#might delete later I’m not feeling as bold as i should

[charmingradiobelle]

Wildehopps feral play tho

Judy and Nick are stripped completely naked. Their home is now a hunting ground. Nick gives her a three minute head start, and Judy goes off to who knows where to go hide, and uses anything she can to cover her scent to throw him off. Once the three minutes are up, Nick is on all fours and immediately starts his search. His nose leads him to various areas of the house, sometimes going off-course, but soon he’s led to the bedroom. The second he peaks under the bed, Judy makes a run for it, also on all fours. She scampers away as quickly as she can, but the fox behind her is fast—too fast. She knows she can’t outrun him but she still tries.

Eventually Nick pounces her and has her pinned to the ground on her stomach. He bites into her neck as he begins to rub his hard, gigantic cock against her tiny wet opening. Judy squirms and cries, as a plea for mercy, but Nick has none. He shoves himself into her, forcing her walls open and pushing his tip all the way deep into her core until he can’t physically fit anymore, and then he begins to thrust. He has her limbs pressed against the ground, his teeth still sinking into the skin of her neck, drawing a bit of blood. Judy slowly stops resisting and gives into the sickeningly intense wave of pleasure that hits with every thrust. Nick then licks her wounds, cleaning up the blood as he growls and grunts into her ear. He starts to speed up, rutting into her with every ounce of his strength.

[theartofcollapse]

Swipe Right for Sarcasm - Casey Novak

a/n: i'm taking requests, so feel free to dm me :) summary: Olivia convinces Casey to download Tinder and start dating. pairing: Casey Novak x female reader warnings: none word count: 1.9K

masterlist

Casey Novak wasn’t entirely sure why she had downloaded Tinder but she fully blamed Olivia Benson for it. “You need to get out there, Casey,” Olivia had said while sipping wine and looking entirely too smug about her stable relationship with a certain medical examiner.

So here Casey was. Scrolling through profiles of men holding fish. Swiping left on women with bios like “Live, Laugh, Love” and “Here for a good time, not a long time.” Just when she was about to delete the app entirely, she stopped on one profile.

Y/N, 30. Bio: I’m here for three things: sarcasm, snacks, and possibly to steal your dog. Let’s see how this goes.

Casey couldn’t stop herself. She swiped right.

A moment later, a notification popped up on her screen: It’s a match!

Casey: Well, this is awkward. Y/N: Is this where we start pretending we didn’t spend hours carefully choosing our photos? Casey: I don’t have that kind of time. Mine were picked in five minutes, maximum effort. Y/N: That explains the photo of you staring at your coffee cup like it betrayed you. Casey: That’s just my face. Y/N: Sure it is. But really, what did the coffee do to you? Casey: It was burnt. A betrayal of the highest order. Y/N: Tragic. Should I unmatch now, or wait until you commit a food-related crime in real life? Casey: Bold of you to assume I’d share food on the first date. Y/N: Oh, you’re one of those. Let me guess, you won’t share fries either? Casey: Correct. Fries are sacred. Y/N: This might not work out. I’m a fry thief. Casey: Noted. I’ll bring decoy fries. Y/N: You’re already planning ahead. I’m impressed. Casey: I’m a lawyer. I must anticipate the worst-case scenario. Y/N: Worst case? Me stealing fries? Casey: Worst case is you stealing fries and not being funny. Y/N: Good thing I’m hilarious, then. Casey: That remains to be seen. Y/N: Oh, you’re a “prove it” kind of person? Casey: Guilty. Y/N: A lawyer joke already? Bold. Casey: If you’re not bold, you won’t survive Tinder. Y/N: True. Speaking of bold, how many boring icebreakers did you survive before we matched? Casey: Three. I had a guy ask me if I “come here often.” Y/N: What is this, a 2003 rom-com? Casey: Exactly. I also had someone tell me I look like I “read a lot.” Y/N: Do you not? Casey: That’s not the point. Y/N: Sure it isn’t, bookworm. Casey: You’re really toeing the line here. Y/N: Oh, is there a line? I didn’t see it. Casey: Keep this up, and you’ll be crossing it. Y/N: Would that be such a bad thing? Casey: No comment. Y/N: Interesting. Casey: You’re trouble, aren’t you? Y/N: Absolutely. Casey: And yet I haven’t unmatched you yet. Curious. Y/N: Face it, Casey. You like me already. Casey: Shut up. Y/N: I’ll take that as a yes.

Casey stared at her screen for a moment, lips twitching despite herself. She hated how smug this Y/N was. But also? She kind of liked it. Swiping right might not have been such a bad idea after all.

Over the next week, their messages became a daily occurrence. Casey found herself checking her phone during breaks at work, a slight smile tugging at her lips whenever she saw Y/N’s name pop up. It was infuriating. And kind of addictive.

Y/N: So, Counselor Novak, tell me, how does a hotshot lawyer like you end up on Tinder? Casey: I could ask you the same question, fry thief. Y/N: I asked first. Casey: Fine. Peer pressure. Y/N: Oh no, did someone force you to download a dating app? Tragic. Who do I sue? Casey: You can take it up with my friend Detective Olivia Benson. Y/N: Detective Olivia Benson, huh? Should I be worried about competition? Casey: She’s very happily in a relationship. But she does like to meddle. Y/N: Sounds like a good friend. Casey: Debatable. Y/N: Okay, my turn. I joined Tinder because my best friend told me my “sarcasm doesn’t count as a personality.” Casey: They’re wrong. Y/N: Oh, I know. But now I have to prove it does count. Casey: To them? Y/N: To everyone. Especially you. Casey: Consider me unconvinced. Y/N: Wow. Brutal. Casey: You’ll live. Y/N: Careful, Casey. You’re starting to sound like me. Casey: Don’t flatter yourself. Y/N: Too late.

Casey groaned softly, dropping her phone onto her desk. She wasn’t used to this. Someone who could match her wit, her sarcasm, and still leave her wanting more. It was unnerving.

She picked up her phone again, typing quickly.

Casey: So, when do you plan to prove this sarcasm-is-a-personality theory of yours? Y/N: I don’t know. Are you asking me out, Novak? Casey: I was thinking more along the lines of letting you try to impress me in person. Y/N: Sounds like a date to me. Casey: Technically, it’s an interview. Y/N: Oh, right, because I’m auditioning to steal your fries. Casey: You’re not stealing anything. Y/N: Not with that attitude. Casey: You’re impossible. Y/N: And yet, here you are, texting me back. Casey: Don’t remind me. Y/N: So, what’s your availability, Counselor? Or should I call your assistant to book something? Casey: I don’t need an assistant. Y/N: Fancy. Do you schedule your own dates, too? Casey: I schedule everything. Efficiency is important. Y/N: I’m swooning over your time management skills. Casey: Try to contain yourself.

By the time they settled on a date (Friday night, 7 p.m., some hole-in-the-wall pizza place Casey pretended not to secretly love), Casey felt equal parts excited and annoyed. Y/N was under her skin in a way no one had been in years.

She wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked into the restaurant. But when she spotted Y/N, leaning casually against the counter, a mischievous smirk already plastered across her face, Casey couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re late,” Y/N said as Casey approached.

“I’m not late,” the ADA replied. “You’re just early.”

“Sure, Novak. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “Are you always this infuriating?”

“Only when I like someone.”

That shut her up for about two seconds. “Cute. Don’t push your luck.”

Y/N just grinned. 

The pizza place was small, with dim lighting and mismatched chairs that somehow added to its charm. Casey chose a table near the window, and Y/N followed, sliding into the seat across from her with that same maddening grin.

“You’re awfully smug for someone who’s about to lose an argument,” Casey said, picking up the menu.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Lose? I didn’t realize we were already arguing.”

“We will be. I take my pizza choices very seriously.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Let me guess, classic cheese, no toppings, and a side of self-righteousness?”

Casey’s lips twitched. “Wrong. I’m a Margherita girl. But nice try.”

“Margherita,” Y/N repeated, mock solemn. “How… traditional.”

“Oh, and you’re going to tell me you order something ridiculous like pineapple, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t dare. Pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity.”

Casey pretended to study her closely. “Huh. I was worried I’d have to call Olivia to arrest you tonight, but it seems you have some standards.”

Y/N grinned. “I’m a woman of mystery. You’ll learn that in time.”

“Bold assumption, considering we haven’t even ordered yet.”

“Speaking of which,” Y/N said, leaning forward slightly, “what’s your go-to pizza place lawyer pickup line? Because I’m still waiting for you to impress me.”

Casey arched a brow. “You’re the one who agreed to this. Shouldn’t you be impressing me?”

Y/N shrugged. “That depends. Are you the type who’s impressed by bad jokes?”

“No.”

“Great, because I’m about to tell one anyway. Why did the tomato turn red?”

Casey sighed, already regretting this. “Why?”

“Because it saw the salad dressing.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Casey blinked, leaning back in her chair with a slow shake of her head.

“Absolutely not,” she said, though she couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips.

Y/N looked triumphant. “You smiled.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You’re literally smiling right now, Casey.”

Casey schooled her features into a look of mock disdain. “I think we need to establish some ground rules for this… whatever this is.”

“Oh, I love rules,” Y/N said, leaning her chin on her hand. “Go on.”

“First rule: no more bad jokes.”

“Bold of you to assume that’s possible.”

“Second rule,” Casey continued, ignoring her, “you don’t get to steal my fries or my pizza. We order separate portions like civilized people.”

Y/N gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Separate? Casey, I thought we were building something real here.”

“Rule three,” Casey added sharply, “no sarcasm while I’m eating.”

“Now, that’s just cruel. What am I supposed to do? Compliment you sincerely?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Fine.” Y/N leaned forward, meeting Casey’s eyes with mock seriousness. “Your time management skills are impeccable. And your taste in pizza? Absolutely average, but I can work with it.”

Casey burst out laughing before she could stop herself. She covered her mouth, glaring at Y/N, who looked far too pleased with herself.

By the time the pizza arrived, they’d gone through two rounds of drinks and an unspoken competition to see who could come up with the most ridiculous lawyer joke. (Y/N’s submission—Why don’t sharks attack lawyers? Professional courtesy. —had earned an eye-roll so dramatic Casey almost got whiplash.)

“You know,” Y/N said as they both reached for their slices, “I had a backup plan in case this date went horribly wrong.”

“Backup plan?”

“Yep. I was going to fake a phone call and claim my cat was on fire or something.”

Casey paused mid-bite, giving her a skeptical look. “Your cat? On fire?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“And yet, here you are,” Casey said, mimicking her words from earlier.

Y/N smiled, pointing at her. “Touché, Counselor. Looks like you’re starting to keep up.”

“Starting to?”

Y/N shrugged. “You’re almost at my level.”

Casey let out a low laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know how anyone puts up with you.”

“They don’t,” Y/N said cheerfully. “But I’m glad you’re willing to try.”

For a moment, Casey just looked at her, her expression softening despite herself. There was something disarming about Y/N’s confidence, her relentless humor, the way she didn’t back down no matter how many sarcastic comments Casey threw her way. It was kind of wonderful.

After splitting the check (over Y/N’s loud protest of, “Let me pay, Novak, or I’ll tell the waiter you’re a fry thief!”), they stepped outside into the crisp night air.

“So,” Y/N said, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. “Did I pass your interview, or should I expect a rejection email in the morning?”

Casey smirked. “I’ll have to review my notes, but you might be safe for now.”

Y/N tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eye. “Safe enough for a second date?”

Casey considered her for a long moment. “We’ll see,” she said lightly, though the corner of her mouth twitched in a way that betrayed her amusement.

Y/N grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Of course you will.”

They lingered for a moment, the playful banter fading into something softer as their eyes met.

“Well,” Y/N said finally, her voice quieter, “I guess this is where I let you get back to your very busy, lawyer-y life.”

Casey hesitated for just a second before stepping closer, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Text me when you get home.”

Y/N’s smile widened. “Whatever you say, Counselor.”

And as Casey turned to walk away, she realized she was already looking forward to seeing that smirk again.

[star-going-supernova]

please Star endow us with your college knowledge

Perhaps, uh,,, plot construction? Advice for plot in general? Anything that comes to your mind, really. It makes me so happy to listen to people who are really passionate about something 🌟

I’m happy to impart some college knowledge! 🌟 As always, there are a lot of opinions and preferences in this world when it comes to advice, and this is merely mine! Here are some general points re: plot that I like to keep in mind/live by, lol.

Bullet point outlines! If anyone ever tells you that you need a detailed outline of your plot to start writing a story, ignore them. Half the time, I’ve got just a mess of bullet points that are primarily to help me keep details, timelines, and events straight in my head. There’s random chunks of dialogue thrown in, silly comments reeking of excitement aimed toward myself, and big bolded notes about things I seriously need to remember. 

These are to help you, so add everything you need to it, like ages, years, character details, single sentence plot points, etc. Sometimes, I go chapter by chapter with a couple lines of the major things that need to happen in each; sometimes, I just have a bullet list of things that happen and I decide as I go where the chapter breaks happen.

All that being said, there’s nothing wrong with not having a plan either. I don’t have a plan for half of my current WIPs, lol. It’s totally okay to just start a story and see where it goes. Maybe a plot will emerge, like it did in we fall apart (but dad puts us back together), or maybe you’ll start each new chapter like “All righty, what’s gonna happen this time?” Letting the characters lead the story is fine—in fact, it can be a lot of fun! 

Don’t be afraid to rewrite scenes! I know it can feel discouraging or like you’ve messed up if you think you should start over, but I promise rewrites are a totally natural part of the process. There are a lot of times when I’m in the middle of a scene and I decide the tone feels off, or the story’s going in the wrong direction, or even sometimes I just plain don’t like how it feels. At the same time, though, this is supposed to be fun! Perfection isn’t necessary! A lot of my stories only go through one draft, and that’s totally okay! Not rewriting doesn’t mean you’re a bad author.

Heavily related to the above point: keep the old stuff! Don’t go deleting entire paragraphs or pages of work, not even if you decide to do a rewrite! I often keep a “discards” part of documents at the very end where I copy/paste the original version of something to, or I’ll just start over in a new doc. You never know if you’ll decide you liked a certain part of the original or if you later think of a way to tweak it so it works. I did a ton of rewriting and editing on a one-shot a few weeks ago, and after all sorts of discarded paragraphs and working on a copied document to preserve the original, guess what? I ended up going back to the original and simply incorporating some of the new bits I’d come up with since deciding on a rewrite. Keep your work!! 

If you have a specific series of events and A Big Moment as a climactic scene, everything prior to that moment should ultimately be leading up to it. That doesn’t mean you have to constantly be go-go-go toward the goal, but just be aware that diverging too far from your Big Moment can muddle the plot or make the Big Moment seem less important. Like in Miracles (And Those Who Make Them), from the very beginning, we’re working toward creating Audrey. But we’re not tunnel-visioned in on that. We still see casual scenes and interactions between characters. We take our time getting there, but even the interlude is still ultimately part of that progression: we see Joey’s doubt and insecurity, which he frequently battles against before she’s created. 

Slower scenes like that (that some might consider filler, but I have my own issues with that) are very necessary—they give the reader a breather, a chance to relax after some tension or anticipation, and they’re also good breaks for the characters. We need quiet/happy/peaceful/relaxed scenes to break up the heavier plot-focused ones to avoid overloads of information/action and to reset the readers in terms of attention and tension. It’s the oldest comparison in the book, but think rollercoaster. You need ups and downs and track that isn’t necessarily exciting in order to create an overall balanced and fun experience.

[aashiqeddiediaz]

gradient text tutorial

This tutorial is for @ladynephthyss​​ but y’all can have it too xD

We’ll be adding text so the final gif looks like this:

This tutorial assumes basic knowledge of gif-making, Photoshop, and coloring. I’ve only described the text tutorial in this.

Tutorial under the cut:

Couple things to note beforehand:

There is a lot of trial and error involved when doing any sort of text, and this is no exception! You might have to play around with the colors and the settings before you find something that looks good and readable!

This tutorial is inspired by the difference text effect in these tutorials: one and two by @anya-chalotra​ (highly recommend checking those out!), just done a different way.

This text effect works better on big gifs (540px width) that have quite a bit of movement below the text so you get that effect.

Find fonts that have bold shapes or some width to them, so you can see the movement.

This is my starting gif, after sharpening and coloring.

First, I position my text where I want it. (this can be moved around later, I just like to get an idea). Remember what I said about fonts? Try to use ones that are thick for this effect so you can see the gradient/movement underneath the letters. I’m using Intro. 

It doesn’t matter what color the text is at this stage, I just do white text so I can see it:

Then, add a gradient map in the color you want your text to be. For this one, I chose black and purple. The more contrast there is in your colors, the better it looks. You’ll be able to change this later though, if you don’t like the way it looks. 

This is how it looks with the gradient map:

Now, we’re going to go over into our layers panel, and where we have the white box (the layer box), we’re going to select and delete that...

...so it looks like this:

Then, while pressing Ctrl, we’re going to hover our mouse over the T in our text layer. Your cursor should show a white box with a dotted border. Press the T in the text with the specialized cursor, and you should get a dotted line all around the letters, like so: 

(I’m not able to get a screenshot of the cursor for some reason but I hope the instruction made it clear!)

Then, make sure you have your gradient map layer selected, and press the layer mask button (shown by a white arrow in the below image - it looks like a white rectangle with a black circle in the middle.)

This is what it should look like:

Right now, it’ll look like some solid color (which depends on your gradient). This is because we still have the text layer visible. Once we press the eye icon next to the actual text layer to hide it, you can see that this is what it looks like:

(You can also delete the text layer, but I don’t, just because if I decide to put these two words on two lines, or change their spacing or whatever, I don’t want to have to make a new layer. I can just edit that one before re-masking.)

As you play your gif, you’ll see that this is what the whole movement looks like:

You can see that the movement of him lifting the glass to drink his tea shows through the text, too. Almost like a weird color X-ray type thing, where the lighter color shows on darker shades of the gif, and the darker color shows on the lighter part of the gif.

Note: sometimes, depending on the way your gradient is made, you might get text that looks like the picture below. Just hit the reverse button (shown with a white arrow), and you should get the text looking like it does above.

This is the basic way to do it. Now, we can easily edit this, if we feel like there’s too much purple and not enough black. To do that, we go into the gradient, and change the slider positions of the colors. This is purely an aesthetic preference, but I’ll show you how to do it below:

For example, I moved those sliders so there’s more black and less purple, and the gradient feels more like two colors only, instead of all the various hues of dark purple/gray-purple. 

This is what the gif looks like:

In the gif before this one, the black was more of a muted gray. In the one directly above, you can see that it looks much more striking. So play around with that until you find something you like. 

It still doesn’t look very visible to me, so I’m going to add a drop shadow underneath (again, this is a preference thing). You’d do it just like you would with a regular text layer. Right click the Gradient Map layer and select Blending Options. Add a drop shadow.

This is what mine looks like:

And that’s it! You can keep playing around with the whole thing until you’re happy with it. You can even keep changing the color, and the great thing about that is you’ll be able to preview it as you change it to see what works with your scene. For example, I tried white and black text here:

And that’s it! Feel free to drop me an ask if anything’s confusing! Happy giffing!

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

[forever-rogue]

116 and 139 from the prompt list with Bucky please

Prompts used: 

116. “I love you a lot,  but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

139. “I thought you were a dream come true.”

A/N: Hello friends! I’m so glad to be writing for Bucky again. I hope you all enjoy! 🥺

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Bucky paused as he started at the brass 314 just above the top of the door to your apartment. The delicate gold threading of his vibranium arm glinted in the bright, artificial lighting of the hallway, causing him to pause for a moment as he contemplated walking away and never coming back. But no; that wasn’t him anymore, he wasn’t going to continually run away and lock himself up and shut everyone out in the process. The time for that was over, despite how hopeless it seemed at times.

Besides all of the hesitations and reservations he experienced, you’d never once made him feel small or insignificant or like he was just that Bucky. You’d always managed to see him for who he was, and slowly, over time he worked to shed the layers of worry and fear and let you see him, the real him. The seemingly ever present gloves had come off, followed by his jacket, and every other little barrier he had put up over the years. When he’d first told you who he was, who he really was, he’d watched your face flicker through a series of emotions before a smile tugged on the corners of your mouth and you’d responded with a simple okay. Then you told him everything about yourself; trust wasn’t easy, you’d reminded him that day, and it was a two way street. If he allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to open up to you, you would do the same. 

It was hard to believe that it had been almost four months. In some ways it felt like no time had passed at all, and in other ways he felt like he’d known you for eons. He’d abhorred the concept of online dating, but for once, he was glad he had listened to Sam and Dr. Raynor and hadn’t deleted his profile on the spot. He had been ready to give up until he received the simple notification that you had matched with him and messaged him. Everything after that felt surprisingly...easy. You had proven to be a beacon of bright, brilliant sunlight in the seemingly endless storm. Not that he had told you that...not in those specific words anyway, but he had a lot of other tells that you picked up on.

As soon as he slipped back into reality and he prepared himself to knock, the door opened and he found you beaming at him. 

“Hi James,” his expression softened and any lingering doubt he had about staying was washed away as he held out a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Wide doe eyes met his and suddenly all he could think about was the fact that he really, really wanted to kiss you then and there, but he would save that for later if he felt bold enough to steal a kiss or two, “they’re beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” he insisted, stuffing his hands into his pocket as was customary, offering a shrug of his shoulders, “I saw them when I was walking over and I thought you’d like them.”

“I love them,” you promised, a gentle hand on his forearm as you pulled him inside, “come on. And no hands in pockets! Not around me anyways.”

“Right,” he reminded himself with a light grimace as he stepped in and closed the door before shucking off his jacket and hanging it on your coat rack. Your apartment was small, not much bigger than his, but much more homey - he always enjoyed the warmth and comfort it provided. The whole place smelled delicious, and judging from the small mountain of dishes in the sink, he could see that you had been working away for some time. An odd, warm, sensation bubbled him in stomach as he trailed after you, noting the music you had on in the background. He made a mental note to ask you about the artist later as he was still getting a grip on what was popular...Sam wouldn’t let go of that one.

“Beer?” you nodded in the direction of the fridge as he sauntered over and made quick work of grabbing two bottles out. He set one down for you before studying you intently as you stirred the pot of pasta sauce. You’d noticed that about him, he was quiet, and aloof, always analyzing everything. But you relished into it too - when silence fell over the both of you it was never awkward or uncomfortable. You turned to him, a smile on your face as you raised an eyebrow at him, “what? Is there something on my face?”

“N-no,” he answered quickly as he took a swig of what he already deemed as liquid courage, “it’s just...how did you know I was at the door?”

You snorted at his question, barely able to contain a fit of giggles as it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at you. But god, did he love hearing that laugh; even if you thought it was a silly question, it was worth it just to hear your amusement, “really? That’s what you want to know?”

“Yeah,” he grinned back at you, “out with it.”

“Well,” you clinked the neck of your bottle against his before taking a long drink, “you’re always early, never more than ten minutes, but always at least five, from our planned time. You have a particular walk, not loud but not soft...just you. I dunno, but it’s distinct. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Plus I heard you and then you didn't knock, so I had to make sure you weren’t having some sort of ...panic out there. And maybe I was just really excited to see you.”

“Excited to see me?” he was incredulous. He wasn’t sure when someone had last told him that.

“I’m always excited to see you, James,” you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching over and gently putting your hand on his cheek. And he practically keened into your touch, eyes fluttering closed at the tenderness so you openly displayed, “oh! I almost forgot, will you grab a vase for the flowers so I can get them in water?”

“Of course,” he agreed. Of course he was ready to do almost anything for you, “one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why don’t you call me Bucky?” he kept his gaze trained on the vase as he pulled it from the cabinet and filled it with water. For some reason he was almost nervous to hear your answer. 

“You told me that only your family or friends called you Bucky,” you reminded him as he answered with a simple nod, “so I figured it was something earned, something that I should only call you if you trusted me enough to know you in such an intimate manner. I-I didn’t want to overstep your boundaries either. W-would you like it? If I called you Bucky?”

His throat felt tight and his heart constricted as he listened to your words. For once it wasn't a cloying, negative feeling but one he...enjoyed. How very odd. A silence fell over the kitchen as he arranged the flowers in their new home and you finished dinner. For the briefest second did you think you’d said something wrong, but after he set the flowers on the dining table, he turned to and nodded, a slow, sure thing, “yes. Please - call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you repeated softly, grinning from ear to ear to as you pulled out the loaf of bread to prep to throw into the oven to turn into garlic bread, “my Bucky.”

The singular use of the possessive might have been lost on you, but it most definitely wasn’t lost on James Buchanan Barnes. He gripped the edge of the table so tightly, he was surprised it didn’t break. Collecting himself for a moment, he came back over to you and offered to take the garlic and press to assist you in your little venture.

You were quick to playfully swat his hand away before nudging your hip with his, “I’ve got it. You go ahead and start getting plates and stuff ready.”

“Come on, I can totally help,” he insisted as you brandished the press at him, “how hard is it? You’ve done everything!”

“Nuh huh,” you insisted, “remember the first we had dinner at yours? You almost burnt the kitchen down because you didn’t pay attention. Not happening - I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

“I-I do not suck,” his mouth ran dry as he gaped at you like a fish out of water. How easily the words had spilled from your mouth, without a second thought, without hesitation. He wondered if you’d even realized what you said, “I...umm-”

“Oh,” it was then that realization hit you and your face felt warmer than it ever had, “Bucky, I didn’t...I didn’t mean to say that...out loud. I’m sorry, please don’t...I’m sorry. I don’t want to seem too forward.”

‘Y-you love me?” a dark pink flush rose in his cheeks as you chose your next words carefully. You didn’t want to lie to him and backtrack on your declaration, but you didn’t want to drive him away either. Instead you settled on a small squeak and a slight nod, “I can’t even remember the last time someone told me that. Or the last time I felt that for someone else too. It’s been a long time.”

“Things haven’t exactly been easy or normal for you, Bucky,” you laughed lightly as he came closer and left only a minuscule amount of space between your bodies. You could practically feel the heat radiating off his body as it took every fiber of your being not to throw yourself at him then and there, “but you deserve kindness and love as much as anyone else, if not more so. You are a good man Bucky, despite what some people want to believe and despite what your mind tells you sometimes. The last few months with you have been...the most wonderful. You’ve made me so happy. I hope to be able to give you even a fraction of that in return.”

“You have made me happier than I thought I deserved to be,” he admitted as it became your turn to take a step closer. If you leaned in now, your lips would almost brush his. And god, you wanted to kiss him - until you were breathless, until it was the only thing you knew. The two of you had taken it slow, upon requests from both of you - Bucky for the obvious reasons and you after a very rough break up. It hadn’t been much more than sweet kisses and honeyed whispers, but he meant so much to you. You liked how things were progressing, but you couldn’t deny you would always take more, however much he was willing to give you, “when I first saw and met you, I thought you were a dream come true. Like you really couldn’t be real, or even like me, but here you are."

“I don’t really plan on going anywhere,” you promised, inching that much closer, your face almost touching his, “I hope you’re not either. Because I kind of...really like you.”

“M-may I kiss you?” he brought his hand to your face while his vibranium arm settled on your waist. It was an odd tango, one he was still trying to work out to see what felt right, normal. It had been a long, long, time since he’d held someone this way. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you carded a hand through his hair, playing with a particularly wild bit at the nape. You wanted nothing more than this, than him. It was such a simple act, and yet so saccharine and intimate when it was the two of you. It was an act of trust, an act of intimacy, and so much more. 

“Please,” you beamed him before he closed the distance and kissed you. And this time, he really kissed you, like you were the only thing sustaining him, the only thing he wanted or needed - a fresh breath of life. Plush lips were delicate and soft again yours, but hungry and yearning as though nothing could ever be enough. When you chanced a breath of air, you nuzzled your nose against his and softly whispered his name, “Bucky.”

“I don’t know if I can say it yet,” he swallowed thickly as you knew immediately what he was indicating. You cupped his cheek before tracing over his features, “I…”

“I know,” you promised as you met his eyes. They were so soft and gentle; this was perhaps the most relaxed you’d seen him. At your words he seemed to melt into your touch as a soft sigh escaped him, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m all in.”

“Me too,” he promised, “me too.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[vintage-writes]

I Got Jealous   (Bakugo x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

Warnings: None, this is a Fluff fic. The reader is also gender neutral. Bakugo is aged up though, they are no longer U.A. Students. A Reader who doesn’t take shit.

Summary: Bakugo is getting incredibly Jealous as a certain someone continues to eye you up. Unable to control his Jealousy he drags you away and to a corner to ravage you.

Word Count: 1 396

              _________________________________________________

The crowds are dense as you move through the thick mass of bodies. Soft apologies being thrown as you bump into, what feels like, a million people. Right now, You and your boyfriend, Bakugo, are currently half jogging down the pavement. You're on your way to the very first Hero convention being held by U.A and you’re bursting with excitement. Bakugo’s excitement is simmering beneath the surface, he has a scowl on his face but you know him well enough to know he’s excited to see All Might, after leaving U.A.. The paths are completely packed by strangers and students alike. U.A. is buzzing with life.

However, Your excitable pace matched with the bustling crowd makes it hard for Bakugo to keep up. He’s trailing behind you at a jagged pace as you dart through the crowd.

“Oi, wait a second”, he shouts at you.

You glance over your shoulder at Bakugo who has fallen a little too far behind. You nibble on your bottom lip, feeling a bit guilty. You are well aware that perhaps you are moving a bit too fast but there’s a hero you really want to see. They’re your Idol. But some idiot decided to put their section on the complete opposite side of campus.

Right now, Bakugo’s speed just isn’t cutting it.

As Bakugo catches up, you decide move to the side, where it's quieter. You walk along the brick wall and notice as Bakugo’s mood continues to sour. Is it because you’re moving too fast?  Does he not want to see your idol? A wave of anxiety and annoyance hits you all at once, unsure of what to make of the situation. Your excitement dies a little. You don’t want to deal with boyfriend issues.

Your footsteps begin to slow. You turn to watch Bakugo, however, to your surprise, he’s not paying attention to you. His line of sight is directed elsewhere. You look to where he’s currently death glaring and make eye-contact with Monoma. His blonde hair has been combed to the side. His grey eyes light up slightly as he smiles at you. He waves.

You smile and raise your hand in greeting. However before you wave, Bakugo suddenly appears behind you. One hand laces into your raised one, other hand landing landing on your hip. Monoma stops dead in his tracks as Bakugo drags you away, and rounds a corner, shoving you into an alleyway. He pushes you against the wall, trapping you between his strong arms. He leans in. His breaths are ragged. He smells musky, but the faint smell of burning sugar lets you know he’s activated his quirk. His jealousy has him practically frothing before you. He’s so close you can feel his short breaths fanning against your lips. Sparks are literally flying.

And he’s diving forward. Two lips meeting. His presence engulfs you. You’re drowning in his sweet taste. Bakugo pushes you flat against your back. He’s pinning you against the wall, you’re stuck, flush against him. He’s hot. Very hot. Your lips are dancing against each other as he devours you. Your tongues fight each other for dominance, but Bakugo’s anger has you caving into him. You let him take the lead as he completely dominates the space between you.

He pulls away, but stays close. He places a kiss on your forehead before moving to rest his head on your shoulder. He takes his arms off the wall and wraps them around your waist.

Suddenly, the angry chihuahua has receded into himself. Too embarrassed to look at you while you desperately try to catch your breath. You bring your arms up to hug him.

“Babe, what are you doing?” you ask, breathlessly. Bakugo, is normally not one for any sort of PDA, sometimes, he won’t even hold your hand. You’ve become rather accustomed to it seeing as Lord Explosion Murder melts into your hands when alone at home. Never in a million years would you expect him to drag you away during an incredibly busy convention to kiss you silly in a barely hidden corner.

Bakugo’s head is currently buried into your shoulder. Upon hearing your question he turns his head and places a shy peck to your neck.

He mumbles, “I’m sorry, I got jealous.”

Jealous? He’s Jealous? 

“Of Monoma?”, you ask aloud. 

Bakugo’s head immediately shoots up, as if in sudden denial. His red eyes are bursting with rage.

“That Extra was being way too cocky, eyeing you up like that!”

“He waved”

“AND HE WAVED!!”

“That’s really not what I meant”, you say.

“Is it such a big deal? Monoma and I are just friends”, you ask.

“Is he aware that you’re just friends!?”

Feeling your anger suddenly flare, you blurt out, “I’m not seeing the issue Bakugou. Can I not have male friends? What if I’m also into girls too? Should I now delete Momo’s number?”

Bakugo looks like he’s about to spit fire. His mouth opens to protest but no words come out. He huffs. He looks to the sky. He better not be asking for patience, as far as you’re concerned, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re the one who should be asking for patience. It’s not like you told Monoma that you were single with an open bedroom door. You barely had the chance to wave at him.

“No”, he says reluctantly, “No, you’re right. I think I might’ve blown up a bit. But that extra is always eyeing you. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Love. It’s more that I don't like looking at his sleazy face sending you looks as if he has a chance.”

You laugh. Bakugo’s anger has risen significantly, his scowl is baring teeth. But God Damn you, if he’s not the most adorable you’ve ever seen him. Despite his rising anger you can see he’s really trying his best to calm down and remain calm. It’s not really working. You imagine that Monoma’s head is currently roasting on a spit in his head. Your chuckles begin to subside at his confused expression. His face is the picture of innocence. 

You reach forward to grab him, pulling him into a hug. His hard body presses against your own. Despite Bakugo’s initial confusion he wraps his arms around you anyway. You couldn’t believe that he would go so far because he’s jealous. Bakugo isn’t exactly reserved but he is often reluctant to show affection. Most people are still unaware you’re even dating. He prefers to remain in his own world.

“Babe”, you say, “It’s okay to be jealous. I know I would probably bury anybody who thought they could flirt with you, but maybe next time, just tell me. I would rather you tell me, instead of going ape shit.”

You lean up and place your lips on his. This kiss is softer, it lacks the original aggression and desperation but it still feels heated. Possibly, everything that has anything to do with Bakugo, will always feel heated. This man sets the world on fire, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. 

You pull away and move to the entrance of the alleyway. There you have a clear view of Monoma who looks over. He glares at Bakugo and looks at you with a look that simply says, “I’ll kill him if you want,”

You shake your head. Men are so hormonal. Instead you turn back to Bakugo and place your hand on his cheek, rising onto your tippy toes, you peck his lips. You make sure Monoma has a clear view.

Bakugo’s face completely whitens at your bold public display of affection. His surprise reflects on Monomas face as well. Good, that solves that problem.

You reach for Bakugo’s hand and begin to drag him away. His face is still white. His expression is still hollow. His brain is probably still processing. It’s hard to believe that this is the man who was so bold not even 5 minutes ago.

“Eh?”

You giggle up at him. Adorable.

“You know, Babe”, You say, “Maybe you wouldn’t be so jealous if you kept up with me.”

With both hands entwined you break into a sprint. Bakugo’s face finally cracks a smile as he runs beside you.

“Now we’re late!”, You shout.

“I’ll make it up to you Later!” He laughs Back.

[mrkcore]

𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 - 𝐥.𝐦𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: mark lee x y/n (ft. minor appearances of johnny)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: college!au, aged down mark

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: mark said forever, even in his songs, but you should have known better. based off of olivia rodrigo’s new single, drivers license.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, i’m sorry in advance

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): cheating/infidelity, heartbreak  

𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨: drivers license - olivia rodrigo

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k 

𝐚/𝐧: this was finished at 2 am again, so please excuse me if this is incoherent 😌 also, i changed around the order of some lyrics and deleted some sections to fit the story, so it’s not 100% the same. feedback is always welcomed!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @nakamotocore​, @astroboy-lele, @infnteen (comment here to be added!)

it was always so simple. even though mark was a year older, you guys planned it out. same university, same program, just different years. as simple as that. or so you thought.

i got my driver's license last week 

just like we always talked about 

'cause you were so excited for me 

to finally drive up to your house

but today i drove through the suburbs 

crying 'cause you weren't around 

mark started meeting you less often when he entered college. you didn’t think much of it, people always said the first year of college was the hardest. you just assumed the workload was catching him off-guard and he was too busy.

you didn’t tell him about getting your driver’s license. you wanted to surprise him. and you thought that if he was too busy, you’ll just go and visit him instead. before mark graduated, you guys would always be sneaking out at the crack of dawn in his white volkswagen, driving to the nearest mcdonalds, ordering whatever you craved. no cares or worries in the world. 

“hey, when are you going to get your license anyways?” mark asked you one night. “i’m always the one driving, am i your personal chauffeur or something?”

“hmm, what if you are?” you tease him. mark shoots daggers at you. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding! maybe next year, when i turn 18.”

“i’m excited.” he leaned back into his seat. “you’d be able to visit me whenever.”

“i’d annoy you.” you snort. he chuckles and playfully hits you.

“you know you’d never.” he looks at you, like he really meant it.

but he didn’t. because now, tears flow down your face as you drive home in your car from mark’s university.

and i know we weren't perfect, but i've never felt this way for no one 

and i just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that i'm gone 

guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 

'cause you said forever, now i drive alone past your street 

mark was always super passionate about songwriting. and when you guys were introduced to each other in guitar club of your freshman year, he finally found a companion to confide his interest in. when you guys snuck out, he would always bring his computer, speakers, and guitar. he’d play you the demos and songs that he had made and would want your opinions on them.

“how does it sound?” he asked you, pressing pause on his computer. it was the last day before the summer of freshman year for you, and he said he wanted to show you ‘something special’.

“yeah it’s pretty good, i think you could do a more complex guitar riff though? it would sound sick if you used E minor and riffed off onto the E major.” you suggested and turned to face mark’s smiling face. “what are you staring at?” you poked him.

“i wrote this about you, you dummy.” he flicked your forehead. “could you not tell?”

“ow, no?” you rubbed to soothe where he flicked you. “its too cheesy, and ‘that sun shining on me, my heart alive and breathing i want only one with you, all the things you make me do for you’? nah, mark lee has a little crush on someone.” you wiggled your eyebrows.

“yeah,” you whipped your head around. “you.” your brain stopped and all you feel is your heartbeat racing. you had never been romantically interested in mark, only friends. but that day changed it all.

“ayo, stop playing the innocent freshman girl.” you huff out. “i have a weak heart.” he taps your chin and turns your face back around.

“dude, i’m not playing.” he gazes into your eyes. “i’m serious, no joke.” your heart starts beating faster, the butterflies in your stomach are wild and your breaths are accentuated by the silence in the car. 

and that’s when he leans in. pressing his soft, watermelon chapstick flavoured lips onto yours. 

you close your eyes and you feel like you’re dreaming. 

“did that prove it?” he says when he pulls away, grinning at you.

“you’re pretty bold making a move on a freshman, bro.” you roll your eyes but your insides feel warm and fuzzy. “and you stole my first kiss!” you exclaim as you push him lightly and he puffs out in disbelief.

“what else do i gotta do to prove to you that i’m for real?” he says, crossing his arms.

“pinky promise me,” you say. “that you won’t leave and you’ll love me forever.” reaching out your pinky. mark laughs, his pinky intertwined with yours.

“now who’s the one who’s cheesy?” he teases. laughing as you angrily attempt to hit him. “i’m joking, i promise, forever.”

you should have known better, promises were made to be broken. but the sticky sweet watermelon flavour stuck on your lips blind you.

and all my friends are tired 

of hearing how much i miss you, but i kinda feel sorry for them 

'cause they'll never know you the way that i do 

yeah, today i drove through the suburbs 

and pictured i was driving home to you 

you know your friends are tired of you rambling about mark. even though they’ve endured it for 3 years already, they don’t see why you’re still talking about him even when he’s gone. you don’t really blame them though. you ditch them to hang out with mark all the time, it was like he was the higher priority than they were, but you were just realizing.

but could they blame you? mark was the definition of dreamy. anyone in your position would understand and agree. all of the fun, secrets, journeys, songs you shared, you felt like nobody knew him like you did. you felt like you were on cloud 9. 

but now is too late, as you realized after mark left that there was no one else that you would, could drive and feel at home with. you feel empty.

and you're probably with that blonde girl 

who always made me doubt 

she's so much older than me 

she's everything i'm insecure about 

yeah, today i drove through the suburbs 

'cause how could i ever love someone else? 

you felt like you had been stabbed in the chest. you stood there frozen, heart aching and numb. 

mark told you the address and room of where he was living before he left. when you arrived, you met johnny, mark’s roommate. he said mark was at the production studio probably and he could walk you to where it was.

when you arrived, you saw the back of mark’s head and the back of the sweater you gave him before he left. and right beside him, a blonde girl. sitting comfortably with her head rested on his shoulder. you stood there shocked. forgetting that johnny was standing beside you, he notices the change in your mood and asks if you were okay.

“oh, yeah i’m fine. i was just checking up on him, his mom wanted me to, haha.” you tried to laugh it off. “he needs to call them back to reassure them he’s not dead yet.” johnny’s laugh echos in your ears as you reassure yourself that they’re just friends. nothing’s going on between them, mark is just a super nice person.

“that’s kim aera by the way. the TA for mark’s producing class. i think she’s in her third year? anyways, mark really enjoys working with her. it’s like he lives in the studio, he’s always asking her for suggestions and other stuff.” johnny explains. you tense up, you were the only person that mark had wanted to ask suggestions from. pause, you were. not anymore. but it makes sense, she’s the TA, she obviously had more knowledge and experience in the studio. and she’s more, accessible… “what’s the deal between you two though? mark never mentions anything to me, what’s your name?” johnny snaps you out of your daze. 

“oh, uh, i’m y/n, mark’s family friend.” you try to cover up the nervousness and cracking in your voice. “yeah. our parents are close, so her mom can count on me to report on him. haha.” you laugh lightly. “i’m going to get going now, mark is obviously intact, so that’s good. i’ll catch you around.”

“oh cool. see you.” johnny waves, and you walk out the door.

you try to convince yourself that there’s nothing going on between mark and this aera, but reassurance won’t make the truth disappear. 

you come back a few weeks later. you thought that after finals, he might be more free, and you guys could finally hang out for once. you thought that after hanging out again, everything would go back to normal. he’d go back to texting you, showing you new songs, and maybe hanging out more often as well.

“oh hey y/n, you’re back?” johnny answers the door once again. “he’s at the studio right now, do you need me to walk you there?”

“i think i’m good, i remember where it is. sorry for disrupting you. bye.” you smiled, and after johnny waves back and closes the door, you walk towards the studio.

you think of many different scenarios of how this will play out, but this isn’t what you expected. 

you walk into the studio, about to call mark’s name, but you see the blonde locks again. 

“thanks for helping me out with the lyrics, you’re really good with words.” mark says, smiling. “i think you’re a great role model.” 

you feel a little jab at your side. lyricism was never your strong suit. you could write beautiful melodies and harmonies, but the words never seem to come out.

your heart stops. right when their lips lock. with the way her arms are pulling mark in by his nape, you can tell that she’s more experienced. you felt like you had been stabbed in the chest. you stood there frozen, heart aching and numb. you bolt out the door, you feel suffocated. you really were naive. if this is what heartbreak feels like, you don’t think that falling in love is worth it anymore.

you don’t look back. that’s the last time you ever see mark again. 

apparently johnny asked mark about you.

“hey mark,” johnny calls out. “how was your meeting with your family friend y/n yesterday?” 

mark stops dead in his tracks and his heart sinks. you came to see him? how come he didn’t see you? how did johnny know your name? and, why were you his family friend?

“oh uh, yeah it went well, thanks for telling me anyways.” mark escapes to his room.

mk.l

hey

did you come to see me?

you

no

why?

mk.l

oh, nevermind then.

johnny probably got the name wrong.

red lights, stop signs 

i still see your face in the white cars, front yards 

can't drive past the places we used to go to 

'cause i still fucking love you, babe 

sidewalks we crossed i still hear your voice in the traffic

we're laughing over all the noise 

god, i'm so blue, know we're through 

but i still fucking love you, babe 

the world was quieter and stopped spinning. that feeling of being on top of the world all the time stopped too. you stopped going on your phone, you stopped socializing with people in general to be honest. you didn’t know how to face anyone. everywhere you went, everything you did, reminded you of mark. mark’s laugh, mark’s random nose scrunches, mark’s favourite songs, mark’s guitar, mark’s self-written melodies. you can’t go to mcdonalds, you can’t watch the sunset inside your car at the parking lot behind your local church, you couldn’t even pick up your guitar anymore. your melodies and harmonies didn’t come as smoothly anymore. you felt sick, you didn’t want to do music. it’s just not the same anymore. you didn’t feel like you had a purpose. 

but you slowly got back up. music became your way of coping. listening to other people’s songs about heartbreak, you felt like you weren’t alone. your first heartbreak, no one there to teach you about it, and no one there to comfort you. so you did it yourself. you had no musical purpose, but now, your music was for you, your own personal expression. all the harmonies, melodies, colours, came back to you. and unexpectedly out of the blue, the words came to you too. 

i know we weren't perfect, but i've never felt this way for no one 

and i just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that i'm gone 

'cause you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 

'cause you said forever, now i drive alone past your street 

yeah, you said forever, now i drive alone past your street

the backing instrumentals fade out and the emotion in your voice trickles into the darkness of mark’s room as he closes his laptop. 

you found your words. he thinks, smiling sadly. finally.

©mrkcore, 2021.

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

Update: Annabeth has not done what needs to be done. 

August moves over into September, hot and sweltering days giving way to the first few hints of the coming autumn chill. One unseasonably cold night, Annabeth had gone to bed wrapped in one of Percy’s old Paris Opera sweaters, waking up with it and wearing it home to ward off the chill of the morning drizzle, like some a normal girlfriend would. 

It’s a problem, she knows, but she just cannot quit this man. 

And boy did she try, about a hundred different times. 

One time, she spent an entire Tuesday before seeing him googling around until she found a picture. It was three years old, and it showed Mittie--oh, sorry, Her Royal Highness Margherita--at a soccer game in Moscow. Next to her is the handsomest man in the world. Percy’s hair is shorter, and something about his windbreaker reminds her of some of the crew boys she knew at Harvard. They aren’t touching, but they are both smiling. This is the kind of girl Percy deserves. This is the kind of girl he should want. His type. She reminds herself of it for hours before meeting him at a show. But the smile he gives her is nothing like the one in the pictures with the princess. And when he whispers what he wants to do to her that evening, she just can’t do it. 

She even took him to his favorite pizza place once to soften the blow. But then she thought about how her dumping him would forever taint the magic of Antonio’s for the both of them, and she just couldn’t abide that.

So she kept putting it off. And putting it off. And putting it off.

And then he asked her to dinner with his parents again, on his one night off in three weeks.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to bring you something?” he asks for the fourth time, concern making his connection thin and tinny.

“It’s just a little stomach thing,” she lies, shaking out a ramen flavor packet. “I’ll be fine. You go have fun with your mom.”

“Okay. I’ll call later to check up on you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just going to be asleep.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Yeah.”

He clicks off. Her apartment is very quiet. For lack of anything else to do, she decides to check her mail.

Who even mails anything anymore, she thinks.

Rifling through the pile of wasted paper, she sighs at the banality of it all. Junk, junk, junk, NYCB brochure she needs to cancel, junk… Harvard?

She peers at it.

The red seal is unmistakable, as is her name, printed in neat, black ink. “Ms. Annabeth Chase.” Why are they contacting her? And more importantly, who the fuck gave them her address?

Hands shaking, she unfolds it. “Dear Ms. Chase,” it reads, “Thank you for your generous contribution to the Harvard Graduate School of Design. As one of our most promising graduates, we are so pleased and thrilled to receive your encouragement. With your gift, we were able to reach our fundraising goal of $2.5million, which will go to support the various operations of the school, so that we can continue to provide a top-notch education for your fellow students. You do make a difference for us, and we are immensely thankful for you!” And then it goes on. “As a thank you for your generous gift of $15,000, we would like to invite you to the Alistair Moore dinner for distinguished graduates and faculty. We would be delighted to receive you at...” 

She can’t finish, dyslexia scrambling the words in front of her. Or maybe that’s just her, trembling so hard she has to sit down. Fifteen thousand. The Alistair Moore dinner. She knows it well, yet another fancy networking event, like the Eta Industries party. Bile rises in her throat. Who would…

The answer hits her like a freight train. Only one person would be so bold. 

Crumpling the letter in her fist, she pulls out her phone, dialing the number she still stubbornly has memorized, despite deleting it off her contacts list. 

She isn’t sure if she’s upset that she gets his voicemail, or relieved. “Hey, dad. It’s me,” she says, grimacing as she starts off like he wouldn’t recognize her voice. Like it’s any other phone call. “I got your message. The Alistair Moore dinner? I’m not going. I told you, I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. What I need,” she sneers, “is for you to butt out and leave me the hell alone.”

Then she hangs up, before she can chicken out and delete it.

She shoves the letter into her recycling bin, down to the very bottom. Out of sight and out of mind. 

Well, her night is pretty much ruined. 

Ramen growing colder, she lies on her couch, her head hanging over the edge, studiously not looking at her phone. She shouldn’t have left that message. She shouldn’t have opened that letter. She shouldn’t have rebuffed Percy’s invitation. Or maybe she was right, in all those situations. Who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares. Her leg bounces, frantic, stomach roiling.

Like a gunshot, her phone vibrates on her coffee table. Annabeth catapults herself up, reaching for it, nearly dropping it, even as her eyes begin to blur. Please let it be her dad. Please let it be anyone else but her dad. Please. Please. Please. 

checking in, writes Percy. feeling any better?

With a sob, she hits call. He picks up after the second ring.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Everything okay?”

“Can,” she hiccups. God damn it. God damn her. “Can you please come over?”

She can feel his demeanor change over the phone. “I’ll be right there,” he says, calm and collected. “What’s your address?”

Her address is supposed to be a secret. No one is supposed to know where she lives. She doesn’t even like Luke knowing where she lives, and he might be the closest thing she has to family right now. But she tells Percy, and he promises to be there within thirty minutes. Throwing her arms over her face, she lies back down, breathing through her nose so she doesn’t vomit.

He makes it in twenty. here is the simple text, devoid of any hearts or emojis, and she buzzes him up. Less than a minute later, he knocks on her door. “It’s open,” she calls, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

Softly, the door clicks open, someone smoothly and quietly stepping inside. “Annabeth?” 

“Here,” she moans. She should get up to greet him. She can’t feel her legs. She can’t feel anything at all. 

The couch dips as someone sits next to her, a warm, large hand on her shoulder, and she can’t help but open her eyes. Percy is there in his blue sweater that she returned the last time she had slept over at Nico’s apartment, his brow furrowed in worry, but he’s smiling a little, too, just happy to see her, to see that she’s safe. In his other hand, he holds up a plastic bag. “I brought you a cookie,” he says, gently. “Chocolate chip.”

Annabeth blinks. “It’s… blue.”

He nods. “It is.”

Blue cookies. His mom’s special recipe, he had told her, for bad days of aching feet, harsh dance instructors, and school bullies.

The dam breaks. 

She launches herself into Percy’s embrace, sobbing. He tucks her head into his neck, his arms coming up around her. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I’m--I’m so sorry,” she gets out, in between heaving breaths. “I just--I didn’t want to be alone and--”

He shakes his head against hers, his nose in her hair. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

They sit there for a long, long time, him holding her as she cries, pathetic. She can only imagine what it must be like from Percy’s end: here he was, having a lovely dinner with his mother uptown on his night off, only to get a frantic call from his hookup, demanding that he drop everything and rush to her side. And he did. He even fucking brought her one of his mom’s special cookies. 

She does not deserve this perfect, amazing man.

It’s that thought more than anything else that pulls her out of her spiral, her sobs abating somewhat. “There we go,” he says, sweetly. “I’m going to get you some water, okay? Be right back.”

Resisting the urge to hold onto his sleeve like some kind of child, she lets him pull away, stepping into her kitchen. Head aching and eyes puffy, she can’t even really register the fact that he is in her apartment right now. Her secret hideaway. Her sanctum sanctorum. He can see her tasteful couches and her expensive coffee maker and her giant TV screen. 

But honestly? She doesn’t care about any of that right now. All she cares about is the long, solid line of Percy’s body next to hers as he sits back down next to her, handing her a glass of water. She drinks it down, greedily, falling back against him, his hand automatically coming up to her shoulder, and she turns into his side, drinking him in, just as desperate.

They don’t speak, just holding onto each other. 

As she drifts off, there on her couch, her arm around Percy’s midsection, she only has one real thought in her head. 

Forget the apartment--this is her sanctum sanctorum. This is her safe space.

***

Annabeth wakes up in a bed that isn’t her own, in an apartment that isn’t her own. 

It reminds her, weirdly enough of her mom’s apartment, she thinks as she sits up in the soft, cream sheets, here in New York. She had only ever been a handful of times, whenever her mother deigned to claim her for their allotted family time. She doesn’t remember much about that place--mostly the skyline through the window, the low, uncomfortable furniture, the spotless, empty kitchen. 

Across from the bed is a mirror, squat and wide. Annabeth has her hair back, her face devoid of metal. She looks tired, she thinks, and maybe a little older, dark, heavy bags beneath her eyes. She’s wearing a real, actual set of pajamas, rather than a sweater or an oversized shirt, pale pink silk tight around her body. 

Shaking her head, she looks down, and spies a thin band of gold on her left hand, which rests on her stomach, sporting a slight, but noticeable curve. 

Only then does she realize it’s a dream. She lets out a grateful sigh. Just a dream.

It seems like a pretty boring one, too. She’s older, a little fatter, and has a nicer apartment. Somewhere in the distance is the indistinct sound of a person singing. And beyond that the even more indistinct sound of the city. 

Stumbling out of bed, her feet falling into a pair of soft, pink slippers, perfectly positioned next to her bed, she makes her way out into the apartment. The walls are cream, decorated with generic seaside landscapes, a nondescript sailboat in the background against an unchanging, cornflower blue sky. 

The kitchen is empty. Breakfast is cooked, laid out on a placemat at the kitchen island, but no one is there eating it. No one is there cleaning up, or making coffee. The food looks delicious, like a magazine spread: a perfectly made bowl of granola and yogurt, a lemon poppyseed muffin, a glass of orange juice on the side. Nutritious. Small. 

It’s weird. It’s really weird.

Moving on, she enters the living room. There’s a little girl on her knees, maybe three or four, she’s wearing a red pinafore over a white polo shirt and Mary Janes shined like the top of the Chrysler building. The preschool version of a prep-school uniform. She’s hunched over the glass coffee table, frizzy blonde curls bouncing as she moves her hand back and forth, scribbling with a colored pencil on a piece of paper. 

All of a sudden, she notices Annabeth standing there. 

“Mommy!” She jumps up, holding the pencil behind her back, her green eyes wide with apprehension. “I--I was--”

She hears whistling, and turns to see… well, it's Percy, but he looks nothing like her Percy. His hair is cropped shorter, parted and moussed perfectly flat. He’s in a three piece suit. He’s in trousers. Not a pair of sweatpants or a muscle tee in sight.

He stops when he sees her. “Sorry, didn’t know you were awake, wouldn’t have been singing.” Which makes no sense, Because Annabeth loves Percy’s ambient music. He looks around her, speaking to his--to the girl, “I told you you’d have to stop when mommy got up.” 

Annabeth glances at the little girl, who nods too solemnly. 

“Don’t worry,” this stranger wearing Percy’s face says, “She’s ready for school. She is ready for her Math qualification. I only said she could draw for a little, to calm herself down.” He glances at the girl again. “Put your things back in the art box, and we’ll go to school. I have an 8:30 meeting with the board.” 

The little girl runs off. Holding her paper and her pencils close to her chest, like she’s afraid someone is going to take them away from her. Maybe someone is. 

Percy turns to her. “I confirmed our reservations at 7 tonight at Sarabeth’s with your mother’s assistant this morning. And the nanny is going to stay late, so we don’t have to bring her.”

The her in question reappears just then. She’s so small. And she’s carrying a backpack. She looks like that breakfast, out of a magazine. But normally kids in magazines smile. 

“Are you ready?” Annabeth’s voice finally says.

A beat, then she nods again. “Yes, mommy.”

“Good,” she says. Outside, the sunlight through the windows isn’t so bright anymore, but dark and cold, like a solar eclipse. “Make me proud.”

And she turns to go back to bed, but the floor has disappeared, and she steps on nothing, tumbling down into the void.

With a start, she wakes up again in her bed, to the smell of breakfast in the air. Which is confusing, because she’s pretty sure she fell asleep on the couch, and she usually doesn’t wake up in time for breakfast, let alone actually make it herself: she has Percy for that, now. 

Right. Percy. 

It comes back to her in flashes: the donation, the voicemail, calling Percy out of desperation. Inviting him into her room, her bed. Falling asleep in his arms. 

She physically shakes her head, roughly scrubbing her face, forcing herself further into consciousness. The light coming through her window is grey and weak, doing absolutely nothing to help her out. The morning feels muted, for some reason, like it’s very far away. Maybe it was her nightmare.

She can’t hear Percy, Annabeth realizes. That’s what’s wrong. She can smell breakfast, but she can’t hear him puttering away. She doesn’t hear the clanking of pans as he tries to be quiet, or his off-key humming, or the dull thump of footfalls on her floor as he practices his steps. 

God, how late did she sleep? If he has to leave for a morning class he usually makes sure to wake her up, first. For a kiss if nothing else.

But when she pads out to her kitchen, she’s stunned to find Percy still there, sitting at her warped kitchen table. There are two plates in front of him, eggs and bacon untouched and cooling. He’s fully dressed, too, in his dark jeans and stupid dance pun t-shirt: “Girls Just Wanna Have Buns,” his sweater on the empty chair. Annabeth had been weirdly looking forward to wearing that this morning; he likes seeing her in his clothes, and she likes seeing him without them. It’s a system that works for them, typically leading to a lot of smiles, a couple giggles, and maybe another round or two before he has to leave.

He’s not smiling now. His gaze is fixed on his plate, hands in his lap. “Morning,” she croaks, softly.

Percy lifts his eyes to her, unfathomable like the sea. “Morning.”

Something in her stops her from sliding into the seat across from him. Standing gives her strength, gives her power that she doesn’t want to give up. She may not be able to tell what Percy is thinking right now, but she knows when someone is gearing up for a fight. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“What’s the matter?”

He is uncharacteristically still. Annabeth has gotten so used to him expressing himself via his body, the stillness is unsettling. Percy holds her gaze for a moment, then sucks in a breath, sitting up a little bit straighter. “I kicked over your recycling by mistake, and when I was cleaning up, I…” He bites his lip, a little ashamed. “I accidentally read some of your mail.”

“Okay.” He can’t be that broken up about her junk mail, can he?

It’s only then that she sees it, laid out neatly next to the breakfast plate. The letter has been carefully uncrumpled, but the red Harvard seal is as obnoxiously bright as ever. “I don’t mean to pry, but…” Percy licks his lips, gathering his words together. “I thought you didn’t get into Harvard?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“It’s just--this is from the Graduate School of Design,” he continues, looking at the page as if to confirm it. “And the dean says you were one of their ‘most promising graduates,’ here, so. That means you have, what, a master’s degree? Right?”

Still, she doesn’t say anything.

Percy rubs a hand over his mouth, square jaw squaring further. “I guess I just don’t understand why you lied to me.”

“I never--” she blurts. 

“I mean, were you trying to spare my New Yorker sensibilities by telling me you didn’t get in? Did you think I would actually care?”

There’s nothing she can say in response. So she doesn’t. 

After a moment, he blows out a sharp breath. “So. Fifteen thousand dollars, huh.”

She sighs, looking away. It’s not like Annabeth doesn’t hate it, too. “I didn’t do that,” she says, crossing her arms. “My dad did it, he just put it under my name.”

“And, he did that… why? I mean,” he tilts his head, a little bewildered. “I thought you guys weren’t on speaking terms.”

“To try and get me to network again, probably.” She shrugs. “And I’m not on speaking terms with him. He just hasn’t gotten the memo yet.”

He hasn’t raised his voice at all. He hasn’t moved from his seat, or made any kind of threatening gesture, but like an approaching storm cloud, she can feel the anger rolling in, dense and crackling. “Does he do this a lot, your dad? Throw his money around for you?”

“It’s not like I asked him to.” 

But he’s shaking his head, rueful. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. You know, I thought it was weird that you could afford an apartment in the East Village with a bedroom on periodic architecture contracts, but I’m guessing he pays for that, too?”

He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from bristling. “It’s a trust fund,” she snaps. “It’s still my money.”

“A trust fund,” he says, softly. “Right.” 

Anger lances through her, cold and burning. Just because her dad had set it up for her didn’t mean that she wouldn’t use it. “Yeah, a trust fund. Is that a crime, now?” 

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then snaps it shut with an audible click. Pushing his chair out, he stands up, hands flat on the table. “I should go and get ready for my class. I’ll… I’ll text you later, okay?” Percy takes a step towards her, hands reaching for her on instinct, then pauses. “See you around.”

Percy leaves without so much as a look back, closing the door so quietly she can barely hear it over the roar of blood in her ears.

[deanandthephantoms]

We're a Perfect Harmony PT.3 - Reader x Charlie

This is Chapter 3 of my Perfect Harmony story. You can read Chapter 1 here and Chapter 2 here if you haven't yet. In this chapter we'll see what life after camp is like for y/n and Charlie.. Enjoy!

Missing you more than i should..

When I got home I was overwhelmed by the amount of silence in my home. I used to love being home, curling up on the couch watching a movie or reading a book in silence. I hated loud, crowded places and now I actually missed it? What happened to me? Who am I?! I thought to myself..

“Y/N is that you?” I heard my mom call out from the living room. “Hi mom!” i said while walking up to her and giving her a big hug. “How are you doing honey? How was it?” I hadn’t really spoken to my mom at all during the week, I had let her know once that I was doing alright and that was basically it. “It was incredible mom. I had the best group of people surrounding me..” and so I told her everything about my new group of friends and everything we had done during the week.. “Thanks for making me go mom.” “You’re glowing Y/N! I’m so happy you had such a good time. I honestly felt bad for making you go when I saw how nervous you were.” “yeah.. I kind of hated you for that.. but I guess sometimes mom really does know best.” After talking to my mom I decided to lay down for a bit all those late night chill sessions with Charlie and a night of not sleeping at all was really taking it’s toll, I don’t think I had ever been this tired before. I fell asleep with a smile on my face only to wake up the next freaking day at 10am. I slept for 15 hours I really had been tired.. I picked up my phone to see I was indeed added to the girls group chat, I was also in a chat with our entire camp group and Charlie had , like he promised, sent me a private text. Seeing that put a smile on my face. Now I know what you’re thinking.. but I really just liked him as a friend that’s all. I opened his message.

“Good morning Nugget! On a scale of 1 to 100% dead.. how tired are you?” I raised my eyebrow at the nugget part, no idea where that was coming from. Without hesitation I replied.. “ Hellllooooo! Nugget? What’s up with that? Very bold of you to assume that I was even tired to begin with by the way.. but to answer your question, I have slept for 15 hours.. that says something doesn’t it?” I was about to put my phone down assuming Charlie would take his sweet time to reply. But no. the 3 dots that told me he was typing appeared almost instantly and  seconds later this popped up on my screen; “15 HOURS?! Really? Are you sure you weren’t dead and came back to life or something? I thought I was bad with my 12 hours.. I’m blaming you for the fact I’m so tired by the way.” He’s blaming me?! Excuse me? “Pardon? What? What did I do?!” “You kept me up till at least 3am every night only to be woken up again at 7am.. i’ve never been so tired coming home after camp. So yes I’m blaming you Nugget.” “The nugget again? Really? Anyway. I’m not sorry. You kept ME up actually. I’m blaming you Charlie.” “Yes Nugget. You mentioned once you like nuggets. I’m calling you nugget now. You can’t stop me. Oh and I’m not sorry either 😉” “Riiight. Don’t expect me to start calling you after one of your gross foods.. but all jokes aside, i’m glad you’re not sorry. I mean, all those late nights might be one of my favorite things of last week.”  “Really? I genuinely thought I annoyed the shit out of you.” That text made me laugh. “Don’t get your hopes up Gillespie. You sure did. Apparently you’re just the type of guy who gets away with it.” I teased. “Ouch.. that hurt. :( “ is all I got as a reply. Which caused my brain to go in full panic mode, did I just really hurt my new friend? Oh god what if this ruined it all? As fast I could I sent him “I’m sorry! I’m just kidding! You know that right?! You didn’t annoy me at all dude, in fact you did the opposite you made me feel super chill and comfortable..” I stared at my screen for what felt like hours, in reality it was probably more like 5 minutes but I got no reply..

I sighed deciding to ignore my own stupid actions I got up from my bed and went downstairs making myself some breakfast. Sitting down at the table I actually found myself missing the man that had sat opposite of me the entire week. I was missing the man that made me feel sick with his strange food combinations. Missing the man that called me out for looking dead after 3 hours of sleep. Missing the man that annoyed me with how loud he was so early in the morning. Don’t get me wrong I missed the others as well they had all, in their own way, made that week a very good week for me. I had just connected with Charlie in a different way, he seemed to really get me, he understood where I was coming from. He had not once judged me, he made me come out of my comfort zone.. My phone buzzed on the table, my hand flew straight to it and picked it up only to see Charlie had replied. I felt my heart speed up and started feeling very nervous. Why was this happening? why was i scared for his reply? We had been teasing each other right from the start. This could not have been so bad that I ruined everything, right?!

With a deep sigh I opened our chat back up. “Y/N calm down. I know. I was just kidding too! Good to know I made you feel that way though. You do realize you did the same for me right? You made me feel better when I was feeling down. I really appreciate that.” I couldn’t help but let out a big sigh of relief. Thank god everything was alright. Why did I care so much? I had known this man for 8 days. Why was I already so afraid of ruining this friendship? “Charlie, I swear to god, you can never do that to me again! I thought I ruined it all..” I typed, but deleted. I didn’t want him to know a simple joke made me go into full panic mode, he’ll think I’m crazy.. so instead I went with “ha-ha, very funny Gillespie. And hey, cheering each other up, that’s what friends are for right? 😊” “Yeah definitely. You didn’t have to do that though, you barely knew me. Yet seemed to know me better than the people I’ve known for years. You noticed things others didn’t notice or they just decided to ignore it. You didn’t. You’re a good friend Nugget. I’m thankful for getting a chance to meet and know you.”

Reading that made me feel al warm and fuzzy inside I just sat there at the kitchen table with a dumb goofy smile on my face. That’s when my mom walked in. “What are you smiling about?” “ohhh nah it’s nothing.” I simply replied, hoping my mom would buy it. Too bad for me my mom knew me longer than today. “It’s a boy, isn’t it?” “Mom! I.. eeh.. no?.. I mean.. well technically.. Yes. But no. Charlie is just a friend mom.” And I truly believed I felt that way, my mom clearly didn’t though ..”oh alright, well we’ll see.” She replied. Before leaving me once again to get back to her office. I directed my attention back to the screen “You’re a good friend too Charlie. I’m thankful my mom made me go to camp. Thankful I now can call a few amazing people my new friends. I really miss you guys. Is that weird?” “Thank your mom from me for making you go! 😉 And no, that’s not weird. We all feel that way after camp. Don’t worry the feeling will vanish over time and we’ll keep in touch through texts and facetime!” “Facetime huh? Why don’t we facetime later, you can thank my mom yourself haha!” i texted half jokingly but Charlie seemed to think it was a good idea. We kept sending text to each other the rest of day and I noticed I was looking forward to seeing his face again. I missed his bright smile, his facial expressions that said everything for me. His eyes that showed he was fully invested in whatever you’re telling him. I missed his hugs. They really were the best hugs I had ever had. I sighed at the thought of having to miss those for a whole year.. Can’t exactly hug through facetime, can you?

Later that night Charlie called me on facetime, accepting his call I saw his bright smile pop up on my screen. “Nuggeeettt!” he screamed at me sounding all excited. I couldn’t help but instantly feel happy and laugh at him. I refused to get used to that nickname but also decided not to fight him on it tonight. “Gillespieeeeeeee!” I just screamed back at him earning a big smile in return. “Soo, first things first, get me to your mom, I need to thank her.” “Your wish is my command sir!” I reply as I get up from my bed to find my mom. I find her in the livingroom on the couch. “Hey mom, Charlie wants to tell you something” I say while handing her the phone. “Hello Mrs.Y/L/N!” “Ah, so you’re Charlie! I’ve already heard quite a bit about you.” If looks could kill I would have killed my own mom right then and there.. “Yes.. that would be me. I just wanted to thank you for sending your daughter to camp. She has been a good friend to all of us.” My mom laughed “You’re welcome dear. Thank you for doing the same to her” My mom then handed me my phone back. Giving her one last glare I make my way back to my bedroom. “Sorry about that..” I say to Charlie while walking upstairs. “Sorry for what? Your mom seems lovely. No need to be sorry.” Thankful for the fact he apparently did not pick up on the whole ‘heard quite a bit about you.’ I let out big breath I apparently had been holding in.

I sat back down on my bed and luckily for me Charlie had grabbed his guitar “so. How about we continue our little tradition of singing? Name a song and we’ll sing it.” He said with the biggest smile. I was just glad I did not have to explain why I apologized and quickly started thinkin of a song. “Do you know High hopes by Kodaline? It’s not the happiest song, but it’s sooo good!” “I’m kind of offended by the fact you’re even asking me if I know it.. It’s actually one of the first songs I learned to play on this guitar.” And before I could apologize for offending him I heard the first chords of High hopes being played. As if we were still on camp we sang a few songs, granted it didn’t go as smooth thanks to delay in the video and such but still it was nice. After a few songs I heard my mom come up and calling out a good night. “Char.. I think I’m gonna have to go. My mom is going to bed so you know I gotta be quiet now…” “Nooo! don’t hang up just yet. We can still just talk for a bit right?” I was caught of guard by his plea for me to stay. “I, eh. Yeah. Yeah we can. Of course we can. Give me a second though. I’m gonna change into my PJ’s.” and with that I threw my phone on the bed, grabbing my oversized Rush t-shirt that basically functioned as a sleeping dress. “Nice ceiling you’ve got there nugget.” I heard Charlie call out. Giving him a chuckle as response. Once I changed into my PJ’s I picked my phone up and brought Charlie with me to the bathroom. “Loving the house tour Y/N, where are we going now?” “To the bathroom. I need to brush my teeth.” “oh right let me go do the same!” and he sprinted of with me to his own bathroom. About a minute later we were brushing our teeth together. causing us both to giggle at each others charming facial expressions.

After I was done I went back to my bedroom and crawled into bed making myself comfortable. “sooo I assume you don’t want to be here when I go pee right?” “Eeew Charles! No. Either hang up the phone or put me somewhere far away!” He laughed at me “Yeah thought so.  I’m not hanging up so let me just put you down on my bed.” “ Oof.. That also sounds a bit strange sir.. But sure. You do that.” “kinda does, doesn’t it?” he laughed “Okay, I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere.” And with that I was staring at Charlie’s ceiling waiting for him to come back.. which he did incredibly quickly.

Crawling into his own bed he picked me up only to instantly put me back down again."You actually waited for me!" He said while I could see him taking off his shirt nothing I had not seen before but still a sight I sure was not mad about. “of course i waited, why would i leave without saying goodbye?” i reply before Charlie fell back down on the bed and picked me back up, trying to get comfortable he was tossing and turning a bit. “You alright there, Charlie?” I said half teasingly. “Yeah, quite comfortable actually. You? I really like your shirt by the way.” Why did I feel myself starting to blush? Acting as if nothing was happening to me I replied in my chillest and coolest way; “Yeah I’m alright. Very comfortable as well actually. Nothing beats sleeping in your own bed right?” “I don’t know about that nugget, I could think of a thing or two I totally would pick over sleeping in my own bed.” “Really like what?” When I see a mischievous smile appear on his face i’m suddenly scared of the answer I’m about to get. “Oh you know..” He falls silent with that same damn smile on his face. When I raise an eyebrow at him he continues; . “You know, Sleeping in a tent at festivals, or just camping with some friends in a beautiful piece of nature or something.” i let out a sigh of relief “oh righttt. Yeah i’m fully on board with all of that.”

Charlie and I talked for another hour while we we’re both laying in our beds. At some point I felt my eyes getting heavier and heavier, and I kept fighting it as hard as I could. I was enjoying this conversation way too much for me to go to sleep now. I totally believed I was hiding it from Charlie as well. I clearly didn’t though..“Hey Y/N?” “Mhhmm?” “You’re about to fall asleep aren’t you?” I’m silent for a while now really almost falling asleep. “Goodnight nugget.” I suddenly hear Charlie say softly. That wakes me back up a bit. “NO!” I clear my throat before continuing “I mean.. no I’m not tired..” “Oh really you’re not tired huh?” Charlie starts to imitate the way I had been acting and reacting the last 20 minutes. “okay okay Fine. Stop it Gillespie. You win, Nighty night Charles.” “night night Y/N. Talk to you again tomo.. well in a few hours,” He gives me one last sweet smile before I close my eyes and I hear Charlie hang up the phone right as I’m about to fall asleep. 

Charlie and I kept in contact like that every single day. We didn’t start our day without wishing each other a good morning and refused to go to bed without wishing each other a goodnight and giving each other a virtual hug. During our schooldays we took every free second to text and we made sure to hype each other up when something important had to be done. Late nights were still being made but the few hours of sleep never seemed to bother me. I was basically running on 4 to 5 hours of sleep each day and was doing just fine. i didn’t even come close to feeling tired and was ready to do it all over again the next day. Months passed spending my time just like that..

I had been in contact with all of them on the regular and today i was actually meeting up with Madison who lived somewhat close to me. I was so excited to see her again. We had agreed to meet at a train station and that’s where I was now waiting for her to arrive. Y/N! I hear Madison yell out. I look in the direction the voice was coming from, I see Madison and run up to her to embrace her in a hug. "Madiiiiii! I missed you! How youu doing?" I let go of her and she laughs at me. "How you doin? Charlie, is that you? " Leaving no room for me to defend myself she continues "kidding, I'm great! How are youu giiirl?" while catching up on how life has been we walk to the restaurant where we had made lunch reservations.

“Sooo” Madison said once we were sat at our table. “ Soo.. what?” i asked the girl who was grinning at me. “ Sooo what’s up with you and Charlie?” i give her a confused look.”What do you mean? We’re friends, Mads. You already knew that though..” Madi laughs at me. “ Really Y/N? That’s all you’re giving me? I know you and Charlie have been talking pretty much non-stop..” I can feel the blood flowing to my cheeks when I say “Well yeah, yeah we have. And yes I have enjoyed every minute of that. But that doesn’t mean anything is going on between us. We just get along very well. Besides, he’s still with Emma so I’m sorry to disappoint you but we’re just friends..” Madi just looks at me for a while before a smile spreads on her face.” What?” I ask her. “ You like him.” She simply states with the biggest smile.” What?! Mads I just told you..” I blurt out a little too loud and a little too fast to actually be somewhat convincing.. causing Madison to laugh at me again. “ Girl you soooo do! “

By now I feel like I'm looking like a tomato, bright red, and i don’t even know why. I truly believed I liked Charlie as a friend, nothing more nothing less. Sure he was the sweetest man i had ever met and sure he believed in me like no one had ever done. and yes we had this incredible connection and were on the same wavelength on so many topics. Yes he got me, yes I felt safe enough to fully be myself and fully be honest with him about everything. aaaand yes he was goood looking. But i didn’t like him like that. I Couldn’t. He was with Emma. Me and him were just friends. I would not let myself get a crush on this guy. It would ruin everything. “ Look Mads. I’m not gonna lie. I do miss hanging out with him in real life and Charlie does make me very happy. But i don’t like him like that. He’s just a good friend to me.” Madison clearly was not convinced.”Sure, keep telling yourself that Y/N.”

And I did. In the following weeks I kept telling myself I didn't like him. I just missed him that was all. The more I talked to Charlie and the more the girls teased me about liking him the less I started to believe my own excuses. Untill the day i couldn’t deny it any longer. I totally liked Charlie more than a friend..

- read chapter 4 here

[willwriteforhugs]

the boy in the bookstore (part one)

in which you meet a suspiciously handsome boy in your favorite bookstore- but are not cultured enough to know his true identity.

ateez scenario 

yeosang x (fem) reader

word count: 1.5k

g: fluff, angst if you’re a sensitive bitch

warnings: none really, light kissing and possible innuendo in later parts

notes:

there are a few things that may turn inconsistent for you personally (aka the POV being american, bilingual, etc. nothing major tho!)

also: if you enjoyed this, i am 100% looking for requests. can be aus, scenarios, or whatever! (atm i can write for atz, skz, bts, and itzy)

happy reading!! 

part one

the morning of november 12th is a dreary one. when you wake up, you have little to no motivation to go to work. it's a downcast, rainy day, and seoul looks as sad as it's probably capable of looking.

work is slow. you work on your current project, but writing today feels like this: you write out a sentence. then you delete it. and then you rewrite the exact same sentence. you do this for eight hours, and by the end of it, the air seems thick with your desire to leave. 

as you leave the building, a few coworkers try to spark conversation. 

“oh, y/n-ssi, you should come have soju with us later, we-”

“hey, y/n! do you want to-”

you don't let any of them finish. today had not been not your day. actually, when was the last time any day had been “your day?” you are exhausted, burnt out. you miss your family, who are busy living halfway across the world. you miss your father, long dead after a tragic accident when you were young. you miss the fleeting friendships of your childhood. you miss what it felt like to have someone greet you as you came home after a long day. you miss being loved.

as you begin your long walk home, a thought occurs to you. when had you last visited the bookshop? it had probably been a while since you’d seen mrs. seon… maybe you should stop by. after all, a trip to the 30 year old bookshop might brighten your mood.

twenty minutes later, you shuffle awkwardly through the front doors of “bookshop”, careful not to get your dripping shoes too close to the new releases. and yes, the store was called “bookshop”. in reality, the store had simply never been named, but everyone who visited it knew it as just the bookshop. you glance around, hoping to find mrs. seon, but she was nowhere in sight. that was alright though… more time to browse. you scrape the last bits of rain off your boots and wander towards the back of the store. this was your favorite part of the whole establishment, and that was saying something. the whole shop was filled to the brim with battered books- centuries old classics, modern literature, old journals of long dead men… and many of the books were not korean, but european or american. this was possibly the most diverse bookstore in seoul. you adore it. but the back of the store was especially amazing. this was where the seon family kept the american classics. authors like john steinbeck and f. scott fitzgerald lined the shelves, their colorful spines making a bold statement about the content within. most were old, beaten up copies, but many of them were in english- something you secretly love. 

letting loose a small smile, you run your fingertips along the book spines. suddenly, you see a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye. you whirl around, swiveling your body to your left. and in front of you, not even six feet away, is a boy. a...a beautiful boy. you feel your breath catch. holy shit, he was gorgeous. pale blond hair frames a sharp, tanned face- the boy has sleek, judging eyes, and higher-than-god-himself cheekbones. for a moment you just stare. you can’t help it. but the boy doesn't look up. you lower your eyes again, shifting your attention back to the books. honestly, you aren't sure why you’d reacted like that. he hadn’t said or done anything. and though he is attractive, you are relatively uninterested. this is a bookstore, after all. this is where people came when they didn’t want to talk to people.

a few minutes pass quietly, and you continue to browse the books. after finally deciding on a collector’s copy of steinbeck’s east of eden, you look up again. and there he is. looking right at you. as soon as your eyes connect with his, though, his shoot back down to the phone in his hand. you blink, wondering if he needs anything. 

another beat passes. he glances up again, and this time, you force him to hold your gaze, shooting him a small smile. you see his eyes widen slightly before you turn on your heel and head towards the front of the store.

by the time you reach the checkout counter, an employee is there to assist you. she smiles and makes small talk while bagging your new treasure, then sends you on your way. no longer thinking about the blond boy, you pull up your hood and leave to head home.

only a few minutes had passed since you’d left the store when it happens. you feel odd, like someone is watching you...at first you think you’re imagining things, but as you turn around, you are face to face with the boy from the bookstore. a small gasp escapes your lips. 

“oh,” is the first thing he says.

you take a step back. "oh-uh," you stumble to find the right words. "hello."

without a word, the boy straightens his stance and reaches towards you. instantly wary, you take another step back. but his arm stops short. resting in his slim hand is a small brown wallet. wait- your wallet. you hesitate, then begin to dig through your shoulder bag. sure enough, the wallet is absent. you look back up into his brown eyes, startled by the intensity of his gaze.

"you- you dropped this." he says quietly.

his voice also startles you. it has a low pitch, but is painfully soft. it reminds you of something, but you don't know what.

"oh, wow. thank you so much," you manage, reaching for the wallet. as you take it, his long fingers brush yours; the lightest touch. his hands are freezing.

"your hands are so cold!" you remark, surprising yourself. talking to strangers in the street. what have you become, y/n?

the young man's pride must have faltered, and his ears turn an endearing pink color.

"it's getting cold out, you really should wear some gloves or something."

he raises his eyebrows. "you aren't wearing any either."

 without missing a beat, you respond: "i run hot."

 a smile plays at his lips. "well then, i guess i'll wear gloves next time."

 up close, you notice he is even more beautiful than you had anticipated. he wears no visible makeup, and he has a big pink birthmark near one of his eyes. it's mesmerizing. by now, you've completely forgotten about your foul mood from earlier.

"by the way," he continues, still speaking quietly. "are you a regular at that shop?"

you pause. "i guess you could say so. i know the owners pretty well, too. mrs. seon is practically my mom here..." you chuckle.

he tilts his head. "what do you mean?"

"oh, it's just that my own family doesn't live here." you pause, and decide you need to elaborate. "i'm american."

his eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. "oh, are you? i wouldn't have known. your korean is amazing."

"well, it is my first language, so i'd hope so." you laugh a little. "but yeah, my family lives in america. i moved here when i was sixteen- i wanted to be an idol." you admit.

this seems to take him by surprise.

you continue without being prompted. "i was a trainee for a few years, but... it just.. it didn't work out. but when it was over, i realized i just couldn't force myself to leave korea. i love it too much."

he nods. "i think i know what you mean."

"so i'm just a student now. turns out i probably should have planned to go to school even if i had debuted... oops."

he nods again, his face remaining neutral and distant.

realizing how much you had just revealed, your body stiffens. "anyways. um, it was nice meeting you-" you pause. he hadn't told you his name.

"yeosang." he said, reading your mind. "my name is yeosang."

"oh. well, it was nice to meet you, yeosang, but i really should be going."

he hesitates, opening his mouth as if to say something. but he closes it and gives a small smile. "okay."

you give a small bow and turn to leave, but he catches you by the arm. "but wait, i want to know your name, too."

you glance back at him, into his eyes, which are shining with hardly hidden curiosity. "y/n." you say.

"y/n," he repeats, as if committing it to memory. "okay, now you can go."

and with that, the two of you parted, going back home to two very different lives.

edit: part two is up now. thank you for reading!!

[xfandomwritingsx]

His Girl – Steve Rogers – Part 2

-gif source-

Description: You’ve always been Bucky’s girl. But Bucky’s not here anymore…

Warnings/Labels: Angst. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. A bit of a Dom!Steve. A pinch of sexting. Masturbation. Smut. Minor choking kink. Unprotected Sex.

Approx. Word Count: 8,500

A/N: 10 months later here I am! Jesus, this wasn't supposed to take this long. Sorry guys!  

Part One

---

You’ve retreated to your apartment for the week, finding comfort in your cozy little place as your last assignment ended. You light a few of your favorite scented candles, fill the bath with water that is probably a little too hot, load it with bubble bath, and pour yourself your favorite drink in the fanciest glass you have. It’s a much needed and overdue relaxation. The hot water does wonders for the tension in your shoulders and the atmosphere you set puts you at peace.

You’ve been soaking for nearly twenty minutes when your phone pings annoyingly on the floor next to you. You toy with the idea of just flipping it off, but you still haven’t been able to shake that habit drilled into you that forces you to, at the very least, check your phone in case it’s an emergency.

Emergency, it is not, but seeing Steve’s name pop up in the little text notification bubble makes you smile with excitement. Texting is still not his favorite form of communication, but he partakes with you and you can never leave him without a response. You swipe to read his message.

Chicago’s settled for now. It’s funny how much it feels like “old times” around here.

Steve left for Chicago a couple of days ago. With most the city population dissolved into ash, criminal activity skyrocketed and two groups had been going the direction of starting war with each other. It was extremely reminiscent of the days of mobsters and mafia running cities which is what you assume he’s referring to. You type out a quick, light-hearted reply.

Think Al Capone would have survived the snap?

You let your arm hang over the edge of the tub, keeping your phone in your hand in anticipation of his next text. You have your drink in your other hand and take a sip from it. When your phone vibrates, you put the glass down onto the little floating drink holder bobbing in your lap.

Who knows. How’s your night going?

You type a couple of replies, deleting them all as they all seem too wordy, too much. He didn’t need to know your dinner was underwhelming or that the cheap dryer hadn’t dried your pajamas all the way. As you try again, you silently thank the creator of the PopSocket for all but completely removing your fear of dropping your phone in the tub.

Could be better. Finally relaxing now.

You don’t even close out of the text window or put your phone to sleep. You simply watch as the ellipses appear on your screen almost instantly as he types back to you.

What are you doing?

You chew on your lower lip, debating if you really want to act on the idea that runs through your head. You take a larger gulp of your drink before throwing away your hesitation. You sweep your arm over the surface of the water to gather all of the remaining bubbles to your chest in order to cover your breasts for the picture you snap a moment later.

Your damp hair is tied up at the back of your head in a mess of a bun, cheeks and collar pink from the heat, and no trace of makeup on your skin. You’ve also been soaking long enough that the bubbles have turned mostly to a thin foam on the surface of the water, barely concealing your body beneath it. The candle flames give a dark, suggestive aura to the photo and you can’t help but be pleased with how it turned out as you hit send with a brief caption.

What about you?

His reply is slower this time, the lack of ellipses making you wonder if he didn’t appreciate the photo as you hoped. When your phone turns black, changing into rest mode due to lack of activity, your heart starts beating a little faster and you start to worry it was a mistake. You have never exchanged pictures before, let alone one of you stark naked in a bath. It was pretty bold and despite what he’s implied about his feelings for you, maybe he didn’t like it.

When your phone lights up again, it notifies you that Steve has sent you a picture in return. You’re not really sure what you had expected, but this is not it. Before you can even convince yourself it’s going to be something completely innocent and bland, you’re already opening the message.

Steve is laying down on what is obviously a bed in a fairly fancy hotel room. One of the “perks” of The Snap; fancy things aren’t expensive anymore. He’s leaning partially on the headboard, propped up on big, fluffy white pillows. He’s got the smallest little smirk on his lips, his eyes on the camera lens and not the screen. One arm is thrown behind his head lazily, the other clearly raising his phone up as high as he can. And due to that little detail, you’re able to see clearly that he is not wearing a shirt. It’s accompanied by a short message.

Missing home… Missing you.

You breathe deeply and sink a little further into the water. You’ve seen Steve shirtless on a number of occasions, even touched his super-soldier-given perfect skin patching him up. This is different though. This is quiet and personal, intimate. This is a picture he snapped just for you to see and the angle he took it at, the effort put into making sure his phone was that high, it wasn’t by accident that his chest is on display.

You’re stuck for words, nothing coming to your blank mind, completely enthralled by his photo. You stare so long that your screen goes black again and you have to unlock your phone once more.

Wish I could have come with you.

After hitting send, you keep staring at that picture while wondering, hoping even, that he’s just as entranced by yours as you are his. You run your wet hand along your neck, the water still not cool enough to quench your flaming skin. You trail it down to your breastbone, palm resting at the very top of your breast.

You should have. Only had rooms with one bed available though. Consolidation and such.

You let your hand slide down and cup around your breast in full, giving it a small lift and squeeze. You clench your thighs together, trying to ease the steadily building excitement between them and type your reply.

Well now I really feel like I’m missing out.

Is he in sweatpants, you wonder. Shorts? Underwear? Nothing? That building desire is clearly not going anywhere. You finish the last of your drink in a hurry.

Bed’s small. Might have ended up on top of each other.

Well, hell. The man is going to drive you insane. Or cause you to spontaneously combust. The water doesn’t feel quite as warm as it did a few minutes ago. Your squeeze your legs together again and shift, jostling the water a little as you sink to a more comfortable position, hand resting on your lower stomach, daring and itching to sink down.

Good thing I like you on top of me.

God, what was it about texting that made you so bold? You try not to think about how mortified you’ll be tomorrow if this ends disastrously. His reply is just a little slower and you wonder if he’s trying to find a graceful way to abandon the conversation. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s readjusting himself, removing his pants or simply pushing them down far enough to get his dick out.

Oh yeah? Anything else in particular you like?

He’s giving you an out, letting you lead how far this conversation is going to go. You’re too far gone to stop though. Your legs open practically on their own and your hand glides through the water to cup your sex. The pressure of your palm on your clit and the image of Steve sprawled out on a hotel bed causing a small moan. It takes you a moment to gather yourself enough to respond.

I like when you pin me down, hands over head, and grind into me.

Your middle finger teases your entrance, easily remembering how it feels to have his large hands wrapped around your wrists, his hips on yours. So many times you wanted to just wrap your legs around him, lock your ankles at the lowest part of his back and keep him there.

Want to know what I like?

Your body is on edge, heart pounding at your chest. You can only manage to type out a single word.

Yes.

Your eyes drift shut, letting your finger run up and down your lips through the water. Your mind is filled with images of Steve, so many you can barely keep them straight. You want so badly to see him, to know if he’s as worked up as you are. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice the minute tick by, or that he’s typing back the whole time.

I like when you follow orders and when you try to be subtle when you stare. I like thinking about you on your knees. I like the way your whole body shuddered when I suggested you call me Daddy. I like that I can practically hear you moan my name when I pin you to a wall. I also like when you cook breakfast in those little blue shorts of yours. Think you could manage that for me the morning after? That’s assuming my babygirl can still move after a night with me.

Your mind is a melted mess as you read it. Your entire body feels like a tight coil with lust and your hips grind up into your palm as you slip your middle finger inside of you. You moan louder this time, images of the two of you bombarding your mind. Your thumb numbly types out a pleading text you pray isn’t pathetic in comparison.

Send me another picture. Please.

Waiting for his reply isn’t difficult. It comes quickly, but even if it didn’t, his previous text is enough to keep you running and satisfied for the whole night. Perhaps even longer.

Since you asked so nicely.

The words come through a few seconds before the picture. The room he’s in is dimly lit, but the photo itself is still clear enough for you to see what he’s showing you. He’d brought the camera up to his chest, taking a picture looking down his body. The thin, white hotel bedsheet is laid loosely on top of him, the edge of it lightly tickling his waist. The bulge tenting it up between his legs is obvious, but just in case it wasn’t, his hand is there; thumb pressing into the base of his cock, large hand at the juncture of his thigh, the rest of his fingers likely cradling his balls out of view.

You want so badly to peel that sheet away from him and see what’s underneath. You tap your thumb on the screen occasionally just to make sure your phone doesn’t turn black and take that image from your eyes. Your body is thrumming, your skin practically vibrating on you as your finger slides in and out of you, indulging in some of pleasure you’ve been trying to deny yourself for years.

Another text comes through from him.

Was that too far?

You realize now that you’ve failed to respond for a few minutes. He just sent you what you’re qualifying as a dick pic and he’d been met with silence. Instead of being worried you weren’t impressed by it, that old, gentlemanly Captain America peaks out and is worried he’d taken your little game too far. The four little words crack through the lust and give your heart the slightest pang. You type back quickly, eager to ease his concerns.

No! You’re good. I was just… admiring the view.

Good. I was worried maybe you had second thoughts.

The pleasure in you threatens to turn. When were you not having second thoughts about it all? But no! Not tonight. You refuse to let it sour everything. It’s been years. Years. You deserve some amount of pleasure, of release.

My only thoughts right now are about what’s under that sheet.

His response is quick.

Some things are better seen in person.

Your breath catches and your finger starts to move a little faster inside of you.

Is that an offer?

Absolutely.

You know he believes there’s a good chance this conversation will never see the light of day, that it will be some dirty little secret kept hidden away. You don’t want that though. The very idea of jumping into his arms and kissing him when you see him next has you squirming.

What are you going to do when I actually take you up on that offer?

You push the heel of your palm into your clit a little harder and grind your hips. You’ve moved your hand and phone outside the tub, no longer trusting yourself not to fumble it.

Maybe one day you’ll find out.

You moan, hoping with everything you have that Steve has his dick in his hand and is as much of a mess as you are.

Get your ass back home Cap.

You can almost hear his chuckle in your ear.

So needy babygirl.

You can feel your pleasure building, everything in you tense and wound up. You withdraw your finger so that you can make circles on your clit and try to bring yourself over the edge. Your thumb shakes as you type out a short response.

Need you.

Say the word and you have me.

He follows up almost instantly with another text.

In person though. Not now, not like this. Call me old school.

You ease the pressure off your clit enough for you to focus on typing on a coherent reply to him.

Then you might want to tell me goodnight or I’m going to take this too far.

You don’t actually want him to do it. You want to take it too far, to take that leap of faith and get a taste of what you’ve been craving, but you know you can’t right now. He doesn’t want some quick, technological affair that can be literally erased at any point and quite frankly, neither do you.

Goodnight, babygirl. Be home soon.

I can’t wait. Goodnight, Steve.

And with that, you drop your phone onto the bathroom tile and sink your hand into the water, fully succumbing to your own pleasure.

-

When the sunlight streams in the next morning, you’re expecting the guilt to come with it. It always does after a night thinking about Steve. It’s a crushing weight that sits right in your stomach and pulls down on your throat. It’s familiar by now, but no less unsettling.

You lie in bed, waiting for it to hit you, but the only thing you feel is a slight fear. You feel a tensing and a pressure, afraid that when you look at your phone, there will be a text from Steve that retracts everything. Sorry about last night. or We shouldn’t have said those things. Let’s forget it happened. Something like that.

The fear is an unwelcome intruder amongst your feelings. Self-hate and guilt you can handle, have handled for a long time, but fear is not something you want to deal with. So, you bite the bullet and roll over to snatch your phone off the night stand.

One unread text from Steve Rogers sent thirteen minutes ago.

You open your phone before you can convince yourself not to, before the fear sinks teeth into you and forces you to leave his message unread all day long.

Morning beautiful. Had a complication this morning and I am headed to a place with little cell service. I’ll also be home a little later than planned. Only a day or so I hope.

The fear lifts off of you and is replaced with a light, floaty feeling. While you’re disappointed that he won’t be coming back on time, the relief you have is much stronger. Maybe, just maybe this won’t end in disaster after all.

-

Steve ends up being home a week later than originally planned and you haven’t talked to him much during that time. When you did speak, it was professionally about his mission or another issue. Cell service around the county is much spottier than it was before The Snap which can make communication in certain areas more difficult.

You’re working out at The Haven when he returns. You’ve worked up a slight sweat and are pummeling a punching bag when he finds you. You don’t notice him at first since the doorway is behind you and he takes the moment to silently watch you.

“You shouldn’t let your form get sloppy,” he calls once you finish a sequence. The sound of his voice brings a smile to your face, but his words cause you to huff and roll your eyes before turning around.

“It’s just practice,” you chide, wiping your wrist over your brow. He’s leaning against the doorway casually, a duffel bag at his feet. He hadn’t even stopped at home first.

“Practice for the real thing. You lose it in practice, you’ll lose it in a fight.” You give him a sarcastic look to display your disbelief at his critique. It doesn’t faze him. “Fix your stance next time.”

“Yes, sir,” you mock as you begin to unwrap your hands and try to bite back your smile. It’s impossible though once his stoic mentor face breaks and his own smile appears on his lips. “How was your trip?” you ask, leaning down a bit to grab your water bottle. He sighs and considers his answer briefly.

“Long,” he says. “Long and annoying, but successful.” There’s a moment where your eyes connect with his and the air in the room gets heavy. “Glad to be home.” There’s a meaning beneath his words that reads loud and clear, but you force yourself to swallow it down. If you didn’t, you may just end up leaping into his arms right here in the gym.

“Glad to have you home, Cap.” You say it as jovially, as platonically as you can muster, which isn’t much. There’s still a little look in his eye, a deepness in the air, and you’ll be damned if you can’t break your gaze with him. You bring the bottle up and gulp down water, the tilt of the bottle forcing a disconnect in your eye contact.

“Nat has a conference call in twenty,” he says, voice slipping back into work mode. “Are you going?” You finish the rest of the water and breathe deeply.

“I probably should.” He reads the translation easily; you hadn’t intended on going.

“I’ve got to give a status report on my trip.” Translation; he has to go. “I’ll save you a seat.” You give him a short nod as he grabs his duffle bag and moves to exit. It’s not like you could ever say no to him anyways.

-

True to his word and unsurprising to you, Steve had in fact kept the seat next to him open. The only people in physically in the room are Steve, Natasha, Rhodey, and yourself so it could be simple coincidence that the chair is open, but you suspect it was more strategic than that. In your usual fashion, you’ve arrived just moments before the holographic conference call opens over the table, spilling a flickering blue light from overhead. Light particles float around like miniscule puzzle pieces before coming together to form the shapes of your friends, recreating them standing onto the large table.

You slip into your seat as Natasha greets everyone and Steve gives you a small smile that you return easily despite the way your heart is starting to hammer in your chest. It’s an odd feeling trying to be the same kind of friendly you’ve always been with him when you’ve both admitted attraction, when you’ve both exchanged racy photos. You scold yourself silently as your mind drifts back to the photo of him which you’d saved onto your phone. Now is not the time to let those thoughts wander freely.

Rocket calls your name and your attention snaps to the raccoon.

“We can’t see you. Scoot in next to Steve more.” There’s a humor in his voice that makes you fully believe he can see you just fine, but no one corrects him and they all wait for you. Natasha is biting the inside of her cheek and purposefully looking down at papers she is most certainly not reading. With a heavy breath, you scoot your chair closer to Steve’s side. “Little bit more,” Rocket teases and again, no one swoops in to say you’re in view yet. You bite your tongue and scoot ever closer, the armrests of the chairs nearly touching. “Just a little more.”

“If I move anymore, I’ll be in his damn lap,” you snap at him, annoyed by this play. He smiles and shrugs and is about to open his mouth when Natasha finally cuts in and starts the meeting. If that raccoon ever comes to Earth, you’re going to strangle him and ruin every betting pool he’s ever run.

Steve is nothing but professional as he gives his report. You hear the business in his voice, but fail to retain what he’s actually saying, all of your attention focused on the way his lips move and the way his tongue occasionally licks them. It’s not obvious, right? It’s common for people to watch someone’s mouth when they speak.

What might be more obvious is when your eyes finally drift from his mouth and travel down his neck. The muscle and tendons tighten just under the thin skin of his throat as he talks, especially when he’s annoyed with whatever he’s talking about. Your eyes keep slipping down. Down to the biceps left mostly uncovered by his short sleeve shirt. Down the veins in his forearms. Down to his hips and his thighs, to the seam of his jeans between his legs that you can only see because of your close proximity.

He’s stopped talking you realize. You’re not sure exactly when he did that, but you quickly snap your eyes back up to his face. You hope to seem casual about it and perhaps no one would have noticed your little daze you slipped into. The subtle smirk on Steve’s face makes it clear he’s caught you though.

You duck your chin and clear your throat as if that’s going to stop the embarrassed heat from spreading up your neck to your face. You refocus your attention on your holographic teammates, try to murder Rocket with your eyes, but you can feel Steve continuing to watch you. It’s nearly impossible to hear what the team is bickering about with the heat in your face spreading up to your ears and your mind entirely unable to keep a straight train of thought.

You cast your glance his way, knowing you won’t be able to concentrate until you get him to stop staring. The smirk remains on his lips and his eyes lock with yours, full of amusement and intrigue and something a little darker, a little heavier behind his irises. A nervous and unconscious lick of your lips guides his eyes down and his mouth parts slightly.

Then he’s turning his head to look at your teammates and speak to them as though he’s been fully involved in whatever conversation they’ve been having. The man could multitask when he wanted to. You’ll give him that.

“If they’re having trouble with their crops,” he says, all too cheerfully. “I know someone who can help.” He reaches over the very short distance between you and him to pat your thigh. “Our resident gardener here can probably lend a few tips.” It takes every ounce of you not to choke on your tongue and to respond in an acceptable fashion.

“Yeah,” you say with minimal stumbling and another clearing of your throat. “Give them my contact info if they don’t have it.” You’re impressed with how steady you manage to make it sound and just hope they hadn’t been talking about someone you knew very well because if they were, your response would sound silly. Thankfully, there’s no odd looks or questions and the conversation continues on without you. Which is very good. Because your heart is starting to catch in your ribcage as you notice that Steve hasn’t removed his hand from your thigh.

He’s not doing anything, just resting his hand there, fingers close to your knee, thumb grazing the outside of your leg. His hand is large and you can feel the warmth of his palm sink through the fabric of your leggings. You should have changed after your workout. Jeans wouldn’t have allowed him to feel so close to your skin.

He’s not looking at you anymore, his eyes following the conversation professionally and staying a silent participant in the meeting. You try to do the same, but your eyes never seem to focus on anyone, instead staring off into blank space. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything and even if they had, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t hear them through the blood rushing in your ears.

Steve moves his hand and years of stealth training falls out the window as you flinch at the movement. Not only that, but you flinch towards the motion, going so far as to reach your hand out to his and while that gesture could be construed as something negative, your body had zero intentions of pushing him away, wanting rather to pull him closer. Thankfully, you manage to stop yourself from actually getting to him.

His hand turns and he brushes his knuckles along the outside of your thigh, slowly gliding up and then back down. The shiver that shoots up your spine doesn’t quench the heat still steadily building up from your core. His touch is gentle and tentative, waiting of any sign of possible rejection from you. None comes of course. You’re so far past rejecting him. In fact, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t let him feel you up right here mid-conference.

And just like that, you’re imagining his knuckles sliding all the way up your thigh to the juncture of your hip. He’d flatten his palm against the very top of your thigh again and twist his hand down so his fingers can gently tease you through your leggings.

Biting your lip, you push those thoughts from your mind. His knuckles are still slowly stroking your thigh. You’ve stopped trying to focus on the meeting and sink a little more fully into your chair. Taking a deep breath, you take his hand in yours, taking a little bit of pride in the way he suddenly stills in surprise. It lasts for only a moment before his fingers wrap around yours and you’re left holding each other’s hands on your thigh.

“Anyone else have anything else they want to bring up?” Natasha’s voice breaks through to you and pulls Steve’s attention.

“I think we’re all good,” he says confidently, pretty much ending any conversation from continuing. There’s a gentle squeeze on your hand and it’s so soft that your breath gets caught in your chest. The way he slips from making dirty smirks to delicate touch amazes you.

Before you know it, the holograms have disintegrated and Natasha is all but escorting Rhodey out of the room, leaving you alone with Steve, still holding your hand. He leans back into his chair, fully relaxing and smiles at you.

“I still owe you ice cream,” he says, giving your hand another small squeeze.

“That… is true.” The awkwardness of your reply makes you both let out breathy laughs. You’d never been awkward before and in recognizing it, it breaks some of the strange tension in your body. This is still Steve. Nerves and excitement were bound to happen, but awkwardness just feels silly. “You offering to make it up to me?” That sounded better.

“I don’t have any plans tonight.” He says it as an offer and instantly your mind starts going over your apartment. Is your laundry done? How clean is it? Do you have food in the fridge? Beer? When did you shave your legs last? He can see the questions rolling around in your head, watches the wheels turn behind your eyes. “I’m actually pretty free all week,” he amends, giving you an out.

“Tonight would be great.” You think maybe you say it too quickly, but he just smiles at you warmly. He stands, taking your hand up with him for a moment. Then he bends and brings your hand to his lips and kiss your knuckles softly.

“I’ll see you tonight.” There’s a flutter in your stomach and you hold your breath for longer than you realize, only letting it out after your hand has fallen from his and he’s sending you a wink over his shoulder before he walks out of the door.

-

You spend the rest of your day cleaning your apartment. It’s not a disaster and it’s not like Steve hasn’t seen it a mess before, but tonight is different. You can feel it in everything from the way your hands shake to how you push the cheap beer to the back of the fridge. You also pull a dress from the back of your closet and hold it against yourself for far too long before deciding that would just be too much. You don’t have to try so hard, not with Steve.

You’ve managed to calm your nerves enough that by the time he knocks on the door, your hands aren’t shaking. When you swing the door open, he holds up a plastic grocery bag with at least five pints of ice cream inside and flashes you a smile. It’s such a genuine, unapologetically bright smile that it makes you feel like you had been missing it somehow. The corners of your mouth pull back in a reflective smile that threatens to make your cheeks hurt.

“Think this will be enough?” he jokes, motioning to the bag.

“I don’t know,” you tease back, tilting your head to examine it. “I mean, I’m clearly going to eat all of that myself so what are you going to eat?” You can tell by the way he hesitates and bites the inside of his cheek that he’s pushing down a dirty response. “Come on in,” you say, stepping aside and saving him from the internal debate of voicing his thoughts.

You had been concerned all day about how the evening would go. Were you supposed to just jump right into his arms when he walked in? Did he want to talk about this first? Would anything even actually happen tonight? More than anything, you expected awkwardness; small laughs and bites of your lip and both of you trying not to make eye contact.

And yet... that awkwardness never comes. As soon as Steve is in your door, things feel fairly normal between you two. If anything, there’s just an added energy to the air, a weight to your flirtations.

As you both unload the bag onto your kitchen table, Steve acts as though he’s forgotten your favorite flavor of ice cream. He does it every year and tonight, he has it behind his back. You can’t see it, but the way his arm is twisted behind him and how he's slowly putting himself closer to the kitchen wall, you can tell that’s where it is when you notice it’s not on the table and the bag is empty.

“You know... It was on the top shelf and I meant to get an employee to help me, but by the time I got finished, I completely forgot.” He spins the ridiculous story terribly, unable to stop the amused smile that breaks out on his face. You advance on him, nodding along and pursing your face. “Real sorry about that.” He’s got his back as close to the wall as he can with the pint of ice cream behind him and it only takes a moment for you to get close.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Then what’s behind your back?”

“Oh that?” he feigns innocently. “Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure.”

You hum again and find yourself nearly pressed against his front, mere inches between your chests. Slowly, you reach around him with one hand. His body larger and arms longer than you, force you to lean in to reach. Pressing against him, you almost feel his breath hitch in his chest. Your eyes flicker away from his and you can feel the chill of the ice cream as your fingers get close.

You don’t see his eyes darken and when he grabs your wrist, shifting the pint to one hand and using the other to pull yours away, it startles you. It gives him enough leverage to spin you around and push you to the wall, lifting your hand above your head and pinning your wrist there. You gasp softly and look up at him with parted lips. Steve smiles down at you and leans in stopping just short of pressing himself into you.

And then in a moment, he’s gone, leaving you with your hand still over your head while your mind catches up. He puts the pint down with the rest and goes to get spoons from your drawer. Your body tingling and craving more, you can tell tonight will be interesting.

It became clear pretty quickly that there would be no jumping right into each other’s arms and there would be no talking about it. Instead, you shot each other charged looks and flirtatious innuendos and got physically into each other’s space as much as possible. It left you wanting more, wishing desperately, without a shadow of guilt, that Steve would just throw you up against any surface he could find. And then you realized he wasn’t going to. Even this hardened, dirty New Steve was a gentleman and he was very clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table when you finally crack. The table is small and round. The chairs aren’t directly across from each other, but rather next to each other and you’ve each turned them to face one another, the table more on your sides than in front of you now. It makes it easy for Steve to lean forward towards you.

“You’re a mess,” he says, reaching to swipe his thumb along the corner of your mouth and scoop away some of the melted ice cream on your face. You react before you can even think about it.

You turn your face and capture his thumb between your lips. You both pause, the gesture unexpected. The weight of his thumb resting on your tongue spurs something inside of you and as you watch Steve’s eyes glaze over, turning from surprise to lust, you run your tongue over him and suck lightly. Steve leans his body in and his fingers cradle your jaw, encouraging you.

He watches you closely, coming to the edge of his seat and tilting your jaw upwards just a little bit. It’s a firm gesture, one that shows you that even though he’s letting you lead, he’s still in charge and damn if that doesn’t make you suck a little harder on his thumb to please him. You squeeze your knees together as he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The sweetness of the ice cream is well gone, replaced by the slight salt of his skin and you only wish there was more to take from him.

He drags his thumb back out, letting it drag your lower lip down as you release it. Your breath is heavy and you can feel a wetness between your legs already starting. You want to glance down between Steve’s legs, to see if he’s got a similar problem, but he holds your eyes so firmly you have no choice but to focus on his face.

“That was a good girl,” he praises. He makes you want to just drop onto your knees right there, but he’s coming forward instead. Pushing off his chair and slipping that hand back along your jaw to your neck, he pulls you up with him until you’re standing in front of him. Your hands come to his waist, just to have something to steady yourself with. He grabs the base of your skull and tilts your head up to look at him. “You have to say it,” he tells you, voice a lot softer than his eyes. His other hand brushes through your hair. “You have to tell me you want it.” You swallow thickly before whispering back to him.

“I want you, Steve.”

His mouth crashes down to yours. There’s no softness or hesitancy. The kiss is rough, rushed, and hot. Steve pulls you flush against him, one hand still holding the back of your neck and the other running down your back. Now having your permission, he takes what he wants. He opens your mouth under his and pushes his tongue inside. There’s no fight for dominance. You’re entirely compliant and willing under him. He turns you sharply, pulling his mouth from yours for a moment and bending you back so that he can sweep the table clean. Pints of ice cream, spoons, your mail, everything clatters to the floor.

“A mess for you to bend over and clear later,” he tells you hoarsely. Any thought of being irritated at the melted ice cream on your floor vanishes. He moves his hands to your waist, but doesn’t lift you up like you expect. Instead, his fingers dip into the waistband of both your pants and underwear. “We’ve moved slowly for too long,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. No sooner than he heard the word did he drop away from you, down to his knees, and drag your clothes down to your ankles. You let out a low moan, your weight shifting back and leaning into your table. “Steve...”

He wastes no time. Asks no more questions. He slips off your shoes quickly and once he’s rid you of your pants entirely, he grabs behind one of your knees and hikes your leg up and open, giving him full access to your hot, wet pussy. He doesn’t even give you the chance to beg him. He comes forward and licks only a single stripe up your lips before delving his tongue deeper.

Your body tries to gasp and moan at the same time and instead a strangled sound barely rises from your throat. Your body tenses and you throw one hand into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. He places your leg over his shoulder and tilts his chin up to take your clit between his lips and suck. Somewhere in the back recesses of your mind, you wonder where in the world Captain America learned to eat pussy like this, but then his tongue is working again and your mind blanks.

“Fuck,” you whisper harshly, followed by a moan. The hand not tangled in his hair grips the edge of the table, trying to keep your balance. He gives another hard suck on your clit and pulls away just slightly.

“You taste so good, babygirl.” He leans forward and licks at you one last time. “But I’m an impatient man.” He carefully removes your leg from your shoulder, a hand on your hip to make sure you get both feet on the ground and balanced before he stands back up. He starts unbuckling his belt and your dry mouth waters. You push off the table, start to sink to your knees when he stops you, hand on your chin, and keeps you standing. “So eager,” he coos, still using his other hand to undo his pants. “I like that.” He brings your mouth to his and kisses you deeply, letting you taste your own juices on his tongue. “But if you put that pretty mouth anywhere near my dick, I’m going to cum,” he admits harshly. The brashness in his voice sends electricity down your spine. The very idea of Steve’s cock in your mouth, cumming down your throat with his hands in your hair makes you quiver. You reach out, fingertips tickling at the open waistband of his pants.

“Please?” you ask, as sweet as your voice will manage. You swallow and steel yourself to be brave. You’re already naked from the waist down. Steve’s face is glistening with your juices. Now isn’t the time to be shy. “Please, daddy?” The hand at your jaw slips down around your neck ever so gently as he chuckles.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warns, unable to resist pressing another kiss to your mouth. “I'll use that pretty throat another day,” he promises, giving just a whisper of a squeeze around the column of your neck before removing his hand and continuing to free himself from his pants. “Turn around,” he tells you. “Bend over the table.” You listen to his commands without question.

Before, you’d always thought Steve would be vanilla; straight up missionary in bed with the lights off kind of a guy. After The Snap, after he hardened up and caught your attention, after he admitted to his very own Daddy kink, you knew he had a little spice in him, but you still hadn’t expected this. You get lost in his dominance. Turn into a wet, writing mess at his touch. God, you wish you hadn’t waited so long for this.

“Last chance to run, babygirl,” he says, bringing you back from your thoughts. You wish you could see his cock, could feel it, but the excitement of not knowing as he rubbed the budging tip against your wet slip, made you crave it all the more. You look back over your shoulder at him and wait for his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve... Fuck me.” It’s less of a plea and more of a demand of your own. He smirks down at you and presses one hand into your lower back, pushing your belly to the table. When he slides in, you drop your face down and moan. He goes slow, his entire length slowly pushing inside of you, stretching you, filling you. “Fuck,” you moan into the table. Steve represses a groan as he pulls out just a little and then pushes back in, fitting his entire cock in you.

There’s only a brief moment of stillness where you both revel in the feeling. Then Steve is moving, slowly pulling out then pushing forward. His pace increases, his thrusts get harder. Soon, you’re a panting, moaning mess on your kitchen table as Steve glides one hand up your back and tangles in your hair.

“You feel so good,” he groans out, voice barely above a whisper as though it’s hard for him to speak at all. “Touch yourself,” he says. “Touch yourself for me.” You lift off the table just enough to sneak your hand beneath you and play with your clit. You can feel his cock thrusting so close to your hand and you can’t help but reach just a little further and let your fingers touch it. Steve shudders and his thrusts stutter for just a moment before he gets it together. “Such a good girl,” he praises.

“Wanted this for so long,” you mumble, cheek pressed to the table and eyes closed, grinding your palm into your clit while you try to circle your fingers around his thick cock.

“Ever since Tony’s last Christmas party,” he admits. “That fucking blue dress.” He groans, recalling how you looked. “Wanted to bend you over the table right there in the middle of room.” He slows his thrusts, getting too close to his end with your fingers teasing him and your tight pussy wrapped around him. It gives you enough clarity in your head to think back. Christmas party?

“That was...” you breathe out loud. Before The Snap. Steve leans himself over your back, shallowing his thrusts and pulling the hair from your neck so he can kiss and lick at your skin.

“Yeah,” he groans, bringing his lips up to your ear. “Not like I could tell anyone I wanted to fuck my best friend’s girl.” Your breath hitches and your hand stills for a moment, but the low, long moan that escapes you involuntarily only encourages him.

He’d wanted you for that long? Years. While Bucky was still alive. While you hadn’t even given Steve a second look. How many nights did he spend locked away in his room thinking about you? Had he touched himself wishing it was you? How hard did he get imagining being inside of you just like he is right now?

“Steve,” you moan, reaching back with your other hand to feel for his hip, to hold onto him. Suddenly, you crave to give him everything. He’d waited so many years for you. You want to give him everything he wanted. You circle your fingers around him again. “I want you to cum in me.” His motions stop and he breathes heavily near your ear.

“Are you sure?” he asks, old fashioned concern in his voice. You hadn’t exactly discussed birth control or expectations or wants, but the way his cock twitches inside of you says everything. You take your hand off his hip and push up on the table enough to twist your head to kiss him.

“Please, daddy,” you try the line again. His hand snakes around to your front, cradling the very bottom of your neck by your collarbone and pulls you up, arching your back and taking some of his weight off of you. “Fill me up,” you beg.

“That what you want?” The concern in his voice is replaced with confidence as he starts moving again. “You want me to cum inside of you?” You barely manage to nod as he starts thrusting harder. You dig your palm into your clit, chasing your own release as much as his. “That’s right, babygirl.” You’re moaning hard now as he fucks you and you can feel his dick swell against your walls. “Oh, fuck,” his hips sputter again and with one more grind of your palm, you feel your own orgasm wash over you.

“Fill me,” you moan through the waves, clenching tight around his dick. “Make me yours.” Steve’s hand tightens around your neck briefly as he cums, pulling your body against him as he buries himself as deep as he can and spills inside of you. A mess of moans and sharp gasps, shuddering bodies and slickness, you both start to come down from your high, hands falling away from each other and breath shaky.

Steve recovers first, kissing gently at your neck before helping to lower you to the table. Your muscles feel wobbly and skin hot, sweaty. You’re spent and used and sticky and utterly satisfied. When Steve slowly pulls out of you, you feel fluid drip down your thighs and you clench down as if you can keep him inside of you.

“I can...” He pauses, still catching his breath. “Help you with the mess,” he says, motioning to the floor. You start to straighten yourself out, fighting your own body as your vision goes a little fuzzy, your blood still not back up to your head where it should be. You let out an airy laugh at his sudden concern to be gentlemanly again.

“Should probably clean ourselves first,” you joke lightly. He laughs and dips his head.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You worry he’s going to get awkward now, that the spark will vanish as quick as it lit the fire. Then he smiles when he looks at you and pulls you in for a kiss softer than any other he’d given you. It’s slow and gentle, melting any worry away from you. “Ladies first.”

After you’ve both washed yourselves up and made quick work of the melted ice cream, you move to the couch. You sit across from each other, each of sitting back against an armrest, feet and legs intertwined in the middle. Steve is staring at you softly and it causes a blush to rise up on your neck.

“So...” you sigh. “The Christmas party?” He bites his lower lip and grimaces a little bit.

“Yeah. I didn’t actually intend on ever telling you that,” he admits sheepishly and for a moment you see the Old Steve show up. It’s endearing and cute and makes you smile all the more.

“I honestly had no clue,” you tell him through a small laugh.

“I got pretty good at hiding the blushing after a while,” he says. “And you were happy. I wasn’t going to mess that up for either of you.” The tone humbles and you crawl over to seat yourself between his legs, back to his chest, and wrap his arms around yourself.

“So, tell me,” you say coyly. “Did I live up to the years of dirty fantasies?” He chuckles and puts his face into your neck.

“Better than I could have ever imagined,” he mumbles into your skin. “And what about you?” he asks, tightening his grip around you and settling you into his arms.

“Never even dreamed the good ol’ Captain America had such an intense side,” you tell him, humming and dropping your head to his shoulder contently.

“I took it easy on you,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

You giggle and push back on his chest with your back as a playful shove. He chuckles again and eases up, settling into just holding onto you and enjoying the moment.

The happiness you feel is long overdue. It feels good. It finally feels right. You turn and give Steve a slow, lazy kiss and smile at him, unable to stop yourself. Your thoughts float back to your final words before his orgasm. Make me yours. It’s what set him off; the idea of you being fully and completely his.

What he didn’t realize is that you’d been his girl for a long while now. This just made it official.

~~~

A/N #2: So... keeping in mind it took me ten fucking months to write a part two... what would you all think about a sequel that is a "choose your own ending" in which you get to be conflicted over and ultimately choose if you stay with Steve or get back with Bucky after The Blip? Anyone interested?

Tumblr has been a bitch getting my work out to people so I ask that you like, comment, and reblog. Of course, if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

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@inukako​ / @misshale21​

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Tteokkboki

A/n: This goes from super fluffy and cute to REAL smutty halfway through, but this is a little commission for @sweetwritertanya​ because she’s an angel.

Summary: Jungkook falls for a waitress at a tteokkboki restaurant, and she isn’t sure if they’re just friends or not.

Warnings: fluff and just a whole lotta smut, chubby!reader, virgin!Jungkook, girl on top, vaginal fingering, some mention of male masturbation, Jungkook just really wants to love reader and all her curves, protected sex

Word Count: 3413

Namjoon mentions it first, how Jungkook is suddenly all focus, quiet all the time, holing up in his room. 

"What's going on with you?" He asks, after the third time in a row Jungkook barely picks at his food.

Jungkook shrugs. “Nothing.”

He keeps saying nothing even when Namjoon asks again because he isn't quite sure how to say he thinks he might be lovesick and he barely knows your name.

You work at a tteokbokki restaurant near his gym, and the first time he saw you he almost choked to death.

It was so simple, just the curve of your upper arm in his peripheral vision. Your skin looked so soft and it drew his eyes up to your face before he even knew it.

You smiled almost immediately and he feels his cheeks burn as he tries not to choke on his water.

Hoseok orders as if nothing's amiss, and then gives Jungkook a curious look when he clears his throat and mumbles an order.

"You okay, Kook?"

Jungkook can only nod fervently, keeping his eyes trained on the table and drawing in a sharp breath when your hand brushes his when you take the menus.

That'd been it, he'd barely spoken to you, going to eat tteokbokki so often he was sick of it. He learned your name from the receipts he got, traced his fingers over it, practicing the syllables out loud as if he'd ever get the courage to introduce himself.

Jungkook can't rightly say he'd developed a type, after all it isn't as if he has a whole wealth of experience to choose from, just a couple stolen kisses in high school at the lockers.

But now?

He seeks out pictures of girls with your body type, can't ever find anyone with exactly your curves, how soft your skin looks, the thickness of your thighs in slacks.

He can't help himself from looking up nudes, scrolling down to obscure her face, his skin hot, hand scrabbling at his fly as he sits at his laptop.

He'd be ashamed if he didn't daydream just as often of just your hand in his, fingers curling into his palm, your easy smile, head tilted up, how he'd kiss the tip of your chin, the corner of your mouth.

Jungkook asks the hostess politely if he can sit in your section, every time, and every time he has grand plans to tell you his name, maybe even be so bold as to write his number under the big tip he always leaves on the credit card receipt.

All he ever manages is a mumbled order, drumming his fingers on the table and shredding the paper of his straw. 

It's you who speaks first, as he's signing the receipt and gnawing on his bottom lip, wondering if he should at least draw a smiley face, and he startles so much his pen jerks onto the table, leaving a stray mark.

"You don't have to leave so much!" You protest.

"I-I...I really like...the service here," he sputters, and your bright smile doesn't much help the flush of his cheeks.

"Jungkook, right?"

He just started at you for a long moment with surely an idiotic, dreamy expression on his face, unable to fight his smile.

"It's on your receipts. You're my only regular customer," you say quickly, and scrunch your nose in a way that is so cute his chest aches. "I don't think I'm very good at this."

"No," Jungkook breathes, unable to stand the slight frown on your face. "You're so good. The best, actually. The best waitress ever."

You giggle, a sound that makes him wonder if he's dreaming, and glance around to see the restaurant is almost empty before you sit down across from him.

Jungkook swallows hard, palms on the table because he doesn't know what to do with his hands.

"You're sweet," you say, smiling a little, looking away as if you're the one who's shy, and he can't bear it, can't stop himself from reaching out to touch your hand hesitantly.

"I mean it," he insists. 

You give him a smile that makes his heart nearly stop, but then the bell over the door rings and you're up and heading to busy yourself before he can say another word.

Jungkook feels emboldened by the conversation, scribbles something on the receipt before he can change his mind and bolts, leaving the restaurant before you come back over. 

He's halfway home before he realizes he's left his coat on the back of his chair, it takes that long before he feels the cold.

Jungkook goes to his room and rolls around on the bed, imagines you scoffing at his message, a scrawled "I think you're beautiful" with a stupid badly drawn heart and his phone number.

He throws his phone on the floor and buries his face in his pillow, certain you'd be absolutely disgusted, after all it was your job to be nice to him and surely guys hit on you all the time and what had he been thinking?

It's an hour later when his phone chimes and he falls off the bed with a thud to get to it.

😳 Thank you. Where should we meet up? You left your coat.

Jungkook whoops so loudly that Taehyung opens the door, peeks his head in to raise a thick brow at Jungkook lying on the floor and grinning at his phone.

Jungkook throws a pillow at him and Taehyung laughs and leaves him be.

It takes a full half hour before he can text you back, typing text after text before deleting them and settling on: The park near the restaurant? When is your shift over?

When you text back: Now, all the breath leaves his lungs in a rush.

He scrambles up, goes to the mirror and runs his hands through his hair, looks down at his wrinkled t-shirt and sweats and groans.

It would look too desperate and eager to change his clothes, wouldn't it?

When he picks up his phone he accidentally calls you and he wants to die when you pick up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Oh, fuck," he mumbles, and brings the phone to his ear.

"Jungkook?"

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I shouldn't curse I...um...can you meet me at the park entrance in half an hour?"

"Sure thing." He hears the smile in your voice and it calms the hammering of his heartbeat.

"Um, okay. Thank you."

He hangs up. Thank you? What the fuck was that? How was he supposed to meet up with you outside of work when he can barely make words on a phone call?

Flustered, he all but runs out of the house despite Namjoon's protests that he needs a coat and he's freezing by the time he reaches the park.

He's fifteen minutes early and he sees you right away, sitting on a bench with your palms on the thick thighs he's been dreaming about, wearing a beanie and a scarf, cheeks rosy from the cold when you look up at him.

"H-hello." He manages, and you make a distressed sound in the back of your throat, bounding up and putting on his coat like he's a child.

You're rubbing your hands up and down his arms, so close he could lean down and kiss the top of your head and suddenly he isn't cold anymore.

You tsk. "Your teeth are chattering! Did you walk here?"

"I'm sorry," he says dumbly, struck by how near you are, how he's been daydreaming of this moment for weeks.

"Let's get coffee. Warm you up, yeah?"

You loop your arm through his and his head feels light when you tug him across the street to a nearby cafe.

Jungkook manages to fumble out his wallet when you order for yourself and him, paying despite your protests.

He's been hoping for this for so long but now that you're sitting next to him on the couch at the back of the cafe, your knee touching his, he can't think.

"Are you warmer now?" You ask, watching him sip his coffee, and he nods.

It's another moment before you speak again and your words make him take a bigger gulp than he'd intended, burning the roof of his mouth.

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

He nods again, more fiercely, but the way you're not looking at him directly, just from the corner of your eye makes him realize he needs words.

"I think you're so beautiful," he blurts earnestly, and you still don't look at him but the corner of your mouth turns up just a bit.

"You're my only regular. I figured maybe you just were so shy you didn't want to deal with a new server every time. Guys that look like you do don't...they don't like girls like me. Not like that, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Jungkook sits his coffee down on the table, pivots toward you, ignoring the thrill up his spine when his thigh touches yours.

"You obviously work out. I don't, much." 

You seem to curl in on yourself, making yourself smaller, and he frowns.

"So? I'm sure we have lots of other stuff in common…"

You look up at him and blink at him, and then laugh a little at his confused expression. 

"You're really not poking fun at me?"

"Wh-what? No! Never. I'm not... I don't really go on dates or talk to girls... women…"

He trails off miserably when you smile wider, face on fire, but you take his hand in yours, curling your fingers into his palm just like he'd imagined, and he loses his breath.

It's a few weeks before he gets to show you just how beautiful you are to him, and he can barely believe it's happening.

You're in his room, lying on your stomach on his bed and he's sitting on the floor, rifling through the vinyl albums he collected to show you when you say something that makes his hands still.

"Are we just friends?"

Jungkook hums nervously in the back of his throat but he can't find his voice, something tightening his chest.

"Kook?" You call when he doesn't answer, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

"Do...do you want to be just friends?" He asks, softly, and when you don't answer right away he turns and you're sitting up on the bed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I asked you," you insist, your mouth set in a hard line.

Jungkook swallows, opens his mouth, closes it again.

"We've been...hanging out now for what? A month?"

"Six weeks," he blurts, and flushes a bit.

You huff out a breath. "Six weeks. You never let me pay for dinner and you let me hold your hand...but you...you haven't kissed me and I just need to know if we're just friends or…" 

Jungkook's heart is thudding against his breastplate and he gets up on his knees in front of you.

"I don't...I don't want to be your friend."

Your expression doesn't change, but something flashes in your eyes. "No?"

Jungkook shakes his head. "I want to be more than friends," he confesses. "I want to…" He takes a deep breath, gingerly places his hands on your thighs, inwardly groans at how badly he wants to squeeze.

"You want to kiss me?" You ask softly, and put a hand in his hair, leaning forward just a bit, and Jungkook can't help the moan that comes from his throat.

His head is spinning like he'd been drinking wine all night even though he hadn't had a drop and when you lean in he surges up, nose bumping against yours a bit before he finds your mouth, and he doesn't bother with chaste, slips his tongue into your mouth hungrily and his right hand squeezes the soft flesh of your thigh almost involuntarily.

You make a low noise into his mouth and before he knows what he's doing he's climbing onto the bed, encouraged by your fingers gripped tight in his hair.

You're so soft, everywhere, all these curves instead of hard lines and he wants his hands all over you but he can't stop squeezing your inner thigh and when your legs part and you arch up off the bed a bit, he feels like all the blood leaves his head and he breaks from your mouth, panting just a bit.

"Y/n, I-I-" he stutters, but then you palm the front of his jeans and he forgets what he was going to say entirely.

"You want me, yeah?"

He looks down at your face, almost in wonder at your flushed cheeks, your glassy eyes, and nods, groaning and bucking against your hand.

"Want you so bad," he breathes, and you lean up to kiss him again and he can't think anymore, just following the ache in his belly and his cock.

Jungkook kisses your neck, right at your pulse, soft at first and then when you gasp, harder, sticking out his tongue to taste your skin.

"Do you have...do you have protection?" You ask in a husky voice and Jungkook thanks God for Jung Hoseok forcing a handful of condoms on to him, Taehyung and Jimin every break despite Jungkook's flushed cheeks and protests.

He leans up, almost mourning having to take his hands off you, and rummages around in his nightstand and finding a few to throw on the bed.

Jungkook wonders if he should tell you that he's never gotten past second base but you're shimmying out of your jeans and God, there's so much skin he wants to touch and kiss. As soon as you shuck them off his mouth attaches to the skin of your inner thigh and he sucks hard until you cry out and when he lifts his head the red mark he's left there makes him dizzy.

You're wearing these pale blue panties and they're almost transparent. He can't take his eyes off the crotch of them and when you tilt your hips up he moans against your thigh, places his palm against your sex and he can feel such heat against his palm that he chokes out your name.

You lean up, sliding your hand between your bodies to grab his cock through his jeans and fuck, he can't think when you do that, feels like if you rubbed even a bit he'd cum in his pants like a teenager so he takes your hand, pins your wrists above your head with one hand so that he can keep touching you with the other.

He slides his hand down the waistband of your panties and you're so slick, bucking against his fingers and moaning his name and he has no idea how he will last if he gets his cock inside you.

You make a sound almost like a whimper and his eyes dart to your face. You've got your eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, and when your tongue darts out to wet your lips he wonders briefly what you'd look like with those lips wrapped around his cock.

"Kookie, please, I'm gonna-"

He watches your face, knows he's dragging his thumb along your clit by the way you cry out, and curious, he slips a finger inside you and you instantly clench around it.

"F-fuck. Fuck, Y/n, I want…"

Your eyes pop open and you lick your lips again, arching your back and he sees your nipples hard and straining against your shirt and he groans. Just when he thinks it's too much, just when he thinks there can't be more of you that's so sexy he can barely contain himself, he notices something else.

"Tell me what you want," you say in that husky tone and his face is burning but so what, so was the rest of him.

"Want you to ride my cock," he blurts, hoping that if you controlled the speed and depth he'd last longer, keep from embarrassing himself.

"Yes," you breathe, but when he releases your wrists and tugs off his shirt to lie down, you hesitate after slipping out of your panties, tugging your shirt down, sitting up on your knees.

"Are you okay? We can stop, I-"

You shake your head, eyes trailing over him. "I'm just... I'm nervous. You're in such good shape and I'm-'

Jungkook sits up, cups your face in his hands.

"You're beautiful," he insists. "You're so sexy, Y/n, I've been trying not to cum in my jeans for half an hour."

He would normally be mortified but your smile makes up for all of it and you kiss him hungry and sloppy and he doesn't protest when you keep on your shirt but he wants to see your tits so badly.

"W-wait," he stutters when you unbutton his fly, his head feels fuzzy and he wants this to last. He pulls you into his lap, tries to ignore how hot your core is even through his jeans.

He kisses along the neckline of your top before lifting his head, meeting your eyes before he touches your breasts.

You smile and nod and he clumsily tugs your breasts out of the top of your shirt and bra, leaning down to kiss the peaks of each of your nipples gently.

"There," he says softly, and lies back on the bed, adjusting his hips under you and holding his breath when you unbutton his jeans, deftly tug his cock out and he's embarrassed by how much precum spurts from his tip, coating your fingertips.

But then you bring your fingers to your mouth, suck them gently and he groans and tries not to buck beneath you.

"You're trying to kill me," he gasps, and your laugh makes him feel almost drunk.

You look around for the condoms and he fumbles with one, gets it open and fights the urge to fist his leaking cock when he slides it on.

Jungkook is nervous when you straddle his thighs but you don't tease, just guide his cock inside you and he can't stop the hoarse moan that rips from his throat.

"Oh God, oh fuck, Y/n, you're perfect, so fucking perfect," he babbles, and you rock forward, brace your hands on the headboard.

You're so tight around him, pulsing and so wet he can't stop himself from grabbing onto your hips and jerking up beneath you.

You cry out his name and do this smooth roll of your hips that makes him bite down hard on his lip and throw his head back.

You move your hands to his chest, panting a little, your eyes concerned.

"Am I...am I doing okay?"

Jungkook barks out a choked laugh.

"Okay? You're so fucking hot, Y/n, I can barely look at you."

You take his chin in your hand and his eyes open. You keep rolling your hips and he can barely breathe, watching your tits bounce and he moves his hands there, loves the way your nipples drag against his palms.

You let out a long whining moan and start to almost bounce on his cock and he feels his balls tighten.

"Y/n," he warns, but you've got your head thrown back now, moving as if you're on a mission. 

"Jungkook, I'm… I'm cumming," you moan low in your throat and he can feel it, fuck, he can feel you pulse around him and he thinks his heart might vault out of his chest.

"Oh God, oh God, Y/n!" He nearly shouts, spurting into the condom, hips bucking uncontrollably. His orgasm seems to last forever and he moans your name over and over, drags your head down to kiss you until black spots slide across his vision.

He gasps in air when you break apart but he whines when you slide off him and you giggle a little and the way your ass jiggles when you head to the bathroom is such a gift.

He's thrown the condom away and tugged the covers up when you return and he makes grabby hands at you, sleepy.

You slide in beside him and he puts a hand on your ass and wonder of wonders if he's half hard again in moments.

But you tuck your face into his neck, plant a chaste kiss there and he rubs your back instead, loving your breath on his throat.

"Are we more than friends now?" He mumbles, and your low laugh puts him to sleep with a smile on his face.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Secrets I Have Held In My Heart

A/N: Modern!AU, Soulmate!AU, Soul Mark!AU, Angst, OT3.

This is quite honestly one of the longest things I’ve ever done in one sitting. I am exhausted. My prose and tenses are probably everywhere and I am so sorry for it. Enjoy x

(Edit 20/1/2021) It has recently come to my attention that lies and slander have been spread about my character amongst persons in this OT3 community. They are malicious lies made with the intent to cast a shadow over my credibility and my good standing in this community. I only ask that you come talk to me first before you believe the horrible things that have been levelled about me.

Please take care of yourselves x

--

Booker smiles placidly when he catches Joe's eye from across the room and let's the pretenses drop the moment he ducks out into hallway, finding a spot of quiet from all the music and chatter of celebration in the living room. He really should be happy but as it is with heartbreaks, happiness is something you can only fake until it feels real.

He opens the door when the doorbell rings and kisses the cheeks of the latecomers in greeting. They awkwardly avoid his eye with shifty smiles as they shuffle past him. Booker doesn't blame them. It's an awkward fucking situation all around.

Joe's warm and happy laughter carries through the air, and Booker just feels his heart twist in his chest. The sight of his head of curls bobbing along in the joy of whatever joke one of their friends was making while his arm was slung intimately low around Nicky's waist was unbearable. Booker has enough self-respect in him to recognise it as jealousy.

He has been in love with his best friend for almost as long as he has known him. It had been ridiculously easy for them; Joe had no soul marks and neither had Booker, so it was the most natural thing to move in together after they'd both hit 33 and when Booker decided to offer his fine art restorer skills up to go freelance, they make plans to spend the rest of their lives together. It made sense and they were happy. Booker had had no intentions of ever letting Joe know how he had truly felt and that was the mistake.

It isn't that he dislikes Nicky. 

The man was beyond perfect and Booker could have never hoped to compare. From the briefest of familiarities, he knows that Nicky was a former theology student who left the seminary and is now deep in his work with a local NGO, well on his way to maybe working for the UN some day. He volunteers at a local shelter, helps at his church's soup kitchen, is handsome and funny, is a fucking Saint personified and looks great next to Joe when Booker looks like a twice drowned rat on his best day. It isn't that he hates the man. It's just that, well, Nicky isn't him.

Booker knew something had changed then. Joe had never looked at him the way he had when his and Nicky's eyes first met. And he knows Joe like he knows his own mind and there won't be any one as trusting or as kind. If he tells him he loves him, Joe would stay and he'd be Booker's, but that's not how love works and so he waits until the day they're both on the sofa watching a game and Joe turns to him to say, "Nicky's my soulmate."

Just like that. And because he could never hurt Joe, he smiles, nodding. "I figured he was. Congratulations man. That's amazing!"

There had been an indescribable look that crossed Joe's face when he said that but he hadn't lingered on it for too long. Joe's soul mark was on his left forearm set in stark, bold lines; a scimitar and a longsword threaded together with roses and thorns. Pretty cool and Booker made sure to tell him so.

That had been three months ago. Three months of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the inevitable moment when Joe says he's gonna move out and into Nicky's unit. For the second it hits his best friend that there really wasn't a place for someone like him in this equation. Two months of sitting around until he wraps up his current contract with the museum in the city and the curator takes him aside to ask him if he would be interested in working for a private collector in Turkey. Two years to work on a team of freelancers. Two years on the other side of the continent. Booker said yes with no hesitation.

"Hey, you good?"

Booker knocks his bottle of beer to Copley's. He is one of the newer persons to join their friend group but it feels like they've know each other for a very long time. His warm smile anchors Booker to the here and now and he is stupidly grateful for his presence. The man was steadfast and calm, and it made sense to Booker that he'd be the only one he told about his leaving. "Yeah. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

He'd snuck a duffle bag of his things out to Copley's house the day before and then two suitcases when Joe was over at Nicky's last night. Right before the party to celebrate Joe's birthday, he had brought his carry on out to Copley's car. His name was still on the lease and he has left instructions to help pay for his part of the rent until the end of the year if Joe would like to continue staying here. Copley will help ship the rest of his things after a month. All that's left to do is leave.

Joe had been looking forward to introducing Nicky to his family and friends, and this party was perfect for it. Booker feels bereft at the thought that this could be the last time he sees him in a long while and he cranes his neck to spy him in the center of the room, accepting a kiss from Nicky as the birthday cake is brought out from the kitchen. He holds that image of Joe, smiling from ear to ear and hopes he won't hate him too much for leaving without saying goodbye.

"Let's go."

--

His Turkish is passable at best but he gets by well enough. The rest of the restoration team were up and coming names mixed with pioneers in the field and despite the lingering heart ache, Booker finds himself pleasantly settled and happy with the work he gets to do. Everyone seems to be equally as excited as he is to be working on their employer's personal collection of paintings and sculptures, in addition to the rare books that Booker has never seen outside of museums and archives.

It's good work and it keeps him busy. It stops him from thinking about Joe too much.

Booker had found thirteen missed calls and twenty texts and ten voicemails when he lands. He hesitates only for a moment before deleting everything that wasn't from Copley or his work.

As if sensing he was being summoned by thought, his phone rings as he basks in the afternoon sunshine whilst reading a book on his off day, Copley's name flashes on his screen.

"You still alive, then?"

"Alive and kicking," Copley says over the line with a laugh. "I swear, Joe is going to eviscerate me one of these days."

Booker shakes his head, marking his page and setting his book aside. The sunlight feels good on his skin and he takes a deep lungful of air. "He won't. He's way too nice."

"You didn't see him glare when I packed the last of your things into the boxes. They're shipped, by the way. Should reach you in a week tops."

"Thanks. I owe you big time."

"Oh, you owe me more than big time. When I come over to visit, I want you pulling out all the stops for me. I want the five star experience, Mr Booker. No expense spared," Copley chuckles.

"Alright, alright," Booker laughs. "I'm sure I can rustle something up. Just let me know when, alright?"

Copley hums and they fall into a comfortable pause. "How are you? Really. Don't lie."

He tightens his grip on his phone, swallowing tightly. "I miss him every day but that's not new. I think I'll keep missing him for a while yet."

"That's normal. I'm not surprised. I think he misses you too, you know?"

"He has Nicky now. He doesn't need me. I'm... I'm just his best friend with a stupid crush that had made plans to spend the rest of my life with him. I don't fit in it any more and he deserves more than I could ever give him," He swallow tightly, licking his lips. "Copley, he'll be okay."

"But will you?"

Booker doesn't have an answer to that. When his things arrive a week and a half later, he accepts it and begins to unpack his books. He's grateful to have his familiar favourites and is eager to fill his shelves when he spots the edges of an envelope peeking out of a battered copy of Neruda. It was a letter and it was addressed to him, though the handwriting is unfamiliar to him.

Dear Sebastien, it starts and this clues him in that this person isn't someone who knows him well. No one outside of his employers and colleagues call him Sebastien.

I hope you don't mind. I'll be slipping this along with the books. I really do hope it finds you well. I don't have your number and judging by the way Joe seems to not receive a reply from you, you might have changed it. I would ask it from Copley but I do not know him well enough and you deserve someone you can speak to without any awkwardness. I write this letter because I want to know you better. It occurred to me that we have never exchanged more than a handful of words whenever we meet and it was always about Joe. I found myself curious about you even if it feels like I know you from all that Joe talks about you. He still talks about you. Even if it is in confusion as to why you left us. I don't write to judge you. I just want to be your friend. If you are amenable, please send your reply to me care of the address on the back of this paper. I hope that you do. I won't tell Joe if you don't want me to.

Sincerely, Nicky.

Booker flips the paper and sees that it's for the church he'd half-remembered being the one that Joe had mentioned off-handedly once. He rereads the words, thrown by the whole thing. He tucks it into his pocket, pushing it to the back of his mind as he focuses on unpacking his life. But the shape of it digs against his skin and he cannot help unfolding it every few minutes to read it all over again.

Each word was carefully pressed and written with intent. He finds his thumb brushing over the looping Joe, but it is the careful He still talks about you that decides things for him.

Scratching his chest absently, he tears out an empty page from his notebook as writes, If we're going to be friends, you'd better call me Booker.

--

The seasons change and his correspondence with Nicky grows from a weekly letter to every few days, to Booker posting a letter only to receive a reply for the one he sent two days ago when he arrives back in his flat. Booker takes to sending a box of baklava over an overnight service and Nicky sends him a handwritten recipe for his Nonna's tomato soup when Booker off-handedly mentions a sniffle.

Eventually it gets easier to talk about Joe and Booker tells Nicky on what he likes and what he doesn't, how to best care for him; he's allergic to a certain brand of detergent, he always forgets his scarf in the depths of winter so always stuff one in his coat pocket, he loves it when you caress his hair, he doesn't support any team in football but he loves watching a game and he always chooses the team that starts on the right side of the pitch, ask his mother for her recipe for lamb stew and make that for him when he's having a busy week.

Nicky never seems to be bothered by him telling him all these things and in turn, Booker learns that Nicky cannot function before his first cup of coffee, that he misses the quiet of his life in the seminary but he is glad he can do more as he is, that he has a few kids that he works with that he is hoping will get into gifted programmes that can help them excel in academia, that if he hadn't done the almost priest route, he would have been a doctor or a medic.

It was ridiculously effortless to be friends with Nicky and he finds himself actually looking forward to his letters and random bits and bobs in the mail. Sometimes Nicky sends Booker Joe’s sketches and he keeps them up on his bedside, keeping them in sight as he falls asleep at night. Other times there’s a picture or two, taken by Nicky, of Joe. Joe on the corner of the sofa, curled up and dozing, Joe eyes crinkling as he laughs at something. Joe with those ridiculous sunglasses they bought on a whim over a very wet Welsh afternoon.

As the first chill of the season sets in, Booker asks about Joe.

He's fine. Missing you. We're heading to his family's beach house. He said you both used to go together?

Booker finds that he can smile a little easier when the memories come or when it is brought up that Joe misses him. It still tastes a little bittersweet but he can be happy about how he had the chance to experience these things with Joe. Even if he hadn't been the one to keep having them. 

Yes. He writes, But you both can do this together now. Make sure you pack extra blankets for yourself. I'm sure you know that he hogs them.

Nicky replies with a box of Marks and Spencer Welsh Cakes which Booker thanks with an assortment of Turkish Delights. 

Their correspondence slows as the weather cools further. Copley, when he tells him about what’s happening over Skype, merely asks him if it i a good idea to be even putting himself in the same sphere as Joe and Nicky when he had moved across the continent just to get away from the heartbreak. 

“I don’t see how it couldn’t be,” Booker says over the sizzling of the butter as he makes the cheese toasties that Joe used to love for breakfasts. He scratches at his chest, eyes watching the way the cheese oozes off its side.

“Mate, I don’t think you’re far removed enough to actually know how catastrophic this could be.”

“O ye, of little faith,” Booker huffs, flipping the toastie. “At some point I would like to be able to exist in the same city as him without melting into a puddle of heartbreak. If being friends with his soulmate helps get me there, I’m all for it.”

“You are a masochist, Mr Booker.”

Booker laughs even as he burns his finger on the pan.

He works harder than ever, learning and improving his own techniques under the tutelage of his colleagues and can appreciate the opportunity. There's already talks of him going to New York after the New Year's to accompany some of the artifacts that are being lent out for display. Booker is climbing the stairs up to his building, head down, free hand rubbing at his chest and reading through the latest methods of restoration on his phone when he bumps into a person rushing down. 

“Oh, sorry--”

“Booker.”

Joe’s eyes are big and wide when their gazes meet. Booker blinks, breathes in deep before looking behind him to see Nicky watching them from his landing, exhaling shakily as he whispers, deep and with feeling, “What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

--

Nicky nurses his cup of tea from his lean against the window and deftly avoids the inquiring glare Booker keeps sending his way from the safety of the kitchen. Joe, on the other hand, is carefully prowling the space of his studio flat he has made home, obviously cataloguing the way his books sit on the shelf and the way he has kept the space marginally clean-ish, how there are pictures and sketches tacked to the wall behind the dining table, the clear signs of a life he has built here.

“Let me get this straight, you picked up Nicky’s mail from the church, saw my handwriting, and decided to come all the way to Turkey. Just to see me,” Booker says, gesturing at their backpacks leaning against his door. “Again, let me ask, why?”

“Why?” Joe laughs, throat clicking when the sound comes out rough and raw. “You ask me why I would fly out to Turkey in the middle of the holiday season just to see my best friend who left me without telling me he got a job in Turkey and was going to leave without even so much as a goodbye, and you are asking me why I would come all the way out here just to chase you down? Are you perhaps short of a marble!”

“And what was I supposed to do! Linger around you when I was dying every single time I looked at you and knew I wasn’t your soulmate? We were going to spend our lives together, Joe! I loved you!”

Booker slaps his hand over his mouth and turns away, focusing on his breathing. “You love me?” Joe says softly in the stillness of the flat.

“I did. I do and I’m sorry,” He sighs, feeling his chest shake with his trembling breath. He presses the heel of his hand to his sternum. “I do. And it’s okay, Joe. I know you don’t love me in that way. It’s okay. I just need some time away to figure out how to love you like you need me to.”

“And what do you know about what I need from you?”

Booker feels Joe come close and allows himself to be turned around to be face to face with him. “Do you know I love you too?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back a hand. “I’m your best friend.”

Nicky choose this moment to speak. “Booker, look at him and listen. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you in our letters. “

There’s an insistence in Nicky’s gaze that galvanises Booker to turn to Joe and meet his eyes head on. “I love you, Book. I always did. I still do. Even after the bullshit you’ve put me through.”

“But Nicky--” “Nicky’s my soulmate and I love him too.” Joe smiles, eyes gone liquor soft when Nicky returns his fond look. “But I’ve loved you for the longest time, Book. I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The itch on his chest starts to burn.

“And you’re alright with this?” Booker breathlessly asks Nicky, taking a step back. “This- This whole Love, Actually thing is a situation you’re okay with?”

“Yes,” Nicky says, standing to cross the distance between them. Joe reaches for him then, tenderly touching him by the elbow while Nicky slides a hand to his cheeks and Booker feels immediately overwhelmed. He parts his mouth to speak when he doubles over dropping to his knees when the fire spreading over the skin on his chest sends him to his knees gasping for air. 

Joe keeps a hold on him while Nicky looks him over with clear worry. “Fuck!” Booker groans, trying to arch away. Clawing at his shirt, he tears at it until the buttons plink on the floor as they fall. For a moment, he does not register the dark lines that spread over his sternum. Running shaking fingers over his raw skin, Booker barely holds back the awed gasp at the scimitar and longsword twined together with thorns and roses. 

“Well,” Nicky laughs softly, cupping him by the side of the head, sweeping him into a gentle kiss. In that second that their lips touch, Booker feels his heartbeat skip a notch. “I guess this answers things, doesn’t it?”

-- Epilogue --

“That’s the last of the boxes.”

Joe kicks the door shut behind him, dropping the bags in his hands to the floor, ignoring the evil eye sent his way by Nicky who had warned them against scuffing up the hardwood floors. Booker throws himself onto the sofa with a sigh and Joe, grinning like a maniac, does a running start before launching himself onto Booker. 

“Oof!” And then after a beat and a wiggle. “Joe, you’re suffocating me and I can feel your dick against my ass.”

They’ve finally moved into their first home together. It had taken a bit more effort after Turkey to keep their fledgling relationship going but all’s well, ends well and Booker is back with them after finishing up his contract with glowing recommendations and growing his contact list. Joe was ridiculously proud and he knows Nicky feels the same too. 

They’ll need to work hard over the next two days to spruce the place up in time for their housewarming. Their friends and families will be here and Joe cannot wait to show off his loves. Wrapping his arms around Nicky and pulling him along back to the sofa where Booker is, he basks in the happy warmth of feeling whole with his heart in one piece.

[mrsluttystark]

Repeat After Me Part 2

Part 1 

You guys have no idea how much it meant to me that part 1 was so well received. Thank you from the bottom of my little starker heart! 

Tags: nff, age difference, former teacher/student, mention of daddy kink, mention of choking

Word count: 3.1k

Read below the cut

Peter wakes up five minutes before his alarm, like he always does.  He absolutely hates the shrill screech of it.  His bed creaks and groans as he sits up and swings his legs over the side.  Suddenly, the springs that had previously been holding him up collapse under him, making him yelp in surprise.  Peter made a mental note that maybe it was time for a new bed, he’d been holding on to the rickety twin mattress he had all his childhood since it was the only thing he had left from May’s.

He usually went into the lab on Saturdays, even though he was supposed to be off during the weekend.  It’s not like he has plans or anything, but he guesses he could shift his schedule around a little to go mattress shopping.

His arm darts out like clockwork and taps his screen to turn the alarm off before his phone could utter the first mind melting ring. Peter runs a hand through his hair to brush some stray curls out of his face and stretches before getting out of bed to do his morning routine.

It’s not until Peter sits down at his two-seater dining table with a bowl of captain crunch berries, two pieces of toast, and a cup of earl gray tea, does he finally check his phone.  

The spoon is barely out of his mouth when he sees the notifications.  Eyes wide, he chokes on the cereal trying to force its half chewed self down his throat.  He can taste the oat milk is his nose and it is not good. 

Mr. Stark accepted his friend request and messaged him?  Peter looked around his apartment, skeptical.  Was he dreaming? Was this one of those life-like dreams where he gets ready for the day then wakes up and has to do it all over again?  He looked down at his arm, should he pinch himself? No, Peter, that’s stupid.

He shook his head and looked at his phone again, opening the Messenger app.

Hey, Kid.

Shit, he was toast.  Collecting himself, Peter took a deep breath to prepare himself for a conversation with his former high school teacher (that he may or may not want to fuck him senseless and cuddle afterward). He racked his brain thinking about how to approach this.  Should he be bold? 

Hi, Daddy. Please cum down my throat? Yeah...that might be too bold.

Hello, Mr. Stark.  I humbly thank you for accepting my friend request.  Ugh, too weird.

He’s overthinking it, he knows. Peter types out and deletes maybe five more messages before he finally settles on:

09:10 am 

Hi, Mr. Stark.  It’s Peter.

09:11 am

Parker.

Peter threw his phone down on the table and put his head in his hands, bowl of cereal soggy and forgotten. He made a face at it and pushed the bowl away, pulling his toast closer.  He took bites of a slice distractedly and washed it down with some tea.  He’d regret not eating a proper breakfast later, but right now his appetite was replaced with a turning feeling that he couldn’t quite place.  His phone vibrates on the table, startling him from his thoughts.

From Tony Stark 09:22 am

Yeah, Peter.  I did read your name on your profile.

09:23 am

Right. Sorry.

From Tony Stark 09:23 am

Don’t worry about it, Kid. Just pokin’ fun.

09:24 am

(sweating emoji)

Thanks for accepting my friend request btw, Mr. Stark.

From Tony Stark 09:26 am

No big deal, thanks for the request, it’s been a while.

And Tony is fine, you’re not my student anymore, Pete.

09:26 am

Yeah, okay. Tony. I can do that

So you remember me?

From Tony Stark 09:27 am

I remember all my students

09:27 am

Really???

From Tony Stark 09:28 am

No, not really lol

But I do remember you, you were a lot skinnier back then.

09:30 am

(eye roll emoji) And you were a lot younger 

From Tony Stark 09:31 am

Ouch, that was uncalled for

09:32 am

You asked for it

So what have you been up to?

From Tony Stark 09:34 am

I’m a mechanical engineer now, quit teaching a few years ago. What about you?

09:35 am

That’s awesome! You were way too smart to be a teacher.

I’m a research chemist

From Tony Stark 09:38 am

Thanks, kid.

That’s about where I’d thought you’d end up, as smart as you are.

09:40 am

Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Stark

Tony*

Sorry.

From Tony Stark 09:40 am

Everywhere?

09:41 am

Everywhere.

From Tony Stark 09:50 am

Say, Pete. I don’t actually have a habit of checking this app and I’m about to head out of the house for the day.  I’d like to continue this conversation, so here’s my number if you wanna text me [hidden contact information].

No pressure of course.

From Tony Stark 09:53 am

Peter?

New Message

To: Tony

You know who I am.

From: Tony

Had me there for a second kid. 

I’m about to drive, I’ll text you in a bit.

Peter put his phone down for the first time in almost an hour, eyes straining to refocus after staring at his screen intensely for so long.  His heart was pounding in his chest and his cheeks were starting to ache from smiling.  Had that really happened? Peter brought a hand up to rub at his jaw, still in a daze.  He was finding it very hard to believe that this wasn’t some elaborate dream because there is absolutely no way that this could’ve happened in real life.  Talk about a glitch in the simulation.

He really got Tony Stark’s phone number, and he didn’t even have to ask for it!

Peter scoffed in disbelief, no fucking way! He opened the Facebook app again and went to Tony’s profile.  Turns out there wasn’t much else on it, he had a total of 3 profile pictures and less than 100 friends, none of which were other students and only a few midtown teachers.  So, he either was a very private person or he didn’t use Facebook at all.  And if it was the latter (or both for that matter), why did he accept Peter’s friend request in the first place?

Peter decided not to think about it right now.

He went to his profile pictures and glanced at the current one he already studied last night.  The previous one was just the Guns N’ Roses album cover for Appetite for Destruction.  Classic Rock fan, noted.  His first profile picture, though, was an absolute masterpiece.  Tony looked to be on a beach somewhere, his hair was wet and messy from the clear blue salt water.  Peter wanted to run his tongue over every inch of the olive toned skin exposed to the sun.  His smile was radiant, framed by neatly trimmed facial hair, with thick, dark eyebrows peeking over his sunglasses.  Swung low on his hips right below a toned stomach were hot rod red swim shorts that stopped in the middle of his thigh, showing off his tan legs dusted with dark hair.

Peter tried not to look, he really did, but he could not stop his eyes from landing on the older man’s crotch.  And he was not disappointed.  There, curving onto his thigh, was a long, thick unmistakable dick print.  Peter’s mouth watered at the sight as his own cock stirred with interest.

Fuck. He wondered how big he really was in person.  How far he could take it down his throat.  He wanted to know how it would feel to be stretched and filled by Tony’s cock.

Scooting his chair back abruptly, Peter shot up off of it.  His hard-on tenting almost painfully in his pajama pants and it was starting to create a wet spot.  Mattress shopping can wait, Peter needed to cum, like, yesterday.

He rushes to his room and yanks the drawer of his night stand open, revealing a wooden box.  Peter unlatches the box and grabs a bottle of lube and his veiny lifelike vibrating dildo with a suction cup right behind the silicone balls from his small collection.  This one was by far his favorite, it’s eight inches long and he loved feeling the veins and the girth of it filling him up. 

Peter lays a towel down on his bed and climbs to the middle, carefully avoiding the new dent in the mattress. He bunches up the pillows behind his back so he’s laying at an incline, then starts rubbing himself over his pajama pants while he uncaps the lube and squeezes some onto his fingertips. Clumsily, he pulls and shimmies his pants down his hips with his left hand, breath hitching when his heated erection makes contact with the cool air in his apartment.  It lands with a light smack against his abs and Peter tugs his shirt up and under his chin.  Kicking his pants off his bed, Peter spreads his legs.  He can feel his hole puckering in anticipation of being used.

His left hand begins lightly skimming his torso, feeling his abs contract under his finger tips.  Bringing them higher, he rubs across his chest, pinching his nipples softly.  Peter rubs the lube between his thumb and forefinger to warm it up, then starts rubbing the tight ring of muscle in circles, making his cock jump.

Once he’s coated, he sinks a finger in slowly to coax himself open.  His left hand continues caressing his body, skirting across the area right above his cock.  Peter lets out a plethora of whines and pants, eyes screwed shut at the feeling.  The image of Tony’s face urging him to take another finger.

He knows Tony’s fingers would be thicker, stretching him wider than Peter ever could with his own.  The younger man hoped his former teacher would be able to handle him the way he wanted.  Peter imagined large, strong hands encircling his throat while the other gripped hard on his hips while he took him.

Three of his fingers are buried deep in himself before he even touches his neglected, leaking cock.  His left hand comes to collect the precum pooling at the head and dribbling down his shaft, allowing his hand to glide along his hot skin. He strokes himself lazily as he pulls his fingers out and reaches for the dildo.  Uncapping the lube again he slicks up the silicone and brings it to his open, waiting hole. 

Pulling his left hand off of his cock, Peter grabs one of the pillows and stuffs it under the small of his back.

He imagines Tony looking down at him with dark, analytical eyes, watching Peters every movement.  The rise and fall of his chest, his heaving breaths.  The way Peter keens when he’s stretched like he longs for the sting of it.  Would he fuck into him slowly or would he seath himself in one smooth, quick stroke?

Peter chooses the latter.

He cries out as he pushes the dildo balls deep into his ass without pause.  The pain from the stretch mixes deliciously with pleasure.  Sweat beading on his forehead has Peter’s curls sticking wetly to his skin.  His entire body is covered in a thin sheen of it.

The young man turns onto his left side, dildo still deep inside him.  Peter reaches around his back with his right hand and grips the bottom of the suction cup.  He sighs, easing the dildo out slowly before pressing the button at the base of the shaft to turn on the vibration and ramming it into himself once more.

Tony would be taking him from behind, a long arm encircling Peter’s body, hand coming to grip him at the base of his neck, right above his collarbone so that he could pull the younger man down and onto his thick cock while he fucks up into him.  

Peter continued to fuck himself roughly with the dildo while he thought of Tony’s hard body doing it to him instead.  He’d whisper dirty things in Peter’s ear while he fucked him.  Tell him that he’s such a good little slut for his teacher.  Peter whined at the thought, he’d love it if Tony let him call him Mr. Stark in bed.

He starts stroking his cock faster, feeling his orgasm build in the pit of his stomach.  His right arm is starting to get tired from fucking the dildo into his ass for so long, he’s gotta cum soon.

Peter’s eyes fly open when he hears his phone vibrate through the thrumming in his ears.  It’s a text from Tony.

How’s my favorite student? Miss me?

That does it.  Peter’s entire body jolts as he cums all over his hand and the towel he laid on the bed, a high whine caught in his throat. 

He’s still trying to catch his breath a few minutes later, after he eases the dildo out and places it on the towel.  He wipes his hand off on it as well before he grabs his phone.  He definitely needs a shower now. Then he’ll go to the mall.

To: Tony

Don’t flatter yourself

To: Tony

Maybe a little

-

Tony can’t help but smile at his phone, he might have been a little too eager with the message, typing it up as soon as he put his car in park.  The easy banter going on between him and Peter was refreshing.  Tony couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuinely excited to talk to someone, let alone text.

As the conversation kept flowing while Tony picked up his dry cleaning, he could only deduce that it was because they were nearly equal on an intellectual level.  It may have helped that Peter was easy on the eyes as well.

They talked about their projects at work and the research behind it, what it was like at Columbia for Peter, and how MIT had been to Tony.  The older man made a mental note to ask where Peter worked at a later date, maybe he could recruit him.  He learned that Peter’s favorite colors were blue and red.  That he hated horror movies but watched them anyway just to spite himself.  He loved rom-coms and (surprise, surprise) sci-fi movies.  He couldn’t cook to save his life, Tony assured him he could give him lessons if he wanted, he could make a mean Chicken Piccata.

Tony couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it at all.  The conversation was innocent and Tony was a flirt by nature, Pepper never had a problem with it.  If anything, this thing with Peter was just a budding friendship.  The universe knows Tony needed someone to talk to.

Around noon, Tony’s stomach started to grumble, not surprising considering the hearty breakfast of black coffee he had this morning.  Peter mentioned earlier that he’d been craving Gyros, and that didn’t sound half bad right about now.  He was a few blocks away from the mall anyway.

From: Peter

Here’s a contact picture, in case you needed one...

[see attachment]

The picture Peter sent was absolutely adorable.  His bangs fell over his forehead, slightly parted to the side so it wasn’t completely covered.  Tony felt utterly entranced by the younger man’s smile and the way his left eyebrow looked like he’d slept with his face buried in a pillow.  He was wearing a T-Shirt with a science pun on it, as if the kid couldn’t be any dorkier.  Tony loved it.

To: Peter

Is that a sly way of getting me to send you a selfie back?

Cute shirt by the way, where ya headed?

From: Peter

Maybe...did it work?

I’m going shopping for a new mattress, old one crapped out on me.

To: Peter

Here, since you asked so nicely

[see attachment]

From: Peter

Oof, you can just delete mine.  You just made me go from a solid 6 to like a 2

To: Peter

Hey, give yourself some credit, you’re definitely at least a 5

KIDDING, I’d rate you a solid 9, kid. Just because there’s always room for improvement

From Peter:

I would just like to know who gave you the right to be so sassy and RUDE

To: Peter

Definitely my narcissistic ego

No, but seriously Pete, you’re stunning.  Don’t listen to the old guy

From: Peter

Pls you’re not that old, Tony.

To: Peter

A man after my own heart.  Thanks, kid.

From: Peter

Anytime :-)

You’re more like my friend’s hot dad if anything

To: Peter

Little shit.

From Peter:

;-)

Tony shook his head fondly and stuffed his phone in his pocket as he entered the mall, looking around for something indicating what direction the food court was in.  He hadn’t been to this mall in a while, he admits since he’s been making more money it’s kept him from coming and eating the fast food they had here.  So he followed the signs until he got to the food court, and noticed there were still quite a few tables open for him to sit and eat at.  He made a point to stay as far away from the family with three screaming children as possible.

He scanned the choices until he found somewhere that had gyros and went to go stand in line.  The menu wasn’t too extensive, he could either get a gyro platter or a falafel platter, and he already knew what he was here for.  His eyes fell from the menu to the person in front of him.  Not to be a creep, he’s only human, but he had a fantastic ass.  A perfect little bubble butt.

The man was a little shorter than him, he had a trim waist that opened up to broad shoulders not bigger than Tony’s.  Incredible figure.  He’s probably a dancer or a marathon runner.  He also noticed this man had brown curls.  That made him snort softly to himself, he either had a type or Peter just invaded his mind in a short amount of time.  It could be either, honestly.

His eyes dropped to the phrase printed on the back of his shirt.

Never trust an atom, they make up everything

Ha.  Peter would love that shirt.

Wait.

Peter has that shirt.  It’s the one he was wearing in his selfie.

“Peter?”

The man in front of him whirled around to look at him with a puzzled expression.  Tony suddenly found himself unable to move or say another word.  He was instantly captivated by doe eyes and one of the prettiest faces he’d seen in a long time.

He watched his confusion turn into realization and then disbelief and dare he say: panic.

“Tony?”

@sweetqueen449, @slut-for-starker, @dim-ships-johnlock, @starkerhowlter, @sthefystarkersworld, @crazycocococonut, @bris-sins, @delicateavenuenacho, @ironspiderstarker, @katzenbaby1, @spider-iron-man, @rebel13lion39, @twokinkybeans, @frenchfrostpudding, @cherrygoldlove, @silkystarkk, @icandoakickflip, @irondaddio, @briesb1tch

creds to @problemchildnoonewanted for some of the messages in the beginning

[shinjaeha]

itsay ep 5 (thoughts + spoilers)

i feel like i’m on a high that i’ll never come down from :))) the itsay effect. this show is truly a cultural reset.

first up, i just want to say that i have never been more worried about a final ep before IN MY LIFE. for the past couple eps, i’ve tried to watch them live raw, but for this one, i was afraid of spoilers (and wanted to understand everything from the first watch), so i waited for the vimeo ep to drop and let me tell you...that was both the longest and shortest wait ever...the excitement and the dread i’ve been feeling this whole week has been unreal.

as usual, this is not an analysis. tbh there’s prob going to be even less analysing in this one bc most of the time i was either crying or yelling at my screen (and i feel like this ep in general didn’t have as many scenes to analyse?). but god, i’m SO GLAD that they gave us a happy ending bc it would have broken me into pieces if i had to rewatch and recap this knowing everything had fallen apart for them (ecstatic that wasn’t the case, and my feelings from last ep on how things might go in this one actually panned out!!). after what went down in ep 4, i always thought that that was going to be the peak of the climax/conflict, and that this one was going to be much more of a healing ep...the ep that would bring more closure to each of the characters and their relationships, as well as wrap things up as a final ep should.

so the way this ep starts is actually kind of anti-climactic. esp after the intense emotions of what happened at the end of ep 4. which is understandable? like they were being petty teenagers angry at one another, but now it’s a few days later, and all those heated emotions have tempered down. they’re in that awkward stage where neither of them even know how to start approaching one another after the loaded feelings of the last ep (basically this is what happened to them when they were children. no one reached out, and they both drifted apart...only now they’re aware of what might happen if no one reaches out and it’s a question of whether they let history repeat itself).

oh-aew using the cue cards that teh gave him and being worried ;;; doing that thing that teh told him about writing something over and over again when he can’t say it out loud...teh deleting his line chat history ;;; i was torn with this one bc on one hand noooooo, but on the other, it could be representing them starting anew again?? ALSO, they always know how to make the most of the ost in this show (i think it’s the can’t translate/lost in translation instrumental?). i was literally shaking the first time i watched this.

i was actually very worried about how his mum was going to treat him after last ep...i thought she would be angry/ignore him, and i was feeling so anxious about it...maybe bc i personally know what that’s like. that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you’re scared of how they’ll react to you after a fight. teh wanting to make his mum proud is hugely important to him, so when she handed him the plate, i actually let out a sigh of relief. i’m glad that his mum understood and backed him when he needed it most (she may not be fully all the way there yet, but feelings are raw and it takes time). and i already knew hoon would, so i wasn’t too worried on that front.

tarn is so good for teh, and i really see why they were drawn to each other. but i like how she’s prioritising what’s right for her, and also telling him like it is. they need to focus on their studies now and figure out the other stuff later.

teh loitering outside the tutoring classroom before entering sort of reminds me of ep 1 when teh and oh-aew met up for the first time after their first fight...just this time it’s less straight up antagonism between the two of them and more hurt feelings as they avoid each other instead. i also appreciate the gang during this. they’re so normal and encouraging about the whole situation. they know something went down between teh and oh-aew, but they don’t really press too much about it. just let teh know that they’re here if he needs someone to talk to.

the ep 5 trailer played us!!!!!!! i was WONDERING why oh-aew would suddenly say all that nice stuff about bas (not that bas doesn’t deserve the nice stuff, he’s an ANGEL) in front of class, but their teacher was the one that put them up to it. the horror i felt as i watched teh look straight at oh-aew but turn to bless phillip instead and then start on that whole spiel about how phillip “never sees the good intentions of friends as worthless. never says ‘no’ to what friends give you” and how he’ll never leave him because of that. ALL RIGHT IN FRONT OF OH-AEW’S SALAD...STOP TEH. PLEASE. he’s digging himself into this hole himself with the passive aggressiveness again. THEN BAS COMING IN TO STEAL THIS WHOLE SCENE. i don’t think any of us were expecting him to be as forward as he was but omg. he laid it all out on the line in the way that teh couldn’t (at this point in time). i’m really, really glad that oh-aew got to hear what bas thought of him though, and that bas got to tell oh-aew all his feelings. nothing is misconstrued. he’s so brave and the utter respect i have for him increased by tenfold...what a fantastic character. just so sure and convinced in how he feels, and so uncaring of what anyone else thinks. it’s so damn refreshing. and for oh-aew to know that there’s nothing wrong with him at all. that he’s desirable and wanted and loved (it calls back to ep 4 when oh-aew’s sobbing and desperately asking teh “what did i do wrong??” again and again). it must have meant so much to him. the conflict i felt in my heart watching that and knowing that bas would be SUCH a good guy for oh-aew, but also knowing that sometimes that’s just not enough.

DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON TEH’S REACTION TO ALL THIS. he’s truly facing the consequences of his actions in this one. but just imagine being in this position, being too scared to own up to your own heart, and then watching this other boy do it like it’s the easiest thing in the world?? like it’s just another regular day?? like it’s nothing?? all to the boy that you’re in love with. to the boy that wanted this exact thing from you, but you couldn’t give. it’s like teh’s watching oh-aew slip through his very fingers, but knowing that it’s bc he never had oh-aew in the first place (and the reason for that is himself). i also really love how no one in class (including their teacher) makes a big deal out of this? they’re all just applauding bc it’s a sweet confession. it would be so jarring for teh to see this acceptance when the fear of society not accepting his feelings for oh-aew is one of the reasons he can’t accept them himself.

anyway, i had like one thought in this next scene and it was just DRINK THE COCONUT TEH. DRINK IT!!!!!!! so nice to see how his fam loves and believes in him.

teh watching on as bas and oh-aew take the first step with their left foot :(((

LOVE how they use the firecrackers going off to represent anytime there’s some sort of shift in teh and oh-aew’s relationship (when they first met, when they had their first fight, and now again when they talk for the first time after the fight and oh-aew tells him teh that he and bas are dating now). it’s such a great way to symbolise the spark and passion of their relationship. anyway, this meeting mostly consists of the both of them trying not to cry as they act civil with one another and skirt around what happened. teh asking about what the deal is with oh-aew and bas is like a parallel with what happened last ep when oh-aew asked about teh and tarn...only this time oh-aew and bas are actually dating...man, this is really not the kind of news you want to hear right when you’re about to sit one of your most important exams ever :/// teh holding himself together until the moment oh-aew leaves and then just having a fucking meltdown over the news :((( as always, it just hurts to see teh torture himself in this way. but esp when he’s supposed to be sitting his exam and he just can’t stop crying in the exam room (been in that position and have almost done the same thing before). when he hadn’t finished his exam and they were like “time’s up, pencils down” the sheer panic i felt at this...ugh. i hate it.

the elation on bas’ face when oh-aew asks him out for chinese new year. he’s the cutest. THE ABSOLUTE CUTEST. and then when he holds oh-aew’s hand????? the boldness of it. he. just. does. not. care. i wish i had that sort of confidence!! oh-aew’s shock at this too. his realisation that it’s okay. that this is okay. and then bas being all “why would i be?” after oh-aew asks if he’s embarrassed. bas is literally giving oh-aew everything that he wanted from teh and more (compare this to that scene in ep 3 where teh and oh-aew grazes hands but don’t hold each other’s hands). he’s proud to be with him and to show the world. and, you know what?? i would do anything in the world for bas to be happy.

AND HERE WE HAVE IT. MY LONG AWAITED HOON/TEH HEART TO HEART. i wanted teh to tell hoon soooooooo badly, so to hear the words come out of his mouth...that his brother was the first person he told. i felt so relieved bc i knew that hoon would support him no matter what. the struggle in teh’s face and words...he fought so long and hard against ever admitting these feelings to someone else out loud that it would have felt so incredibly terrifying, yet also like a weight being lifted off his chest, to finally get them out there. to have someone else know his secret. and to know that his brother loves him unconditionally regardless. “if you like him, you go after him” THE WAY I SOBBED DURING THIS. i really loved what hoon said to teh. he didn’t sugarcoat things and say that everything was going to be fine if teh liked boys too. not every single person you meet is going to be okay with who you are, that’s just a fact, but i loved that he emphasised to teh that HE was okay with it. it’s just what teh needed to hear. and that it might take their mum some time to accept it too, but all she truly wants is for teh to be happy. just the feeling of hearing his brother, someone that he very clearly looks up to and respects, tell him that he can like whoever he wants to like?? that it’s all up to him and he’ll still be there for him whoever he wants to be with?? teh sorely needed that and i’m glad he got it. hoon encouraging him to go fight for his love!!!!!!! i was cry laughing at how teh just starts bawling his eyes out at hoon telling him to go after oh-aew, but then teh telling him that it’s too late for him bc he likes someone else. like from hoon’s perspective, he’s prob just like ‘this is so needlessly dramatic’ and the sibling energy during that whole part is too real. i love them.

watching bas/oh-aew with the rest of the gang and their respective girlfriends really makes you realise how open and accepting they all are. like teh was terrified in the scene just before about how his friends might not accept him and oh-aew, but then you see them here with bas/oh-aew and no one even cares (which i expected bc they’ve been supportive since day one, but it’s just nice to see in practice too). oh-aew teasing them all ahhh. cute. phillip being the relatable only single guy there (me at every gathering i go to with my relatives omg).

THE PIANIST PLAYING SKYLINE. they really wanted us all to be SAD sad huh, and they succeeded. how it pans to oh-aew and this song is yet ANOTHER reminder of teh...you know he’s thinking about cape scene where they were singing and translating to one another. on the day they made their promise to each other :( and teh being there too??????? all alone with his bowl of oh-aew on the table. feeling the exact same heartbreak that oh-aew’s feeling too :( it’s the way that so much of their relationship is beyond words for me. but they’re also both hurting so much that i just want to push them together and make them talk so they can clear everything up.

hoon talking in cute japanese to nozomi on the phone while teh goes through oh-aew’s old worksheets and cries I HATE IT HERE. i love the different ways in which teh has smelt oh-aew’s coconut scent since ep 2. how it evolves from curiosity to desire to him heartbrokenly reminiscing, every feeling changing with the shifts in their relationship.

can i just say that oh-aew’s parents are ADORABLE. but also, finding out exam results is the worst kind of anxiety. was so happy that oh-aew got in!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he worked his ass off for this :’))) teh not getting his first pick wasn’t altogether surprising bc it did feel like they were leading up to this. but when he apologised to his mum about it ;;; noooo, she’s so proud of you. as someone who’s been through this process before (and didn’t get my first pick either), it always feels like it’s end of the world when you don’t get the uni pick that you want, but it really isn’t. still, it sucks when you’re in the moment there’s no denying that. but i get that it’s also particularly sad for teh since he’d already basically gotten his first pick before he gave it up for oh-aew. but again, it’s all part of the learning process, and the consequences for his actions. 

BAS BEING BEST BOY EVER YET AGAIN. how he knows exactly how oh-aew feels bc he feels it too, but he never imposes those feelings on oh-aew. he knows that oh-aew’s heart isn’t with him, can’t be when it’s with someone else, and bc he cares that much about oh-aew, he guides him in teh’s direction. it’s never a good idea to date someone who’s hung up on someone else, but i’m glad that they tried at the very least. the both of them did what they could, and oh-aew needed to experience it to know. i’m really glad that bas was there to make oh-aew realise how worth it he is too...and bas deserves someone that loves him back just as much as he loves them. seeing bas cry is the worst experience ever. 0/5. never want this ever again thank u. their hug scene was just devastating, and worse still bc it’s not anyone’s fault...you just can’t help how you feel, and that’s just the way it is sometimes.

idk why but for me, the scene with tarn was possibly the hardest scene for me to watch in this ep. it’s interesting how he’s wearing the shirt that oh-aew was wearing in ep 3 in this scene (with the bold ‘sunset’ lettering). i guess it symbolises him being ready to open up about his feelings on where their relationship is heading? either way, she’s a great friend. she’s so encouraging, and understands him and his ambitions to a tee. the both of them are always filled with such fierce determination. they just know what they want and go for it. but that’s also why these past couple eps have been all the more confusing for teh since he’s always been so sure of himself before. how she tells him that no one can take away his identity and that no one can take his dream away from him?? all these characters just knowing exactly what teh needs at the right time. she’s so incredible. no wonder teh is so scared of losing her as a friend. it’s great that he apologised for how he treated her last ep bc it’s def the least that she deserves. that being said, watching her heart get broken as teh tells her that his feelings for her have changed and asking if they can still be friends...like damn, that fucking hurts. there’s something in tarn’s face in this scene that stays with me every time i watch it, and it’s that heavy feeling of knowing that the opportunity is missed. they had the potential to have been something, but it’s slipped by now, and now they can’t go back to those initial feelings anymore. too much has changed. but it’s also that she, like bas, values teh’s happiness too much. values their friendship so much that even if she’s heartbroken, she can still overcome those feelings of heartbreak bc she cares for teh so deeply and wants to see him happy. despite the pain she’s feeling, she still encourages him to make the first move and talk with oh-aew bc she knows that oh-aew is who makes him happy. anyway, we already established this in my last rant text post for ep 4, but i love tarn with my whole heart and only ever want her happiness too. the purple hibiscus in her drawing for teh was like a final stab to the heart :(((

what i love about bas and tarn is that neither of them are the bad guys in this situation. this drama has no outright antagonist, and a lot of the time in BLs (even in standard dramas in general) that’s what the secondary love interests are used as...a hindrance for the main couple to get over. but the both of them are written (and acted) with such respect and care. it’s really hard not to fall in love with them too. the real conflict and antagonism mostly comes from within teh himself, so this series is his own journey to overcome that. a true coming of age story.

oh-aew in his uni uniform!!!!!!!!!!! cue me constantly chanting “come through, teh” over and over as oh-aew passed the restaurant hoping to see him. and I KNEW HE WOULD. not me bursting into tears as soon as they show him following oh-aew on the motorbike ;;;;;;; he loves oh-aew too much, and this was too important, he was never going to back out on this promise. i mean, he gave up his uni spot for oh-aew so he could keep this promise. technically, if you think about it, it worked in a roundabout way bc teh giving up his place was what made oh-aew decide to do the admission exam again...and better still bc he got into his first place uni all on his own accord. he proved to teh that he could do it like he always wanted to.

love that teh pushes the good luck coconuts onto oh-aew too, like his mum and brother always do for him. it’s cute. when they go to the temple again, and the significance of it being open this time so they don’t have to sneak in anymore????? my heart is FULL. another thing i love is how teh’s kind of behaving like how oh-aew did in ep 3?? being flirty?? almost toying with him?? like that part when they’re drinking the coconuts together, and he sort of slides backwards drinking the coconut, eyes not leaving oh-aew before bouncing away. that’s an oh-aew move okay. and, as always, teh encouraging oh-aew when he’s down bc the sun isn’t out. rival and inspiration. i love them more than words could ever describe.

skyline instrumental is legit the perfect song bc sometimes when you listen to it, it can make you feel like you’ll never be happy again, but then other times (like when they’re walking to the tip of the cape), it’s like a shot of pure hope to your chest. that shot of them going through the trees and right into the open space of the tip of the cape with the sun shining all around them was BEAUTIFUL. the freedom of it all, of no longer being constrained. seriously, these shots of the two of them standing in front of the golden glow of the sun are just *chef’s kiss* so stunning. cinematography on point (but when did this show ever fail me on that front).

“when i gave it, i really gave it to you” I’M NEVER GONNA STOP CRYING. i literally cannot watch this part without getting choked up and/or screaming. they’ve missed each other so much, and it’s piecing the broken bits of my heart after the last 4 eps back together again. THEY’RE FINALLY TALKING.

okay i really have to talk about this scene when oh-aew asks teh “how about you and i?” bc of the war flashbacks i’m having back to the last time this question was asked and how disastrous that turned out. it’s in how oh-aew asks it and reads teh’s hesitancy as teh thinking the same as he did last time...oh-aew’s fake smile (the same smile he put on when he asked teh how things were between him and tarn and teh told him they were pretty much the same) when he thinks that teh still isn’t willing to acknowledge he likes him back. it’s how oh-aew is willing to accept ANYTHING from teh...whether he wants to be friend or a rival...whether teh likes or hates him...as long as teh stays in his life. he’s willing to accept whatever teh wants to define them as bc he’s just missed teh so much and can’t stand to be away from him. and it’s like this is what finally clicks in for teh. that restricting himself this way is only ever going to constantly hurt the both of them. teh finally saw past himself, and realised what this meant to oh-aew. it’s like he’s finally looking at oh-aew and seeing what oh-aew needs most (has always needed most), and that in turn helps him gain the courage to say it out loud bc the love he feels for oh-aew (and for himself) is ultimately stronger than any fear he has about society not accepting them. it’s such a beautiful scene. after pushing back at himself and his feelings time and time again, he can’t deny himself anymore. his character arc has come full circle ;;; everything teh’s done in previous eps for oh-aew has shown how much he really loves and cares for him, so it just makes me happy that he released his breath and let himself be happy. it’s all i ever wanted for him.

the amount of tears i shed at teh asking oh-aew to be his boyfriend...i knew teh was very likely going to give in to his feelings for oh-aew at this point, but this was even more than i expected. that was so SMOOTH. oh-aew bursting into tears after that...SAME. then the hug in the sunset WITH the new ost song. and that last shot of teh’s handwritten full pages of ‘love’...they did the MOST with this and i’ll never ever ever be over it.

then the part 2 announcement!!!!!!!!!!!!! after so much angst, i can barely believe we’ve been given so much in such a short space of time omg. i love how teh’s tie is red and oh-aew’s tie is blue for their respective uni uniforms. ADORABLE

i know everyone was afraid (myself included) that this was going to end sad from the get go. from the trailer to the ost, we were all TERRIFIED bc realistic shows like this often end in heartbreak. we’re so used to it. but i saw someone describe itsay as a love letter to the lgbtq+ community, and i totally agree. it could very well have ended tragic/sad, but instead they subverted our expectations of the traditional ‘bury your gays’/sad gay ending we’re so used to and gave us a story that showed us that there’s realism in happiness too. there are so many struggles and hardships that lgbtq+ people have to go through bc of the world that we live in, but they CAN be happy too. this post that nadao tweeted of teh crossing out the lyrics of skyline and writing “let me set my own destiny“ instead is SO powerful, and shows the immense character growth he’s gone through over the course of the series. it made every single tear that i have shed for this show completely and utterly worth it.

i’ve mentioned this multiple times before, but i’m so grateful to nadao for giving us this drama. literally one of the best dramas that i have ever watched in my entire life. i’ve never felt so passionately about a show before, or been so attached to the characters and their relationships. everything about it...the directing, the writing, the cinematography, the acting, the soundtrack, EVERYTHING has been set to such an impeccable standard i really don’t know how, or if, i’ll ever get over it (prob not). i know i’m not the only one that thinks so, but it’s truly a masterpiece. i hope it sweeps all the awards bc it’s the least that it deserves. moreover, i’m so happy that their story isn’t over bc this cast of characters are some of my fave characters ever and i genuinely cannot wait to see more of them in march next year :’)