#like exes to lovers kinda bullshit

[judasgot-it]

Y'all I really want to write a fic to Hold Me Tight by BTS anyone have recs of who I should write it about? I'm thinking of either Jouno, Nikolai, or Dazai for this tbh.

[st4rbwrry]

𝓒𝓞𝓒𝓞𝓐 𝓑𝓤𝓣𝓣𝓔𝓡 𝓚𝓘𝓢𝓢𝓔𝓢.    onyankopon.

ᰔᩚ . . .8.5k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, set in university, relationship building, barista!reader, football player/scholar!ony, fluff, strangers to lovers, cabin sex, oral ꒰ f.꒱ , kinda slow burn?, teasing, foreplay, some ass eating, choking, dirty talk, biting, pet names ꒰ ex. mama, ma, baby ꒱, usage of aave, size kink, spanking, dacryphilia, heavyy dirty talk, minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs + comments are appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . took me absolutely forever to finish this fic so i hope yall rlly enjoy it. here’s some grown folk links. <3 visual. visual. visual. this is also ony’s redemption fic from the bullshit in why don’t you love me lmao.

you got it by bryson tiller thumped loudly from his airpod max’s, orangish-red leaves scattered and scrunching beneath his heavy black timberlands as he strolled along the sidewalk of the town heading to his destination; the cafe. a newfound obsession with the tranquility of studying there. the weather is fairly cold, a slight breeze making his nose wrinkle and sniffle, fighting any threat of sickness. this cozy little cafe was his haven, a place he escaped to when he needed to clear his head. or in this case, injure his brain by studying two weeks ahead of finals for the fall semester. 

the warm aroma of brewed coffee and soft lo-fi music enveloped him once he pushed open the front door. the cafe is somewhat occupied, with very few seats stuffed with students gossiping or discussing daily topics of the world. the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and baked goods wafts through the air, his tummy growling at the allure. comfortable armchairs and plush sofas are arranged in cozy nooks, perfect for curling up with a book or engaging in intimate conversations. natural light streams in through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the space and highlighting the rich, earthy tones of the wooden decor. despite the bustling activity, the atmosphere remains relaxed and unhurried. 

within his deepest of graces, he spots you behind the counter, a tug of a smile breaching onto his face. you’re moving around the cafe, refilling drinks, and chatting with regular customers. little did you know, your presence is a comforting constant in his increasingly chaotic life. clearing his throat, onyankopon approaches you.

“hey, handsome," you say with a warm smile, your voice smooth like honey. "it’s nice seeing your face. what can i get started for you today?"

as you speak, you continue expertly frothing milk for a customer's latte, the sound of the steam hissing filling the air between you. “hey, pretty. i’ll just take my matcha latte with one pump of syrup, cold foam, and cinnamon. lemme try the avocado toast with bacon today, please.” 

“sure thing, love. the bacon is pork, will that be okay?” he watches the fluff of your falsies blink up at him, deep brown eyes glowing from the soothing lighting of the cafe, accentuating your features. freckles sprawled along the bridge of your nose, black hair styled in a cute pixie cut with soft waves. jewelry on your nose, ears, neck, and henna-tatted fingers. there’s red ink on the side of your neck of a dragon he always admired. full lips outlined with dark liner and smeared with gloss. a pretty little thing. 

“yup, that’s cool,” he digs into his pocket for his phone, double clicking the button on the side to access his digital card as you tap quickly on the touchscreen to ring up his order. 

“okay! your total’s g’na be twelve sixty-four.”

“thank you,” he nods appreciatively.

“i’ll bring it over to you when it’s ready.” 

onyankopon’s making his way to his usual spot by the window, a comfy corner with views of brightly lit shops, couples holding hands, and trees dancing in the window. the sun had set, and the street lamps flicker on. he adjusted into his seat, pulling his sleek macbook from his black jansport backpack along with notebooks with different colors and sizes, a pen and pencil, and lots of sticky notes. in his palm where he held his iphone, he switches the music to his ‘unwind’ playlist, needing zero distractions. 

the past two months have been tough for him. a lot of things happened that pushed him to second guess not only the way his life was playing out, but the people he chose to surround himself with. a lot of heavy influence gets to those who are weak and in desperate need of escape. he’s never been a big fan of peer pressure, and college is full of it. after winning the homecoming game, being betrayed by someone he had deep feelings for on top of getting into an almost-brawl. . a lot of things started altering the way he thought and carried himself. onyankopon’s always been a mature person. coming from a family of doctors, athletes, and gentle, loving parents. for the most part always laid back, concise, and respectful. so when people brought him out of character to become someone he wasn’t, it frustrated him and made him go into isolation mode where he did nothing but refocus on himself and his goals—leaving behind all the immature, childish shit. 

glancing up from his laptop, he can hear you approaching, catching your gaze and giving a gentle smile as you set his beverage and food on the table, your eyes sparkling with kindness. “here you go, love.” 

“thanks again.” 

“you’re welcome.” 

the vibrant green matcha mixture soothes him after he takes a well-needed sip, savoring the creamy texture and subtle bitterness. the hint of cinnamon adding a pleasant warmth that spreads through his chest. you always know just how to make his drink. 

he’s always stuck in the cafe for about five hours, drowning in his studies. it’s become his routine now. right after practice he freshens up and makes his way over here. usually, when it’s short-staffed, he notices you closing the shop alone. as the hours tick by, the cafe gradually empties, leaving only a handful of people scattered throughout the space. he remains hunched over his laptop, concentration unwavering, but interrupted when he notices the lights beginning to dim, the soft jazz giving way to silence. realizing the cafe must be closing, he suddenly yawns, arms stretching above his head and shoulders rolling to release the tension from sitting in one spot. going to stand and gather his things, he spots you crouching behind the counter, wiping down surfaces, and organizing supplies.

“hey, need a hand wrapping things up? i didn't realize we were the last ones here."

your smile brightens as ony approaches, his tall frame looming over the counter. “oh, you don't have to do that, i can’t let you work for free.” 

"nah, i insist. i can finish up. hand me a broom or sum,” he suggested, that charming smile making your heart flutter nonstop. 

“okay, here,” you nod, retrieving a broom from the storage closet to hand him. 

the soft swish of the broom against the hardwood floor provides a rhythmic accompaniment to the quiet intimacy of the moment. onyankopon steals glances at you, watching you count the register with a few peeps of your own, smiling to yourself when he notices. his face lights up, shaking his head as he maintains his focus on his chore. as he continues, you try your best to stop blushing, your attraction for this man strong ever since you laid eyes on him. the two of you never hung out. he attended your finance class and you’ve held a minor conversation, but that was all. of course, since he was the quarterback for the panthers, you’d catch a game now and then and see him. you didn’t do parties, mostly stayed to yourself. 

considering his chaotic schedule, when he finally started coming into your job for drinks, that’s the best time to see him. he began as an acquaintance, having casual talks while doing your job. but then he started asking you about your day, complimenting your tattoos, giving you tips, calling you pretty . . now we’re here. you’re locking up the shop after cutting off the lights and calling it a night.

standing idly by, onyankopon’s got one hand on his backpack strap while the other nestled warmly into his black northface parka’s pocket. his teeth are pearl white as he smiles, a dimple on his cheek sinking in. it’s pure, and cute. his body is looming over your own, the moonlight casting across his chiseled features, emphasizing the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity in his dark eyes, your eyes glossing over the silver stud he has pierced into his left ear. a faint mustache above his dark, full lips and a small goatee on his chin. he’s attractive as hell.

“c’mon, lemme walk you to your dorm. it’s too dark out to be alone.” 

the gentlemanly gesture sends a flutter through your chest, the cool air brisking over your face as you bury your chin into your cocoa brown scarf shyly. “okay.” 

together, you stroll along the quiet campus path, your black telfar decorated with keychains stacked with hot wheels and sonny angels hitting against your thigh as you walk, arms folded. usually, you’re not a person to be nervous about speaking to a boy, but something about him felt completely different from others. he’s calm, respectful, and friendly. and not to be stereotypical, you figured he’d be the opposite considering he’s an athlete. their factors consist of being hard-headed, loud . . whores. granted, you didn’t fully know him as a person. it felt nice to flirt with someone grounded. 

“so, got any plans for fall break?” 

“nah, not much,” onyankopon shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. “i’m taking these two weeks to focus on studying for finals. my birthday’s coming up, so i'm sure my family has sum planned for me. i don’t care for it much.”

“like every man in the world,” you joke.

he chuckles. “yeah, i used to like all that party shit, but i ain’t in the mood for it, at least not now. i’m good for sum low key.” 

“that's understandable. i’m not doing much for break besides thanksgiving. my family and i usually do it big. watch the game, get tipsy, shit like that.” 

“yeah? maybe me and you can hang out then. i w’na talk to you more.” 

a shy smile spreads across your face as you consider the possibility. "yeah, sure. i’d love to.” 

the two of you depart after saying goodnight, ony making sure you’re safely into your dorm before leaving to sleep in his. days past and the routine continues. as the semester winds down, ony finds himself relying more and more on the comforting routine of visiting the cafe, knowing that amidst the chaos of finals prep, he can count on seeing you. your conversations grow longer, less about schoolwork and more about shared interests, inside jokes, and subtle flirtation. finally, the day arrives when he can breathe a sigh of relief. finals are done, and he’s aced his tests. that heavy weight on his chest dissipating. walking into the cafe, he’s greeted by the familiar warmth you bring, a smile spread over your face when you lock eyes.  

"hey, you," he says, gripping the corners of the counter, shoulders popping forward as he arches over to find you searching for oat milk. 

“heyyy,” you upturn your neck, the giddy on your face evident. “i figured you’d be on your way home by now, the campus is practically dead.” 

his jaw shifts as he chews his gum, fresh peppermint flavor flowing through his nostrils. “wanted to come see you first. also to let you know that i passed my tests.” 

you gasp, springing up in an excited leap. “oh my god, that’s so good, ony! congratulations.”

“thank you, love,” he bows his head appreciatively. “what about you? what’d you get?” 

“hmm, did really well for microbiology. passed everything else but math. it’s never been my strong suit,” you pout, ony humming apologetically. 

“it’s okay, as long as you did well for everything else, that’s still something to be proud of. i know you’ll get back up.” 

you bat your lashes, digging your chin into your shoulder. “thanks, ony. you’re the sweetest. becoming a vet is harder than i thought, but i know i can do it.” 

“good thing is we can finally relax, my brain's been fuckin’ killing me,” he rolls his neck, your eyes falling to the adam’s apple in his throat. 

"literally. i'm definitely looking forward to some downtime. finals were brutal this semester.” 

a sudden realization dawns on you, and you feel a rush of nervousness pass through. you’ve been wanting to ask him something, needing to express the feelings you’ve been harboring subtly. "listen, i was thinking ‘cause i remember you saying your parents are gonna be at a banquet for the holiday . . if you wanted to join me and my family for thanksgiving? my mom’s make the best everything ‘n there’s always leftovers.” 

a slow, pleased smile spreads across his face at the invitation, eyes crinkling at the corners. "i’m down as fuck, that sounds good. your place sounds like a better alternative.” 

you grin, twisting in your spot. “great, my mom’s would love to meet you. they’re very sweet. you have any allergies? i’ll make sure they’re careful.” 

“nah, baby. i eat everything,” onyankopon responds, the rasp in his tone suddenly making your skin hot, his comment on top of the pet name abruptly short-circuiting your brain.

“ ‘kay,” you play it off, gathering yourself quickly from your perverted thoughts. “i’ll text you when they’re ready to have guests over.” 

“cool. need me to bring anything? a pie? some drinks?” 

“i like stella rosè.” 

on the morning of thanksgiving, onyankopon arrives at your doorstep, a handful of red roses in one hand and your bottle of wine in the other. surprisingly, your parents wanted him to come over early, really so they could have a helping hand with prepping. he awaits in front of your house, a beautiful cape cod style surrounded by bushes and tall gates. he sees the silhouette of your shape approaching the door, pulling it open to find you smiling wide. ony clears his throat, scanning you from head to toe with adornment. you’re dressed in an espresso sweater dress with sheer tights and doc martens. there’s light makeup on your face, and you smell like tom ford’s lost cherry. the smell of pinewood and soulful music coming from within the home alongside laughter immediately has his brain conjuring up a future with you. you’re breathtaking, and you can say the same for him. 

“hi,” you breathe out, gnawing at your darkly lined lips. 

onyankopon’s attired in a black knit sweater that’s almost loosely fitted, his muscles daring to make it fit tightly. baggy, chocolate cargo pants, and black new balance 550s. a gold chain sits around his neck and a brown fossil outlet watch on his wrist. he smelled really good, dolce and gabbana’s the one lingering on his body. you could fall out, really. 

ony extends the flowers for you to grab. “happy thanksgiving. i got these for you. you look real pretty.” 

you giggle from how fast he rushed that sentence. “thank you, i love them. you look real good, too. come in.” 

he takes a step inside, taking in the cozy atmosphere of your home. the aroma of roasting turkey and savory spices fills the air, marvin gaye’s ‘i want you’ bumping from the surround sound along with the thanksgiving parade playing soundly on the mounted television. you guide him through the archway, setting the roses into a vase at the entryway table before entwining his hand with yours and pulling him towards the grandeur kitchen. in it stands both of your mother’s, the clinking of wine glasses, and slow dancing. the sight makes ony’s heart thump, it’s adorable, to say the least. now he understands why you smile so much. 

“mom’s! ony’s here!” 

turning in your direction, the two women greet him with loving smiles, your birth mother gasping at his gorgeousness, placing a hand over her heart with bulging eyes. you already caught on to what she was thinking, shaking your head. 

“oh my god, hi! you’re handsome!” 

your birth mother is the spitting image of you, the thick, luscious blowout curls the only difference in appearance aside from tattoos. she’s petite like you are, brown eyes and earthy-like jewelry. a pale green hippy skirt and tight black long-sleeve her attire. her wife contrasts her perfectly with a slighter darker edge. tall, slim, forest green faux locs that graze her shoulders and full sleeve tats. dressed in a dark sweater like ony is, skinny jeans, and loafers. they looked like the richest, happiest couple. 

after proper greetings and conversations, a few more family members pour into the home as hours pass, mingling in the living room to watch the football game. cheers and groans emanating from uncles as you and ony stand side by side in the kitchen fixing up the last dish for the table. you’re flirting more, leaving teasing touches as you work. sipping wine with your parents before they dispersed into another part of the house. the smell of apple pie baking in the oven, the slight buzz from the wine, and the warmth of everyone together makes him feel special. it felt intimate being here with you on such a special day. onyankopon turns to face you, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your face hot. unfortunately, something you won’t be able to change. 

"can i ask you something?"

you pause mid-chop, turning to face him fully. his proximity makes you acutely aware of the space between you, the heat radiating off his body.

"sure, what's up?" your voice is a little softer than usual, butterflies in your stomach. 

the kitchen had long cleared out, occasional bodies flowing in and out to dig in the fridge after waiting impatiently for food, but the way he stared at you made you feel like it was just the two of you. the abrupt sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek stuns you, his face inching closer while carefully observing the surroundings, flickering his eyes back to yours. 

“ony?” 

“i really like you,” the admission burns your stomach, his full lips brushing amongst yours erotically slow, damn near kissing you. it feels somewhat inappropriate given your family was around, but he kept it cute. he intakes air, sucking in your own before speaking again. “my parents gave me the keys to this cabin for my birthday. my dad has some kind of partnership with this guy or whatever. i want you to spend the weekend with me.” 

the intensity of the moment makes you swallow. he’s so close to your face it makes you scared to back away. luckily, no one’s around. you could hear your own heart pound. hesitation sits in your chest. it sounds romantic, and of course you like him too, but a man asking you to come to a cabin in the woods with him seems a little . . scary? or maybe you’re being dramatic.

“u-uh, um . . a cabin? in the woods? i watch a lot of crime documentaries, mister,” you whispered, threatening jokingly to ignore the way he was making you feel.

he bursts out laughing at your comment, immediately putting you at ease. “pretty, i would never. you don’t have to say yes right away. i just thought it’d be a good way for us to spend more time together. have that low-key birthday i wanted. i promise i have no ulterior motive. scouts honor.” 

you nod, biting your lip and cocking your head back to catch your breath. “yeah, i’ll think on it.”

“okay,” he pressed his forehead to yours, noticing you were deliberately trying to move back. “your mood changed. what you thinkin’, ma?” 

“thought you were g’na kiss me,” you admit, picking at the hem of your dress.

“you want me to kiss you? i was waitin’ on you,” ony replies slyly, licking his lips. 

a thumb comes up to trace the line of your jaw before he’s finally pressing his full lips to yours, and it’s deep. jaw locking and bottom lip falling to catch your own in a passionate, slow kiss. your hips prickle with heat the instant his hand goes to squeeze you there, ony breathing you in while covering your mouth with his. he’s inhaling the air from you, your hand coming up to cup his jaw to pull him away, the disconnect leaving both of you breathless. he licks your gloss off his lips with a clench of his jaw and dilated pupils. 

“hey, what y'all doin’ in here?” your mother's voice interrupts, ony pulling away to hide the smirk on his face. 

you step back, trying to compose yourself as your mother enters the kitchen. momentarily, you're at a loss for words. you offer a casual shrug. “just chatting, mom. nothing too serious.”

she observes the two of you, squinting her eyes knowingly. “unh huh. my pasta salad done?”

“yes ma’am. i’ll pop it in the fridge right now,” onyankopon speaks up, holding up the huge serving bowl proudly. 

“aweee, such a sweetie bean,” she coed. you roll your eyes. “we can start gathering to eat. g’na say a prayer then dig in ‘cause i’m starving and my body hurt.”

you and ony share a glance before he bumps your shoulder, laughing in sync.

dinner goes more than well. your entire family adored ony, and it put this feeling in your chest that goes far beyond just a crush. everyone crowds the long dining table, passing food while conversing and laughing. he felt comfortable, and more than anything, safe. sitting next to you, he holds your hand under the table, and after everyone’s tummies are full, leftovers are taken and goodbyes are said, that’s when you and ony find yourselves sitting peacefully on a hammock out back to watch the stars. 

“i’d love to come to the cabin with you.” 

and just like that, the next day hits, and he’s pulling up to your house in his black jeep wrangler waiting for you to come out. when he sees you, his chest warms up like clockwork, your nike duffle bag packed heavy as you wave excitedly, comfortably dressed in a blood-red tube top, gray sweatpants, uggs, and a black hoodie. the weather wasn't too bad today, warm enough for you to only hold your coat. onyankopon hops out of the car to properly greet you, his brooding body in a simple black crewneck, sweats, and a matching hoodie. 

“hi, pretty. you look gorgeous,” he lowers his head to kiss your cheek, taking your bag from you to carry to the truck. 

you giggle, raising your brow. “in sweats ‘n oversized clothing?” 

“your face is everything i need to see, mama.” 

you smile. “you love to call me that.” 

“you don’t like it? i can stop,” he says seriously.

“no, i love it. it’s very endearing.” 

“mhm. c’mon, the cabin awaits!” ony exclaims, following you to the vehicle to hold open the door for you. 

you slide into the passenger seat, feeling the supple leather conform to your body as you buckle up, the scent of black ice engulfing the truck. after tossing your bag in the backseat, he settles in beside you, giving you a wink as you giggle and kick your feet together.

“ready?” he asks. 

“ready.” 

the anticipation builds with each passing mile, the promise of a romantic escape bubbling in your stomach. the woods are dense, driving further away from civilization. hold on by the internet plays quietly from the car's speaker, air blowing in from the tiny cracks of the window. the scent he gives makes you sink comfortably into your spot, seat pulled back with your knees to your chest and a book on your lap as your soothing voice reads sentences aloud to him, his interest in the african mythology cultivating. 

"keep going," he urges, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he navigates the winding roads. the rhythmic cadence of your voice is like music to his ears, and he relishes every syllable spoken, available hand gripping onto your thigh. 

the ride carries on for almost two hours, and the tranquility of each other's presence is palpable. as he reaches the top of the hill, ony kills the engine, sitting back into his seat while the two of you admire the area. it’s quaint, trees enveloping the dark oak cabin, the sun painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. the cabin's exterior exudes rustic charm, but the inside is sleek and modern. polished hardwood floors, a small kitchen, a two-seat table, and a large window that overlooks the surrounding forest with a queen-sized bed pushed up against it. there's a walk-in rainfall shower with multiple jets, and a fire pit directly outside where you were dying to make s’mores. it’s like a mini home, and you both loved it. 

the night air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine and wood smoke as you lounge on the outside chairs, firelight dancing across your faces. after settling in, the two of you ran to a small grocery store in town to get a few things ony could throw on the grill. seasoning the burgers and chicken skewers together before playing music from your speaker and watching him work. he sips a beer, a few specks of sweat on his forehead but luckily as it got dark, the coolness dried them away. 

“y’know, i always think about the possibility of being mauled by wolves when i come up here.”

stopping from taking a sip out of your drink, you stare blankly at him. “now why the hell would you put that in my head.”

“my bad, my intrusive thoughts got to me. i promise there aren’t any around here. it gives real forks washington vibes up here.”

“not a twilight reference,” you giggle. “you don’t give me someone who’s into stuff like that.”

“whatttt, girl bye. team jacob all the way,” he playfully sways his hand, cracking a smile from your outburst of a laugh, playfully pushing at his arm.

the weather began to grow colder, onyankopon noticing the sluggishness in your tone as you speak, eyes low meaning it was time for bed. he let’s you head inside while he tidied up, the tranquility of you snuggled up in bed closest to the window sprawled out as he quietly cleans the dishes makes him smile. not long after he brushes his teeth and cuts off all the lights, he slides into the bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and snuggling his face within the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as you snore lightly.

as the morning approaches, the two of you awaken to find yourselves entwined with one another. legs tangled and skin close to skin. the morning light filters through the glass window, casting a soft glow over the entire cabin and your bodies. you softly mewl, not wanting to move an inch, savoring the comforting scent of his body and the warmth of his pressed against yours.

the two of you lay in bed for another hour, occasionally in and out of sleep before onyankopon makes a suggestion of starting the day with a hike to enjoy the nature. after getting ready and dressing comfortably, the two of you stroll along the winding trail, the path following through dense forests, trees filtering some of the sunlight and casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath your feet.

the silence is comfortable, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds as onyankopon holds your hand in his, swinging your arms and giggling like lovesick teenagers. as the trees thin out, then reveals a sparkling lake in the distance. you gasp at the sight of a waterfall beating down on rocks, the lake flowing heavily. it feels just like a disney film.

you’ve noticed something about ony. he was extremely affectionate in ways of kisses and hugs, currently holding your face within his palms to press his lips to yours, the soothing sound of the waterfall in the background making this all perfect. outside of that, he wasn’t super physical in terms of intimate touch. from his end, he’s afraid to do anything that would perceive him differently. he genuinely enjoyed your company, your personality, and you overall. physical intimacy was the last thing on his mind, but you wanted that from him including everything else. part of you didn’t want to blatantly say it, more so wanting him to make the first move so you could feel that pull from him.

he breaks away from the kiss, staring at your face intensely for a few seconds, wondering what’s on his mind. clearing his throat he says, “let’s go make some breakfast.”

after a nice breakfast of classic scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and home fries, you spend the afternoon engaging in cute activities such as painting. you’d brought some of your crafts figuring it’d be a nice way to connect more. a paint and sip date. your playlist titled cocoa butter streams out of your speaker, playing mellow rnb tunes while you sip on stella rose and unwind. this was what he needed. he feels like he spent so much time thinking toxicity was necessary in a relationship to keep it alive. but being in this moment with you, coloring with crayons in a spider-man book while you paint on construction paper, listening to music and yapping about whatever — he felt happy.

ony finishes a random portrait he drew after getting tired of the coloring book, drawing you a giant pink heart with vines and roses, sliding it towards you shyly, and hiding his face. you laugh at his reaction, praising him for how good it looks and giving him a kiss on the cheek, telling him you’d admire it forever, even frame it.

hours slip by unnoticed, the two of you now standing side by side in the small kitchen to cook dinner. you decided on something simple; ribeye steak and broccolini. a voice in your head tells you to make ony feel more at ease with you, even if he did. caressing his arm as he sears the steaks, resting your head on the hollow of his back and chatting. you even guide him to grab your waist as you prepare a chimichurri sauce to pour over the steak. little things to give him a sign that it was okay.

once the night began to die down, ony opted to clean up since check out was in the morning. as he tidied up, you decided to take a shower to wash off the steak smell and grease on your clothing and skin. classic oldies still play lowly from your speaker, finding himself humming along to ‘good luck charm’ by jagged edge as he wipes down the stove with cleaner. ony turns his head when he hears a thud, a silent cuss, and a painful whine from you following.

he raised his head in curiosity, wanting to make sure you were okay. “aye, you good?”

he didn’t mean to push the door further open given it was cracked to make sure the bathroom wouldn’t fully fog up. but his elbow hits the door and he catches a glimpse of your entire figure. hot steam illuminating your skin and swirling around you like a mystical aura, water enhancing the pigment of your skin.

“ah, shit . . my fault. sorry,” he stumbles out, ducking his head to block his view of you.

“it’s okay!” you softly announced. “just dropped my bar, it hit my toe but i'm okay!”

“coo’, coo’. ”

clearing his throat, he closes the door to give you privacy, rubbing the back of his neck before tossing his head back and sighing. instead of letting his mind run, he jerks his attention back to the task at hand, tidying up the rest of the area. once the cabin is spotless, onyankopon gets comfortable in bed, waiting for you to finish in the bathroom so he can have his turn. when you exit, the room is filled with an awkward silence, the noticeable tension palpable.

ony catches you standing at the doorway, only dressed in one of his shirts. he’s lying on his back in the bed, legs spread as he holds the mythology book in his hands. turning to face you, he looks at you curiously, the sudden darkness in your eyes making his dick ache. he lays the open book flat on his chest, eyes never leaving yours. 

“what’s wrong?” ony asks, but your silence remains, biting at your lip before glancing at his toned v-line. only one thing on your mind. “talk to me, mama.” 

swallowing, you fold your arms in front of you, toes indented atop your other foot.  “i . . noticed you haven’t really touched me the way i want you to.”

you didn’t mean to say it with insecurity, having this stupid feeling that he didn’t want you in a way you thought he did. obviously that wasn’t true, you just needed him to physically be infatuated with you.

ony sits up, confusion etched into his features, immediately attending to your needs. his hands resting on his knees as he looks at you intently. "i’m sorry if it came off like that. i just didn’t want you to think of me that way. like, i didn’t want you to think that’s the only reason i wanted to bring you up here.”

“oh . . .” you bite your lip, feeling a mixture of relief and higher attraction. “that’s sweet of you, i appreciate you for being a gentleman. i don’t know, i had this stupid thought that maybe you were holding back because. . well, because you weren't sexually attracted to me." you admit quietly, chest tightening at the possibility.

the look on his face looks painful, like he was in disbelief that you could even say such a thing. ony stands immediately, the quickness almost scaring you as he approaches you with an intense demeanor. glaring up at his towering figure, you gasp when he backs you up against the wall, his nose molding to yours.

"never that.”

ony inhales sharply, your scent intoxicating him. he brushes his lips against your earlobe as he whispers, "i am so fuckin' attracted to you,” his hands roam around your hips, fingers softly indenting in the soft flesh covered by fabric. his touch makes your face heat up and the throb between your thighs worse, his lips trailing down to hover over your own. "i was scared, yeah, but not because i don't want you. it's ‘cause i want you too fuckin’ much."

mewling, you drunkenly press your chest to his, your horniness on top of the few glasses of wine in your system craving him horribly. it’s bad the thoughts you’ve been having. his knee finds its way between your legs where you press yourself down slightly, dragging your hand to grip the back of his neck and he copies by doing the same.

“i w’na fuck you,” you mumble against his lips, kissing him gently, the soft peck growing rougher when you go for another one and this time it sounds wet. “you w’na fuck me too?”

ony grunts, his fingers digging into your hips harder as he grinds himself against your stomach. “fuck yes, mama. ima show you how bad i want you.”

finally, he captures your mouth in a kiss, lips smacking with greedy attention. moaning into each other's mouths in heat, your shirt raising high as his hands smooth along your body, aching to touch the softness of your skin. rubbing the sides of your thighs before sliding them to your ass where he gropes and spanks you, a sound you’ve never made before falling from you when his fingers spread your ass cheeks apart with a bit of your pussy.

groaning in your mouth, he goes to grab your wrists and pins them above your head, raising you higher to grind his hips against your pussy, feeling the outline of him in his sweats. ony kisses your neck, open mouthed and following with tongue after gently nipping at your skin with his teeth. you feel like you’re going to faint from how aroused you were.

he breaks his mouth away after a few minutes, gazing down at you with lust-filled eyes. "gotta get you naked, mama. need to feel that pussy on me.”

with a swift motion, he drags the shirt you wear above your chest, maintaining the grip he has on your wrists, his gaze devouring every inch of your curves.

“fuck,” he utters, groaning before opening his mouth to lick and suck at your tits, gasping and grinding as you push yourself closer to him. each suck is lewd, loud in the quiet space, pulling your areolas into his mouth and sliding his tongue between the valley.

his mouth comes back to your neck, kissing once more before he’s fully pulling off the fabric so you’re completely bare. picking you up, he carries you towards the bed, giggling as he lays you onto the plush mattress, instantly bending you over and rubbing his hands over your ass after climbing behind you. reaching under your left thigh with his forearm, he drags your body on the bed so you’re facing the headboard, pressing the dip of your back further down, clothed dick against your core.

“can you show her to me, baby?” ony whispers, licking his lips as he lowers his face, your back arching and ass high up. his palm lands on it, a whimper flowing from you, expressing a needy pout on your lips.

“mm hm,” you nod, goosebumps on your skin. his voice makes your clit throb harder.

onyankopon inhales sharply as your hand reaches under yourself to spread your folds apart with two of your fingers, pussy drenched and waiting for his mouth to eat it. your hips stir in desperation as you rub at your clit, waiting for him to hurry. his jaw clenches, humming to himself as the ache in his dick grows painful, leveling his face and covering your pussy with his mouth. your hand drops, ony resting his wrist in your palm you grip as your mouth falls open. brows furrowed, he grunts and drags his tongue along your slit, savoring your taste as your wetness sticks to your thighs like honey. the vibrations from his throat causes you to clench, shakily moaning and softly rocking your ass back on his face, the scratch of his facial hair making you wetter.

"ony, shitt,” you moan, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he devours you. "like that, baby.”

he’s leaving heavy licks and targeted flicks against your clit, his nose nudges your perineum, suckling your folds into his mouth before grunting and digging for your nub, flattening his tongue and rocking his head up and down along with each of your movements. moans break out in shudders, ony trailing his free hand to slowly spank you in iterations, juices coating his chin, your voice getting louder.

“ooh, fuck mama. that’s what you needed, right? you like my tongue?” the harsh licks of ony’s tongue urges your toes to curl, throwing your ass back on his face in a quicker pace, thighs shaking violently.

“unh h-huh, baby — yess.”

"you taste so muhfuckin’ good," he growls, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. "love having this pretty pussy in my fuckin’ mouth."

you cry out in ecstasy, hips bucking wildly as ony dips his tongue inside you relentlessly. your shoulders fall into the bed as you reach back to grab the top of his head, soft textured waves on your palm as you pull him deeper into your heat. combinations of squeals and whines spewing as he curls it within you while kissing your folds with his thick lips. "f-fuck, ony! t-there, oh my god don’t — mmgh stop!"

“stop?” he hums condescendingly, spanking you again. now he’s reaching under to lock his forearms on your thighs and lifting you up so you’re sitting on his face while he raises up on his knees.

“n-noo,” fisting the sheets, your mouth remains open as he lifts you like a dumbbell at the gym and rocks you up and down on his face, your slickness mixed with his salvia trailing down your mound to the pudge of your tummy. “ony. you eat it so good. s’too good.”

“ooh, you my bad girl,” ony hissed, landing a hard smack on your ass again, sliding his tongue over your puckered hole, refusing to miss a spot tasting you. “you turn me on so much you bad fuckin’ girl.”

he’s almost got you in a full sixty-nine position, your stomach touching the abs on his body, the heat radiating onto you. you grab his thigh, the blood rushing to your head and you feel yourself getting dizzy.

“onya,” whimpering, you crawl forward so you can breathe, escaping his aggressive hold on you, not wanting you to move but allowing you to.

“come taste it off me.”

his love taps on your thigh ease you, flipping yourself onto your back to pick yourself up. you crawl to him, eyes low and kissing his stomach, working your way up to his neck and then his mouth, molding his lips with yours. moaning, you suck on his lips greedily, taking your hands to tug down his sweats on either side of his hips, gasping when his dick smacks his thigh. you break the kiss, his eyes damn near shut as he glares at you, keeping back a grin as you stare in between where you meet to see the heavy girth of his dick. it’s curved downwards from the weight of it, two toned at the base and an angry vein wide on the side.

“mmm,” you audibly moan, brows furrowing and lips pouting. it’s obvious how horny you were by the expressions you make.

ony grabs your ass when you don’t waste any time spitting on it from where you stand, hitting his base and taking your hand to spread it over him. twisting your palm around the tip and grabbing his neck with your other hand, watching each other, concentrating on the noise of you stroking his dick.

“spit on it,” you plead softly, lips kissing his, biting his bottom.

the stir in his stomach is something he hadn’t felt in a while, finding himself obeying you, lowering his head slightly to spit over his own dick, covering your fingers and pumping your fist faster. your hand instinctively tightens around his neck when he latched his mouth on yours, biting at the flesh and dragging his tongue along your skin. you pull him in, moaning in his ear while he moans on your neck. his tongue is fat, tracing every inch of your skin with noises erupting deep within his throat, kissing and sucking and it makes you insanely wet.

“lemme beat that pussy, ꒰♡꒱. lemme take it.”

the eye contact is deadly, ony growing impatient and pining you on your back. with your head nestled between full feathered pillows, you raise your knees to your chest without help, opening yourself to him and dragging your acrylics down the front of his muscular thighs after he tosses his sweatpants fully off.

ony goes to grab behind your neck, pressing his mouth to yours once more, tapping the head of his dick on your clit a few times before rubbing it against your folds and ever so slowly sinking into you. both of you gasp in sync, ony keeping his hand around the base as he thrusts steadily to let you adjust. he’s pushing in halfway before pulling out and slipping in further. removing his hand, he groans with his head tossed back. locking his hand on the back of your left knee to fully pin your leg to the bed, your stomach caving in from the fullness he gives you, biting your lip hard.

“talk to me, lemme know when it’s safe.”

you can tell he’s trying to hold back, pushing his hips forward till they’re touching yours. you whine pathetically, feeling so good just from minimal strokes. your pussy flutters around him with praise, watching him disappear entirely inside of you and come back out coated in your arousal.

“i’m good,” pawing at his chest, you silently beg for him to bring his body closer, needing his skin on yours.

ony rests his chest on yours, noses mushed together as he locks your smaller frame beneath him, the hand behind your neck now clasping your throat where blushes of purple begin to form. the pretty waves of your pixie cut grows disheveled from this heat that you go into when he starts fucking you rough. the nasty slosh of your pussy drenching his dick in the quiet cabin. only mellow music playing and the disgusting grunts and filthy moans you equally make in each others faces.

ony’s hips smack into yours relentlessly, his jaw wide as he breathlessly grunts while pressing his forehead to yours. squeezing his eyes shut while yours weakly fail to stay open, drunk on his dick as he fucks you harder the louder you get.

“f-fuck, onyaa, shitt. feel so good.”

“ooh, it does for me too. shit, it does for me too,” his voice cracks, a throaty hum he releases vibrating against your chest.

“your dick is s-so . . . big,” you cry out, voice becoming unrecognizable from how broken it is. every pound makes you vocally recite, its needy, and its sexy as fuck. ony can’t bare to hear it, fearing he’d bust too quickly from how you sound alone.

“shit, girl,” ony shakily inhales before laying his palm over your mouth to muffle you, his eyes scrolling into the back of his skull as he balanced himself on the tips of his toes and drives his dick into you harder. “ugh, fuuck, fuck fuck.”

screaming in his palm, you somehow get so loud it didn’t matter if he gagged you quiet. your tongue lolls out on his hand, eyes crossed and breathing heavily. you hold on to his arm, chest bouncing from every hard hit, sticky skin clapping and the feeling of ony in your stomach completely fogs up your brain.

“sloppy ass fuckin’ pussy. pretty ass face, too baby. fuck, gimme this shit. shit talkin’ to me ‘n takin’ my dick so good.”

turning your head to the side, you break away from his palm on your mouth, collecting air in harsh pants and crying out his name in long streams.

“say that shit again, ma’.”

sniffling, you claw at his strong waist, helping him fuck you by yanking him forward, curling your toes and straightening your legs so your pussy clamps tighter around him when they nearly reconnect.

“onyaaa.”

“mm hmm. atta girl.”

keeping your legs to your stomach, they bury the sight of your face, onyankapon entwining his fingers on top of your head that he cradles, holding your face to his chest as he fucks you harder. he sounds ridiculously sexy, growling in the air as you hold the back of his thighs and jerk beneath him from the intensity of his aggression. grinding his dick in you, pressing on the spongy spot deep inside and you can instantly feel the warmth of nearing your orgasm.

“c-cumminn’, ony . . . fuck.”

“cum on this dick, mama. get it all over me.”

it was by far the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. the aggressive pulse on your clit as you cum, tightening on his dick which he feels it all. the broken symphonies of whines streaming along with pleasurable sobs. it felt so goddamn good.

“good girl, you so pretty when you cum.”

the drunken smile on your face makes ony smile back, kissing your forehead before lifting himself off of you. inhaling, he regains his composure, lifting your ankle to kiss before he’s turning you on your stomach and shoving a pillow under to toot you up at a good angle.

you manage to snort when he kisses the back of your neck, feeling ticklish. his kisses follow down the path of your spine, the tingles in your hips and chest arise again, grinding your ass back when his mouth finds its way there again. nipping at your ass cheeks gently with his teeth. “love all of you, baby. hold that pretty ass open for me.”

“yes, baby.”

the muscles in the back of your shoulders dance as you reach behind yourself to spread your ass apart for him to see, gasping softly when you feel a glob of spit hit your hole and trail down your entrance.

“yeah, keep ‘em there.”

the fat tip of his dick slides it’s way back into you, ony’s brows knitting together as he watches the ring of your cunt grip on him after he pulls back. your black stilettos look good on the pigment of your skin, looking back at him deviously, dark lashes with spikes on the bottom row batting in slow motion it felt like. you kiss your own shoulder, humming elatedly when he begins to fill you up with his whole dick, pouty lips parting to moan softly.

dawn was near, the light in the sky beaming into the glass windows overtime and over your gorgeous figure. his feelings for you grow stronger. he needed you in his life. needed you crying on his dick forever. needed to kiss you all the time and even laugh like idiots. his head was filled with multiple layers of emotions. you could hear the birds chirp outside as ony lifts his body in push-up form to slam into you with all the strength he had left.

your hands stay where they are, body knocking down from every rough, steady, and needy pound. your skin hitting his loudly, ony choking on his moans while you whimper his name.

“g’na fuckin’ . . bust, baby. you want dis’ nut?”

“i want it. do it, ony. i want you.”

“you want me?” he heaves.

“mhm, want you.”

wrapping his forearm around you neck, he drops his weight on you, rutting into you, easing his pace when he finally feels that buildup rush in his abdomen. balls jumping and quickly sliding his dick out to nut over your ass, shooting out in long strings of white up to your backside. onyankopon drags out a grunt, fisting his dick and pumping it to get out every ounce, tightening his palm towards the head and patting your ass with it.

smiling, you drop your arms and bring them to the pillow your head rests on, gripping tight and nuzzling your face into it. ony kisses your cheek, lingering for a few seconds before he’s picking himself up to head to the bathroom to retrieve a warm soapy washcloth. he cleans himself up with a separate one before slipping on his sweats again when he comes back.

you feel the dip in the bed where he sits, his hand on the middle of your back he rubs soothing circles into while proceeding to clean you up with the rag. he took everything out of you, turning your head in his direction to watch him with lazy eyes.

ony clears his throat, smoothing his hand over his waves. “was that . . good for you? you enjoyed it, yeah?”

his anxiousness made you giggle, nodding slowly. “i enjoyed it. yeah. did you?”

“i think i enjoyed it too much,” he admits, swallowing before giving you that serious stare again, wondering what else he had to say. “you were serious about wanting me, like for real?”

you blink, feeling yourself grow extremely tired, but wanting to give him reassurance. “mm hm, i want you.”

and that makes his heart warm, leaning down to kiss your forehead as you try your hardest to fight sleep.

“yeah. i want you too, mama.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

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

→ summary:

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

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

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

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

It’s worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Painfully and pathetically you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Not anymore.)

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

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

“What’s it about this time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you do know, the universe responds. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, and seal your fate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

[lisired]

who needs cupid’s bow?

pairing: bff!haechan x (f) reader

genre/warnings: bff2l, suggestive, lots of sexual innuedos but no smut, fluff, a teaspoon of angst, mc & hc are oblivious to each other’s feelings and jaemin calls them out on their bullshit, mutual pining

summary: Cupid is not on your side, it seems. He’s made you fall in love with the worst possible person ever, AKA your best friend, AKA the man who still eats tootsie-pops—willingly. And frankly, it feels like the damn candy has a better chance of dating him than you ever will.

word count: 11.1k

a/n: inspired by down for you by kehlani, boyfriend by ariana grande, and serial lover by kehlani. another oldie but i kinda like it… kinda. as always, feedback is appreciated!

It’s safe to say that Cupid is your mortal enemy (Or immortal—whatever. Nonetheless, you aren’t the biggest fan of him.)

You don’t know why, but for some inexplicable reason, he always makes you fall in love with the wrong people. Such as Lee Taeyong from eighth grade, or your failed relationship with Kim Jisoo from your biology class in high school — a pretty girl, but you were as compatible as Mentos and Coca-Cola. Hell, there was even Jung Sungchan from senior year, who you naturally drifted away from during an exam period. They’re all chapters in your book now, but you’re currently stuck on the one about your best friend, Lee Haechan.

It seems like you’re Cupid’s mortal enemy, too. You and Haechan are always side by side, down one another’s throats, there’s no way his arrow could have hit you and missed Haechan.

Perhaps, it’s a hole you dug yourself in. Via mutual friends, when you were seventeen, you met Lee Haechan — jock, senior, and the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen. There was an instant connection between you two, all it took was a convo at a party about coincidentally both failing the same math exam, and you quickly became friends and close enough to pour out your heart into little rants whenever there was something personal bothering either of you, and you needed an outlet. You liked him because he understood you. He was patient witth you. You see, you aren’t the best at communicating how you feel, and he never makes you feel bad about it.

You remember breaking up with your then-boyfriend, Jung Sungchan, and while you weren’t heartbroken since you saw it coming and all the love had evaporated by then, you were devastated that you no longer had someone to kiss. That being your main concern made Haechan laugh. He thought it was the most you thing ever.

“Can I kiss you, then?” you asked, a little grin on your face, although you were very serious. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, kissing your best friend. He has pretty lips, and it isn’t like it’ll mean anything, you think. It’s just one kiss.

Haechan scoffed, biting off the last remaining piece of his Tootsie Pop off the stick. You’re kidding, he thinks. Why would you seriously want to kiss him? And after breaking up with your now ex-boyfriend? The wound’s still fresh. “You wouldn’t dare.”

To Haechan’s surprise, you dared.

He tasted like chocolate, exactly like a Tootsie Pop, as expected of him. You didn’t mind, though. You never do. It was fun, you liked the way Haechan held you in his lap and kissed you back with fierceness, and he still kisses you with that same passion, like there’s no tomorrow.

And that’s the problem.

Fast-forward four years later, you’re still best friends with Lee Haechan, only this time you’re in college, and have the fattest, most gigantic crush on him. Somewhere along the way, those lines between love and friendship were blurred. It’s impossible to pinpoint when, but you fell deep and hard for your best friend.

And the worst part? You doubt he’ll ever reciprocate those feelings.

One kiss turned into more than you can count on your fingers and toes.

Should you continue making out with your best friend who doesn’t reciprocate your romantic interest in him? Probably not.

Are you still going to, though? Absolutely.

“Y/n, I’m going to kill you,” Haechan states as he stumps inside the dining room. His hair is tussled since he’s just waken up from a nap, but you like this raw side of him. He looks gorgeous, and despite him basically threatening to murder you you still want to kiss him.

“Romantic,” you deadpan, training your eyes back on your laptop. It takes everything in you not to stare, but if you want to keep your feelings low-key, you need to follow a couple of rules.

“I know you took my Tootsie Pop. Where is it?”

You smirk a little, but it quickly fades into a line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Okay, so maybe that’s a lie, and you both know it. You aren’t the only other person in the house, but Jungwoo, Haechan’s stepbrother, is asleep and wouldn’t cut his nap time short to do something as stupid as stealing the last of his brother’s favorite candy. That leaves you. As his best friend, you’re the first person to know Haechan turns murderous over those stupid lollipops, and that he’s the last person to know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-Pop. In your personal opinion, they’re not even that good. But he’s loved them ever since you’ve known him.

“We’re best friends, y/n. I know when you’re lying,” he remarks, and doesn’t give you the chance to answer before he persists, “where is it?”

There’s only one way out of this.

Run.

Haechan follows almost automatically, and in spite of being barely awake he obviously has the upper hand because he’s always leaned more towards the sport-y side. This doesn’t deter you though, because you have a getaway plan.

In your attempt to somehow outrun a man that used to do track and field, you make a beeline for the backyard door. He’s not going to outrun you in the grass in slippers, you think as you turn to see if he’s caught up on you. You’re in the lead, albeit barely, with your body almost being in arms reach. You try to pick up your speed, and once you reach the door you hurry to turn the knob. Except, there’s one, itty-bitty problem.

The door is fucking locked.

And you already know you won’t have time to open it, so you cave in to defeat, whirling around with your hands up in a surrendering pose. Your plan’s backfired; you’ve been caught.

“Oh, I’ve got you now,” Haechan says cockily. He has you—hook, line, and sinker, and at this point you aren’t even upset. You can’t be upset. His eyes are on you, and his body is close to yours, dangerously so.

“Okay, you win. Happy?” You mumur.

“Not until I get my Tootsie Pop back,” he shakes his head, “now where is it?”

Smiling, you shrug. Of course, you know where the candy is, but he’s either going to have to win or pry the answer out of you.

Then, he steps even closer, and your heart starts pounding in your chest twenty times faster than your feet were against the hardwood. This isn’t your first rodeo, you’ve made out with your best friend countless times, yet the anticipation gives you a rush, like you’ve never done this before. It makes you feel like a teenager in love all over again — seventeen, young and head over heels in love with the man closest to you.

He’s back you into the door, and you can’t keep your eyes off his lips. Beautiful, plush, soft, and your eyes flutter shut as you prepare to feel the same skilled pair against your own, closer, and closer, and closer—

Crunch.

“I fucking knew it!” Haechan yells, jolting your eyes open. You aren’t even given the opportunity to register the situation before his hands are digging into your back pocket, retrieving his fortunately unharmed Tootsie Pop.

It feels like he’s gone before you can even blink, and realizing he’s slipped back into the hall, you begin to follow him into his room. “Hey!” you yell, and he doesn’t say anything, just looking up at you from his gaming chair with that damn candy hanging from his mouth, “why didn’t you kiss me?”

“Why’d you steal my Tootsie Pop?”

Okay, that was stupid, yes, but there was a particular goal in mind which was reached, even if for a short-lived moment.

You frown, “I wanted your attention.”

Haechan shakes his head, laughing. “C’mere.”

Somehow, those words never fail, making you melt and slip into his lap effortlessly every time. You’re like Jell-O to his voice, to his touch, to his whole. You’re a goner, some would say, and a part of you is alright with never coming back if it means you get to feel all the weird, Cupid-y emotions he makes you feel.

At this point, you don’t think you’ll ever stop kissing Haechan. In the time that you’ve been together, you’ve both been in relationships, hence putting the make out sessions on hiatus. They were never really long though, because you’d break up with them and inevitably find your way back to one another in the end.

His fingers guide your chin up, and once more your eyes flutter shut as his lips unite with yours. Haechan kisses in a manner that contrasts with the soft feeling of his lips. He always starts off gentle, but there’s a hunger that overcomes him as he stands up and pushes you against his desk, rough yet graceful and holding you so firmly, like you’re glass, but he wants to break you. And when he shatters you into all those tiny pieces, you don’t care. You want him to glue you back together and do it all over again. He’s intoxicating, he’s an addictive drug, but he tastes like candy, and you can’t stop coming back to him. He feels like home, the place where you belong. The place where you can be one-hundred percent, authentically you, safe and whole, more than the general perception than you. And fuck, does he kiss like the damn devil himself.

You were silly for ever believing it would only be one kiss.

Jungwoo thinks that for people who are trying to keep their not-so relationship-y relationship under wraps, you two are very loud.

Speaking of which, and despite the nature of your relationship, you and Haechan haven’t even discussed your label. You know that you aren’t friends with benefits—you haven’t crossed that line, but to be honest, those lines have been starting to look blurry for a while—but you also aren’t in a relationship. You see other people, you fuck other people, and when other people ask if you’re dating, you both deny it immediately. You’re just best friends, you both say each time like some rehearsed line, even if it breaks your heart to hear him friendzone you.

Karina and Mark even have an ongoing bet about you two. Karina is one-hundred positive there’s something going on, whereas Mark is probably the only person in the world that wants to give you guys the benefit of the doubt.

“For heaven’s sake, I can’t get any type of sleep around here,” Jungwoo rasps, leaning against the doorframe, “I really hope you guys don’t do this shit when Dohwan’s here.”

His judgmental eyes practically bore into your soul, and you thank heaven that you don’t have to worry about keeping this secret from Jungwoo, even if he would probably appreciate it more if you did. He finds you in a rather interesting position, straddling Haechan’s lap as you press kisses into his collarbone.

It’s all Haechan’s fault, really. Three years ago, Jungwoo made the mistake of walking inside Haechan’s bedroom without knocking, accidentally finding you two making out in a very touchy way on his bed because a certain someone didn’t think to lock the door. Not only did you ruin his quote-unquote innocence, but his perception of you forever, and ever since that ordeal, Jungwoo has never opened his stepbrother’s door without knocking. This time, it just so happened to be wide-open.

You bite your lip, feeling bad. Kim Dohwan is Haechan’s halfbrother of whom he babysits whenever available (and you like to tag on, because dealing with children is stressful and Haechan’s already stressed enough), and on weekdays Jungwoo has to wake up from his nap earlier to pick up the kid from school and bring him back home, then leave for work. You were too loud and disrupted the poor guy’s nap time.

“Oh,” Haechan says the syllable blankly, not too sympathetic, “did we wake you?”

“Of course not, I usually wake up at 2pm and take extra longs showers to start my day,” Jungwoo deadpans, “but whatever. I’m heading out. Don’t forget to go grocery shopping today.”

“Noted,” you and Haechan say simultaneously, gazing at one another and stifling giggles when you catch each other’s gaze. Jungwoo smiles at you, then flicks off his brother before parting.

When you’re both all alone again, a few seconds pass before Haechan’s eyes do that thing where they twinkle every time something catches his interest (or perhaps that’s the in love side of your brain making you see things.)

“Hey, you coming to Chenle’s Valentines Day party Monday?” You don’t know why he’s even asking, you follow Haechan everywhere he goes like a lost puppy. Maybe he’s discreetly asking you out. “Unless you’re actually busy, by the way, I hope you know you’re going. And maybe you’ll find some single pringle interested in a relationship. You can’t just kiss me forever, you know.” Oh. Well that eliminates that thought.

A part of you is yelling at you to decline, to lie and say that you actually have a dick or pussy appointment scheduled for the 14th, yet another is weak, in spite of you being aware of how this works. First of all, Valentine’s Day parties are mainly for single people who don’t have anything better to do, and each time one of you go to one, you end up meeting some stranger and hooking up with them. You know that’s more than likely what he’s going to do, and you aren’t strong enough to watch him flirt with other people.

You know how to put up a good front, though, so you’ll fake it until you make it.

“We can do a lot more than kiss,” you suggest with a wink.

Haechan grimaces, “No thanks. Now get off my lap.”

You frown, but climb off his lap nonetheless. “Wow,” you drag dramatically, “You’ll make out with me for what feels like hours, but sticking your dick in me is where you draw the line?”

“Precisely.”

You gasp in faux offense. “Oh, come on. Sex doesn’t seem so bad. Like, think of it as my pussy giving your dick a nice warm hug.”

Haechan’s at a lost for words, his face bright red. How do you even come up with this stuff? “Oh my god, are you coming or not?”

You joke, “I thought you said sticking your dick in me was where you draw the line?”

He shoots you a glare so sharp you’re sure that if you were still on his lap, he’d be barely resisting the urge to shove you off. You don’t miss the way his cheeks heat up, though.

Haechan groans exasperatedly, leaning back his gaming chair, “Y/n, seriously!”

“Fine!” resisting your best friend is literally impossible, you conclude, because you have officially caved in to his request—or, more or less, demand, rather, “fine, fine! I’ll go!”

“Great,” he grins with satisfaction, beaming with his thirty-two teeth, and you even see little gleams of smiles in his eyes, “anyway, Dohwan’s gonna be here soon, so let’s get ready to go shopping.”

You furrow your brows. You have a solid twenty minutes left, and all you really need to do is slip on your shoes.

“I need more Tootsie Pops,” Haechan adds, and suddenly everything makes a lot more sense.

And you roll your eyes. “We’ll get you some more Tootsie Pops, but you better not ditch us for the candy aisle!”

“Of course, not,” he smiles, not even trying to sound or appear convincing. “I’d never leave you guys.”

That’s exactly what he does.

You aren’t even remotely surprised, though heavily disappointed when he announces in the middle of the thankfully empty cereal aisle that he’s going to find Tootsie Pops, managing to run off before you can even protest.

Gripping the shopping cart, you avert your gaze from the Cinnamon Toast Cruch boxes to his figure, almost missing him jog onto the following aisle. You shake your head, a small smile tugging your lips. If it were the end of the world, Haechan would stock up on those candies before he would even think to consider water.

“Auntie Y/N,” you aren’t quite adjusted to being addressed as an aunt, but you aren’t against it either. You have the image all put together—rich, thriving, and the kids adore you, “do you love my brother?”

That was perhaps the very last question you expected the six-year-old boy to ask you. Your eyes are a little wide, but it’s a kid, you remind yourself, so you shouldn’t be worried. But shit, then again, if a first-grader can figure it out, you’re fresh out of luck.

“Why do you think that?” You crouch down to be eye-level with him, having a feeling there’s some misunderstanding here. Dohwan’s bright for his age and doesn’t let anyone forget it, but you’ll be damned if he’s sniffed you out.

He makes a face. “I saw you kiss him, just like mommy and daddy do. And my mommy and daddy love each other very—” he stretches the vowel, and you can’t but giggle, “—much! That’s why they made me!” then he gasps, and you fear what it means, praying he doesn’t ask what you think he will. “Will you and my brother have a baby, too? I wan’ a new friend!”

On second thought, you think you’d rather he would’ve asked you what you thought he was. You nearly have a heart attack in the middle of the aisle, yet still, Dohwan gazes up at you with his innocent, sparkly eyes. You assume it’s in the blood; Jungwoo doesn’t have them, and he isn’t blood-related to Haechan, but Dohwan partially is, and the twinkle is promiment.

Calmly, you reply, “Don’t you already have a lot friends?”

He does, you both know it. You vaguely remember pulling up to his sixth birthday bash and being in shock of all the little kids jumping and flipping on the Spider-Man bouncy house. You haven’t been surrounded by that many children since, hell, probably since kindergarten.

“Yeah, but I wanna be a big brother,” he folds his tiny arms and pouts, “It’s not fair Hyuck and Woo get to be big, but I don’t!”

With minimum success, you manage to stifle your laugh, stretching out your arms to bring the little boy in for a hug, “You’ll be big one day. Trust me, you don’t wanna rush it.”

“And strong like Superman?”

“And strong like Superman,” you reassure, all smiley and convincing. “Now let’s go check up on your big brother, he’s taking too long.”

Dohwan rocks from side to side as he walks, murmuring some Nickelodeon TV show theme song, and you push the cart until you’ve reached your designation.

Quickly, you regret acting on your impatience. The scene taking place at the back of the aisle is anything but comforting—Haechan’s talking to some girl, whom of which is literally throwing herself onto him, and you can’t help but notice the way he wallows in the attention. For fucks sake, all the attention you give him and he doesn’t even give a fraction of it back! Then here comes this random girl from your campus.

Sometimes, you think about how you could do everything she’s doing right now—twirl your hair around your finger, be touchy with him, giggling girlishly at everything he says, funny or not—and yet he wouldn’t bat an eye, because you’re best friends and nothing more. Kissing each other breathless is already normalized between the two of you, what’s a little flirting.

Sometimes, you wish you hadn’t kissed your best friend that day. You’re both too comfortable, everything is too weightless. I love you, Haechan says it back without a thought. C’mere, he calls and pulls you onto his lap or cuddles you to death. Fuck, he—on very rare occasions when making out goes a little too far—groans into your ear, groping you a little. Scratch that. It may be weightless on his end, but it isn’t on yours, and everything has an everlasting effect on you.

“Auntie?”

When you look down at Dohwan, your gaze is so, so tired. Your eyes do the talking; you can’t move your lips.

He hugs your leg. “I love you.”

His face is pure, innocent, but he reads you so perfectly. The corners of your lips turn up, and you ruffle his hair, “Love ya, too. Let’s go get your brother, alright?”

He bounces eagerly, and you both begin to stroll down the aisle until you’re beside Haechan. You’re in a selfish mood today, so you think of some remark to make in the process.

“Nice Tootsie Pops, Bowlcut,” you mask your tiny emotional breakdown with a joke, “Hi, Faith.”

“Hope,” she corrects, evidently annoyed by your presence, though she doesn’t state it outright. “My name is Hope. And… bowl cut?”

“Interchangeable,” you dismiss her correction carelessly. In all honesty, you already knew her name, but you’re feeling like a bitter bitch currently, “and yeah, in high school Haechan had this hideous bowl cut that he—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Haechan grumbles, “that was four years ago!”

“And I’ll never forget,” you’re smiling blissfully, nostalgic. “Anyways, what’cha two doing?”

“We were catching up, it’s been a minute since I’ve seen Hope here,” you hear Hope snicker at this, and something about it is extremely off-putting. He turns to her, “So, I’m in a bit of a time crunch. Could I have your number?”

Ouch. Right in your face, literally.

She giggles some more, typing her number in his phone, and you try to focus on Dohwan so that you don’t cave into your desire to knock her upside the head. There’s already so much on your plate, you don’t need an assault charge.

She smiles, all bubbly and giddy. You know jealousy isn’t a good look, but it’s still pissing you off. “See you around?”

“See you around,” Haechan replies. She hugs him, not forgetting to shoot you a look from across his shoulder as she does, and only once satisfied does she turns on her heel, sashaying away.

“Didn’t know pussy was on the shopping list,” you sneer, relieved once she’s finally gone. Her presence was suffocating.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “at least I’m actually trying, I don’t know what you’re going to do when I’m cuffed down and—holy sh—I mean crap! You’re so quiet, I forgot you were here,” Haechan jumps, only noticing Dohwan when he pokes at his leg. “And don’t you dare make a cuff joke, y/n. Not in front of the kid.”

You yell in that defensive tone which is a tell-tale sign you’re lying, “I wasn’t gonna!”

Haechan gives you the look.

The we’re-best-friends, I-know-when-you’re-lying look.

And that look is utterly withering, so you decide you’re accepting defeat. “Okay fine, maybe I was thinking about it, but I wasn’t actually gonna say it. Not with him around.”

Haechan snorts, like you said something funny, but in reality he just doesn’t believe you. “Yeah, alright. Let’s finish shopping.”

You don’t argue, but there’s a lingering thought in your mind as you push the cart, rattling around in your brain still.

When he’s cuffed. Hmm. You can’t speak for him completely, but you both know how that one goes. When you get into a relationship, you think the person is great and they serve as a nice temporary distraction—that is, until you’re bored and realize no one will ever compare to Haechan, and especially not in the kissing department. So you break up, and then you go back to making out with Haechan, solidifying your suspicion that no one will ever replace your best friend. It’s the reason you don’t do relationships anymore, you feel bad for using people when you know it isn’t going to change a thing. It never does.

As far as your knowledge extends, things aren’t too different with Haechan. You and him don’t push things, you don’t pry too deep. There’s some unspoken boundary, and you know when to drop things. That’s why you both say the same thing each time you ask one another why you and whoever it was that you were previously seeing broke up—it wasn’t working out.

Like a moth to a flame, Haechan always finds his way back to you too, because apparently you’re the only person that can keep him tied down. You don��t think that’s the case, though. Your problem is you’re in love with your best friend, no matter how hard you try to suppress the feelings. His problem? You can’t be sure, but you’d guess commitment issues.

Whatever it is, and as selfish as it may sound, you want it to stay. He isn’t yours, but you like the comfort of knowing that he isn’t anyone else’s, either.

If Cupid had a human counterpart, it would be Na Jaemin in reincarnated form. He may not have wings nor a bow and arrow, but he does have dedication and a gigantic mouth.

“I can’t believe you called me over here for this,” you stand in an effort to leave, but Jaemin pulls you back down by your wrist, so you sigh, accepting that you’re stuck in the cafe and in the middle of a Jaem-terrogation.

“Not so fast, Sonic. You still haven’t answered my question. I don’t have all day, you know, I have other people’s business to be in,” he admits unabashedly, and you snort at his honesty.

Jaemin is an extremely shameless, extremely straightforward individual. He knows what he wants, how to get it, and the only time he’s afraid of letting someone know what he’s chasing for is when it interferes with his goal of obtaining said desire. He loves all things drama and gossip, and these are the lengths he’ll go to squeeze information out of you. No wonder he’s one of the writers for the campus newspaper.

“I don’t have feelings for Haechan,” you fiddle with your fork. “And even if I did, why would it matter? Haechan doesn’t have feelings for me, either.”

“Forgive me, but you’re a fucking dumbass,” Jaemin concludes, and you gasp in dramatic offense. “Why would I be here if he didn’t like you back, y/n? You know that he hasn’t had anyone over in two weeks? There’s like, three things at the top of Haechan’s list of shit he needs to survive, and that’s you, Tootsie Pops, and sex. Yet he’s gone two entire weeks without it. He likes you, really fucking bad.”

“Golly gee, Haechan hasn’t fucked anyone in two entire weeks. He must be head over heels in love with me,” you deadpan, ignoring how Jaemin rolls his eyes in response. “Be serious, Jaem. He literally got this girl’s number the other day. The man said himself that he doesn’t want to stick his dick in me. There’s nothing going on.”

Okay, so maybe Haechan is a raging sexaholic. Maybe he’s been a little horny recently. And maybe contact-full makeout sessions have been a reoccurrence in the past two weeks, but none of that matters, and he typically has extreme self control. Fresh as yesterday, he was definitely trying to get into Hope’s pants. It’s weightless, everything between you. It means absolutely nothing, and you’re trying to come to terms with the possibility that it never will. You wish your friends would accept the fact, too.

At least they don’t know you and Haechan make out, and have been for the past four years. They’d be insufferable, and you two would absolutely never hear the end of it.

“Y/n, please. Your biggest competition is those damn Tootsie Pops.”

“And if you told him that he had to live without me or the candy, he’d choose them over me any day.”

“Actually, he’d tell me to fuck off—and stop asking him stupid questions. You can’t tell me I’m wrong because I’m speaking from experience,” Jaemin grins, “I pushed the question until he gave me a proper answer. He chose you, by the way.”

You groan into your hands, “Unless you have some other evidence to provide besides this stupid question and him not getting laid in two weeks, you’re wasting my time here, Cupid.”

Jaemin sighs, “I thought I could pressure you into admitting your feelings—”

“I don’t have feelings for Haechan!”

“—that you deny having, but I guess taking the high road doesn’t work. Don’t worry, I still have plan B. I mean, you should be worried, but it’s whatever.”

You blink. “Plan B?”

He ignores you, standing up and preparing to take his leave. You’re still curious about whatever his alternative, backup plan is however, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to tell you.

“Jaemin!” You shriek. “What are you talking about?”

“February 14th, Chenle’s party,” he answers vaguely, swinging his bag over his shoulders. “Be there, or be square. Whatever that means.”

He exits without another word, leaving you dumbfounded and with a sudden dread in your chest. They don’t… know, do they? No, of course not. How could they? You’ve been keeping this secret for nearly four years, and the only people that know are Jungwoo and Dohwan.

Great. Another reason to dread the fourteenth, and despise Cupid—and his human counterpart, your actual mortal enemy.

“I know you like Regina George, but the dress code is Cady Heron.”

Bummer. You didn’t exactly plan on attending as a sexy bunny in fishnets and knee-high boots, but you don’t intend on wearing a Party City outfit, neither. It’s only the 6th though, so you still have a week and some change to outfit plan.

You frown, “Why the change? None of his past parties have had much of a dress code.”

“Because Chenle is also stuck babysitting his baby brother on Valentine’s day while his parents are having a date night,” Haechan answers. “I’m not saying you have to dress like a prude, but don’t dress like a slut, either.”

Ignoring the insinuation behind his words, you don’t miss the fact he said also. “What do you mean also? Don’t tell me…”

“Exactly what you think. Dad is whisking my stepmom away on a romantic evening date to only God knows where, and Jungwoo is busy with his girlfriend, so me being the sole single-pringle in the family gave him the bright idea to have me baby sit,” he explains, though he doesn’t seem burdened by the task. “I don’t really mind, though. It’d be one thing if I planned on getting some pussy that night, but no one’s smashing at a party where there’s children. I hope not, at least.”

You wince at that. You hope not, too. It’s a setback that you have to re-plan your outfit, but on the plus side, Haechan can and will help you decide this time, even if you have to force him.

So that’s where you find yourself a couple hours later, your bedroom a mess as the aftermath of the meticulous care you’ve put into your self-styling. You’ve narrowed it down to two outfit selections; option A, the white crop-top with the cute pink pants; or option B, the pretty and red mini-dress with stilettos. It’s a little embarrassing that hours of your indecisiveness have led you to this conclusion, but you want to choose the perfect outfit that’s also not overbearing.

“And I have to help you why?”

“Because you’re my best friend, and that’s what best friends are for, duh.”

Haechan’s favorite thing about your place is you have all his utmost favorite games—and that literally everything there is like a piece of you, from the decoration to the smell of your perfume bottles you keep in your bathroom. He’d never tell you that, though—so he wasn’t too enthusiastic about being interrupted from his video-gaming session. But then, he realized he gets a special preview of your Valentine’s day outfit, and Haechan loves the way you dress, probably an abnormal amount. Slutty or prude-y.

“Then what’cha waiting for? Strip for me, princess,” he demands jokingly. It isn’t normal for you to feel bashful by anything a guy says, but everything is so different with Haechan. It’s the littlest, simplist things that drive you over the edge, that make you want him in ways you probably, scratch that, definitely shouldn’t.

And all the questions, assumptions, and rumors regarding your nonexistent relationship with Haechan aren’t exactly unwarranted. You two flirt and touch an abnormal amount, and while it’s common knowledge that Haechan is a touchy person, and you’re a natural flirt, people say it’s extreme between you two.

That makes you laugh. When it comes to the tension between you both that people speak of, you wish you could see what they see.

“You want to watch me strip?” You’re genuinely surprised, only the other day he seemed repulsed by the thought of you naked. “That’s new. I’m guessing you haven’t gotten laid in a hot minute.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, silently confirming what Jaemin told you at the cafe, but you shake the thought away, refusing to let it spur you on. It doesn’t mean anything. “Anyways. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before, baby girl. Now, you gonna strip or what?”

“I’m stripping, I’m stripping! Relax, Liam Payne!” It’s really nothing he hasn’t seen before, because Haechan’s seen naked girls, and he’s seen you half-naked before, so neither of you actually care. You peel off your top, slowly and in a strip tease sort of way and look him in the eye, giggling once you catch him shaking his head. You don’t repeat the movement with your shorts though, simply taking them off and picking up your new shirt to slip it off the hanger.

Successfully discreet, Haechan wallows in the sight of you half-naked for as long as he can before you’re slipping on the crop top and the pink pants. Now that he thinks about it, he bought you those pants, and darn do they make your ass look good. Then he realizes he’s thinking about your ass and taking not as discreet looks at it, and shakes the thought away.

“So?” Your voice cuts through the silence. “What do you think?”

He needs a moment to gather himself and recollect his thoughts, because he feels like turning on Destiny’s Child’s Bootylicious and if spoke his mind he would definitely say something he’d regret. Like, I could fuck the shit out of you. He doesn’t think he should say that.

“What do you mean, what do I think? I bought you those pants, I’d be damned if I thought you didn’t look good in them,” Haechan supplies, making you roll your eyes in response.

“Very underwhelming reaction. I wanted you to fall out on the floor and pass out for a few seconds with your hand on your chest,” you pout.

“Definitely not doing all that,” he chuckles. “But you do look good enough for… somebody to do it. Anyways, it’s stripping time again. Get in that dress for me, princess.”

If he doesn’t stop with the pet names you’re going to combust. You hide it though, taking off outfit option A and putting on option B. You feel confident in your appearance, with or without him, but the way Haechan’s practically gawking at you does boost said confidence.

“What about this one?”

Okay, so Haechan’s one-hundred percent biased in his decision—or maybe he isn’t, since he didn’t buy this outfit—though nonetheless, he loves this dress on you. In his personal opinion, you’ll look good in anything you wear, but the way this particular dress hugs your figure perfectly is a bonus. He knows all eyes are going to be on you the moment you step inside Chenle’s house, and maybe he’s going to have to keep you and Dohwan close to his side.

Rather than replying verbally, Haechan walks forward and pulls you into a kiss. His hands dip around your waist, skirting the area until he’s gripping you like he’s afraid of letting go.

And as always, you melt into his lips. Like ice to the sun, or wax to a flame. It’s the umpteenth kiss in your whole lifetime, but Haechan always makes it feel like the first time. Like two love-struck highschoolers, except with a lot more experience. Haechan kisses you like he loves you, and you hate it. You might even loathe it.

His fingers slip down your hips, to your revealed thighs, like he just so happens to know that’s one of your weak spots. Luckily you’ve learned some of his weak spots too, and not really thinking, you don’t hesitate to aim for his most sensitive one - his neck. You can’t get used to how beautiful he sounds as he moans, your lips pressing into his sweet spot and leaving undoubtedly a mark.

“Fuck,” Haechan moans, “you’re my kryptonite, you know that?”

“A kiss is all it takes for you to fold?” You gasp out with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

Your grin widens. “Make me.”

Just as he leans in, about to pin you down to your duvet and kiss the life out of you while you’re thinking that maybe this is the tension people speak of, his phone rings in his back pocket. It feels like snapping out some trance or spell, like a reverse Cupid’s arrow, and he instantly backs off of you.

He takes a look at his phone screen. “I um, I gotta take this.”

Biting your lip, you nod. “Okay.”

“You look great though,” he comments, and you smile thinly at him as he slips from between your fingertips yet again.

It seems that you’re left all alone, pathetically wet, and wondering if that person on the other line is Hope - but you try to shake that thought off.

Sighing, you flop against your sheets. Love is some extremely cruel, extremely rigged game that only lucky people win, and it seems that Luck has sided with the evil that is Cupid. You’ve been dealt cards, and Haechan refuses to show you his hand. All you can do is watch it play out.

Haechan knew that something was dangerously off when Jaemin bought him a brand-new bag of Tootsie Pops without being asked, and invited you over for a movie night with the guys, offering to open up with you and Haechan’s all-time favorite movie, Mean Girls. He even offered to play The Kissing Booth next! Everyone else instantly protested of course, but the fact he offered in the first place is borderline suspicious.

Sure, Jaemin’s not the devil or anything, depending on who you ask. He’s… kind, and he can be a sweetheart. But Jaemin does nothing for free, and Haechan can’t shake the thought that this is planned bribery. And it isn’t hush-money. Jaemin doesn’t buy silence, he buys words.

By the time Jaemin asks Haechan to help him with the popcorn, he’s ninety-nine point nine percent sure that something is definitely wrong here. Yet still, he follows him into the kitchen.

“Alright, what’s up man?” Haechan wastes zero time, wanting to get to the bottom of all this. “I know you want something out of me. There’s no other reason you would offer to play The Kissing Booth, or buy me Tootsie Pops for free.”

Jaemin scoffs, but he doesn’t try to front, “Glad you know. Since we’re on the same page, let’s address this thing with you and y/n.”

“That’s what this is about?” Haechan grumbles. “I’ve told you, I don’t have feelings for her!” He whisper-yells.

Jaemin has heard that far too many times for it to be convincing. He’s positive that even Helen Keller herself could tell you two are hopelessly in love. Takes one to know one, he thinks. It seems the three of you must be blind, because you and Haechan are oblivious to your feelings for one another, and it’s painfully obvious.

“And Mary wasn’t a virgin,” Jaemin says ironically, making Haechan roll his eyes. “If you’re not in love with her, then explain what the hell is going on between you two. I know that she’s your best friend or whatever, but you don’t act like it at all. From a fresh perspective, someone would totally think you’re in love.”

Haechan hates that he’s right. It doesn’t make sense the amount of times you’ve gone to public places and had cashiers refer to you as a couple, or elderly people ask you if you’re together. Because you’re not. You’re best friends, and even if Haechan wants to be more than that, that’s his label. And he’s sure he’s stuck with it for life.

“You’re fucking Hope to distract yourself from your feelings for y/n,” Jaemin adds, and it’s a statement, not a question.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Jaemin interjects. “Head over heels, in love with a girl you think doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, and you’re also being an ass to her, whether you know it or not.”

If Haechan was in a situation where he needed to simplify the reason you two click so well, he’d say chalk it up to compatibility and say it’s because you’re like a mirror of one another. Which also means he knows you, better than anyone else even, and he knows neither of you do the whole catching feelings things anymore. You like to fuck and flirt, and fuck some more, to avoid the fact that you love too hard. If you fuck people whose names you don’t even remember, it doesn’t mean a darn thing that you two make out.

No one really knows about that part yet. But they do know that you like to fuck, and that’s why Haechan thinks that if he’s an ass, then that means so are you. What the fuck is he doing that you aren’t?

Even if he is an ass, what is he supposed to do? He’s only recently realized that damn, he actually does have feelings for you, which is where Hope comes along and yes, he is fucking her to distract himself from you. So what? It’s not like it’s working, he’s still stuck on you, obsessed with the thought of you, craving your touch and the sound of your voice. He still loves you, and it’s so scary because no matter what his friends say, he thinks they don’t know you or your relationship like he does. They think they do, but they don’t.

“I’m not in love,” Haechan lies through his teeth, “maybe I’m in like.”

Jaemin snorts. In like? That’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. Not in love his fucking ass. “You’re in denial, that’s what you are.”

Haechan grumbles, trying desperately not to raise his voice so that the others don’t hear him from the living room, “Even if I did like her—and I’m telling you, I don’t—it wouldn’t change anything because she doesn’t like me.”

“You two are the same breed of oblivious and stupid,” Jaemin takes the popcorn out of the microwave, pouring it all into a bowl. He’s even laughing, much to Haechan’s confusion, but he’s apparently unbothered by Haechan’s lack of confession, “but fine. Lie to my face. I still have a backup plan.”

“A back-up plan?” Haechan repeats, lost.

“I just thought it would be nice of me to try and get you to confess before I have to work a Valentine’s day miracle, but unfortunately you two are a match made in heaven—both terribly stubborn,” Jaemin says vaguely, not really answering Haechan’s question, “so I guess we’ll all know the truth at Chenle’s party.”

Jaemin exits with the popcorn bowls before Haechan can even part his lips to ask another question, and he stands there, shocked and unsure of how to react. He’s concerned, though. Jaemin has something cooking (besides the popcorn), and he isn’t sure what, but it’s Na fucking gossiping blabbermouth Jaemin. That means it can’t be anything good.

So apparently when you and Haechan had that heated makeout session the other day, you left a trail - or in other words, you marked his neck the fuck up.

You hadn’t noticed because he covered it up with concealer, but you’re in the middle of another one of those when he stops you, preventing you from repeating your mistake.

“You can’t do that. People will see,” Haechan frowns. You wonder what’s the problem with hickeys. Is he embarrassed? No way. Haechan? Embarrassed? About hickeys? He has much bigger fish to fry.

In contrast, you’re over the moon. Even if he isn’t yours, marking him up makes you feel like he belongs to you. Plus, other people will see, and they’ll know that he isn’t theirs, either. Haechan also has a beautiful neck, you realize as you stare at his skin. It makes you wonder if there’s anything about him that isn’t beautiful.

“Would that be so bad?” You ask. “You’d look sexy all marked up by me.”

Haechan groans, “Do you ever think with your head and not your pussy?”

“I wish my pussy was my head. My head’s just so full of you,” you sigh dramatically.

It’s rare for Haechan to blush, but you somehow manage to make him full-on flush sometimes and you take that as an achievement. It’s partially the reason you love flirting with him so much, he’s so reactive. His reactions are cute sometimes.

“Be serious for 5 seconds,” he whines, and you giggle.

“I was serious,” you insist, “but fine, I’ll think with my head since yours is clearly not working. No one’s gonna assume they’re from me, Hyuck. Just tell them they’re from one of your hoes.”

“I know, but it’s not them I’m worried about. It’s, um…” he trails off.

You’re confused, blinking. If not your friends, then who on earth—oh, for fucks sake.

“It’s Hope,” you utter tonelessly.

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” he wonders why you suddenly sound so dry, and then the whole grocery shopping thing seeps back into his mind. You obviously don’t like Hope, and it’s not just you, really. Lots of people don’t like her. But Haechan needs a pretty face to compete with the image of yours in his head, even if it isn’t winning. “She kinda likes me, and—”

“Do you like her?” You don’t mean to ask so fast. It slips, like your mouth has a mind of its own.

Haechan shrugs. No, he doesn’t like her. He likes you, but he thinks that maybe he can somehow convince himself it’s the other way around. So he replies, “Maybe.”

Fuck. You try not to appear suddenly devoid of life, forcing a cheery smile. “That’s… nice,” you lie through your teeth. “Let me take this opportunity to have one last kiss before I possibly never will again?”

Haechan snickers, to silently say as if. He isn’t wrong for it, either. One kiss is never one kiss with him — never has been, never will be. There’s a reason you both bonded over bombing a math exam.

D-day rolls around, and you’re eyeing your frame in your full-length mirror, smoothing your palms over your dress as you give yourself a quick once-over before the clock strikes 7PM. You look like that bitch, and everyone in that party is going to fucking know it because you’re going to walk in there like that bitch. Fuck Cupid. You don’t need his stupid bow. And fuck Haechan, too. He’s your ride, but he’s gonna ditch you at some point in the party like he always does. It’ll be no different now, and this time, you’ll be the first one to leave.

The chime of the doorbell jolts you from your mental slumber, and you quickly reach for your purse then head towards the door with a heavy heartbeat. You know he’s already seen you in this dress, he chose it for fucks sake, but there’s something else that gets your heart racing—no. You can’t think about him. Fuck Haechan, remember? He’s no good for you.

“Here goes nothing,” you mutter to yourself, palm on the doorknob, “you can do this.”

Haechan’s sucks in a breath the moment you open the door. You look gorgeous. You always do, but in this particular moment, you look better than you ever have before. Those corny romance sayings usually make him laugh with mirth, but he’s genuinely convinced you look better everyday that he sees you. All dressed up like this, or not.

“You look so pretty, Auntie!” Dohwan beats him to a compliment.

You bend down to ruffle the boy’s hair, “Thank you, Dohwan. You look very handsome.” And then you look at Haechan.

He looks handsome as well, unfortunately. Jet black hair, exposed forehead, and his outfit is black with red hearts in the center of the shirt. You try not to pay him too much mind, but your heart and the place between your thighs don’t seem to agree with your mind. He catches you looking at him, and feels a twinge of anxiousness in his heart. Get it together, man, he tells himself. Lee Donghyuck doesn’t get nervous looking at pretty girls. Lee Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate about his actions, either, wondering if he should hold your hand, he doesn’t rethink what he should say. It all comes to him naturally.

“Yeah, you look beautiful,” he settles, mentally cursing himself for being unable to think of anything else. He blames you. Ever since you first snuck in his mind, you’ve been living rent-free there, and make it hard to think about anything else sometimes. That’s why he thought that needed distractions.

If you could relay the message to your heart, you’d tell it stop beating. Instead, you mask your emotion, smiling. “Thank you, likewise. Now c’mon, we gotta get there by 7:30!”

Haechan’s saddened by the dismissal, but you don’t catch his face as you walk to his car.

If you ignore him, you can do this.

Haechan cannot do this.

Something isn’t right. It wasn’t right the second he noticed you gave him a simple, rushed compliment, not bothering to make some sexual remark that usually makes Haechan’s cheeks feel like fire. You didn’t even kiss him before you got in the car. And Haechan’s sure you’ve been avoiding him like the plague, scurrying off and getting lost in the red and pink sea before he could even ask you if you wanted to check out the drink menu.

He doesn’t know where you are, and that haunts him. Turns out Chenle is paying Yangyang, Ten and Jisung to keep the kids entertained on one end of the house, whilst the adults do adult-y things on the other. You could be with someone else for all he knows, hell, you probably are. He was practically fuming when he saw some people staring at you as you walked in.

“Uh oh, I think y/n divorced Haechan,” Chenle jokes, and a choir of laughs follows suit.

Haechan grumbles, “A guy can’t miss his girl best friend?”

“Of course, you can,” Chenle drawls, “but everyone knows she’s more than just a friend to you. Like even if you aren’t together, there’s no way you guys don’t have feelings for each other.”

“Right? And they’re so cute together, too. A literal match made in heaven by angel Cupid,” Jaemin agrees, speaking as though Haechan isn’t right there.

“You’re dating y/n?” gasps Karina, overhearing Jaemin much to Haechan’s dismay. Oh, great, she’s as much as a blabbermouth as he is. The whole world’s going to think Haechan’s dating you in five minutes or less.

“No!”

“Yes, he is, spread the word,” Jaemin says, already knowing he doesn’t have to tell her. Karina’s mumbling I knew it under her breath before jogging somewhere.

“You know,” Haechan starts, downing a shot because if he’s not at least tipsy he’s going to die at this party, “she’s been making me watch murder documentaries with her and I’ve definitely picked up a thing or two. I’d be careful.”

Jaemin scoffs, “Please. You’re going to be kissing my ass and the ground that I walk on by the time this party’s over.”

There it goes. Haechan wonders what’s so special about tonight that Jaemin’s been hinting at vaguely. It’s been keeping him on his toes, but he doesn’t ask because he knows Jaemin, and he isn’t going to tell him a thing. The one time this guy wants to keep something secret.

An hour flies by, and Haechan still hasn’t seen you. He’s looked for you, and refuses to believe his eyes are somehow missing you, even though you’re in a crowd. He literally went up the stars and gazed over the railing for a better view, and you were no where to be found. You’ve refused to answer your phone, too, and Haechan doesn’t know what to do. He would just start talking to some random chick, but that’s not what Haechan wants. He doesn’t want some random chick. He wants to be with you. Hold you. Touch you. Kiss you, with no shame, no fear, in front of everyone, and he isn’t in denial about it. He wants you.

And Jaemin is fed up.

“Alright, I’m tired of you moping around drinking like a divorced man. Let’s go to the kitchen,” Jaemin suggests. Or commands, but still.

Haechan quirks a brow. “Where there’s nothing but more drinks?”

“Trust me, I’m not letting you drink anymore tonight. You have a wife and a kid to drive home,” Jaemin jokes. Usually he’d deny any sort of relationship with you that isn’t best-friendship, but Haechan simply shakes his head, following his friend and roommate into the kitchen.

Then he sees you, and his jaw doesn’t just drop, but it falls flat on the ground, bounces a little, and comes back down. You’re clinging to Chenle’s side with a confused face, equally as surprised to see him, though not very delighted.

“What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?”

You stare at one another.

“Stop copying me!”

“Stop copying me!”

Jaemin and Chenle stare at one another, then stare at you two staring at one another, and stare at one another again.

“I hate to interrupt your… stare-off, but there’s a reason we brought you two here,” Jaemin interjects, making you two finally split gazes as you stare at him, confused.

“Which is?”

“Which is?”

You glare at him. Jaemin’s success was short-lived, it seems.

“Drum roll, please,” he says, and Chenle begins tapping against the counter, “Dohwan!”

Suddenly, Dohwan pops up from around the corner. He’s on the completely wrong side of the house, and while he’s under adult supervision, you still wonder why he’s here.

You blink. “What’s he doing here?”

Jaemin smirks. “I’m glad you asked. Dohwan tells me he’s witnessing some very interesting sights of the two of you. Go ahead and tell us what you saw, kiddo.”

“I saw Haechan and Auntie y/n kissing, like mommy and daddy do!” Dohwan shares, grimacing in disgust. If you weren’t practically fearing for your life right now, you’d probably laugh at his reaction.

“And how often do you see this?” Chenle adds.

“Um…” the kid ponders, “every time Auntie y/n comes over. I heard them say they wanted to keep it a secret from me, but they’re not very good at it.”

Haechan shoots you a panicked look, and you’re wearing the exact same one. By the time you realize that this is what Jaemin’s been hinting at this whole time, it’s much too late. Your secret has been exposed to the worst people ever, and now they’re definitely going to think you’re dating. 

“Thank you for your input, Dohwan,” Jaemin smiles, then turns to look at you and Haechan. You’re both frozen and stiff, unsure of how to respond. “So, anything to say about this?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Haechan’s quick to say. You hope no one catches the way your face falters with hurt for a split second. “If you want me to be honest, then fine, I will. Yeah, we kiss. We’ve been kissing since high school, but it didn’t mean anything then and it doesn’t mean anything now. We just, I don’t know, do it for fun.”

Chenle deadpans, “So you just kiss for pure, innocent fun.”

“Exactly,” Haechan nods. “It means nothing.”

It means something to me, you think to yourself, and when you notice the silence in the room, you gaze up to see everyone’s eyes on you, Haechan’s a little wide. Oh, fuck.

“I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” Jaemin grins. He was right. “Is there something you want to share with the class?”

Stupidly, you decide to look at Haechan, and he’s re-lost his composure, frozen up and stiff all over again. Your heart is pounding harder than it has been all night. It’s partially the alcohol, but you can feel it in your veins and all around you. It won’t leave you alone, and looking at Haechan, it’s faster, as if to say he’s the one I want.

So you choose to make another decision that you might possibly regret, but you have to get this off your chest. It isn’t news to anyone but Haechan anyways.

“Donghyuck,” you start, and he knows it’s getting serious because you just said his government name. You literally never call him by his government name. “I know we agreed to keep things platonic, and for it to mean nothing, but I want you. Like really, really bad. I think I—no, everyone’s right, I really am, extremely in love with you. If you don’t feel the same I understand, I just had to get this off my che—”

You aren’t given the chance to finish before Haechan swoops you in his arms, reaching for your waist as he pulls you into a kiss. There’s a chorus of cheers from Chenle and Jaemin, followed by a shriek of disgust from Dohwan as he covers his eyes, but you two aren’t trying to hide anymore, you want to scream from the rooftops that you’re in love. Yes, the infamous Lee Donghyuck and y/n know more than flirting and fucking. You’re in love, drunk off of a sip of it and the taste of Haechan’s lips, and god, has kissing your best friend never felt better.

“Let’s give the newlywed couple some privacy now,” Jaemin says with a grin. Gosh, he really is the spawn of Cupid, but you have to thank him. This wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for his stupid ‘gotcha!’ plan. “You two work this out.”

The three of them pile out, and you and Haechan part from one another to breathe. You stay in comfortable silence for a moment, his hands slipping into yours.

“Your hands are sweating,” you comment after a while.

“It’s hot.”

“It’s the middle of February.”

“So? Global warming is real, you know,” Haechan shrugs, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his hand is sweating because he’s nervous. He’s accepted that you make him feel all warm inside and his heart feel like mush, but he still isn’t used to not hiding the way you make him feel.

You laugh but don’t press things. “Newlywed couple, huh. Can’t be, you still haven’t popped the question.”

“Yeah?” He laughs, too. “Then will you take my hand in marriage and take me as your illegally wedded husband?”

You hum, pretending to contemplate, “Hmm, I don’t know. You sure you don’t wanna marry a giant cardboard Tootsie Pop cutout? Or what about that girl? What happened to her, by the way, I thought you said you liked her.”

Haechan groans, not really wanting to think about her right now, “No more Hope. Ironically, she’s a lost cause. I had to cut shit with her because she can’t comprehend what a fling is. She wanted a relationship, and you know, I lied to you when I said that I might want her. I didn’t know you liked me back until, like, now, so I was just saying shit in hopes of convincing myself I could stop liking you. That planned failed, though.”

His words lift a massive weight off of your shoulders, and you finally feel like you can breathe now. Take that, bitch, you think with a smirk. She was giggling in your face so hard at the grocery store, but you’re having the last laugh.

You tilt your head. “What about the Tootsie Pops?”

“Yeah, sorry but I can’t give them up as easily. Would you mind a Tootsie Pop bouquet?”

Gosh, this is the man you love. You roll your eyes, but smile as you reply, “You know, you’re like a Tootsie Pop.”

If Haechan were a dog, his ears would perk up right now. “How come?”

“I’ll never know how long I’ll be able to kiss you without wanting to fuck you,” you lean in his ear to purr, voice tickling his neck. You eye it and his lips, and lord knows you can’t wait to finally be able to mark him up again.

“Yeah? Wanna go home, put Dohwan to sleep, and let me take this dress off you?” He grips at your waist, his hand resting there with the burning urge to dip lower. He bites his lip.

“Thought you drew the line at sticking your dick in me,” you joke.

“That was when I was in denial about wanting you,” Haechan whispers, “but now I can admit to myself that even though you amazing in this dress, I wanna take it off of you. Your body’s perfect.”

“I kinda hate the scar on my thigh.”

“Don’t. It provides depth to your character. It makes someone wonder how you got it, the story of how it happened,” he answers, ever so deeply.

“Poetic,” you snort, “can’t tell if you’re giving me Bruno Mars or John Legend vibes more right now.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, smiling. “You said you’d never know how long you’d be able to kiss me without dying to fuck me, right?”

“I never said dying.”

He ignores you, “Then let’s put it to the test, shall we?”

Your lips wind up pressed firmly to his, with your hands on his cheek and his palms on your hips yet again. It’s fiercer than ever, Haechan’s kissing you like he doesn’t want to let you breathe, like he wants to stay in this moment with you forever. He kisses you with love and lust, with passion and desire, with emotion and no more fear in his chocolate-y eyes. You don’t regret kissing Haechan that day. It took a while, but it brought you to this moment where you can finally call him yours. And that one more kiss stuff is bullshit. His lips are yours and vice versa, and as you’re by each other’s side, you’ll never stop kissing him. And he’ll never stop kissing you.

“They’re here!” Karina suddenly bursts into the kitchen, pointing at you and Haechan. “Look! I told you they were dating!”

Oh, god. You totally forgot about Karina’s stupid bet with Mark. Mark looks entirely devastated and surprised, devastated because that’s twenty-five bucks gone from his wallet, and surprised because he genuinely believed you and Haechan have been best friends this whole time. Technically, he isn’t wrong, but you’re not sure if you want to interrupt to tell them that.

Mark whines, “Oh, c’mon! I really thought you guys were just friends.”

“Pay up, loser,” Karina smirks, and with a pout, Mark pulls cash from his pockets.

Haechan looks at you, and while you don’t say anything, you can tell you’re both thinking the exact same thing. The whole campus is about to know you two are dating. Karina’s for sure going to tell everyone she knows, hell, probably even people she doesn’t know, and there’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance of Jaemin raining your business on everyone in his latest report for the school newspaper.

You can’t say that you care, though. This is what you wanted, to unashamedly love Haechan, to be able to state it proudly in front of everyone, to let everyone know, to claim him as yours and yours only. So fuck Cupid. Fuck his bow, fuck his arrow, because this relationship is all a product of you and Haechan’s hard work and dedication.

Who needs Cupid’s bow when you have tasty lips and Tootsie-Pops?

“You’re telling me you’ve been in love with me for the past four years? Oh, you’re a soldier. I would have given up in the first month.”

You snort. Part of becoming Haechan’s girlfriend is the process of telling one another the secrets you’ve been keeping, such as how long you can been in love. Haechan’s been in love with you for a solid year, he thinks, maybe two, but it’s been almost four years for you, on the other hand.

“If only it were that easy,” you sigh. “Trust me, I tried getting over you by getting under other people—how Jessie Reyez of me—but that didn’t work out, obviously.”

“You are too much like me,” Haechan shakes his head. “What made you think we should anyways?”

“You mean, four years ago, or now?”

Haechan shrugs. “Either. Give me three reasons.”

“Oh, brace yourself. I could do a presentation on this. One, we know each other’s McDonald’s orders. Two, like you said, we’re very alike. When have we ever argued over pizza toppings?” You reason. “Three, I can’t imagine kissing anybody else. I mean, we’ve basically been practicing on each other for the past four years. I’m the reason you can kiss so good, it would insane for you make out with other people. Four, I have a fat ass and sometimes I catch you staring at—”

“I said three reasons!” Haechan cries, face blooming red as a rose.

“I could go for a fifth,” you grin, “we’re both terrible at math.”

“Damn right we are,” he mutters. “But that’s what makes us… us, isn’t it? The only reason we’re dating right now is because we couldn’t resist kissing each other after one time.”

He’s right. It practically only took one kiss to fall in love with Haechan. He’s giving you major Dua Lipa vibes right now.

“I know you’re thinking about that Dua Lipa song right now.”

You smirk. “You know me very well.”

He tilts his head. “And what else are you thinking about?”

“That you look like all I need,” you say in tune, making Haechan laugh. “And I just want to feel your skin on mine.”

“Then we should do something about that, right?” Haechan smirks back.

You’re kissing the smirk right off his lips seconds later, and this is where you decide that you just can’t get enough of him. Even if one kiss is all it takes, you’re greedy for more, and more, and more, until both your lips are swollen and you’re both gasping for air.

[cowboybarzy]

enemies to lovers with mat with D 13 and D 22. media girl x star player where mat loves to get under her skin because he’s dumb and can’t admit he likes her. she breaks up with her horrible bf and one night when she is out with the team something changes

thank you so much for the request!! this turned out very smutty but also a long part of plot so I hope you like it <3

13. “Let me help you forget that jerk.” & 22. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me.”

word count: 6.5k

warnings: drinking, jerk ex boyfriend, SMUT (18+)

"Oh, hey guys." The elevator door opened and a bunch of laughing hockey players stumbled out.

"Hey, (y/n)! Not going back to your room are you?" Oliver broke from the conversation to greet you.

"Yeah, actually. Kinda tired," you replied, hoping the stained tears you'd just dried in the bathroom weren't that obvious.

"Oh, come on. The night is young. Come out with us." He pointed to the guys behind him, including Mat, who looked at you with an expression you couldn't make out.

"Had a bad night so far, I think I just want to stay in," you said, shaking your head and forcing a smile.

"Well, what a better way to end it with a drink?," Matt Martin chimed in, his charming smile almost convincing you.

"I think she doesn't want to come. So let her be," the other Mat said, not even looking at you, and turned away from you and started shooing the guys in the direction of the exit. The guys let it go and with a wave they started following Mat.

As you watched them walk away, the tone in which Mat had said it sunk in and the sadness you had just felt turned into anger. Looking back on the relationship you had with Mat over the past few months, you could tell you really didn't have any. You were friendly with all of the other guys, coming to work was always a blast and with being around the team so often you had developed many inside jokes and gotten to know most of the very well. Except Mat. You could tell he had a problem with you but you didn't know why when everyone else was so nice to you. When you walked into a room and Mat was joking around and acting goofy, this side of him immediately stopped when he saw you. He was always acting quiet and when it came time for you to film content with him, he was acting like his normal self when the camera was on, but the second it was off and it was just the two of you, he was back to quiet and mumbled backhanded comments.

"You know what," you snapped out of your thoughts. "I think this night does call for a few drinks."

Wally turned around with a victory shout and threw his arm around you when you caught up with them.

***

"Alright, now tell me why you're downing these shots like you want to black out." Wally's face was already a bit blurry when you moved your head too quickly, but you finally forgot your boyfriend. Sorry. Ex-boyfriend.

That's right. After three years, you finally saw through all of the red flags and gaslighting and had enough of his bullshit. Or maybe it was the fact that you caught him cheating that made you realize all of these things.

"Oh, no, no, no. I am not drunk enough to spill my secrets to you." Wally acted all offended and again tried to the information out of you and finally flagged down the waitress to get you more shots. She delivered quickly, placing four more shots in front of you.

The first went down easy, so the second should go down just as smoothly. But you never got to that. "I think you've had enough to drink," Mat's voice carried over all of the noise from the bar. Your head snapped in his direction and you saw him staring at you intensely.

"He speaks." You lifted the little glass in the air. "And who are you to tell me I've had enough to drink?"

"You couldn't even get that question out without slurring, so maybe that." His stare somehow got more intense the longer you stared back. It might have something to with the fact that you crept the shot glass closer and closer to your lips.

"You don't like me. And I don't listen to guys who don't like me." You closed your eyes and took the shot. "Anymore."

"And there it is. Boyfriend?" Wally got your attention again and slightly pushed him.

"I don't wanna talk about him." You pouted and while Wally grinned victoriously, the other guys went back to their own conversation. A few moments passed, where you started to fast track through your memories of your relationship. The good and bad ones, but the bad ones stood out. "Why are all guys such idiots?"

All six of the guys turned their head, looking at you with a playful smile. "Yep, I am suddenly extremely aware that I am sitting at a table with just guys. Excuse me."

You stumbled through the bar to the bathroom, your head was spinning like crazy, not just because of the alcohol but also because despite how your ex-boyfriend mistreated you these past few years, it was still a loss you felt deeply. He was an ass, but you loved him and that didn't just go away in a night. You had no idea how long you stood in the bathroom, trying not to fall over but also gossiping with a few girls that found you in the bathroom with whom you had now become friends with.

A loud knock and call of your name disrupted the rather nasty conversation about your ex-boyfriend. You slowly opened the door to reveal Mat standing there with a glass of water. "You ok?"

"Why do you care, Mathew?!"

"Oh my god, are you the cheating boyfriend? She told us how cruel you are so get the hell out of here! You don't deserve her!," the blonde girl, whose name you'd unfortunately already forgotten and who was one of the sweet girls listening to your little rant, pushed herself through the door and in between the two of you.

"What?," Mat said perplexed looking at you for help.

"No, that's just Mat. What do you want?"

"You've been in here for a while. Thought you might need some water."

"No, thanks." You turned away, walking deeper into the bathroom to sit on the little couch. Your head started spinning again. Why was he being nice to you?

"Here." When you looked up, the girls were gone and only Mat stood in the bathroom handing over that glass of water that looked absolutely delicious. You crossed your arms, pouting, to which he rolled his eyes and placed the glass on the counter. "He cheated? Don't tell me you're still with him?"

"No! I might have stayed with him longer than I should have, but I do have some self respect. And, again, why do you care?"

"Jesus Christ, (y/n), why the hell do you think I don't care?," he shouted at you to which you let out a loud chuckle.

"Are you kidding? You hate me. Fine. I don't care." You did. "But don't come in here pretending to care and make a fool out of me."

"What are you talking about?" You scoffed, jumping to your feet, the alcohol giving you the courage.

"What am I talking about? Are you kidding? You never talk to me. You never even look at me. You stop joking around when I'm in the same room. You're visibly in pain when I have to take some pictures and videos of you. I don't know what I ever do to you, but whatever. I don't care anymore. Clearly it's your problem."

He sighed, then took a deep breath. Still never looking directly at you. "See, you're not even looking at me now! So get out. Have a laugh about my little break down in here but leave me alone!"

"I don't hate you," he simply said, making you even more angry. He was so insufferable. Always brooding, giving you dirty looks and now he says he doesn't hate you? That's exactly what you told him, listing every time he made you feel small and unliked by him.

"From day one! I walked in, thinking this was going to be the best job ever and yes it is! But the one guy I actually wanted to like me turned out the best the biggest asshole. But that's not what everyone else says about you, so why are you so mean to me? You're not like this with the rest of the social team, so it must be me! What did I do to you? Why is it just me?," you continued to now yell at him. But he stayed silent. He was on edge though, itching to tell you but fighting to hold back whatever he wanted to say. "You know what? I have had too much to drink to have this conversation right now."

"No you didn't," he replied, pressing his lips together.

"What? Were you not there starring daggers into me while I took like six shots with Wally?"

"I had the bartender switch to water. Half the time you were drinking water. Not counting your Long Island iced tea, you maybe two shots." Hm. Maybe that's why you didn't feel as drunk as you normally would be after that many shots. Your surprised faced actually made him chuckle for a split second. "Yeah. Wally didn't notice either. On that, why the fuck were you taking shots with Wally?"

"Because he offered. And he likes me. And I like him." He looked like you just stabbed a knife in his heart. "Why? You jealous?"

He didn't answer and your heart skipped a beat.

"Why'd you do it?," you asked quietly, concerning the fact that he had made the bartender switch to water.

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Maybe if you would answer one once in a while I would have so many! So why did you do it? Why are you jealous?" Silence. Again. And you started to get annoyed again. "God, Mathew would you just answer the damn question! You are such a difficult person. Why did you-"

"Because I like you!," he yelled back, shutting you up.

"W-what?," you asked, very confused. "That doesn't even make sense."

"I know." At least he admitted it. His face grew soft and he closed his eyes for a second. "Let's go, I'll walk you back to the hotel."

"No! I'm not going anywhere with you," you protested, crossing your arms again. He rolled his eyes.

"Come on."

"No. Not before you explain to me why the hell you would say you like me when these past few months clearly state otherwise."

"I-." But he wasn't able to say more than that.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Disappoint you brushed past him heading for the door, but before you could make it, his hand grabbed you by the arm, spinning you to face him. His large hands grabbed you by the sides of your face and pulled you into him until your lips met.

The act caught you off guard so it took a couple of seconds to react, but when you did you practically melted in his touch. All the pain you had felt from your breakup suddenly vanished and only warm fuzzy feelings remained. His lips were so soft and warm, you wanted to explore them further. He must have felt the same way as he began to open his mouth with a sigh. His tongue brushed over your lips and elicited a small whimpering from you in response. You quickly became addicted to his touch and lifted your own hands to feel him.

"Holy shit." You both ripped apart turning to the familiar voice. The bathroom door was open and in the frame stood Ryan who was desperately trying not to laugh. "Sorry." But just as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared again.

Stunned at what just happened, not only the kiss but also that you'd been caught, you stood in that bathroom silently. Your brain went 100 mph, but to your surprise after the eventful day you had, the only thing in your mind was that kiss.

Mat broke the silence first. "Will you let me walk you back now?"

You only managed to nod and let Mat guide you out of that bathroom. He went to go talk to the guys quickly, letting them know that you'd be leaving. You were too embarrassed to face the other, knowing that Ryan probably told them what he saw, so you awkwardly stood by the exit until Mat came back to quickly escort you outside.

"Your purse."

"Oh." You accepted it, hanging it over your shoulder. You didn't even realize you forgot it. "Thank you."

The short walk back to the hotel was silent, even the elevator ride up to your floor and up until you reached your room. "Thanks for walking me back. Good night."

You started closing the door, but Mat interrupted. "I don't hate you."

"Okay."

He chuckled. "That's it? No millions of questions?"

"You're confusing me. And I'm tired. It's late? I don't even-"

"It's 11:30," he answered your thought looking at his watch.

"Oh. What? That's it?"

He chuckled again. "Yeah you were drinking at lightning speed."

"Well, I was trying to forget a certain someone."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry that he cheated on you. You don't deserve that."

You tried to smile as a thank you, but it turned out very sad. Mat's hand reached out to brush some hair out of your face and your heart clenched at that gesture. "Did it work?"

"What?"

"Forgetting him?"

"The alcohol? No." It was definitely not the alcohol that helped you forget him, but the person standing in front of you. You thought he understood what he meant when his hand came up again to brush that same strand of hair out of your face again, but lingered slowly creeping back to the same place it was nested when you kissed at the bar.

"Want some help?" He suddenly stood very close to you. In the last few minutes he had entered your room enough to push you in and have the door close behind the two of you. And you hadn't even realized. You only had eyes for him. Or his eyes, which sparkled a desire full green. The tension that had been building ever since your fight at the bar almost became unbearable, which is probably what gave him the confidence to ask the question and for you to reply as you did. "Will you let me help you forget that jerk?"

You took the last step needed to stand flush against him and within a second your lips were on his. This kiss may have started out as passionately as the one at the bar but it quickly grew into something hotter.

Mat pushed you further into the room until you stumbled into the dresser onto which he lifted you with ease. You legs wrapped around his hips tightly so he had no room to escape, not that he had any plans to do so as his tongue licked into your mouth. You couldn't hold back a moan as Mat devoured your mouth like he couldn't get enough of you, your fingers digging into his soft brown hair.

You kissed for endless minutes, but when Mat eventually pulled away, your chest heaved, lungs pulling in much-needed oxygen. He breathed harshly, his mouth not retreating too far so you could feel him breathing against your lips. He nibbled on your lower lip, the feel of his teeth sinking into your swollen flesh making you moan softly. "Such pretty sounds," he mumbled in between teasing bites. "All for me?"

"Mhm," you whimpered, nudging your lips closer to his, desperate for his touch. He chuckled, but couldn't help but kiss you back, him too needy to feel this passion again.

More kisses, moans, and whimpers passed until you slowly inched your hips to the edge of the dresser until you finally met his. A deep groan rumbled through Mat's body upon contact and with his big hands he placed on your ass he pulled you even closer, rubbing his growing bulge against your quickly heating center. The layer of both of your jeans got in the way of the best possible friction and both of you realized that the clothes issue needed to be solved as fast as possible.

His mouth broke from yours to explore your jawline and neck. Just as your hands moved from his hair to open up his jeans, one of his hands moved to pull you v-neck down one shoulder, exposing more skin. Small moans climbed up your throat as his tongue started nibbling and licking your skin. "Mat," his name was barely a whisper, but he heard it and picked up on the plea to speed things up. He stepped away just enough so you could comfortably take off your sweater and bra in which time he pulled his pants down.

You didn't have a lot of time to react to the sight of his erect cock straining his underwear that already looked too tight from his thick thighs before Mat stepped back into you capturing your lips for another intoxicating kiss. You arched your back when his grabby hands got ahold of your breast, massaging it and rubbing your nipple between his fingers.

"Do you feel what you're doing to me? How could you ever think I hated you?," he asked out of breath as he continued to rub his hard cock over your center.

"Well, there is the time you-"

"Let's not get into this now, eh?" You laughed, but agreed since what he was doing to you felt way too good to stop. "But let's get you out of the pants and onto this extremely comfortable bed."

With that, he lifted you in the air walking you over to the bed and throwing you onto the mattress. Before dropping to his knees with a mischievous grin, he tore his sweater off then got to work on tearing your jeans off as well.

"God, I have been waiting to get my hands on you since the moment you first looked at me," he groaned as if he couldn't believe this moment was real.

"Then why-"

"Shush, I wasn't being mean to you," he interrupted.

"I was going to say, then why are you talking so long to take me?" The right corner of his lips curled up and his eyes darkened before finally also taking your panties off and grabbing you by your ass pulling you to the edge of the bed.

"Oh, honey, you're so wet" Mat rumbled, his fingers exploring your drenched folds, spreading you open for him while you trembled. "And who are you dripping for?"

"You." The word only a whisper.

"No one else on your mind?"

"No," you moaned bucking your hips into his touch. "Just you."

"That's right." He finally circled your clit, dragging a strangled moan from your mouth, before spanking the little bundle of nerves, making you jerk and cry out. "So sensitive and responsive," he murmured. "I've dreamed about your pussy—and it's even better than I imagined," he confessed distractedly before ducking down, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking until you were squirming beneath him so badly, he had to pin you down to the bed.

Pleasure washed through you in waves so overwhelming, your hands grabbed Mat's soft hair to keep yourself steady. Your whole body quaked, your hips bucking up against his face while he sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue teasing the tip of it until you felt like you were going to shatter apart. But he wouldn't let you come so fast and continued teasing you. Mat licked at your pussy, his tongue digging into the depths of your hole as far as he could go, before using the tip of his tongue to tease your clit.

"Oh, god! Mathew," you moans grew louder at the sounds of him eating you out, something you ex never liked to do (not that you were thinking about him at all), and the thoughts of how hopefully he'd be fucking you numb in just a few minutes. If he was that good at foreplay, how good was he at the actual fucking part?

Just when you thought he couldn't get any better, he ripped his head out of your grasp and lightly slapped your clit, making you cry out. "So sweet," he mumbled, admiring your pussy again after having a taste. His fingers explored the sensitive tissue again before sinking one and then another finger into you. You moaned and squirmed, grabbing the sheets for some support.

"That's it. I can feel you squeezing me, you're close, eh?" You could only hum in response, still squirming beneath his touch. "Then come for me, honey."

Mat's fingers worked in and out of your hole slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls like he was reveling in how tight you were. His tongue brushed against your clit, making you moan and whine, the pleasure he offered so exquisite, you felt certain you were going to come soon. When his fingers pressed against that spot inside you, you abruptly screamed as you finally came. Your hands clutched the sheets then captured his hair again as you bucked your hips up violently against his face, his mouth never relenting even as your entire world shattered around you. His kept fucking you with his fingers, his mouth sucking on your puffy clit as pleasure coursed through you in wave after overwhelming wave. Your legs shook on either side of his head, the rest of your body trembling while Mat worked you through your orgasm.

Then, when the pleasure began to subside, Mat didn't relent. His fingers were still plunging in and out of your pussy while he licked furiously at your sensitive clit. You squirmed, whining at the overstimulation, but he only raised his head for a moment to stare up your body at you.

"One more," he rasped, pressing a kiss to your clit. "Gimme another one, honey," he said, greedy hunger in his voice. Then he spoke no more because his mouth was busy eating you out like a starved man. When he added a third finger to your cunt, fucking you harder with his fingers curled inside you, pressing against that spot, you felt the tension coiling inside you again. Mat was relentless, his tongue lashing against your clit, and it wasn't long before you came again.

If you'd thought your body had trembled and shook through your first release, it was nothing compared to the quaking shudders of your second orgasm. You screamed your throat raw at the overwhelming pleasure consuming your body and mind, and all you could do was hold onto his head and ride it out with him.

When you finally started to come down, you saw him licking your arousal from his fingers, his green eyes heated when he caught you staring at him. He smirked at your slumped, limp body and began to rise. He climbed on top of the mattress, pulling up with him, so your entire body now lay next to him.

"Gimme a minute," you huffed, still catching your breath, to which he chuckled.

"Take your time." With one hand under his head, he grinned at the ceiling. What he was saying earlier was the truth. He did like you and cared for you. He pinned for you and lusted after you. He just couldn't express that in the workplace and that somehow turned into passive aggressiveness. But he would apologize for that later. For now, he was just happy that after months of fantasizing you were actually lying in bed next to him.

"Thank you," you finally said waving your hand around. "For that."

Another laugh, one that made your heart skip a beat, left his mouth. "You sound like it was your first time being eaten out. And you're welcome."

When you didn't answer, only cringed, he sat himself up on his elbow looking down at you. You were strangely comfortable with being naked around him. With past boyfriends or hookups, you always quickly found something to cover up with. "How long were you with this jerk?"

"A few years."

"And he never once went down on you?" His perplexed face suddenly made you feel ashamed. Not about yourself but that you kept up with your ex for so long.

"Not never. He just didn't like doing it. And I haven't enjoyed it with others either so it wasn't a big deal," you admitted, though after what you just went through, you might have some reevaluating to do.

"Jesus Christ, (y/n)! You wasted your time with him. He should have been at your feet, worshipping you, thanking whatever god he believes in that you even looked at him let alone touch him. You especially deserve so much better." Your heart clenched and that fuzzy warm feeling in your belly returned. Since you had no idea how to respond, you kissed him. First softly, almost hesitant, but that feeling only grew stronger and within a few minutes you had pushed him back into the mattress and climbed on top of him.

You moaned into Mat's mouth, kissing him harder, your drenched center settling over the bulge in his pants. Your breath hitched in your throat and Mat took the opportunity to nip at your lower lip, making you moan again before you began rocking against his hardness. Renewed arousal flooded through your body, your skin heating while you kissed him until it became too much and you had to wrench your lips away from the handsome hockey player so you could gasp for air.

"Mathew," you cried softly, his name falling from your mouth in a whispered plea while your hips kept grinding down on his cock. He felt so big and thick beneath you and you didn't know what you wanted more, to keep grinding down against him or feel him fill you up.

Mat pressed his smile against your jaw, teasing your skin with kisses and little nips of his teeth, making you gasp and moan and clench down around nothing while you worked your pussy against his bulge.

"My mouth not enough for you, honey?" he rumbled teasingly in your ear, his hands sliding down your sides. He grabbed your ass with his big hands, kneading your soft flesh while helping you rock against him, dragging more moans from you. "Do you need my cock?"

"Yes, yes, please," you begged in a whining voice. Your pulse was thrumming beneath your skin and throbbing in your clit. Your hands pressed into the mattress next to his head and you used your grip as leverage to grind down harder on his bulge, pressing your clit against the fabric of his boxers until you were a whimpering mess. "Need it, please!"

"What do you need?," he whispered roughly.

"Your cock."

"Say my name. Who's making you feel like this?" His voice was rough in your ear sending more shivers down your body and directly to your clit.

"Mathew. You, Mat. Please, I need you."

His hands on your ass moved quickly to lift you to your knees just high enough so he could wiggle out of his underwear.

"Condom?," you whispered quickly before anything further progressed. His head dropped back in agony before he cursed. "Fuck."

Your head dropped to his chest, spinning as you considered the sides of the argument. "Sorry, I didn't actually plan on anything happening anytime soon."

"It's okay," you whispered, then kissed your way up his neck to his lips. "It's ok, we don't need one. I'm clean and on the pill."

"Me too. You sure?," he asked breathlessly in between more intoxicating kisses. "We don't need to do anything tonight."

"No, please, Mathew," you begged, lowering your hips onto his cock, sliding up and down his length. "I need you, please."

"Fuck! I would never say no to you, honey." Mat's gaze darkened before your eyes, a sound rumbling deep in his chest almost like a possessive growl. Then he was diving forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss while his hands went back to your ass. He used his arm around your back to lower you down until the tip of his cock brushed against your dripping folds. "I'm gonna fuck your sweet pussy bare," he promised, bullying your clit with his tip until you were moaning and squirming on top of him. "I'm gonna fill you up with my come until it's dripping down your thighs."

Words escaped you, so you nodded your head, which felt light and fuzzy with how aroused you were. Your hands braced on Mat's shoulders and you stared deep into his eyes as he guided you to start sinking down on his cock. You gasped when you felt the head of his cock press inside your tight hole. You moaned when he was buried all the way inside of you, loving the feeling of his thick cock splitting you open, stretching out your little pussy. It was nearly overwhelming, just how much you had to stretch to accommodate him, but you enjoyed it too much to stop or protest. "So big," was all you could mumble, your lashes fluttering as you tried to keep holding his gaze through the feeling of his hardness stretching your inner walls.

Mat rumbled a pleased sound in his chest. "Ya like it, honey?" he asked, his lips curling in a devilish smirk that made you want to kiss his mouth hard. "Like feeling my big, fat cock splitting open your tight cunt?"

"Oh god, oh god," you mumbled, moaning while you slid down more of his length before lifting up and pressing down even further. "Feels so good—s'good, Mat," you muttered, still holding his gaze even as your eyes threatened to close from the overwhelming pleasure.

The moment felt too intimate to cut off the connection of your held gaze, so you stared into Mat's eyes as you worked yourself up and down his shaft, taking him impossibly deeper.

"F-fuck, oh fuck," Mat groaned, finally breaking eye contact to bury his face against your chest, like he was overwhelmed by the feeling of being buried inside you. His breath was hot against your breasts as he sucked in deep gulps of air, breathing in your scent while his hands gripped your hips so hard, you thought he might leave fingertip-shaped bruises on your hips—not that you minded. You shivered and clenched around his stiff cock, which only made him grunt in pleasure. "Feel so fucking good, honey," he rumbled, his voice muffled where it was pressed to your sternum. "So warm and tight and fucking perfect around my cock."

"Mhmm," you murmured, rocking your hips in small movements, feeling his cock drag against your sensitive inner walls. You were pressed so close together, you felt a shudder pass through Mat's body and continue through yours. It wasn't long before you were both writhing together, reveling in the feel of each other. "Feel so full—so full of your big cock, Mat," you said in a breathy whisper. You raked your nails through his hair, as he held you to your chest as your hips moved against his tiny thrusts.

"That's right, full of me," he mumbled possessively, nipping at your neck, moving back down to your breasts. He kissed your soft mounds while you rocked on top of him, his hands bringing you down harder and harder on his cock. Steve sucked on your nipple, lapping at the tight peak before giving the same attention to the other. "You feel better than I ever dreamed, honey," he rasped, looking up and catching your eye, depthless emotion filling his green eyes.

Shy heat filled your face and you smiled, warm pleasure curling through your limbs and pulsing insistently between your thighs. Your inner walls clenched down around Mat's cock, like your body was possessive of the feeling of him inside you and never wanted to let him go.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your ear, pressing small wet kissed along your jaw. "Sorry I've been a bit of a jerk."

"So you admit it?" Your response sped up his thrusts to which you let out a surprised squeak which turned into a string of moans.

"Why don't you accept my apology for now and let me fuck you mindless like you deserve and we can talk about the rest later." His voice turned rough and possessive again, one you already loved as you pussy clamped down on his cock, so you nodded.

In a quick maneuver, Mat had turned the two of you around, lifting one of your legs. "Good girl."

He didn't give you a chance to react before he mercilessly started pounding into your sweet flesh. It was better than you ever could've imagined, the feeling of his hot, hard cock sinking into your tight cunt. His hips were smacking your thighs, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust as he fucked you. You reveled in the feel of him, your arms and legs wrapped around him and dragging him deeper into the cradle of your body.

Mat's face hovered above you and you could see the way it was contorted with pleasure. The way he was fucking you—so possessively, you knew he was serious when he'd told you he had liked you all along. "Fuck," he choked out the whispered curse, pressing his forehead to yours. "Your pussy feels so fucking good gripping my cock."

You tilted your head up for a kiss, pressing your lips to his as you pulled him closer with your legs, rocking up against him. "More, please—need you, need more," you begged against his mouth, your breaths mingling until you didn't know where you ended and he began.

Giving you what you asked for, Mat pulled his hips back, dragging his cock along every sensitive inch of your cunt, before slamming back inside. His breathing was harsh in your ear as he let out stuttering moans, almost drowning out the sounds of his hips smacking against yours, his balls hitting your ass. "So good, so good, honey, so fucking good," he chanted against your check, his breath hot on your face.

Your face pressed into his neck, lips sucking on his skin until you knew you were going to leave marks, too far gone to care as your tongue darted out to taste him and soothe him. Your legs locked around his waist, your feet hooking behind his thighs so you could draw him deeper until he was fully seated in your cunt and he couldn't pull out more than an inch.

"Oh god, that's it. I'm so close," you mumbled as his thrust slowed but doubled in strength. Words escaped you, your lips forgetting how to do anything but kiss and moan and whimper and whine for Mat. Your head felt hazy, however not from the alcohol from earlier, but on Mat's cock and the dirty words pouring from his mouth.

"Yes, need you to come for me, honey. Need to feel you come on my cock," he muttered, picking up the pace of his slow grinding until he was rutting into you as much as your legs would let him. "Fuck, I can't stop, baby, 'm gonna come." He grunted and groaned, the sounds of his pleasure and his words filling the truck cab. "Come on my cock, baby," Mat rasped as he pounded his cock deep in your hole, grinding his pubic bone against your clit with every thrust, sending you careening toward the edge.

The desperation in Mat's voice and the way his cock pummeled a spot deep in your pussy that had your back arching into him, grinding your clit on him, pushed you over the edge. Your nails dug into his back, desperate to be anchored to him as it felt like you were free-falling through pleasure. Pressing your face into his neck, you muffled a scream, sobbing your release as your cunt rhythmically clamped down hard on his cock.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, that's it baby, that's a good girl," Mat praised, rutting into you harder, fucking you through your orgasm as he chased his own.

His fingers dug into your soft flesh so hard you were sure he'd leave bruises and that thought only sent more warmth curling through you, joining the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Please," you begged, your mouth finally remembering how to form words. "Come in me," you whined, squirming beneath him.

"Fuck—yes," he grunted, thrusting hard and pinning you down onto the mattress with his hips. "Take it, honey, take my come," he bit out through gritted teeth as you felt him start to come deep in your pussy. You moaned when you felt his cock twitch inside you, his come filling your warm hole. He panted, as he thrust a few more times, shallowly, until he was spent. Mat collapsed on top of you while you reveled in the feel of his come coating inside you. "So good for me, baby," he praised, turning his head enough to kiss your cheek.

Your arms and legs felt heavy and loose as your full body relaxed, drifting in the aftermath of a mind-blowing orgasm, feeling sated and happy. Running your fingers through Mat's hair, you hummed in happiness. Unable to stop yourself, you planted little kisses on his neck. He made a contented sound in his chest in response, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hand.

He still stayed buried deep inside you, brushing his lips over your face, your neck and collarbones. You enjoyed it, almost more than what you just did, breathing him in, staying in your fantasy just a little bit longer.

You suddenly snapped back to reality, realizing that while he had just been very sweat and caring, he did behave like a jerk these last few months. You pushed him off of you, pretending you didn't feel the extreme emptiness when his cock slipped out of you. "Get off me."

Mat laughed, sitting up on his elbows as he watched you scramble to find a shirt to cover up with. "Oh, come on, honey. Can't we enjoy this moment?"

"One phenomenal orgasm does just erase these last few months and prove that you actually never hated me," you explained in a snippy tone, blushing when you realized you admitted how good he'd made you feel.

"I'm pretty sure I made you come three times." You rolled your eyes, throwing his sweater at him before finally reaching your sweater and pulling it over your head. "Should I prove it to you again?"

Let's just say that that night and many other nights he continued to prove to you over and over again that he did in fact like you. Maybe even more than like.

[melancholy-of-nadia]

love u lately (m) #12 | myg/knj/pjm

title: love u lately​ chapter title: #12 - shift pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: an outro song is defined as a song placed at the end of an album that signals to the listener that this is the wrap up or conclusion of the story told in the album . and while this might be the outro to this part of your life story, you think this is is also kinda like a prelude to a new beginning. a graduation. a move. a shift in relationships. we don't know what the next album of our life entails but having three boyfriends makes the unknown, a little easier. warnings:  LIGHT SMUT, Namjoon sax mention, small FOURSOME scene again, EIFFEL TOWER, random fluff scattered all around, mention of a pool party, kissing, blowjob, multiple orgasms, reader's birthday is 7/9 army day, video call, creampies, multiple positions, dirty talk, pet names, size kink returns, more confessions as always but they're good! playful banter from yoonminjoon note: @daegudrama has been editing this for over a year and if you have not followed her, please do so NOW. She has a SPICY Festa 2023 one shot series that is amazing and is currently working on a BTS x Pokemon fic. Go show some love! total word count: 7.5k (not including the authors notes at the end) drop date:  July 12th, 2024, 1PM PST cross posted on AO3 here ← #11 | Series Masterlist

Overall, your relationship with Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin progresses well after that night. Is there really a difference between the time before and after being in a polycule for you?

Well, not really. You would say the biggest difference is that it feels like old times when it was just you and them versus the world, and not like the months leading up to that Gamma party last October. The days when you would stick together, and there wasn’t casual dating or hookups causing a rift in your friendship. You guys are more intimate with one another now though, and it's been serendipitous.

After the initial foursome, you all agreed to keep things lowkey, but your best friends (now lovers) don’t exactly know the definition of “lowkey.” From conspicuously holding your hand as they walk you to and from class (taking turns, by the way), it hasn’t gone unnoticed by others on campus. 

Soon after, rumors began circulating, especially coming from a certain salty Gamma boy who got left behind and some snarky Psi Gamma girls who were friends with Jimin’s ex. You’ve heard things in passing like “Y/N, the Beta Tau Sigma slut being passed around the house” or confession account tweets anonymously saying “Y/N is stealing all the finest men on campus for herself. Selfish bitch.”

But these are the same rumors you have been hearing since the beginning, back when you first moved into the BTS house and started hanging out with the guys. But with more concrete evidence now, it’s been more rampant than ever before. However, if you try to defend yourself, you know it will only satisfy those people more, confirming their torment works and continuing to do it until you’re on the brink of insanity.

You don’t blame your boyfriends for their affectionate behavior or for not keeping things more under wraps. 

They just want to show you as much love and care as they can to make up for all the lost time they couldn’t do that.

So when you accidentally snap at them for an unrelated thing after dealing with some harassment in your Instagram DMs, your boyfriends immediately worry about you, especially Yoongi. He is the first to notice the shift in your mood, pulling you aside to talk.

"Hey," Yoongi says softly, his voice filled with concern. "What's up? You've been tense all day."

You sigh, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. "Sorry…It's just... the bullshit rumors on the confessions account Instagram. I’ve been getting hit with so many DMs from burner accounts calling me “the Beta Tau Slut”. I’ve blocked a lot of them, but…" You feel your eyes slowly fill with tears of anger, but unwilling to let them fall.

Explaining all of this feelsl so stupid. Namjoon and Jimin join the conversation, their faces mirroring Yoongi's worry. "Babt, we won’t let them get to you," Namjoon says, taking your hand in his. "You know we’re here for you, right?"

"I know," you reply, squeezing his hand. "I’m usually good at ignoring shit like this, but damn… it just won’t stop."

Jimin wraps an arm around you, his warmth comforting. "We’ll handle this together, okay? We won’t let them say shit to bring us down."

Their support makes you feel better, but the constant negativity still lingers in your mind. It isn’t just about ignoring the gossip—it is about reclaiming your narrative and not letting anyone else define you or your relationship.

The next day, Yoongi surprises you with an idea. "Let’s make a statement," he suggests. "We’ll show everyone that we’re proud of what we have."

"How?" you ask, curious but hesitant.

"We’ll post about it," Jimin says, determination in his eyes. "Not intended to fuel the rumors, but to show that we’re happy and in love. Let them say what they want. We know the truth." Namjoon and Yoongi nod in agreement. "It’s time we take control of our story," Namjoon adds.

That’s when your three boyfriends post a photo of all three of them kissing your face at once, followed by a photo dump of other moments from that spring semester. 

There is no caption, as the photos really speak for themselves. You receive a downpour of positive comments from people who either already knew about your relationship with Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin or familiar faces you have good relationships with that comment their congratulatory messages to you four.

That eases some of the anxiety that has been building up inside you. Seeing the supportive messages and knowing that there are people who genuinely care about you and respect your relationship makes a significant difference. You feel a sense of relief and gratitude wash over you as you read through the kind words. You're glad you have the best boyfriends. They have stood by you, defending your relationship and ensuring you feel loved and cherished despite all odds.

–

"Took you long to come clean, honey pie." Hwasa narrows her eyes at you from the doorway of your room.

“Look I can explain…” You look away in shame, clutching your pillow closely, feeling more anxious than ever. You’ve never had close female friends before, so having to be comforted by one feels scarier than when the guys confronted you about things.

"Explain why you couldn’t tell me why you were snogging with your three guy best friends? I thought we were friends!" She pulls out her phone, pointing to the photo Yoongi had posted as well as Namjoon and Jimin’s.

You really were planning to tell her not long after you made it official with Beta Tau Sigma, but now it feels too late that she found out through several Instagram posts.

“I was scared you would think it’s weird…” "Weird?" She scrunches her face in confusion as she moves closer towards you, her tone serious. "I thought it was pretty fucking… awesome!" Her enthusiasm grows suddenly. "That’s every girl’s fantasy—dating the school’s hottest guys all at once? Trust me, I’ve heard stranger things."

“Really? Like…” You whisper, asking cautiously.

Hwasa sighs, her expression softening as she sits down beside you on the bed. “Like a girl from Psi Gamma doing coke lines with her professor and fucking him after for an A+, or a Mu Chi guy getting his dick up after injecting steroids,” she says with a chuckle. “Trust me, your situation isn’t even close to weird in comparison.”

You have a lot of questions about what she just told you, but you’ll save it for later.

You let out a nervous laugh, relieved by her understanding tone. “I guess you’re right. It’s just all so new to me. I’m so sorry, Hwasa.”

“It’s okay,” Hwasa reassures you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Like I’ve said a million times before, I got your back. I just feel bad for not being able to protect you from the harassment sooner…”

You sigh. "It’s not your fault Hwasa. But the good thing is that I had my boyfriends with me who have been doing their best and bearing with me through this. They’ve really made me feel what love actually is.”

"And that's why I'm so happy for you. I haven't known them for too long, but they’ve always seemed like great guys. If they make you happy, then I'm all for it." Hwasa joins you on your bed, getting comfortable under your Pompompurin blanket.

You smile, feeling the warmth spread through your chest as you move in for a hug. “Thank you, Hwasa. That means a lot.” After a moment, you pull back and remember your other friends. “Wait..do… Soohyun, Jieun, and Soyoon know?”

Hwasa groans, flopping back on the bed. “Soohyun saw the posts, but she’s still a confused little bird, bless her heart. Jieun, though, she’s sharp. She told me she caught on during that camping trip a few months ago. I thought she was imagining things, but she was spot on.” You blush, realizing you definitely need to talk to Jieun about this. “As for Soyoon, she and I had a bet on whether you’d end up with Namjoon or Yoongi because they seemed like more likely options than Jimin at the time. I was Team Yoongi, by the way. But… I guess we both won, so…” You both burst into laughter.

Hwasa's eyes light up with mischief. “Oh, but Soyoon did not see this coming at all! She was convinced you’d end up with Namjoon only. She told me he couldn't stop yapping about you to her whenever they’d hang out. You should have seen her face when she saw the photos! Her jaw literally dropped. She was in complete shock.”

You giggle, imagining Soyoon’s expression. “I can picture it. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do.”

Hwasa grins, “You do, but take your time. They’ll understand. And if anyone gives you trouble, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

“Thanks, Hwasa. I really do appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” she says, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, you better tell me how this all began. Every detail. Even the nastiest ones! You’ve got liquor in the kitchen, and I can get Hoseok to provide some weed on the house.”

A good smoke session sounds perfect to loosen up and spill everything.

You nod, then yell, “Hoseok!” He comes running from downstairs, looking confused.

“Give us the good stuff,” Hwasa says with a wink, beckoning him to bring the weed he keeps in a closet next to his room.

“As long as I can join for a bit too!” He smirks back at her, which she returns as well.

You both look at them, shaking your head.

Oh god, this is gonna be a long night.

–

Along with dating, other things that you are all initially worried about eventually start to fall into place.

Yoongi ends up finishing the mixtape he’s been working on for the longest time.

He submitted the best one out of all his peers, which means Professor Kang fulfilled his end of the bargain, writing him a letter of recommendation, and sending his mixtape to Mr. Bang. He said he’d never listened to such an innovative and unique collection of music and held Yoongi in high regard.

“Mr. Bang reached out to me!” Yoongi announces excitedly one afternoon in mid-May, holding up his phone for you to see. “He says he wants to do a Zoom call and talk business!”

You take his phone and read the email on the screen: “As I know you are still studying at X City University, it may be difficult for you to relocate to LA on such a short notice for the summer, but I’d like to potentially offer you a 3-month internship with Bighit Records. You can work remotely for now and then come into the LA office for the last few weeks of the internship. We will discuss more during our call. I don’t want to miss out on having a talented individual with growing potential join our label.”

You pause, stunned by the news. “Holy fucking shit, Min Yoongi! I told you that you could do it!” you exclaim, rushing to hug him.

“Like I said before, it’s because you had faith in me and gave me your love as motivation.”

Blushing, you kiss him on the cheek. “Stop, you’re being so cheesy!”

Yoongi laughs, pulling you closer. "Cheesy, but true."

When the other Beta Sigma boys hear the news, they immediately announce they are going to throw Yoongi a party to celebrate his achievement. Hoseok excitedly proclaims he will supply the alcohol, while Taehyung promises to buy the weed.

“We’re going all out tonight!” Hoseok declares, setting alcohol bottles down on the kitchen counter. “Only the best for our future music mogul.” That night is probably one of the most fun parties of the year.

–

Jimin, too, finds his groove. He wasn’t sure what other goals he had besides trying to get his business degree. He knows that either he or his younger brother would have to start running his dad’s bakery one day. But before that, Jimin’s dad wants him to become a prosecutor…which Jimin wasn’t completely keen on doing.

But there is one thing he does like: dancing. Aside from majoring in business, he is minoring in dance just because it lets him have an outlet to explore his long-time passions. Working for a corporation after graduating seems like the next big move, but for someone like Jimin, he thrives in creative environments more than a boring office.

He’s been doing dance covers since high school and uploading them on YouTube.

Recently, a few of his dance performances with Hoseok started gaining recognition. This led to him asking Jimin to perform in the college dance team’s performance for the university’s end-of-the-year culture fest, as well as choreograph it. He was initially nervous, as he hasn’t done something like this in so long, but you and your other two boyfriends attended his rehearsals, supporting him and cheering him on.

After he killed the performance amazingly with his fellow dancers, Jimin has new aspirations in mind.

“I talked to my parents earlier, more specifically my dad,” Jimin says, laying his head on your lap and looking up at you. “Told him I want to take dance seriously and make it my career.”

“Oh? What did he say about that?” you ask curiously, your fingers running gently through his hair.

“He was a little hesitant at first. You know, trying to nicely say it’s not financially stable.” You hum softly at his words, understanding the concern. “But then he said I could work an office job and dance at one of those professional dance studios during my free time. When I’d make enough, I could leave that job and stick to dance.”

You smile down at him, admiration shining in your eyes. “That sounds like a good plan to work towards. At least he’s supportive, even if he’s worried.”

Jimin nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I’m glad he didn’t outright dismiss it. I just need to prove to him—and to myself—that I can make it work.”

“You can do it, Jimin. You’re an amazing dancer. With your talent and determination, there’s no way you won’t succeed,” you say, your voice filled with conviction. “You’ve made it this far after all.”

He reaches up, taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently. “Really? You think I could aim for 1Million Dance Studio?”

“Pfft.” You say, grinning. “You are the Jimin Park, after all. Son of the famed Magnate Bakery’s Hyunsoo Park.”

“This is one of the many reasons I love you, babe. Thank you.” He laughs, an angelic sound that fills the room, and cuddles further into your lap, making you laugh at his clinginess.

–

As for Namjoon, he has switched his study abroad program to the summer instead of the fall semester. Being the (slightly) possessive boyfriend that he is, he can’t bear being away for that long. Especially this early on in the relationship when he is worried other guys would try to get at you. But you reassure him that it won’t happen, Jimin and Yoongi are with you anyway.

Despite you rarely seeing Jaebeom around after he got the biggest hint that you already had… others, Namjoon sometimes worries you’ll sway.

One evening, as you sit together in your cozy living room studying for finals with Taehyung, Jungkook, Hoseok and Jin, Namjoon brings up his concerns. "You’re not gonna randomly break up with me… or all of us while I’m gone right?" he asks, his voice tinged with unease. "What if Jaebeom tries to get at you again? Or Mingyu? I know he’s such an attractive guy and you–"

You interrupt him mid-rant and take his hand in yours, squeezing it reassuringly. "Namjoon, you know I love you. I love Jimin and Yoongi too. You don’t have to worry about anyone else getting in the way. And besides, these Beta guys will keep protecting me too, right guys?"

Taehyung looks up from his notes and grins. "Absolutely! No one's getting past us!"

Jungkook nods vigorously. "We’ve got her back, Namjoon. Always."

Hoseok chimes in, flashing a bright smile. "Yeah, don’t worry. We’ll keep all those weird frat boys, international students, and businessmen away."

Jin, ever the voice of reason, adds, "You’ve got nothing to worry about, Namjoon. It’s literally summer session too, who the fuck is going to be around here anyways."

Namjoon smiles, albeit a bit shyly. "I know, I know. It’s just me being paranoid.” He lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. "Thanks, guys. I mean it.” 

Taehyung chimes in, hitting you with his elbow, “If anything, our little Honey should be worried that her boyfriend won’t find another pretty girl while he’s in Korea.”

You playfully roll your eyes, nudging Taehyung back. "Oh, please. Namjoon is too obsessed with me, reading books and looking at art to notice anyone else."

"Very offended you would even think I would do that, Tae." Namjoon narrows his eyes at him, smacking him on the shoulder. "I’m only going to Korea to study at Yonsei, and I’m taking a really cool contemporary art class taught by a famous art conservator and historian. Plus, there’s this student organization I want to join that focuses on integrating art and social change. That’s what’s going to keep me busy."

Taehyung laughs, rubbing his shoulder. "Ah! Okay, okay, I get it. Mr. ‘Studious Foo’. Never mind."

Not long after, Yoongi and Jimin come home carrying bags of BB.Q Chicken and a selection of Korean beers they picked up from H-Mart downtown. The enticing aroma of fried chicken fills the room as they unpack the boxes, revealing an array of golden, crispy goodness as well as sides of white radish in cups and french fries. One box contains your favorite: Soy Garlic flavored chicken, a perfect blend of sweet and savory that you always have to make sure Yoongi orders instead of the original flavor. The other box holds Yangnyeom chicken, coated in a vibrant red sauce that provides a sweet and spicy kick that Jungkook and Jimin are obsessed with. You all gather around the dining table, the spread of chicken and cold beers inviting you all to indulge. The clinking of bottles and the sound of laughter fills the room as everyone settles in. Yoongi pours the beer, its crisp, refreshing taste pairing perfectly with the rich flavors of the chicken.

As you start eating, Namjoon begins to share details about his upcoming study abroad program. He speaks animatedly about his itinerary, his eyes lighting up with excitement. 

“That sounds really cool, Joonie,” you say, genuinely happy for him. “You’ve always been so passionate about art and using it to make a difference, so I’m glad you have the chance to discover more about that.”

"Thank you my love," Namjoon says, his smile growing. "It's a dream come true, really. And I promise, I’ll keep in touch as much as I can. Video calls, texts, everything."

Jimin, who has been quietly listening, chimes in, "We'll make sure she’s too busy to even think about other guys, hyung. Don't worry about that."

Yoongi smirks, giving Namjoon a playful nudge. "And we’ll show you proof too.”

These nights—eating delicious food, savoring Korean beers, and sharing laughs and dreams with your closest friends—are moments you cherished deeply. 

However, there is a bittersweet realization looming: Hoseok and Jin are about to graduate. Soon, these carefree gatherings will change. The thought tugs at your heart as you look around the table, capturing the smiles and laughter etched into your memory. You silently vow to hold onto these precious moments, knowing they will become even more precious with time.

– 

About two weeks later, Jin graduated from college. The whole house attends the ceremony, each of you holding flower bouquets or some sort of gift to congratulate him. It is a hot afternoon, sun blazing throughout the 2-hour commencement ceremony while the friends and families sitting on the bleachers are excited and proud.

After the ceremony ends, you all gather down on the soccer field. Jin’s brother, mom, dad, pregnant sister-in-law, and nephew have already arrived to congratulate Jin. 

Namjoon, who has been unusually secretive lately, suddenly opens a decently large case he had brought with him. Upon opening it, he pulls out his old saxophone, the one he hasn’t touched since high school. He immediately starts playing it, a catchy tune filling the air. Everyone turns to him in surprise, especially Hoseok.

"Why on earth did you bring that out after so long?" Hoseok asks, his eyebrow raising in curiosity.

Namjoon grins, positioning the saxophone and taking a deep breath. "It's a bet I made with Jin during his freshman year," he explains. "I told him that if he actually graduated on time, I'd serenade him with the 'Epic Sax Guy' song from the 2010 Eurovision."

The group bursts into laughter, Jin included, who is now shaking his head with a wide smile. "I can't believe you remembered that," He says, amusement clear in his voice.

Namjoon continues to play, and all of you around him can’t help but laugh and cheer, clapping along to the music. Jin is doubled over in laughter, tears streaming down his face as he watches his friend fulfill an old, ridiculous bet.

Jieun approaches you, wearing a white dress under her graduation gown, her eyes filled with concern and curiosity. She glances at your three boyfriends, who are behind you, laughing and teasing Jin. He looks both amused and embarrassed by the attention he's receiving from people around him after Namjoon's serenade.

"You think you'll be okay, Honey?" Jieun asks, her gaze shifting from the boys to you. Her question is gentle, but her eyes are sharp, taking in every detail.

Your cheeks redden. "I still can't believe you caught on to everything months before anyone else, Jieun."

She grins, a twinkle in her eye. "Of course. Nothing gets past me! Just wasn’t sure whether I was understanding things right." She jokes, giving your arm a light squeeze.

You smile at her, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "But to answer your question, yeah, I think so. We've got a good thing going, and we'll make it work."

Her expression softens, and she steps closer, pulling you into a hug. "I’m glad. I really do think you guys are meant for each other. Just like soulmates."

Soulmates. The word resonates deeply with you. All of the signs from the past just point out to that after all. It just took a little longer for you and them to realize it.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as Jieun continues, shifting the conversation.

"I'll be moving in less than 24 hours to LA to start my first job in entertainment next Monday. You better come down and visit me, alright?" She gently pokes your cheek, making you giggle.

"Oh woah! I will!"

"And don't forget about what I told you back in April. If you’re still interested, I’ll help you get there."

You nod eagerly, feeling a surge of determination, before you're interrupted by Soohyun, Hwasa, and Soyoon, who come over to bombard Jieun with their congratulatory flower bouquets.

As you watch the joyful scene, you can't help but reflect on your own future. After all, your boyfriends had started thinking about their careers, it makes you realize that maybe you should start getting your shit together as well. You are now their girlfriend with the potential to become their wife, which leads you to talk to Jieun, who was a senior in your department, about your future. Your career.

As a psych major and theater minor, her goal is to go into the entertainment industry and become an actress or go into hospitality in this field. And being a business major and psych minor yourself, hearing her stories about her internship from last summer made you realize you want to consider getting into this industry as well. Jimin and Yoongi will be involved in it due to dance and music, and Namjoon will be consequentially also in it due to working in art, so it will make sense. Maybe this is something you will start looking into as you approach your last two years of college.

As the day draws to a close, you find yourself standing with your boyfriends, the warm glow of the setting sun casting a golden hue over the soccer field. Jin’s friends and families surround him, laughter and chatter filling the air. Namjoon wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"Ready to head home and party?" he asks, his voice soft and comforting.

You nod, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you. "Hell yeah!"

++++++++++++

June 21 [Friday]

The sun is scorching as you stand outside feeling the summer heatwave pound down on you. However, your relief for quenching your thirst is suddenly gone as your hand lets go of your iced peach tea. You stare blankly at the building in front of you.

“You’re… going to lease an apartment for all four of us?” You manage to word out, turning back to look at Namjoon and Yoongi in shock.

Namjoon now sports a buzzcut, a new look he wanted to try after seeing how stress-free Sanyawn was with his own buzzcut. The change suits him well, and he looks undeniably hot. He’s wearing a slightly ill-fitted navy blue shirt that shows off his toned arms and a pair of khaki shorts, perfect for the summer heat. His new haircut accentuates his strong jawline and expressive eyes, giving him an edgy yet clean appearance.

Yoongi’s hair has progressively gotten longer, with some locks now cascading down to his shoulders. You were always used to his hair being side-swept or even in a bowl cut, but this new length is more than alluring. Dressed in a loose white linen graphic tee and jorts, Yoongi exudes an effortless cool despite the weather. The longer hair frames his face beautifully, highlighting his sharp features and giving him an almost ethereal doll-like look.

Jimin stands beside you, his hair now a striking blonde. He always talked about dyeing his hair but was hesitant to take the plunge until last week when Jungkook spontaneously decided to help him do it. It could’ve gone really badly, but it turned out incredibly well. He looks prettier than ever, the blonde contrasting perfectly with his warm skin tone. Jimin is wearing a white t-shirt and ripped jeans, a playful and stylish summer outfit that complements his new hair color.

“Uh, I mean, why not? We’re dating after all. Think it would be better for us.” Yoongi shrugs, walking towards the side gate entrance of the apartment complex and going inside. Jimin helps grab your sad, empty plastic cup on the ground and throw it in a nearby bin. You just got it on the way here and were barely halfway done with it. Nonetheless, the three of you follow along behind him on this self-guided apartment tour. 

“But…what about Beta Tau Sigma? The house?” Your words sound sad. “Are we not living there even after Seokjin and Hoseok graduate?”

You were only there for a little less than a year, but managed to become so much closer to the guys who you’d only share a few words with and maybe some small talk prior to living with them. What’s going to happen to them now? The house being two stories and having 4 rooms made it rather expensive to live in, especially in the area you are in. With 8 people living in it, there wasn’t much difficulty in getting the bills paid, and still having enough for other things like tuition and whatever fun stuff we had. 

You’ve been working in the library since your freshman year, and while you didn’t talk about it much, the guys had jobs to contribute to the costs as well. Namjoon works at a local art gallery near campus with San Yawn. Jimin works at the Admissions building and does campus tours to visiting students (which usually always charms them to enroll). Yoongi does freelance producing work for some studios in the area. Taehyung works late nights at a jazz club while Jungkook works reception at the gym. Hoseok is a dance instructor at a local community center and Jin… Jin doesn’t work. His rich parents have been really supportive to help provide for the other expenses.

“They’re planning to move out sometime in January. Jin just graduated and Hoseok is graduating in December. They don’t know if they’ll still be around, so Taehyung and Jungkook won’t be able to cover all the costs on their own. They’re looking to rent an apartment here too.” Namjoon adds.

A silence falls as the reality of things changing settles in.

“Can’t believe this is the end of Beta Tau Sigma…” Jimin mumbles, which doesn’t go unheard by the rest of you guys.

“For now. If things start looking good for us post-grad, maybe we’ll rent a new house together that’s even bigger. It was feeling a bit cramped in the last few months, not gonna lie.” Namjoon puts an arm around you, “But for now, we need some privacy…” He smirks at you, which makes your eyes roll.

“What he wants to say is that we can’t fuck you on the kitchen table at the BTS house.” Yoongi bluntly says, making you choke on your spit. Namjoon and Jimin begin to hit your back, which makes it worse with multiple hits.

“Hyung!” Namjoon and Jimin yell at the older man, who shrugs. 

“Oh my god…” It’s an understatement to say you are feeling half nervous and half horny at the thought of being fucked on every surface of your new home by your three boyfriends. Are you even going to survive that?

After a couple of months of being together, most of those times you’ve taken turns having sex with all three of them. At times, maybe one boyfriend would be in the room watching you and another getting it on. But as they mentioned, it’s not particularly easy to have sex as a group when you live with 4 other guys. Keeping quiet is not a simple task. You could’ve sworn you overhead Taehyung saying to Jimin and Jungkook that he got off of the sounds you and the guys were making one of those nights. And maybe you haven’t been able to look him in the eye since!

“You guys know I’m up for anything,” you say with a grin, giving them a thumbs-up, which earns you bashful smiles in return.

"Give it a few weeks while Namjoon is away, and you're all ours," Jimin teases, winking mischievously. “You know what an Eiffel tower is?”

“I–”

"H-Hey, that's not fair!" Namjoon protests, though his smile betrays his playful spirit.

After Jimin’s teasing comment, you all decide it is time to go check out the new apartment. 

Upon entering the place itself, you are greeted by a spacious living room with large windows that let in plenty of natural light. The kitchen is modern and sleek, and there are three bedrooms, one for each of your boyfriends. The best part is the balcony overlooking the pool, a perfect spot for late-night talks and relaxing evenings.

“This place is beautiful!” you exclaim, twirling around in the living room. “You guys did great!”

“We thought you’d like it,” Namjoon says, grinning proudly.

“We should start moving in right away,” Yoongi suggests, already planning how to arrange the furniture. “Makes things easier before we start to get busy this summer.”

You nod excitedly in response, which makes him lean in close to you and kiss your temple.

A part of your heart breaks knowing that you won’t be back at that house on a daily, but no matter what, you’re ready for a new beginning with your soulmates.

–

Over the next couple of days, you all work together to move in. It’s a whirlwind of unpacking boxes, arranging furniture, and hanging up decorations. Namjoon proves to be surprisingly meticulous, insisting on organizing the bookshelf by genre. Jimin and Yoongi spend hours setting up a cozy corner with bean bags and a record player.

Finally, with everything in place, you all decide to celebrate with a pool party with friends at the apartment complex. The sun is shining, and the air is filled with the sounds of laughter and splashing water. 

This is truly what life is.

“Uugh~” 

“Fuck baby, stay still while I fuck your tiny pussy.” Namjoon whispers as he lifts your ass to thrust at a better angle. You are currently trying to balance yourself with your noodle arm on the couch as Yoongi enters in and out of your mouth and you use your other hand to pleasure Jimin’s cock. 

You were enjoying the party not long ago, and then once it ended, they immediately came back in with you, locked the door and closed the blinds. You guess the black swimsuit you bought really enticed them through the day. 

Now you’re being overstimulated to the brim. Your body is going to ache tomorrow for sure.

“This fucking bikini… Were you trying to kill us?” Yoongi chuckles, his hips are moving more frantically now, chasing his orgasm with little regard for how obvious his movements are. 

“So fucking slutty wearing that in front of the guys.” Namjoon moans quietly. “Let me breed you before I leave you to Yoongi and Jimin.” He snickers, making you whine as your cheeks heat up. Not long after the first couple of times with Namjoon, you found out he has a size kink, a breeding kink, and a slight degradation kink. It’s so interesting to see the contrast from being a golden retriever on a normal daily basis.

Namjoon pulls out and snaps his hips back into you, burying himself inside you over and over again, his movements make your brain go fuzzy as he uses his knee to push your legs further apart, from this angle he reaches deeper inside you, his fat tip prodding at your cervix. He presses his large hand right above your womb to feel himself moving inside, the feeling sends you over the edge as well, and your walls squeeze him, robbing him of all breath. 

“Shit..” Is all he manages as his climax hits him unexpectedly, you feel him spill inside you painting your walls white. Yoongi follows, making you swallow the cum as Jimin paints your tits with his own.

+++++++++++++

July 9th [Monday]

A few weeks later, Namjoon is in Korea, settling into his study abroad program. It has been years since he was last in Korea, back when he was just a kid before he moved to the US. Now, as he overlooks the sprawling Seoul skyline from his dorm window, he can’t help but think about how much his life has changed since then—especially after meeting you, his next-door neighbor. He often daydreamed about bringing you here one day, showing you all the places that meant so much to him. He’d start with Ilsan, his hometown, then Daegu, where Yoongi was from, and finally, Busan, where Jimin’s mom currently lives.

But those daydreams will have to wait. 

For now, he has to focus on his studies and then think of the future. Namjoon opens his planner, filling it with various assignments he has received for the semester. He makes a note to visit the National Museum of Korea in the coming days for one of his assignments. As he glances at the date, he suddenly realizes something important.

“July 10th here… Wait… July 9th. It’s baby’s birthday in the States,” he muttered to himself. “Damn, I was so busy getting settled here that I almost forgot.” Just as he is about to panic, his phone buzzes with a video call notification. It’s you.

Wasting no time, he answers the call, looking forward to seeing your face after a few days of not seeing it virtually.

But it isn’t your face, it’s Jimin’s.

“Hi Hyung! You didn’t wish our baby happy birthday earlier so…” He switches the camera view, showing Namjoon what appears to be you, receiving backshots from Jimin as you suck on Yoongi’s dick. “We wanted to show you what you were missing.”

Eiffel Tower.

Namjoon's eyes widen as he watches the video. He can’t believe what he is seeing, but a small smile creeps onto his face.

Jimin passes the phone over to Yoongi, who holds the phone close to your face, showing his dick going in and out of your mouth.

“Fuck…” Namjoon's hand slowly inches inside his sweatpants, palming his cock slightly.

“Baby, show your daddy how good you’re taking me,” Yoongi said seductively.

You smile playfully, your eyes locked with Namjoon's eyes on the phone. You slowly take Yoongi's dick deeper into your mouth, swallowing and pulling back before starting all over again. Jimin and Yoongi sigh contentedly, their eyes never leaving yours.

Namjoon watches, mesmerized by the sight. His heart races as he stares at the beauty of your body, your lips wrapped around Yoongi's dick. 

He feels a wave of longing and desire wash over him, making him pull out his own dick to stroke it as he watches you be taken by his two best friends.

The sound of your moans and their groans fill his ears as he continues to watch. His mind races with thoughts of the three of you together. 

Jimin and Yoongi's bodies move in perfect harmony with each other, their sweaty skin slapping against your soft lips. Namjoon's own cock twitches in his hand, unable to hold back his own arousal any longer. He wonders if the three of you are thinking of him as he watches, if you are fucking with the intention of sharing your pleasure with him.

Namjoon eyes widen as Yoongi sets the phone down, propping it up so Namjoon can get a full view of you being fucked and Yoongi making out with Jimin.

He can see your body arching, Yoongi's dick sliding in and out of you as you reach down to stroke Jimin's dick. Jimin moans into Yoongi's mouth, his own hand moving faster on his own cock. The sight of you pleasuring the two of them is more than Namjoon can take. 

He begins stroking himself faster, desperate for an orgasm.

As you begin to scream, Yoongi and Jimin follow suit, their orgasms filling the air. You collapse onto the bed, panting, as the three of them kiss and cuddle. Namjoon's own orgasm hits him like a freight train, his eyes locked onto the screen as he comes, his body shuddering with pleasure.

Fuck.

He needs to get through this semester abroad, make connections, come home and take care of you all for the rest of your lives.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He huffs before you wave with the laziest and most fucked out smile ever.

“I m-miss you.” You say before Yoongi ends the call to continue whatever he and Jimin have planned for your birthday night.

++++++++++++

September 6th [Friday]

“What are your thoughts on having kids?”

You nearly choke on your water, sputtering and coughing as you set the glass down. 

“Kim Namjoon!?” you manage to say, eyes wide with surprise. It hasn’t even been a full week since Namjoon returned from Korea, and here he is, bringing up such a huge question out of nowhere.

Namjoon looks at you with a calm, thoughtful expression, leaning back on the couch with Jimin and Yoongi on either of his sides, eating snacks while catching up on One Piece. “I’ve just been thinking a lot, especially after being away. I mean, it’s not like I’m saying we should have kids right now… or ever, but... I’m curious about your thoughts on it.”

You blink, still processing the sudden shift in conversation. “Well, honestly, I don’t really want to have kids…”

You’ve never had motherly instincts or felt like a caretaking figure. You have a younger sibling, but you’re only a few years apart in age, similar to Jimin and his brother or Namjoon and his sister, so it doesn’t require you to take on much responsibility. Plus, the things you’ve read online about pregnancy heavily scare you. You refuse to do it.

Silence proceeds, making you a little nervous. “I… Uh, could we opt for cats?” You suggest, giggling awkwardly.

“Okay but…” You start, knowing you’re gonna regret even saying this. “Maybe… just maybe… I’ll consider having one child. You guys just have to rock paper scissors that.”

Namjoon chuckles, his eyes softening. “If that’s what you want, sure. As long as we get three and we each get to name them.”

Yoongi smirks, leaning back. “I call for naming one Gyul!” You remember it means Tangerine in Korean, and it fits Yoongi’s vibe perfectly.

Jimin’s face lights up. “I’ll go with Marimo, like the moss ball,” he adds, making you laugh at the thought of a fluffy cat named after a plant.

You take a deep breath, feeling a bit more at ease. “Okay but…” you start, knowing you’re going to regret even saying this. “Maybe… just maybe… I’ll consider having one child. You guys just have to rock paper scissors for that.”

“Really?!” Namjoon’s eyes widen, excited by the potential.

The room erupts in laughter, the tension dissipating. “Rock paper scissors to decide who gets the honor, huh?” Yoongi grins, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I guess that’s one way to settle it.”

“Let’s decide now!” Jimin’s competitive nature kicks in, and he’s already positioning his hand for the game.

“Wait, wait!” You laugh, holding up your hands. “We’re still in college! Let’s give it several years for us to get settled with everything and our careers–”

“What about marriage? That can happen sooner right?” Yoongi’s eyes gleam with curiosity and a hint of excitement.

You blink, taken aback. “Marriage?”

You’re not gonna lie. You have thought about this one.

It would be difficult to get married to all three of them in a country where polyamory isn’t…legal. And there’s also the whole thing with Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin’s parents being Korean and religious. That would most certainly give some or even all of their families heart attacks. So what were you thinking would be a good solution to this.

Legally marry only one of them.

And surprisingly you already have someone in mind for this.

“Your face is telling us you have thought about it.” Namjoon chuckles.

“What!? No way.” After cleaning the spill from earlier, you turn to sit on the loveseat, holding your bag of Lay’s Sea Salt & Vinegar chips with your glass of wine. These are your go-to snacks after all… well right after the Banana Kick Korean Cheetos that your local H-mart ran out of.

“So who did you have in mind, or are we also playing rock, paper, scissors for this?” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

“I have someone in mind, but I’m not gonna say yet!” You say, then eat your chips. “I don’t think I’ll change my mind, but you can always try to win me over…perhaps.”

Namjoon chuckles, leaning forward. “You’re really going to keep us in suspense, huh?”

Yoongi smirks, nudging Namjoon. “Better step up your game, Joon. Looks like you’ve got some competition.” He gestures to himself and Jimin.

Jimin laughs, popping a cheese ball into his mouth. “Challenge accepted. Just wait and see, Y/N.”

Is this really going to be another virginity race with them? 

You roll your eyes at their silliness. "I do not want to see this turn into a competition again, guys. So let’s just go with the flow. This is a democracy!" you declare, trying to maintain a light-hearted atmosphere about this before they start a fight over this.

Namjoon leans back comfortably on the couch, his expression thoughtful. "Fair enough," he concedes, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "But you know we're all going to do our best to win you over for this."

Yoongi chuckles softly, leaning in closer. "That's right. We'll make sure you know why we're the best choice," he says with a playful smirk.

Jimin nods eagerly, reaching for the wine bottle on the coffee table to refill his glass. "You can count on it," he chimes in, his gaze lingering on you with affection.

Outside, the last rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, painting fleeting patterns on the floor. The evening breeze rustles the leaves outside, a gentle reminder that time continues to move on. Inside, amidst the comfortable familiarity of your new shared space with your boyfriends, you take a moment to savor the scene, knowing there’s more to this love story with your soulmates for years to come.

–

Fin.

–

–

–

Hi everyone. I just want to thank you all for reading this fic since it was released almost one year ago, August 29th, 2023. As I mentioned before, I had actually thought up this fic on May 29, 2020 and fleshed it out a little more on May 26, 2021. I have a whole character chart on activities/personalities/etc and the first half of chapter 1 up until Yoongi and Reader got ready to go to the Gamma Party. Though, I never got to writing more than that as I ended up getting hired for my first job after college not long after. Last year I got laid off from said job, but there were many issues that had me on thin ice and burnout. Sometimes I wonder if I should've stayed longer and carried on with it. But nonetheless, this leads me to a lot of great small opportunities I’ve found in the past year through networking and meeting amazing people in the music industry. It also gave me time to be like, “I guess maybe I could go back to writing this fic now that I have too much time on my hands…”

I have written fics in the past, but never managed to finish any series. Well, there was an Attack on Titan fic with several thousands of reads on Wattpad, but i will not comment on this further haha.  So this was truly my return to writing. It’s funny because I had initially not planned the fic to end up this way. Yoonminjoon have been my bias line for the last 4 years, so I knew that’s the delusional focus I wanted. But definitely had various drafts and plans that could’ve gone differently. But to spoil you on some of those initial ideas…

The original fic plan had more emphasis on Jaebeom throughout the story as  (somewhat) an antagonist that would be dating Reader until Yoonminjoon would realize their feelings throughout the story and eventually snatch her away not long after the first 4 chapaters. Jaebeom was my GOT7 bias for a long time before I fell out of the fandom.

not an initial idea but aside from the poly / fwb stuff, there were a lot of events in this fic based on things that happen to me when i was in college a few years ago. i somehow had a pretty wholesome experience, but did have many guy friends than girl friends in college so that did help me in relationship dynamic writing

Other notes I had from 2020 drafts: [Joon, Jimin, Tae and Y/N work at Joon’s family coffee shop on the weekends. Yoongi goes back home sometimes to help his mom at their family restaurant, but mostly works as an underground composer and sells beats. Hobi works on campus in the library. Jin is...rich. Koo works at a chicken place.] Obviously most of this did not happen in this fic, as mentioned earlier in this chapter with changed job responsibilities. Though the one job mainly mentioned in the story was Reader working in the library.

Had more smoking, (light) drugs, etc. use involved. It’s mainly alcohol and weed, but even then it wasn’t heavily done which makes me want to go back and add more of this later on.

Not really initial notes but age/year timeline in this fic for anyone confused

Seniors: Jin, Hoseok (graduated high school early)

Juniors: Namjoon, Yoongi

Sophomores: Reader, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkoo

Jimin cheating on Irene to get with Reader

I really wanted to do this because I wanted Irene to be more involved in the story, but that would make it too messy and dragged out. I would’ve had to make this story like 25 chapters if that were the case. 

Also I don’t personally think Jimin would cheat on his gf in this fic or irl, so I didn’t want to write him like that. I had to break them up before he could do anything else.

Jackson 

was supposed to be a bigger character in the series… but i accidentally did reduce him to “Jackson the party host”... but at least he’s Hoseok’s close friend  and show up often

Jin

I wanted to tie in more of the frat activities and dynamics in this fic as BTS is an unofficial frat on campus and he’s the leader of it, but I honestly don’t think was too important and could take away from the actual story

Jin was supposed to kick out Reader from the house as her relationships with her best friends got too messy and complex, though he didn’t want to do it.

Jihyo

Jihyo was supposed to date Namjoon longer and break up with him during the party where Reader ran into Yeonjun. Timeline should’ve been: Namjoon is at the TXT frat party with Jihyo -> Namjoon fights Yeonjun to protect reader -> Reader is shocked and upset -> Jihyo is confused and Namjoon comes clean about his feelings for Reader -> Break Up -> Namjoon confesses to Reader 

I also wanted Jihyo to send the “confession” text to Reader regarding what Namjoon said at the Gamma Party much sooner, so when she saw Namjoon at the TXT frat party, she would know everything. But I couldn’t find a way to tie it in earlier during her fight with Yoonmin. Very messy stuff.

I thought Jihyo was the best choice as Namjoon’s side “love” interest in 2020/2021, but once all the Namjoon and Soyoon friendship photos started coming out, I kinda of abandoned Jihyo and changed my focus to Soyoon.

Soyoon

Soyoon takes on the side girl best friend role that Jihyo would’ve eventually had

Soyoon was supposed to date Namjoon briefly, but it was too messy to write in, so I just made Reader have initial suspicions before the truth came out in Ch 8

Reader and Namjoon weren’t supposed to sleep together after the Yeonjun fight. Soyoon was supposed to act as a wingman for Joon so he could apologize to Reader and then they would have their first time in the library. But I wrote things definitely so it wouldn’t end up like that.

Jungkook 

Jungkook was supposed to be closer and more clingy to Reader. They have a close relationship, but I felt that it interfered with other things in the story, so I left it with the mention that he had a little crush on her and would hang out with her often.

Jungkook is the end game if Reader didn’t end up with Yoonminjoon. (hehe)

Namjoon

If there was only one end game from Yoonminjoon, it would’ve been Namjoon for obvious reasons.

If Reader ran into Namjoon right after her fight with yoonmin, that would’ve changed everything and lead him to be end game. I discussed with Rae about these through texts after I dropped Ch 8.

Yoongi

Initially planned for him to not be caught so soon by Jimin, but honestly, didn’t want to drag it out and didn’t know how to tie it better

Should’ve been more Yoongi smut scenes

I don’t know when or if I’ll ever write another series as it’s very time consuming. But for the LUL universe, I still have the LA LA LOST YOU prequel with Reader’s relationship with Yeonjun almost done. IDC (i don’t care) is another series I’ve been thinking of releasing filled with WHAT IFs~ (...Reader picked Namjoon, Reader picked Yoongi, Reader picked Jimin, Reader picks everyone in Beta Tau Sigma?, Reader slept with Jaebeom at the party, etc.). But all of that will have to wait. Let me know your thoughts in the meantime though!

Until then, thank you for all your support, and hopefully we meet again.

With luv, @melancholy-of-nadia

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ love u lately series masterlist

[hockeymenarehot]

Hiiiii your fics that I have read so far are literally AMAZING. Ngl your my new fav author on here my goodness those stories were making my stomach turn.

Could you please do a Tom Kaulitz 2007 smut, him and reader have to share a room unwillingly. The reader starts playing with his hair and he is low-key into it 😋 You take it from there queen because you are so creative it’s crazy.

THANK YOU SO MUCH 😘😘

"One Bed". Feat. Tom Kaulitz

YES! of course i can do this! i'm glad you enjoy my writing! i also kind of tweaked this a bit to go with another request for an enemies to lovers vibe w/ tom...honestly i love the one bed trope!! (sorry, this is coming out later than intended!!)

summary: not too long ago, you caught your (ex) boyfriend Tom at the bar with another woman. you were pretty pissed, and you still are. but you two agreed to travel together to see a mutual friend as long as you stay separated. however, you did not anticipate the room shortage...

warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, hotel sex, p in v, unprotected, slight edging, overstimulation, use of toys, degradation (slut, whore, etc.), praise, kinda mean Tom, he's sweet sometimes though?, cervix fucking, spanking, squirting, pretty much brat taming, creampie, you think he cheated but he didn't

"What the hell do you mean there's not enough rooms?! I paid for two!" your patience was wearing thin with the poor desk attendant who claimed there was a "room shortage for the holidays". Bullshit. "Ma'am, I've already explained this to you. We overbook expecting some cancelations. It's better for business this way." The woman at the desk was making sure to keep her distance from you. Your stance looked like you were about to leap over the desk and pounce on her at any second now. "Good for business-!?" You were cut short by none other than Tom Kaulitz, your cheating ex-boyfriend, lightly grasping your arm, afraid that if he put too much pressure you might seriously swing at him. You gave him the nastiest glare, he swore it pierced his soul. "Hey, there's no use in yelling at this poor lady. Let's just go to our room. It'll only be a night. I can sleep on the floor." He spoke in a gentle tone, this managed to ease your nerves a bit. You removed your sprawled hands from the desk, giving the desk attendant one final glare. You were also not too thrilled that he took her side. You grabbed your key and made your way to the elevator, Tom trailing behind.

You and Tom hadn't spoken a word since getting to your room. It truly was a small, one bed hotel room. Right when you set your bag down on the (quite hard) couch, you flopped down onto it with a exaggerated groan. "Okay I think you need to calm down. I get it, you would rather not be doing this. But can't you take a day to-" You quickly cut him off, still angry with him. You were angry he had the nerve to tell you of all to "calm down". This made your anger bubble back up. "Calm down? Calm down?! How am I supposed to calm down when you're here? How am I supposes to calm down after what you did to me!? I don't want to fucking hear it from you. Go back downstairs and sleep with the little hotel girl from earlier since you like to take her side so much. Not that you ever took my side." Okay, admittedly you were being pretty petty, but you didn't care. Not when the events that transpired were so recent. About 1 month ago you caught Tom at a bar giggling with another girl because apparently he hadn't realized that's the bar you were having your girls night at. You screamed at him, threw a drink at his face, and hadn't spoken to him since. Tom stared at you for a second, he was trying to let you be angry at him. Because truthfully, he shouldn't have been so sneaky when he honestly wasn't doing anything wrong. He was at that bar to catch up with his brothers wife, but mentioning that fact would probably make you begin to spiral even more. He really didn't want another drink in his face. So, for now he decided to let you scream and yell at him all you wanted, even if the words you spoke couldn't be farther from the truth.

It had been about 5 minutes of you yelling, and you were now laying on the bed quite literally sobbing your little heart out. You couldn't take it, all of your pent up emotions were bursting out and making an ugly mess of you. You thought about how this was probably the reason why he decided to cheat on you. Tom just sat on the edge of the bed, lightly stroking your thigh. You apparently hadn't noticed, but your body was subconsciously leaning into his touch. Once your rapid breathing had slowed and your tears dried up leaving dried makeup streaks on your face, he finally spoke. "I didn't cheat on you." You almost laughed, "What?" He drew in a large breath before he continued, still treading lightly. "You never gave me a chance to talk. But trust me, I don't blame you. Please hear me out on this." Once he had gotten your silent sign of approval, he slowly continued, "That woman? That was my Bills wife. She was just in the area, and I wanted the chance to catch up with her. Ask her how things were going. All I talked about was you, every single question she had, the answer was always you. She even recorded a video on my phone for you of her saying hi. Please, believe me. I know I shouldn't have been so secretive, I know that's my fault. But just please. Here's the video." Tom pulled out his phone to show you the video of who you now noticed was Bill's wife in that same exact bar saying hi to you, and explaining how she hoped all was well with you.

Right after the video ended, your heart dropped so low as you looked up at him it almost fell out of your ass. I mean, you had met Bill's wife before, but you hadn't gotten a good glimpse of her at the bar. Only of the back of her head. You knew she was a nice woman, and you were starting to realize that you probably should've let Tom explain himself instead of throwing a drink in his face. But when he pulled the "Baby, it's not what it looks like" line, you almost lunged at him.

This whole thing just added more on top of the emotions you were already feeling, and you began to cry again. "Tom," you shook out as you pulled him into an embrace, finally being able to feel him again "I'm sorry." You swear you had never held onto anything so tight in your life, and he was seriously about to crush you as well. But it didn't really matter. All that mattered was, yeah, you both fucked up but at least you still had each other. That night was a long night of exchanging explanations, and setting up boundaries as to how to deal with situations like this again. As well as how to work on managing your emotions...

It was getting pretty late, and you had just came out of the shower to find Tom laying down on the small couch. "Are you serious? You don't have to do that... Come sleep with me." Tom turned over to look at you, a bit surprised you could forgive so quickly. That had never been apart of your personality. But he was exempt from this, he assumed. "You sure? If you don't-" You stopped him, "I'm sure." and gave him a sweet smile. The both of you crawled into bed, and got into the position you normally get into. He placed the side of his face on your breasts and you used one of your hands to play with his hair, feeling him relax into you. He whispered out a small "I love you" that you almost didn't catch. To let him know you heard him, you craned your neck down and pulled him into a sweet kiss. Well, the kiss started sweet.

Tom had been left to just his hand, lotion, and some shitty magazines for way too long now. He missed you. A lot. What was supposed to be a simple sweet kiss now had your back to him and him aggressively thrusting his cock into you. You let out a string of moans, trying to stabilize yourself by putting your hands on his thighs. His chest was flush with your back, and his thrusts were relentless. "Tom!" He knew you loved this angle, it allowed you to feel every inch of him buried deep inside you. "Yeah? That feel good, y/n?" One of his hands came down to rub at your clit. "Think I've given you enough time to throw your little tantrum, gotta put whores like you back in their place." His minstrations had you a moaning mess, and you could already feel your orgasm flatly approaching. "Ah-! P-please!" Your pussy clenched tightly around him, a sign he knew you were about to cum. Right when your soft walls began to flutter he completely stopped all motion. "W-what?" You were confused, and you whined at the loss of stimulation. "You forget? Brats like you have to ask nicely to cum. Then I'll consider." He landed a harsh slap on both cheeks of your ass, causing you to his. "Im sorry! Please! Please make me cum!" He rubbed over both red marks, attempting to slightly soothe them before beginning his pace again. This time, he was impatient. He flipped you over onto your back, sprawling you out onto the bed before he pushed in and out of you at a fast pace. You could feel every vein on his cock at this angle, and his tip was practically brushing up against your cervix. The painful pleasure was almost too much, and you just barely remembered to ask to cum. "P-please, can I cum? Please, please please..." You were just babbling nonsense at this point, which made him laugh at the leverage he had over you. He leaned down, nipping the shell of your ear before he said "Cum for me, baby" and that was all the clearance you needed before you gushed all over his cock with a high pitched moan. All of your limbs twitched as he helped you ride out your high, your mind melting back down to earth. Your brain was still fuzzy, and you didn't catch how Tom leaned over to open the beside drawer, pulling out a small bullet vibrator. Once he waved it over top of you, your eyes widened. You obviously could think enough to understand what you were about to be subjected to, but not enough to question why it was in that drawer.

"Please" You mewled put, not sure if you were begging for him to use it on you or begging him not to. Either way, he turned it on, using it on the lowest setting as he rubbed it over your nipples. "Mh!" You let out a satisfied grunt at the stimulation being pressed to your nipples. Tom always worshipped every part of your body, and tonight he had neglected your nipples. The attention they were now receiving left you wanting more. You relaxed, parting your legs and letting the spread across the roughness of the hotel sheets. Tom trailed the small vibrator down the valley of your stomach, towards your already swollen clit. "Yeah, take it like the good slut you are. Just my cumdump, aren't you?" You nodded your head in agreement, making the best "Mhm" sound you could with how fried your brain was. You both knew this wasn't true. If you both were being completely honest, he was at your mercy. Tom pressed the vibrator up against your clit, and immediately started thrusting back into you. "Ah! Wait! T-Tom! Too much!" He laughed at you almost mockingly "You can do it. My sweet baby can do it." The way his tone could change at the drop of a hat only turned you on even more, and his sugar coated words coaxed you on to obeying him. "Ok... ok, just for -fuck- you." "Yeah, thats what I fucking thought." It didn't take too much longer for you to reach your high, and by the way you were squeezing him he knew, too. Tom decided you'd been through enough tonight and let you off easy this time. "My baby gonna cum on my cock? Come on, make a mess on me. Cum with me." Those words immediately flipped the switch inside of you, letting your pussy twitch around him and gush everywhere, making a mess all over his abdomen. Tom thrusted into you as deep as he could possibly go before cumming inside you. "Yeah, gonna take all the cum I give you." And you did, you took every last drop, squeezing him to milk him for everything he was worth.

The night ended with an exchange of soft kisses, giggles, whispers of sweet nothings, and a hot bath to ease your poor muscles. You might need a wheelchair for tomorrow.

Before you two left, Tom left a note on the bed thanking the hotel room attendant for bluffing for him, and left her some extra cash. He also apologized for the mess.

a/n: this was supposed to be released last night but I had other things going on! so sorry! but I hope you enjoyed! requests are still open, and if you've already sent one just know it's sitting in my drafts. remember to take care of yourself!

[surftrips]

butterflies — part one.

pairing: rafe cameron x female reader

summary: after returning home from college for the summer, y/n runs into rafe cameron and the two form an unlikely relationship.

word count: 1582

a/n: part one of my new series inspired by "butterflies" by kacey musgraves. friends to lovers trope! masterlist.

It had been a few months since your first college relationship ended.

It was summer now. You were back home, content with where you were, just coasting through life.

You spent your time with friends and family, at bonfire parties and backyard barbecues. You may have been single, but you certainly weren't lonely.

Besides, your ex was kinda... shitty, for lack of a better word. Instead of lifting you up, he was always holding you back. You felt as though you were suffocating towards the end, and finally you couldn't take it anymore so you broke up with him.

With all this newfound free time, you had taken to spending more time outdoors. Surfing, biking, or simply going for a walk, it felt nice to feel the fresh air and freedom on your skin.

One day you were going for a run in your neighborhood, when you felt someone else jogging up behind you.

"Hey! Wait up!" they said.

You turned around, ready to defend yourself, but to your surprise, it was none other than Rafe Cameron who had called you.

"Rafe?"

"Hey, uh...Y/N right?" he responded, looking unsure.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Come on, I know everyone on this side of the island."

It was true. His family was by far the most affluent on the island and had the most connections. You wouldn't be surprised if his parents knew yours through their work.

Still, you felt the need to push back. "Is that so? Where do I go to college then?"

"Oh, easy. Everyone knows you go to Duke."

Now, you were surprised. Was Rafe Cameron keeping tabs on you?

He must have noticed your shocked face because he said, "Okay, by 'everyone,' I mean me. I know you go to Duke because I applied and got waitlisted."

"Ah, now there's the Rafe Cameron I know. Only cares about stuff when it involves him."

Were you being a little harsh? Yes. But Rafe Cameron had been the most popular guy in high school, he could handle a little teasing from you.

"Okay, ouch. Do you even know where I go to college?" he responded.

"Easy," you mocked him. "UNC Chapel Hill."

"Y/N Y/L/N, I didn't take you as a Rafe Cameron fan," he feigned surprise.

"Oh please, I only know because it's where all the frat boys go."

"Alright, fair enough. But I'll have you know I am so much more than just a frat boy."

"Yeah? Prove it." You don't know what possessed you to be talking to him like this, but hey, it was summer. What did you have to lose?

"How do you want me to do that?"

Yeah, how did you want him to do that? you thought to yourself.

"You're smart. I'm free the whole summer, figure it out," you settled on saying.

He seemed to think about it for a second. Finally, he responded, "Why do you think I called you earlier?"

It dawned on you that you had no idea. Sure, you two went to high school together but you hung out in entirely different circles and up until a few minutes ago, you weren't even sure that he knew who you were.

"I don't know, why?" you asked, almost nervously.

"I heard about your breakup. I wanted to see if you were okay."

"That's bullshit. I've only told my best friends about that." You knew that word traveled fast on the island, so you made sure to only tell people you trusted. How the hell did Rafe Cameron of all people find out?

"Well, you may not know this but all the college kids in North Carolina are connected in one way or another. One of my frat brothers is actually friends with your ex..." he trailed off, not sure how you would react to this.

For once, you were speechless. It really was a small world.

"Tell your brother his friend is an asshole," you finally managed.

He chuckled, relieved that you weren't angry or anything. He didn't know the full details of the breakup, but it definitely wasn't amicable.

"Sure, I'll pass the word along. But, yeah, I seriously did want to check on you," he said.

After a while, he added, "I'm getting over a breakup myself, actually."

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't know."

"It's alright," he said. And then, "Have some faith in me, I'm not a bad guy."

This was technically true. Even though he was the typical popular, rich guy in high school, he was definitely one of the better ones. He never bullied anyone and mostly kept to his circle of friends. However, you just couldn't wrap your head around the idea of someone who never acknowledged you during high school caring about you now. What had changed?

Guess you had the whole summer to find out.

—

After that day, Rafe somehow convinced you to hang out with him more. You weren't sure what his motives were, whether he had any aside from trying to prove to you he was "more than just a frat boy."

The first time he took you to a coffee shop, a local one in downtown Kildare.

"I didn't know you drank coffee like that," you remarked.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me," he had responded.

As he took a sip of his drink, you used this opportunity to get a better look at him. You were too shy to make direct eye contact with him, worried that his bright blue eyes would cause blood to involuntarily rush to your cheeks.

He had changed since high school. His shoulders had somehow gotten even broader, his hair was now buzzed down, had he gotten taller?

Suddenly, you wondered what his ex-girlfriend was like. Was she outgoing or shy? Did she go out every night or stay in her dorm? What did she study? In other words, was she like you or the total opposite?

You shook your head, what did it matter to you anyway? You never really liked him in high school, and he seemed all the same now.

(Just a little better looking, somehow.)

—

Weeks later, nothing and everything had changed. You two had been on...

morning runs (or walks, if you guys were hungover from the night before)

grocery store trips after deciding you would show Rafe how to make your pasta recipe

errands runs where you tagged along in Rafe's passenger seat

spontaneous surf trips at the local beach

and of course, late nights spent around a fire as you two reminisced about how different your high school experiences were

Your initial hesitation about spending time with Rafe had waned. You figured that as long as you were having fun, there was no harm being done.

You learned that a lot of Rafe's college friends lived out-of-state and he hadn't been with anyone since his own breakup so he was pretty lonely at home until you showed up.

"Y/N, if I had a girlfriend don't you think I would be with her right now?"

"I don't know! Maybe she lives halfway across the country or is being locked up in a tower somewhere and that's why you can't see her!"

"Can you even hear yourself right now? Who do you think I'm dating, Rapunzel??"

Okay, so he was single. And he was spending nearly everyday with you. As a friend, of course. He just needed someone to keep him company. These are all things you reminded yourself.

You didn't even let yourself consider the possibility that there could be more to your sudden friendship.

—

Your steadfast attitude about your friendship wavered when you were over at his house one day.

You had been there a few times already, but when you knocked on the door this time, his sister Sarah opened it.

Sarah was a few years younger than you two, and was still in high school. Like with her brother, your paths had never really crossed.

"Oh, hey Sarah. Sorry, I was expecting Rafe," you said.

She smiled at you, "No worries, you must be Y/N?"

"Yeah, is he back there?"

Sarah moved out of the way you let you in. "Rafe! Your girlfriend's here!"

"Oh, no-" you started to correct her as Rafe appeared from the kitchen.

"Sarah, she's not my girlfriend," he said.

"Well, you certainly act like a couple," she responded before leaving you two alone.

"Sorry about that," Rafe said when she was out of the room.

"No, it's okay. I've been called worse," you joked.

"Yeah, whatever," he smiled. "The kitchen's all set for us to make lunch, you ready?"

Though you tried not to think about it, Sarah's words echoed in your mind for the rest of the day.

What were you two doing? Clearly, you were both using each other as a distraction, maybe not physically but definitely emotionally. You had both just gotten out of relationships and were looking to fill that void.

On the other hand, you had grown to genuinely like Rafe. It would not have been the worst thing in the world to be his girlfriend. In fact, later that night as you were lying in bed, you toyed with that idea.

"Hey, everyone. This is Y/N, my girlfriend," he would say, strong arms wrapped around your frame.

"Hi, I'm Y/n! Rafe's girlfriend," you would say while meeting his college friends.

Well, shit. You had fallen for Rafe Cameron and he had no idea.

[lazaruspiss]

sladedicktalia??????? i am LISTENING

there's like. 5 fics. im so starved. i think theyre so hot and funny together!! im obsessed. also this got long so im adding a readmore. whoops.

SlaDick: classic enemies to lovers. they may try to kill each other half the time but they respect each other more than anyone else. OBSESSED with each other, Slade knows he's weird about Dick and couldn't care less but Dick is so in denial about it. they could both give explicit consent but be so antagonistic about it that it becomes unclear if "yes i want to have sex with you" is actually code for "die right now" and i think that's beautiful.

SladeTalia: they fucked! in canon! there was some bullshit plotline where Talia tried to give Slade Damian and pretend he was his son instead! ex fuck buddies who show up just to make each other's lives harder bc they wanna fuck so bad it makes them have stupid brain. also they're both hot as hell. i'm weak for big strong milf/dilf idk idk.

DickTalia: LISTEN TO ME. TALIA WOULD TREAT HIM RIGHT. THEY BOTH KNOW HOW EMOTIONALLY DEVASTATING IT IS TO LOVE BRUCE. LISTEN TO M- ok aside from that. Talia is someone who tried so hard to be good, to choose to be kind. She loved Bruce because she saw how hard he tried to do good in the world. Her character has gotten considerably colder over time, in huge part due to a certain writer writing about her despite knowing nothing about her, but in universe i try and rationalize it as a growing cynicism stemming from both her father's gradually increasing cruelty and Bruce's failure to support her or commit to her or to even just respect her. She hasn't been shown to have very many people in her life who she can really trust and be close to. She used to have a good relationship with Ra's, she used to have Bruce, she's even lost Damian at this point. She feels like such a lonely character to me. And I think Dick would be able to see that, be able to understand it better than most. He's always had people who loved him, people he could turn to, but he's also ended up perpetually isolated for one reason or another. Dick and Talia both feel to me like characters who are so lonely the further they get in their lives. I could see a silent understanding there. The kind of people who would be able to find solace in simply sharing a space with each other. Neither of them like to talk about what they've been through, I think they'd like to have someone who just gets it. Trauma for trauma, you know?

SlaDickTalia: several angles available here.

1) Dick deserves some sexy older lovers who would wine and dine him and also rail him within an inch of his life and also kill for him. i am not immune to the aesthetics!! to the allure of a hot older duo double teaming their young spitfire partner!!!

2) corruption arc. u know u wanna.

3) Dick's fear of abandonment x the 2 most devoted people on the planet. if they were dating nothing bad would happen to Dick again, Slade and Talia just wouldn't allow that. smth smth, couldn't get rid of them if he tried <3

4) Bruce would hate it and that's always fun :3 not that that's hard tho, Babs is like the only one of Dick's partners that Bruce liked and that's bc he wants to keep it in the family.

5) healing.... sobs...... esp when it comes to feelings around parenthood. Those three have shit to work out and i think having some company would help.

6) They all need more people time but 2/3 of them don't get along with anybody so they're kinda stuck with Dick. that kid will forgive anybody if u bat ur eyelashes and behave well enough. He's also more likely to still see them as people despite everything they've been through, and when you're a military experiment and a semi immortal daughter of an immortal terrorist... It can be hard to find someone who looks at you like you still have a chance at humanity.

7) Slade and Talia playing a Cat Vs Dog type game with Dick in the middle. I think it's funny.

[tequiilasunriise]

"Blake, are your parents dating my mom?"

"...Meow."

@min3nc's post about Snowleopard ripped open the Pandora Box that is some of my headcanons about this throuple (and the subsequent Bellaschneeblings interactions in my post here) so sit tight y'all this list is gonna be long because I absolutely adore this healthy bi4bi4bi poly pilf couple that foils whatever the fuck Divorce Mcgees Summer, Raven, n Tai had going on (don't get me wrong, I adore str-crossed lovers, especially whatever the fuck Rosebird had, but cmon you could power a small nation off of their Divorce Energy alone)

-They have zero in-canon interactions but the thought of Willow slowly healing and learning to love again from two characters shown to be incredibly sweet and patient and understanding and oh so gentle and tender and earnest? Guys this alone should sell you on the ship like!! LIKE!!!

-WILLOW HEALING FROM HER ABUSIVE MARRIAGE TRAUMA WITH THE HEALTHIEST COUPLE!! GHIRA AND KALI TAG TEAMING TO VALIDATE AND SMOTHER THE SHIT OUTTA THIS ENDEARING MILF WITH SO MUCH LOVE AND SUPPORT!!!

-Takes a deep breath. Wowie. Do y'all get it though do y'all understand the vision?

-I need me vulnerable Willow asking the Pilfadonnas fer parenting advice and the pair to be more than happy to help their girlfriend just so eager to help!! They're so reassuring and tender with her, making sure she doesn't feel like a terrible shit fer asking fer help about this like, "Oh, oh sweetheart. You've been through so much, and it's a good thing you're fighting fer your second chance to be the mother your children need and deserve. It's alright, darling, we're right here with you."

-Furthermore, Willow would feel so much guilt eating at her for her ex-husband's crimes against the Faunus as a whole and the Pilfadonnas, the leaders of the Faunus themselves, would help talk through her guilt and affirm that Willow is not to blame fer bullshit Jacques pulled and help her with the process of finding a good therapist like like like!!! There's so much shit here guys!!!

-"It was by marrying me that Jacques gained access to the resources tied to the Schnee name and carved out the world. I didn't do anything to stand up to him and stop him from ruining my family's name, and so by doing nothing I'm a part of his sins."

"....Babygirl we love you so much but there's SO MUCH wrong to unpack here."

-Also Willow deserves to be bisexually panicked by two hot cat people bc I said so she just deserves okay trust trust trust

-Anyways, the Schneeblings are mad sus of the Pilfadonnas at first because they ALLLLL know what kinda abusive bullcrap their mom went through in her dead marriage with Jackass Schnee but all eventually coming around to really love Ghira's and Kali's seemingly endless unconditional love (Weiss was the quickest to adapt, then Winter, and finally little Whitley)

-The Pilfadonnas are so sweet and loving to their new kids and see 'em as their own straight up but don't pressure any typa connection and respect the Schneeblings so much like, "I would prefer just Kali, but if calling me Ms. Belladonna makes you more comfortable then go right ahead sweetheart" LIKE THEYRE JUST THE BEST STEPARENTS EVER SO MUCH VALIDATION AND PATIENCE AND SWEETNESS!!!

-"Chieftain Ghira, sir, it's good to see you."

"Winter, while I won't stop you from calling me by that title if that's what makes you the most comfortable, you don't have to be so strict with yourself. There's no need to address me like you're a military subordinate, sweetheart."

"...I would die for you, sir."

"Oh! Um! I'm very grateful for that, but, uh, let's also not huh? Wouldn't want you dying anytime soon ahahahaaa."

"You're right, sir, the Maiden powers should not be so carelessly tossed around."

".....Alright so we're going to go find you a good therapist and start working on your sense of personhood-"

-The Pilfadonnas introduce the concept of therapy and healthier coping mechanisms to all of the Schnees REALNESS

-"But OP wouldn't Weiss already have learned that from her super supportive friends?" Weiss' found family is incredible but healthy coping mechanisms are NOT part of that package deal holy shit hypertraumatized child soldiers left and righttt baby

-Anyways, one time Whitley slipped and accidentally called Ghira "Hey dad-" and everyone FROZE before Whitley rushed his question and then ran the f u c k off as Ghira started wiping tears with Kali holding him close and Willow being so emotional at the her son finally has a solid, good father figure in his life oMG HES STARTING TO ACCEPT THE PILFADONNAS!!!

-Eventually, the Schneeblings graduate to calling the Pilfadonnas just Kali and Ghira (and Blake calling Willow by her first name was already established back when she was crashing Schnee Manor in V8 so we chilling) but Whitley, oh my heart, sometimes slips with a 'mama' or 'dad' to his stepparents and down the line he even stops getting embarrassed over it and GOSH does it melt the Pilfadonnas' hearts everytime he calls 'em that it doesn't matter if it's the tenth or the hundredth time they're sosossooo soft

-One time Weiss was practicing her fencing stances and didn't realize the Pilfadonnas were watching her, and then when they started to praise how amazing her swordsmanship is? Babygirl actually starts to cry a little because it was always, "You need to be faster, Schnees aren't supposed to be so slow" and "What would your grandfather say if he saw such sloppy forms? Again!" and never, "Oh, Weiss, honey, you were wonderful out there! You must have trained very hard to be so good!"

-If you give any of the Schneeblings a fucken shred of unconditional praise they will crumple faster than a stale cookie. On a daily basis, Weiss jokes and asks Blake how the FUCK did she not end up more well-adjusted (she knows about the bullshit with Adam but Weiss also knows that Blake is aware she's just messing around)

-So we've established some headcanons of the Schneelings interacting with the Pilfadonnas, but hear me out awkward as fuck Blake and Willow interactions bc Willow has NO IDEA how to interact with her daughter's teammate turned stepdaughter???

-Because, you know, "Oh uh hey my ex-husband exploited and abused the shit out the Faunus for years on end and you were one of the people heavily affected to the point where you, as a literal child, turned to a life of vigilante terrorist justice as a form of fighting back for your own basic rights"

-Blake, like her parents, completely understand that Willow had nothing to with Jackass' cruelty and instead gives her new stepmom an easy smile and starts talking small talk about Weiss' adventures with Team RWBY and!! Yeah!! Willow genuinely wants to know what's been going on in her daughter's life since she was so absent from it during her alcoholic days

-The pair bond over a shared loved of Weiss, and at one point Willow says, "If it isn't overstepping, can I just say I am truly fortunate that Weiss has someone like you in her life to support her" and Blake chuckles softly and replies, "It wasn't easy at first, but yeah, I'm glad she's in my life too" AND ARGAGRGRHRH THE BONDINGGGG

-Speaking of bonding, imagine the Pilfadonnas vibing with Klein and bonding over tea together, and seeing their adoptive dad figure Klein vibe with their new steparents may or may not have sped up Whitley and Winter warming up to the Pilfadonnas justttt a litttttlleee

-When Kali and Ghira see their stepkids flinch at loud voices or innocently raised hands, when they notice the low self-esteem Winter still carries or Whitley's facade of maturity so that adult figures actually acknowledge him, in front of the kids they're very respectful and apologetic of accidental triggers without being patronizing, but when they're alone? Straight fucking murder in their eyes. The Pilfadonnas are fucken e n r a g e d they're fucken seething because how dare Jackass Schnee hurt these sweet kids so fucking much

-They make sure neither the Schneeblings nor Willow are around when they let out their furious vents to each other absolutely slandering Jackass' name with clenched fists and bared fangs because they don't want their anger to trigger anyone but yeahhhh. Yeah, if Jacques is still out there we're adding two bisexual cat pilfs to the waiting list fer ripping his head off

-ANYWAYS, on a lighter note, can y'all imagine the Belladonnas are vibing and purring together all comfy and shit and the Schnees see them and are like, "Shit man they're so HEALTHY and FUNCTIONAL what the HECK??"

-Blake groaning, "Dadddddd!!" when her dad pulls up with family albums to talk about his precious daughter's childhood and, "Not you too mom!!!" when Kali excitedly joins in. As Blake is play wrestling with her parents to get the photobooks away, the Schnees are just witnessing this in various levels of amused but also kinda like, "Damn wow is this what a healthy family's supposed to look like dannggg that's crazzzzzyyyyyyyy"

-Vacations to Menagerie where the Belladonnas playfully make fun of their sunburnt as all hell white family members, and even though some Faunus are wary of the visiting Schnees, others are more open to giving these guys a chance and hey!! Turns out the SDC is actually going to be a good company after the shit Jacques Schnee pulled. Imagine the healing between Faunus relations and the Schnee family name when Willow and her kids pull up to help wherever and however they can

-I'm just saying family dinners would be so healthy and healing fer Willow and her kids after years filled with so many isolated, lonely, suffocating as hell dinners when Jacques still walked these halls. Instead of stiff etiquette and barbed questions throw their way by a spiteful bitchass with a clip-on tie, there's warm laughter and jovial banter thrown about; genuine inquires about their day/interests that lead to invested conversation and freely given praise; large, beaming smiles from three dark color-schemed people who radiantly glow like the sun. It's like the Belladonnas breathed back life into the hollowed out Schnees who barely survived all the different ways jackass had hurt them, and that's just so fucken lovely to think about

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Heyyy, idk of ur requests are open but if they are can u please write a dean Winchester x ex girlfriend smut who is a hunter and who dean is still not over. Sam and Dean rescue her from a vampire nest and dean is angry and worried after her and she's all like "stop acting like you care" and he says something like I'll show u how much I care" + angst + kinda enemies x lovers + dark dean? + marking ; ( set in early seasons llke;1,2,3)

a/n: my requests are open but if you're ever unsure, i do have a post that'll tell you everything you need to know in terms of my requests. and i can absolutely write that, thank you so much for the request! <3

also, if i'm being honest, i didn't even know what marking was so i really hope i got it right aha.

pairing: dean x ex-girlfriend!reader

warnings: smut, angst, enemies to lovers, marking

word count: 821

"Just come on." Dean growled, marching on ahead of you as you lagged behind. "We gotta get back to the car."

You'd infiltrated a vamp nest, and you had everything under control, until Sam and Dean blundered in. That was when things went wrong.

"You know I had everything under control back there." You told him, making him come to an abrupt stop. "If you hadn't barged in like a dumbass I'd have been fine."

He turned around then, seemingly insulted by your words. "If I hadn't barged in, you'd be dead."

"Bullshit!" You spat. "I don't need you to protect me."

"Well if you weren't so damn stupid then maybe I wouldn't have to!"

"Oh shut up. We're not even together anymore so stop acting like you care."

"Alright, just...come on." He paused. "Let's get back to the car, and we can talk about this later."

He reached out in an attempt to wrap his fingers around your forearm, but you quickly jerked away, denying him.

"Okay, fine. You wanna know how much I care?" He blurted out in response, his eyes going wide with frustration. "I haven't been able to get you outta my damn head for months, okay? And I freakin' hate myself for even thinking about you, because I shouldn't give a crap, but I just can't help it."

Silence pressed in over you both then, and you felt as though you were being crushed as you stood staring at him in the dark, his previous words becoming trapped in your mind.

You wanted to hate him. You wanted to walk away from him tonight and never think about him again, except you knew that would never be possible.

It didn't matter how much space you put between you and him, because you would always remain shackled to him, your heart hopelessly pining after him.

After a moment, you were finally able to will yourself to move forward, taking the few short steps toward him before taking his face in your hands. You pulled him down to you, kissing him gently.

And you were both surprised by this, because considering the circumstances, you probably should've been punching him in the face rather than kissing him.

But oh, how you'd missed that beautiful face, the feel of his soft lips against yours. It was like coming home.

You sighed into his mouth, sliding your hands into his hair as you deepened the kiss, feeling his fingers digging into your hips as he slowly pushed you backwards. It took a mere few steps before your back hit the rough bark of a tree and you could already feel yourself melting into him.

Dean pressed a harsh kiss against your lips then before dragging his mouth down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave bruises as he made his way to your collarbone.

It had only been a couple of months since you'd last seen each other, yet somehow it felt like years as you practically devoured each other, Dean's body pressing hard against you as you desperately tugged on his hair.

He groaned into your skin and it was like electric coursing through you. God you had missed him.

It didn't take him long to find his way down to your jeans, his calloused fingers slipping under the waistband as he continued pressing harsh kisses along your throat.

"Oh my god, Dean!" You cried out, your need for him growing stronger with every move he made against you.

He simply snickered, pulling back just enough that he could manage to pull your jeans down your legs. "You ready for me to show you just how much I care?"

"Yes." You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut as you leaned your head back against the bark. "Please."

He barely even gave you time to prepare before he was pushing himself inside you, making you cry out from the momentary sting.

"Jesus Christ." You whined, desperately clutching his shoulders as he thrusted inside you, pushing you further against the tree. "Dean."

"I know." He whispered into your neck, the sensation of his lips brushing your skin somehow making this all the more pleasurable.

He continued to slap his hips up into you, your groans filling the night air as you clung to each other, his fingers digging into your hips whilst you clutched the thick material of his jacket.

Being this close to Dean again felt incredible, the feeling of him deep inside of you setting your soul on fire. You had forgotten what this felt like, and you weren't sure you were willing to lose it again.

"I love you." You moaned, your breath catching in your throat as you pressed your forehead into his shoulder. "Oh my God."

"I love you too." Dean groaned in response, attempting to bury himself deeper inside you. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

"I think I have some idea."

[Main Masterlist]

[thepaintedlady00]

So I have a request female human reader/morpheous

She met morpheous because she’s a friend of Constantine she basically helps organize everything while she’s working (almost impossible with the mess she leaves) one day due to Constantine work she ends up in danger basically a demon looking for Constantine tries to kill her morpheous happens to save her because he’s also trying to contact Constantine about something he needs to know. She totally falls for morpheous but is really hesitant because he’s basically out of her league so they both kinda dang around each other I tol Constantine blow up on her and him to just get together 🙄. She’s basically Cupid here. They start dating. A few weeks she start getting random calls but nobody answers when she picks up she thinks nothing on it. Also start to feel watched but she thinks it just her being tire one day she gets attacked turns out her ex abusive boyfriend got out of jail and is looking revenge things get bad when he get into her apartment one night . Enter Mathew that goes directly to the dreaming as fast as he can.

We all know Morpheous will go feral because this ass was one of her lovers and also treated her badly. Much more when she had already told him about her ex and how much damage he had done to her psychologically and physically. Morpheous deal with him and later on come back to be with her 🥺

Bestie you're just always on point with these! Like this is beautiful and I hope you love it as much as I do!

Working for Johanna Constantine was a struggle. On good days you'd be dealing with a massive pile of bullshit she'd insisted was all important and spend hours organizing it as best you could only to find more things stuffed away. On the bad days, like this one, you found yourself running for your life as a massive stinking demon chased you.

You moved around the storage space, taking sharp turns and doing everything in your power to evade and hopefully lose this thing. However, you weren't exactly good at this sort of thing. Running, life-threatening scenarios, demons all that was the kind of thing you'd spent a great deal trying to avoid. Avoiding trouble when in bed with a Constantine was, as you'd learned, impossible.

A stray box took your feet out from under you and you hit the floor hard. Your head rattled as it hit the ground and your vision was swarmed with blurry shapes and fuzzy circles like TV static. With a groan, you somehow managed to sit up just in time to watch the demon leap over the box and land on top of you. It shrieked loudly in your face, spit and what you'd hoped was mucus of some kind landed on your cheek. It grabbed hold of your legs and began pulling you with it, dragging you back toward whatever hellscape it'd been summoned from.

Screaming and writhing trying to fight free you didn't notice the figure in black until he spoke. "Release her demon, and I shall merely return you to Hell."

You looked down the long hall of storage units at the ethereal man that stood, unbothered by the creature. The demon roared again, gripping your legs harder as it tossed you into the wall and darted off toward the man. You raised your head and shouted a warning toward him. "Look out!"

He hardly needed it. With one wave of his hand, the creature was surrounded by glittering sand and vanished. Your mouth fell open as the man regarded you with a stoic look. "Are you harmed?"

"No," you answered, quickly snapping yourself out of thoughts of his handsomeness and rising to your feet. You put pressure on your ankle and fell forward, straight into the mans waiting arms.

"Constantine feared you'd found trouble and sent me to check in on you."

"That's good," you said. "I probably would have been eaten or something if you hadn't showed up."

"It would not have ate you," the man replied. "It wanted to drag you to it's domain within Hell to make you it's bride."

You made a face. "Oh... ew... well thanks for not letting that happen."

He bowed his head. "I will take you to your employer. I presume she will have the necessary equipment to treat your ankle."

Johanna had been less than thrilled at the sight of you covered in grime and spit and limping. She'd thanked the man, whose name you learned was Dream, and assured him you were in good hands. This, you believed, was the end of it. Your ankle would heal, and things would go back to normal.

Normal was not this. Dream stood in your home, quietly observing your trinkets and portraits while you nervously offered him tea and cake and just about anything you had on hand. He refused, of course, not out of disgust but rather a disinterest in human food which was a point he made sure to communicate to you with a simple deadpan of, "I do not eat."

You couldn't help yourself, the longer you watched him the louder the thoughts of appreciation of his beauty and elegance grew. He was unlike anything, anyone you'd ever seen. Dream was not just physically the embodiment of how you'd imagined angels would appear but had a voice smoother than honey or fine silk, a voice that you'd only be able to describe as other. He looked over his shoulder at you, those eyes... starlit and cosmic capturing you in an instant. "Are you well?"

"Yes!" You practically shouted. "You're fine - I'M... I'M fine."

One of the corners of his mouth twitched into what you'd describe as a smile. "I simply wished to check in to make certain no more demons came looking for a blushing bride."

You laughed, of course blushing at just his voice. "I haven't seen any... or I don't think I have. I guess I wouldn't really know until the last minute."

"The smell would give them away." Was that a joke? You wondered as you quietly laughed.

"Thank you for checking on me."

He looked away the expressionless look on his face that he'd had the entire time he'd been here faltering for a moment. "I confess I have been keeping a close eye on you since we last met."

You wracked your brain trying to remember a time you'd seen him over the course of the week. "I... I'm sorry I didn't notice you."

"You wouldn't," he answered. "I was not physically present, but my raven made certain you were safe."

"Your raven?"

"That'd be me," a new voice said from the windowseal.

You jumped, instinctually moving closer to Dream's stiff form. "Oh my god!"

The black bird tucked it's head in a bit. "Sorry, I forget how startling that can be."

It took a minute or so for you to fully process that there was a raven in your flat... and about five more to process the fact that it'd just spoken to you. "I... Sorry... I wasn't exactly expecting you to talk."

"Perfectly understandable," the bird said, flying into your home and looking at the magazines on your coffee table. "Names Matthew."

"Matthew... I have to admit I that wasn't what I thought your name would be."

"Yeah, kind of a lame one for a talking raven," he agreed. "But you can blame my mom for that I guess."

"So all ravens talk?"

"No," Dream answered. "Matthew was human once, before he became my raven."

You nodded, even though it was obvious you were very confused. "Right. Well, thanks I guess for checking up on me."

Matthew cawed, flaring his wings out. "Well there was something else we came here for, right boss?"

Looking up at Dream you smiled. His face revealed nothing as he replied, "No. I do believe we are finished with our task."

"Oh," you whispered, slightly disappointed. "Well, thank you again. Maybe I'll see you or, uh, Matthew around sometime."

Dream said nothing more as he and the bird quietly exited your flat. Unbeknownst to you, Matthew berated the Dream Lord all the way back to The Dreaming and for days after. He'd planned on inviting you to see his realm. He'd seen your dreams, mystical and magical, and everything you found beautiful, and he instantly thought you'd enjoy seeing a land of true magic and beauty. A land that would match your own enchanting smile and mystical laughter.

Time passed as it always did, you worked closely with Johanna and on occasion, Dream would lend a hand in finding certain artifacts or warning against demons. The two of you spoke often on those rare instances, so often you'd learned much about one another. Johanna insisted you'd grown a rather obvious crush on the ancient being, which you'd not denied but rather reminded yourself of the reality. He was a king, a god, an Endless. He'd hold no romantic interest toward you, a human.

When Dream did finally invite you to his realm it was something you'd never forget. The shimmering black sand of the beach, the intricate ivory gates, the houses belonging to Cain and Abel as well as their golden gargoyle, the bridge, and the bright fields with flowers that had long been extinct. His palace was grand and spectacular. White with gold and ceilings of stars and windows of stained glass. You loved it here, every moment.

Lucienne had been waiting for you in the library, happily explaining everything she could and leading you and Dream through the near-endless shelves all full of books. It was more than you could have ever imagined. Dream assured you that you'd be able to return whenever you wished and he'd held to that. Every night you came back and read a book alongside him. Every night you fell more in love with him than you'd ever thought possible.

You hadn't planned on telling him that, but Johanna had other plans. Devious Constantine plans. She's gathered you and Dream together to help her find some information and when both of you were lost in your respective spell books she loudly proclaimed you'd told her about a sex dream you'd had of the Endless being.

Mortified you sat frozen, glaring at her, while Dream calmly stated, "I would remember that quite vividly, had it happened."

Blushing you shook your head. "What the hell Johanna?"

"Well someone has to make a move or you two will just be skirting about each other for eternity!"

The incident, as you called it, was horrifying, but ultimately did lead you to admit your feelings for Dream and him doing so to you. Dating him was hardly any different than what the two of you usually did before, only now there were stolen moments of soft touches and tender kisses and... after a few months, intimate experiences that had your legs shaking days after.

Life was going well until you began receiving calls from an unknown number. Whoever it was never said a word, but each one made you feel sick. Soon every time you were out in public you'd be tingling with the horrid feeling that you were being followed, and watched. It was driving you crazy and Dream took note. He offered to send Matthew to stay with you when he could not to help ease your mind and quell your fears. Neither of you could have known how the simple act would save your life.

You'd just gotten home after a long day and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed to join your boyfriend in The Dreaming. From the door, you could hear Matthew perch in the window as you shed your coat and made your way to the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea. You didn't make it that far when a pair of arms wound around you, covering your mouth and dragging you through the house as you threw yourself around trying to break your attackers hold.

Matthew cawed and swooped down to attack the man that held you, but quickly realized he was of little help and fled to get Dream. It was then that the man spoke, revealing him to be your ex-boyfriend and a man that should have been in prison. As he talked you went still and in turn his hold on you loosened enough for you to throw your head back into this nose and break free.

You ran to the bathroom, locked the door behind you, and crawled into the tub, covering your ears with your hands and quietly praying Dream would come soon. In your state of adrenaline and fear you hardly noticed the black-clad being until his hands carefully reached out and touched you. You sobbed into his chest as he took you to The Dreaming and helped settle you into the bed.

On another night he wouldn't hesitate to sit beside you and comfort you until you fell asleep naturally. But on this night he sprinkled a pinch of sand over your eyes and tucked you into the bed. On this night he would deal with the man that had caused you so much pain and doubt.

He was still in your apartment, throwing himself at the bathroom door and taunting you when Dream returned. He opened the bathroom door and let the man fall to the ground in front of him. As he gazed up into the pitch-black eyes of Dream of the Endless the man scurried back like a frightened mouse. "I was beginning to fear we'd never meet."

"What the fuck are you?"

"I am Dream of the Endless and you have wronged one I hold most dear." He walked forward, darkness following in his steps. "And I cannot allow such to go unpunished."

"I didn't do anything!" The man insisted. "That bitch is a liar! She's crazy!"

Dream stepped onto his knee, listening to it crack beneath his boots. "Enough. Your lies will not sway one such as myself. Pitiful and hollow being that you are. Loveless and joyless... You never deserved her. Not her touch, nor her kind words, not even a moment in her presence."

The man would beg and plead, and Dream would let him. He'd listen to every word and he'd cherish each one, for he knew exactly the kind of pain he'd put you through. He knew every word you'd said to beg him, to plead with him for kindness and mercy, though this... creature would give you neither. When the majority of his bones were broken, either by an act of violence meant to harm Dream or by a mild movement of the Endless, Dream at last relented. "You will never see her again. Never touch her, hear her, or smell her. You will leave this place at once and you will never return. From this moment on you will live every moment of your life haunted by the pain you forced her to endure. You will know no moment of peace, no semblance of mercy or kindness. Even your begging would not be enough to sway me."

Dazed and confused and broken your ex would wake up in a hospital far away from your town. He'd not remember that night, but he'd live each moment in pain and anguish. Every night he'd dream of the King of Nightmares and hear his curse. He'd not live long.

Dream returned to your side, quietly pulling you into his chest as you stirred, kissing his neck and nuzzling your face into his soft messy hair. "Did you just get done working?"

"Yes," he answered. "Go back to sleep my love."

You looked into his eyes with still heavy lids. "Did something happen tonight?"

He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," you answered. "I think I had nightmare."

Dream's arms wrapped even tighter around you as he pressed his head to yours. "Go back to sleep. I will kill any nightmare that dares touch that beautiful mind of yours."

You giggled. "That's a bit extreme. Maybe just a stern warning would be better."

"Anything you wish, my love."

[minologistt]

DEVOTION | JJK mini-series

in which jungkook is your friends with benefits who confessed his love for you and spends a week trying to prove his love to you.

genre fwb -> lovers

warnings arguing, y/n is in DENIAL , fluff but also angsty kinda

tag list -> @mochminnie

S.LIST

FRIDAY

the storm is picking up but i walked out any way. i’m not in the mood to talk with him right now but he’s still following me any way.

“come back y/n, i didn’t mean that—“

“kook it’s enough okay, i’m done with whatever you and i have going on.” i continue walking without turning back. a curse was muttered under his breathe as he caught up to me.

“i’m serious about loving you but fuck y/n i wanna give you the world and it’s hard when you’re so prickly all the time.. please just hear me out—“ his eyes were all round and glossy like he’d cry but so will i. we had a big fight over his jealousy again.

“get the hell out of my face, kook.. i know i’m not perfect but you brought up my ex? fuck all that love bullshit alright. you’ve played in my face enough already! i can’t believe i almost- mmh” shutting my mouth was my last option as jungkook grabbed my face and held me in place.

“oh baby.. i wouldn’t have dared bring him up if i knew he still effected you this much. shit- i’m just- i just—“ he threw his head back and let my face go.

“the damage is done already, i get it. this little love game you tried to play was cute.. but i’m outta here, kook.” he brings his gaze back to me and a tear threatens to leave his eye but he sucks it up. “don’t text me, yeah?” i walk around him without another word.

unfortunately, the sound of running is heard in my ears again. this time i feel a warm jacket get out over my head, it’s obviously jungkooks but i don’t turn around.

“y/n.. please just listen to me, just this once and it’s whatever you want after.” after he said that, i slowly turn around to see him getting drenched in the rain. hair soaked, white shirt turning see through and the rain sliding down his face.

“you have seven minutes.”

“look, i’m serious abt loving you. i get it that it’s not your thing but i mentioned your ex because of how he did you and i just thought my point of me being the one to treat you better would stand stronger that way. fuck i just- i was an in the moment thought and i didn’t think it through.. i’ve just been saying anything loosely around you lately! i cant hide how i feel but it’s hard to know you’re constantly pushing me out and seeing you as much as i do.. it just breaks me but i’m willing to do anything for you. i wear my heart on my arm for you and only you.. but i’m sorry for mentioning that guy. whatever you want now.. i’ll respect it.” he looks to the side and sighs a deep sigh.

something about seeing his this vulnerable just sting a bit. thinking about walking away from him hurts, more than it should but maybe it’s because of all he’s done for me so far.

i open mouth just to close it. we stood there in complete silence as the rain continued to pour.

“..oh come here baby.” that’s all i say before i wrap my arms around him. a silent sign of some forgiveness. he wraps his arms around me and shields me from the stormy weather.

“i’ll give you a chance.. if that’s really all you want from me, koo.” barely above a whisper but he heard it anyway.

“that’s all i’ve been asking.. love you y/n.”

“anything for you, kookie”

it slipped but he didn’t mention it for the rest of the night.

[pttucker]

Despite the words, the eyes of the Breaking the Sky Sword Saint were still very mild. Then the terrible man's voice was heard. "So he is the one who beat you up?" Something the size of a frog was hanging upside down from the ceiling opposite the Breaking the Sky Sword Saint. It was Kyrgios Rodgraim. "Master." "Tell me. Is it this guy?" I was reminded of the nonsense I spoke to send Kyrgios to Murim. I was beat up by the Breaking the Sky Sword Saint's disciple. Kyrgios' handsome eyebrows curved and the aura of Electrification appeared around his entire body. "Was it all a lie?" I gulped and opened my mouth. "It wasn't completely a lie! In fact, I'm not on good terms with this guy. I was actually beaten up…" "You were just beaten up?" "Of course, I hit back…" It was a loophole in the system but I didn't lie because I had beaten up Yoo Joonghyuk in the Absolute Throne battle.

Dokja you are soooo lucky you don't have the master who goes around spanking people. Because you would definitely be getting spanked right about now.

"Oh yeah we definitely fought several months ago."

I do love Kyrgios' immediate attitude all "is this the punk who beat up my student?" It's kinda sweet. In a terrifying, grumpy sort of way. At least for all of about three seconds until he realizes Dokja was completely bullshitting him. 😂 What has this poor man ever done to deserve a student like Kim Dokja?

Oh man but I do love Kyrgios & Breaking the Sky Sword Saint's little ex-lovers spat over which of their disciples is better.

Be careful Dokja. If Kyrgios finds out that you hid in the grass until Joonghyuk came to rescue you like some sort of damsel in distress waiting for her knight in shining armor he will absolutely drag you back to Peace Land so that you can learn Electrification properly.

[anotherttpfanaccount]

an MLB AU i put way too much time and thought into

.

here are some changes i've already made:

there are only 8 miraculous

the roles will be altered from the canon

the relationships will be altered from the canon

all ages are the same ( 18 and up ), so the setting is college

for right now, i have no images, but expect the costumes to look different, as i hate most of them

disclaimer - i don't watch or support the show, i am merely a viewer from afar ( aka via fandom ) and i like the base concepts, so i decided to give in and indulge myself.

.

Characters . . .

Marinette - Amir ( Sir Ruby ) Adrien - Rupert ( Vesper ) Chloe - Cecily ( Lady Wasp ) Alya - Joan ( Vixenary ) Nino - Percy ( Terraperc, but Rupert said that was a terrible idea, so now it's just Terrapin ) Luka - Darling ( King Serpentine ) Natalie - Chamberlain ( Mr. Plume ) Gabriel - Lavinia ( Queen Admiral )

rest are various other side characters that will serve the main plot and subplots, rather than me making up a bunch of bullshit on the fly.

-

Key Relationships . . .

Amir .

Rupert - strangers to friends to lovers Cecily - one-sided awkwardness to friends to 'lovers' Joan - childhood best friends Percy - cordial acquaintances to... sorta friends? Darling - absolutely hate each other Chamberlain - polite strangers to... Lavinia - polite, but on edge strangers

-

Rupert .

Amir - strangers to friends to lovers Cecily - friends to best friends Joan - respectful acquaintances to friends Percy - no one knows why they're friends Darling - awkward exes ( like, bad awkward ) Chamberlain - father // son-like dynamic Lavinia - cordial at best

-

Cecily .

Amir - 'we're so friends!' to actual friends to 'lovers' Rupert - early teenhood friends to best friends Joan - unknown to friends to lovers, somehow ( it was Cecily ) Percy - chaotic friends Darling - 'you're on thin ice, mister' Chamberlain - they think the other is funny Lavinia - only met her a few times, very tense

-

Joan .

Amir - childhood best friends Rupert - respectful acquaintaces to friends Cecily - unknown to friends to lovers, somehow ( Joan has no idea ) Percy - that one meme of A having B on a leash Darling - they haven't met ( yet ) Chamberlain - respectful and agreeable ( they talk about work ) Lavinia - Joan kinda sorta idolizes her just a little bit ( she has no idea what Lavinia is doing )

-

Percy .

Amir - "rivals" to tense acquaintances Rupert - not even he knows how they're friends, he just rolls with it Cecily - chaotic friends Joan - 'tense' friends Darling - thinks he's pretty, but doesn't know him that well Chamberlain - friendly-ish acquaintances Lavinia - has only seen her once, and it was on a bad day

-

Darling .

Amir - they hate each other Rupert - awkward exes ( Darling keeps trying ) Cecily - keeps getting vaguely threatened by her Joan - they haven't met, but only doesn't like her because of her relation to Amir ( yes, he's that petty ) Percy - thinks he's cute, but doesn't him that well either ( way too focused on Rupert ) Chamberlain - used to be friendly, but now also gets vaguely threatened by him Lavinia - hardly cared for his existence, even after the breakup

-

Chamberlain .

Amir - polite strangers to... Rupert - father // son-like dynamic Cecily - thinks she's hilarious Joan - respectful and agreeable, almost colleagues Percy - is only nice to him because of Rupert Darling - displeased at best Lavinia - haven't gotten along on personal levels in years

-

Lavinia .

Amir - judgmental, but won't say it ( Rupert knows ) Rupert - loves him very much, wishes he'd understand Cecily - doesn't see her enough to care a whole lot Joan - likes that she feeds her ego Percy - got on her nerves once, hasn't seen him since Darling - does not give a fuck Chamberlain - frustratingly opinionated ( the irony )

.

Extras . . .

Amir and Darling already did not like each other, due to wicked bad vibes, but after Amir is noticeably developing feelings for Rupert, Darling becomes a bitch.

as a society, we simply don't know if Percy and Darling will get together. not even i know. only time will tell.

there are Miraculous swaps, but only if necessary and // or akumatized with that miraculous ( for ex, there's a thing where Darling gets akumatized with the fox miraculous ).

Joan isn't necessarily like Alya in terms of personality, but she is very interested in documentation of abnormal // supernatural events, reporting, etc., and does become a fan of Sir Ruby and Vesper.

the Kwamis are the animals within the podcast or based off other characters ( Rupert's kwami is a cat-version of Fitzroy, Amir's is a ladybug-version of Porridge, etc. ), and it's unknown if the Kwamis can actually choose their holders or not.

there are not many side villains. to be honest.

Rupert isn't very flirty as Vesper at all, that's more in line with Darling // King Serpentine. similar thing with Amir, he's not nearly as awkward ( or creepy ) as Marinette.

.

this AU is very focused on the relationships of the characters rather than the superhero-y stuff, but i do dabble in that every now and then in my train of thoughts.

feel free to ask me any questions.

[blaisenova]

the consequences of enjoying someone's company

Xina Kwan had always been able to make Miguel smile even when no one else could. Maybe a little bit TOO well...

or:

Miguel O'Hara visits with his ex-girlfriend turned friend, Xina Kwan, until, like always, things don't go quite as planned, and Miguel has to explain some rather strange truths about himself, such as why Xina could see fangs when he smiled.

------------------------------------

the world needs more xina and miguel content, and i am all too happy to supply it.

xinamiguel lovers, this one is for you!! they're not explicitly stated to be together, so it can be read as either platonic or romantic, but it is entirely possible to read some of what happens as romantic tension. THIS IS CANON COMPLIANT, OKAY?? WE CAN'T KEEP PRETENDING THAT THEY DIDN'T STILL KINDA LOVE EACH OTHER EVEN AFTER THEY BROKE UP IN THE COMICS. dana lovers, beware of dana slander. i'd say i'm sorry but it would be a lie. we stan xina here.

also, an extra bonus for those of you who just want to see miguel be a guy for once. oh yeah, that's right, in this ao3 fanfiction i offer you a miguel o'hara that ISN'T just angry all the time. you wanna see this man have a good time? you wanna see him interact with someone without being an asshole the entire time??? you wanna see how this man acts when he's not under the pressure of holding together the entire multiverse??????? WELL HERE HE IS. comic accurate miguel. come get y'all juice.

gentle reminder that i also take requests if any of you have an idea itching at the back of your brain but don't wanna write it XD

content is below the cut because it is LONG. ao3 link is in the reblogs as always. please enjoy!! <3

------------------------------------

It would be impossible to overstate just how much Xina Kwan meant to Miguel O’Hara.

The two had known each other from the time they were young children, back when it had felt like it was them two against the world – and, really, the sentiment wasn’t too far off considering how desperately Kron Stone had wanted to make their lives living hell, up until he decided they didn’t deserve their lives at all – and to say that they were close would be an understatement. So close, in fact, that once they’d matured from intelligent youth to genius adults (and Miguel, from an arrogant child to an even more arrogant adult), the two had gotten together.

Then, of course, Miguel had ruined it by being his selfish, self-absorbed self; though, in the moment, he hadn’t thought it was a mistake to leave Xina for Dana. There’d been a part of him that regretted hurting Xina the way he had, but Dana was a gorgeous, loving woman who never thought him any less than perfect, and Xina… Xina hadn’t let him be content in being the bastard that he was. At the time, he hadn’t liked that about her.

Now, after it was already too late and Miguel had ruined things with Dana, too, he could see how stupid he was for choosing what was easy over what was best. Just another failure to chalk up to the heroic Spider-Man.

It was true that Dana loved him, and it was even true that he loved her back, but it had taken a lot of suffering and bullshit to realise that loving someone wasn’t necessarily enough for them to be good for you. He probably should have known that already, considering the state of his own family, but that would have required any level of self-reflection, and that was still a rather new skill for him, all things considered.

What he knew now, though, was that Xina had never apologised to Miguel’s dad on his behalf, claiming that he didn’t mean his vitriol when he did. Xina had never tried to love George O’Hara when they both knew he didn’t deserve it, and she certainly hadn’t tried to convince Miguel to love him, too. Dana believed that he’d cried at his father’s funeral because he genuinely felt sorrow, and Miguel hadn’t had the heart to tell her otherwise. Somehow, even after everything, she still didn’t seem to understand that some people didn’t deserve love or pity, and that, even if George somehow did, Miguel would never have deigned to give it to him. Though, there was also a part of him that found himself wondering how she hadn’t seemed to get that he didn’t deserve it either.

Complicated and distressing feelings aside, there were simply things that Dana let Miguel get away with that she shouldn’t – like being arrogant, and “pompous” (or so Xina had said, at least, and, frankly, Miguel was starting to believe her), and uncaring towards the world that so desperately needed to be cared for – and there were things she wouldn’t let go that she should – like his relationship with his father, and his mother, and Gabriel, as if she hadn’t hurt him, too; as if she didn’t use the fact that Gabriel used to love her to keep him from being angry with her.

If honesty was what you were looking for – something Miguel had never been very good at, especially when it came to the difficult truths about himself – he would say that, despite his initial regret over his hasty break up with Dana on the day that he found out about his biological father and the truth of his… condition, it was a bit of a relief. They had been in love, but that wasn’t enough. Miguel had adored her, but she’d made him a worse person and he’d hurt her in kind, and, while he might not have cared about that fact before, he did now.

Running from the difficult confrontations and hiding in easy love that allowed him to fester in his grief was a choice he’d made back when he’d cheated on Xina, but he could see now that it was a poor one.

And, really, if honesty was what you were looking for – which, really, was asking a lot of Miguel – he would say that he missed Xina. Maybe not necessarily in a romantic sense (though, he couldn’t quite be sure), but it didn’t really matter, when it came down to it.

There was a reason that Miguel had insisted so fervently that LYLA be fixed. Sure, maybe it was, in part, due to her comforting familiarity in a time that was, undeniably, full of the terrifying unfamiliar, but it was also because LYLA was a product of Xina; she was a constant reminder of the person that Miguel had cared for so much and, frankly, still did. He hadn’t wanted to let that go, and maybe that should have told him something even before things ended with Dana, but Miguel had never been very good at facing difficult feelings. That’s why Dana had been so addicting, and why he’d wronged Xina when he shouldn’t have.

Xina had always been a bigger person than he had, though, and, somehow, she’d found it in herself to forgive him for what he’d done. If Miguel still wasn’t so afraid of what voicing his relief and appreciation might cause, he’d thank her. Maybe one day.

For now, though, the two could be friends as they once were; or, at least, something close to it. It was a nice change of pace, to be able to talk to someone that didn’t want something from him, one way or another. Though, admittedly, that was likely, in part, due to the fact that Xina’s expectations of him were still depressingly low.

It hurt a bit, but Miguel was aware that he’d more than earned it.

For now, mercifully, the difficult conversations could wait, and Miguel could pretend to be nothing more than Miguel O’Hara: bastard of a man that was doing his damndest to become less of one; not Spider-Man and whatever being him meant.

Or, at least, that was what he’d thought. He’d never really been that fortunate.

“Miguel O’Hara,” Xina exclaimed with faux fury, a hand placed firmly on her hip and a brow quirked upward as she attempted to bite back her smile behind a snarl. Her other hand laid casually on the door handle, and Miguel could already see all sorts of twencen junk just a few feet inside her home. “And just what, pray tell, are you doing here?”

“Xina Kwan,” Miguel returned, matching her energy as he, too, placed his hands on his hips and scowled. “I should ask you the same thing.”

Losing the fight against her amusement, Xina desperately tried to obscure her laugh with a scoff. “I remember you being smarter,” she mused. “I live here, as a matter of fact.”

As if the notion was news to him, Miguel’s eyes widened, and he straightened up, making a show of looking around the doorstep and peeking past her shoulder into the house before he raised his brows. “Well, sure enough,” he hummed. “Fancy that. May I come in?”

Sighing, Xina allowed a smile to slip onto her face, and she pushed the door aside, gesturing half-heartedly. “Yes, I suppose, but don’t touch anything. I don’t know what you’re contaminated with.”

“Charming, as always, Xina,” Miguel hummed as he entered. He fixed her with his own smile, and, like usual, took care to ensure that his fangs remained concealed. “I was going to say you were a better doorman than that robot of yours, but now I’m not so sure.”

“What’s wrong with Jack?” The words were accompanied by the sharp slam of a door, and Miguel couldn’t help but to smirk as he turned to see the annoyance on her face.

“He still calls me ‘Miguel the creep,’” he hummed, idly picking up some sort of blocky looking plastic brick with buttons on the side and some sort of antennae coming out of the top. 

Immediately, Xina smacked his hand, and Miguel hissed at the feeling but placed the object back on the table nonetheless. “Does he?” she asked, eyes wide as if she genuinely didn’t know. Which was shocking bullshit. “That’s so strange. I wonder who taught him that.”

“I have a few ideas,” Miguel murmured, rubbing his hand with a pointed look.

“Well, now, let’s not get accusatory.” Xina straightened the item he’d moved, brushing it off gently. She paused, examined the object once more, then moved it slightly to the left before nodding affirmatively.

All the while, Miguel could only watch in muted fascination. “What is that thing?”

“Some twencen tech!” she immediately chirped, eager as always to talk about her number one favourite hobby. “It’s called a ‘walkie-talkie.’”

Miguel’s head cocked to the side, a brow raising. “A whatie-what?”

“A ‘walkie-talkie,’” Xina repeated slowly, grabbing his ear and pulling it to her lips as she spoke, much to Miguel’s chagrin. He batted her away, though couldn’t quite squash down a smile. “It’s basically what they used before holo-messages. I just wish I had another one so I could use it for something besides collecting dust. They only work with a pair,” she huffed.

Again, Miguel picked up the object, taking care in his movement, and, this time, Xina let him. He turned the walkie-talkie curiously in his hands, impressed by its weight when it supposedly had such a simple function. He’d never really understood her obsession with the twentieth century. From what he’d read, things really weren’t all that much better than they were now. He’d been working on a goober – though LYLA liked to call it a gizmo, mostly to spite him, he’s sure – to potentially see for himself in another universe, if he didn’t, y’know… die in the process.

That was later Miguel’s issue, though, and a worthy risk if he might be able to bring Xina a matching machine to complete her set. He didn’t get her obsession, but he didn’t have to. It was important to her, and that’s what was important to him.

Almost inaudible in his concentrated confusion, he mumbled, “Qué extraño…”

“What was that?”

“I said ‘super cool.’”

With another huff, Xina took the artefact from his hands once more, placing it back down onto the table. “Yeah, alright, you liar.”

Despite the practised angry tone, Miguel could see the way her lips quirked up in a smile, and he couldn’t help but snicker a bit. She’d always known him too well to believe nice lies. It was part of the reason why Miguel used to be so afraid of her, though the admission was something he still hadn’t quite come to terms with. Afraid was a strong word, but it was also an accurate one. Miguel was afraid to be seen for what he was, because he was even more afraid that he was something not worth seeing. Xina had never seemed to agree with that sentiment, though.

“Okay, maybe I don’t get it,” he admitted, hands on his hips once more.

“Of course you don’t,” Xina returned, cruel teasing words accompanied by a sweet smile. “I was always much smarter than you.”

“Har, har,” he said sarcastically. “Very funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” Then, before Miguel could respond, “how are you and… Diana, was it?”

“Dana.”

“Yeah, that one,” she said, snappily enough that it was clear that she’d actually known the answer all along, which Miguel was well aware of, considering how LYLA had returned to him with intricately coded insults specifically in Dana’s name. “You haven’t talked about her in a while. Did you two finally break up?”

Without missing a beat, Miguel fixed her with a sarcastic smile. “Yes, actually! Thanks so much for asking.”

Despite the nature of the question, his answer seemed to genuinely catch Xina off guard, her eyes going wide and mouth falling open. Her eyes searched his face as her brows furrowed, a mixture of guilt and some kind of indecipherable relief shining in her gaze as the gears turned in her mind and grasped for a response. It was almost amusing to see Xina so stumped when, normally, she was so quick on the draw. There were very few times that Miguel had seen her well and truly left without words, though, unfortunately, the twinge of bitterness and healthy dose of grief made it difficult to enjoy to its fullest.

“Congratulations,” she blurted, then immediately cringed at herself, a hand coming up to her forehead with an audible smack, and, admittedly, Miguel’s eyes widened a considerable degree, too. “Wait, fuck-” she backtracked. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m sorry, Mig-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Miguel hastily interrupted, pushing down hurt and hiding it behind a quirked brow. “What did you just say?”

Shrinking in on herself, Xina cringed again. “Congratulations?”

“No, no, not that,” he said, and a hand waved her off almost dismissively. “The other thing.”

“I’m… sorry?” she tried again, brows furrowed in confusion. Her arms, which she’d wrapped tightly around her shoulders, loosened their grip, though the tension didn’t leave her.

Miguel shook his head with another wave of his hand. “Not that either. The f-word.”

Eyes narrowing, Xina tilted her head forward. “Fuck?”

A short, breathless laugh fell from his mouth. “Oh, my god,” he nearly whispered, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “What are you, a millennial?”

“Wha-” Again, Xina’s eyes went wide, and her hands fell from her shoulders completely. “Miguel, are you kidding? That’s what you’re upset about? Me saying fuck?”

Face deadly serious, Miguel nodded once more as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Nobody says ‘fuck’ anymore. I know you’re into the whole twencen thing, but cursing is a sacred thing. You need to act like a civilised human being and say ‘shock.’”

As if she was entirely unsure how to react, Xina’s mouth still hung open uselessly, her eyes searching Miguel’s almost urgently. When all she was met with was his carefully practised mask of apathy, she managed a surprised scoff and picked her jaw up from off of the floor. Miguel, to his credit, managed to hold himself together, too, and raised a brow.

“You’re unbelievable,” she sputtered.

“Thank you,” came the response.

Then, “No, you are genuinely…” but she didn’t finish, the words trailing off, and Xina’s eyes narrowed once more. She leaned back on her feet, managing to actually look somewhat intimidating despite how much shorter she was than Miguel. Her arms crossed, and she fixed him with an unimpressed look that made his skin crawl just a bit. “I see what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he lied through his teeth, trying desperately to keep the tension out of his shoulders.

“No, no, you are,” Xina insisted, no longer falling for his antics. “I’ve known you since we were kids, Miguel. I know all of your stupid little tricks, probably better than you know them yourself.” She approached him, and, really, despite Miguel quite literally towering over her, he still felt small under her glare. “I’m gonna apologise to you, whether you like it or not.”

“Xina,” Miguel began uneasily, giving her his best attempt at a placating smile. “Come on… Let’s not be rash. I cheated on you, and you told me ‘congratulations’ when I broke up with my fiancée. We can just call it even.”

“Alright, first of all,” Xina began, a finger waving in Miguel’s face.

“Oh, boy.”

“Those two things are not comparable,” she hissed, though Miguel’s attention was mostly on the way that her finger moved in front of him. “And second of all-”

“Right.”

“I am better than you.”

“Uh huh.”

“I apologise to people when I hurt them, even if they don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, great.”

“So, I- Are you even listening?” 

At that, her hand stilled, and Miguel frowned, his eyes refocusing on her face. “What?”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m kidding! Come on, let’s just forget about it,” Miguel practically pleaded. “We can watch one of those twencen movies you like. One with that actress you really like, uh…” He trailed off, face screwed up in focus, mumbling, “ay, ¿cómo se llama?” then, with a snap of his fingers, “Marilyn Monroe!”

Xina placed her hands on her hips, brows furrowed as she eyed him. “You’re really sad about it, huh?”

A scowl found its way onto Miguel’s face once more, and he ran a hand over his face and through his hair in exasperation. “Ámi, I don’t know how I can be any clearer that I do not want to talk about it, or even think about it, for that matter.”

“Alright, alright,” Xina relented, raising her hands in surrender. There was a beat before she snickered a bit, shoving Miguel’s arm with a smile that was a bit too soft. “Look at Miguelito! He grew a heart, eh? What’d you do with the real Miguel?”

Despite the teasing, Miguel couldn’t help but to return her smile. “I guess someone got fed up with his ‘pompous’ attitude and killed him,” he answered, and the two laughed.

In a way, Miguel knew that it was irresponsible and selfish to hold all of his hurt as close to his chest as possible only to inevitably lash out when someone happened to push the wrong buttons. More than anything, he was terrified of being like his father; or, step-father, rather. George O’Hara had chosen the worst possible way to express his feelings, and it had, admittedly, left Miguel terrified to express his at all. It felt safer to just keep them to himself, up until the point that he couldn’t take it anymore and ended up taking it out on someone else, and, in the moment immediately after, Miguel realised just how much like George O’Hara he really was.

The thought was enough to make him feel sick, and it just made him work even harder to be everything his father wasn’t, for better or for worse.

George O’Hara never would have taken up the mantle of Spider-Man, and, even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have used the position for any damn good. Knowing the bastard, he probably would have used his abilities to come up with new and improved ways to torment his family. If Miguel couldn’t say he was better than his father in any other way, at least he could say that he was better than him in that.

Still, there were more days than Miguel liked to admit that he wondered whether he was doing the right thing by trying to use his powers for good, or if he really was just using it to boost his own ego like Gabriel had accused him of.

“Hey,” came Xina’s gentle call, her hand pressed against his bicep gently, grounding him. “Have you ever heard of Pac-Man?”

Miguel was quiet for a moment, then, “not even once.”

“Oh, man,” she said, her face cracking into a smile, “prepare to have your mind blown.”

To say Miguel’s mind was not blown would be an understatement. Of course, he knew by now that the things Xina found to be completely mind blowing were entirely different from the things Miguel would be impressed by, but, even with reasonably low expectations, this was a disappointment. She’d led him through her house, skillfully weaving around the organised clutter of twencen artefacts, then stopped – with the biggest, proudest smile Miguel had ever seen from her – in front of a rectangle with two buttons, a stick, and a screen. He raised a brow at the thing, then peeked over to Xina again.

“Well?” she prompted, gesturing to the box and confirming that Miguel wasn’t mistaken and that the real thing wasn’t hidden behind the rectangle. “What do you think?”

Again, his eyes slid over the thing, and, yeah, it really was just a couple of buttons and a stick, but, nevertheless, he smiled. “Consider my mind blown.”

“Yeah, alright,” she huffed. “Thanks for humouring me. I swear it gets better.” Xina beamed as she pulled the cabinet away from the wall with some degree of effort and pulled what looked to be some sort of tail from the object. Miguel watched in muted fascination as she stuck the thing into some sort of specially made device that connected the thing to the building’s power source… with a wire? Who would want that?

All at once, the thing’s screen flared to life with so few neon coloured pixels that they barely even made shapes but, somehow, managed to be bright enough to hurt anyway, making Miguel flinch even behind his sunglasses. Coupled with the almost ear-piercing music and sound effects that accompanied it, he could safely say that he was less impressed than he was bothered. As Xina once again turned her smile to him, gesturing to the screen with all of the enthusiasm of a child, Miguel wouldn’t have dared to say it aloud.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, and that much, at least, was true.

“I know, I know. It’s pretty awesome,” Xina bubbled, and her smile turned mischievous. “The best part? It’s two player.”

That made Miguel raise a brow in genuine interest. “It’s a game?”

“Finally have your interest, huh?” she teased. “It is a game. One of the first, actually.”

Miguel peered at the screen again, watching yellow pixels dart across, occasionally followed by red, blue, pink, or orange. His head cocked to the side, and he took a bit of a hesitant step closer. “How do you play?”

With a snicker, Xina rubbed her hands together before lacing them together and pushing them forward with an accompanying crack. “Watch and learn, rookie.”

As it turned out, Pac-Man was actually a relatively simple game; you (the yellow munching thing, though Miguel did not get an answer as to what it was other than “he’s Pac-Man!”) needed to travel through the maze and eat all of the dots (why, Xina couldn’t tell him) and avoid getting touched by the multicoloured “ghosts” that would chase you throughout the map (which, again, Xina couldn’t explain, but maybe it didn’t matter). There was also fruit that occasionally popped up for some reason – though all it really seemed to do was increase score – and bigger dots that turned the ghosts blue (“Xina, there’s already a blue ghost.” “Well, these are bluer.”) and made them edible, apparently. Though, the ghosts never stayed dead; whereas Pac-Man only got three lives. Miguel commented on the unfairness of it, but Xina didn’t seem particularly interested.

So, all that said, it should have been a pretty easy game. Xina certainly made it look easy, weaving between ghosts with ease and timing her dot collection just right to ensure that she could take out each enemy in one fell swoop. She only played a few levels, noting that the ghosts would get faster and faster, before she intentionally lost so the two of them could play together; which was the same as single player except the game forced you to take turns. Whoopie.

As easy as the game looked, though, Miguel ate his words more than he ate dots as he struggled through his first life.

“What the- What the shock?!” he hissed as he got stuck in a corner for the fifth time, struggling to time the joystick movement with the direction he wanted to go. He whirled to face his companion again, eyes blown wide with frustration. “Xina, it’s shocking broken. It’s these controls, I swear. They’re ancient. Are you sure it’s working?”

Barely containing her laughter, Xina gestured to the screen. “The game’s still going, Mig.”

“¡Chale!” Miguel all but screeched as he turned back to the game, furiously pulling at the joystick once more. “Este jodido juego es tan… ¡Qué mierda! Ay, no, no, no… Aléjense de mí, ¡cabrones! No quiero que me toquen, por favor, moriré- Ah! No! Shit, shit- ¡Coño! Shock!”

As the yellow pixels curled in on themselves in death, Miguel wailed at the screen in frustration, though he perked up as he heard the distinct sound of wheezing from behind him. Concerned for a moment, he quickly turned to check on Xina before his concerned expression fell away into annoyance once more. Xina was laughing so hard her face had turned red, cheeks wet with tears as she barely held herself up against a nearby dresser.

“Oh, yeah, laugh it the shock up, asshole,” Miguel grumbled, though the words came out sounding half-hearted at best.

“You are- so bad!” Xina managed to get out through wheezes. “I don’t think I’ve heard you curse that much ever!” With a short yelp, her hand slipped off of her crutch, and she slipped to the floor – thankfully harmlessly – and her fist pounded against the carpeting like a lifeline as she started to laugh once more.

Unimpressed, Miguel squatted down beside her. “Hey, Xina.”

Taking a few more moments to learn how to breathe again, Xina only hummed, glancing up to him with tears still streaking down her cheeks and eyes crinkled in a smile.

Miguel jerked a hand towards the screen, giving her his own grin. “The game’s still going.”

All at once, her laughter died away, and she rocketed to her feet, nearly taking Miguel out in the process. “Fuck!”

Then, it was his turn to laugh as she scrambled to get away from the oncoming enemies, though Xina was certainly much more successful in the endeavour than he was, managing to make it through a couple more levels despite her setback before she finally took her first death. 

With a grandiose laugh, she turned back to Miguel and grinned. “Beat that, bitch!”

Scoffing, Miguel took the joystick into his hand and leaned in close to the screen. “Easily.”

Unfortunately, he did not, in fact, “beat that,” bitch. 

In reality, Miguel only managed to make it through the first level, then near immediately lost his last two lives at the very beginning of the second one while, in the intermission between his second and third life, Xina made it all the way to level twenty-six. Needless to say, she had not only beaten him but, also, thoroughly humiliated him in the process. Not that Miguel could possibly be frustrated with the loss when Xina was smiling at him the way she was. In that moment, it really was like nothing had changed, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel lighter than he had in years.

Leaning over her shoulder as Xina prepared herself for last life, she bounced on the balls of her feet and took a deep breath.

“What’s with the face?” Miguel questioned, startling her out of her focus and making her yelp, and he snickered a bit before whispering an apology. “You’ve already beat me, ámi. By no small number, might I, regretfully, add.”

Without so much as a glance towards him, Xina scoffed, the sound accompanied by the skillful flick of the joystick every which way. “Not everything’s about you, Miguel. I’ve almost beaten my highscore.”

A beat, as he remembered just how much effort she’d put into ensuring she beat him. “...You’re sure it’s not even about me a little bit?”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “I’m trying to focus.”

“Alright, alright,” he snickered, putting his attention onto the game right alongside her.

Pac-Man is, admittedly, not as much of a disappointment as Miguel had initially chalked it up to be. In fact, he might even go so far as to say that he was wrong entirely and that the game was actually rather fun, though he wasn’t sure that it would be entirely fair to attribute his amusement to the game so much as the person he was playing it with. At the end of the day, it was just a few pixels on a screen – something that was over a century obsolete and had long since been replaced with far more complex and involved experiences – but there wasn’t anything that could ever possibly equal the time he spent with Xina or make him feel the way her laugh did.

…He’d forgotten the way that she stuck the tip of her tongue out when she was focusing.

As three of the four ghosts closed in on Xina, Miguel couldn’t help but wince. “Uh… please tell me you’ve beaten it.”

“Fuck!” was all he got in response, then, “this fucking game is so… What the hell?! Oh, no, no, no… Get away from me, bastards! I don’t want you to touch me, please, I’ll die- Ah! No! Shit, shit- Fuck! Fuck!”

Yellow pixels curled in on themselves in death as Xina wailed at the screen, and Miguel could barely hold himself up from the force of his laughter, mouth wide open as he cackled unabashedly. His chest heaved desperately for air, only for it to come out in more snorts and snickers, and Xina, clearly just as amused with the situation as he was, turned to him with a poor imitation of a scowl, her lips pulled up wide into a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it the fuck up, asshole,” she chided light-heartedly.

Then, all at once, her smile dropped, and her eyes went wide. The suddenness of it all was enough to near instantly cut off Miguel’s laughter, too, though his smile didn’t quite fall away yet. It warped into something nervous, and a few more uncomfortable laughs fell from him, his brows furrowing into something concerned.

“...What?” he asked cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

Xina didn’t say a word, though she approached him with her own skittishness, taking his cheek in her hand and leaning in close, and Miguel’s face flushed bright red.

There was a moment, however brief, that he was sure that she was going to kiss him.

Then, her finger hooked his upper lip and pulled it upwards, her eyes widening even further as her breath hitched, and, even then, Miguel still didn’t quite get it. It wasn’t until she spoke, voice shaky and small, that he understood.

“Fangs.”

A terrified bolt of dread lanced straight into Miguel’s chest, getting lodged there and weighing him down; stealing his air. His body immediately went tense, his eyes wide, and a trembling hand reached up and ghosted Xina’s, gently pulling it away from his face.

“Xina.” His voice came out strained, equally as small as hers.

“Miguel, you- you have fangs,” she nearly whispered, as if it was some sort of horrifying secret that might get her into trouble if she said it just a bit too loud.

“Xina, I… I can explain.”

With a squeak, she pulled out of his grasp, and he let her. She held her hand close to her chest, as if he’d somehow burned it, and her mouth hung agape in abject horror. “What happened to you? Miguel, I- I know where you work. I know what you do. What did you… What did you do to yourself?”

“It’s not like that,” he breathed, though the truth wasn’t far enough off.

“Then what is it like?” Xina demanded, though the way her voice wavered made the command fall flat. “What happened to you?”

“It was an accident,” and that, at least, was the truth.

“An accident?” she echoed. The way that it was said made it clear she wasn’t quite buying it. “So, what, you meant to alter your own genetics in another way?”

“No,” Miguel shot back in horror, then, “well- well, yes, but-”

“Oh, my god.” Xina blanched. “Miguel-”

“No, no, it’s not-”

“Yes, ‘it’s not like that,’ I know.”

“No, Xina,” he cried. “Just-”

“I really thought you’d changed,” she muttered, trembling. “I really thought-

“Please,” he pleaded, taking a step forward, “just-”

“Miguel,” Xina interrupted again shakily, stepping back in kind. “How can you possibly justify this?”

Dismayed, Miguel backed away, too, hands raised. “I can explain, Xina. Please-”

“Then do it, Miguel!”

“I’m trying. Please, just-”

“Just what?”

“Just listen!” Miguel finally shouted, brows furrowed and hands gesturing in frustrated desperation.

A scream tore from Xina’s throat and she stumbled away, her hands shooting up in front of her as if to push him away, and Miguel choked away a scream of his own, his eyes going wide. Her gaze fixated on his hands, chest heaving desperately.

“Claws!” she screeched. “You’re- You’re a monster!”

“No, I-” Peering down to his raised hands where his talons had inadvertently popped out, he gasped and immediately retracted them, glancing back up to Xina with his own look of horror. He looked distraught, face screwed up in distress, and he stepped backwards once more. Claws, fangs, yelling just as his father had, and Xina looked just as terrified as he’d felt. He loathed himself at the thought. “I- I am. I am a monster.”

Xina’s expression shifted, though only minutely, as she remained poised for fight or flight, breaths still coming in short gasps.

“I’m sorry, Xina,” Miguel sobbed, and his hands moved to clasp over his chest to steady himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, I… I wouldn’t hurt you, Xina. Never. Never. Not like that.”

There was quiet again for a moment, and Xina’s eyes narrowed, sliding over him in suspicion; over his hands, to his mouth, then, to his eyes. Her eyes met his through his shades, and he carefully, hesitantly, raised a trembling hand to remove them, giving her full view of his eyes and all of the ways they had changed. Again she gasped, met with bright red as opposed to the brown Miguel knew she was accustomed to, and his breath hitched once more. He hoped that his eyes didn’t hold the same agony he felt, though he wasn’t sure he was so lucky; pain never was something that allowed itself to be quietly hidden away. Maybe that was another reason for the sunglasses.

Seconds ticked by, and they simply stared at one another, words drowned by terror and uncertainty that stole the air from both of their lungs, then Xina’s brows furrowed, and her eyes softened ever so slightly. She took a hesitant breath and stepped forward, reaching a hand out.

Breathless, Miguel eyed her hand and shuffled a bit back.

With a frown, Xina once more approached him, fear replaced by determination. “It’s alright,” she said, kindness in her voice, so sweet it almost felt placating, and it probably was. “It’s okay, Miguel. I’m listening now. I’m sorry I didn’t before.”

This time, he didn’t move away, but he still hesitated to take her hand.

“Come on, Miggy,” she urged. “I was just… startled. I know you’d never hurt me.” She wiggled her hand a bit, frowning at him. “I shouldn’t have called you a monster,” Xina mumbled, her voice breaking. “You’re not a monster. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Miguel.”

With an exceptional amount of gentleness, Miguel inched forward and took her hand into his. He fearfully met her eyes, all of his hurt on full display, then, “What… What did you say?”

Her eyes shone with sorrow, and she gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Miguel. I should’ve never said what I did.”

“No, not that,” he gently corrected. “The other thing.”

Xina’s head cocked to the side, then, all at once, her eyes went wide. “Miguel.”

“The f-word…” he whispered with almost reverent horror.

Laughing wetly, Xina stepped forward and used her free hand to beat against his chest. “You’re unbelievable!” Her fist came to rest against him gently, and she frowned. “Fangs, claws, red eyes, and you really haven’t changed a bit. I should’ve known.”

“I’m Spider-Man,” Miguel blurted, and Xina made a choked sound, looking back up at him.

“Alright, maybe you’ve changed a little.”

A hand came up to ghost Xina’s cheek, and he gently wiped away her silent tears. “Is that a bad thing?”

She leaned into his touch, though her eyes remained fixed on his. “I… I don’t know. Is it?”

Miguel frowned, looking away. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I’m… I’m trying to be good; better than I was before.”

“Well,” she hummed, removing her hand from his chest and placing it over the one placed on her cheek, “that’s all you can really do, I guess. For the record, I think you’re better already. The old you never would have risked his neck for someone else.” A beat. “Or apologised. Or pretended to like some twencen stuff just because I do.”

“The game was fun,” Miguel confessed.

Again, Xina hummed, a small smile on her face. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

“Well, gee, how bad of a change could you have possibly gone through, then?” she teased half-heartedly. “Seems like it gave you better taste.”

“Har, har,” he huffed sarcastically. “Very funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” Then, before Miguel could respond, “I really am sorry, you know. For calling you a monster.”

Immediately, he fixed her with a frown, averting his eyes once more as all of the hurt from before returned. “Aw, shock. And here I’d thought my sly tactic had worked this time.”

With a sad laugh, Xina patted his hand, gently pulling it away from her face and holding it down by where their other pair were still interlocked. “On me? Never.”

Miguel glanced down at their linked hands, thinking of his claws and how terrified Xina had been of them mere minutes earlier. Aaron had been terrified of them too, back when the guy had tried to kill Miguel and gotten himself killed instead, and he’d had a right to be when Miguel had shredded his skin without even realising he was doing it. How many times could one person accidentally hurt someone else before it meant that he was simply something evil and wrong; a monster. 

Exhaling shakily, Miguel’s face fell, his shoulders sagging as he tried hard to keep back tears. “Well, you were right. I am.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” Xina hissed, squeezing his hands hard; enough to make him wince.

His eyes met hers again, unwavering. “Xina Kwan.”

She didn’t speak, her expression screwing up into that same withering glare she’d fixed him with earlier, but Miguel still didn’t back down.

“You said it yourself,” he retorted to her silent disagreement. “I messed with something I shouldn’t have, and now I’m here.” The next words were spat, like venom. “A monster.”

“You are not a monster,” Xina seethed once more, as unwilling to give in as he was.

It was times like these that made Miguel less grateful how stubborn she was. It was also times like these that reminded Miguel why he’d left her for Dana; though, even more strongly, why he shouldn’t have. And, really, it was times like these that actually made Miguel all the more grateful that she was, in fact, as stubborn as she was. He knew well that he’d back down before she did. He always had. As arrogant and self-absorbed as Miguel may have been, he was also a coward. Xina had never been a coward.

“Monsters are scary, Miguel,” she continued, insistent as always. “You’re hardly scary.”

Scoffing, Miguel rolled his eyes, brows furrowed. “You seemed pretty afraid of me.”

“Startled,” Xina quickly corrected. “There’s a difference. I could hardly be afraid of someone who can’t even beat me in Pac-Man.”

He laughed shortly, glancing at her with narrowed eyes. “That’s your standard?”

“For you it is,” she smirked up at him, “because it’s never going to happen.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he said.

“Thank you,” came the response.

Looking about as pleased as he felt, Miguel gave in, his head falling forward with a sigh. “You don’t even know what happened,” he mumbled. “What if that changes your mind?”

“You said it was an accident,” she said, leaning her own head forward so she could still see his eyes.

“It was,” he immediately confirmed, a little too desperately. “It was, but…” He paused, teeth gritting as he struggled to get the words out. It was difficult for him to tell if he just didn’t know what to say, or if he was too afraid to actually say it. Both options were equally as likely, and, also, equally as frustrating. “I… If I’d been smarter- If I’d just been more careful in the first place, then I never would have needed to- I wouldn’t have had to- Because I had to, Xina, I swear. Or- Or I thought I did. You have to understand that I- I didn’t want to… But if I’d just- I don’t know. If I’d done better- If I’d been better I… I wouldn’t be…”

When he trailed off for the second time, lips pursed with frustration both at his past self for everything that had gone wrong and for his current self for messing this up, too, Xina hummed and graced his hand with another comforting squeeze, forcing him to look up at her and meet her gaze with misty eyes.

“It’s okay, Miguel,” she gently assured. “You don’t have to tell me. You may have been pompous-”

“I was not pompous.”

“-but you were never stupid, do you hear me? Arrogance or not, I don’t pin you as the kind of man to mess with his genetics just for fun,” Xina conceded, and a bit of the tension left Miguel’s shoulders. Then, she huffed, smiling teasingly and clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Especially since you so clearly thought you were perfect already.”

Miguel glowered at her, though it wasn’t very intimidating with his hands still gently held by hers and eyes still red with unshed tears. “Pushing your luck with the guy with claws. Not very smart.”

“Yeah, yeah. Beat me at Pac-Man, and then try threatening me again.” She laughed, meeting his eyes with her own sparkling with empathetic grief; there was a distinct lack of fear where there had been before, and Miguel couldn’t help but to let out a small breath of relief. She must have heard it because she gripped his hand tightly once more. 

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Xina repeated, firm. “It wasn’t intentional. That’s what I was really worried about. That would have been scary.” She brought their hands up between them, glancing to them and smiling. “Claws or not, you’re still the same old Miguel.”

Miguel’s eyes locked onto their hands, too, and he managed to return a small smile. The relief was both light and heavy at the same time, making his shoulders sag in exhaustion as all of the tension and adrenaline resided and left him with the familiar fatigue of the moment the fight ended and he felt safe once more. Although he’d never say it out loud – knowing well that he’d be teased for it – Miguel could firmly admit that none of the foes he’d faced as Spider-Man had ever scared him half as much as this, and, in turn, they’d never left him with half of the respite after the fact.

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

“Whenever you want, Miguel,” Xina replied, genuine, then, after a beat, “I do have one question, though.”

Frowning, Miguel hesitated again.

“It’s really simple, I promise!” she reassured, shaking his hands with a bit of a laugh. “You don’t have to answer. Just hear me out.”

Only minimally soothed, he let out a long sound of dismay that ended with an exasperated, “fine. Shoot.”

Then, face beaming, Xina asked the most stupid question Miguel could have possibly thought of, “Are you a vampire?”

For a moment, he could only stare, too surprised to even remember how to show it. Then, his eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to the side with a pointed look. “I remember you being smarter,” he deadpanned.

Finally, Xina pulled her hands out of his, raising them in surrender with a vivacious laugh. “I just had to be sure!”

“Oh, you just had to be sure. Of course,” Miguel echoed, unamused. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied with yourself, idiota.” He huffed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Quite satisfied, as a matter of fact,” she shot back, and how could he be mad when she was smiling at him like that.

Biting back a laugh, he tried harder to maintain his frown. “You’re the worst, do you know that? Just the worst.”

“Aw, come on,” she tutted. “If I’m so bad, then why were we a couple?” Xina smirked, quoting his own words from their reunion all those weeks ago.

Then, Miguel couldn’t hold back his smile anymore, returning her exact response. “Because I felt sorry for you,” he quoted. “And it bugged my dad.”

“As good of a reason as any,” she hummed, a hand resting on her hip. Then, her eyes narrowed as she seemed to realise something. “You know, I know I made fun of you for that wall crawling joke back then, but, knowing what I know now, it actually is funny.”

A short huff of surprise fell from Miguel’s mouth at the statement, and he was reminded again just how different Xina Kwan was from Dana D’Angelo; someone who certainly wouldn’t understand what had happened to him, and someone who had pushed him for the truth even when he’d begged her not to; not Xina Kwan; not the person who’d believed he could be better even when he didn’t want to be and encouraged him once he finally did. The realisation was a pleasant one – a rare moment of pure glee that he revelled in amidst all of the sorrow he’d been surrounded by as of late – and his face was overtaken by a wide smile, red eyes crinkling in joy and fangs on full display as he laughed once more.

This time, Xina didn’t even flinch, just laughing along with him.