hair under his belly button that disappeared under the waistband of his sweats. A wistful little sigh escaped your lips, which you quickly covered up with a cough. You swore you could see a little smirk on his face.

To your delight and chagrin, Peter really was handy and had the heating kicked on and working well in a short period of time. He turned back to you with a triumphant smile and jazz hands, “ta-da! All working again…and probably better than before. Simple circuit issue.”

“I…wow, thank you so much,” you smiled softly, “that’s really kind of you. How can I repay you? Whatever you want, name it and it’s yours.”

Peter’s smile grew bigger and he seriously wanted to answer with a simple you. But instead he shook his head and brushed off your concern, “don’t mention - really, it was nothing. Plus, it gives me a chance to see you again. It’s been a bit...almost like you were avoiding me. Did I do something to scare you off?”

He’d come over now and was standing across from you, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. Peter could read you like a book already and it was just all too easy for him. You bit the inside of your cheek and just shook your head, “n-no, Peter. Of course not, I’ve just been…busy. And didn’t feel the need to bother you.”

“You didn’t feel the need or didn’t want to?” he asked softly, his voice so warm and low that felt like he should be whispering those words directly in your ear. You swallowed thickly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, “tell me, sweetheart.”

“Didn’t want to,” you confessed shyly, “didn’t want you to get tired or annoyed with me.”

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of you,” how you’d come to be right in front of him was a mystery but you found yourself looking up into his pretty brown eyes. He reached up and touched your face, brushing his knuckles across your cheek before trailing his fingers along your jaw and down your neck, “sweet, sweet girl.”

“Peter,” he was still new to you, still so much to discover and learn but you already felt like you’d known him for a lifetime. It was such a strange feeling, such a magnetic pull and you didn’t even want to bother fighting it.

“Hmm?” his face was close to yours, and you could feel the warmth radiating off him. He smelled so deliciously warm and soft that you wanted to wrap yourself in his clothes and wanted him all over you, “tell me what you need, honey.”

“Kiss me?” you asked sweetly, “please?”

He answered your simple request by pressing his lips to yours in what started off as a saccharine, soft little thing. With even the slightest taste of him, you were already addicted to him. A little gasp escaped your lips as you looked back at him and found him watching with equal curiosity and tenderness.

And then it happened so fast - he was all over you and you jumped into his arms, letting him kiss you dizzy and leave a lavender haze across your skin. His touch was electric and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so alive. He picked you and carried you to your bedroom so effortlessly, and you felt so soft and delicate in his arms. Your lips barely broke contact as he gently laid you on the bed, looking down at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

He gently brushed your hair out of your face, resting his hand on your cheek and leaned into his touch, “we don’t have to-”

“I want this,” you promised softly, “I want you, Peter.”

That was all he needed before caging you in between his arms, leaning down to kiss you more. You could easily - and did - spend hours under him, letting him kiss you and touch every which way It felt like a dream, a sweet fantasy that your lust addled brain had conjured up, but the soft moan and whimpers you were drawing from him reminded you that this was all very real.

“Peter,” his name had never sounded as sweet as it did when it fell reverently from your lips, “please.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he promised, nosing along your jaw before placing a kiss to your lips, “I’ve got you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d believed him. You’d believed every sweet word whispered in your ear, every little moan and whimper exchanged that he’d meant them all.

But when you woke up the next morning, golden sunshine and soft bird chirps streaming into your bedroom, you rolled over and fully expected to find his warm body next to yours. But instead you found a chilly emptiness. Strange. You hadn’t even heard him get up, let alone leave you. A pang settled in your stomach as you slid out of bed, feeling the dull ache between your legs as you slid on your shirt from last night.

“Peter?” you padded your way into the hall and kitchen looking for any signs of life; unfortunately you found nothing. A pout worked its way onto your face as you looked around, and in a much smaller voice you spoke into the nothingness, “Peter?”

But he was long gone and you already knew that. There was no note, no anything. You scrubbed a hand over your tired face before sighing to yourself. You should have known - of course it was too good to be true. Peter Parker wasn’t into you and he hadn’t felt any sort of connection. He’d just wanted to have sex…and you’d given right in.

“Dumb, pathetic girl,” you chided yourself before moving to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. You wanted to scrub off every last bit of Peter from your body and home. You decided to let yourself cry and wallow in self-pity while showering; after that it was back to business as usual. Maybe you’d get an answer from Peter later. Maybe you’d find out that this was all some sort of weird misunderstanding. You still had hope that Peter would turn out to be everything you had dreamed he would be.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But…you never got the chance to ask what happened or for him to give you a proper explanation. By mid-afternoon of the day he’d just left, you went over to his apartment and knocked on his door; there was no answer. You figured that he might not have been home, which was fair enough. You decided to just wait for him - he had to come home at some point.

It just wasn’t that day. You didn’t hear him come or go, which just left you more curious than ever.

The day after brought about a new work week, and you knew, from your previous comings and goings that he worked a similar schedule to yours. And yet you still didn’t see him that week. Now you were just getting worried about him. In the few months you’d lived in the building, you’d seen him constantly; it wasn’t like him to just up and disappear. If nothing you figured he might have told you that he was leaving or going to be gone.

It wasn’t until about three weeks later that you’d caught sight of him again. You experienced an odd combination of relief and annoyance when you caught him getting back into his apartment as you came home from dinner with some friends.

“Peter?” your soft voice caught him off guard and he tensed up immediately. He was so lost in his own thoughts that even his heightened senses didn’t detect you. He exhaled shakily as he turned around to face you. You looked so torn at seeing him again, “you’re here. You’re okay…”

“Yeah,” he nodded and cleared his throat. He seemed so different from the man you’d seen last time. He looked more tired too, his hair shaggier and stubble littered his face, “listen-”

“Where did you go?” he could hear the hurt in your voice and it broke his heart, “t-that morning…you were just gone. And then you were gone for weeks. I got so worried…”

He knew this was coming; that’s why he’d spent the last couple of weeks actively avoiding you. Peter hadn’t been gone - he’d just relied on Spider-Man prowess to be able to get into his apartment unseen. He’d spent more nights than he cared to admit sitting near his door and tuning in to you. He just…couldn’t bring himself to face you.

“I’m fine,” but he most definitely wasn’t, “I’m sorry about that night, okay? It shouldn’t have happened, but I’m fine. You’re fine. We can put it behind us and move on…”

“I…what do you mean?” your heart broke at his words and you wished the ground would open up and swallow you, “Peter - can we just talk about this?”

“I’m busy, I’m sorry,” he opened his door and stepped inside his apartment as you stared at him with teary eyes, “I’m sorry.”

He closed the door and locked it before you could say anything else. You stared at the door, processing what had just happened while tears pearled up and ran down your cheeks. How could he just play you off like that? Basically acting like nothing happened. This didn’t feel like Peter - not the Peter you’d come to know and, if you were being honest with yourself, love.

Peter leaned against the door sighing deeply to himself as he listened to your sniffles as you walked into your own apartment. He never wanted to hear you cry again, he especially never wanted to be the cause of your tears again.

“Fuck,” he sighed to himself, “fuck.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You thought that things couldn’t get worse after Peter all but dumped you, as a friend and potential lover, but once again you had been wrong.

Very wrong.

I’ve missed two periods wrong. You thought maybe the test was wrong, that the white plastic stick proclaiming pregnant was giving you a false positive. But the six other tests that said the same thing probably weren’t all wrong.

“Fuck,” you tossed the test angrily into your trash can before doing the same thing with the rest of the tests. You couldn’t stand looking at them any longer, have them taunting you mercilessly, “fuck me.”

While it was real, it didn’t feel real real until you left the doctor’s office the following week. They had simply confirmed what you already knew deep down. You were eight weeks pregnant with Peter Parker’s baby. Talk about life throwing you for a loop. But, like without most things in life, except for what happened with Peter, you decided to be rational and figure it all out.

You needed a plan - as long as you had a plan things would work out.

You were at a good place in life and with your career that financially you’d be able to afford a baby. You had a spare room in your apartment that served as a makeshift office that could be a nursery. You had a few close friends and family members that would be able to support you throughout your pregnancy. Realistically, the biggest decision you had to make was whether or not you wanted to keep the baby.

Would you be able to stand living across the hall from Peter while you had his kid? Would he even ask questions and put two and two together? Maybe you could look for a different apartment soon. There was much to think about and much to do, but as long as you made a plan and stuck to it, things would work out.

They had to work out…fuck, you hoped things worked out.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Three months later found you doing better than you’d thought. You’d decided to keep the baby but were still on the fence about moving. The more time that passed, the more you thought moving was the right idea.

You’d tried to tell Peter as soon as you got confirmation of your pregnancy from the doctor. He might have hated you, but he still deserved to know. You wanted him to have the opportunity to choose whether or not he wanted to be in the kid’s life. Even if you didn’t get along, he deserved the choice. Part of you still wondered what had caused the sudden shift in his attitude towards you, but never found out. He avoided you like the plague and if he did see you for some reason he would give you a small hello or pretend that he didn’t see you.

After all this time it still stung. And it was the only reason that he still didn’t know you were pregnant. The thing was, you wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer - but who knew if he would even notice. It almost felt like a weird, cruel joke at this point.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a random Wednesday afternoon that you happened to have off, which led you to take advantage of the nearly empty laundry room. You were just finishing up your last load, putting it all in your basket when you heard someone walk in. The mountain of laundry was large and you didn’t bother looking to see who it was, “I’ll be out in just a second - sorry for hogging all the room!”

When you finally fished the last things out of the dryer, you turned around and found yourself face to face with none other than, “Peter.”

He looked like he’d just seen a ghost as he stared at you, soft honey brown eyes searching yours. Your heart raced, and you were surprised it didn’t burst through your ribcage. A slight look of confusion crossed his features and you caught the way his eyes looked over you before flicking down to your belly. You swallowed thickly, suddenly glad that you’d worn a pretty baggy old t-shirt; it hid the fact that you were definitely starting to show.

“Hey,” he choked out, raising his hand in a weak little wave. It was more than you’d gotten from him in some time, “h-how’re you?”

“I’m okay,” it wasn’t a total lie but it wasn’t the full truth either, “how are you?”

“Okay,” he admitted, and you wondered if it was a lie. He held up his hand and flailed it around, as if he was trying to magically conjure up the words he was looking for, “d-do you…I, umm…can we talk?”

“Not right now,” you felt your eyes welling up with tears as you grabbed your basket and held it as best as you could in order to avoid resting it against your belly. How could he just so casually want to talk months later? He had all this time and now he was going to ask, “I’ve gotta go. I-I’ll see you around, Peter.”

You pushed past him, arm brushing against his and sending electric shivers shooting down your spine as he watched you go. He stared at you, finding himself unable to move or say anything else. He brought his hands to his face and groaned loudly; once again he’d managed to mess this up. But something had been…different about you today. Peter couldn’t quite place it yet, but there was something going on. And he was determined to find out - and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One of the many things that had come along with pregnancy were the lovely bouts of insomnia that popped every once in a while. Nothing you did - or didn’t - do seemed to help and it left you more restless than anything else. Some evenings you would bake, some nights you read, some nights you’d watch TV. But on this particular evening, you found yourself pacing around endlessly; instead of just walking around your apartment, you decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood. It seemed like a big of a crazy idea but the neighborhood and most of New York City was fairly safe and quiet these days, probably thanks to the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

You pulled on a pair of sweats and a thin zip up and headed outside, one earbud in with your true crime podcast of the moment in your ear. And for a while, nothing seemed out of place, and your suspicions weren’t raised.

Not until a red and blue blur passed in your peripheral and caused you to stop in your tracks. Out of nowhere Spider-Man appeared right in front of you, causing your eyes to widen. You pulled the earbud out and stuffed it into your pocket as you studied the man in front of you, “Spider-Man?”

“Last time I checked,” he responded cheekily, holding his arms out and pretending to study them with interest, “what are you doing out so late? It’s dangerous!”

“Umm,” the fact that he was talking to you like he knew you personally threw you off, “I was just going for a quick walk? I-is that not allowed anymore?”

“This late?!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you shrugged lightly, unsure of why this seemed so important to him. Your hand had instinctively gone to your bump, and you stroked it gently, “and my back was hurting so I thought a walk would help?”

He tracked your movement and you were almost sure you heard him inhale sharply, “y-you’re pregnant?”

“Yeah,” you whispered with a small, fond smile, “this kid is very active and likes to be up at all times of the day and night. Makes it hard to keep a normal sleep schedule at times…I mean none of this is normal…but, you know what, I’m gonna shut up now because you definitely don’t need to hear about all of this.”

“What a-are you having?” his voice grew soft and you found yourself drawn into him. He was Spider-Man after all, he saved kids all the time, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he cared.

“A girl…in about four months,” you told him excitedly, eyes lighting up with happiness, the white eyes of the suit narrowed as he studied you, a gentle silence falling over the two of you. You cleared your throat when he didn’t say anything, “I, ugh, I should get going. Maybe I will try and see if she’ll let me get some rest. She’s calmed down a little bit…since you showed. You must hold some kind of magic over her, she probably likes your voice.”

He stood there frozen, so you offered him a small wave before walking past him in order to loop around the block back to your building. It was quiet at first and you thought you were alone when you heard rapid footsteps coming after you, “wait! Please - wait.”

“Huh?” Spider-Man was there again and this time he took your hand and pulled you into a small walkway between buildings. He was breathing nervously, “are you okay? Do you need…something?”

He paused for a moment before raising a shaking hand to the back of his neck. You watched as he pulled the mask off slowly, revealing himself to you which caused you to gasp loudly as you stared at the man in front of you, “Peter?”

“H-hi,” he said meekly as you a hundred different emotions seemed to flash across your face, “I fucked up.”

“What is going on?” there were those overwhelming emotions again, bringing up those big, fat crocodile tears that rolled down your cheeks, “you’re Spider-Man? I…all this time? Why…I don’t understand.”

“She’s mine, isn’t she?” he asked, although both of you were well aware of the answer, “the other day, in the laundry room, I-I heard it - the two heartbeats but only saw you. It makes sense now…”

“Y-you left me,” was all you managed to get out before you were sniffling heavily and wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, “I-I tried to tell you. Y-you just left and never told me why.”

“Sweetheart-”

“You broke my heart Peter,” you flinched out of his touch when he tried to reach for your hand; he hated the fact that he made you feel like that, “and you never even told me why.”

“Please, let me explain, I can-”

“No,” you shook your head fervently, as you took a step back, “no. I tried to talk to you so many times, and you just ignored me. I tried to tell you that I was pregnant but you just…shut me out. It’s too late for that, Peter.”

“Don’t walk away,” he begged, his own eyes glistening with tears, “please.”

“Give me one good reason why,” you pushed back.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t,” you held up your hand, shaking your head. Funny - you’d been wanting to hear those words for so long and now you heard them they felt wrong. The worst part of it all was that you needed him to be serious, “you don’t get to leave me for months and avoid me and just do this. That’s not fair, Peter.”

“I never meant to,” he insisted, groaning at himself, “I-I can explain, please-”

“No, Peter,” you took a step back, your own heart breaking all over again, “I’m not going to keep your daughter from you - if you want to be a part of her life. That wouldn’t be fair of me and I want her to have the opportunity to know her father and you to know your daughter. But us…we…I don’t know, Peter. I think it’s too late for that.”

“I understand why you hate me,” he insisted, trying his best to get to you to stay, “give me ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for, to explain everything.”

You worried your bottom between your teeth, wanting to walk away but finding it impossible. After a few beats of tense silence you have him a singular nod, “ten minutes. That’s it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The fact that you found yourself in Peter’s apartment again, after all these months, was oddly comforting. Everything felt and looked the same, which for some reason provided a weird sense of familiarity. You sat on the couch, grabbed the blanket off the back without thinking about it and curled up under it; the fact that you still did put a small smile on Peter's face.

“Go on then,” you raised an eyebrow, “talk.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighed lightly, “it’ll be a mess but I want to get it all out there. I-I’m Spider-Man…obviously. I have been for a long time, and it’s not something people know for obvious reasons. There’s less than a handful of people that know who I am.”

“Oh,” you met his eyes and frowned slightly. Of course your first thoughts were worry about him getting hurt. But then it suddenly clicked, “all those times you got hurt…the bruises and scratches and - wow. It makes sense now.”

“Listen, sweetheart,” he rubbed a hand over his tired face, “the woman I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with…she knew. She found out, and she…she’s dead. She’s been for a long time now. I couldn’t save her - the reason she died was because of me. I got mad, angry…bitter and rageful. For so long, I was just so sad and angry all the time. It took years before I finally got it into my head that she - Gwen - wouldn’t want me to be like that. She would want me to be happy and move on with my life. So I did; I’ll never forget her or stop loving her.”

“Peter,” your eyes were welling up with tears as you watched him pace around the living room. You could tell that this was not easy for him, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I also made myself a promise that I would never get someone involved again. No one was going to know that I was Spider-Man,” he gave you a soft, sad smile, “if no one got close to me, they couldn’t get hurt, right? That was my logic - the less people knew about me, the fewer people I knew, the better. The last thing…the last thing I expected to do was to fall in love.”

The two of you looked at each other, both of you on the verge of having tears spill your cheeks. You opened and closed your mouth a few times as he crouched down in front of you. He reached up and gently touched your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized fell. You leaned into his touch as you looked at him with the softest eyes, “I never expected to feel anything close to that. But then I met you. And I just knew you were going to be trouble from the first day I met you.”

“Good trouble?” you asked softly and he nodded.

“The best trouble,” he agreed, “and you made it so easy, and I stopped worrying about the consequences. It didn’t matter anymore…and then that night, when we had sex, I just…I realized that I did - do - love you. And I panicked, I panicked and ran away like a coward.”

“You did,” you agreed softly, “you didn’t even leave a note. I thought…I thought you regretted it and that you thought it was a mistake.”

“I can understand why you thought that,” he traced his fingers along your jaw, studying your features and refamiliarizing himself with them, “I didn’t think that at all. I just…all I could think about was you getting hurt. That someone would find out about you and they’d hurt you. And, in my very flawed logic, I thought that pushing you away was the best thing. If you hated me, you wouldn’t want to be around me, and then you’d be safe. That’s what I thought anyway.”

“I could never hate you,” you promised, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and gently taking his hand into yours, “never. Peter, you’re an idiot and a fool, but I can’t even be mad because your heart was in the right place. You didn’t go about it correctly but I get it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, “that’s all I can say and hope that you can forgive me. I’m sorry that I’ve been such a dick that you’ve had to go through this on your own.”

“I know,” you swallowed thickly, “I tried to tell you, but…yeah. Listen, I’m going to keep her and I don’t want you to feel forced into being a part of her life. But if you want to be, I would never say no. Obviously, you know, I didn’t intend on having sex once and forgetting to use birth control and getting pregnant. It’s a mess really…but I couldn’t give her up.”

“I know I’ve been a dick and you don’t have to say yes, but I’d like to be involved,” his eyes grew nervous, “you’ve still got a while of being pregnant and I’d like to help however I can. It takes two to tango after all.”

“I’d like that,” you agreed and he felt his heart flutter happily, “Peter…I’m not saying things will just go back to how they were right away, but…I love you.”

“You…what?!”

“I love you,” you repeated with a small laugh and oh. He’d missed that beautiful sound so terribly much, “I have for a long time too. And if you…if you want to, I-I’m willing to work on things and try again?”

“Really?”

“Really,” you grinned, “you know that old saying, don’t give up on something that could be great just because it’s not easy or whatever? I think that applies here. So, if you’re in, I’m in. But, Peter, my love, please just talk to me, okay? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, but we can’t do that if you shut me out.”

“I won’t,” he promised, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, “I swear it. I want this - you.”

“Good,” you leaned in and pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek, “I want you too, Spidey. We’ll figure it out.”

“We will,” he agreed softly, “do you…have any pictures of her o-or anything?”

“Of course,” you took his hand and placed it gently on the swell of your belly. You watched as his entire body relaxed and his face softened, “I’ve got plenty of sonogram pictures of the blob. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in a few days, would you like to come with me?”

“Yeah,” he leaned in, hesitantly for a moment, and you repeated the action, pressing your forehead against his, “I’d love to.”

“Peter? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Will you kiss me?” he laughed lightly as you beamed at him, “pretty please?”

“Yes,” he promised, “any time, sweetheart.”

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew!peter #andrew!peter x you #andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield x reader

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minkkumaz · 1 year ago

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DISASTEROLOGY

hyunjin dreamed of you and the things you'd do together, and not one soul knew about it. he finally draws up the courage to show you his intentions

PIERCE THE VEIL series

PAIRING hwang hyunjin x gn!reader WC 1.1k TAGS friends to lovers. lovesick hyunjin. confessions. smooching. slightly angst. fluff. suggestive implications. OMI NOTE i think out of all the members i struggle with writing hyunjin the most. i literally dwelled on this for so long but honestly turned out better than i expected. @skullverse, my ptv twin. this one is for you my schmookum wookums bc ik he's ur fav!!

a single finger traced over hyunjin’s abs, making him take a sharp breath. there were a million different kinds of fun, but that was only a figment of his mind’s eye. when he was tucked in between his sheets, a tainted dream resurfaced every night.

but this wasn’t true, no, it was completely impossible. nobody knew that he dreamt about you, the dates he’d take you on, and the way he’d hold your hand so perfectly that not one person would get a single idea besides ‘they must be together.’

this was his imagination, and when he wasn’t happily rested within it, the world felt like it was at end.

often time’s he’d wake up in a cold sweat. running a hand through his hair to detach the pieces that stuck to his forehead. his shirt clung to his body, lacking the touch of you underneath.

hyunjin sighed, looking over to his blinking alarm clock that had a small sketchbook next to it. you were meant to come over soon to spend some time with him since days like that came rarely. one quick nap later and he was soon reminded of how badly he wanted you, yet couldn’t have you.

it was everything. the way your lips parted slightly when you were confused, how you stabilize yourself by holding onto his shoulders after he teaches you choreography, or maybe when your hand brushed against his as you walked alongside him.

a low groan of annoyance fell from his lips, moving from his spot on the bed to freshen up in the bathroom. looking in the mirror was only a reminder that today was supposed to be the day he’d say something to you; imply that he wanted so much more than to just be friends.

all he saw was his fear looking back at him. out of every drawing he’s ever made, he could never sketch out a coherent idea of how he fell victim to your spell. so instead he settled with drawing you. just you.

it was now or never, right?

picking up his phone from the charger, he sent you a text to let you know that it was okay to come over. it wouldn’t take very long, as you didn’t live too far. in the meantime, he pushed down these possessive thoughts and cleaned himself up.

the clock felt like it was ticking slower than ever, but that was just a misconception when he heard the gentle knock on his door. thousands of butterflies awoke in his stomach, and he had never been more nervous than in that moment.

he walked over to unlock the door and let you inside. you were cozy in some pajamas, with a jacket hugging your body.

“hyun!” you grin, reaching your arms around him in a hug, enabling his hands to snake around your waist.

“hey, i haven’t seen your face in awhile.” he ruffled your hair gently.

“pff, only because you’re too busy with tour.” you tease him, pulling away to follow back to his bedroom.

“okay maybe i was a little busy! but i have a present for you from when i was on tour.” he tells you, grabbing the sketchbook on his night stand and handing it to you.

“for me?” you flipped it open to see an image of yourself laying prettily on the first page.

every pencil stroke dug into the paper, getting only the finest of details. you lower yourself back on his bed, still admiring the drawing.

“do you like it?” he smiles at you.

“do i like it? i love it oh my gosh!” you bounce slightly on his mattress, giddy with endorphins.

you place the book next to you on the comforter, reaching your hands out to pull him towards you in another embrace. in the midst of this all, he falls against you on the bed.

all you could do was let out quiet giggles with the boy on top of you, his head stuffed in the crook of your neck.

he lifted himself up, leaning up on one of his forearms. his free hand traveled to your face, moving small strands of hair that were blocking your vision. a pink hue played across his cheeks; this position felt too similar to the ones in his imagination.

“i don’t know how you were able to get all those details of me. you even got one of my moles!” you beam from underneath him.

“you’re just on my mind all the time, how could i not?”

“uh huh, you’re too busy being one of the most desired men on the planet.” you joke with him, failing to realize he was being serious. your expression shifts when he doesn’t laugh.

“did you know that i dream about you, y/n?” he says tenderly, grazing his fingertip over your jawline.

“wh– pardon?” you mutter.

“there’s so much i want to tell you, but i don’t want to scare you off.” he looked intimidating, towering over you. but there was so much care in his words that it confused you.

“hyunjin.. you could never scare me off. i value all of my time with you.” you respond calmly, trying to mask your flusteredness.

the line he drew down your face stopped, instead drifting down your neck and across your collarbones. a shiver travelled down your spine.

“are you sure that you mean that, y/n?” his voice was composed sweetly.

“i mean it.”

“whenever i draw you, i think back to these daydreams i have about you. about us. we did so much together, but none of it was real.” he stopped, “it made me second guess things a lot. but i figured that even if the world was ending, shouldn’t we spend the rest of our time in love?”

“i– i don’t know what to say.” you lay below him with a shocked look on your face, but you were far from scared. you were curious.

“don’t say anything. just imagine us, please?” there were undertones of distress in his words.

“i like you, so much. but i don’t want to ruin things between us. i was so terrified.” you confess, biting back a frown.

“you won’t ruin anything, my muse. you’re anything far from poisonous. things will be okay.”

“how will i know for sure?”

hyunjin looks into your glazed eyes, you were looking like you were about to cry. this only made him smile more.

he leaned down closer to you, until he was only inches away from your ear. you could feel every inhale and exhale sliding down the side of your neck.

“you’ll know if you stay. i want to create something beautiful,” he whispers, “then destroy it.”

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz ! PIERCE THE VEIL series

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dat-town · 3 months ago

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so gorgeous

Characters: Sungho & female reader

Setting & genre: college au, fluff, school mates to strangers to friends to lovers

Summary: It’s been a year since you last saw Sungho and you are floored that the cute class president from high school now looks like the main lead of a romance drama, so gorgeous.

Warnings: college party shenanigans with alcohol consumption, MC is really going through it trying to cope with how good Sungho looks (in a shirt or a gym tee or a hoodie or a crop top…) and she doesn’t care about gender-stereotypes when it comes to makeup or calling people pretty (bonus scene reference here)

Words: 3.9k

Author’s note: happy birthday to our virgo boy!! super self indulgent, no coherent plot, just excuses to call Sungho pretty (Myungjae would approve); title inspired by Taylor Swift’s Gorgeous

You have known Park Sungho since junior high. As class presidents of your respective classes, you shared quite a few responsibilities and debates in the school council. He was always polite, easy to laugh but very strict about being organized. He had that generic haircut every guy at that age had and a thick framed pair of glasses to stop him from squinting when the computer resolution was too shitty. He was smart and kind of cute but you were too busy studying, preparing for CSAT, to give him or any other boy much thought.

Maybe that’s why you do a double take when you see him at university. It has been more than a year since graduation and you haven’t seen him since. He looks familiar enough to recognize but he has also certainly shredded off the baby fat and found a style that fit him better than your navy blue, too tight school uniform. He has let his hair grow past his nape too, strands of his fringe catching on his eyelashes because he doesn’t wear his glasses. He looks good, grownup, you think faintly with your iced chai latte in hand, definitely staring. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice, too busy checking his timetable on his phone and comparing it with the numbers on the two winged doors in this building.

You had no idea he was studying at Hankuk but it certainly looks like he’s heading towards your elective Korean Media classroom. When he finally disappears behind the door, you blink yourself out of your stupor and check the time. You should go too if you don’t want to be late on the first day of the new semester but your former schoolmate’s presence somehow stops you. Should you say hi? Should you pretend like you didn’t notice him and wait for him to recognize you? Ah, since when does it matter? It’s always nice to have a familiar face in classes in case there would be group projects, you decide.

It turns out you don’t really have a choice anyway because the moment you walk in the door, Park Sungho looks up from his notebook laid out on the desk in the first row (of course) and your gazes meet. You can see the realization hit him and he eventually settles for a shy smile and a little wave before looking back down again.

“Hey, can I…?” You point at the seat next to him, uncertainty lacing your words once you walk up to his desk. It would be weird to look for another seat when both of you are obviously alone, wouldn’t it?

“Yeah, sure. Y/N, right?” Sungho’s voice is sweet, polite and you smile because he remembers you too as you’re slipping into the chair next to him.

It turns out in-between hushed words after the professor walks in that you didn’t meet before despite attending the same university because you are in two vastly different departments. Business for you, arts for him. But just as you suspected, you get paired up for a project (analyzing an older Korean movie) with your seatmates, so you exchange contacts and over the week you discuss back and forth which movie you should choose. Sungho has seen quite a lot of movies and once you agree that gruesome thrillers might not be the best for class, he showcases an unexpectedly romantic taste based on his suggestions which is nice, so your biggest problem is not a difference between your choices but rather which movie would provide enough material for your presentation in terms of themes and cinematography.

It’s nice talking with him because you have similar work ethnics and you won’t lie he’s pleasing enough to look at that you sometimes find yourself getting distracted during class. He’s also funnier than you remembered, making smart commentaries on class slides.

You don’t talk much about personal stuff though, not until you ask if he’s free on Friday to watch the movie together you eventually decided on but he has a party to attend or well, a small friendly get-together as he says. You don’t mind and tell him to have fun, not expecting him to invite you along. Apparently there will be a few new faces even for him too but one of his former classmates, Sanghyuk will be there as well. You remember him too, albeit more faintly because he was quiet and you didn’t meet him as much as Sungho. Maybe that’s what makes you say yes or maybe because Sungho gets shy when you ask him what his friends will say if you go.

So on Friday, you get ready and put a bit more effort into your outfit and makeup than you would normally do for uni classes. When you arrive to the address Sungho has sent you, you text him that you and your complimentary flavored soju pack arrived and he comes out to accompany you inside. His light gray shirt hugs his shoulders nicely and as it’s tugged into his washed out blue jeans you catch a glimpse of how slender his waist is. You tell him that he looks good as casually as you can, which he laughs off but blushes. He tells you that you’re pretty too and it’s your turn to blush then.

Inside the lively apartment Sungho introduces you to his menace of a best friend (his words), Jaehyun and his gym buddy slash hyung, Matthew who both welcome you with the brightest smiles, curious about embarrassing high school stories you can share about their friend. When you tell them you have none, Jaehyun pouts but offers you a drink anyway.

It’s easy to get lost in the chit-chat, everybody is friendly, and while there are a handful of people, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. You actually have a great conversation with a girl named Yujin who shares a class with Jaehyun, so you follow each other on Instagram before both of you are dragged into a ruthless game of Monopoly with a new rule that you can get a Get Out of Jail Free card if you drink a shot after Euijoo deemed the original rules too boring for a party.

During the game you learn that Jaehyun gets drunk easily and Sungho isn’t really competitive or he just has bad luck. When he lands on his friend’s expensive property for the second time, he just groans.

“Yeppi~,” Jaehyun coos as he holds his hands out for payment. Sungho swats his grabby hands away from his face.

“Stop, it’s embarrassing,” he complains in a voice that clearly tells that it’s not the first time he was called that nickname and he practically empties his bank to pay the needed fee.

“It’s true though,” you point out absentmindedly, riding on liquid courage from a plum soju shot and the beer you have been nursing for the better part of the night. Your contribution to the conversation successfully gains Sungho’s attention and his blown, sparkly eyes on you are a bit overwhelming. “You are pretty.”

The words are out easier than you would have expected but they are no less genuine. You have never really thought about it and calling him cute or handsome would have been equally true in a way but there’s just something about him, something delicate that makes pretty so fitting. Not in a feminizing way but like wow, when did the preppy kid from high school started looking like a character from a manhwa?

Sungho has no chance to answer, getting swept up in the game, you roll the dice and move on while Sungho goes bankrupt in the next round.

After the party slowly dies down, sometime after Intak, Jaehyun and Matthew hold a rizz competition with absolutely subjective markers, Sungho insists on walking to the metro station together. Initially he offered to walk you home but it turned out you lived in two different directions and you didn’t want him to make a detour for you.

“I’m glad you came,” he says once the silence stretches too long between you as you walk and his admission brings an easy smile onto your face.

“Me too. It was fun. Thanks for inviting me,” you beam at him and for the first time you think about kissing him. Right there, under the stars. It’s such a bold thought, you blame the alcohol with heat creeping up on your cheeks as you eventually wave Sungho goodbye.

Things change after that. You become much more aware of Sungho’s presence and every small thing about him. You become much more interested in him too. You ask about his cat, cooing at pictures he shows, and tell him about your dog too back at home with your parents. You start talking about interests, ambitions, hobbies and the more you get to know him, the more you like him. You like his enthusiasm for the things he loves, the way he cares for his friend, that he gets shy under attention, covering his face and laughs with his entire body if he finds something really funny, that he has a paper notebook for class and colored highlighters for information of different importance.

You start to get lunch after your class together or coffee sometimes when you are both on campus between classes. You think you cannot like him more so quickly but then he sometimes casually carries your bag for you and remembers your go-to coffee order and always saves a seat for you at the university canteen. You want to either scream into your pillow or yell at him to stop being so nice if he’s like that to everybody. You really can't tell with him, especially after you saw him pull a chair out for Yuna in the library the other day. It’s such a silly thing to feel jealous over when you have no right to monopolize Sungho’s kindness.

You try not to overthink it and just be a good friend and classmate. Having a bunch of assignments helps to take your mind off it at least. Plus, you should start working on your pair project for Korean Media class as well.

Eventually you manage to find a date to watch the 2003 movie, The Classic, together and take notes for your presentation. You decide to meet up at Sungho’s place on a Saturday afternoon because unlike you he doesn’t have a nosy roommate. Jiheon is a good friend and makes the best pancakes but she definitely wouldn’t let you focus on the movie.

Because that’s what you’re doing, totally. You are not distracted by Sungho’s homey look and pout. At all.

You know that you aren’t god’s strongest soldier but how can somebody look so good in a cozy hoodie, with freshly washed fluffy hair and a pair of thin framed round glasses? It’s unfair, really. You should have known that you’re screwed the moment he opened his door for you and invited you inside, offering a home slipper and drinks.

“Are you okay?” Sungho turns to you, noticing your tenseness, concern lacing his quiet words while the male lead appears on the screen.

“Um, yeah, I just zoned out,” you quickly make up an excuse, fidgeting with the hem of your tee, turning your attention back to the movie, so you wouldn’t end up being an unhelpful, freeloader group member. It doesn’t help much, not with how aware you are of Sungho’s closeness on the couch, his laundry detergent’s lovely scent surrounding you, but you try your best. Even if he notices, he doesn’t point it out, bless him.

Once the movie ends, you sit on the ground around Sungho’s laptop propped on the coffee table and write an outline for the presentation, dividing the remaining tasks between you. It’s efficient and you make good progress which should have been the whole point but you’re both stalling when you should leave. Eventually Sungho offers to make dinner and you insist on helping which turns out to be fun. You leave his apartment in a good mood with your belly full of rosé pasta and impressed by Sungho’s skills in the kitchen. What can’t he do, really?

No matter how much you gush about Sungho’s looks to Jiheon, he isn’t just a pretty boy. He’s smart and kind and so caring. Every mother’s dream, you swear. You aren’t interested in him because of how he looks but it’s almost like he’s tempting you with all the different sides of him you have seen lately. Like a week later when you literally drop your phone when you are scrolling through Instagram and open Sungho’s newest story only to see a mirror selfie from a gym. He wears a skin tight tank top, so his wide shoulders and toned arms are full on display while his slightly sweaty bangs hang into his eyes artfully. Apparently Matthew wasn’t lying when he claimed Sungho was a bit of a gym rat and heck if it doesn’t show results. How will you look him in the eye on Monday and pretend you didn’t feel a bit feral over one single blurry photo?

Still, Monday comes and you think you do a good enough job of not letting your impulsive thoughts win, at least until you are in the library finalizing the presentation for class and Sungho is pouting while concentrating. Then you can’t help anymore and blurt out something that’s been on your mind (among all the other things about Sungho that seem to live there rent free):

“Have you ever thought about trying on makeup?”

At least, you sound casual enough despite the very random question which you feel proud of but poor boy is still very much taken aback. Understandably though.

“What, hah, no?!?” He lets out an awkward little laugh, eyes wide open. His no doesn’t sound too convincing though.

“Is that a question?” You raise a brow, rolling with it, an amused smile on your lips, and Sungho clears his throat.

“No,” he says, firmer this time and while he gets a bit of color in his cheeks, you don't push. You didn’t ask to make him feel uncomfortable, you are just too curious for your own good and looking at his pouty lips or naturally feline eyes, it seemed like a viable question.

“It’s okay, I just thought it would look good on you if you tried,” you shrug, not pressing, easily steering away from the topic as you point out a type on the next slide.

Sungho keeps staring at you with an expression half-wonder, half-disbelief and you take it as a win, he can’t be always the one who keeps surprising you.

All things considered, despite your raging crush on Sungho, you think you’re doing okay as a friend too, helping him out with notes when he has to miss a class, wrapping a plaster around his finger when he gets a paper cut or just asking about his days and really listening to his answer. And since you’re friends it would have been weird not to invite him to your birthday party but you start to regret it.

There’s more cake, more alcohol and more people at your place than you have expected and you entirely blame it on Jiheon. Everybody keeps pushing drinks into your hand, wishing you happy birthday, so you’re very much tipsy by the time Sungho arrives after his evening class.

“Oh, wow,” you mumble when you see him, your brain-to-mouth filter apparently taking a nap. But can anybody blame you? Park Sungho just walked into your apartment wearing a crop top that shows off his slender waist. Not staring is already no mean feat.

“Hey. Happy birthday!” He smiles at you innocently, having no idea of the effect he has on you, when he spots you and hands over a little gift bag, all proper and nice. It’s a bottle of the expensive perfume you almost ran out of and in your drunken haze you wonder how he could know about it. You didn’t even expect him to get you anything but you’re grateful because this way you have something to put your hands on and you’re less tempted to touch him.

“Thank you~” You singsong giddily then give him a onceover again, letting out a grave sigh at the sight of the sliver of bare skin. “You’re a dangerous man, Park Sungho.”

“Uhm, me? What? How?” He asked, obviously confused, his nervous little chuckle the cutest thing you ever heard.

“You look so good. Like all the time. It’s unfair, really,” you sigh, again, pointing an accusing finger at his chest as you look up, your words slurring. “It would be easier not to like you if you were an asshole but of course, you just have to be perfect. God really has favorites, huh?”

Oh gosh, now he’s blushing. You’re going to lose your mind over the rosiness on his pristine cheeks.

“I… I don’t know what to say to that. I’m really not perfect,” Sungho shakes his head and you pout and click your tongue.

“Park Sungho.”

You say his name, not really to say anything but just to whine, to complain over his disagreement but he perks up.

“Hm?” He looks at you with his beautiful, curious cat-like eyes and he steps closer, reaching out to steady you when someone bumps into you on the way to the living room. He gets close enough so you could get a whiff of his perfume, his lips suddenly at eye level. It knocks everything else out of your brain.

“Stop being so nice to me or I might misunderstand and do something stupid,” you warn him, clinging to the last bit of your self-restraint desperately, pushing lightly at his chest before turning towards the kitchen. Jeez, you need more drinks before you kiss him in front of everyone.

The rest of the party is a blur. When you wake up, you only remember faintly that somebody tucked you in bed, brushing the hair out of your forehead with careful hands. You also remember Sungho’s closeness, his hold on your arm and the color on his cheeks. You remember being a bit shameless. You groan into your pillow.

“Your boyfriend brought you hungover soup while you were sleeping,” Jiheon says with a smirk when you finally get out of bed and visit the kitchen to eat something.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mutter but smile at the cute post-it note Sungho left on the plastic food container.

“Well, he certainly acted like one yesterday,” your roommate taunts and proceeds to tell you how Sungho made sure you drank enough water and ate some snacks between shots and he also helped clean up after sending everybody home. It’s embarrassing because you should have been acting like a proper host and he should have had fun, not the other way around.

When you open your messages, you see Sungho inquiring about your hangover. You tell him that you’re alright, say sorry for being a mess and thank him for his help as well as for the food. Sungho being the best boy he is says you have nothing to be embarrassed about and he’s happy to help. Argh, so damn nice all the time.

Next week, it’s weird during class. You’re both professional, so the presentation goes well but it’s painfully awkward afterwards. You don’t talk if it’s not for a quick apology when your hands accidentally touch. You would like nothing more than to run away and hide because you know it’s your fault but Sungho doesn’t let you.

“Actually, can we talk?” He asks, straightforward, when you make a weak excuse of meeting up with Jiheon for lunch after class. You hesitate and looking at the earnest look on his face, you decide to bite the bullet and follow Sungho out of the building to a green part of the campus, away from unwanted curious eyes.

“If it’s about how I acted at the party, I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you blurt out because you can’t take the silence anymore. Even though your memories are hazy, you remember enough to know you said things without a filter.

But Sungho blinks at your sudden sorry, visibly taken aback and confused.

“Uhm, I wasn’t uncomfortable,” he mumbles and fixes the collar of his shirt, a nervous little habit. “Sure, I was surprised but not uncomfortable. I just… I’ve never been good at being on the receiving end of things like that.”

“Oh, good thing then that I only talk my mind when I drink and not all the time when I think about it,” you let out a little laughter to lighten up the mood but Sungho’s eyes widen.

“So you… did you really mean those things?”

Oh, did he think only drunk you thought that he was perfect and good-looking? Just because you tried hard not to be shameless and tell him all that daily?

“Well, yeah, I think you are handsome all the time,” you admit because really, at this point why would you deny it? It’s not the most embarrassing thing you could have said.

“Oh, thanks,” Sungho scratches the back of his neck, pink blush spreading over his cheeks and yet there’s something shiny and hopeful in his eyes as he looks at you from under his lashes, all coy. “But I meant the part about liking me? And um, doing something stupid?”

Oh. My. God.

You’re rendered speechless because you had no idea you said all those things out loud and your surprise must be written all over your face because Sungho shifts his weight from one leg to another.

“It’s okay if it was only the alcohol talking but I kind of hope it wasn’t. Because I like you and I wouldn’t mind doing stupid things with you,” he finishes off a bit playful, a smile tugging at his lips to hide his nervousness and you are so endeared.

“Yeah?” You mumble, hopeful and so stupidly in love.

“Yeah,” Sungho confirms and giddy, you step closer to press a brief peck onto his reddened cheek.

“That’s a relief because I like you a whole lot actually,” you whisper, feeling lucky like a romance novel heroine.

BONUS

Sungho has cute, pink and lilac clips in his dark hair so his bangs wouldn’t get in the way. He has his eyes closed while you apply the last layer of eyeshadow, a sprinkle of golden. You lean back to admire your handiwork, content. You knew he would look good in makeup. He looks gorgeous barefaced and all but what can you do? You are just a girl who loves pretty things and your boyfriend is the prettiest.

“Beautiful,” you whisper against his heart-shaped plump lips before pressing your own lips against them in a short kiss, careful not to ruin your work.

You can feel Sungho’s grip tighten on your waist when you pull back, his strong arms securing you in place so you feel safe and stable in his lap, and he blinks his eyes open a little dazed.

“You taste like strawberry,” he says absentmindedly and you let out a giggle, grazing your thumb against the smeared lip gloss on his mouth that transferred from yours.

“Now we both do,” you hum and lean in to kiss him again just because you can. His smile tastes the sweetest of them all against your lips.

#boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor fluff #sungho x reader #sungho fluff #bnd x reader #bnd fluff #stories

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