#im really happy w how this turned out i had so much fun drawing their hairstyles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seiwas · 1 year ago

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oh my GOD midi 😭 your comments and reactions to this im SOBBING

where do i even begin!!! omg i'll try to respond as orderly as i can!!!

i as well!! am such a sucker for a 5+1 trope 🥺 i feel like i have to do it for each of my faves at some point & was reaaallly looking forward to doing it for col 🥹

and ur reaction photos never not gET TO ME omg they're always so funny i LOVE THEM 🥹

PRE-SCENE

col gojo is truly neck deep in this and there's no escape!!!! (not like he wants to.....) and your prediction!! omg 🤭 kinda true??? wUHWHAUHau

SCENE 1

i looove using the sky to describe gojo's eyes!!! apart from colour, just the fact that it can transition from cloudy to clear, dark to bright leaves so much creative room with it!!

AND THE FLIPPING OVER SCENE OMG writing this scene was a challenge bc i don't normally write action scenes (i focus a lot more on feelings) so figuring out the logistics of how to describe flipping someone over was A Bit. but i'm happy w how it turned out eventually 🥹

am so happy u enjoyed this lil scene!!! honestly i think it might be one of my favourites out of this bunch, just bc i put so much mental effort into it LMAO i'm so glad u caught some of my favourite bits of it too!!

SCENE 2

writing this was so fun omg i think cos writing reader kinda tipsy left a lot of room for them to be more vocal and straightforward abt their feelings 🥺 i think they've always considered gojo's feelings first when talking to him that their own feelings tend to be a bit overshadowed 🥺

and i am SOOOO happy that you felt the yearning in this scene bc i was really trying hard to drive that home 🥺 U CAN REALLY TELL I PUT MY WHOLE SOUL INTO THIS HELP 😭 i think!! bc!! the feeling is too familiar to me and i was figuring out how to convey that!!

the lil lines u noticed too!!! omg those are some of my faves as well i think... aaaah sdhfsdf this scene holds a special place in my heart fr!!

SCENE 3

this one was rlly tough to write!!! i'm not sure why... i think bc the initial outline wasn't how it turned out to be at all!! so i was struggling with the direction of it bUT am so glad u enjoyed it nonetheless 🥺

SCENE 4

pls omg he secretly loves that apron i just knOW it and omg yes megs is rlly only helping bc he loves col reader 🥺 AND THE BROWSER TAB OMG THIS GUY DOESNT GIVE A FLYING FUCK RLLY 😭 he's leaving his laptop out in the open he doesnt CAAAREEE

megs is a menace deep in his core i feel it in my BONES (you drawing them with cutesy headbands would be SOOOO cute 🥺) + your reaction miDI OMG DSBGHSD PLS ICB U HAD TO STAND AND PACE AROUND READING IT 😭 AAAAH UR FRIEND IS SO REALSDABSD it's so interesting!! seeing which parts u liked best omg sdhjbfsd this makes me so happy 🥺

SMACKA SMACKA IM LAUGHIGNSDBASD i wanted to reference stuff from the other col fics and thought this would be neat ! esp since the lingerie fic takes place along this timeframe !!! so having it featured here kind of informs the sequence of events too!! (that the lingerie fic happened before this) and you knoWWWW am not an explicit writer omg but am glad u felt the intimacy in it 🥹 i am slowly !!! warming up to more intimate scenes the more i write it 🥹

SCENE 5

FULL SMACKA SMACKA HELP 😭

and omg that is the sweetest thing u can say abt this scene midi 🥹 thank u sm and am so glad that my kinda nsfw way of writing scenes like this still hits some way 🥹 i get flustered myself when writing intimate scenes like lowkey i feel like i'd have to detach and blackout just to write it explicitly buT YEA 🥹 im so happy u like it!! esp since u do read smut on the regular omg 🥹

SCENE +1

AAAAAHH he really is 🥹 i sometimes worry that bc col isnt a super strict series, more like vignettes of their relationship, that, even if someone can pick this up without the context of the other fics, my characterisation of satoru might be a bit off?? mainly bc i think col satoru atp is a product of how he was in the earlier pieces of col 🥹 and i am soOOOO glad that u've been here to witness his growth from the start!!!

gsdgsdu i reaLLY wanted to write that breakup miscomm bc i think its so siLLy and SO FUNNY dsbfsjadf but AAH am so glad u felt the tension... i was so unsure if it was felt hELp

and to answer your prediction!! of it being a proposal!! i will say!!!! that i turned over the idea in my head quite a few times, and i won't say my current thoughts on the col couple and a marriage proposal just bc it's still open to change for me but!! this is a step towards a kind of permanence—a forever, like you said!! it's not a marriage proposal, but it is a proposal to move in together 🥹 i was just thinking of a way he could say it that felt a bit more weighted!! and less conventional?? bc i do think they're a bit unconventional (esp gojo)

UR REACTION PHOTOS ARE SO CUTE AND I AM BEYOND FLATTERED AND TOUCHED THAT U TOOK THE TIME TO WRITE THIS FR MIDI 😭 i cant even imagine the amt of time it took 😭 i appreciate this and you so much!!!!

TAGS

AAAH to hear that this is ur fave fic so far??? omg 🥹 i was expecting it wouldn't do as well bc the fics i tend to enjoy writing/like don't really end up as people's favourites too!! but i did thoroughly enjoy the pre-writing and writing process for this 🥺 my whole gojussy indeed 🥺

and i translated ur indonesian and omg that'S SO SWEET SJDFBJSD IM so glad the second read is just as good as the first 😭😭 srsly midi i am sososo flattered and this means sososo much ilysm thank u so much AS ALways

₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours.

contains: f!reader, uses pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), vague allusion to symptoms similar to synesthesia, mentions of reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, use of pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (there are lots of callbacks and references, and you’ll get better context!), used lots of songs as inspo for this (would gladly share if you’re curious!), food names are in japanese, so i’ll add explanations in the a/n at the bottom!, hope you enjoy! from conceptualisation to actual writing, this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +4 (extra). take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out.

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity.

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish.

He paces around the room.

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday.

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming.

To him, this could change everything with you.

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you.

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he woke up earlier completely fine.

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice.

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them.

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength.

So when a cluster of clouds pass by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with.

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down.

You only ever get like this sparring against him.

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you.

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to.

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you.

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out.

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute?

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred.

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips.

“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?”

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?”

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling.

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding.

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway.

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you.

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs.

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right.

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…”

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies.

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him.

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze.

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it.

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric.

You reach for him.

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly.

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear.

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do.

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds.

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally.

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too.

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief.

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely.

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it.

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room.

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all.

“Just like old times,” he nudges you.

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out.

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it.

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it.

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking.

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on.

It was never supposed to be important to him.

Until you.

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach.

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random.

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference.

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him.

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you.

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it.

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight.

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon.

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty.

He misses you.

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.”

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub.

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe.

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels.

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left.

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you.

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even.

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes.

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates.

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to.

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you).

1:20 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute.

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling.

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear.

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot.

“‘Nside.” you slur.

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already.

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen.

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.”

Another ache.

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit.

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is.

“Just miss you.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable.

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.”

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one.

“I can go there now, if you want.” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment.

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility.

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space.

But right now, it feels so empty.

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches.

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint.

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?”

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover.

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over.

You giggle again.

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’”

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him).

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite?

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight.

“Sweet-talker.”

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids.

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing.

“I do,” you whisper, admittance ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.”

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips.

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious.

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening).

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru.” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool.

“Listening.”

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully.

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way.

How can you even think that?

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him.

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear.

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.”

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating.

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?”

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids.

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool.

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s ‘my dog ate my homework’s. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday gift trip to Disneyland on a weekday.

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try).

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home.

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now.

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now.” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants.

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence.

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you.

“Satoru,” you call him softly.

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is.

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling.

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you.

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable.

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too.

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows.

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time).

“I love you.” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone.

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to.

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version.

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?”

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology.

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night.

“You’ll get a stomach ache.” you whisper, with emphasis.

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out.

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.”

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you.

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this.

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you.

Or not.

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened.

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else.

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything).

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed.

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it.

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes.

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain).

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“That’s kind of the point, baby.” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.”

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines.

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being.

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable.

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out your bedroom, checking in.

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him.

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him.

The bed as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him.

Who is he to say no?

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down.

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside.

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist.

“Have you eaten?”

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.”

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,”

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.”

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising.

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed.

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer.

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin.

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.”

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases tickle your eyes.

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight.

“You’re too good to me.”

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it.

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.”

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami.

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you.

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach.

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you.

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.”

You shoot him a look, then pout.

“Satoru.”

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already).

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—”

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.”

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek.

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone.

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely.

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you.

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do.

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?”

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little.

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go.

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.”

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter.

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—”

He gets kicked in the thigh.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way.

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way).

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking.

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all.

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps.

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin.

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one.

He has to get this right.

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other.

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes.

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to.

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt.

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later.

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter.

“Megumi!”

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?”

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.”

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove.

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!”

Megumi stares.

“Anniversaries are emergencies.” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.”

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be.

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.”

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears.

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you.

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup.

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that).

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all.

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove.

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers.

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs.

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?”

It’s a simple question. Innocent.

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—-how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind.

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.”

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it.

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him.

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating.

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds.

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?”

“Or bland.” Megumi adds, smacking his lips.

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan.

“No, it’s okay.”

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.”

“I don’t.” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up.

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest cook continues: he heats up the skillet to cook the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it.

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway.

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after.

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay.

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—-the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside.

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction.

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking.

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it.

“They don’t go together.” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks.

All his hard work? Shattered.

Gojo is dumbfounded.

It’s too late to change everything now.

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout?

“But they’re not bad.” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed because there were no more aprons.

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready.

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely.

All he told you was to wear something nice.

And, by god you did.

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now.

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing.

He reaches for you.

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight.

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?”

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.”

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest.

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss.

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then.” he chuckles, hands sliding lower to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk.

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating.

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating.

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly?

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him?

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing.

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying.

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently.

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously.

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.”

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine.” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him.

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—-has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes.

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t.

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru.” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates.

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you.

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space.

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly.

He holds your gaze.

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.”

You say it again—how you call him that so casually.

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life?

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress.

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves.

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier.

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say.

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingled with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks.

You nip on his upper lip, playful but lightly, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck.

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat.

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie.

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—-blood rushing, ears ringing.

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt.

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.”

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription.

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately.

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day.

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep.

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home.

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing.

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom.

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away).

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—-how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink.

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you.

As long as it’s with you.

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel.

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.”

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are.

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else.

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now.

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.”

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling.

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom.

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like you’re right there, everywhere he goes).

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry.

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and found a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his.

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white is too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm.

And thing is, he never asked you to do any of this.

You just… did.

Because that’s you.

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances.

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully.

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed.

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time.

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry, lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm.

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory.

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile you always give him, the hands that always reach for him, first thing.

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it.

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying.

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer.

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities.

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you.

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick.

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes.

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it.

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale.

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves.

If you were here—-

—-the door opens, and you step into the room.

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say.

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17.

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?”

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat.

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter.

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.”

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch.

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say.

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you.

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too.

He practiced this, damn it.

Why can’t he remember a single thing?

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you.

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying,

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.”

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?”

His heart is pounding.

“I stay over at yours too much.”

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add.

“I think we need more space.”

Your hand on his knee slides off as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now.

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—”

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?”

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach.

It’s not like that at all.

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now.

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands.

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.”

He blinks.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you.

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it.

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.”

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper.

“You ran yourself dry because of me.”

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty.

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility.

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.”

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more.

Do you still think he wants to do this without you?

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” he tells you firmly, surely.

You blink.

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him.

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?”

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…”

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning.

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts.

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means.

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—”

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely.

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#midi.🥔#mididoodles #this was SOOOOOOOOOO nice of you midi i am sawbing #matcha latte #shotorus.feedback #thank u SO MUCH #srb

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boypussydilf · 2 years ago

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i was not kidding. after hours of work over days i have made ayame mikotoba REAL!!!!!! and thusly joined the ranks of dgs fans who go “…so does this count as an OC or what.” also bonus susato who turned out really well. the joke in the second image i stole from @vacuumtan

bonus & design notes under the cut <3

thats the right way to introduce people to a character you made yourself and barely know anything about right? OK now ill ramble about her design a bit

i decided very early on i wanted her main color to be purple to go w susatos being pink and yuujins being blue but everything else was up in the air until i came up with the impressionist painting-style kimono design… and then i made the maple leaf design and realized i liked it way better. but my first design deserves some love too

the sleeves of that first design are supposed to look like stars. in both my outfit designs for her she has kind of a nature theme going on. i guess that works!

i went looking in susato’s concept art for inspiration right away and some of the poses i drew were referenced from concept susatos. her hair specifically is based on stuff from concept designs, the way it looks from the front is taken pretty much directly from one. the ponytail also was inspired by some concept art

speaking of which i was never able to decide between the ponytail and the bun or if i should give her another hairstyle completely… when i was coming up with them i worried the ponytail would make her look too young and the bun would make her look too serious, but i think i like them both

oh yeah i gave her a hairclip bc i thought she should have the mikotoba family crest on her somewhere and also bc im addicted to giving characters fun little accessories, but then i only drew it once lol

designing her face i wanted her eyes to invoke That Kind Look Susato Gives as, like, a perpetual state. i don’t think they really turned out like THAT, but i’m really happy with how the design for her face turned out still. if only i had been able to draw it again after this one time.

OH YES! i forgot to actually talk about Her.

We know… literally nothing about her in canon, so I have to build her from the ground up completely, but there are two places ive looked for personality ideas: the other mikotobas, and mary morstan. because. sure, there’s no reason to make an equivalency between ayame & the wife of john watson from ACD canon. but there’s also no reason Not to? and the kickstart is helpful. not that we really know a ton about mary, either, i think.

but we do know some! she’s described as “sweet and amiable”, “refined and sensitive”, and as the sort of person other people turn to when dealing with Big Painful Emotions. this isn’t much but applying these ideas to ayame makes her slot in nicely with the other mikotobas. family made entirely of beacons of kindness.

being an ace attorney character she will, of course, also be distinctly Weird. i’m just. still figuring out what kind of weird, exactly.

i think that covers everything??? if you read this far thank you i love you

#i worked so hard on this. i should probably not be posting it at ass o’clock in the dead of night. please appreciate it #the great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #ayame mikotoba #i must be one of the first people to ever use that tag. if not the first i dont know #i might as well use it very liberally as an organizational tag #though im not sure ill be posting about her THAT much #basilposting #basil’s museum #i guess this can go in my oc tag ??? that ive only used once ??#funny little guys tag #< I THINK THAT WAS IT LOL

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hansolmates · 4 years ago

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here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As if you care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you two even meet?”

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

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

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

“That’s not what I meant.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t ask questions.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was the walk over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It… was mildly cute.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what’s the plan?”

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

“And why is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

“I do like Valorant.”

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.”

“He’s ripped as hell.”

“I am ripped as hell.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay yes one bad example—”

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

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

“See? It’s a mutual decision.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” you answer reluctantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only if you want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

“But, Namjoon got us a table—”

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pray tell.”

“She’s jealous of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly.

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

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

“We’re in Vegas, baby!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.”

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But this is different!”

“But Doyeon’s family!”

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I will.”

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

“Excuse me—”

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

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

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

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.”

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

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

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

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

“Is it something urgent?”

“Well, no but—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, “Looked around.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna come!”

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then more kisses?”

“Then more kisses.”

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

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

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

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

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

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college…

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious

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

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

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

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

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

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

You: lool, why do u look constipated

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because it’s tradition!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook loves your family.

(Except Doyeon.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Jungkookie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.”

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips.

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline.

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.”

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair.

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?”

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs.

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.”

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now.

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.”

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.”

#jungkook x reader #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst

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sandrockbandit · 3 years ago

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it's 1am time for assorted logan thoughts. spoilers

• tbh the reveal of his Backstory startled me all sorts because i had taken him to be a more deliberate agent of chaos than he ended up being. i Really was here for Evil Cowboy...

• ... but what you end up getting is just kinda sad. not even exclusively tragic? it almost felt pitiful in a way. this character exists as he does because of a dumb rash series of well-intentioned decisions. there was no rhyme or reason to it and no one wanted it, no one is happy with the way things turned out, including him. i really want him to get therapy, man. im fond of him in an irate kinda way

• i think exploring his character re: culpability would be a really fun thing to write. not necessarily redemption - that doesn't quite suit him i think. that may be my personal fatigue with Redemption as a popular concept though it might actually suit him very well

• but bc by all accounts, one of the people left most hurt by what he did is logan himself. howlett was well-respected and liked, but many spoke of him in terms of how mercenary he was; no one was as dependent on howlett or loved him as much as his son. he wounded himself a lot for his fear and desperation, both with the loss of his father and the loss of his place in sandrock

• bc logan is irrationally sentimental! he throws it all away to get to his dad and pins up a child's drawing close to the bed like it means something and puts his all into solving his people's problems and

• .......... hm. prequel anakin...

• he doesn't strike me as. particularly experienced. i don't think he's fully mastered any of his skills quite yet but he's getting there. he really Feels like a young man who's lost his way and is still knocked off-kilter and suppressing grief and who is also really defensive about it

• but he's acting the part as best he can. boy is playing the part of purposeful rogue like his life depends on it

• logan pre-tragedy is described w words like "polite," "kind of ornery," "goodie two-shoes" - honest if a little aloof and an all-around decent man. probably a little harder to see that w the crimes and all but, like, he's still got basic manners. that "good day" before bailing was a little iconic imho

• i make the jokes abt it but definitely he was good enough at what he does to warrant justice offering him the deputy hat! that doesn't mean much though bc justice also gives the player honorary deputy status for, like, no reason. and he promoted a cat.

• i do imagine that logan has a keen eye for logistics and stealth and casing areas. boy keeps slipping into town and causing a ruckus and leaving immediately. he Chooses to be loud but the fact that he knows how to avoid traffic-heavy routes on town speaks to a cleverness on this front. he's well aware of how to be lowkey i just think he does not want to

• also the fact that there were a ton of books in his room - far more than i would imagine being strictly medical texts - speak to him being an avid writer or reader. is the boy an arthur morgan chronicling type or an adventure story aficionado? who knows

• but he is sure willing to take a crack at Anything that matters to him with everything he's got, including medicine

• circling back to Culpability it's so clear that he can't handle shouldering all the blame and he's still trying to take it out on the town like. the thought process. he must be a heck of an unreliable narrator. many thoughts. many thoughts ,

• also only vaguely related but when qi was out here diagnosing logan despite not being That Kind of Doctor in true tiktok fashion that was really funny. what gives qi

• if i ever were to get to the point where i can make an animatic i would want to do one with logan to a stanza or two of The Pantheon (Ain't Gonna Catch You) from bastion. they ain't gonna hear you, son, don't care 'bout what you done indeed. okay bye

#this will make no sense in the morning lol #mtas #mtas logan #mtas spoilers #this whole thing is me trying to express my fascination with this character and failing pfft #yes i care about him yes i think hes a loser yes i feel for him yes i want him rehabilitated yes i would kiss him #and do i also hope he does something completely bananahammocks? also yeah #i continue to be impressed by how subtle i am abt liking logan though good on me

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tepperz · 1 year ago

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thank you so much for not getting intimidated by the length of these replies twt

I'm just having a lot of fun talking about art with you. :3 I was super worried that I overdid it last reply but im relieved that that's not the case.

Yessss Pixiv is a goldmine of gorgeous art! If I stumble upon an amazing artist on there I can’t stop until I devour their whole catalog! I didn’t know there were such perks/dangers to being subscribed hmmmm 8)c

it really is just crazy for inspiration. Everyone is so talented. Pixiv has this thing where if you bookmark one piece you like while you're subscribed, it recommends 10 more similar pieces for you to check out. So It gets me in lots of trouble because I keep trying to like the recommended pieces, but as soon as I like them it recommends 10 more and keeps going!!!I can never catch up!!!!! It's stupid and funny how actually distressing it is!!!!! Haha but I've gotten a lot of great inspiration that way.

It’s wild to consider how much affects a finished artwork.

Thats true.... if you consider it like that, it's like we're all sharing our lives with each other when we cross-reference. :)

No way, I can’t say it’s weird at all to go through mangas~~ Whole comics must be even harder to make because not only does every panel have to do the job of conveying its own idea but then they have to fit into the composition of the whole page too! It’s a lot to balance all at once! The use of black, white, and greyscale is also a totally different skill from color pieces so there’s a lot that can be learned from mangaka.

Yeah. As someone who wants to be a comic artist as well as illustrator, I feel like it's important to know my references. I feel like I learned a lot by my experience. I listed the pros and cons and good points of the art by series. I almost thought about making youtube videos or something on my findings but script writing is not my forte lmao.

I definitely refer to Sugisaki’s all the time~ I absolutely adore her style, clothes, lines, all of it but also her paneling is out of this world; every page feels like a carefully laid out work of art!

I feel that so hard. Ive also done that so many times. I definitely have my bitter disillusions with sugisaki nowadays, but I can't deny how much she directly inspired my artistic journey. I've thought many times about how each panel feels like a finished piece all on its own, and how I wished I could do that. Getting swept up in her manga feels like a delicious spring breeze where anything can happen. I remember when I did her pro-con list for dnangel, there were sooo many pros that it went off the page. Some of the cons were funny though. She never shows feet and avoids drawing shoes as much as possible. lmao.

Sorry about your art block D: That ain’t a fun place to be in. I hope you’ll be able to get out of it soon!

Thank you. yeah, me too.

And that pic (and 22k others) will be waiting for you~

H-hey!!

Yooo I’m feeling the creepy vibes! That’s the kind of sight that would make me freeze on the spot. A still silhouette with shiny eyes turned my way. @@ I like the effect of the rim light a lot, especilaly how the thickest part is at the top, so even when I look at the rest of the pic, my eyes are still guided back along the lines to that strongest contrast. Your second piece had a lot of references in comparison! :o The goblin quilt worked out though LOL. I see the influence of the low saturation piece the strongest (Can’t stop staring at his gloves. The lighting and colors on them are so cool!!) There’s more of you finding unique value even in chibis for a rendered illustration! Thanks for showing both of these! ^^

>w<! Thank you so much for the kind analysis. You even made me look harder at my old pieces and appreciate them! I wasn't too happy with how either of them came out, but it warms my heart to see that there are actually good features on them. Either way, I'm happy I shared if just because I think sharing processes is super interesting!

I thought the solid green + lighter orange outlines on the bushes was a cool effect so I tried the same here. Similar color palette too~

I love seeing your process at the bottom with the reference picture. I can definitely see the inspiration. The greens and that strong wind are very prevalent. It's so interesting how the mood in both pieces are different but complimentary. Is it hard getting the shades of colors you want with watercolors? I find it's hard to get a consistent color because I never mix enough of the color I want. Do you have that problem, or do you find ways around it?

Gaah I do have an old pinterest account I should make it useful orz With all the fashion on that site it WOULD be perfect for outfits…! Thank you so much for the suggestion and link!! I’m already seeing some really cool stuff in that board… (So nice of them to put the… genre? style!! below it because I’m learning some neat ones lol)

no prob ^^ Yeah I like using pintrest cause I can make different boards for my different story ideas/characters, and it will recommend me similar stuff. Makes my brain not have to do too much thinkie.

Saito is so wise <3 His correction videos teach me so much.

Yeah! he's good! I really appreciate his videos. I try to pace them out because I feel like there's SOOOO much knowledge chock full in each video that my brain is overheated after watching just one or two! He comes across as such a dedicated teacher. It's nice to see tips straight from a japanese anime artist in the industry. It's honestly rare content. Apparently he started out drawing yugioh monster cards, too! What a legend.

(Who says “collecting materials is troublesome” to him? NO collecting materials is TOO fun!! xD That’s how we end up with thousands!!)

EXACTLY!! I want to know who said that too. Maybe we can make them sort my 20,000+ files for me, as punishment. then they'll have a taste of real troublesome hell xD

Thank you again, Tepperz!! I skimmed through the tutorials you sent and I know they’re going to help a lot. The klecon one is so thorough!! (And the lesson on digital color mixing much needed @@ Who knew yellow and purple did that…)

Not a problem at all. I love sharing resources. I know you didn't really ask for color theory but I had to throw that one in because it's my favorite tutorial. It's so, so thorough, like you said. I'm glad I saved it too cause apparently the artist who made that tutorial isn't a very good person(!?) and has since taken down their tutorial after a bunch of name changes, but that doesn't mean we can't learn from them. Another hidden gem in that folder is a photoshop file of Kwacy's work. I feel like I learned a lot because it's so interesting seeing how a professional layers their art and effects. Really breaking it down, you know? I have no idea if it'll help you as much, but I haven't seen many other tutorial psd files like that and I think it's really somethin'.

I don’t have much on gestures after all, dang! Just a bit? >< And here’s the contents of my composition/background tutorial folder! (And if you’re okay with this kind of sharing, I included the book Framed Ink, which has been changing my world lately for odd perspectives and using backgrounds to shape the composition. If not please ignore that! ^^;) DRIVE

YOOOO thank you for all the tutorials! There's a lot of good info here!! I'm definitely gonna hoard these resources once my internet stops acting goofy. And sick! I've been meaning to read framed ink, so thank you! Yeah, I'm not a stickler for rules. Some of the resources I sent you were also behind a few paywalls. But artist friends should help each other and share resources. I believe in that. I like the youtube videos you sent too. Im actually excited to draw along while the videos play. What books do you have of his?

Hey, having them on the canvas means they’re all exactly where you need them~ So many times I accidentally close out of a picture and have to open up the folders and find it again~

god... can you imagine me doing that, my folders being what they are? If something's lost, it's LOST, bro..... lmao

Yeah!! I love the versatility of gouache! Transparent or opaque when you need it– I say that but omg does it take a while for me to get used to that opacity.

Oh for sure, i bet going from watercolor to gouache is a huge whiplash. The opaqueness is really what separates it. That makes a lot of sense.

How are you liking yours btw??

Yanno, I've only played with mine a couple of times, but it's really intimidating. They're so thick that it's hard to paint with them unless you water them down, but if you water them down then they lose that opacity and the texture becomes unstable. The blue here is gouache, so you can see what I mean. I mean, it's fine, but it's not exactly the smooth one color matte I was looking for.

I have a hard time figuring out how to use them properly. Is it better to water the whole container slightly before use? I just dont know. I can say though that as far as using them for watercolors though, they're interesting. You can get a really wide array of colors off a single dip of gouache. Ive only tried the one color so far though.

[Personal time~ My grandma taught me how to use oils when she started going blind and gave me her paints. I painted one canvas for a friend and decided I really really preferred watercolor haha. But I’m glad for the experience! Still can’t identify oils by sight to save my life xD]

You grandma taught you? That's so sweet and wholesome. What a great bonding experience. My grandma was really artistic too. I don't blame you for not liking oils as much though, they really are tough. Not to mention they take a looooong time to dry. I'm not really that patient. I did a cute oil a while ago of kirby that's still drying, but the whole time I couldn't help but feel digital would be way easier xD I feel like I also enjoy watercolors a lot more. What brand do you use? I got these nice winsdor and newtons but for some reason I still gravitate to those basic oval ones. I've never tried the ones in a tube though. They're expensive so I've never committed :')

It’s my pleasure! Your responses are interesting and your links are definitely helpful! ^o^

I feel the same way about you!! :D

How did you learn to draw so well? Like was it from classes or a book on fundamentals or just trial and error?

//// thanks for the kind question!

I guarantee you I would have improved faster if I’d taken a class, but I hope some of the materials I’ve used over the years can be of use to you too:

Andrew Loomis’ books - I never made it past the first chapters, but those had some great advice.

Youtube - Proko’s bean method. Figure drawing references will greatly improve anatomy and “drawing what you see”. It’s boring imo, so doing just 5-10 minutes a day can keep one from burning out while still seeing improvement. Speed painting videos are a nice way to relax and study.

Will Terrell’s People Drawing series - He’s a humble man with personal advice for artists. I watch his videos when I feel discouraged or lost.

Art, art, art - Whenever I see an artwork that I like, I figure out exactly what pleases me: line thickness, nose shape, finger positions, composition, the way the hair bends in the wind, etc. Then I try to incorporate that specific characteristic into my own art.

I have growing folders of (I’m a bit embarrassed) almost 8,000 pictures, organized by characteristics, for the sole purpose of studying their prettiness. Sometimes we don’t need a tutorial to spell everything out, just an example can help us envision our own works’ potential. Also, staring at pictures is a relaxing way to study too!

And of course, trial and error~ I don’t post my sad, failed paintings or all the weird sketches I make, but they exist and teach a lot!

#art talk #:)

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hyuckssunchip · 4 years ago

Text

Reputation

Pairings: Johnny x Reader, ft. nct 127

Words: 4.3K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, some fluff

Request: Angst 42 and 48 ➵ “You promised.” “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.” / @jungcherie

(im so sorry i took so long.... i turned a drabble into a story... oops)

Johnny Suh had a reputation that was unmatched.

There was no other way to put it.

And a reputation like his left trails of tears.

A pool of tears that you were currently drowning in.

It was obvious Johnny was dangerous, perhaps that’s why you were drawn to him. While every single one of your instincts had you fighting and rejecting him, you were desperate for him all the more.

It was March 13th that you lost your first will.

“Y/N, right?”

You turned around to find a familiar face towering over you.

“Yeah.”

It was that stupid smile that had you.

“Hey, we have have Communications together. I was wondering if you wanted to do that project together?” He scratched the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. “I just know that you’re insanely smart so... Sorry, wait, that sounds like I’m just talking to you for your grades.”

You giggled nervously, a habit that you did when you were uncomfortable.

“Look, I just... do you? You know, wanna do the project together? I mean, I’m a pretty smooth talker so I can do the presentation. I get good grades too...”

Stupid smile.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. There’s actually a little party at my frat tonight, you maybe wanna come? Get to know each other before we drown in work?”

Fucking stupid smile.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” You blushed at the idea, cursing at yourself for being so obvious.

Parties weren’t really your thing.

But at the time Johnny Suh was.

Your ears were pounding because of the insanely loud level the music was at. You were actually shocked that no one had called the cops with a noise complaint, but the fact that they were on frat row made more sense.

“Y/N. You made it.” A arm was flung over your shoulder and, thankfully the lights were both dim and flashing enough that he couldn’t see the way that you blushed at the action.

“Yeah. Is it always this loud?” You asked, still not so comfortable with the atmosphere.

“What?” Johnny yelled, pointing at his ear, indicating that he couldn’t hear you. Of course he fucking couldn’t. Then he jerked his thumb to the right, nodding at the backyard, which was seemingly empty.

With his hand placed on your back, he guided you outside, your head already thanking him from the escape of noise pollution. It was far better outside of the house.

The two of you collapsed onto the swinging chair, sighing as you cleared your head.

“So parties aren’t really your thing?” Johnny leaned closer, noting the look of relief that you had donned the moment you exited.

“It’s not that I hate them... I’m just not a fan. I mean a bunch of sweaty, horny drunk people grinding on each other. I just like smaller things.” You explained, staring up at the dark sky, shivering slightly at the cool breeze.

“You didn’t have to come.” Johnny suddenly looked guilty, “I didn’t mean to force you into coming, I just... thought I’d invite you.”

You quickly backtracked, “No, you didn’t force me. If I didn’t want to come, I wouldn’t have.” You ignored the voice in the back of your head that begged to differ.

“Right.” He grinned, as if he could read your mind. “You’re not great at lying, but I’m gonna pretend that I believe you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Were you playing beer pong?” You asked suddenly, causing him to look at you in confusion.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

You laughed, looking away from him, “You have quite the reputation Mr. Suh, even someone like me knows the extent of your skills.”

Johnny smirked, liking how easy you were making it for him. “Is that so? Is that the only skill of mine you’ve heard about?”

You raised your eyebrows, hating the turn that your mind took. “W-what kind of other skills did you have in mind?” You stuttered out.

Suddenly it felt like you were caged in, his arms tense around your frame, causing you to lean back against the back of the swing.

“Tell me what you’ve heard.”

You averted your eyes, unable to take his heavy gaze. His eyes had turned dark, full of lust, and you tried desperately to forget the effect they were having on you.

As if sensing how uncomfortable you were getting, he backed off, dusting off some invisible dirt on his shoulder. He cocked his head to the side with a sly smile, happy with a new challenge.

Things weren’t going to be as easy as he thought they were, but that’s what made it fun.

“No that’s so stupid. Are you kidding me? Robin could absolutely never beat Batman. Is that even a question?” Your hands were waving animately, far too much for an argument about fictional superheroes.

“Sure. I’m just saying that Robin could totally catch him off guard, like out of the blue, you know.” Johnny slurped on his drink shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t care.

“No. Absolutely not. First of all Robin doesn’t have the guts to do something like that and second of all Robin doesn’t have any powers. How on Earth would he beat him?”

“Umm... Batman doesn’t have powers either.” He made a duh face at you, which you chose to ignore.

“Yeah, well he’s got money, and that’s basically a super power.”

“Let’s be real, Batman isn’t even really a real superhero. He’s just a hero. Period.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at the argument. “That’s a whole different story.”

“I’m just saying.” He sang back teasingly.

“And I’m just saying that this is stupid. How did we even get here?” You laughed, trying to remember how this conversation came about.

“Uh, you made the bold choice of saying that the Batman vs. Superman movie was shit. Very controversial by the way.” He frowned at the memory.

You let your bag fall heavily on the library table, earning you a few glares as studying students dug into their books.

You sent an apologetic look before sliding into your seat. “Let’s just get this presentation done. Our presentation date is the 23rd and I don’t even have a clue of what to write it on.”

“Well the topic is influencers that change your life. Do you have anyone in mind?”He asked, flipping through his notebook, which didn’t really have anything but drawings in them.

“Not really, is there anyone for you? I mean influencer is kind of vague isn’t it? We could pick like an athlete too, or a musician. Those are technically influencers right?”

He nodded, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah. Influencers don’t even have to be famous do they? Like they can just be someone in your life that made a huge impact on you. Like your parents or something.”

“Yeah, I guess. But that’s kind of hard when you’re working in groups. Like you’re not gonna want to talk about my grandma, you know. Like you don’t even know her. It’s probably just easier to use a famous icon.”

“Okay, so who?” He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it would give him inspiration.

“Hmmm... maybe we could do someone like Michael Jackson. Like he may not have affected us personally, but he affected the way that the music and performance was seen afterwards. That’s influential and life changing right?”

“I guess.” He cocked his head, “We could at least start with brainstorming ideas for him and then if we feel like it’s not working we can change it.”

“Cool. I guess we can start with that then.”

And you did. You spent every afternoon for the next week and half with each other in the library, and a little more outside of it.

“That one’s the big dipper.”

You grinned following his finger, but had more difficulty finding exactly what he saw.

“How do you know it’s not the little dipper?” You teased, squinting in to the dark, the scattered stars really just looking like paint splatters to you.

“Because that’s the little dipper.” He laughed, moving his index finger slightly to the right.

“Oh.”

Johnny leaned back into your space, smiling at you look of concentration quickly falling as you gave up.

“Where’s the North Star?” You asked turning to face him, but sucking in a harsh breath when you found your nose just centimeters from his.

Johnny lowered his voice, whispering and pointing without even turning away, “Right there, it’s the tail of the little dipper.”

It took more effort than you thought to pull away, eyes searching for it.

He leaned back, resting his body weight on his hands. “See it? It’s the brightest one.”

“No,” You pouted scooting forward, as if that would help you see it. “Oh, wait! I see it!”

Johnny couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he saw your face light up.

“Wow.” Suddenly your tone turned more mellow, still in awe. “I’ve always wanted to find the North Star.”

Johnny’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Why?”

“Well you know. They say if you get lost, just follow the North Star home.” You turned to face him, eyes sparkling with excitement, but the sound of your voice had gone quiet, almost somber. The smile on your face faded into a sad smile as you all but whispered your next words. “Now I can go home.”

Johnny frowned next to you, not liking the sudden turn in mood. He sat up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you against his chest.

“What makes you think that you’re not home right now?” He mumbled on the top of your head, staring straight out in the dark.

“I don’t know. I can just feel it, you know? Like I’m just constantly uneasy.” You sighed, digging your face into his jacket. “I think I’ll be able to tell when I get there.”

There was something in Johnny’s chest that suddenly ached, and he felt a sharp drop in his stomach at the thought.

“Maybe you’ll only ever know once you’ve left home.” He muttered, “Then you’ll know that this is actually what it feels like, and it’s so much worse when you leave.”

You stilled against him for a moment before relaxing, mulling over the thought. “That’s so sad though. Why do we only know we’re happy once we’re sad?”

Johnny shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Why does God make us hurt to only to help us heal?”

The sound of the wind passing through trees was the only thing that comforted you at the thought.

“I don’t want to have to heal, I don’t want to hurt in the first place.” You whisper out, feeling the most vulnerable you had in a long time.

“I’ll never hurt you.” He rubbed at your arms soothingly, feeling a lump in the back of his throat, but he pushed it away not liking the unfamiliar feeling.

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

You let your eyes fall, enjoying just the silence and comfort of each other’s arms and minds.

You woke up wrapped in Johnny’s arms, although it was an unfamiliar feeling you welcomed it with open arms.

Lost in your thoughts for the time being you were suddenly reminded of the conversation you had a couple nights ago.

Was this home?

You had never felt so safe before and it scared you. But you weren’t one to run.

“Good morning.” Johnny mumbled out beside you, his morning voice raspy to the ear.

“Morning.” You whispered back, letting his arm flop over your waist.

“Do you like pancakes?” He asked, letting his eyes fall close again.

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah. Taeyong makes some bomb ass pancakes.”

You giggled, “Yeah, I like pancakes. Especially bomb ass pancakes.”

But he didn’t move and it was only after you tapped him questioningly did he speak up. “Do you think he’ll bring them up if I yell loud enough?”

You smacked his chest. “Stop it. We should go down.”

“In a bit.” He answered, nose buried deep in the crevice of your neck.

A few minutes later you heard the clinking of kitchen tools from downstairs and you stirred. “Johnny?”

“Hmmm...”

“Johnny. Let’s go.”

“Five more minutes.” He mumbled, but he let you out of his grasp anyways.

“Fine. I’ll meet you downstairs.” You paused as you passed by the mirror, eyes tracing over the marks on your neck that Johnny had left the night before. You blushed, realizing that you didn’t have anything to cover it up with, but quickly moved on, attempting to find your shorts that were discarded in the frenzy of last night.

“Check under the desk.” Johnny said, sitting up and watching you.

Sure enough that’s where they were, although you weren’t really sure how they managed to get there.

You shrugged on the last of your clothes, turning to find Johnny doing the same. It took him less than three steps to get to you, landing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“Let’s go.”

Taeyong was undoubtedly the closest of Johnny’s frat brothers to you. He had this really calming and sweet aura about him that just made you want to be friends.

“Good morning Y/N. Blueberry or chocolate?” He asked grinning as he took his eyes off the pan for a second.

“Blueberry please.” You slid onto the bar across from him. “Do you need any help?”

Johnny rubbed your lower back comfortingly, “No, you don’t want to get in his way. That’s when he loses his temper.” He whispered the last bit to you, but Taeyong obviously heard it, sending a sharp glare at him.

“Only when there are incompetent people in my kitchen.” Taeyong muttered back.

Johnny ignored the comment, shaking his head at you, “I’ll have chocolate.”

“You’ll get what you get.” Taeyong piped at him, still not over Johnny’s teasing, who grinned in response.

Both of them knew that Johnny was getting chocolate, Taeyong was really bad at being mean.

“Where’s the others?” Johnny asked, sipping on a cup of coffee.

“At school, as they should be because they are college students.” Taeyong answered, sliding a plate towards you. “Enjoy.”

You thanked him and bit into a piece, almost moaning at the taste. “Damn, Johnny told me they were good but I didn’t think it would be this good.”

Johnny swiped a piece from your plate. “What are you talking about? I told you he made bomb ass pancakes.”

Taeyong slid a plate towards Johnny.

His grin widened. “Thank you. You’re my favorite Taeyong ever.”

“I’m the only Taeyong you know.” He put his hands on his hips. “I should be the favorite.”

Johnny sent a wink in his direction before stabbing a piece.

“So I was thinking, that little bakery next to the park, do you wanna go? They just opened and I’ve been dying to try it.” Johnny asked around a mouthful of pancake.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds good.” You felt your stomach flutter, you were sure whether it was the pancakes or Johnny, but you had a pretty good guess.

“Sweet, we can swing by your place first if you want to get a change of clothes or something.”

You nodded, “Yeah, sounds good.”

“I’m glad that sounds good.” He teased you with a smile.

“Sorry, but it just sounds good. What else do you want me to say?” You pushed back, opting to add another piece into your mouth.

“I don’t know, maybe-”

“Okay, sorry to interrupt your little flirt fest, but can you start that after I leave?” Taeyong asked, making a few pancakes for himself.

“Sorry.” You giggled, sending him a genuine apologetic look.

“I’m not sorry.” Johnny said, shrugging.

You smacked him lightly.

“I’ll take away pancake privileges for a month.” Taeyong quipped, focusing on flipping the pancake.

“Sorry.” Johnny mumbled out under his breath, not one to admit defeat easily.

You laughed at the sight of a pouty Johnny, enjoying the view for the time being.

Waiting for Johnny had become a routine, but honestly you didn’t really mind it. Hanging out on the couch, you had met and befriended quite a few of his frat brothers.

Currently you were sprawled out on the couch with Jungwoo, who was retelling a very interesting story about his trip to the grocery store last week that involved a cereal box and a banana. Although it was a bit of a reach, you nodded and smiled at the right times, not really following the order of events, or really the importance of them.

“What does the fact that you were wearing- and I quote - ‘an incredibly sick pair of joggers’ have anything to do with your story?” You asked, tilting your head in teasing confusion.

“Oh, it doesn’t. I just thought you should know.” He replied matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right. And I’m so better off now that I know.” You taunted him, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Jungwoo shot you an annoyed, and yet hurt look, before finishing his story. “And that’s how Johnny found out he was allergic to shellfish.”

“Okay. What the fuck? I’m literally so confused.” You cut him off before he could recount his story again. “I don’t really need to hear it again though. Thanks.”

He whined before laying his legs over yours, giving up.

For a few moments, things were quiet as you checked the time. It had already been thirty minutes, where was he?

You rolled your head to the side, finally focusing on the whiteboard that had what scribbles of writing over it.

“What’s the tally for?” You asked, scrunching your nose at the whiteboard that was situated on the far wall of the room.

“Hmmm? The tally?” Jungwoo glanced around looking slightly nervous which had you even more curious. “It’s just a game.”

“Game? What game?” You laughed turning back to see the strikes adorning the board. “It looks like Johnny’s winning.”

“Uhh...” Again with the nervous glances.

You giggled, “You’re losing, aren’t you?” The spot under his name had the fewest tallies and you figured that’s why he was being so shy about it.

Jaehyun entered the room, seemingly in a very important conversation by the way that he was speaking animatedly.

“The game’s over on Friday and Johnny’s gonna win.”

“That’s so stupid. He hasn’t bagged any since Y/N, how is he still gonna win?” Yuta complained all but scowling at the floor, neither of them had yet to notice your presence.

You frowned at the mention of your name, not liking the term ‘bagging’ to be in such close proximity with your name.

“Oh, Mark has a new strike, looks like he finally got Claire into bed.” Yuta continued snorting, “Took him long enough.”

“Wait, what the fuck? How the hell did Taeyong get two strikes?” Jaehyun, squinted at the board.

Yuta snorted, “He had a threesome last night. Can you believe it? This close to the end? It’s like he’s actually trying to compete now.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You muttered, effectively catching their attention.

“Y/N.” Jaehyun breathed out, eyes wide and darting between you and Jungwoo who was obviously trying to get them to stop talking. “Hey... what’s up? When did you get here?”

“Ummm.... no. What the fuck is going on?”

“What do you mean?” Jaehyun cocked his head, doing his best to pretend like he wasn’t panicking.

“No, I don’t want your bullshit. Just tell me what this game is.” You were using anger to hide your fear. You could feel the pounding of your heart in your head, a throbbing sensation that gave way to a sinking feeling of realization.

At that moment, when his eyes finally met yours. Not Jaehyun’s, not Yuta’s, but Johnny’s as he walked in the room with that fucking stupid smile you felt your last will got out the window. It was at that moment that everything came crashing down.

“Y/N, please can’t we just talk?” Johnny chased after you, begging you to turn around.

“You promised.”

Johnny’s heart dropped at your words, and his chest started closing in in fear. The burning feeling in his throat had him choking, panicking in belated realization.

It wasn’t just the words that you said, it was the way that you said it. So defeated, so broken. So betrayed.

“You promised that you wouldn’t hurt me. Do you remember that? Did you even mean that?” You felt the tears brimming, and you fought the best you could to keep them down. But your wobbling voice let him know.

“Of course I meant it.” He answered breathlessly. “You know me, I don’t say things that I don’t mean.”

“Do I? Do I know you?” You huffed out. “Because I really thought you were someone different.”

“No, I- I’m still me. I’m still Johnny. I just...”

“You just what? You just lied about our entire relationship? If it was even that, because I was just another tally to you wasn’t I? Just another tally on a stupid whiteboard for a stupid game.”

You choked back the tears that were burning in your throat, not bothering to wipe at the ones that managed to escape.

“You know what hurts the most? I actually thought you liked me. I actually thought that you meant all those things that you said to me.”

“I did mean it. I meant every single word, and I still do. Nothing was a lie, my feelings were real. Please just listen to me, I can explain.” He stepped closer, but you took a step back, keeping the distance.

“Explain what? I already heard everything for myself. What are you gonna say, that Jaehyun and Yuta were lying? Hmmm? That it wasn’t a game? That that’s not the reason that you approached me?”

“I...” He couldn’t find any words, because you were right. Every single word that you said was right. He struggled to catch his breath, panicking. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”

“I love you. I need you. I can’t- I can’t imagine life without you.”

“That’s not enough.” You clenched your jaw, face going slack. It was as if you were losing the will to even be heartbroken over this.

“Please, I-I’ll do anything, what do you want me to do?” He begged, eye brows nearly touching as they furrowed.

“I don’t want anything from you, just stay away from me.” You mumbled out, avoiding his eyes.

“Baby, please.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, I’m not yours, I never was.” You snapped at him, backing away.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled under his breath and he wasn’t sure if it was meant for you or himself.

“So I’m kinda going rogue here. I know you already hate me, but try not to hate me anymore than you already do.”

Johnny didn’t look anywhere except for you.

The professor seemed to humor him, allowing one of his favorite students to continue with an amused smile on his face.

You on the other hand did not.

You stared at Johnny with a straight face, trying your best to not look flustered.

“The whole point of this assignment was to find someone that changed our lives. But my partner and I struggled to find someone. It’s not that we didn’t have great people around us, its not even that we don’t have people that we admired. It was because no one we came up with really seemed genuine to us. But I found someone. I finally found someone that I could trust, that I let in. But I did something really stupid and fucked it up- excuse my language.”

You watched him stand behind the podium, looking smaller than he ever did.

“You know, before I met you I didn’t think that my life needed changing. I thought I was doing just fine. But then I realized that I wasn’t. I was struggling to even feel normal, to feel like I was living for something. Y/N you helped me find home. Remember when I said that you only understand that you were already home until you lose it? Well I feel it now. And it feels like shit.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, a feeling in the back of your throat burning.

“Y/N. You’re the person who changed my life. And I don’t even deserve that. But I’m here, standing in front of you like a fool because I’m whining about losing the best thing that ever happened to me.”

For a moment you thought he was done, because the silence was deafening.

“Even if you sill hate me after this, I want you to know that you mean more to me than anything else. You are the person that changed my life. You are my person, and I want so badly to be yours.”

There was a beat of silence as he ended abruptly, taking a seat on the other side of the room, eyes still locked on you.

Your professor stood up with a clap. “Well, thank you Johnny for that... interesting presentation.” A wide smile was still on his face despite his word choice. “I guess we should end on that then. Second batch of presentations is on Friday, please be prepared.”

The students of your class stood, shuffling out the exit, voices murmuring to each other.

You sat on the bench outside your lecture hall, watching as Johnny made his way nervously to you.

“You’re an idiot.” You told him as he approached you, bottom lip wobbling against your will. Eventually you broke. “But you’re my idiot.”

Johnny felt a drop of relief in his stomach as he felt like his heart would burst.

“You’ve totally botched our presentation by the way. If we fail it it’s on you.” You shoved him away teasingly.

Johnny grinned, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

“Yeah? Well, I think we did better than you think. I think that things are gonna turn out just fine.”

(sorry, i was supposed to write a full angst, but i couldn’t help myself.)

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jeonjcngkook · 3 years ago

Text

2021 year in review 🎄🌟

tagged by: @kithtaehyung , @gimbapchefs , @minieggukie , @heybaetae , @jiminswn , @hobeah , @min-boongie

thank u for all that have tagged me, im away to make through all ur tagged content n adding them to my queue!

it has been fun going through my last year to see the progress from where i was to where i am now. honestly though? i dont feel like too much has changed from myself in my style. my colouring has definitely come through the better end and i feel like im able to preserve so much n save skin tones better! it has still only been 1yr & 3months that ive been making gifs so im still very new n everyday is a school day; nevertheless, im excited to learn more n keep growing my content.

a big thank u to everyone who has liked / reblogged / commented on anything of mine, be it a gif, a fic, a text post or simply just a nice ask, its that that puts a smile on my face <333 n to the friends ive met too, ur every reason why hellsite.com is worth staying on.

my picks under the cut / ult favs highlighted :

♡ janurary;

most popular: koos tattoos shown in hd - 7.3k

my favourite: joon getting teary eyed | yoongi being hot

say something: in january i had only been giffing for 3 months so these turned out so well. it was my first time experimenting w gifs bigger than 540x520 so im pleased w how the turned out.

♡ february;

most popular: v putting the v in violence - 3.0k

my favourite: blue kooberry | happy joon

say something: my tae set was one of the more vibrant sets i made that had so much detail too it. it couldnt have come out better!! blue kooberry is named after a fic my lil maggie wrote n he will live inside my heart n mind forever!

♡ march;

most popular: yoonjinkook monstrosity - 4.5k

my favourite: jaykay certified rockstar | 5th muster tae | 5th muster namjoon | leonardo da jungkook | 5th muster taejoon

say something: march was a good month for me, as much as the yoonjinkook moment was a hit, i really put my heart n soul into certified rockstar koo. that's truly my calling is rockstar goth boyf baby. BUT WE CAN NEVER LEAVE 5TH MUSTER TAEHYUNG OR NAMJOON OUT BECAUSE THAT WAS DEATHLY

♡ april;

most popular: a born singer - 2.6k

my favourite: those see through pyjamas fgshfhsrj | VIBRANT TATTOOS | this vmin stage moment | my first euphoria set

say something: IT IS THE MONTH OF THE SEE THROUGH CO-ORD WHERE THE ENTIRE WORLD AROUND ME STOPPED TO SEE HIM HIP THRUSTING TO BAEPSAE I DONT THINK I CAN TALK ABOUT IT AGAIN???÷} \¿©™} ¡|>,,,, away from that, the vibrant tattoos set was a win for me bcs i managed to keep it dark like my aesthetic yet preserve the detailing and his tattoos turned out BEAUTIFULLY <333

♡ august;

most popular: jungkook - 1st half of 2021 - 2.8k

say something - jungkook 1st half of 2021 sits rightfully on top its throne. part 2 coming this week. away from koo tho, this kitty gang jimin set for @ppersonna was truly a gift n im so proud of that set. YOUNG GOD DIOR HOBI IS A WHOLE FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH skajaljajalah

♡ september;

most popular: galaxies are hidden inside his eyes - 1.5k

my favourite: tattoo taehyung | tummy jimin | cherry koo

say something: from the month of september onwards my rate of giffing has come to a stop. i only had a handful as i was struggling w some illnesses outside tumblr. im not exactly happy with these gifs but i think tummy jimin for @jiminslight was my favourite.

♡ october;

most popular: jungkook 2021 seasons greeting - 2.5k

my favourite: my time jungkook | sexy pied piper jungkook | taehyung biting his lip

say something: again, only a handful made this month so hard to pick my favourites out but who can resist some jaykay in leather with his piercings out sitting on a harley davidson, bro hes out for my blood.

♡ november;

most popular: mots jungkook jacket shooting - 1.6k

my favourite: mots jungkook jacket shooting

say something: sksksk i only made 3 gifs in november n sexy my time koo saving me once more. listen, not to blow my own horn or anything but the vibrancy and colouring i did is so hot, i give myself 12 outta 10.

♡ december;

most popular: ptd on stage live in los angeles yoongi - 1.6k

my favourite: ptd on stage live in los angeles jungkook | pretty romantic jungkook | the jords rockstar goth bf agenda that got brought to life

say something: PRETTY ROMANTIC FLOWER BOY KOO DESERVED BETTER BUT TAGS ARENT WORKING SO HE LIVES IN THE SHADOWS 😭😭 but ptd los angeles yoonkook aaf<333 IT ONLY TOOK 12 MONTHS BUT THEY BROUGHT ROCKSTAR GOTH BOYFRIEND TO LIFE

tagging: @kimtaehyunq @loverjimin @kimtaegis @jjungcooks @namgination @suga-ssi @v-hobi @kkulmoon @taeyungie @honsool @userjiminie @jimimn @rainycle @hopekidoki @eternal-bangtan @taejoonies @blooodsweatandtears @intokook @sugajimin @yoongi-bts @bisexualrapline @taee @sugaftrm @supertunajin @taehyungq @taejinnies @jiminslight @jimeanour

please dont feel obligated to do this if u arent interested ! happy holidays ♡♡

#tag games #content creator year in review #im so sick this has taken me like 3 days to completely ew

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mifhortunach · 2 years ago

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in review - once again! - 2022

below cut :/

i did... Very Little drawing this year ! - which i’m really not happy about, and i’m not sure how that happened tbh. that said, if nothing else, instead of drawing i got ‘a lot’ of printing done!

it was a good year for like. my Actual Practice - i spent a lot of time in the studio, got a piece (that i still like!) into an actual public show, as well as for the first time sold some work!! I also got to finally mess around with a riso machine, as well as someone offered to show me more litho stuff, so im hoping to pursue that much more in the year :) - as well as finally do a bunch of projects i’ve been putting off for ages & dear god, fckn draw more

====

watched a lot of movies though!!!

ltrbxd says i saw like. 115 or smth, but that’s an estimate bc i went to a couple of shorts showings (as well as fell asleep at a couple :’/ ). it’s been cool!! have finally seen a bunch of genre classics, and had like, a seeing thru the matrix moment~ where i could tell a whole bunch of influences that had affected smth i was watching ! id quite like to try to strike a similar balance this year as well; catching up on like. ‘genre staples’ but paired w the weirdest most niche shit i can find - fingers-crossed! (thinking about putting together a little round-up post of some of the ones i saw this year that really stuck around for me, but idk)

=====

Pods!!

usually i think - and by usually i mean like, last year - i’ve got more to say on this front, but a lot of the pods i really enjoyed this year were hold-overs from 2022-

AMCA: i’m someone who while they don’t care about starwars, DOES really like podcasts about it, which is weird & difficult to explain, but this is still so good!! 5 star podcast, 5 star runtime! everyDAY do i wish they could do a special about dune...

The RETURN of toxic podcast!: as before, a podcast only for me really, and the only podcaster that i do have smth approaching a parasocial relationship with - its just been nice to hear from Ale again!! The branch into ltrboxd reviews as been a fun venture too, imo.

FATT/SANGFIELLE: though difficult to believe, that DID happen this year!! Sangfielle is still so so good, and it got me back into both listening to bluff as well as trying so hard to catch up on ptzn, its just really fckn good what else is there to even say! (Met a lot of v cool people through this as well, which has been so cool :) )

Assorted Seán L@TDF podcasts: while he has dropped completely off the face of the internet - though hopefully not the earth - the man DOES still have years of weird (mostly movie) focused podcasting to go back in on, which i do find consistently compelling!! turns out when u practice putting thought into words and then presenting for long enough you do indeed build a skill. His found footage series (Hundreds of Pixelated Dead Bodies) series is great, and introduced me to a lot of stuff, ditto his other series (hundreds of dead bodies). I’m hoping to get through the big, thoughtful series (ALL UNITS) this year, and maybe I’ll get even luckier and he’ll return to the land of podcasting soon.

I’m sure i’ve missed some on this one, but these are the ones that stood out to me this time round, i guess. i’m excited for the new twioat series also, lol.

=====

i did like, almost no reading, or tv watching, though i did start, and plan - and not finish - a good couple of knitting projects. didn’t get out to see many gallery shows either, which isn’t so great - though i DID manage to have a startlingly good year socially ?

made some new friends, had a whole private theme month devoted to the films of al pacino, and got to see two bands/musicians that i really love play live!! Good Ol’ Stevie P w @silverview (<33) && TWRP - both of which were so so great, and made me wish i got out more lol

lots to be done this year, as per, but hopefully it’ll be fine

#ppp #2022 #year in review

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starsstruck · 5 years ago

Text

under the amber light

an enemies-to-lovers (kind of) where mc finds herself working in a darkroom along with harry, who she has never gotten along with. 35mm film, watermelon slices, and a lot of dim amber lighting.

pairing: harry x reader words: 12.5 k rated: M

an: hello ! i am back w another little something. i hope everyone enjoys, and im sorry if i got any technical things wrong i havent stepped foot in a darkroom in like 3 years, but yeah ! let me know your feelings and thoughts, enjoy !💘 ***

A breathless ‘hello’ accompanied by a smile as you opened the front door, waving as heads turned towards you.

“Sorry we’re late,” you grinned as Margot pulled you in for a quick hug. You had to work a bit later than usual, Aiden meeting you after your shift ended, both heading to your shared place to change and have a few drinks before heading over to Margot’s. “Work was busy today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” beaming at you, you could tell she’s already had quite a few drinks herself. “People are just getting here now.”

She and her roommates had decided to throw a little party, using the excuse of exams being over for nearly everyone. Her place was usually designated as the ‘party house’ as they had the whole house, not having to deal with irritated landlords, and the neighbours never seemed to mind. Their place was also a bit bigger, even having a little porch to sit out on and a small backyard space.

After waving hello to a few more of your friends that sat on the couches, both Aiden and you headed over to Margot’s room to leave your jackets and bags.

Hearing your name being called from the kitchen as you carried the beers that you had brought over caught your attention. “Hey!”

The familiar voice of Margot’s partner carried through the kitchen, opening your arms wide as you accepted his hug. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” Aleks seemed to have also had more drinks than you, eyelids a bit heavy as he grinned down at you.

“Busy couple of weeks,” you hummed, small frown on your lips as you recalled the final weeks of the semester. You were lucky to only have one exam this semester, but the numerous final papers and assignments were just as bad.

Placing the beers you had brought into the fridge after grabbing one for yourself, you paused for a second when you noticed the fridge magnet bottle opener was not at its usual place.

Glancing across the kitchen at Harry, who’s only acknowledgement of you was a brief glance in your direction when Aleks had called your name. Noticing he had the bottle opener in question, you pulled your attention back to Aleks. “You all done for the term?”

“Yeah,” Aleks sighed, taking a sip of his own drink. “Not as heavy course load this term so I was done fairly early. What about you? Harry mentioned you guys were in the same art history class; I heard the final was pretty tough.”

Glancing over at Harry, you saw his attention was also pulled to Aleks at the mention of his name. His eyes paused on you for a beat, before moving past you to place the magnetic bottle opener back on the fridge.

You knew Harry was the in the same class as you, but there had been very little interaction. In fact, there has been very little interaction between the two of you in general in the months that you had known each other. He was a good friend of Aleks’, and had been quickly integrated into your friend group after Margot started dating Aleks, but you had yet to have any kind of real conversation with him. Quite frankly, you had no idea why Harry seemed to have such distaste for you. His attitude towards you had giving you a bad impression of him, but you had remained polite as ever. Although after nearly four months, it was starting to get irritating.

Grabbing the bottle opener from the fridge, you popped open your own beer before answering Aleks’ question as Harry gave no indication of butting in.

“’M all done as well yeah,” you mused over the stressful weeks that had passed. “I only had one exam, for that art history class. Prof was pretty tough, but she was good. I liked the class a lot.”

You could feel Harry’s eyes burning into the side of your face as you spoke about your shared class, but you refused to look at him.

“Sounds like you had a better time in that class than Harry,” your friend turned to Harry once again, teasingly swatting at his arm.

You only hummed at his words, taking a big gulp of your beer so you wouldn’t have to speak. You could hear friends in the other room laughing loudly, wanting to go join them rather than stand in the kitchen with someone who wanted nothing to do with you.

“You’re here for the summer, aren’t you? Margot mentioned you guys might head out for a little road trip.” Aleks directed his question to you once again.

“Yeah! That’ll be really good. Otherwise I don’t have any big plans. I’m not taking any summer courses, just working. I also started some part time work at a photo lab, developing some film.”

“You started working at a darkroom?”

Both you and Aleks turned to Harry as he spoke for the first time since you’d joined them in the kitchen. He was still leaning back on the counter, eyes narrowed on you. You met his gaze, holding it for a second before slowly nodding.

“Yeah…” muttering, you shot him another glance before focusing your attention back on Aleks. “I’m going to go say hey to everyone else, I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

Taking your chance to leave the kitchen and to head to where nearly everyone sat in the living room, you quickly turned the corner to go catch up with everyone else. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy Aleks’ company, you just wanted a chance to talk to everyone, and quite frankly you weren’t really in the mood to deal with Harry’s broodiness towards you. You didn’t understand it, to be honest. You’d seen him chatty and animated with nearly everyone else, leaving you to think he had some kind of problem with you personally.

Sliding in on the couch next to Margot and some other friends, easily joining in their conversation as you finished off the beer in your hand. The drink was soon replaced, as Margot bounced off to make the two of you some cocktails with whatever liquor she had in her kitchen.

Soon, you had caught up with your friends and were feeling the perfect amount of tipsy. You were resting your head on Aiden’s legs, as you sat on the floor in front of where he sat on the couch, as you both listened to Margot’s animated story about something that had happened during one of her finals.

Someone had grabbed the AUX, deciding to play some Dolly Parton, and you weren’t complaining at the choice. Aiden was playing with your hair, and you felt so content, so at peace. That peace was quickly interrupted, as Margot was tugging at your hand to pull you outside for a smoke.

“How are you,” she hummed, once the two of you were alone sitting across from each other on the porch steps.

“Good,” nodding, as you finally felt relieved from the stressful couple of weeks. “Happy to be done. This summer should be really good as well, everyone’s sticking around. What about you, how are you?”

Margot nodded at your words, smirk playing at her lips. “I’m good, yeah. Aleks wants me to go home with him for a week, meet his family.”

“Really,” drawing out the word, tapping her leg with your foot as you grinned at her. They hadn’t been going out that long, but you knew she was feeling good about their relationship. “You gonna go?”

“I think so,” she nodded, putting out her cigarette as she seemed to think it over. “I really want to. Bit nervous though.”

“They’ll love you,” you reassured. “I know Aleks does.”

“Yeah he does, doesn’t he,” she giggled, scooting over on the step you were sitting on to move closer to you, wrapping an arm you.

“How are things with that guy, what’s his name,” she spoke up after a moment, as you tapped the ash off your own cigarette.

“Nate?” Scoffing as she asked about the last guy you had a small fling with. “Haven’t really talked to him. Honestly he was a bit of a dick, didn’t really get along with him.”

“Yeah you mentioned that,” Margot hummed, resting her head on your shoulder. “Deserve someone better. Maybe you’ll meet someone at the photo lab you’re starting at.”

“Maybe,” you mused, trying not to romanticize the idea of meeting someone cute at your new summer job.

The door clicking open pulled your attention, as you watched Aiden come outside. “I’m heading over to Will’s.”

“You’re leaving?” Both Margot and you spoke the same thing at the same time, as Aiden wrapped his arms around the two of you for a tight hug.

“I’ll see you soon,” he grinned as he made his way down the steps. “You’re okay to get home?”

“Think I’m gonna crash here, I’ll be good.” Aiden nodded as you confirmed you would be okay. “Have fun!”

***

“I’ll grab you a shirt,” Margot mumbled, riffling through her drawers.

Nearly everyone had left, and you were ready to lie down. Both of you had had a little too much to drink having the alcohol eventually making you tired, especially after your long day at work.

Aleks of course got the spot in Margot’s bed, so you were taking one of the couches, having already grabbed a mountain of blankets for yourself.

She passed you a big teeshirt, recognizing it as one she had found at a thrift store with you. “Harry’s crashing here too.”

“What?” Your voice dropped to a whisper-shout, in case someone outside her room could hear. “Where’s he sleeping?”

“On the other couch,” she shrugged. They had two couches in the living room, one much smaller than the other. You sighed, knowing you would inevitably be the one taking the shorter couch.

“That okay?”

“’Course,” you muttered. “It’s your house. Plus Harry’s the one that has a problem, not me.”

Margot rolled her eyes, changing into her pyjamas. “Harry doesn’t hate you,” she knew very well about your issues with him.

“He totally does!” Keeping your voice at a whisper in case the sound carried past the closed door.

“No one hates you.” Margot grinned at you, sitting next to you on her bed as you riffled through your bag. “I told you, he’s just like that with people he doesn’t know.”

“Known him nearly four months,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Well,” she paused. “He’s a sweet guy, I promise.”

Dropping the subject, you made your way over to the washroom and tried your best at taking off your makeup, borrowing a bit of Margot’s moisturizer so your skin wouldn’t freak out on you.

Realizing that everyone had left except for those spending the night, you bid your goodnight to Margot and Aleks before bringing your things to the living room. You were surprised to see Harry already there, distracted by whatever he was doing on his phone.

He glanced up as you dropped some blankets on the couch, eyes holding yours for barely a second. You suddenly felt self-conscious, his ever-intense gaze dropping to your bare legs for a second.

“I can take the small couch,” you mumbled, grabbing hold of a blanket for your makeshift bed.

“Right,” Harry coughed, placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him.

He watched you unfold the blankets, laying them down on the couch. You silently passed him some of the blankets you had gathered, noticing he only had one.

You also couldn’t help but notice he had also changed, wearing a pair of black joggers you could only assume he had borrowed from Aleks. His chest was bare, and you found yourself annoyed with how good he looked like that, forcing yourself not to try and make out newly exposed tattoos.

“Sorry,” he suddenly blurted, breaking the crisp silence as you both made your beds on the couches. “I know this is your usual sleeping spot.”

His words slurred slightly, but his expression was just as unreadable as ever. It was the most he’d said to you all night.

“S’no problem,” you offered him a small smile as your eyes met his. He caught you slightly off guard when he didn’t look away like he usually did. Holding your gaze for a second longer than he should have, you felt the beginning of a flush across your cheeks. His gaze was so intense on you, so nearly hot.

Still, he failed to return your smile, or any other sense of comradery towards you. Once again self-conscious under his stare, you were the one to look away. Muttering a small ‘night’ to him, you slid through the pile of blankets you had created for yourself.

If he had returned the bid goodnight, you hadn’t heard it.

Fine. Quietly huffing to yourself, rolling over on the couch with your legs having to lay a bit folded. You were grateful for how tired you were, not having to think too much about the fact that this situation otherwise would’ve made you nervous.

***

As with any new job, you still felt a bit anxious as you came in for work, even if it had been nearly two weeks of working. As you pulled open the door, smiling at the woman behind the counter at the photo lab.

“Hi!” She greeted you immediately. “How are you?”

“Good thanks,” returning her smile as you moved past the door that separated the customer waiting area, to the behind the counter. “How about you? Busy today?”

“Not too bad, yeah. Mostly pickups. Some rolls back there for you to start on.”

“Perfect,” you smiled at her again, before opening the door that you knew led to the back. You were still a bit nervous, even after a couple shifts. You knew that you knew your way around a darkroom, but it was more daunting when you were working with paying customers photos, and not just your own.

Eyes scanning the room, trying to recall everything you had been told in training. Soon everything slipped your mind, as your eyes fell on a familiar face.

Mouth gaping slightly as if you were to speak, Harry met your gaze. Did he work here too? Why hadn’t you known that. You recalled that night at Margot’s a couple days ago, when you were talking about starting a new job at a darkroom. Why hadn’t he said anything?

“Hi,” you finally spoke, placing your bag on the table.

He was standing across the room, seeming to be mix solvents in the beginning stages of developing his film. He was looking at you from over his shoulder, dressed casually with a bandana pushed through his hair.

“Hi,” he mirrored, briefly looking down to what he was doing before fully turning to face you. “You started working here?”

Nodding slowly, expression matching his. “Yeah,” you smiled a bit, though he didn’t return it. “Just working in the back.” You pointed to the door that led to the darkroom.

He simply nodded, turning away from you again as he reached for something next to him. “These need to be printed.” He passed you a plastic cover filled with film strips, taking a step towards you.

“Right,” nodding, deciding if he wasn’t going to be decently nice you didn’t have to be either.

“You know how everything works, right?” The question irritated you, but your tried not to let it show. Of course you knew how everything worked, you had been hired here.

“Yeah,” was all you said, before opening up the door that brought you into a dark room, faced with another door. Once in the actual darkroom, you felt the wall for where you knew sat the switch for the dim amber lights.

Immediately getting to work, starting with preparing your separate baths filled with solvents. It was when you were pulling sheets of photo paper that you heard the door click open, eyes focusing to see Harry having joined you.

“Forgot to give you this,” he said quickly, sounding almost out of breath. Narrowing your eyes as you grabbed the sheet from his hands, squinting in the dim light to read the words written on the top of the page.

You felt irritated again. It was the basic information sheet on what settings to leave the enlarger at, and how many seconds you should expose for. “Just in case.”

He was practically smirking.

“Thanks.” Voice clipped; you knew it wasn’t best to be a bit moody with him but it wasn’t like he was your boss. You placed the sheet next to you on the counter, waiting for Harry to leave. He only nodded once more, before slipping out the door.

You got back to work, having fake arguments in your head with Harry after he left you bothered. How was it that you had never seen him here before? There wasn’t much of a set schedule per se, so it was completely possible that the two of you had missed each other like this, but it still took you by surprise.

It was nice that you could work more or less by yourself, since at your other job you were constantly dealing with customers and never had a shift alone unless it was a morning shift. Obviously working at the same place as Harry wasn’t going to be a big problem, it was just the way he acted towards you that bugged you.

***

Weeks had gone since you first saw Harry at the studio. It had gotten a bit better; he wasn’t so much being cold with you as he was getting on your nerves. Instead of being passive and ignoring you, he had progressed to badgering you, clearly noticing it bothered you. That was at least, when he was talking to you.

He made sure to double check that the images you were exposing came through correctly, saying things like ‘just have to make sure everything’s good’, and ‘they all should be similar, don’t want any inconsistencies’.

It was irritating to say the least. He never really talked about you about anything outside of work, even though technically he was in your friend group, and that irritated you even more. Neither of you had actually seen each other outside of work, something that usually happened at Margot’s or Aleks’ house.

One of your coworkers, Shane, was shocked when he said Harry had mentioned that the two of you knew each other outside of work.

“Would think that he’s never known to talk to you a day in his life.” Shane had commented with a laugh.

Margot, and even Aleks, had heard all about it, only ever really assuring you that ‘he doesn’t hate you’ and ‘he’s never said a bad thing about you’.

That being said, at least he wasn’t avoiding you like the plague anymore.

“Are you just finishing up?”

Harry had come into the darkroom to gather up some photographs, stacking them in a neat pile before slipping them into an envelope. The two of you were the only one’s left for the evening, the shop closed to the public.

“Yeah, just cleaning up now.”

Just making out his nod in the amber light, he paused before speaking again. “D’you need a ride home?”

That took you by surprise. The two of you hadn’t closed up just the two of you before, but you would have never though he’d ben offering to give you a drive home.

“You don’t have to –”

“It’s no trouble,” he interrupted, reaching for the handle to leave the room.

“I – yeah thank you.”

Nodding at your confirmation, he stepped out of the dark room leaving you to finish up packing everything for the day.

You found Harry sitting in the back room, preoccupied by his phone as he waited for you. “Ready?” He stood suddenly, slipping his phone in his jeans pocket as you reached through your bag for some lip balm.

Following him through the front door, waiting as he locked up before leading you over to where he had parked down the street. Sliding into the passenger seat of his car, the first few minutes of your ride in silence expect for your directions to your place.

“You make other art outside of film. Right?” Harry suddenly spoke, drawing your attention to him as his eyes remained on the road.

“Yeah,” pausing for a second, “I mean, it is my major.”

That caused him to glance at you with a laugh. “I know. I’ve just never seen any of it is all.”

“Never asked.”

“Right,” he said quietly, before clearing his throat and giving you another glance. “Well consider this me asking.”

You bit back a smile. “Next time.”

Nodding with a breathy laugh, just as you recognized the beginning of your street outside. “Here’s fine,” you turned to him, not needing him to go all the way into the winding residential area.

“I can go right to your door,” he turned on his right turn single. “Through here?”

“Yeah,” you directed him through the neighbourhood until he pulled in on the side of the road.

Grabbing for your bag at your feet, digging in it until you reached your keys. “You going to Margot’s on Friday?” Harry pulled your attention back to him.

“Of course,” you smiled slightly, hand on the door as you readied to leave. He nodded, eyes remaining on you as you went to step out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, I’ll see you then?”

“See you then,” he confirmed with a perk in his lips, just as you turned around and shut the door behind you.

***

“Don’t know what to wear,” Margot was muttering to herself as she surveyed the clothes she had just grabbed from her closet.

You had your own outfit crisis at home before coming over to Margot’s, coming over early for once. Aiden was still at work, and you had the day off so you and Margot had spent the afternoon together before everyone would be coming over later on in the night.

“I like that,” you hummed, pointing to the shirt she had just thrown aside.

“I guess,” she mumbled, looking at her outfit in her mirror. “Not really the vibe though, is it?”

Giggling at her words, you rolled over on her bed to fully face her. “And what is the vibe?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, going back to her closet. “You’re wearing a dress.” Glancing down at your own red sundress at her words, you laughed. Summer was well on its way by now, and you were a sucker for a good sundress. “Plus,” Margot continued as she changed her shirt once again. “I’m mad at Aleks.”

“What’d he do?”

She sighed, sitting down next to you on her bed. “I’m not really mad at him; we got into a little fight and I just wanna look good and ignore him for a bit.”

Humourless laugh leaving her lips, she rose again and took another look at her outfit. “I like this, think I’m happy with it.”

Heading over to the kitchen, you guys took out the big bottle of margarita mix and tequila, deciding to have a nice cocktail outside as the sun set, before everyone else arrived.

“How’s work going?” Margot asked, once the margs were made and the two of you sat outside in the slowly cooling air.

“Work is the same,” you hummed licking salt from your lips. “Nothing really new.”

“What about the new place, with Harry? He said you were doing really good.”

Now that was a surprise to you.

“He did? The jobs good, but honestly working with Harry…” trailing off, you wanted to be delicate with your wording. “He’s still acting like a bit of a pain. Not as much as before but, I dunno…” trailing your finger over the salted rim of the glass, you thought it over. “Like I’ve said, he just doesn’t like me.”

“He likes you fine,” Margot hummed, small laugh in her voice

“Oh well,” muttering into your glass, “finish up your marg.”

Soon, both of you were a couple drinks in and more people had started arriving at Margot’s. The back door was open, spending most of your time outside before the sun fully set just to savour the last bits of the summer night.

You don’t know how much time has gone by, nor how many drinks you’d had, but soon you were slouched on the couch next to your friends, happy grin on your lips. That grin didn’t last long however, as your eyes scanned the room and landed on a familiar face.

“Fuck,” sliding even closer to Margot and Aiden. “That’s Nate.” Pointing with your head to where he stood by the hallway.

Margot lifted her head, not so subtly glancing to the direction you were motioning. “That’s him? He knows Aleks I think.”

“Oh,” you muttered, shooting the guy you didn’t want to see another glance. It wasn’t that things were bad with the two of you, but you had decided you didn’t want to ever see him again.

“I didn’t realize he was coming,” Margot shot you a sympathetic smile.

“It’s okay,” you nodded, cozying up with the two of them and deciding to keep him out of your mind. “Just won’t talk to him.”

You had managed to stick to that, never even interacting with him the majority of the night. It wasn’t until you had stepped out on the front porch for a breather and a smoke, that you suddenly found yourself along with Nate who had apparently followed you out.

Leaning your back against the wooden railing behind you, offering him a small smile and nothing else. “Didn’t know you would be here.” He was the first to speak.

“It’s my friends place,” you hummed, tapping out your cigarette.

“Missed you these past couple of weeks,” his words made you glance at him, only for a second.

“Nate,” you sighed, putting out your smoke. “I told you –”

He cut you off. “I know what you told me. Like I said, I just miss you. You here with anyone?”

“No,” you breathed out, not knowing why you couldn’t just lie to him.

“Why don’t you come home with me?” He bumped his knee with yours, as you still didn’t look over at him.

“Not in the mood,” you muttered, resting your head back against the beam behind you.

“I can get you in the mood,” he shuffled closer to you, as you tightened your arms around your chest.

“Fuck off Nate,” muttering as you finally glared up at him.

Calling your name, he didn’t stop in his pursuit. “Come on –”

“Think she told you to fuck off, mate.”

Both of you turned your heads to the voice coming from the door, seeing Harry standing in the frame, arms folded across his chest.

Christ. You didn’t have the energy to deal with Harry as well, even if in this moment he was helping you out.

As annoyed as you were over the testosterone swirling around you like leaves in the wind, Nate took a step away. He slid away from the two of you with a ‘whatever’ muttered underneath his breath.

Blowing out a sigh, you sank down to sit on the wooden step, extending your legs out in front of you. You could practically hear Harry hesitating behind you, before he finally made his way to you and tentatively sat down.

“Thanks,” your voice was quiet as you finally spoke, face forward as you kept your eyes focused on your sock covered feet that you knocked together.

“He’s a dick,” his voice was soft, in fact you think that was the softest you’d ever heard it.

“Yeah,” humourless laugh leaving your lips as you nodded. “He is.” You were annoyed with yourself of how you had let Nate ruin your evening.

Finally facing Harry, you found his eyes already on you. “Do you like margaritas?”

***

You knew your way around Margot’s kitchen well, spending enough time at her place to call it your second home.

“Not going to blend them, hope that’s okay.” You shot Harry a glance as you grabbed an ice cube tray from the freezer. “Don’t wanna leave dishes.”

“’s no problem at all,” he spoke quietly, almost cautiously. You nodded, not measuring as you poured tequila in each cup.

“Lime?” Grabbing a knife from the drawer, cutting a lime into quarters.

“Please,” he nodded, watching as you squeezed the juice into the glasses. You brought one cup to your lips, taking a quick taste of your cocktail. Hearing a breathy chuckle from Harry as you added a splash more tequila, you handed him a cup.

“Cheers,” the corners of your lips perking up to a small smile as you clinked glasses with him. He returned the sentiment, each taking a big sip of your drinks.

“It’s good,” he smirked, tongue darting out to lick the liquor off his lips.

You hummed in agreement, taking another sip of the cocktail. Wordlessly moving past Harry, you opened the fridge next to him and searched around for the fruit you knew sat somewhere in the back.

Fingers gripping the cold ceramic bowl, you shut the door with your hip. “You want some?”

Handful of berries in your own hand, you tilted the bowl in Harry’s direction. He seemed to hesitate again, eyes flicking between your own and the bowl of raspberries pointed at him. “I – yeah, thank you.”

“I love raspberries,” you hummed, placing the bowl between the two of you on the counter before grabbing another handful.

Harry couldn’t help the small smile that pulled on his lips as he watched you enjoyed the red fruit. Just as he was trying to think up something, anything, to say to you, Margot and Aleks crashed through the kitchen.

“There you are!” Margot exclaimed, swinging one arm around you as she grabbed some raspberries herself. “Was looking for you, are you having fun?”

“Yes,” you smiled at your friend, taking another sip of your drink. “Just making some more cocktails.” Passing Margot your cup, offering a sip to which she refused.

Aleks had caught Harry in conversation, neither of them seeing as Margot wordlessly glanced between you and Harry, eyebrows furrowing at you quizzically, as if asking you what was going on. You simply shrugged, mouthing ‘I don’t know’ before you drank more of your margarita.

She nodded, your silent conversation coming to an end.

The four of you soon pulled out of the kitchen, joining the remaining party-goers in the living room. You had had 2 more margaritas, eventually settling into a corner of the couch as you were slowly letting yourself relax, even in the excited atmosphere.

The night progressed as it usually did, a few remaining as late hours of the night rolled in. Aleks had out on some movie he wanted to share with everyone, and at that point you knew if you stayed for any longer you would completely fall asleep.

Jumping up to grab your jacket, hovering on top of Margot from where she sat. “I’m heading out,” you mumbled, arms wrapping her in a hug. “I’ll see you soon! We’ll have that beach day.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay here?”

Shaking your head, you reached for your bag sitting on her floor. “I have work tomorrow pretty early, and I’m already going to be a bit hungover.”

The two of you headed to her front door as she walked you out, as you bid goodnight to the few remaining friends on your way. “You okay to walk home?”

“Yes, of course.” Waving off her concern, although grateful she always checked with you before you leave her house. You were a bit drunker than you’d like to be for the walk home, but it was a fairly short walk.

“Okay well text me when you get home,” she slurred, pulling you in for another hug once you reached the front door.

“Are you leaving?” Aleks, followed by Harry, appeared behind Margot as you broke apart.

Nodding as you bid him goodnight as well, voice being interrupted by your own yawn.

“I can walk with you.”

Harry’s voice pipped up from behind Aleks, head turning to him to see him slipping on his jacket. “I –” about to refuse, but realizing he properly had to walk home as well, “– yeah that’d be good.”

Soon you were both walking side by side in the empty street as it was well into the night, the cool air not too much of a bother after the drinks you’d had.

“Where’s Aiden?” Harry’s voice broke the silence after a good five minutes.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “He left the party a while ago, he usually goes over to his ex’s.” He only nodded, remaining silent for another short moment.

“You don’t have to walk all the way with me,” you suddenly spoke, turning to look at him. “If it’s out of your way.”

He turned to you, light smile on his face. “It’s no problem, really.”

“Where’s your place?”

“Couple blocks past yours. Like an extra fifteen minute walk or so.” Nodding at his words, about to ask how he knew how far away from your place he lived, before remembering he had given you a ride home a couple days ago.

“You don’t have to walk all the way if its easier –”

“It’s no problem at all!” He stressed with a light laugh, interrupting you as he knew what you were going to say. “Plus,” he smirked, “it’ll give me some piece of mind knowing you got home safe.”

Heat building in your cheeks at his words, suddenly unsure of what to say. Your relationship with him thus far had only been practically nonexistent. Choosing not to say anything, a silence fell over the pair of you once more.

“Never showed me any of your work,” Harry suddenly spoke up again.

“What?” Alcohol and exhaust clouding your brain, taking a second to understand what he was talking about.

“Last time, you mentioned you’d show me your work outside of film.”

Right. “Oh yeah,” words were a breath from your lips. “Well, next time. Promise.” You don’t know why you always felt a bit weird when someone asked you to show them what you did. It wasn’t like you shared some publicly, but when someone asked you personally it made you hesitate.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he nodded, as you realized you had made to the end of your street.

Harry still next to you, as you dug through your bag until you held you keys in your hand. Once again hesitating, unsure of why you felt so unsure. “Well,” you coughed, looking up at him. “Thank you.”

“Really no problem,” he hummed, and you realized you didn’t know how to say goodnight to him. Suddenly in your overthinking, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him to pull him in for a hug.

He seemed just as surprised by your action, though quickly softening up to you and wrapped an arm around your back. “Night,” he was warm against you, the feeling of being in his arms had found to be quite comforting in fact.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat as you pulled away. “Night.”

***

The following weekend, it was a miraculous day where nearly everyone had the day off. Everyone had met at the beach, enjoying a full day in the sun.

“You coming?” Margot’s voice pulled you out of your daydreams, turning over to where she stood above you.

“What?”

“We’re gonna try and play some volleyball. Key word is try.”

Giggling at her words, you shook your head. “No, I’m good for now. Honestly I might end up napping for a bit.”

“We’re just over there if you want to join!” You watched as she headed in the same direction she pointed, a bit down the beach where nets had been set up.

Once alone you reached for your back, immediately realizing you had forgotten to bring your book with you. Maybe a nap really was in the stars.

Already having applied enough sunscreen for the time being, you settled yourself on your back and placed your hat just over your eyes.

The quiet moment didn’t last long, however, as soon someone was standing over you, blocking the sun.

Reaching up to move the hat from your face, your eyes readjusting to the light to see Harry standing over you. “Can I join?”

“Up to you,” you hummed. You could just make out the faintest hints of a smirk at your passive answer. Hearing him readjust the beach towel next to you, as he claimed that spot.

Peeking an eye open, you saw as his head rested in his arms, tilting dangerously close to the exposed skin of your waist. He was resting on his front, facing you as his eyes peered up towards you. “Y’not playing volleyball?”

“Don’t feel like it,” muttering, you readjusted yourself slightly. “Why don’t you go play?”

“Don’t feel like it,” he mirrored.

You only hummed in response, moving your head to face the sky once again. Silence falling between the two of you as you tried to focus on the sound of the waves, and not on Harry laying next to you.

The silence didn’t last long however, as Harry shifted closer to you. “Why’re you ignoring me?”

You nearly snorted at his comment, propping yourself up on your elbow to gaze down at him. “I’m not ignoring you Harry. Just trying to relax.”

He let out a breath, turning his head to rest his cheek on his arm, facing you. You dropped your head back down on your towel, not without feeling his breath tickle your skin.

Your body betrayed you, just as you felt goosebumps rise on your skin.

Harry seemed to notice as well, and soon his breath wasn’t the only thing tickling you. Bringing a finger up to the skin of your tummy, he lightly traced his fingertip over the bumps rising over your abdomen.

Muscles tensing at his sudden touch, you moved your own hand down to your stomach and peeked an eye open to see him. His cheek remained on his forearm, hair falling around him on the towel.

“What are you…” you trailed off, honestly not being bothered by his touch. It was light, fingertips smoothing over your exposed skin.

“Jus’ relaxing, love.” The pet name slipped from between his lips, your body flushing even more at the way he said it so effortlessly.

“This okay?” he spoke again, quieter as you relaxed back onto the towel.

Humming in approval, you willed yourself to seem unbothered. His fingertips moved along your stomach, tracing mindless circles into the skin as his palm rested flat. It was nice, the light tickling and trailing on your skin, he was right to say it was relaxing.

You don’t know how long the two of your rested like that. Not many words were shared, both resting in a peaceful silence. You had slightly dozed off, never fully falling asleep as you were always aware of where Harry’s hand was on you.

At one point he wrapped his hand nearly completely around you, staying like that as he dozed off himself. You realized that he was basically cuddled around you, his head having shifted closer with his forehead resting on the skin over your ribs.

“Skin’s getting warm,” after a moment, you don’t really know how long, Harry’s voice pulled you out of your sleep. Sliding his arm off of you and lifted himself to rest on his elbows. “Y’should put on more sunscreen.”

Rising to a seated position, you crossed your legs as you glanced over at him. All you could do was nod dumbly at Harry’s comment, reaching out for your bag to grab the sunscreen that you had packed.

As you rubbed the sun block down your shins, you watched as Harry turned over to sit up as well and pulled out a couple containers that seemed to be filled with fruit.

“Brought snacks?”

“Just some fruits,” he shrugged, pushing his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose and onto the top of his head.

Just as you were repositioning the hat on your head, and digging through your mess of a tote back for your own sunglasses, you gasped as you felt something cold and wet on your thigh.

Glancing down, you saw a big slice of watermelon sitting on your leg.

“Heard you liked watermelon,” he shrugged again, and you looked at him just as he took and obscenely big bite of his own slice of fruit.

“Love fruits,” you murmured, as you picked the fruit up from where it sat on your leg. You were grateful to be wearing sunglasses now, as you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of him as he ate his piece of watermelon.

“Y’got,” his voice broke the silence once again, pulling your attention back to him. Eyes wide as you watched his hand reach forward towards you, thumb swiping over your thigh. Collecting the watermelon juice that had trickled down your leg, sticking the digit past his lips.

“Sweet,” he hummed, lips perking into a smirk as he reached for another piece of fruit.

“You’re a pest,” shaking your head, with a giggle in your voice.

Watching as he reached across for his bag again, flashing you a mock pout. “Not very nice of you, love.” Turning away from you for a beat, facing you again with his 35mm.

“Stay still,” he murmured after bringing the camera to his eye, lens pointed towards you.

“Hey!” covering your face with the slice of watermelon in your hand, bringing your other hand down to readjust your bikini top that had slid down a bit.

“Stay still!’ He repeated, swatting his hand in your direction, fingertips brushing over your arm as he wordlessly told you to move it down.

Moving your arm, hovering the half-eaten slice of fruit next to your face, you complied to his request and stayed still while he took a picture of you.

Eyes lingering on you after he placed the camera aside with a smirk still playing at his lips with a gleam in his eyes. “What?” Giggling almost nervously as you shifted under his stare.

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, he paused before looking forward towards the water. “Nice day out, is all.”

He didn’t say anything more, leaning back on one arm as he finished off the rest of the fruit in hand. You watched him for another beat, eyes trialing from his face to the muscles that flexed under the skin of his arm.

Not immediately adverting your eyes you squinted a bit as you took in every detail of the tattoos covering his skin. You couldn’t help but wonder about them, so many for someone still reasonably young.

Just as you wondered if he had any particular reason for all of them, warm hands landed on your shoulder and a new body hovered over you.

“Hey,” a breathless Aiden reached over you to pluck a slice of watermelon from where they sat. “As it turns out, I do not like volleyball. Want to come to the water with me? I need a little cool off.”

Harry’s gaze met yours again for less than a second, before glancing up at where Aiden sat kneeling behind you. “I’m good, I can stay back and watch our stuff.”

Being pulled up to your feet, you left your hat and sunglasses in a pile on your towel before sauntering off with Aiden in the direction of where the water hit the land. Shooting another brief look behind you to see Harry’s eyes on you again. Sending a smile his way as you tugged up the thin straps of your bottoms that rested at your hips, just as Aiden pulled at your wrist as he skipped towards the water.

“Feels nice,” Aiden hummed, once both of you were ankle deep in the cold water. The sun was shinning hot today, only a barely there breeze present to cool you down. Aiden was right, soaking in the water doing wonders for your bodily temperature.

Taking the plunge, literally, as the two of you submerging yourselves under water as you played around. Once the water was leaving goosebumps on your skin you guys wandered around the shore, picking up odd rocks as if you were birds looking for something flashy.

“He’s always staring at you,” Aiden bumped his arm with yours, nodding his head towards where the group sat after abandoning the volleyball game.

“Who?”

“Harry,” mindlessly looking up from the rocks by your feet, squinting in the sun. “You guys seem much more amicable.”

“Yeah,” nodding as you thought over his words. “Working with him has been good lately. He’s like, kind of intense, but in a hot way y’know?”

Aiden laughed at your description. “I think he’s into you. Probably has been into you this entire time.”

Scoffing at his words, you glanced at your friend. “I don’t know about that.” Your words were a lie, having thought about the possibility a couple times but you didn’t want to overthink it.

“Don’t be dense.” Aiden laughed, suddenly bending over to pick up a rock and holding it in front you. “Here, this one reminds me of Margot.”

***

No one was in the dark room when you got there, working alone as you worked though a roll for a customer. Moving your paper into the developer, you nearly forgot about them as pictures drying off caught your attention.

They were obviously Harry’s and not one of a client, as you recognized nearly everyone photographed. Your gaze moved over every image, quickly moving your own roll over to the stop bath, before looking back at Harry’s pictures.

There were a few from that day at the beach, times when you hadn’t even realized Harry had the camera pointed at anyone. You saw yourself in some of them, laughing away with Margot as the sun set behind the pair of you, distant shots of you and Aiden sticking out of the water.

They were beautifully candid, the evidence of Harry’s visual eye very clear in all the images.

The picture of you with the watermelon he had snapped was probably one of the best pictures someone had taken of you in years. You looked relaxed, small smile playing at your lips as you looked down at the lens, the sun glowing on half of your face.

Small gasp at the sound of the door opening behind you, spinning around to barely make out Harry’s frame. “Scared me,” you murmured, letting out a sigh as you moved back to your solvents and moved your paper to the fixing solvent.

“Didn’t realize anyone was here,” his voice carried through the room as he walked in, standing by where you just admiring his work.

“Thought I’d get a start on those,” you hummed, pointed to where you still had film to expose. “Those are really great,” you saw his head turn to you as you complimented his work he had just started gathering up. “Didn’t realize you’d been taking so many pictures.”

“Thanks,” just making out the shine in his eyes, he flipped through them before shuffling over to you. “Did you see this one?”

Squinting, you saw him holding up the image of you with the watermelon. “I did. Really like it.”

“It’s my favourite,” Harry nodded, glancing down at it.

You were happy to be standing in a literal dark room, as you felt a flush rise up your neck. It was a compliment to his photography skills really, but it was also a compliment to you. A silence overtook the room, and you suddenly felt so incredibly nervous for very little reason.

“Why did you hate me?”

What the hell was that. Blurting things out wasn’t really your style as you were fairly good at keeping a tight filter on the words that left your mouth, except maybe after a couple drinks. But in this moment, for some reason, you truly needed to know why Harry had seemed to resent you so much when you first met.

His head turned back to yours in a quick motion, nearly unable to see it in the dim amber light. His mouth opened, as if to speak, but no words came out.

“I mean –” you sighed, glancing away from him as embarrassment trickled through your skin. “You just seemed not very… fond of me.”

“I never hated you,” his words were laced with a sigh, shoulders dropping a bit as he turned his body to face yours. His face glowed the soft orange from the room that surrounded you. “You should move your papers out of the fix bath.”

“What?” You blinked as if broken out of a daze.

“The fix bath, it’s been a couple minutes.”

“Fuck,” muttering as you spun around, grabbing your abandoned tongs and moved the paper into the water for its wash. Watching your image float around for a second, prodding it gently with the tongs.

“I never hated you,” Harry repeated from next to you, making you turn to him once again as you dropped the tongs on the counter. “I was just – I guess I was intimidated? Not really the right word but,”

He trailed off, showing no sign of continuing as you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth. “Why?”

The beginnings of a smile grew on his lips at your lighter tone. “I guess… I don’t know. Saw you around campus a lot, I guess I froze up.”

“Froze up?” Questioning him again and not fully understanding his explanation.

“I mean,” he paused again, averting his gaze as he fiddled with a ring around his finger, “yeah something like that.”

You could only nod, still not fully understanding what he was trying to communicate.

“Plus,” he added, seemingly to recover form his uncertain composure with a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Like getting a rise out of you.”

“Clearly,” you laughed, matching his smile. “Seem to be pretty good at it, too.”

He didn’t say anything, letting your words hang around the two of you for a bit too long. He wasn’t avoiding your eyes anymore, and you were once again grateful for being in a dark room so he couldn’t see the warmth that spread over your skin.

“Well,” you finally spoke again, voice suddenly quiet. “I have more film to get to.”

“Right,” Harry nodded as he stepped away from you, grabbing his images he had left on the counter. “I should go. I’ll see you soon.”

Watching as he gathered everything he had come for, bidding his goodbye to you and reaching for the doorknob.

“See you, Harry.”

***

“Did you do a test strip for these?”

“Yeah,” you called over your shoulder, moving your images into their third and final solvent.

“And they turned out well?” His voice grew louder, causing you to spin around to face him. “Because the setting on the enlarger is really not what it should be.”

“Harry –”

“They’re not gonna come out, you’re going to have to redo them. How many have you done like this now?” Even under the barely there light you could make out the hard expression on his face.

“I know what I’m doing. I did a bunch of trials with my own film and paper that are ready right over there.”

Letting out an irritated breath as you turned around, gripping a corner of the photo that was currently floating in its bath.

“Look,” you held up the wet photo paper with the tongs. Harry took a step closer, eyes narrowing on the image you held up. “They’re exactly what they should be.”

He was silent for a bit, you could hear his agitated exhales puff out next you. Leaning in to the image, you heard a small ‘fuck’ leave his lips.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” he muttered eyes flicking between yours and the image.

“Already has. Harry we’ve been through this. You need to trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Narrowing your eyes at him slightly, as is if challenging him.

“You can’t just go around changing everything, there’s a process.”

“Yeah and I followed it. And they turned out really well, so don’t give me shit.”

He took a pause, eyeing you down. Pushing hair off his forehead, he placed his hand on the counter next to you. “You’re unbelievable.”

You didn’t know if he meant it in a good way or bad way.

His eyes on you were as intent as ever, burning right through your own; his face an unreadable as ever.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

Lips pressed to yours in a fast kiss. Both the shock of the action and his body knocking yours as his hand came to cup your face caused you to step back, hitting the edge of the counter.

As quickly as it happened it was over, your eyes remaining wide open on him. His gaze was dropped down to the small space between the two of you, breath leaving his lips in small puffs.

“I – fuck – that’s not how I wanted that to happen,” his eyes lifted to yours, hand still holding the side of your face as his thumb stroked your cheek.

The feeling of his lips lingered on yours. “I couldn’t help myself,” his voice dropped, eyes glazing over your lips again.

Tongue quickly licking your lips, tentatively you lifted your own hands up, trailing your fingertips lightly over the fabric of his shirt, gripping the neckline. “You wanted to kiss me?”

His shoulders dropped slightly, smile pulled at his lips, as he visibly swallowed before speaking. “I – always.”

His words sent a rush through your body, wanting to feel him on you again. “Want to again?”

Harry didn’t waste a second, hand sliding to the back of your head. His other hand lifted to the small of your back, pushing your body closer to his. His kiss was a bit more tentative, pulling you gently against him.

Growing in confidence as you tugged on the fabric of his shirt, his mouth sliding open over yours and he pulled you in for more. Lips slotting open on yours as he pulled you in for more, and more.

A sigh being pulled from the back of your throat catches in his mouth as his fingers gripped tightly into the loose fabric of your dress. Your own hand wrapping around his shoulders, moving to pull at the hair that hung at the nape of his neck.

Greedily licking into your mouth as if he would die without the taste of you. Back arching as you pushed yourself against him, hips knocking with his.

Lips parting away with a ‘Christ’ grunted from Harry, uneven breaths swirling together. Dark eyes burning into your own, you felt a hand drop from your hip down your thigh, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

His lips met the skin of your jaw, hand on the back of your head tugging at your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him. His lips dipped down, a trail of wet kisses along your skin, teeth nipping at the skin that elicited a pitched gasp to leave your parted lips.

His body kept yours pinned against the counter, fingertips tickling the bare skin on your thigh as your own weaved through his hair. Your name tumbling from his lips as you pushed your hips against his. “What’re you doing to me, love.”

Fingertips easing down his shirt covered chest, pushing at him the slightest bit until his lips broke away from your skin. “We should,” your voice was so nearly breathless, “finish up here.”

Hand moving from his shoulder as you weakly motioned to the room around you, remembering you were both technically on the clock. “Yeah,” Harry blew out a sigh, his forehead resting on your shoulder momentarily. “We should.”

Taking a small step away from you as his eyes landed on your, hands moving to brush over your bare arms until his fingertips fiddled with yours. “You’re done working for the day, right?”

“I could be.”

Lips kinked into a smirk. “Do you,” Harry paused, interlocking your fingers as his hands continued to fidget with your own. “Come home with me? Promise just for dinner, a drink, whatever you want.”

Biting back a smile, you thought over his words. “Plus,” he added. “Got a killer view of the sunset.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke out on your face. “Won me over.”

The two of you finished off cleaning up the room quickly, properly emptying out baths of solvent, putting away all photopaper and making sure everything was turned off.

The front of the shop had already been seen to, only needing to punch in the code and lock the door before you were walking over to where Harry had parked down the street.

His arm had bumped yours as you left the shop, just before his fingers brushed over your hand to grab hold of it.

Once seated in the passenger seat of his car, he passed you his phone letting you have free reign over the music. The drive was quick, you were soon walking up steps in an apartment building you had passed countless times.

“Do you have a roommate?” Realizing he had never seemed to mention anything about his living situation.

“No,” Harry unlocked his door as you followed close behind. “Kind of lucky I guess, I was able to find this place.”

Nodding, very familiar with the joys of having the house to yourself. Following Harry as he kicked off his shoes, walking through his studio. You loved seeing inside people’s places, how they arranged their things, what they had lying around. It was also nice to see that the place had actually feel to it, seeming like he didn’t just have a mattress on the floor.

Standing in his kitchen, you watched as he placed his things on the counter by the door. Curiously glancing at the space around you, loving to snoop on the banality of the way other people lived.

“So, where’s this killer view?” Being on the fourth flour of the building, you didn’t doubt the view was nice, not having that luxury at your own place.

“Patience, darling.” He grinned at you from across the kitchen. “First, you want anything to drink? I’ve got water, tea…” he trailed off, brows furrowing as he seemed to have run out of things to offer you.

“Tea’s good,” you laughed, watching as he nodded and grabbed his kettle to fill with water. “Where’s your washroom?”

“Just around the corner,” he pointed, as you headed in that direction. Taking extra time to observe his things in the washroom, forever curious about how other people lived and taking it as a good sign seeing his washroom clean and fairly organized.

You were soon sitting on a on a little bench that he had out on a tiny balcony, tea in hand as you sat side by side. He was right, the sun was just setting and it lit up the sky with an orange glow.

As per Harry’s request, you had finally shown him some pictures of your art off your phone. You had blushed under his compliments, leaving your phone by your side as conversation died between the two of you and you both enjoyed the view. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you to rest against his chest.

It wasn’t long until Harry’s lips were on your skin once again. Starting with small kisses on you’re your shoulder, his head dipping down behind you. Innocent at first, you didn’t move in your position. Craning his head until his mouth met your neck, tongue darting out between parted lips.

You didn’t move until his teeth nipped the skin, eliciting a jolt from you in shock. Moving his head from the crook of your neck, hand coming up to your cheek, single finger pushing your head around to face him.

His mouth met yours, hesitant at first as he let you adjust yourself slightly so you wouldn’t have your neck twisted. His arm around you pulled you in closer, as your brought one leg up on the bench next to you so that you could press your chest against his.

Your own hands came up around his neck as your mouth opened with his, kissing him deeper and deeper while the sun set behind you. He held you tightly against him as if you’d slip away from him if he didn’t, as he selfishly pulled unrelenting kisses from you.

Moving his hand from your cheek to your waist, fingertips trailing over your dress until they were on your bare thigh, palm smoothing over your skin. Shivering at his touch, you shifted yourself even closer to him as you accepted the warmth coming off of him, as if he was replacing the setting sun.

Lips parting with a pant, heavy eyes darting from his swollen lips, his tousled hair to meet his own dazed gaze. Watching his eyes drop to the small space between you, to the fabric of the dress that he was fiddling with in one hand.

“Always wearing these little dresses,” he muttered, eyes narrowing on where the fabric rode up to expose more of your leg. His hand on your thigh pushing under the skirt, fingertips gripping tightly on your skin.

Lips nearing your ear, nipping at the spot under the lobe. “Always teasing me.”

Feeble whimper at his words, as he payed close attention to your neck, memorizing which spots made your gasp against him and retaining the subtle hint of your perfume to memory.

All while his hand smoothed over the outside of your thigh, pushing your dress up as he went over your hip. Fingers spreading over the extent of your hips, lightly pinching the skin of your ass. You felt them move over the band of your underwear, toying with the thin material.

“Let me,” he muttered against your skin, voice nearly incoherent. “Le’ me – can I? Please.”

“Yes,” the word was a whine, quick and rushed from your mouth. And his hand dipped down over your underwear and between your thighs. You jolt against him, fingers easily finding and pressing over your clothed clit.

“Fuck me, you’re wet.” His hand palmed over your center, pressing against you in a way that made you press your lips tightly together, head dipping down to the crook of his neck.

A single finger pushed your underwear aside, pushing through your folds. “Soaked through,” humming appreciatively, circling around your wetness.

A whimper against him had him wanting to hear more, other hand moving around your hips as you ground down over his hand.

Suddenly pulling his hand away, you lifted your head up to gaze up at him. Mouth gaping open as you wanted to whine, not a single sound coming out when you watched him slip his fingers past his lips, humming around them tasting you.

“Sweet,” he muttered, wet hand gripping your thigh once again as he trapped your lips in for a kiss. “Hop on my thigh,” he spoke into your mouth, posing it as a question but it was more of a demand.

“Wha’?”

He moved a hand to his own jean covered leg, patting it twice. “Wan’ you to get off on m’thigh.”

Blinking at his words, you found yourself nodding and readjusted with both legs now on the bench, a leg on either side of his thigh. You’d never gotten off this way before, especially not sitting outside on a balcony while the world quieted around you.

“Tha’s it, finally listening to me,” he hummed, hands reaching under your dress to grip your hips firmly. Your own hands wrapped around his neck, gripping onto his hair.

Pressing your heat onto his leg, grinding and rolling onto him. Gasping as you moved back and forth over him, fingers tight in his hair and chest every so often pressing into his. He kept encouraging you, watching every movement and motion you were making on top of him.

“Is it good?” He mumbled, lips sucking between his teeth as he kept his eyes narrowed on the way your hips moved on top of him.

“Yes,” you sighed, finding that sweet spot that sent sparks trough your legs. “’M gonna get your thigh all wet.”

“Good,” fingertips digging into your skin, “want you to.”

Lips stuck between your teeth as you tried to stay quiet, small whimpers building through your throat while he aided you on top of him. “Go a bit’ rougher love, that’s it.”

Grinding tightly on top of him, rough fabric pulling at you in ways you thought it couldn’t. He dipped back down to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin as he whispered hot words of encouragements.

Winding yourself up as you got off, shivering as he moaned your name into your skin and begged you to cum. Messily rolling your hips as he sucked hotly on a particular spot under your jaw, tension in your stomach building and building until you couldn’t keep your lips tight together anymore.

“Cum f’me, wan’ you to,” Harry grunted into the air when he pulled away from you, eyes focused on the way your eyes shut and teeth pulled at your lip.

“Look so pretty right now, with the sky glowing behind you – fuck, wish I had my camera.”

A string of nearly incomprehensible words urging you on, wanting nothing more than to see you come undone on top of him.

“Harry! Feels so good I’m –”

His mouth met yours as you chased your high, hot open mouth catching your whines in a messy kiss. “Go on,” he spurred, “gimme a good one.”

Tugging at his hair tightly as you found your orgasm, thighs squeezing his as your mouth dropped open. Shuddering against him as your limbs numbed at the intensity, pushing your chest on his with a sharp arch in your back.

You hang off him as your try to even your breathing, his lips finding the top of your head with a series of chaste kisses. “Did so good,” he praises.

Lifting your head after a moment, kissing a line from his cheek to his mouth. Shakily moving a leg to the wooden floor, lifting yourself off of Harry and onto your feet. “You got a bed?”

“Fuckin’ – follow me.” Harry scrambled up behind you, shutting the glass doors that led to the balcony to keep out the flying bugs and the cool night air. He led you through the studio, watching with heavy eyelids as you undid the small buttons that went from the top to the bottom on the front of your dress.

Kneeling on the mattress in front of him, you watched as he tugged his shirt over his head, standing at the foot of the bed in front of you. Immediately reaching a hand to his bare chest, fingertips lightly trancing over the tattoos on his skin until they reached the band of his jeans.

He visibly swallowed as you narrowed your eyes on your fingers, tugging his belt loose and reaching for the zipper.

“Darling,” his voice was clipped, watching your every move. Pulling his jeans past his hips along with his briefs, head tilting further down as your hand wrapped around his length.

He was hard, seemingly painfully so. Especially after your lips pressed to his skin with wandering hands, and especially after you got off on him with his name falling from your lips. Your grasp light, thumb moving over his tip to collect the drops of precum between your fingers, smoothing your palm around him. Inhaling sharply through his teeth, with a tight lipped ‘fuck’ being muttered under his breath.

“’s pretty,” you silently wondered how far back he’d reach in your mouth.

He leaned into your touch, teeth worrying over his bottom lip with a quick exhale. “I – I’m already worked up,” his voice was deep, pulling your attention to his face.

He slowly blinked, shaky breath as you let go of your grasp around his cock. His own hands came down sliding around your back, helping you out of your flimsy bralette. “Let’s get you out of this.”

Eyes falling over your newly exposed skin, as you shifted further back on the bed. He came down on top of you in a blink of an eye, tongue licking into your mouth deeply as you eased you down under him.

His hands were everywhere, cradling your head, massaging your breasts, digging into to your thigh. You accepted him on top of you, feeling his length laying heavy on your thigh as he rutted against you. Lips moving down, seemingly also wanting to lick and suck on every inch of your skin.

“How do you want to –” you didn’t finish your sentence, as Harry’s fingers tugged down your thin underwear, last piece of clothing tossed aside.

“Could have you any way love,” he quickly spoke, propping himself up on an arm to lift himself a bit. “Want you under me though. Want you close.”

Whining at his words, wordlessly begging him to hurry. He suddenly leaned over you, arm reaching aside as he dug through the drawer next to the bed. In a moment he was up on his knees, rolling a condom down his length, and the next he was back on top of you.

“Want you deep,” moaning into his mouth as you felt his cock rest heavy against your thigh, legs spreading as you hooked a leg around his waist.

Shifting his hips, he rubbed himself through your folds, collecting your wetness on his cock. Lips parting as he pushed himself in with a grunt, slowly easing his way in with a pressured stretch.

“Bleedin’ – y’feel amazing,” his voice was quick, eyes squeezed shut as you wrapped around him. “Good?”

“Yes,” you whined, pushing your hips up to meet his. “S’full.”

One hand wrapping under your knee to pull your leg up higher, lips pressed in quick kisses from the corner of your mouth down to your jaw. He slowly moved his hips, pushing deeply into you. Your own hands were tight around him, palms digging into the skin of his back.

He continued with languid thrusts, slow but tough. “S’ this good? You want more?”

“Please,” you whimpered, back arching and head pushing into the pillows as you ached for more. Your hands were wound in his hair, fingertips scratching into his scalp.

“Who would’ve thought,” a smirk lined his lips, though his voice was strained as he started a slow pace thrusting into you. “Suddenly listening to every word I say.”

“Fuck,” you couldn’t conjure up any kind of remark, as he finally pushed into you with force, one hand gripping tightly onto your hip, his fingertips sure to leave marks on your skin.

He was everywhere: his lips on your shoulder, hand flat around your hip, and he was deep.

Keeping a somewhat steady pace, lifting himself slightly over you when he dipped his head down and watched where the two of you connected. “S’pretty cunt,” he moaned, head hovering over yours before his lips slotted over yours in a sloppy kiss.

He pressed inside of you in every right way, the feeling of your second orgasm of the night already building. Tugging at his skin with one hand as you pushed yourself against him, other hand reaching to grip his hand that was currently massaging your chest.

Pulling his hand up, his pace faltered a bit as you pushed his thumb into your mouth. Lips enclosing around it, tongue licking and sucking on the digit. He watched you, eyes narrowed on your mouth.

Releasing it with a breath, his eyes flicked between his hand and your face. Understanding your intention, arm quickly snaking in the space between the two of you until his thumb was on your clit.

“Harry,” you shuddered under him, the sensation in the put of your stomach built. Clenching around him, his lips moved to your neck again with a grunt. “Love m’name on your lips.”

Shifting your hips again, widening your legs around him as you felt him even deeper. The overwhelming sensation of Harry filling all of your senses. “Can’t – please tell me your close, darling.”

“So close,” whimpering under him, “please.” You don’t know what you were begging for, you just needed something, anything.

Fingers gripping you tight as his thumb pressed onto your clit, thrusts getting sloppier but hitting just right inside of you. You had your own hands weaved around his neck, nails digging into his skin as you pushed you head back into the pillow.

“Harry,” you reached you peak, thighs squeezing him tight and chest pushing into his as your back arched. “Tha’s it,” he moaned your name against your skin, easing you through your orgasm. Grip on him tight as you bit your lip so hard you were sure it could bleed, you writhed under his grasp as the high died down.

“I can’t – so good,” his voice was nearly incomprehensible, lips muffled and words nonsensical. Clenching around him, he couldn’t hold back anymore after the way you came around him. He gripped you tightly with a couple final thrusts, calling your name and for god as he came into the condom.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, remaining pressed on top of you as he tried to regain his breath. Your hand moving through his hair, pushing it off his forehead as he kissed you once more before lifting himself off of you.

You stayed still, already feeling a colder without his body heat over top of you. Rolling your head to face with him with a grin, he returned the smile before quickly rising to a seated position on the mattress.

Getting up and going to discard of the condom, he suddenly disappeared from your view completely. “Where –”

Before you could ask, he reappeared with his 35mm in hand, coming over to kneel above you. “Stay still,” he mumbled as you moved to prop yourself up on your elbow, taking a moment to process what he was doing. “’S just your face I promise.”

Nodding with a breathless laugh, pushing one hand over your hair knowing that you surely didn’t look your best.

“Told you to stay still,” he hummed, as you gazed up at him. Inched the lens closer to you, hearing the click of the film a second later as he took a picture.

“Bet I look completely fucked out.”

“You do look completely fucked out.” He laughed, placing his camera next to you as he moved back to sit on the bed.

“Almost done with this roll, want to get this developed as soon as possible.”

#i ... don't know how i feel about this ... feels weird ? i dont know #feels rushed #but i hope everyone enjoys and let me know what u think !#rb / like / send it to ur neighbour #!!!!!#harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #utal

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