#six plus years later and i finally finished it damn

[wordsmithie]

Her dark throat, lovely in the moonlight. Split open by his nail, open and spilling eager blood over her heaving breasts. He would have gathered her convulsing form into his arms and buried his face in her gushing heat. Begged her forgiveness as he explained his dutiful sins.

die as lovers may

[kookslastbutton]

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) l ch. VI

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6,192

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), kook gets pissed, jk mother is asdhjf!, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, manipulative parent, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc, mild sexting, sexual content

Sexual warnings: bl*wj*b, jk c*mes on her t*tt*es, d*rty talk

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: um so this got over 6k which i know isn't amazing but for me its big deal okay?! haha! Anyway Part VI here we go! No flashbacks in this chapter because of ch.V buuut, I have a little gift for you and me. Hope you enjoy!! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind 😙

<< ch. V ༓ ch. VII >> | series masterlist

Living in the country for over thirty years, the Jeons were known to be excruciatingly slow and cautious drivers. The town was tiny, roads were narrow, and no one was ever in a rush to get anywhere apart from maybe the farmers market.

Once when Jungkook first got his license he took one hand off the steering wheel and his mother almost had a heart attack, saying it was “reckless of him to put them in danger”. It was from that moment forward that Jungkook always made sure to drive at 10 and 2 or 9 and 3 when his mother was in the car. His father on the other hand didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t go above 30 mph.

Jungkook was counting his lucky stars when he finally got his own car and the chance to move to the city where he could drive how he damn well pleased–responsibly of course. He had recently finished his Master’s studies and was offered a job as an economist in a major medical corporation. The only catch was that he’d have to relocate to Seoul which ended up being more than fine with him.

His parents moaned and groaned that he wasn’t sticking around but his mind was made up. He moved out of his parent’s tiny town one late June and headed to the city where life moved to a whole new beat.

Ten years later, Jungkook finds himself gripping the steering wheel with two sweaty hands again. Kudos to his parents who have been telling him which way to turn and how fast or slow to go for the past fifteen minutes. He honestly should have picked a brunch spot closer to home to avoid all the madness. Walking would have done them good.

“I’ll never get used to how you drive down here,” Mrs. Jeon grumbles from the back seat. “All these sharp turns and six lanes of traffic going 50-plus miles an hour. It’s a wonder you haven’t all gotten in an accident yet. It’s like I always say, the slower the better. You city folks just don’t get it.”

Jungkook peers in his rearview mirror before signaling to switch lanes. “We can’t afford to go too slow out here Mom. This is a highway and dropping down in speed will cause a safety hazard just as bad, if not worse. Environments are different out here than in the woods.”

As Jungkook merges to the right, Mr. Jeon watches the surrounding cars from the back seat window. “Ah son, son, son!” He hollers and reaches for the ceiling handle.

“What? What happened?��� Jungkook asks with panic. He flickers his eyes to the mirror again to spot his father's distress.

Mr. Jeon slowly releases the handle and lets out a lengthy sigh. “It's okay now, we’re good. You did good son. You moved over with so little space I thought you were going to hit the car now behind us."

"I told you it's a mad house out here!" Mrs. Jeon adds, tone thick. Jungkook puts his eyes back on the road in front of him and does his best to ignore the irritation bubbling within him.

"I know what I'm doing," he says. "I've lived here for ten years so can you guys please trust me? And stop with the driving advice and yelling every time I do something."

"We're just trying to help Kookie."

"Well, you're not alright?" The snap in his voice has Jungkook's parents sulking back in their seats in silence. "I want us to get to the restaurant safely and I can't do that when you're both shouting at me! So please just let me do the driving. Thank you."

God, if one more person calls him Kookie in that condescending tone he's going to lose it! Kookie was his childhood nickname but for some reason, it stuck to him like glue until he was friggin' 22 years old. He absolutely hates it and the only person remotely allowed to call him by it is his wife because she makes anything sound like honey to his ears.

The next five minutes are nothing but awkward silence and the sound of tires running on hard cement. Jungkook checks his phone—there's still a good ten minutes left according to the GPS. He moves to turn the radio on to break the eeriness of the drive when an incoming call pops on his car screen.

"Who's that? Who's calling?" Mr. Jeon pipes up.

"It's __." Jungkook hits the answer button. "Hey honey! You're on speaker." He smiles a big, wide grin that says nothing less than he misses you.

"Hi! I'm on my lunch break and thought I'd give you guys a call. I'm stopping at the grocery store tonight, after work. Anything you need?"

“Some booze would be nice!” Mr. Jeon echos and looks at his wife who merely shakes her head. He hasn’t had a drink in twenty years due to his high blood pressure, yet he’s still making the same damn jokes. “Got any Soju? Or maybe Bokbunja?” He chuckles at Mrs. Jeon’s sour face.

Jungkook pays his dad no mind and replies to you. “Uhm….we're low on milk again. I drank the last one yesterday.”

"You went through all those gallon jugs in a week?!" You'd think you'd be used to the amount of dairy your husband packs away but every time, it shocks you as much as the first. You married a milk-lovin’ machine.

Jungkook chuckles. "I'm sorry. I can get them for you if you want. We're on our way to get brunch, then hitting the bookstore for Dad, and after we'll swoop back home. I can pick it up along the way.”

“No need, I’m already going out later so I’ll get it. Anything else?”

“There’s nothing else I can think of. How’s work going?” He’s hoping it’s not hectic given the fact that last week was an absolute sandstorm. He distinctively remembers you coming home with nothing more than tired feet and dark circles under your eyes. He drew you a bath that night.

“Eh, so-so. I have a meeting with my boss later but besides that, it’s the usual. I wish I could have come to brunch with you guys. I feel bad I’m missing it.” Well, you do and you don’t. If Jungkook was planning on talking to his mom about the happenings of last night you wanted to be around for support but it was also a matter that should be between a mother and her son.

“Us too, but we’ll see you ton–shit!” Jungkook slams on the break when he sees he’s about to crash into a black SUV. Everyone’s seatbelts lock at the sudden jerk. “Sorry, sorry!” He checks the mirror to find his parents clinging to their seatbelts.

“Are you guys okay?! Jungkook?!”

He scans all around him to find rows and rows of cars all trying to merge into each other’s lanes. Some are coming from the exit nearby whereas others are trying to squeeze through people in hopes to get ahead.

Dammit, Jungook cruses to himself.

“Yeah, we’re good honey. Everything’s okay but we’ve hit a traffic jam. I’m not sure why since it’s literally 11:40 a.m on a Wednesday but looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a bit.”

“We’d never have this problem at home.” Jungkook hears his mother mumbling under her breath to which his father replies with a nodding of his head. “If it weren’t for all this nonsense we’d be there by now.”

“Absolutely. We’d be there fifteen minutes ago,” his father adds with his hands in the air. “Isn’t there some kind of way you can get around this son, like a shortcut?”

Ah yes, shortcuts on the highway. Why didn’t he think of that? Let him just push the button that says flight mode and–no! Having enough, Jungkook holds his foot on the break and twists his body around to face his parents.

“Alright listen to me right now. This is not Tiny Town where there are a million dirt roads that pop from anywhere and all seem to lead to one other. Everyone drives at least seventy out here and that’s just the way it is because this..." He gestures outside the windshield. "This is what happens! We all get stuck in this congested funnel! But if you two can think of a way to get out of here that doesn’t involve attempting to bulldoze other cars, I’m all ears. Until then we’re going to sit here and talk about the weather because there's nothing else we can do!"

Jungkook looks back and forth between his parents. Mrs. Jeon simply stares outside her window while his dad gives a slow nod in understanding.

"Is it really that bad?"

Jungkook relaxes his body back to face the front when he hears your voice. "Yeah, it's pretty bad __." He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. This is going to be a very long day.

"Nice out today. Mind if I roll down the window?" The traffic hasn't got any better and it was starting to get stuffy in the car. Mr. Jeon desperately needed some fresh air in his face.

"Mhm yeah, go ahead."

"How about some music? Find out what's on the radio will you." He sticks his arm out the window, letting the gentle breeze hit his skin. When the first song blares through the speakers, Jungkook's mother breaks her deafening silence.

"Dear god! What music is this?"

Mr. Jeon immediately perks up. "It's PSY! Turn it up! Turn it up, boy!" Jungkook appeases his father's wishes and turns the knob a few more notches. "Oppa Gangnam Style! Eae eae eae e, sexy lady!"

Hearing his dad singing at the top of his lungs has Jungkook rubbing the side of his head. It's not that he sounded bad but he was singing so loud that everyone around them started pointing, laughing, or rolling up their own windows. "Dad, people are going to get annoyed. Take it down a little."

Deeply immersed in the song, Mr. Jeon continues singing regardless of his son's request. "Op, op, op, op, oppa Gangnam Style!" He starts rocking in his seat which causes a few middle schoolers in the car next to them to pop out their phones.

"Dad!" Jungkook hollers when he notices the kids taking pictures. If doesn't put an end to this now, his father's face is going to be trending all over the internet with god knows what filter.

"Op, op, op, op, on on on on!"

"Dad stop!" He tries again, this time turning the music down. Mrs. Jeon attempts to calm her husband down too, placing a hand on one of his arms but it doesn't take much for it to be ripped out of her grasp. Mr. Jeon ends up nearly whacking his wife in the face due to all his energetic dancing.

"Erotic sexy lady! Oppa Gangnam Sty–hey! Song wasn't done yet!" Jungkook's dad never looked so offended in his life. If he had adjusted his gaze just a few inches to the left he'd see the group of kids, the ones taking photos earlier, giggling to one another. But he was too pissed at his son for crashing his party that it went to the wayside.

"Honey, you were causing a disturbance," Mrs. Jeon says.

"A disturbance? In this traffic jam, I'm the disturbance?" He refuses to believe he's the annoyance when they've been in the middle of a highway, moving at 5 mph for the last hour. PSY has recently become his favorite singer and not enjoying himself would have been an absolute tragedy in his opinion. "It's all of you who should be thanking me for offering some shred of entertainment at times like these."

"The entire population of South Korea is going to be thanking you then." Jungkook creeps forward as soon as the car in front of him moves up a ways. Finally moving again, he hums.

"Hey!" An abrupt voice calls from a slight distance. Two teenage boys pull up in a Jaguar, greasy grins on their faces. "Great singing Grandpa! Really know how to move!" The one in the passenger seat flashes his phone playing a video of Jungkook's dad online.

"Wha–how–What?! You delete that right now!" Mr. Jeon is stunned, tripping over his words at the shock of himself actually being the center of the internet. The video is unexpectedly clear.

"Just ignore them, Dad." Jungkook rolls up all the windows in the car and inches up the best he can to get the teenagers out of direct sight.

"But-but how did they do that so fast? It hasn't even been five minutes yet!"

"It only takes seconds, honey," Mrs. Jeon sighs, realizing her husband has become famous over a re-rendition of a PSY song. Of all things, it had to be that.

"I'm starving."

"Me too."

Jungkook glances at the time–2:40p.m. It's now been three hours of sitting in traffic and they've only moved about ten miles. What on earth is congesting the highway this much?

"Maybe we should take one of these exits." His dad scrolls through the map on his phone. "Says there are a few restaurants down exit 6A."

Jungkook considers the idea. He wants to get off the highway, yes, but so does everyone else. The exit his dad is talking about is off the far right lane which means he's going to need to shove in front of everyone's way.

"You sure it's a good place? Wherever it is you're looking?" The reason why he asks is that his dad is notorious for leading them into the most ruin down places. The last time he was in charge of directions, they ended up in front of an abandoned pizza shop.

Mrs. Jeon takes the phone from her husband's hand and swipes through the photos of a quaint restaurant. "It's not bad," she concludes. "And if it means we can get out of this mess, then I'm with your father on this one."

Two against one. Jungkook turns his signal on and waits for someone to let him over. He earns a few honks when he manages to squeeze his nose over but does his best to give an apologetic wave.

After a few more lane changes he gets in the exit lane. He isn't the only one planning to take exit 6B though, being that there are at least twenty other cars waiting in line.

"Maybe we were better off back where we were. All these people want to get off the same place. If we keep going there's bound to be another exit with far less traffic."

Really? Jungkook feels himself ticking again. After all that shoving to get over here and this is what he gets? No, he's not moving back over. They're going to wait in this stupid lane until it gets them to where they originally agreed.

"We just got here and we're not moving back anywhere. This lane should clear up in less time than it would take to go back on the main highway," Jungkook says. "Also, I probably don't need to clarify this but, we're not going to make it to that bookstore you wanted, Dad."

"It's fine, son. We'll go another day."

Which means tomorrow, Jungkook half grumbles to himself. His parents are here for another day after all and he knows his father well enough to know that "another day" really means the closest day possible.

Despite its size, the restaurant his parents choose is charming with its floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and giant, bay windows. The odd hanging plant is spread throughout the open dining space as well, perfectly setting the mood of serenity.

The restaurant only seems to hold about a dozen people inside, however. So thinking it is best to avoid sitting in an overly crowded space, Jungkook asks for one of the tables outside.

“Oh now this is lovely,” his mother praises, pulling her chair up to the table. Jungkook can’t describe how relieved he is to finally hear something positive after hours of nonstop grumbling.

Mr. Jeon takes a seat next to his wife and across from his son. “I just saw someone get Samgyeopsal and it was huge! Let’s get that to share.”

His enthusiasm is short-lived when the scrunched-up face from his wife says she's not a fan. “That's too much food! We still have to be hungry for dinner so we can eat with __."

"Mom's right," Jungkook agrees reluctantly. "__'s stopping at the grocery store after work so we can prep for dinner tonight. I know traffic slowed us down so we're eating at a weird time but it's better we go with something light."

"Oh well, we can always take some to go! Surely __ will enjoy some beautifully grilled pork!" Jungkook's father is adamant. He wants nothing more than a heavy meal after being stuck in the car all morning.

"__ doesn't like pork Dad. And we all know as soon as we get a whiff of it cooking there's not going to be any leftovers."

"Alright, alright," his dad concedes. "I guess I'll try their bibimbap. What are you having hon?"

Jungkook checks his phone messages while his parents make small talk over the menu. You texted him earlier to see how traffic was holding up and he only able to get back to you minutes ago.

Wifey ❤️ : So I'm guessing you haven't talked to your mom yet?

Jungkook: No, haven't brought it up. She seems fine though with the way she's been acting. It doesn't take much for her to go back to her usual self

Wifey ❤️: Her usual self being...?

Jungkook: You know, really particular.

Wifey ❤️: So she's complaining again. I'm sorry 😞

Jungkook: When I was talking with her on the phone before we left, she was much more careful about what she was saying. I expected it to still be that way now. Must have been a mood.

Wifey ❤️: Sounds like she wasn't sure how you'd be reacting after what happened last night. Maybe she's just reverting to back what she's used to because she's unsure what else to do or say. I'd still try finding a way to talk to her. Does it seem tense?

Jungkook: Yeah, you have a point. But Mom's also had a good way of sweeping things under the rug. It's not tense but it's just uncomfortably normal?

Wifey ❤️: Hmm, strange. And your dad's fine?

Jungkook: Honey...have you been on any social media in the last half hour?

Wifey ❤️: No, why?

Jungkook: Might wanna check. We had a little incident while in traffic. I'm still in shock honestly 😅

Jungkook waits for you to find the video of his dad. He already had the guys blowing up his phone from it so he's surprised none of them at least forwarded it to you.

Wifey ❤️: oh my god! Jungkook what happened?! 😂 I hope you're prepared for your students to be all over this

Jungkook: oh shit, that didn't even cross my mind 😩 also it's not funny honey! Listening to my dad singing eae e sexy lady was traumatizing enough. Now I have to see and hear it every time I pop open my phone or some teen punks show it to me!

Wifey ❤️: Aw Kookie, they're just being kids...try not to overthink. And you know those videos come and go. Your dad will be at the bottom of the chain by next week. Until then keep him away from PSY 😅 But I'm sorry you're having a day, I love you 🥺

Jungkook: I MISS YOU SO MUCH 😭

Wifey ❤️: [sent an image]

Fuck! Jungkook chokes on his spit when he sees a blurry close up of your cleavage. Thankfully his parents are still too occupied by the menu that they didn't notice.

Jungkook: sexy af but this isn't the time to be sexting me baby!

He nearly saves the photo if it weren't for the fact that he already had an album dedicated to very sensual *ahem erotic* photos of you. You had let him take them himself —best motherfuckin' birthday ever.

Wifey ❤️: oh adhjjhj, sorry!! That was an accident. I'm such a klutz. This is what I meant... [sent an image]

"What's going on over there?" Jungkook merely glimpses at the new image before whipping his head up, hearing his mother's, sharp tone.

"It's just __. She's asking about groceries again."

With slightly narrowed eyes, Mrs. Jeon continues. "We're about to order if you're ready."

Dammit. He'll have to reply to you later. Jungkook swiftly pockets the phone. "Okay yeah I'm good to go."

"This is delicious," Mr. Jeon says, patting his mouth with a napkin. "Best bibimbap I've had in a long time."

"That's great Dad." Jungkook stirs his noodles.

"Ah, where's the restroom around here?" He asks the waitress as she walks by. She tells him it's in the restaurant, all the way to the back. Mr. Jeon pushes his chair from the table and excuses himself. "All that broth has me needing to go."

"Yes yes, just go." Why his father needed to explain himself every time he needed to use the restroom is beyond him. Jungkook peers at his mother, taking her time eating her own bowl of noodles–they ended up ordering the same thing. "How is it?" he asks.

"It's good."

"Not too spicy?"

"No, it's mild."

Jungkook gathers more noodles on his chopstick. He freezes halfway when he sees his mother eyeing him intensely. "Everything okay?"

Mrs. Jeon folds her hands in her lap. "It's occurred to me that we still have an elephant in the room. I was hoping we'd be able to talk about it while your father browsed the bookstore. But plans changed."

And here he thought his mother had been playing down last night when really she was biding her time. "You know Dad's gonna be back in like ten minutes right?"

Mrs. Jeon nods. "I know it's not the most convenient of times or places, but I'm afraid if we delay it won't get discussed."

"Okay." Jungkook sets his chopsticks down. "Well...where do you want to start?"

"An apology would be nice." Her voice is mellow but the words are a clear demand rather than an offer. Of course, he wants to apologize to her for all the things he accused her of last night. But he wasn't expecting her to be this forward with it, especially since she was guilty of plenty herself. "I'm waiting Kookie," she coos, taking a sip of water.

Jungkook knits his eyebrows in response, unsure of what he's hearing. His mother looks far too relaxed about this whole thing. He decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. "You're right," he starts. "I'm sorry for what I said last night. I shouldn't have spoken that way and I'm sorry for making you leave. I think you and Dad showing up all a sudden threw me off and I reacted poorly."

Mrs. Jeon cracks a tight smile and reaches for her son's hand. "Thank you, Jungkook. I accept your apology." She gives his hand a squeeze before moving to pick up her chopsticks. "Now that we got that settled let's talk about the reunion. I'm thinking about talking to–"

What....the fuck? His mom did not just glide over this whole issue. She did not just put everything on him. And she did not just bring up that damn reunion again, which he's made very clear he wants nothing a part of. "Is that all you wanted? For me to make my amends with you?"

"What else would there be Kookie?" She scoffs, eyes wide.

"Goddamn it." He struggles to maintain a hushed voice. "Can you please stop calling me that? And what the hell do you mean 'what else would there be'? I'm not trying to put the blame on you but there's a good amount you should be saying to me too."

"What things are you referring to? Don't tell me this is about the reunion again. Look, whatever it is that I said was because I just want to see you more. And no more swearing. You know I don't like that kind of language."

"How can you be like this?" Jungkook can't stop himself. He figured his mom and he would have a better, heart-to-heart than this. It makes his skin crawl that his mother continues to play the victim. "It's genuinely shocking me how....do you even love me?"

Mrs. Jeon pauses at that. "Of course, I love you Jungkook. Why–why would you ask that?" She blinks back the slightest hint of tears forming along the edge of her eyes. Never in a million years did she think her son would doubt something this crucial.

"I feel like–"

"Feel what? What is it?"

"I feel like you care more about what I can do for you than you do me, as your son." Jungkook sniffs. This is a lot harder for him to say than he imagined. "There's been so many times that you've–"

"Don't say this honey! I care about you very much!" She reaches for his hand again but he yanks it away. "What are you trying to tell me?" His mother waits for him to form the rest of the sentence.

Jungkook hesitates to look at her straight on because behind what appears to be concerned eyes is disbelief. She isn't taking any of this seriously. It's written all over her face, tone, and all the way down to the way she's focusing on an answer rather than his inability to comfortably talk to her.

"What have I done so many times?"

"Honestly at this point, what haven't you done?" With an icy glare, Jungkook can't hold himself back anymore. The pot that's been brewing, deep in the darkest parts of him is finally overflowing and it's not going to be pretty to behold. "Do you realize how many times you chose your job, your status, and even your friends over me? And you make Dad go along with literally anything! Is it so horrible for someone to say no to you?!"

The couple next to them shoot uncomfortable looks his way, whispering to each other. Jungkook ignores it and starts counting with his fingers.

"Never once have you ever taken responsibility for showing up uninvited, nagging me about this that, and the other thing, making backhanded comments about my life choice, and most of all pretending our relationship is peachy fine. Well, I'm sorry mom, I'm thirty-four years old and I don't need to live by your rules! Our relationship is barely hanging by a thread and being quite real, it's __ and Dad who are the ones clinging to that thread, making sure it doesn't completely snap."

Mrs. Jeon opens her mouth to interject but Jungkook doesn't allow it to happen. It's not exactly intentional that he's pouring out so much in the middle of people's lunch. Still, he's been shoved over a steep cliff, head first.

"I'm sorry mom, I don't know how many times I need to say it. I don't enjoy any bit of this. It's just been a long stretch of–"

"That's enough! I don't want to hear any more." Mrs. Jeon immediately grabs her purse and twists her neck every which way. "Where's your father? I want to leave."

"Mom I'm trying to talk to you! Why won't you let me talk?"

His mother doesn't reply. She doesn't look at him. It's the silent treatment, Jungkook concludes–it's fucking irritating. "I'm not trying to be hurtful," he says, forcing himself to calm down. "Mom look at me."

She doesn't move.

It only takes seconds for their waitress to near her way up to the table with anxious steps. "I'm sorry to be doing this but unfortunately, we've received a few complaints of a disturbance out here." The young girl clasps her hands. "To ensure all our guests are comfortable we're going to need to ask you to take your conversation elsewhere. I'm really sorry."

Fuck. How embarrassing. Jungkook clears his throat and stands up from his seat. "We understand and are genuinely sorry for the commotion. We'll pay at the front and be on our way. Thank you for waiting our table."

The young girl gives a nervous smile and retreats inside the restaurant. Jungkook makes a note to give her a generous tip.

"Hey, what's going on out here?" Mr. Jeon rushes over, hair blowing over due to the breeze. "I heard there was some inconsiderate party out here airing out their dirty laundry for all to see. I tell you, people these days don't know what privacy means anymore!" He shakes his head and takes a seat.

"Get up Dad we're leaving."

"But I'm not done my–––oh shit." Mr. Jeon clenches his teeth. "You two?"

Mrs. Jeon gets up from her chair, still wordless, and walks towards the parking lot. "I'll get this Dad." Jungkook stops his father from pulling out his wallet. "It is best if you go try to ease Mom. I don't think she'll be talking to me for a while."

Mr. Jeon puts a hand on his son's shoulder. It's his way of offering comfort. "You're mother has made things difficult for you, Jungkook. I'll try getting through to her. In the meantime don't let this eat you up. It's been a long time coming."

Jungkook doesn't get home until quarter past six. The drive home was better than the drive to the restaurant, but hitting the notorious five o'clock traffic slowed them down once more. He also had to drop his parents at their hotel which was no easy task. His mother barely gave him a glance before hopping out of the car. The amount of guilt settling in his gut isn't going away any time soon.

"Hey." Jungkook finds you searching through the kitchen cupboard. "I hope you're okay with spice tonight! I got this really awesome–oh baby what's wrong?" You stop what you're doing when you see your husband come up behind you with sunken eyes. He wraps his larger arms around you, desperately needing your scent.

"I blew it," he croaks. "She's so mad at me."

"I'm sorry Jungkook. I'm sorry I couldn't be there." You turn in his arms to pull him into a full embrace. His nose tickles the side of your neck but you don't laugh. "You wanna tell me?"

Jungkook takes your hand and sits you both on the couch in the living room. "The morning started out rough with three hours of traffic and the two of them in the back seat, telling me where and how I should drive. Then my dad got unexpectedly famous off a PSY song. We finally got to some restaurant about half an hour west of here before 3pm. Everything was going okay until dad went to the bathroom."

"Okay," you say, scooting closer beside him. You rub small circles on his upper back as he leans forward on his spread-apart knees. "What happened?"

"Mom suggested we talk about last night so I said sure." You watch as Jungkook fiddles with his hands. "But she didn't actually care about a conversation or what I had to say. All she wanted, all she expected, was for me to apologize to her so we'd be okay again. It all came out after that and I feel so horrible about it. We ended up getting kicked out of the restaurant too."

"Jungkook..."

"I tried __. I wanted to be patient and to be a good son but she can't even look at me right now." He falls back on the couch, staring at the blank wall in front. "Dad's convinced it was bound to happen."

"You are a good son, Jungkook." You comb a few strands of his soft, ebony hair. He closes his eyes as you do. "You're mom's the one who needs to readjust her view."

"I never thought I'd yell at my mom about all that stuff. And certainly not in public where everyone is trying to have a pleasant lunch. I'm a grown-ass adult and I should have had better control of myself."

You settle into his inner shoulder, laying a hand on his chest. "Even grown adults have limits and your mom's far surpassed those limits. Don't blame yourself for this."

"Dad said the same thing."

"Well, that's two against one."

Jungkook smiles. Two against one, that's where he got that from. Not that you're the first person to use the phrase but he never used it as regularly until you moved in together.

"I missed you so much today. I don't deserve you."

You cock your head up as quick as the words fly from his mouth. "Don't you dare say things like that! You're a good man despite how awful your mother treats you." You lean your face near his, eyes wandering deep into his dark brown ones. "If you're not otherwise too tired, I'm going to show you how much I love you."

Jungkook opens his lids at that–apparently not too tired. You smirk and get off the couch.

"Here?" His classic doe-eyes peer down at your kneeled position. Seeing you settle this perfectly between his muscular thighs triggers an intense blood rush that goes straight to his dick. Jungkook didn't think he was going to get horny tonight but here he was with his half-harden length in your hands in the middle of the living room.

"Mhm." You position yourself just enough for him to have a clear view of your tits. You had taken both your shirt and bra off before starting. You know how your husband likes it. "That okay with you?"

Jungkook groans when you grip his cock harder, gliding it from the base to the tip in repeated motions. "Fuck yeah. It's more than okay." You giggle at how quickly your husband gets in the mood. He thinks you're the bitch in the bedroom? You quicken your movements.

"Oh shit this feels so good." He grips the couch cushion, keeping his focus on you. "Need that gorgeous mouth wrapped around me baby, please. Shit–"

You honor your husband's requests and trace your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip. Once there, you suck lightly before taking him in whole.

"That's it. Take my cock, fuck." Jungkook goes on to praise you as you bottom out. You gag a little at first being that you haven't done this in what....weeks? Damn. Whatever happened to the days when you'd literally go down on each other every day?

"We need to get you reacquainted with my cock honey," he teases, bucking his hips forward to push himself further into your mouth. "All these weeks without my cock in your mouth has you gagging all over me. Been it's been too long hasn't it?"

"Mm," is the only thing you reply with, the weight of his thick length dragging back and forth on your tongue. By now your pussy is pulsating like crazy and you're tempted to just get up and fuck yourself on him. But tonight was about your husband–you're going to make sure of it. And Jungkook loves nothing more than getting head with your bare tits in full view, obviously.

A few sucks later and Jungkook starts fucking himself into your mouth. They began as soft, needy bucks of his hips but now they're rough, full-force thrusts. His length shoves to the back of your throat and you moan desperately around him. "Did you miss my cock baby? I bet you did. My sexy wife....you're mine and you're gonna make me come, aren't you? Fuck yeah, you are."

Your eyes water as you continue to take him, hallowing your cheeks the best you can. Jungkook has his eyes screwed shut and sweat dripping from his forehead. Your panties are so fucking soaked right now and your nipples are defiantly hard from sheer arsousal.

"God I'm so close baby. You're mouth is---fuck I don't even have the words. It's fucking magic! And your tits are so hot from this angle. Kinda reminds me of what you sent to me earlier. Can I come on them? I'm so close." Jungkook takes your broken moans as a yes and starts ramming into you two more times before pullout and covering your breasts with warm liquid. "Fuck fuck fuck," he grunts, spilling himself on you.

What a mess. You look down at yourself. What a motherfuckin' mess and you love it. Jungkook pulls you into a passionate kiss, tongue rolling with yours in heavenly harmony. "Thank you for this," he says between kisses. "I'll help you wash up, I promise."

"Mm Jungkook," you pant. "I think I need you inside me."

Hey, he got his dick sucked and he creamed your tits–it's mama's turn now, or excuse you–wifey.

A/N: this got nasty whoops. not sorry. Anyway LMK what you think, thanks for reading! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind

Masterlist

Taglist:

@frieschan @oldermenluverrr @tatamicc @kookswifesblog @llallaaa @sunnybyeol @namtaeh @exactlygreatcoffee @whipwhoops @yoongisducky @ktnj91 @junecat18 @thvlover7 @yoongiworshiper @ellesalazar @monbebe234-blog @parkinglot-nights @borahaexoxo @hobiswhore @kimseokjinbangtan @jjk97091 @mk-id @blueberry711 @givemethemaknaes16 @iammartian07 @jjkluver7 @itsdingdong @jiminshi20 @sweet-sourhotcoco @lubtou @lovingkoalaface @starsinsky1999 @rockstarrgyu @chaconnelatte @kaithezaftig @skzthinkr @babystarcandykookie @glossyyyymin @siudema @justanotherkpopstanlol @sh1nedreamsm1le7

P.S. I'm sorry but I'm not sure if I'm able to tag all of you!

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[cileevi]

The Speed Of Pain

Chapter One

Denver, Colorado

June 24th, 1997

Charlotte

I finally made it! After four years I'm finally free from the school system! With a degree in business management to boot. Now it's time to enjoy my summer before entering the " real " world. I plan on having the most fun while I can. 

What are my plans? Ozzfest of course! This is my first time on the road with my dad and there is a whole lineup of amazing bands to see as well. I haven't seen my brother and sister since Christmas so I know we'll be having lots of fun on this tour.  

Quickly maneuvering my way backstage I find the old man talking to Billy from Black Sabbath.  

" Dad! " I cry out as I run up and wrap my arms around him. " I missed you. "

And I really did. I hate how we've had to do things growing up. I love my mom, but she has never made it easy for him to be the father I needed. Now that I'm out of school I plan on spending as much time with him as possible. 

" I missed you too, Schroeder. " He says holding me tight.

I pull back and he lants a huge kiss on my cheek. " My eldest. "

" My daddy. " I say smiling as Sharon walks into the room. " Mom! " 

I run into her arms and she hugs me as only she can. " Hello, my darling. It's good to have you back. " She says before pulling away and taking a good look at me. 

" It's good to be back. I'm just glad to have my degree out of the way. " I tell her in an exhausted tone.

Nodding she claims, " yes, of course, we're all so very proud of you ".   

" Thanks. " I say graciously. " I can't wait to move forward with my career and leave school behind me. " 

" Sis! " 

Turning to my left I see my only brother, Jack, racing toward me.

" Jacky, look at you! " I say not believing he big he is. " You've grown at least four inches in the last six months. "

He gives me a smug look before correcting me. " Five. " 

" Well excuussee me. " I say laughing. 

I then hear from behind, " hey, Lotty "!

I know that voice. My baby sister, Kelly. Turning around I see the most amazing yet disturbing sight. Instead of focusing on Kelly, I can't help but stare at the man in the black corset.

Then my baby sister registers. " Kel's! " I damn near squeal before scooping her up in a hug and spinning her around. Putting her down I smooth out her pigtails and smile. " I missed you. " 

" Me too... Meet Marilyn! He's really fun. " She says as she goes and hangs onto his arm.

Holding my hand out I say, " hi, I'm Charlotte. It's nice to meet you. "

" Likewise. Any sister of Kelly's is a friend of mine. " He says while shaking my hand.

And just like that, his voice melts my insides more than his appearance interests me. It's like melted chocolate mixed with the devil himself. Damn.

" That was my favorite book growing up. " He says off the cuff. 

I am clearly confusion. " Hmm? "

" Charlotte's Web. " He clarifies. 

Smiling I roll my eyes. " Mine too. I think it's the first chapter book I ever finished. "

" Schroeder, come spend some time with your dear old dad. " I hear him call. 

Giving Marilyn one last smile, I say over my shoulder, " coming ". 

Looking back at the oddly attractive man I say, " I'll see you later ". 

Manson

Being here at my first Ozzfest is bitchin'. I wasn't expecting to be involved but money is money at the end of the day. Plus Ozzy is cool so it's a nice gig. I can't lie, when we got the call to join them I wasn't too sure if it would be a good fit. That changed once we got to the first city. Ozzy and Sharon are great and their kids are cool. 

Kelly took a real liking to me and has been like my little shadow since we got here. Usually, I don't like kids, but I make an exception for her and Jack. They're punk rock all the way. We've been having a blast to put it lightly. I was actually pretty surprised that Ozzy and Saron would even let their children be around this lifestyle but I guess it's better the devil you know than the ones you don't. At least they know where Kelly and Jack are at all times. 

After sound check, I'm hanging out with the rest of the band when we see a small commotion over where Ozzy's camp is set up. " What's going on? " I ask as Pogo is heading back from catering. 

" Some leggy blonde just showed up. She's pretty hot but looks like she'll give any one of us blue balls just for fun. "  He says with a shrug. 

It's then that Kelly comes barreling over with a huge smile on her face. " Marilyn! Come on I want you to meet my sister. " She says before grabbing my arm and trying to drag me away. I give in as is becoming usual to Kelly's requests. 

" Hey, Lotty! " She yells as we get closer. 

The one she's leading me to has her back toward us. It's a nice back no doubt and her golden hair shines in the fading sunlight. It's then that I realize this must be who Pogo saw. She turns around and her eyes land directly on me. 

Wow.  I'm not usually one for blonde hair and blue eyes, but her smooth pale skin is very pleasing to the eye. She's still staring but I'm used to people doing it at this point in my career. This stare though... It's different. Not one of judgment or fear. More like curiosity and intrigue. 

" Kel's! " She exclaims before lifting her up and spinning her around.

I stand here awkwardly as she plays with Kelly's hair a bit. It's then that the young girl remembers my existence. 

" Meet Marilyn! He's really fun. " She says as she takes hold of my arm.

Holding her hand out she speaks to me for the first time. " Hi, I'm Charlotte. It's nice to meet you. "

" Likewise. Any sister of Kelly's is a friend of mine. " I tell her as I shake her hand.

Just then my mouth works before my brain can catch up. " That was my favorite book growing up. "

" Hmm? " She asks not understanding what I'm going on about. 

Shrugging simply I say, " Charlotte's Web ".

 " Mine too. I think it's the first chapter book I ever finished. " She says as she puts a piece of hair behind her ear. 

I love it when girls do that. It's an easy giveaway as to whether they're interested or not. Not that I'm looking or anything. It's just nice to know I have such an effect on such a beautiful woman. The fact that she has good taste in books is a bonus. 

Just as I'm about to speak again, Ozzy comes into view effectively ruining the moment. " Schroeder, come spend some time with your dear old dad. "

" Coming. " She tells him from over her shoulder. Turning back to me she says, " I'll see you later. " 

As she walks back to Ozzy's camp I can't help but whisper, " not yet you aren't ".

[disturbedbydesign]

Special Girl - Part 5

Summary: You arrived at Harvard as a shy, nerdy girl. You never thought a guy like Lloyd Hansen would notice you. But Lloyd saw you—really saw you—and for a time you became his special girl. Now, years later, you’re stuck in a sexless marriage. Unloved and unfucked for months, you’ve decided enough is enough. The fact that Lloyd has been keeping tabs on you for years has nothing to do with it… or does it?

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Word Count: 7.7K

Warnings: DUBCON (alcohol use/manipulation); INCREDIBLY unsafe/unhealthy/deadass wrong BDSM practices (Lloyd doesn’t do safewords or aftercare); plus-sized reader/fatphobia; cheating; degradation; bondage, spanking/whipping, gagging; knife kink; blood kink; CNC roleplay; gunplay; rough oral (m receiving); explicit sex (O,V,A); unprotected sex (Lloyd doesn’t wear condoms, ok?); unwanted pregnancies/abortion; physical intimidation/abuse; general toxicity; Lloyd is a psycho and he’s fucking mean—Dead Dove Do Not Eat! 18+ only, no minors.

Series Masterlist

Part Five

Lloyd leaves you catatonic on the bed, his cum dripping out of your every hole, and makes his way over to the pool house. He’s still there, tied to a chair, his right eye swollen shut and his split lip finally starting to coagulate. By Lloyd’s estimation, he’s got at least two broken ribs, three broken fingers, a dislocated shoulder, and a nasty case of testicular torsion. He’ll probably lose the nut, not that he’s using it much these days.

“Hey there, Mikey,” Lloyd says. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was doing a bit of entertaining.” Lloyd scooches a chair up next to Michael—slowly, deliberately—and points his Ruger at his stomach. “Now, have you thought any more about the question I asked you earlier?”

“I told you,” Michael says feebly. “I don’t know where my father hid the drive. I just need more time—another week, maybe two, and you’ll have everything you need.”

Lloyd pokes him in the ribs with the muzzle of his gun and Michael winces. “And that would have been fine,” he says, “except you broke my rules.”

Michael’s one good eye goes wide as he looks up at Lloyd. “I didn’t. I-”

“Hope the head was worth it, buddy,” Lloyd says, clapping Michael on his fucked-up shoulder before rising from his seat. “You really should have let her finish. Little wifey sure knows her way around a dick.” Lloyd grabs the laptop off the table and pulls up the video file he’s just uploaded. “Believe me, I know,” he says, and he winks at your husband as he presses play.

Lloyd is near giddy as he forces Michael to watch you get violated on screen. After all, he did give him fair warning this would happen, and it’s what the guy deserves for being such a pain in the ass. It should have taken a month tops for Michael to collect the evidence on his father, but the guy is just such a wimp—too intimidated to stand up to his old man, too scared to go snooping around in his own parents’ house. So Lloyd had come up with a motivational tactic he thought might move things along: he had told your husband in no uncertain terms that if he engaged in any PG-13-and-up activity with you before he’d finished the job, you would be the one to pay for it. But if Lloyd is honest, it was less about getting the intel and more that he’d really just wanted to see if Michael would listen—if he was really so fucking weak that he’d let another man tell him if and when he could fuck his own wife.

If you were his wife, Lloyd thinks, there isn’t a person in the world—including you—that could stop him from fucking you whenever and wherever he wanted. But this loser you married? It took him six months to break, and even then he was too much of a pussy to stick his dick down your throat and take what was his; you’d practically forced yourself on him and still he could barely get it up. And then he fucking cries? Lloyd chuckles every time he thinks about it: watching you through your home security cameras, giving your husband one last chance to prove he’s worth a damn, down on your knees in your pretty little dress with your tits out, begging your own husband to want you. It was so fucking pathetic.

But you’d stuck to your guns in the end, told him to fuck off like the worthless piece of shit that he is. Lloyd had known you wanted out, that you have for years—all he’d done was give you a little incentive, just the push you needed to remember that you may have been married to Michael for all these years, but you’d never really been his. Your husband had never owned you—mind, body, and soul; only Lloyd Hansen has that distinction.

Lloyd sits with his hands clasped in his lap, his long legs spread wide in Michael’s direction as the man in front of him curses and weeps at the violent imagery playing on the laptop screen. He wears his most devious smile as he listens to you play the victim, and he watches your husband go through the gamut of human emotions one might expect in this particular circumstance: disgust, fear, anger, despair. If this guy only knew, Lloyd thinks, that this is tame for his wife. Every time Michael tries to look away, Lloyd tsk tsks him and raises his gun and barks, “Keep watching.”

Of course, Michael doesn’t know that you like everything that’s being done to you on that tape, that you asked for it, that you’ve been dreaming about it for years. Maybe if he did, he’d be crying even harder. As it stands, though, Michael is gagging as he watches you swallow Lloyd’s cum, and by the time Lloyd’s got his dick in you, your husband is retching up stomach acid all over his bare chest. His skin has to burn like hell, too, with all the cuts Lloyd had made.

“Turn it off,” Michael begs. “Please.”

“Ohhh, but it’s just about to get really good,” Lloyd says. “You ever fuck her ass, Mikey? I’m willing to bet that you haven’t. Well, let me tell you, It’s like heaven in there.”

“Did you kill her?” he croaks out. “Did you kill my wife?” 

Lloyd just laughs. “She’s fine,” he says. “Better than fine, I would argue. In fact, I think I might keep her—at least until the job is done.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Michael begs. “Please just let her go.”

Lloyd leans in and whispers in Michael’s ear, “Not a chance. She’s just so much fun to play with.”

Lloyd leaves the video on repeat, checking Michael’s wrists and ankles to make sure his binds are secure before locking the pool house back up. The man is already broken, more malleable than he’s ever been, and Lloyd knows this thing could be finished tonight if he let him go—that he’s finally willing to man up and stand up to his father and get the fucking job done—but Lloyd is simply enjoying this too much. Psychological torture isn’t usually Lloyd’s thing, but he’s too close to this one; he wants Michael to suffer in every possible way because he committed the worst crime of all—he took something that doesn’t belong to him.

Walking back towards the house, Lloyd makes a decision. He’s spent months working this guy to get the job done the way the client wants it done—totally under the radar, no casualties—but he’d stopped caring about doing things the right way the second he saw Michael watching that video. What Lloyd wants now, what he needs, is for your husband to know everything, to see everything. He decides he’s going to let his team handle this business with the Senator—send them in quick and dirty, even if that means the old man dies bloody and the client doesn’t get exactly what he wants—because it’s not about the job anymore; it’s about what Lloyd wants, and what Lloyd wants is for your pathetic, weak-willed pussy of a husband to watch you get fucked live and in person so he knows that you are his, always were and always will be, and that there hasn’t been one single hour of one single day where you wouldn’t have chosen him if he’d given you the option.

And, of course, he wants to see the man’s face when you tell him the kid’s not his. That’ll be absolutely delightful.

It’s not that Lloyd feels threatened—how could he? The man is an ant and he is a boot. No, he just wants to see if you’ll do it, if just the chance that Lloyd might want you is enough to get you to cuck your husband and finally tell him the truth. You’ve already left Michael, but are you willing to hurt him? Might you even enjoy it? Is it possible that, deep down, you and Lloyd really are the same?

It’s Lloyd’s last test for you—his most important test—and if you can prove yourself to him then maybe, just maybe, he’ll give you what you’ve always wanted. The kid is a problem, of course, but Lloyd is nothing if not a problem-solver.

First, he decides to give you a little taste of the domestic. He walks back up to the bedroom and finds you freshly showered and wearing the Harvard football jersey—his jersey—that he’d left out for you. He likes you in it, wearing his name and his number: a branding of its own, just not Lloyd’s favorite kind. It pisses him off that you’d tattooed over his initials but he understands. What man would want to fuck a woman with another man’s name carved into her leg? Lloyd gets it, he does, but he’s already planning where he’ll cut you next, what he’ll write. Perhaps a Property of Lloyd Hansen right above your pussy. No, that’s too many letters for knifework, but maybe the tattoo gun…

“Hi,” you say. “Sorry I kind of passed out.”

“S’alright, Porkchop.” He crosses the room with a few purposeful strides and kisses you lightly on top of your head. “I know I gave it to you pretty rough.”

“I liked it,” you say, squinting your eyes and using that husky little voice you do when you want him to know how much you love the pain and how much of it you’re willing to endure for him.

“Oh, I know you did.” He wraps you up in his arms and feels you relax into him. “Now will you come downstairs, actually eat something this time? We’ve got all weekend, you know.”

You look up at him, as surprised as Lloyd expects you to be at his just throwing the invitation out there.

“Really?” you ask.

“Of course,” he replies. “Did you think I was just gonna kick you out? After all this time? No way, Porkchop. I’ve got big plans for you.”

Lloyd runs his thumb across the apple of your cheek and you lean into it and close your eyes. He kisses your forehead and then your lips—those plump, pillow-soft lips that feel so fucking perfect against his own. Lloyd isn’t big on kissing, never has been, unless it’s you. He pulls away because he has to or else he’ll end up back in bed with you. That can’t happen, not right now; he’s got work to do.

“Let’s go eat,” he says, and you follow him down the stairs.

Lloyd lets you reheat the food in the kitchen. He lets you pour him a drink. He lets you make him a plate before making one for yourself. Such a good little wife, so well trained. He knows you would live to serve him and he’d live like a goddamn king if he let you into his life. It really is a shame, though; you’re so much better than this, so much more. You would have made an excellent lawyer—and not a dirtbag, either. You would have done something of substance, something that mattered, something that helped people. You’re so very good at making other people happy.

After you’ve cleared his plate and yours, Lloyd lets you rinse the dishes but tells you to leave the rest. “Come sit with me,” he says. He pours you another glass of wine and takes it, and you, into the living room before making a fire in the oversized stone fireplace.

You’re cradling your glass of wine in both your hands, sitting on the big brown leather couch with your legs tucked under you. You’ve got nothing on under his jersey and it takes all the strength Lloyd can muster not to throw you on the rug in front of the fire and fuck you half blind. But no—not yet. He has some questions he needs to ask you, some things he needs to say.

“So,” he says, poking at the fire and turning around, “tell me about Harrison.”

He watches your eyes light up and your quick attempt to hide it, but of course he clocks it—he was waiting for it.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you say, but not unkindly.

“Well, I am… in my way.” He sits next to you on the couch and places his hand on your bare thigh. “Look, I never wanted to be a dad. You know that. I fucking hate my dad and I’d probably be a far worse one than he was, but… you know… he’s my son. I want to know about him. That is if you want to tell me. I understand if you don’t.”

You smile softly and Lloyd can see your eyes start to water. Hook. Line. Sinker.

“He’s a lot like you, actually,” you begin. “I mean, he looks like you, but it’s not just that. He’s whip-smart and he knows exactly what he wants at all times—has even before he could talk.” You laugh a little, thinking about it. “And he’s a tough kid, maybe a little too tough, honestly, but he’s got a good heart underneath it all. And he’s so sweet when he wants to be.”

“He gets that part from you,” Lloyd says, and you roll your eyes. “What kind of stuff does he like?”

“He loves superhero movies and pepperoni pizza and, of course, football. You’ll be happy to know that he thinks flag football is for ‘wusses’ and he can’t wait until he can play tackle.”

“That’s my boy,” Lloyd says, and he finds himself feeling a surprising surge of pride.

He didn’t think he would actually care about any of this, and he was more than prepared to fake it for your sake, but the more he learns about his son—that there’s a tiny little Lloyd running around out there with that same innate urge to hurt—the more vainglorious he feels. He created this life, forced it into you so that you could push it out into the world and give the universe another Lloyd Hansen. There’s a certain power in that that Lloyd had never, until this very moment, understood or recognized. 

“He’s definitely his father’s son,” you say, searching his eyes for any sign that that means something to him. Lloyd gives you what you’re looking for, of course, and you smile. “He’s gonna get kicked off the team. I swear.”

“Not if I buy off the coach,” Lloyd quips. “So what else?”

“Well,” you continue, “he loves everything about the fall—the leaves and the pumpkin picking and Halloween costumes and candy. He hates me because I don’t let him watch scary movies yet, and he hates me because I make him go to school, which he despises even though he’s the smartest kid in his class.”

“Keep the kid in school, Porkchop. I mean it. Don’t let him grow up to be some degenerate dropout loser.”

“Oh, he’ll stay in school, because he can’t play football if he doesn’t. He’s starting to learn that sometimes you have to suffer for the things that you love.”

“Harsh lesson for a six-year-old,” Lloyd says, taking a deep pull of whiskey.

“Yeah, well, it’s a harsh world.”

Lloyd puts his drink down and turns to face you before grabbing your bare legs and putting them in his lap. “Look, I know you know what I do, that my particular line of work isn’t exactly conducive to being a family man. It’s not that I don’t care. It really isn’t. It’s just… complicated. I mean, you can’t expose a kid to that.”

“I know,” you say. “I understand, I do. I’ve never asked you for anything, Lloyd. I never even told you he was yours.”

“You didn’t have to tell me. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Your eyes drop to your hands in your lap and Lloyd notices, for the first time, that you’ve taken off your wedding ring. “At first,” you say, “but then you just kept popping up and I knew you must know.” You look back up at him, searching his eyes for a truth you’ll never get. “Is that why you’ve been following me? Is it because of Harrison?”

And now, Lloyd thinks, it’s time to lay a few cards on the table: not all of them, of course, but enough to nudge you towards where he wants you—needs you—to be.

Lloyd sighs deep. “I need to tell you something,” he says, “and you’re going to get upset, but I need you to promise me that you’ll just listen to everything I have to say before you freak out, ok?”

Lloyd can smell the fear wafting off you. “You’re scaring me, Lloyd.”

“Good,” he says. “You should be scared. I’ve been trying to protect you from this shit for years, but it’s getting really ugly now and it’s time you knew the truth.”

“Protect me? Protect me from what? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Lloyd has decided to give you the broad strokes, taking a bit of creative license where it suits him, and he begins.

“I told you not to marry Michael. I told you his father was a scumbag, but what I didn’t tell you —because I didn’t know then—was that the Senator is a very dangerous man. I always knew he made his money selling secrets. That’s about the worst kept secret in Washington but… you know… selling secrets is a D.C. staple. I thought it might hurt him eventually, but I never thought it would hurt you.”

You sit up straight and turn to him, sitting cross-legged as his jersey rides up your thighs and Lloyd tells himself don’t look, don’t look, focus.

“What do you mean hurt me? What the fuck is going on, Lloyd?”

Lloyd takes your hands in his. “The Senator’s been selling the wrong secrets to the wrong people—high-security intel he shouldn’t even have access to and he’s auctioning it off to the highest bidder—the fucking Russians, no less. But he’s got friends high up in the agency, probably because he’s got dirt on them too, so no one was doing a goddamn thing about it while I was there. But now there’s been a change of the guard, the CIA wanted to move on him, so they brought me in, and that’s when I found out that… well…” Lloyd takes a deep breath and prepares himself to tell the Big Lie, the one you absolutely have to believe if any of this is going to work. “Michael knew. He’s always known. And a lot of his money—your money—it’s from the Russians.”

Lloyd looks you in the eye, daring you to question him, and you find in them what you’ve always found: exactly what he wants you to see. “I don’t understand,” you say, your voice shaky. “He doesn’t work with his father. He barely even talks to the man anymore.”

“That’s what he wants you to think, Porkchop. He doesn’t want you to know that you’re using blood money to send your kid to school and get your fuckin hair done.”

“What do you mean blood money?”

“About a year ago, the Senator sold off the names of a bunch of undercover agents. As of today, there’s only one left alive. The Senator got millions for it. That’s around the same time Michael got that big bonus and you bought your fancy new house, no?”

You bring your hands to your mouth and make a sound that’s not altogether human. “Oh my God,” you say, but you’re not quite ready to believe it. You shake your head. “No, Michael wouldn’t do this. He would never take the money if he knew that people would die because of it. He just… he wouldn’t.”

“He would, Porkchop, and he did. I can show you the paper trail if you want, but that’s not even the worst of it.”

“How can this possibly get any worse, Lloyd?” you ask, and you’ve got that look in your eyes—that fear that Lloyd finds so goddamn addictive. Christ, he can smell it on you. Focus, Lloyd.

“Things can always get worse,” he says, “especially when the Russians are involved. The Senator fucked up this time because he’s a greedy sonofabitch. He smelled that oligarch money and he decided to play the Russians off each other to drive up the price. Let’s just say, these are guys who do not like to lose, and now the losers are pissed, and they’re out for blood—specifically your family’s blood, and they do not give a single fuck who they drain it from. I killed one of them outside your house four months ago, another one outside Harrison’s school his first day back, but they just keep coming, Porkchop, and you know I’d kill a fucking army of men for you but they’ll just keep sending more unless Michael gets me what I need.”

Lloyd can see your hands trembling a bit as your mouth drops open. “You… you killed someone… for me?”

Lloyd takes a sip of his drink and puts the glass back down on the coffee table. “Technically, I’ve killed 23 people for you over the past 14 months, but who’s counting? That’s not the point. The point is that”—he grabs your hands again and stills them—”and I need you to just listen here and don’t get mad, I’ve been trying to work with your husband for a little while now, to get him to help me help the government take control of this situation, to get back the intel the Senator has and get him to turn himself in. And they’ll take it easy on Michael if he cooperates, but he won’t.”

You snatch your hands back from him and straighten your spine. “You’ve been working with my husband?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow at him. “For how long?”

“A couple of months,” Lloyd says, “it doesn’t matter. What matters is-”

“How long, Lloyd? Exactly.” 

He can see in your eyes that you already know the answer. You always were too smart for your own good.

“Six months, but-”

You push away from him, to the other end of the couch, and you drop your head into your hands. “I should have known. Fuck. I should have fucking known you had something to do with this.” You stand up and start pacing back and forth between the couch and the fireplace, cursing under your breath, before you turn back to him, “Is any of this even true? Or did you just wake up one day and decide, ‘Hey, I’m gonna go threaten Michael so he’s too fucking scared to fuck his own wife and then she’ll come crawling back to me like she always does because she’s so goddamn predictable.’” You grab your wine glass and finish the contents in one gulp. “I’m such an idiot. I’m so fucking stu-”

Lloyd rises quickly and you stop speaking, backing away from him as he walks toward you. He takes the glass from your hand, setting it down next to his, and then he grabs your wrists—not as roughly as he could, but not gentle either.

“I didn’t fucking ask for this, ok? Six months ago, my guy at the CIA comes to me and tells me your fucking husband is dirty, hands me a fat paycheck, and tells me to turn the guy, so that’s what I’m gonna do. That’s my fucking job. And you know what? I’m glad he came to me with it, because there’s no one else on Earth that will do more to protect you, to keep you safe, to keep Harrison safe. You think I wanted this?” He drops your hands and runs a hand through his hair. “You think I wanted to have to go see your piece of shit husband every goddamn week knowing that he goes home to my girl and my son? Please. I didn’t fucking ask for this. I told you not to marry him. I told you what would happen if you did and guess what, Porkchop? I was wrong, because this is waaaay fucking worse. So, really, you should be on your goddamn knees thanking me because if they hadn’t come to me, all of you would be in the fuckin ground by now.”

“I- I don’t…” Lloyd can see your mind racing, trying to sort through the infodump he just unloaded on you—to make sense of it, to catch him in a lie or find any evidence whatsoever that the things he’s telling you are untrue. You won’t, of course, and a lot of it is true; you just don’t need to know which parts. “What happens next?” you ask.

“My guys are… let’s just say working with Michael as we speak,” Lloyd replies. “They snatched him up from some shitty motel, and it’s a good thing they did because the Russians tailed him from your house Wednesday night.”

“Th- they were there?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Porkchop,” he says, cupping your cheek. “They are always there.”

“What about Harrison? My parents? Are they-”

“I have people on your parents’ house. They’re not going to touch a goddamn hair on the kid’s head, I promise you that. I may not be Dad material, but I’m not gonna let anyone hurt my son.”

You’re crying now and Lloyd can feel his cock starting to stir in his pants. He wants to grab your face and lick the tears off your cheek. Fucking focus, Lloyd. Christ. 

“I need Michael to cooperate, to get us the information we need so we can figure out who exactly we are dealing with overseas. I can’t stop these guys for good if I don’t know who’s sending them.”

“Well, I’m sure your guys have ways of making people cooperate.” You shudder after you say it, not wanting to let yourself think too hard about what those methods might be. “I can’t imagine Michael would last long under that kind of pressure. I’m shocked he didn’t fold the second you walked through his door.” Lloyd can see it occur to you in real-time that your husband—your weak, spineless loser of a husband—has avoided any real repercussions for months. You look up at him, staring daggers into his eyes. “Why is that, exactly? Why didn’t you make him cooperate months ago?”

Lloyd has been waiting for this question. “I could have,” he says. “Fuck knows I wanted to, but the agency wanted it done clean and my methods are… messy.”

“I don’t believe you,” you yell. “You could have ended this ages ago, but you kept it going. You let me stay in the line of fire for months, Lloyd. Why?”

“I would never have let anything happen to you,” Lloyd replies, and that’s the God’s honest truth. “But… I will admit to having some ulterior motives.”

You roll your eyes and throw up your hands. “Of fucking course you do. You always do. What kind of sick game are you playing? This is life and death shit and you’re playing your fucking games?”

Lloyd takes a deep breath and grabs your shoulders. “I just… I needed to know,’ he says.

“Needed to know what?”

“That you don’t love him anymore. That you really wanted out. So, yeah, maybe I threatened him, told him not to fuck you just to see if that would speed up the process. Because if that was me, Porkchop—if you were my wife and some asshole came into my office and told me not to touch you, I wouldn’t last a fucking day. I’d go home that night and fuck you harder because of it. But this guy? This fucking loser you married?” Lloyd scoffs. “I needed you to finally see it, ok? To see what I have always seen—that he’s weak, a fucking coward, that he’s not good enough for you or strong enough for you.”

“And then what?” you snap. “I leave him and you show up and then what, Lloyd?”

“Then maybe… I don’t know…  I don’t know, ok?”

“You’re the coward,” you shout. Your palms connect with Lloyd’s chest and he lets you push him away. “You’re the weak one. All of this shit you pulled and you still can’t fucking say it.”

Lloyd stares you down, watching your chest rise and fall beneath his jersey. Goddammit, you look so fucking sexy when you’re angry, but he’s so close now. He stalks toward you and grabs your neck, shoving you up against the wall and trapping you there—a caged animal, ready to strike. He’s never seen you this angry; you’ve never allowed yourself to show him this side of you—because he’s never allowed you to—and Lloyd is enjoying it a little too much. He wants to punish you for it, for your insubordination, for daring to question him, but he needs you angry—just not at him. 

Lloyd puts just the right amount of pressure on your carotid artery and presses his forehead to yours. “Call me weak again, Porkchop. Go on. Keep talking your shit, see what happens.”

Your eyelids flutter. He knows how much you love this grip, what it does to you, how stupid you go in his hands. But are you stupid enough to believe him, to trust him, to do exactly what he wants despite everything he’s done to you?

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze. “I didn’t mean it.”

Lloyd smiles. Yes, yes you are.

“All I’m trying to do is keep you safe, Porkchop.” He releases some of the pressure on your neck and you gasp for breath as he runs his thumb across your bottom lip. “I need you to work with me here, not against me.”

“Wh- what do you need me to do?” you ask. 

I need you to pass your final exam, Lloyd thinks.

“I need you to listen very closely,” he says, “and do exactly what I say.”

***

Your mind is racing as you wait for Lloyd in the strange bed. You didn’t believe him at first, thought it was just some cruel joke he was playing, but he showed you the evidence—photos and bank statements and all sorts of shit that had your head swimming as the reality of it hit home: Michael knew, he was involved, he profited. Your husband—your sweet, gentle, honest husband—is an enemy of the state.

And that should have been the worst of it, but Lloyd saved the actual worst for last: a video recording of the two of them in Michael’s office a few weeks ago, with your husband telling Lloyd that he didn’t care about you anymore—that there was no point in going after you because he was going to leave you anyway. 

But, if you’re honest, you didn’t need to see or hear any of that. Even before you learned that Lloyd had killed for you, you were already all in. Seeing the look in Lloyd’s eyes when he finally said the words “my son”—you could have cried because the last thing in the world you were expecting was for Lloyd Hansen to actually care. He tried to hide it but you could see it on his face; he was emotional (as emotional as Lloyd Hansen gets, anyway) and you’d decided then and there that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to put your family—your real family—back together. 

And he’s finally admitted, in his way, that he wants you. He won’t say it, of course, but he was so close to admitting that he has real feelings for you, that you’re more than just a fucktoy for him to play with, that you’re still his special girl. And so you’d agreed to do what he asked you to do—horrible as it is—because you truly believe that if you do it, he’ll finally admit the truth: that he loves you and he’s always loved you, that he’s ready to make you a real part of his life. There is nothing Lloyd Hansen could ask you to do that was too much, no line you wouldn’t cross, if it meant he would finally make you his.

You’ve got no love left for Michael anyway. He lied to you, he put you and Harrison in danger, and (if you’re honest) Lloyd is right: he’s weak, he’s a coward, and he’s not strong enough for you. You don’t want to hurt him but you know you have no choice. Lloyd explained that it would be better for him in the end—that this is the push he needs to finally cooperate. Without you, without his son, he’ll finally accept that the jig is up. He’ll finally do the right thing and turn the evidence and his father over to the government.

All this should bother you a hell of a lot more than it does, but you have to admit that it’s exciting. You’re on the verge of a whole new life, though you don’t yet know what that looks like. At this point, any life without Michael in it is looking pretty good to you but the life you really want—the life you’ve always wanted—is so close you can taste it. So close, in fact, that it’s currently stripping naked and crawling into bed with you.

The bed dips with Lloyd’s weight and then he’s next to you, one arm around your waist and his head perched atop yours. “All set,” he says. “I’ve got some of my guys at your house. They’ll bring by your and Harrison’s things in the morning. You can’t go back there—neither of you—until this is over.”

“And Michael?” you ask.

“They’ll bring him by, too.”

“Are you sure there isn’t another way?” you ask.

“I’m sure,” he replies. “If he was gonna break, he would have. My guys worked him over pretty good.”

You should feel something when he says this—some disgust, some horror, some sympathy pain—but you don’t. You feel cold and hard and angry. You feel like he did this to himself, that he deserves whatever nightmare he’s currently living at the hands of Hansen Government Services.

“And you think… if we do this… it’ll break him?”

“Oh, Porkchop, I know it will.”

Lloyd runs his hand down your thigh as he kisses your neck, finding your pulse point and sucking a bruise into it. You missed his marks; you want to be littered with them. Your legs open for him and his fingers work their magic on you as he nibbles and sucks at your tits. He’s not as vicious as he usually is—he’s not breaking the skin; he’s almost gentle with you and between this unexpected softness and the feeling of his mustache on the sensitive flesh of your breasts, you're so worked up that you’re already arching your back and yanking at his hair.

“Oh, God, Lloyd. Fuck me. Do whatever you want, I don’t care, just please fuck me.”

Lloyd chuckles against your skin, your nipple still in his mouth, and says, “Whatever I want?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

He releases your nipple with a wet pop and smiles up at you. “What I want is to eat your sweet cunt until you cry. Haven’t gotten a taste yet, Porkchop, and I’m fuckin starving for it.”

“It’s yours,” you moan.

“Oh, I know it is.”

Lloyd kisses and sucks his way down your body until he reaches your center, and he shoves his big nose against your clit and his stache against your pussy and he inhales deep. “Fuck me,” he says, and you feel his deep voice rumbling against your most sensitive flesh. “You smell so fuckin good.” He peers up at you from between your thighs and he cocks his head. “Haven’t eaten you out with the flavor savor yet.”

A giggle erupts from the back of your throat and you clasp your hand over your mouth to stop it. You look down at Lloyd, waiting for his expression to go from mirth to malice, but he doesn’t shift.

“What, you don’t like it?” he asks.

“I do,” you say, still trying to keep the giggles at bay. “I love it.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You want a mustache ride, Porkchop?”

Now it’s pointless to try and stop from laughing, but Lloyd isn’t angry; he’s ravenous. He’s gripping your thighs in his big hands and running his tongue and his teeth up and down them, lightly grazing your clit as he moves from one side to the other and back and forth and back and forth until you’re dizzy.

“Please,” you whimper, so needy to feel his tongue where you need it most.

Suddenly Lloyd releases you and crawls up to the head of the bed, and you’re too distracted by the bounce of his hard heavy cock to even whine at him for teasing you. But you should have known: Lloyd Hansen always gets his before you get yours. You shift your body, ready to suck the soul out of his dick, but when you move to take him in your hand, he stops you.

“Sit on my face,” he commands.

“Wh- what?”

“You heard me. Get the fuck on and strap the fuck in.”

Well, this is new, you think to yourself. Lloyd had never once let you get on top of him unless you were riding his dick. You look him in the eyes, trying to ascertain whether he’s fucking with you or not, but you can see he’s serious even before he snaps, “Sit. On. My. Fucking. Face. Now.”

You don’t have to be told twice, and you throw one leg over Lloyd and straddle him, grinding your soaked pussy against his length and dragging a long hiss out of him.

“That’s not my face, Porkchop,” he says. “But if you’d rather ride my dick…”

“Later,” you say, and you move up his body until you’re hovering over his face.

“I said sit, goddammit.”

Lloyd grabs you and pulls your full weight down on him as he starts to devour your pussy from below. You hold on to the headboard and try to pull off of him a bit but he grabs your hips and holds you down tight against his face. As he pushes and pulls you, he’s got his nose grinding rhythmically against your clit and that fucking mustache is doing something indescribable to you as he fucks you with his long, thick tongue.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Oh fuck. You feel so fucking good. Don’t stop.”

Lloyd just growls into your pussy before sticking his tongue all the way out and sliding your body against it. You’ve got one hand on the headboard to brace yourself as the other tugs at his hair. You allow yourself to pull a little harder than you normally would, and when you give it a nice hard pull on one particularly satisfying swipe of his tongue, he fucking moans—it’s that same moan he does when he’s in the throes of an intense fuck, when he reaches the point of no return and he couldn’t tear himself out of your pussy if there was a gun to his head. You could have cum just from that sound, but luckily you don’t have to because he’s got you so fucking close with his tongue.

He lifts you off him briefly, telling you, “Cum all over my fuckin face. Do it,” before getting back to work, and within seconds you’re calling out his name as you gush all over his chin.

“Mmm,” he grunts, “so fucking juicy.” He lifts and guides you off of him and you lay next to him on the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “Now clean up your mess.”

You grab Lloyd’s face in both your hands and bring it down to yours and you lap at his chin and his lips, tasting yourself on his skin as he stares you down.

“Leave the mustache,” he says. “I want to smell you for days.”

You smile and he opens his mouth to let your tongue inside, and he kisses you soft and slow and deep until your absolutely aching for him.

You pull out of the kiss. “Need you inside me, Lloyd.”

“And I need to be there,” he replies, “but I can’t decide how I want my pussy served.”

“Anything,” you moan. “Just fuck me.”

“Alright,” he says. “All fours, ass up. Get moving.”

You hop to it quick as can be, and before you can back it up for him, he grabs your hips and digs his fingers in deep and he pulls you back until your ass smacks his lower stomach. You can feel his cock hot and hard in your hand as you reach between your legs and position him just right, and when he snaps his hips and enters you with one punishing thrust, it knocks the wind out of you.

He palms your ass cheeks hard as he fucks you from behind and God you want him to hit you, and somehow he just knows because he starts to spank you—one hard smack for every four thrusts, alternating sides until your ass is fucking burning and your eyes are watering. He reaches down and grabs your throat and pulls you upright, fucking up into you as he squeezes the sides of your neck. His other hand rubs violent circles on your clit as you start to shake in his arms.

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s my girl. Cum all over this dick—your dick. Come on. You can do it, Porkchop.”

You lean your head all the way back so you can look at him, and you expect to see his cold shark eyes staring back at you. But what you see is something different: his eyes are almost soft and his brow is furrowed and he’s slack-jawed and he looks almost… is that loving?

You cum almost instantly the second his eyes lock onto yours, and you don’t let your eyes flutter closed and you don’t blink because all you want is to watch him watching you come undone on his cock. You want him to see in your eyes how much you love it, how much you love him, but most of all you don’t want to miss one nanosecond of this look that he’s giving you. He’s never looked at you like this before. You clench down hard on him once you regain control of your muscles because you want to see his face when you do.

“Oh fuck. You are squeezing the fuck out of me, Porkchop. Gonna make me cum.”

“Do it,” you say.

“Not yet.” He pulls out quick and you’re clenching around nothing, missing the feel of him deep inside you and it’s only been two seconds. He pushes you forward and you bounce on the mattress. “Turn around. I’m goin deep.”

The second you’re on your back, Lloyd grabs your ankles and throws them up on his shoulders before pressing your legs back and entering you again. It’s your favorite position and he knows it—you never feel more full of him, never feel him deeper inside you, than when he fucks you like this. He’s going deep but surprisingly slow; his thrusts are softer than usual and he’s taking extra care to roll his hips just right so that he’s hitting your spot with every slow silky drag of his cock. You are so fucking wet—almost too wet—and all you can hear is the creamy sound of your own pussy and Lloyd’s moans as he fucks you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Need you to cum again. Can you cum again, baby? Can you cum for me?”

You clench involuntarily when he calls you baby. He hasn’t called you that since the first time he fucked you. After that, it was all slut and whore and bitch—and you like that, you do, but baby… baby is different. Everything about this feels different.

“Yes,” you say. “I’ll cum for you. I always fucking cum for you.”

“That’s cause you’re my special girl. My perfect girl. Oh fuck, baby, please I’m so close.”

“Harder,” you say, and he does what you command, fucking you deep and rough while he kisses you soft and gentle. The dueling sensations have your head swimming and it doesn’t take long before you’re close.

“I’m gonna cum. Cum with me?” you ask, and you know you sound meek and desperate but you don’t fucking care because the way he’s looking at you…

“You want me to cum with you, baby?” he asks, and you nod.

He puts both his hands on your head and you know he could crack your skull open like a watermelon with them but he’s not squeezing hard—just using you for purchase as he pistons his hips and hits you hard and deep, just the way he likes.

“Oh fuck. Oh, baby. I’m gonna cum.” He lets out a high-pitched grunt as he tries to hold it back, to wait for you, but you’re right there with him. “I fucking love your pussy. I.. I… fuck… I love you. I fucking love you.”

You’ve never cum harder in your life. Just those words and your whole body is shaking and trembling and you’re crying out to him, telling him how much you love him as he shudders and spills himself inside of you. You revel in the feel of his dick twitching inside your walls, clenching down on him hard and holding him inside as you take in your favorite sight in the world: Lloyd Hansen, fucked-out and blissed-out—and finally, after all these years, in love.

He’s laying on top of you, still inside as he goes soft, and a tiny smile is playing at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t ask if I meant it,” he says, running his thumb across your bottom lip. “I think you know that I do.”

But you would never have questioned him. Lloyd Hansen doesn’t just accidentally say I love you when he cums. He also doesn’t cuddle after sex, and he certainly doesn’t fall asleep beside you with his arms wrapped around you.

Except that’s exactly what he’s doing, and while your body is wrung out and spent, you barely get any sleep that night because your mind is on fire and everything is Lloyd.

PART SIX >>>

[nanaminokanojo]

BLOOM | Sukuna X You | Part 3/3 [COMPLETED]

CHARACTERS: Sukuna X You | Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Shoko Ieiri | Maki | Fushiguro Toji | Baby Megumi | Megumi's Mom (OC) CHAPTER COUNT: 3/3 WORD COUNT: 10,900+ GENRE: romance | fluff | slight angst | smut | ooc sukuna | female reader | modern au CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: profanity/strong language | alcohol use | age gap | smut/sexual intercourse SPOILERS: N/A

collection masterlist

one two three | Bloom Masterlist

“You up for it?”

You were sitting at your usual spot at Maki’s. It was still quite early so the pub wasn’t as crowded as it usually is, and it was a weekday. You were there to meet Sukuna but the owner suddenly started chatting you up like she usually does, beating around the bush for a bit before she finally asked you a favor. Apparently, they’re under-staffed and is in need of another waitress but hiring a new one was out of the question since it was a temporary post, just until the person who really works for her recovers from a broken ankle.

“It’s just from four in the afternoon to eight on weekdays, and since you’re usually hanging around here during those times, I thought of asking you. We’re just really short of hands for the next week,” she said, flashing you a rueful smile. “I asked Ieiri but she’s in the middle of her internship.”

Maki had been there for you before, talking to you when you had issues you couldn’t share with your friends and always giving you free non-alcoholic drinks during your exams, and you didn’t see anything wrong with helping her out for once. You’ll earn from it, too. “Sure. When do I begin?”

She clapped her hands excitedly which took you aback. She’s always so tough, barking orders here and there or putting rowdy customers in their proper places, that you didn’t really expect her to be all giggly and excited all of a sudden. “You’ll do it?”

“Yeah, why not?”

She hugged you then. “Oh my god, Y/N. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You waved her aside, chuckling. “It’s fine. It’s for a week anyway. No big deal.”

She sighed in relief. “You don’t know how much weight you’ve taken off my shoulders, so it is a big deal. Okay for you to start on Monday?”

You nodded.

“I’m giving you all the cherry blossom tea smoothie you want.” She grinned cheekily at you then. “And speaking of cherry blossoms, I noticed you and Sukuna coming here together. Are you together now?”

You felt your face heating up at the mention of the man's name but you shook your head. "Not yet."

"Yet?"

You chuckled awkwardly. "We're working it out, I guess. We're not exclusively dating though and he isn't my boyfriend..." You felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought. It's the first time you're saying it out loud, what Sukuna isn't to you, and you had to admit the notion was kinda disappointing. But the problem was with you. "Yeah...just that."

"He likes you though. I see the way he looks at you." Maki smiled knowingly at you. "Does this have something to do with your no dating policy? It's ridiculous if you ask me. Sukuna is a good man."

Ah, straightforward as always. "I know that. That's why I'm letting him have a go at changing my mind."

"And is he successful so far?"

"He's almost there." You frowned then, catching her comment about him. "You seem to know him well."

"We go way back," Maki explained. "My old man still owns the pub when he was a student and he came here all the time listening to me and that old geezer fight."

"Oh. That must have been a sight."

"Plus he's friends with my cousin, Toji."

You tilted your head in question. Sukuna never really talked about his friends, and he has never introduced you to any of them. It’s the first time you’re hearing about that side of him. “Really? What was he like back then?”

Maki snorted. “He was an idiot who had too much time in his hands. He’s smart, but had a penchant for mischief. I mean, I guess you already figured that out just looking at him. Nobody really thought he would end up to be this big-shot architect.”

You laughed. “Really?”

“Toji’s influence, I guess. That one’s a bigger idiot.” She looked deep in thought for a moment then said, “Why his wife chose him instead of Sukuna is a puzzle.”

You were confused. You did not know what she was talking exactly, and why her cousin’s wife should have chosen Sukuna was beyond you. For some reason, you didn’t have a good feeling about it, then you remembered what he told you before about dating just one person.

Could it be… “No…” You didn’t even realize you said that out loud until Maki held onto your hand, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry. I said too much.”

“Well, don’t stop now,” you found yourself saying, unable to help it. “Is the situation what I think it is? Your cousin’s wife…He told me before that he only ever steadily dated one girl. Is it…?”

Maki nodded, grimacing. “They cheated on him six years ago.”

“So, he lost his girlfriend and best friend?” You felt your heart break at the thought. You might not have known him back then, but you couldn’t help but feel bad on his behalf.

“Yes. I’m not saying it’s his fault, but he’s hardly ever there since he was busy.”

“It’s not enough grounds for them to do that!” you stated loudly, feeling genuinely hurt for him. Damn, if he dated just one woman ever and never had a relationship again before you – for six years – then that spoke volumes of how much it affected him afterwards. You caught yourself and flashed Maki an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“Understandable.” She sighed. “He went overseas and didn’t come back until just two years ago. Guess why he came back.”

“Why?”

“To attend their wedding.”

You didn’t know what was more messed up, but you also know Sukuna to be a genuinely good person. If he disappeared for that long only to come back to attend his best friend and ex’s wedding, then it only meant he totally forgave them. If he was giving another relationship a chance, particularly with you, then it also meant he has healed. How he could be so caring and affectionate towards you despite what he went through astonished you, but maybe that’s just how he really was as a person.

“Are they okay now?”

“Yes.” She laughed slightly then. “You should see how he dotes on Toji’s son.”

Maki ruffled your hair, seeing how you’ve reacted. “Just one piece of unsolicited advice, Y/N. If you decide to be with him, be certain about it and don’t ever hurt him.”

You only nodded, taking her words to heart. She was right. Just as you were afraid to be left alone, nobody deserves to be hurt like that. You wanted to be angry at the fact that his own best friend did that to him but at the same time, you were proud of him for coming out of it while maintaining a good view about the whole concept of relationships and perhaps love. It radiated in the way he treated you, and all the effort he is putting into making things work despite your hesitations.

He arrived a few moments later, showing you that crooked smile of his. You both had one beer, and over that, he asked about your day and he told you about yours. When you were finished with your drinks, he said, “Mind going out for a drive? I wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t meet his eyes after what Maki told you, and several times, he asked if you were okay to which you responded affirmatively, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

Sukuna took you to the cliffs just around the city limits, parking his car a few yards from the edge enough to have a good view of the sea of lights below. When he killed the engine, you disembarked from his Jeep, walking closer to the edge when you felt his hand on your arm.

“Not too close to the edge,” he said, looking at you with concern written all over his face, but before he could ask what was bothering you, you said, “You were going to tell me something.”

At that, he sighed as if in long-suffering. “Yes, that.” He looked at you seriously as if he was going to tell you something grave only to end up saying, “I’m going to be away for two weeks starting Monday. I’m going to London.”

Momentarily forgetting about your conversation with Maki, you blinked, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Why did you have to look like you’re about to tell me you’re going to be executed or something? Jesus, Sukuna.” You laughed despite yourself.

“Don’t laugh. I’m annoyed.” He pouted. “Aren’t you sad? Two weeks is a long time. I won’t get to see you, and I have to check for time zones if I want to talk to you over the phone.”

You held his hand, twining your fingers with his before raising it to plant a kiss on his knuckles. “I will miss you, but you don’t have to be so upset about it. I’ll be right here when you come back. Stop being all dramatic.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re funny.”

He rolled his eyes, but then said, “So, before that, I was planning to take you to meet my best friend and his wife on Saturday. I’ve been telling them about you…”

The rest of his words faded, the only thought registering in your head was how he mentioned his best friend and his wife. You were going to meet them. You couldn’t say no to that given that they seem to play integral parts in his life despite what happened. “Okay.”

“You’re gonna love their little boy,” he said excitedly.

“Sure…”

“But really, Y/N? You won’t have a whirlwind romance with some college brat while I’m away?”

You let go of his hand, stepping back. You didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. Not when he was speaking from experience. “What do you take me for?!” The words came out a little harsher than you intended, the resentment you felt for his previous relationship resurfacing.

He arched a brow at you, puzzled at your outburst. “Y/N, I was kidding.”

Not able to hold back anymore, you turned away from him as tears started flooding your vision. You didn’t even know why you were crying over the whole thing, and you just felt like an idiot as you faced him again, frantically drying your tears.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He looked alarmed as he held onto both of your hands, stopping you from wiping harshly at your face. “Why are you crying? Is it because of what I said?”

You shook your head. “No…no. Can I hug you though?” you asked and he almost laughed as he himself drew you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “You never have to ask.”

You did the same, holding onto him tightly, hoping it was enough for you to get rid of any feeling of hurt left in him if there was any to begin with; that it was enough for him to be at ease where you were concerned when he goes away. Still, you wanted to make sure. You stayed like that until you’ve calmed down, thinking you were doing it more for yourself than for him.

“What brought this on?”

“You won’t get mad?” you asked between hiccups, looking up at him.

“Why would I?”

“Promise me first. I just don’t want to hide anything from you and it’s been bothering me.”

“Okay. I promise.” As if to emphasize his words, he pecked you on the tip of your nose. “Now what is bothering you?”

“Since you mentioned your best friend,” you began, “Toji, right?”

He eyed you, nonplussed. “How did you know?”

“Maki told me…” You started tearing up again. “She-she told me w-what happened. Everything…so I know…Please don’t get mad.”

He clucked his tongue. “That woman. Seriously.”

“I’m glad she told me and I’m sorry if I pried, but I can’t…”

“Is that why you’re crying?”

“Y-yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they hurt you.”

His expressions softened. “Silly.”

You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around him. “It’s not silly. Nobody deserves that, least of all you. You’re always so good to me, and I can’t imagine anybody doing that to you, least of all your best friend.”

Sukuna’s hug tightened a tad, placing his chin on top of your head. “No sense crying about it anymore, Y/N. I’ve forgiven and forgotten. It wasn’t their fault if they felt that way when I went away. They found common ground, I guess. Toji thought he was losing his best friend and she felt the same way.”

“Okay.”

“If it isn’t too much to ask, I want you to get to know them, too, just like I want to be close to Satoru, Suguru and Ieiri. They’re important to me.”

“Okay.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes.” You met his gaze. “If they’re important to you, then I will do that for you and meet them.”

He wiped away your tears then. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you mumbled, breathing in deeply. “Sorry you had to see me like this.”

“You don’t have to hide anything from me.” He shrugged then, snickering. “Maki’s timing sure is impeccable.”

And so, Saturday came and you held onto Sukuna’s hand as he helped you out of the Jeep after parking in front of a two-story house with pale yellow walls and white shutters. Before it was a small, well-tended yard surrounded with white picket fences, very much like the house you grew up in under the care of your grandfather. A small, plastic slide and swing set was placed on the grass along with a tiny bike and some toys in the sandbox.

“You okay?” he asked, interrupting your reverie. When you nodded, he said, “You’re not gonna cry, are you?” making you smack him on the arm. “Ow?”

“Serves you right.”

Just then, the door opened revealing this couple you assumed to be the Fushiguros. They looked good together, both with raven hair with their equally dark-haired little boy who looked about eighteen months old, all chubby cheeks and pudgy cuteness.

Toji was this big, hulking man with a vertical scar on the right side of his mouth which oddly added to his charm instead of marring his handsome face. He was carrying his little boy in his muscular arms, taking the edge off his tough looks. He was the first one to approach.

"Hi. Y/N, right?"

"Yes, hi." You shook his hand, smiling genuinely despite your previous notions regarding him and his wife who also stepped forward, taking your hands in hers. She was beautiful, too, and she gave you this feeling of coming home with her bright eyes and kind smile. You couldn’t blame Toji for falling for her, then again, Sukuna used to be in love with her, too.

"You're so pretty!" she said as a way of greeting. "I'm Mirai. It's nice to meet you."

Toji glanced at Sukuna, the gesture injected with meaning. "It's nice to finally meet you. Typically, he's quiet, but he won't shut up about you."

"Shut up," Sukuna muttered.

"It's nice to meet you both." You chuckled. "He isn't quiet around me either." Then your eyes shifted to their kid. You weren't exactly enamored with the idea of children, but you understood what Sukuna meant. "Hi, little angel," you couldn't help but say to the boy who was looking at you with wide, sparkly eyes framed with long lashes. "Your son is lovely."

"Thank you," Mirai returned happily, watching her son reaching for you. "Aww, Megumi likes you."

"Megumi," you repeated. "Blessing?"

"Yes," Toji said proudly and you gathered from his statement that he named the baby.

You looked towards Sukuna as if for assurance as you reached out. "May I hold him?"

"Sure." Toji handed Megumi to you and you followed after them as they led you and Sukuna into their home, marveling at how well-behaved he was, just leaning against your chest and sucking on his thumb, all warm and smelling like baby powder and everything that reminded you of happiness.

The two men went to the living room to catch up while you went to the kitchen with Mirai who was curiously asking you one thing after the other.

"Sukuna told us you're a student. What are you studying?" she asked as she stirred something in a pot.

"Comprehensive literature," you answered, untangling Megumi's hand from your hair.

"Are you sure you're okay carrying Megumi?" Mirai threw you a rueful smile.

You nodded, beaming warmly at the child. "I don't mind. He's so adorable."

Mirai smiled lovingly at her son. "Isn't he? I was so happy when I first had him and saw how much he looked like his dad."

"Yeah, he's like a mini version of Toji. He has your eyes though."

“Thank you.” She grinned. "So, how long have you known Sukuna?"

"Just almost half a year. Around that."

"Guy's whipped for you, Y/N."

"I heard that!" Sukuna called out from the living room. He suddenly entered the kitchen, plucking Megumi off your arms saying, "My turn. How's my favorite boy?"

You just snickered, your thoughts elsewhere. It got you wondering if you would even have met Sukuna if things didn't turn out the way they have. You were picturing Sukuna standing beside Mirai instead of Toji but you just couldn't and it got you contemplating that maybe things ended up the way they did because that's what's meant to be.

As opposed to your resentment to what they did to him, you were now glad, perhaps even thankful and more understanding of Sukuna's reasons for letting things go and remaining friends with them. Because if those things didn't happen, you won't have him. Because if they didn't turn out that way, you wouldn't be watching him being all silly and adorable with Megumi, giving you a picture of what kind of father he would be when he did have kids. Because then, you wouldn't be considering the possibility of a future with anyone…with him.

Then you froze as your feelings for him became clearer. Because why else would you be spending all your time with him, being close to him and getting to know him? Why were you so keen on making sure he was happy? Why were you hurting on his behalf? Why was the world suddenly a better place despite the fact that you're supposedly alone?

It was simple. You're in love with him.

"Y/N?" you heard his deep voice resonating from inside your head then louder as your vision began to focus. He was standing in front of you with Megumi in his arms.

"Huh?"

"You okay? You were spacing out."

"Just thinking." You bit your lower lip, looking apologetic.

"Getting lost in your own world again, I see?" he teased.

"Getting lost in yours is more like it."

He and Miriai looked at you at the same time, the latter giggling pretty much like Ieiri whenever you told her about Sukuna. "You two are so cute."

You brushed the comment off, approaching her. "How can I help?"

You set the table with Toji's help, listening to him talk about Megumi and Mirai with such profound fondness and pride. Just like Sukuna, his appearance was an irony to his funny and soft personality it was disconcerting.

"It's great to have guests over. We rarely do this but Sukuna comes here every Saturday, and well, he isn't a guest anymore," Mirai said as she fed Megumi.

"Thanks for having me then," you replied, still fixated on their kid who was babbling about with his mouth full while he repeatedly knocked a plastic spoon on his high chair.

The conversation was light, circling on their old days, but you knew they were trying to skirt around the ugly things. Mirai regaled you of how Toji got the scar on his mouth. Turns out he and Sukuna were street racers at some point. "Easy cash," as the former had put it. "I mean who wants a part time job if you earn thousands a night?"

"So, what do you plan to become after you graduate?" she asked you again.

"A writer, maybe?"

At that, Sukuna started telling them about your date at the fancy restaurant and how you pretty much nailed the story of the lone old woman who gave you wine. "She's amazing like that," he said fondly, absently patting you on your thigh.

"I'm sure Y/N here finds you impressive, too," Toji teased. "Right, Y/N?"

"Yeah, he smells awfully great it's making my thoughts incoherent," you sallied, "But jokes aside..." You let your voice trail off on purpose, gauging his reaction.

"What?" he prompted.

"That's for me to know," you finally stated, making the couple laugh.

"No fair!"

After lunch, you helped Mirai clean up. Megumi was asleep in his crib after his meal and the guys stood by the backdoor, enjoying some beer. You dried the plates quietly while she washed and told you about Toji.

"It's like raising two kids, really," she told you. "He doesn't pick up after himself and our Megumi is more considerate than he is."

"But you love him," you teased.

"With all that I am." Her eyes strayed to Sukuna then. "Cherish him. Don't let that one get away."

At her words, you felt the same hurt you did when you first learned what the real deal was with them from Maki. You blood boiled out of the blue as thoughts started racing in your head a hundred miles per second. How dare she say that to you when she herself let him go? How dare she hurt him like that and yet keep him as a friend?

The sound of something breaking brought you out of your trance, and you realized the plate you were wiping had fallen onto the floor. But your attention was on her, your steely eyes hard and intense as you said, "You're the last person I expect to be telling me such things."

"I..."

You stepped away from her only to be met by Sukuna's disappointed expression, but you ignored that as well as you turned away. "Excuse me,” you said, bowing slightly as you walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, grabbing your bag before walking out of the house.

The crisp autumn air blew coldly against you, ruffling your hair and your dress as you stood there, not really knowing where to go or what to do. Suddenly, you felt stupid for saying something like that to Mirai when she had been nothing but nice towards you, her and Toji. You also liked their son. And judging by how Sukuna looked at you, you had this niggling feeling that you've ruined it all, eating at you from the inside out.

Just then, the door opened and closed behind you. You didn't have to turn around to know it was Sukuna who followed you out. You've grown so accustomed to his presence that at times, he only had to look at you and you already understand what he wants to convey.

"Y/N, sweetheart, what's going on?" he asked, trying hard to keep the edge off his tone.

You didn't turn to face him, afraid of what you will see. "You heard what I said. Do I really have to explain?"

He walked around you, grabbing you by the shoulders, shaking you slightly. "I thought we're over this. I thought I already explained this to you."

That doesn't cut it, you thought but opted not to say it. He might have told you that he has forgiven and forgotten, and although you weren't involved in it, you still felt displeasure whenever you remembered it. It wasn't as if Mirai and Toji did you wrong, and it wasn't as if you had the right to say shit but she didn't have the right to tell you anything either knowing to herself what she had done. You didn't want to hear anything from her about what you ought to do and decide where Sukuna was concerned. It just didn't sit right with you.

"I know. I'm wrong. I get it," you snapped, shrugging his hands off you. "I wanna go home." You started walking away from him, but you stopped when he said, "What is wrong with you?"

You turned back, breath snagging as you let out a mirthless chuckle. "What is wrong with me?" you repeated, your voice coming out soft but with a bitter edge to it. "I know I am wrong for blurting out the things I did, and I am sorry."

"Y/N –"

"But don't strip me of my right to be angry when Mirai tells me to cherish you and not let you go as if she has any right to do it," you cut him off. "I didn't have the right to call her out on her transgressions to you, but don't tell me I can't cry or be mad at the fact that you had to go through all that because I care too damn much for you!"

Your eyes started to fill with tears as you regarded him, seeing the world come alive with blossoms dancing in the wind while in reality, the world was at its last legs, leaves falling all around you. Whenever you looked at him, you felt like everything was flourishing, filling your existence with beautiful things in an abundance of colors. "I'm so in love with you that I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt. I hate it when I know you're tired but you still smile for me anyway. I hate it when you look disappointed whenever I hesitate and couldn't make up my mind."

"I'm sorry for reacting the way I did. I was being a jerk, but that's how much I love you. I love you, Sukuna, more than I can possibly tell you. I can't pretend I don't."

"Say that again," he murmured.

"What?" you demanded gruffly, too caught up in your emotions to comprehend.

"You said you love me. Say it again." Now he looked like he was about to cry, eyes glistening even as he smiled wide with joy, drawing nearer and taking your hand in his.

You sighed in relief, feeling your chest loosen up. It felt great saying it out loud. Beyond just great. "I love you."

The moment you let go of the words, you were wrapped up in his warmth, his arms tight around you while you listened to the thundering beats of his heart. He held you at arm's length, looked deep into your eyes as he cupped your face and leaned in to claim your lips in a brief kiss. Spring has come in the middle of autumn, filling your senses and making you feel like you could fly. He held you in place, eyes closed as he touched his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky laugh.

"Do you mean that?" He opened his eyes slowly and you were lost in their depths as you nodded. "Yes."

"You haven't asked, but I happen to be just as in love with you if not more."

"I already knew that. How can I not when you show me every day? It's comforting to hear you say it out loud though." You smirked at him. "You know, when you don't think I'm asleep."

He stiffened against you. "You heard that?"

"God, it was so hard to keep my eyes closed and stop myself from reacting when you told me you're in love with me."

He clucked his tongue. "You waited this long to respond to me?"

"I told you I didn't wanna give it to you half-assed. I’m giving you my heart just as I want yours, and if you’re ready to entrust it wholly to me, I can’t just reciprocate with pieces of mine."

“You had it since the first day we met. I didn’t have to see everything else to know you’re the one who owns it.” Sukuna kissed you on the forehead, hugging you to him and just standing there with you, watching cars pass by the road, reveling in his proximity and his warmth. You didn’t need much of anything if you had him.

But then you broke out of his hold, realizing the mess you’ve made.

"What is it?"

"I have to apologize to our hosts. Stay here," you stated, walking back to the house to find the couple in the living room, standing there as if they were expecting you to come back. Without hesitation, you bowed before them. "I sincerely apologize for what I said. I should not have said that to you, Mirai. And it isn't my intention to indirectly hurt you, too, Toji. I'm sorry."

"What is this girl saying?" you heard Mirai say as she approached you and hugged you tight. "You silly girl. We deserve that and we don't deserve Sukuna. Everyone just gave us a free pass, and we were glad you were brave enough to say it to us like that. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Still..."

Toji shook his head. "No, Y/N. Thank you. For loving Sukuna and for giving us the chance to finally forgive ourselves, too."

At that, you smiled, nodding in understanding.

When it was time to leave, Megumi woke up and you had the chance to say goodbye to him, too, holding onto him until you had to get out the door.

"Visit us anytime, Y/N," Mirai said, winking. "Sukuna doesn't have to be with you."

"So, you're throwing me away cause you have Y/N now? Some friends you are," he sniped, causing another round of easy laughter.

"I'll come by soon," you promised, pecking Megumi on the cheek. "See you, angel."

***

"So, you're officially together now?" Suguru asked, helping you pack for the trip to the mountains Sukuna had planned, scheduled immediately after his return.

"Two weeks ago, but he had to go to London," you said, and in the next second, Ieiri and Satoru both brought out their wallets, handing bills to Suguru.

"I knew there was something different when he drove you home that afternoon."

"I can't believe you three are betting over my relationship with Sukuna," you muttered, zipping up your small luggage.

Suguru won fair and square though. He had been right to ask from the start when he walked in on you and Sukuna making out on the porch when the latter dropped you off. The drive then was quiet but you had the shut the guy up for teasing you about that "one hell of a confession," as he had put it. But he immediately took control, shoving you against the wall beside the door and kissing you stupid.

"What did I say about raising her on my own?" Suguru gloated, slinging an arm over your shoulder much to the annoyance of your supposed two other parents.

Satoru scoffed. "I was the one who did the hardest job of interrogating him the first time he came and brought our little girl dead drunk!"

"Yeah, he said you're intimidating," you told him, chuckling, and he positively glowed until you said, "But he said you apologized afterwards so..."

Suguru and Ieiri laughed hard at him.

"On a more serious note, Sukuna isn't gonna be as lucky the moment you get hurt, Y/N," Satoru stated calmly and the other two nodded in agreement. "Just putting it out there."

You would do the same for them, too, so you also agreed. "And if I'm the one causing him shit?"

"That's on him, too," Suguru said, ruffling your hair. "You're our princess, Y/N. It doesn't matter who's right or wrong when the time comes. You'll probably get an earful from us, too, cause we like the guy, but you will always have us first."

You clucked you tongue. "You're all being dramatic, but thanks. Much appreciated."

"It's the first time you're going steady with anyone. We're just making sure we've covered all the bases," Ieiri stated.

"Yeah, and before we forget..." Satoru took something out from under your bed, handing it to you.

You eagerly looked into the bag, thinking it was a present but you wanted to throw it at his face the moment you found out what it was.

"I got the bigger sizes cause Sukuna looks loaded in that department. Special edition, ultra-thin in – wait for it – mixed berry flavor." He winked. "Wrap it before you tap it."

"Ha ha, Satoru. You're really funny." You motioned to hit him, but laughed with him nonetheless as you rummaged through the bag. "Where the hell did you even get these?"

"Ordered them in from Amsterdam. You're welcome, princess."

"You're fucking weird for handing me rubbers, but thanks, dad." You handed the bag back to him. "You're giving them to Sukuna yourself though."

"Fine!"

And that he did when Sukuna arrived to come pick you up, strictly telling the man to open it in private much to the latter's confusion. Still, he accepted graciously.

"Don't open that thing," you said the moment you were in his car.

"That makes me want to open it now," he said.

You clucked you tongue, and shook your head. "Do that when I'm not looking." You tilted your head to have a better look at him, reaching over to make him face you. You frowned at the dark circles under his eyes. "What have you been doing in London?"

"Not sleeping enough is one of them, and I'm jetlagged." He took your hand in his and started planting butterfly kisses on your fingers. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." You cupped the side of his face and leaned over, pecking him on the lips. "You're going to sleep the moment we get to our destination."

"But –"

"No buts." You took the key off the ignition. "And I'm driving." You got out of the car, rounding it to the driver's side, opening the door. "Scoot."

Sukuna grinned at you. "Is being bossed around what it entails to be your boyfriend, sweetheart?" he asked, swinging his legs towards the door.

You moved closer, standing between his legs. "And if I say yes? Do you want out?" you asked, flashing him a sultry smile as you drew closer to him, your breaths mingling.

"I can't say I don't like it." He kissed you, deeper than the peck you gave him earlier.

"It's safer if I drive," you spoke against his lips. "Move."

"Just this once," he acceded, moving towards the passenger side while you climbed behind the wheel, gunning the car out of the property. But opposite to his words, he was asleep not an hour into the drive.

You never really realized how long two weeks could be until you had to wait for Sukuna to come back safe and sound. Though your time had been occupied by your studies and every other thing you did, you were always distracted by your phone, waiting for his messages and calls that you had to find yet another distraction in the form of a new video game you've gotten over the mail just two days after he left. But that was just momentary as you finished it in three days of continual gaming. You even went to visit the Fushiguros the weekend prior much to Mirai's delight just to have a semblance of familiarity where Sukuna was involved but it just made you miss him more.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, indeed. You could just laugh at yourself over the past days, thinking yourself selfish at the thought of not wanting him to go anywhere you couldn't easily reach him. But now that he was back, you are back to normal, and you knew you have to come to terms with accepting that it is a part of his job to be away from you every now and then if things are going to work out for the two of you.

You're whipped, and you know it. You've accepted that. Now, it's just a matter of not allowing yourself to become too dependent on his presence.

Sukuna woke up when you stopped for gas three hours later. Why he had to choose such a far off place to bring you to was beyond you, but you weren't complaining in that you'd go wherever he was, but it was more for the fact that he came straight out of the airport and yet he was traveling again and by car, too.

"You okay?" he asked while you munched on gummy bears, standing against the Jeep as you filled it with gas. "We can switch."

"I go on farther road trips with the boys and Ieiri every time we have the chance. Stop worrying about me."

He whined sleepily, his voice coming out thick, trapping you against the car with his body. "You're crabby today. It doesn't feel like you miss me."

"Oi, I had to order a new game just so I won't send stupid texts telling you to come back home. How dare you doubt that?"

He burst out laughing. "So you were nerding out while I was away?"

"Pretty much. Don't run away when one day, you walk into my room and find a monster holding onto my controller in the middle of pizza boxes and a whole lot of other mess. That's me needing to be brought out of my hole."

"Hey, don't do that when I go away for business trips." He looked seriously worried now. "You should do your normal routine."

"So don't say I didn't miss you because I was nearly that monster nerd I was telling you about." You popped a green gummy bear into his mouth. "And I'm still driving."

The drive continued for another two hours with you reaching the foot of the mountain at the side of the highway where you really had to switch with Sukuna since you didn't know the way.

"You didn't bring me here to murder me, did you?" you quipped, seeing how thick the forest was on the one-lane road going up the mountain. It was such green world that you almost wanted the feeling of being lost

"Probably. You're too bossy today."

"Hey, that's me being nice."

"I won't. I have other things in mind to do with you." He grinned mischievously at you, winking to which you just shook your head.

Soon enough, you reached a small, traditional village which was pretty much turned into a hot spring resort. Sukuna stopped at the largest building in the vicinity, telling you to wait in the car as he disembarked, returning very shortly later with a key dangling on his thumb. The drive continued for another twenty minutes until he parked in front of this old-style house which didn't look old at all, located at a much more secluded area of the resort. He handed you the key, telling you to go ahead while he unloads your stuff.

Yup. There was nothing old about the facilities at all with the south-facing side made entirely of glass that looked over the private hot spring and a view of the mountains beyond that. The kitchen was as modern as it could get, and judging by how Sukuna was carrying bag after bag of things into the fridge, he planned to cook during your entire stay there. You took over the job while he carried your luggage into the house. Poor thing did the shopping before coming to pick you up without telling you.

"Go shower and sleep. I can handle it from here," you told him when he entered the kitchen again, muscular arms crossed over his wide chest, eyeing you appreciatively.

Instead of doing as he was told, he came up to you, standing behind you, hands fastening onto your waist as he drew your hair to one side. He nuzzled your neck, slowly making his way up your jawline where he pressed his lips and lingered there for a bit. You smiled, reaching up with your hand to place it on his cheek.

"You need to rest, my love."

"Say that again," he whispered.

"You need to rest?" You teased, feeling him nip at your ear. "My love?"

"You keep annoying me today."

"You keep commenting about how I'm behaving today," you countered, facing him. "Come on, let me boss you around for now. You really need to get some shuteye."

"You'll let me boss you around later then?"

"Deal."

***

"Back already?"

You looked over your shoulder as you combed through your hair when you heard the sliding door open. A smile graced your lips seeing as how Sukuna looked better, more well-rested and more like himself after a long sleep, only coming to at nightfall. He took a dip in the hot spring after dinner and was returning from it.

He came in wearing that dark blue yukata provided by the resort, feeling your face grow hot when you realized you were ogling him yet again. How can you not when the garment hung loosely over his shoulder. He didn't bother tying it properly, and from the partition of the robe, you can see the broad expanse of his chest, the smattering of inked patterns following the sinews of his form.

It wasn't the first time you were seeing his tattoos, the artistic floral and tribal patterns making themselves known to you that day you woke up to him naked from the waist up. However, you did not realize they expanded all the way down the right side of his body, all the way down to the outer area of his thighs. Since he was just wearing a pair of boxers underneath the yukata, when he stepped forward, you were able to see it, and as curiosity won over you, you didn't look away even when he raised a brow at you, the ghost of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

You stood up, walking slowly towards him, stopping when you were less than a foot away. Your eyes shifted hesitantly between his face and that area of his anatomy silently asking for his permission to see more of it but your hands refused to move midway.

"What is it?" he asked, not exactly sure as to what you were trying to do.

Biting your lower lip. "M-may I..." You couldn't say it out loud so you pointed at his tattoos, feeling a lump forming on your throat when you realized how bold you were being.

"You don't have to ask," Sukuna whispered, taking your hand and placing it on his chest, warm and alive underneath your palm, while he drew his robe apart, eyes intent on you as you followed the expanse of skin that served as a canvass to the artfully-made representation of the four seasons in a single branch of a cherry blossom tree, meandering downwards. From his chest going down the length of his side, your hand traced over the colored patterns of smaller branches that progressed from summer to winter. Your fingers lingered over his iliac crest where new buds of the familiar pink blossoms that promised spring were immortalized on his skin.

Sukuna's breathing had deepened the moment your hand reached lower, and you relished the fact that you had that effect on him, too. You could feel heat behind your eyes as your blood rushed up to your head at the realization that you could do that to him, and even greater than that, the reality of just how much you wanted this man in front of you, how much you wanted to make him yours in every sense of the word and how much you wanted to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the moon that was filtered by the mist rising from the springs through the open sliding doors, you looked up at Sukuna, the man you love with every single fiber of your being, leaning your head on his chest, listening to his beating heart that mirrored the thrumming in your chest.

You brushed your lips onto his bare skin, trailing kisses across his chest before looking up at him and letting yourself be devoured by those deep, hooded eyes as you stepped even closer.

"You're beautiful," you breathed out, pulling him down towards you, tears pooling in your eyes when he finally kissed you, taking your breath away.

Sukuna's large hands roamed your body as he continued to mold your mouth against his, his tongue pushing between your lips which you welcomed with your own, loving his taste, hot and wet and stirring you alive. His hands were warm and nimble as he kneaded the flesh of your hip through the fabric of your kimono, traveling lower to where the garment parted so he can slide his hand underneath. They made their way to your ass, squeezing hard before he slid lower, hooking both of his hands under your thighs. He lifted you up, urgently maneuvering your legs to wrap around his waist.

Neither of you came up for air even as he walked deeper into the room where the bed was, pawing and hungrily devouring each other, what began as a gentle kiss turning into a scorching show of dominance as you both took from each other, not quite getting enough.

"I love you," he rasped, breathless as he nipped at the shell of your ear. "I want all of you."

He then continued kissing you, seizing you at the back of your neck, roughly nibbling on your lips then progressing towards the columns of your throat, spreading the V that formed the collar of your robe. You ran your fingers through his hair, intoxicated by his scent, your toes curling as his hands travelled to outline the sides of your body possessively.

Sukuna then returned to your lips after leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your chest and collar bones, and you kissed him back just as fervently as he pressed you down against his clothed crotch, making you shiver as you felt stirrings at the pit of your stomach. You gasped at the feeling of him poking against your thigh but before you could recover, he entered his hot tongue into your mouth again, gently luring yours to mingle with his. You just let him have his way, not quite believing what was happening as you felt your skin bursting into flames wherever he touched you.

Sukuna lifted you slightly off the bed, putting you down so that you were facing away from him. From behind, he guided you towards the pillows and snaked his hands around your waist, reaching for the sash of your robe and tugging on it. When he was successful, he tossed it somewhere on the floor and reached over your shoulders, slowly feeling for the lapels of the robe, making sure his fingers brushed against your skin, sending jolts of electricity all over your body as he peeled the garment off you in deliberate and calculated slowness, coupled with his mouth following the train down your nape to your shoulders before he pushed you face down on the bed.

"Oh god," you whispered, fighting for air as he gathered your hair to your left shoulder and licked the shell of your ear. "What are you thinking about? You're too stiff. Relax," he said in that deep, sensual voice that turned your legs to jelly.

You grabbed onto the pillow, anticipating what he was gonna do next when you felt his febrile tongue making a trail on your right shoulder, the action morphing into sloppy, wet kisses going down your bare back until you could not feel your robe anywhere near your body anymore. He has already undressed you.

You were on edge and just hyper aware of everything he was doing and every single touch he left on your body made you feel like it was leaving a mark and being absorbed by every cell in your system. It felt good being this close to him, being touched by him and you wouldn’t really mind if he marked you everywhere. You wanted to be his and you wanted the world to know.

His hands travelled everywhere it could touch, pushing you to the edge and making you feel like you were burning slowly, the kind that made every corner of your body tingle with anticipation. What you didn't realize was how tight you were holding the pillow to yourself until he suddenly mentioned it.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?" Your voice came out at a higher pitch, making you want to smack yourself. This was that you wanted and yet you were being all jittery.

He chuckled softly, stopping his ministrations. "What are you doing?"

At that, you pushed yourself off the bed a bit and turned your head sideways to meet his gaze from over your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“Yes?”

“Overwhelmed,” you whispered, chuckling slightly. While it wasn’t your first time, everything felt new with the added sensations that your deep emotions for him were throwing into the mix. “How do you want me?”

He turned you over on your back, chuckling. "For starters, cut out the pillow hugging." He pried the thing off your arms and chucked it against the headboard. Sukuna then hovered over you, pinning your hands on either side of your head then began his assault on your neck going lower and lower until he reached your left breast and started licking and tugging on your nipple, his other hand busy kneading the other.

“You are beautiful,” he said, mouth moving against the swell of your flesh while his other hand took possession of the other hand, tentatively squeezing with his long fingers.

You let out a moan, craving for more but not certain whether you could take it or not with your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest. You wanted him to touch you more and as if he read your mind, he returned to kissing you intensely until you thought you couldn't breathe, well aware of how his other hand was taking off your panties. Your heart was beating erratically in your chest as you anticipated the moment, but halfway down your thighs, he raised himself a bit and laid himself on top of you, burying his face into your hair.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked cautiously as he raised himself slightly, looking into the depths of your eyes as if he was looking right through you.

Cupping his face, you rose slightly on your elbows, pressing your lips at the corner of his mouth. "A hundred times yes. I'm yours," you said with all the conviction you could muster in your hazy state – love drunk, kiss drunk, Sukuna drunk.

At your response, he latched his lips onto the skin of your neck, kissing lower and lower, passing over your breasts where he lingered, biting and sucking gently. You hissed as you watched him progress downward, his mouth doing all the magic from the valley of your chest down to your stomach, his hand reaching for the garment he had taken off you halfway down your legs, discarding it. The rough pads of his hands brushed over your thighs, pushing them apart as he lowered himself between them.

You let out a sharp cry when he licked a long stripe on your nether lips, his hot tongue swirling over your sensitive nub. He hummed in approval upon tasting you while he teased your folds with two of his digits. Without a warning he simultaneously pushed his fingers into you and sucked on your clit, building a rhythm that had you seeing stars with every thrust, coaxing out whimpers from your slightly parted lips. Your hips bucked towards him when you felt him reaching deep enough to touch your sweet spot again and again.

Sukuna anchored his arms around your thighs, his elbows on the mattress as he held you steady, continuing to lap at you and move his digits inside you as you felt that familiar sensation of coming undone, guiding you through it until you released so hard your juices squirted out despite his fingers still inserted in you, making a right mess of his mouth, chin and hand.

You spasmed against him but he didn't let go, continuing with his ministrations. He removed his fingers from inside you and started eating you out like a starved man, catching all of your essence from your initial orgasm and cajoling you into another one as he shoved his tongue right into you.

Your hand reached down, fingers tangling with his cherry blossom locks, not knowing whether you want to push him or keep him right where he was. He moaned as he felt your walls clenching, the vibrations caused by his voice stimulating you further, and in no time, you were releasing into his mouth again, your high hitting you like a speeding truck, slamming onto you and leaving you a shaking mess.

Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to calm down, chuckling in between each intake of breath when you felt Sukuna planting ephemeral kisses on your feverish skin, working his way up this time, worshipping your body before catching your lips in his where you tasted yourself on him.

"Can I eat you forever?" he asked with a groan. "You taste exquisite, my love."

"Alright," you panted, "But before that..." You looked him in the eye, running your hand down his chiseled abs until you reached the band of his boxers, excitement filling you as you palmed his crotch over the fabric. You snickered when his whole body seized on top of you, but you were just as out of breath feeling how massive and warm he was against your palm. You bit your lip as your hand moved, rubbing him slowly. Sukuna's eyes drooped a little as he drank in the clouded look in your eyes.

Satoru wasn't wrong about the condoms, and it further got proven to you when you pushed Sukuna’s underwear down and he rose up to his knees, finishing the job. You swore your eyes were going to pop out of their sockets when his length was released from its restraints, slapping against his stomach, thick, long and standing proud, its pink tip leaking precum that dripped down, following a prominent vein on its underside. You never wanted to put anything in your mouth as much as you wanted his dick, but the idea of it stretching you and ripping you apart from between your legs was more intriguing.

Sukuna smirked down at you. "Like what you see, sweetheart?"

"That's an understatement." You swallowed hard, taking you herculean effort to look at his face instead. "I don't just wanna look at it though."

He reached over to the nightstand, taking out that familiar bag from Satoru, quickly rummaging through it. "I'd be insulted if that's all you wanna do." He said as he took out a packet, about to rip it but you shook your head, taking it away from him.

He arched a brow at you. "You don't...Are you –"

"Stop asking me if I'm sure. I'm certain as I'll ever be." You smiled at him. "Or maybe I'll change my mind if you keep asking."

Laughing, he bent down, positioning himself between your legs as he took possession of your lips once more. You took a deep breath when you felt his tip nudging between your folds, teasing you while he busied himself with tracing the topography of your body as if committing it to memory.

Watching him now, you wished you've met him earlier in your life, loved him longer than you have at present. If you knew someone like Sukuna would come to care for you as much as he does, even in acts that are mostly governed by sheer instinct and senses, driven by need and lust, you would have combed the earth to find him. He cares so damn much for you that you knew he will find it in him to stop if you just said so even at his own expense.

"Sukuna..." his name spilled from your mouth, wanting him all for yourself, body, heart and soul. "Baby, please..." You were pleading, but for what, you didn't know exactly.

"Yes, my love?" he questioned, a smug grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the mess that you are beneath him. "Tell me what you want."

"You," you whimpered, raising your hip to meet his cock, hard and burning on your skin. "I want you," you breathed out, the delicious torture in your voice coming to a crescendo when he thrust in agonizingly slow, making your wish his command.

He stretched you, gradually, gently as if he was afraid to break you, but your breath hitched for a different reason entirely. His girth left a slight burn as he pushed in, the rapturous feel of him invading your space and being wrapped in your flesh making a heated mess out of you as you grabbed everything you can get a grip on – the sheets, his shoulders, the pillow nearest to you – trying to anchor yourself from the sudden high of knowing he was inside you.

Your eyes watered at the sheer thought of being connected to him so deeply, and you found yourself falling to blissful surrender when he finally bottomed out. You felt him twitch inside you, but instead of moving as he wished, he cupped your face, delicately brushing his fingers over your flushed cheeks. He had that look of disquiet as he examined your expressions.

"You okay?"

You nodded, beaming in your state of stupor. "Please…move."

Sukuna begins to do as he was told, sliding in and out and acquainting you to his rhythm, his intense eyes hooded yet intense as he regarded you, aware of every nuance of your expressions with every single thrust. He started picking up the pace when he felt you wrap your legs around him, hitting you deeper every single time.

Pleasurable groans elicited from Sukuna's lips as he held himself up, driving his hips against yours repeatedly. "You're so tight," he rasped, his snagged breaths hot on your ears. "You feel so good."

"So good," you repeated, completely going out of it when the mere brushing of his rod against your walls drove you over the edge. You clenched tight around him and he let out a groan, eyes rounding when he realized you were close.

"Let go, baby. Cum for me," he said between pants as he pounded onto you unrelentingly.

You spoke broken syllables of his name as you came around him, riding you through your high. Acid white flashes started to flash behind your eyelids, your back arching from the bed as you keened loudly, too enraptured and absorbed in the pleasure that he was giving you.

However, before you could even recover, Sukuna lifted you off the bed, holding you against him so that your breast were rubbing against his taut chest. You wrapped your arms around him, gripping onto his shoulders while you sat astride him on your knees.

"You'll give me one more, won't you, my love?" he said, thrusting up to you whilst he gripped your waist so tight you knew you will have bruises after, making you meet every single push of his thick length.

Both your moans filled the room along with skin hitting skin, the friction between you two kept at bay by the sheen of sweat that covered your bodies. He held onto the back of your neck, roughly kissing you, your tongues dancing the lovers' minuet. Your lungs begged for air, but you were reluctant to be released from Sukuna's wild kisses while he fucked you senseless.

"Fuck," he growled through gritted teeth. "I love you," he whispered repeatedly like a mantra.

You felt him getting harder inside you as he hastened his pace, ramming into you faster and stronger, and in no time, you were screaming out his name as you came undone again with him following shortly after you did, a deep groan falling out of his mouth in a dragged out note when he spilled his seed inside of you, making you feel even fuller, your walls throbbing around his softening length.

Spent, you both fell back on the welcoming softness of the mattress with him still inside you. He landed on top of you, catching his breath while he rested his head on the crook of your neck while you wrapped your arm around him, your fingers carding through his damp locks.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” he purred in hushed tones once he caught your breath.

Your brows furrowed in perplexity. “I didn’t do anything.”

He shook his head, pulling out and rolling away, his eyes between your thighs, watching as your mixed juices dripped down on the sheets. “I’m not just talking about your body and how you felt. That in itself is amazing, but I’m referring to everything that you are.”

You felt heat creeping up your neck, all the way to your scalp. Abashed, you covered your face with your hands. “Don’t say things like that. You’re making me a shy mess. Geez.”

“Hey, look at me.” He clucked his tongue when you didn’t move, taking your hands off of your face. When you finally did as you were told, he said, “I mean it. Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re real.”

“I should be saying that. You’re so kind to me, and I feel how much you care for me every single time you say or do something. And I’m just selfish, really.”

“No, you’re not?”

“I am, Sukuna. I want you all to myself from that time you first kissed me, but I didn’t really do much to make that happen because I’m also a wimp, so thank you for going the extra mile for me.” You smiled slightly, feeling your eyes fill with tears.

“Stop saying that.”

“But it’s true. You’re always the one putting in the effort.”

“Because I want to.” He suddenly sat up, pulling you by the arm to lift you up when you gasped, feeling a sudden jolt of pain at the base of your back and the joints on your thighs at your sudden movement. “What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.

You raised a finger, moving on the mattress on your own while you held onto his arm for support. “Give me a moment.”

Sukuna regarded you with wide eyes. “Did I hurt you?” He sat beside you, wrapping arm around your shoulder and soothingly rubbing your arm. “Are you aching anywhere?”

“A bit, but it’s the good kind.” You smirked at him. “You’re amazing,” you said, imitating his tone earlier when he said you’re beautiful, your eyes traveling to his crotch. “You wrecked me, my love.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or be upset. “You say the most outrageous things and it doesn’t help that you don’t hold back either.”

“Too shocking?” you offered.

“Scandalous!” he quipped, chuckling and you joined in on the laughter, the merry sound breaking through the stillness. “Can I carry you now?”

“Sure.” You lifted your arms, latching onto his neck, letting him take you to the bathroom.

“Let’s wash up and take a dip.”

You nodded and let him have his way around you, standing on the shower stall with him as he did everything while you just held onto him, your legs still wobbly. He kissed you on the cheek, the action soft and delicate, filling you with happiness. You can’t believe he is real.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he spoke against your skin.

You pulled away from him, placing your hand on either side of his face, and with a triumphant smile, you said, “I’m not. Never will be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more. Don’t argue.” You pecked him on the lips.

Sukuna beamed at you toothily. “Alright, sweetheart.”

He carried you out of the bath and out of the sliding doors that led to the hot spring, setting you down into the water carefully as if you’d break if he didn’t take caution. The hot water felt glorious on your skin, immediately melting the knots of your muscles as you sat between his legs, both of you submerged chest-deep.

“Damn, that feels good,” you sighed, mollified as you leaned against Sukuna’s broad chest, closing your eyes in bliss. “I can stay here forever.”

“Are you talking about the hot spring?”

“Yes and no,” you said without hesitation. “The water feels nice, but it wouldn’t be complete without you holding me.”

“You’re being sweet now after bossing me around earlier?” He wrapped his arms around you, placing his chin on your shoulder. “We can always come here when we both have free time. And I’ll always hold you like this.”

“I like that.”

“I love you,” he mumbled, nuzzling on the spot below your ear and breathing in deeply. “You smell divine.”

“I know. I smell like you.”

“Thank heavens then cause that’s what seemed to lure you to me,” he kidded.

You just smiled, reaching blindly to place your palm on his cheek, trying to get a semblance of reality although it was already staring you in the face, the emotions and sensations he has making you feel very much real, but you seem to be in a dream state, unable to come to terms with the fact that spring has finally come for you in the person of the man whose arms held you tight and close to his heart.

“Sukuna…”

“Yes, my love?”

“Thanks for existing."

-THE END-

So, I made Megumi's mom's name here "Miriai." I made her an OC because I can't just keep referring to her as "she/her." It's quite confusing. I hope this doesn't bother anyone. I cringed, too, trust me.

Okay, Toji is also OOC here. Haha! I went all the way with conjuring these characteristics and since Sukuna, my love, is super soft here (he has cherry blossom tats XD), why not Toji, too?

Anyway, I would like to say thank you to everyone who read this fic! Stay tuned for more. Love you guys :)

Additional notes are available in the masterlist, particularly on the reasons why I wrote some things the way I did.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20210630]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART SOURCES FULLY CREDITED TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[named-after-the-stars]

A Golden Opportunity

A one-shot that is cross posted on my ao3 account “HeavenlyCrow” - please do not copy or paste to any other sites without my permission. 

Summary: After the Sock Opera, Bill Cipher gets a tad too invested in one little Pine Tree and puts off his plans for a while as he watches the sapling grow. Years later, Blind Ivan regains his memories and returns to Gravity Falls to finish what he started presenting Bill with the perfect opportunity to finally claim what he wants.

“Who are you?”

Bill Cipher smiled. Well, he had been smiling since he had decided to see what mess Pine Tree had gotten himself into now, but now he was practically beaming with all his pearly whites on full display.

“You don’t remember me, Pine Tree?” His tone belied a touch of hurt that Bill did not feel.

The young man frowned worriedly, his face screwing up in thought but Bill already knew what Pine Tree would say before he said it.

“N-no… I … don’t remember anything. Who are you?”

Not surprising. The nutty leader of the Society of the Blind Eye had regained his memory finally after six years and had decided to make a nuisance of himself by finishing what he had started ages ago - erasing Dipper Pine’s memory of the supernatural.

Only, the idiot apparently destroyed everything in Pine Tree’s mind instead in his haste to get the job done. Bill felt a surge of fury about that - Pine Tree’s mind was a beautiful thing unrivaled by any other and to have it tampered with - but Bill also recognized an opportunity when he saw it.

This chance has practically been handed to him on a Golden platter.

Putting off his plans had been more than worth it now; Shooting Star was off gallivanting around with her latest summer fling to grasp that perfect summer romance fantasy she had never quite managed to achieve, Stanley - who was parading around as his smarter twin brother Stanford - had been ensconced in the basement lab lately putting the finishing touches on the portal and Pine Tree, dear dear sweet Pine Tree, was finally all Bill’s for the taking.

“Shhh…” he stepped closer to Pine Tree’s slowly panicking form as his mind attempted to recall information that had been wiped away thanks to an old man’s invention to forget the horrors he had borne witness to years ago and a foolish zealot intent on hiding the truth away. “Shhh, c’mere kid.”

He wrapped his arms around Pine Tree’s shaking body and pulled him flush against his own, relishing the warmth the two created between them. Bill knew he was playing with fire, that his obsession with Pine Tree would cause major trouble eventually - but when the kids’ arms clutched at him desperately, the cute little whimpers and gasps he made as he struggled to remember who he was …

Bill didn’t give a damn and he petted Pine Tree’s head like one would a beloved pet. His obsession had caused him to put off his plans for conquering this dimension, but now with Pine Tree right where Bill wanted him?

So worth it.

“Who…who are you?” The kid’s voice broke, barely holding back frustrated tears as he again requested to know who Bill was yet clinging to him for comfort.

Bill grinned at the sound; it was lovely.

“Bill Cipher, Pine Tree. I’d be hurt you didn’t remember your own boyfriend but, well, you did get into quite an accident didn’tcha?”

“Accident? B-boyfriend?”

Aw, how sweet! Pine Tree was blushing, his entire face red as he gazed up uncertainly at Bill. Bill nodded solemnly, barely able to keep the smile off his face as he weaved his tale.

“Boyfriend. Three years now, Pine Tree.”

“Three years? And… is that my name? Is my name really Pine Tree?”

Bill had to snigger. “Course not, kid! It’s my nickname for you. Your name is Alioth.”

While Bill had found the name ‘Mason’ pretty funny, it would end the game if he accidentally triggered any of the kid’s potentially remaining memories. Plus, Alioth fit Pine Tree much better; it only made sense the kid should be named after one of the stars of the constellation he bore on his head and his parental meatsacks really dropped the ball here in choosing a name for their spawn.

Plus, Alioth Cipher had a far nicer ring to it~

“Alioth?” Pine Tree sounded the name out, cute nose scrunching up in thought as he processed the name.

It felt off somehow, but he liked the sound of it and it struck a chord inside his very soul despite the initial unease he had when Bill first approached him.

“Alioth.” Affirms Bill with a kiss to his forehead. “Soon-to-be Alioth Cipher.”

“Wha-?”

“We’re engaged, Pine Tree,” Bill purred, looking into those hazel eyes. “Remember? Just a bit? You said you’d love to take my last name.”

Pine Tree’s face twitched, eyes looking side to side as if he’d find the answers to his confusion in his peripherals. He was uneasy, something about this blond haired man with the strange eyes raised a feeling of suspicion that he shouldn’t be trusted - but he couldn’t deny that this man, this Bill Cipher, felt familiar.

Alioth knew him, that much was true.

He was just being paranoid, what with his memory being gone. There was no reason for Bill to lie to him. Hesitantly, he smiled apologetically.

“I don’t remember. Sorry…”

“Don’t worry,” Bill sighs sadly, bringing Pine Tree back into an embrace. “You’ll remember eventually. If not, we will make new memories.”

Bill is pleased when Pine Tree relaxes against him, snuggling closer even, his face buried in Bill’s neck. Bill takes the opportunity to dig his fingers into Pine Tree’s messy dark hair like he’s wanted to for years.

“Dipper!”

Bill stiffened, a sneer twisting his formerly serene countenance. Pine Tree didn’t even acknowledge the sound of his own twin’s voice at first, didn’t recognize his own name obviously, but the noise drew his attention.

“Yo, Dipper! Where ya at?!”

And there was Red. Bill grit his teeth and barely held back a growl.

“Diiiippper dude! Are you here?” Question Mark.

All Bill needed now was-

“Kid! Where ya at! I’m losing money looking for you!”

Stanley.

“I can’t believe you lost our great nephew-“

And fucking Sixer.

Bill snarled at that. Shooting Star, Red and Question Mark he could handle; even Stanley was a cake - but Sixer was the one human who could cause Bill untold problems and help take away the one thing Bill wanted more than owning this damned dimension.

Pine Tree was pulling away from him now, curiosity roused by the ruckus of five people shouting - unacceptable.

Bill hadn’t waited this long just to lose him now.

“Shhh,” he whispered softly and resumed stroking Pine Tree’s soft wavy hair. The kid settled back against him and Bill weaved a spell, drawing Pine Tree into a deep slumber that even the world crashing down around his ears wouldn’t wake him from. “You aren’t escaping me this time, darling. You’re mine now, Pine Tree.”

“Dipper!” Shooting Star cried out as she rounded the corner before freezing as she took in Bill and her unconscious twin pressed up against him intimately.

Bill grinned at her. A shark had a more friendlier smile; she shivered.

“Wha- who the hell are you?” Stanley barked, eyeing Bill and Pine Tree cradled so carefully, so gently against his chest with thinly veiled concern.

Red and Question Mark hung back, both looking wary but determined should shit hit the fan at the sight of a stranger holding on to their defenseless friend.

It was Sixer he leered at.

Bill relished the look of horror that bloomed on his old puppet’s face as realization washed over him as he took in the golden optics and slit pupils and arrived at the correct answer.

“No-!” So much horror was packed into that singular word that Bill internally preened.

“Sixer! Nice ta see ya! Been a while - almost forty years, right? I’d stay and catch up but -“ he pulled Pine Tree into a bridal hold for an easier carry and nuzzled his cheek affectionately. “I have a very very confused and amnesiac fiancé to take home where I can tell him alllll about our relationship together and his life he so tragically can’t remember.”

“Dipper-!”

“You can’t-!”

“CIPHER DON’T-!!”

“WAIT!”

“Toodles!”

And then Bill was gone, taking Dipper along with him.

[study-coffee-chicago]

Country College (A Halstead Brothers + Halstead Sister Imagine; Part of AU-gust)

A/N: Thank you for reading! Remember to like/reblog and comment! I'm also donating all the proceeds that from my buy me a coffee account to Save The Children to help the children of Afghanistan. Buy me a coffee link here.

Also, here's the playlist of songs I listened to while writing this and some of these songs are actually mentioned in the imagine in case you guys wanted to listen while reading: Country College AU playlist.

I went on vacation and I swear, this entire imagine was based on stuff I did in Tennessee and country songs I listened to while there.

Anyway, enjoy!

"You got everything?" Jay asked you at six in the morning.

"For the last damn time, Jay, yes, I have everything," you answered as you jumped in the passenger seat of his truck and put your backpack at your feet and your tumbler of coffee in a cup holder.

"Jesus. I was just asking because I will not be turning this truck around," he said as he moved around the basket of snacks in the backseat so that the two of you could reach them easier. "Someone's cranky."

"Yes. When I finally got to sleep at 12:30 last night and had to wake up at 4:30, I'm gonna be cranky. Please tell me we're stopping for coffee."

"You already have coffee," Will said as he walked up to the truck. "Why do you need more?"

"Shut up. I know for a fact you drink way more coffee than I do, Mr. Med Student."

"Jesus, Jay. You sure you're gonna be able to put up with her for eight and a half hours?" Will asked.

"I dunno, man. Maybe I'll make her ride with you," he joked.

"Yeah, no way in hell that's happening," Will said.

"In all seriousness," Jay started, "stop for coffee in about an hour and a half?"

"Sounds good to me," you agreed.

"Same here. I only have to ditch you guys when we get like eight hours in," Will said.

"Gonna be weird not having you on the drive down, man," Jay mused.

"Yeah, but at least we can meet up at the rest stops and we'll  be in the same state."

"Are we gonna go?" you asked. "If you two were just gonna talk, I could've slept for an extra ten minutes."

"Holy shit," Jay muttered. He turned to Will. "Guess we should get going then."

"Yeah, see you in an hour and a half. Don't piss off the driver too much, Y/N."

You rolled your eyes. "Goodbye, Will."

Will got in his car and Jay got in the driver's side of his truck.

"Eight and a half hour drive plus traffic," Jay started as you both pulled out of the driveway, "so how do want to split it up?"

"I'm tired and I wanna sleep and I don't want to drive through Knoxville because I have no idea where to go," you answered as you pulled your headphones out of your backpack.

"Okay, Miss Sassy Pants. You can drive in the middle, through Kentucky. Might hit traffic, but we'll hit traffic in Tennessee, too, so we'll both have to drive through it. Just please, do not crash my truck."

"Relax. I know how to drive. Just make sure Will stays on your ass the entire time so we don't lose each other."

***

"And, we're officially in Kentucky!" Jay announced. "Time to change the music. At the next rest stop, we'll pull over and go to the bathroom and grab some lunch."

"Jay! You can't be on your phone while you're driving!" you yelled as he reached for his phone in the cup holder, which was also acting as the GPS...even though Jay claimed he could get there without it.

"Y/N, I'm fine. I've done this for three years now. I think I know what I'm doing."

"If you say so."

He turned on a song you didn't know.

"Got a truck, get it lifted," Jay started to sing.

"The hell is this?" you asked.

"Country music. Gets changed from pop to country the second we cross the border into Kentucky. Now, shh. This is a good song. You'll like it. It's upbeat."

Jay drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and sang quietly to Redneck Be Like by Thomas Rhett as he drove while you listened. He was right. It was a pretty good song.

"All day in the sun, always havin' fun, always gettin' stuck in that muddy river. Always got a buzz, always double cup..."

"You'll know the next one," Jay promised.

"And you know this how?" you asked.

"Because it's on Tiktok. When we get there, Adam and Hailey are gonna have to teach you some southern culture."

"So, I'm gonna need a definition of southern culture."

"You'll see when you get there. Now listen. I know you know this part."

Yeah we fancy like Applebee's...

Jay was right: you did know this song. It was Fancy Like by Walker Hayes.

"On a date night," you sang along. "Got that Bourbon street steak..." Jay joined in. "With the Oreo shake. Get some whipped cream on the top, too. Two straws, one check, girl I got you. Yeah we Bougie like Natty in the styrofoam..."

Five minutes later, you pulled off to a rest stop with a McDonald's nearby. Jay and Will filled up their vehicles while you ran inside to go to the bathroom. Once you were inside McDonald's and at a table eating, you asked Will if it was true that he and Jay always changed it to country music when they crossed the border into Kentucky. Will said yes, so you knew you were in for a long car ride. Then, you and Jay switched so that you were now the one driving and you were off again.

***

Hours later, Will took a different exit to get to Nashville and gave you and Jay a salute to tell you goodbye when he changed lanes and then took the exit.

"Not long now," Jay told you. "You excited?"

"Yeah, but a little nervous," you replied.

"Oh, don't be nervous. They're all really nice. And you've already met Hailey, so that helps."

"Yeah, she was nice. She had a cute little southern accent, too."

"One of the many reasons I fell in love with her in the first place."

Before Jay left for a weekend last summer to meet Hailey halfway and then stay in a hotel for a weekend to spend time with her, he finally told you the story of how he and Hailey met.

"Hey, we're goin' to the marketplace," Adam said on the first weekend of their junior year. "You and Will up for it?"

"Uh, Will's studying like normal. I'm up for it. Kim coming, too?" Jay asked.

"I promised her ice cream, so yeah, she's comin'. Baby, you ready?" he yelled down the hall.

"I'm coming, Adam!" Kim yelled back and then walked out of the bathroom.

"Let's go and make some bad decisions," Adam stated, causing Jay and Kim to laugh.

"We can't even buy alcohol yet, you dummy," Kim said.

"I may be a dummy, but you love me." Then, Adam gave Kim a kiss on the cheek.

"Please stop before I puke," Jay said and made a gagging face.

Adam rolled his eyes. "Let's get outta here."

***

Kim was laughing at a horrible joke Adam made while he had his arm slung around him. He had taken off his signature cowboy hat and had let Kim wear it because she forgot her sunglasses. Adam said he felt naked without it on.

They were walking towards Kilwin's when Jay spotted it: a homeless guy next to a blonde who couldn't be more than college age.

"Man, look," Jay pointed.

The three walked faster.

"No, this is for my friend back at the dorm," the girl explained.

"Lady, I'm hungry. Can I please just have your leftovers?" the guy asked.

"I'm sorry you're hungry, but this is for my friend."

The guy reached for the food.

"Hey, that girl sits behind me in my women and the law class," Kim stated.

Jay, Adam, and Kim took off on a run.

"Hey, baby," Jay said and slung an arm around the girl. He leaned in close to her. "Just go with it," he whispered in her ear. "You got Anna's food?"

"Yeah," the girl said hesitantly. But then, she realized that this guy was trying to help her out. And, he was pretty sure that the girl with him sat in front of her in her women and the law class. "Yeah, I've got her food."

Jay raised an eyebrow at the guy and then looked at Adam as if asking the man to try the two of them.

"Alright, well y'all have a good night now," he said and then turned around and walked away.

Once the man was a few shops down, Jay took his arm off of her. "Sorry about that. Just thought you might need some help," he said.

"Was greatly appreciated, thank you, uh..."

"Jay."

"Jay, well I'm Hailey. Nice to meet you."

He didn't miss her cute little southern accent and he loved it.

"You getting ice cream?" he asked.

"No, I uh was just textin' my roommate to tell her I'd be back soon."

"Well, I-- we'd feel much better if you came into Kilwin's with us. Just so that creeper doesn't come back."

Hailey smiled and agreed.

Kim and Hailey started talking about their class while Adam and Jay ordered their ice cream. Then Kim ordered.

"You want anything, Hailey?" Jay asked.

"Oh no, I'm fine, thank you, though."

Jay nodded, but then turned to the worker. "And can I also get a single scoop of chocolate in a waffle cone, please?"

"Sure thing." As she scooped it out, Hailey looked at Jay and he just shrugged.

When they got to the cashier, Hailey pulled out some money and tried to hand it to Jay.

"I've got it," he said.

"But--"

"Hailey, it's fine. I can pay for a little ice cream."

She loved the way her name rolled off his tongue.

"Okay." She took her ice cream cone.

"Hey, Hailey," Kim began when they walked out of Kilwin's. "Do you have friends you need to meet up with?"

"No, I was just gonna head back to my dorm," she replied.

"Oh, did you drive?"

"No, I walked. It's only like a twenty-minute walk from the sophomore dorms."

"Well, after all that, I'm pretty sure we'd all feel more comfortable if you rode home with us."

"I don't know..." Hailey trailed off.

"Those dorms are only like five minutes away from the house we stay at. And, it's on our way there anyway. Please, just come with us."

Hailey sighed. It would be a lot faster than walking. "Okay."

Then, they finished their walk to Adam's truck and the two girls got in the backseat and the two boys got in the front.

And that is how Jay Halstead met the sweet Georgia peach that is Hailey Anne Upton.

***

Jay, Adam, Will, Kim, and Hailey were all at a sports bar one Saturday night in October. It was loud, it was rowdy, everyone was going crazy over the football game on tv, and Hailey was totally over it. And Jay noticed.

"Hey," Jay whispered from his seat next to her. "You wanna get outta here?"

She turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "You'd wanna leave and not finish the game?"

In the past two months, Hailey had been spending a lot of time with Kim, and by default, she had been spending a lot of time with Adam, Jay, and Will. She will admit going over to their three-bedroom house they all rented together was a lot better than being stuck in her small dorm with her roommate. So, she went over there quite a bit to study with Kim. And, turns out she and Jay were both law studies majors, so they had a lot of the same classes, but they were in different sections, so they did a lot of studying together, too. And, she knew like most college boys, Jay loved his football. Not as much as Adam, but he watched it whenever one of his teams were playing. Which, was Chicago or Tennessee.

"Yeah," Jay started, "it's kinda loud in here anyway. And, it's just Tennessee playing. I'd be more likely to stay if the Bears were playing."

"Okay, let's get outta here. I know a great little diner we can go to for milkshakes. Pretty sure they're open until 11 and it's only 10, so we should be able to make it."

"Adam," Jay said over the game. Adam turned to face Jay. "Me and Hailey are gonna get out of here. I'll see you back at home."

"See you," Adam said and then turned back to his game.

"Guess we know where his loyalties lie," Hailey laughed.

The two of them stood up from their chairs at the table.

"You better get my friend home safe, Halstead!" Kim yelled.

"Yes ma'am," he said, borrowing a line from Adam. "You've got nothing to worry about."

Then, the two of them made their way out of the local sports bar and to Jay's truck.

***

"You've gotta be kiddin' me," Hailey said as the two of them walked up to the diner. "They're closed. Closed at 10 and not at 11. I'm really sorry, Jay."

"That's okay. Got anywhere else you wanna go? Or I can just take you back to your dorm if you want?" Jay suggested.

She sighed. "Just take me back I guess."

The two of them walked back to Jay's truck and got in. Hailey gasped at the song that was on the radio.

"What?" Jay asked, quickly turning to look at Hailey.

"This is my favorite song!"

Lights go down, wheels go around. I'm taking you home. Hoping for a slow song to come on the radio now.

Slow Dance in a Parking Lot by Jordan Davis continued to play through the speakers of Jay's truck.

"What's it about?" Jay asked.

"Slow dancing in a parking lot."

Jay listened to a few more lines and then decided to turn up the radio and jump out of the car.

"Jay, what are you--"

But he was already at her side of the car and pulled her door open.

"Dance with me?" he asked, sticking his hand out for her to take.

"What?" she laughed as a huge smile grew on her face.

"You said the song's about slow dancing in a parking lot and we're in an empty parking lot, so, why not recreate the song?"

Hailey laughed once more and shook her head and then grabbed Jay's hand. He helped her out of his truck and then she wrapped her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist and they swayed to the music.

"Slow dance with you. Spinning you round by the Walmart sign and moving our feet over the painted white lines. Getting close to you. Making the most of whatever we got, even if it's just slow dance in a parking lot," Hailey sang quietly.

"Spin," Jay said as he held his hand up.

"What?"

"Spinning you round just like the song says."

Hailey laughed and reached for his hand and did a spin.

"Beautiful," Jay complimented.

"Yeah, right. That's was probably the messiest spin known to man."

"Well, um, it was beautiful. You're beautiful, Hailey."

She was glad it was dark so that Jay couldn't see the heat that rose to her cheeks.

"You're somethin' else, but thank you." She rested her head on his chest as they swayed to the rhythm of the rest of the song.

The song ended and the broadcaster started talking.

"Can I kiss you?" Jay asked.

"What?" she pulled away from his chest.

"I asked if I could kiss you. Was that too much? You know what, just forget--"

"Yes, Jay, kiss me," Hailey smiled and then she and Jay both leaned in.

It was just a peck, but it was their first kiss and despite it being in a dark parking lot late at night, it was still magical.

"You know," Jay began once the quick kiss was over, "there's a Walmart across the street. What do you say we go grab pints of ice cream from there and then you can show me your favorite country songs?"

"I'd like that. Adam didn't show you enough?" she asked.

"I've only got like thirty I like. I need to expand my horizons."

"Okay, let's go."

They held hands in Walmart and then picked out their respective pints of ice cream. Then, they went back to the parking lot of the closed diner and Jay plugged in the aux, allowing Hailey to show him her favorite country songs while they ate their ice cream from the pint and even shared with each other.

Hailey knew nobody would have a first kiss story like that.

Then, at the beginning of the winter semester, Hailey's roommate decided not to live in the dorms anymore. Hailey couldn't afford to pay for a dorm all by herself, so Kim offered to let her stay with her, Jay, Adam, and Will. So, that's how she ended up living with her boyfriend and sharing a room with her best friend, Kim Burgess.

"We're here," Jay announced. "Well, actually, we're a few streets away, but that's one of the lecture halls on your right."

You looked out the window to see a big red and brown brick building with white pillars on the steps. There was also a white sign telling you what building this was.

"Wow," you said in awe. "It's like those old-fashioned colleges. I love it."

"Well, we'll give you a tour and help you find your classes sometime this weekend before classes start on Tuesday. That way, you aren't getting lost on the first day. But, we'll head to the house for now and get all unpacked."

"Sounds good to me."

Five minutes and a few back roads later, you pulled up to a simple two-story brick house.

"Alright, let's get our stuff out and get inside," Jay said.

You stepped out of the truck and started grabbing some stuff out of the back seat.

"I'll jump in the truck and hand you the suitcases. Think you can grab them when I hand them to you?"

You nodded.

"Halstead!" you heard someone shout and you and Jay both whipped your heads around to see Hailey and Adam walking out of the garage and toward the two of you. Adam, well who you assumed was Adam, was carrying two cowboy hats and he and Hailey each had one on themselves.

"Catch!" Adam said and threw one to Jay where he was standing in the box of the truck. Jay easily caught it and placed it on his head.

Adam walked over to you.  "And one for you, darlin'," he said as he placed the hat on your head.

"Thank you," you said. "But I thought Kim was darlin'," you said. It'd make sense because if this guy was in fact Adam, then he and Kim were dating.

"You didn't tell her?" Hailey asked Jay.

"Didn't think there'd be a need to." Jay shrugged.

"Tell me what?" you asked.

"Well, Adam calls every girl darlin'," Jay explained. "It's just normal for him. And, down here, you're gonna get a lot of huns, sweeties, and sweethearts. A lot of waiters and waitresses do that here."

"And what do they call you two?" you asked, motioning to Jay and Adam.

"Sir," they said in unison.

"Oh, and you'll occasionally get a ma'am," Hailey added. "But, that one's rare because we don't look old enough to be called ma'am."

"Okay. And, uh, not to be rude, but what's with the cowboy hats?" you asked.

"It's a tradition we just started last year," Adam explained. "We unpack, wear cowboy hats, and drink moonshine. Oh, I'm Adam by the way, darlin'."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N."

Jay handed you a suitcase and you set it on the ground. Then, you did the same thing with two more suitcases.

You grabbed your backpack from the front seat, your duffle bag from the back, and your two suitcases.

"Here, I can take those two for you," Adam said.

"Oh, okay," you said and then allowed him to take the two suitcases from you. So this is what Jay meant by southern hospitality since Adam was from Tennessee and all.

"Jay, lemme take your suitcase," Hailey said.

"Baby, I've got it," Jay argued as he jumped out of the box of his truck and closed the tailgate.

"The hell you do," she argued. "I see all your other stuff in the backseat and that basket of snacks you gotta carry in, too. Just lemme take your one suitcase."

"Let 'er take the suitcase, Halstead. Best to listen to your lady," Adam said.

"I like Adam already," you laughed.

He let go of one of the suitcases and tipped his hat. "Thank you, darlin'."

This caused all four of you to laugh and then you all went inside carrying both yours and Jay's stuff in one trip between the four of you.

***

"Shine in the fridge?" Jay asked after you and he had brought all your stuff to your room.

"Shine, Jay? How southern do you get when you're here?" you asked.

"Oh, he gets pretty southern, hun," Hailey said.

"See?" Jay asked as he pointed to Hailey. "Told you you'd get called hun."

"So, Adam's thing is darlin' and Hailey's is hun?" Hailey nodded. "And it's because you're from Georgia and he's from Tennessee?"

"That's right, darlin'," Adam confirmed and then turned back to Jay. "Yeah, shine's in the fridge. And Kim just texted and said she's on the way back with pizza."

"You got apple pie flavored shine?" Jay asked.

"Hang on. I'm just gonna grab 'em."

The three of you sat down on the bar stools at the counter and waited for Adam to pull them out.

"Alright," Adam started after he put the bottles of moonshine with sip lids on the counter. "We have peach for Miss Georgia Peach." He passed the peach bottle of moonshine to Hailey. "We've got apple pie shine for me and Jay. We've got strawberries and creme for Kim because that's her favorite." He turned to you. "And for you, I got you blackberry because it's not that high of a proof, so it's not that strong." He slid the jar to you.

"Nuh uh," Jay said quickly and grabbed the bottle.

"What the hell, Jay? Give it back! Adam said it's for me, not you!" you argued.

"Last I checked, you're only eighteen."

"Last I checked, Dad's not here. And I know for a fact you drank before you were 21, so pass me the blackberry shine, please."

"I'll take the first sip and then you can have it." He made sure the straw part was open and then he took a sip. "Adam, that shit's like a chaser compared to the apple pie one."

"I know. That's why I got 'er that one," Adam said.

You heard a door shut.

"Pizza's here!" Kim announced.

She walked into the kitchen with three boxes of pizza.

"I got us three pies," she said as she set them down on the counter. "We got one pepperoni and green olive, one supreme, and one meat lovers." She turned to you. "And you must be Y/N. I'm Kim. I see Adam already got you started on that Tennessee moonshine."

"Nice to meet you," you said. "You're from New York, right?"

"Yup, not New York City, though. More upstate."

"Of course she's from New York, Y/N!" Jay exclaimed. "Who else would call pizza a pie except for a true New Yorker?"

"I'll take that as a compliment. Thanks, Jay."

Jay raised his bottle of apple pie moonshine in a fake cheers and then took a sip.

"Now that's the strong shit I need to start off this semester right," he announced and then set the bottle down.

"Oh, and if your brother didn't tell you yet, he turns into a borderline alcoholic when he's at school," Kim told you.

You laughed. "He didn't tell me that, no."

"Better than being a caffeine addict like Kim and Hailey here," Jay argued.

"Shut up," Hailey said. "You know you're a caffeine addict during finals week just the rest of us."

"I was a caffeine addict in high school, so we'll see what happens," you shrugged.

Kim grabbed a stack of paper plates and set them on one of the pizza boxes. "Dig in. Oh, Y/N, did Adam get you the blackberry flavored moonshine?"

"He did. Haven't tried it yet because Jay has yet to give it back to me."

Kim quickly reached down and grabbed the jar of moonshine.

"Hey, Kim! She's only 18!" Jay protested.

"So? I know you drank an insane amount during your freshman year. So shut it." Kim popped open the sipping lid. "Taste."

You took a sip. It did taste like blackberry, but it was also sort of strong, but it didn't burn your throat that bad like you had read in books that alcohol did.

"This is actually pretty good."

"I know, right? And, me and Hailey will let you try ours when we help you unpack," Kim said. "But, do not try the kind the boys have because it's nasty."

"Baby, I don't know what you have against apple pie moonshine, but it's good," Adam said and then took a sip of his moonshine. Kim rolled her eyes. Adam leaned across the counter. "The New York in her is coming out, darlin'."

"Oh, shut up," Kim said and reached over to steal Adam's cowboy hat off his head.

"Baby, now I feel naked without it," Adam argued and tried to reach for the hat.

"Sucks for you. Now eat your pizza before it gets cold."

***

"Morning," Jay said when you walked into the kitchen the next morning. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good. it's nice not having to share a room with anyone like you and Adam, and then Hailey and Kim have to. It was fun having them help me unpack last night, though," you said.

Last night, Kim and Hailey had helped you unpack and when you mentioned that you didn't really know any country music, Hailey pulled up all of her favorite country songs to play for you. You especially liked Girl in a Country Song by Maddie and Tae. They showed you the music video for that song and it was about how, in most country music videos, girls had to dress up in little skimpy outfits and have the boys just stare at them all day. So, in their music video, they changed the roles, and the guys had to dress in skimpy clothing in the music video. It was pretty funny and the song was catchy.

"Let me guess," Jay began, "Hailey showed you some good country music?"

"Yup. The songs she showed me were pretty good, pretty upbeat. Didn't sound like a cat being put in a blender like old-fashioned country, so I guess that's good."

"What do you have against old-fashioned country, darlin'?" Adam asked as he walked into the kitchen.

"I dunno." You shrugged. "Too slow for me and I just don't like the voices I guess."

"You know what we ought to do, Jay?" Adam asked and Jay raised his eyebrows, silently telling adam to continue. "We should show her all the songs that are mentioned in What's Your Country Song."

"Wait, wait. I think I know that one. I think Hailey played it for me last night. Is it the one that mentions Chatta- Chatta..."

"Chattahoochee?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, that funny word. What even is that anyway?"

"It's a river that runs through Georgia," Jay answered. "Pretty sure Hailey used to go tubing down it like we're gonna do today."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "We're going tubing? Like behind a boat?"

Adam laughed. "Christ, Jay! Do you tell her anything?"

"He doesn't," you answered. "So, explain, one of you."

"Alright, I'll do it," Jay said as he poured milk on top of a bowl of Raisin Bran. You looked at him intently. "What we do is, the first Saturday that we're all together before school starts, we go on tubes and float down the Tennessee River. We bring a cooler full of snacks, sandwiches, booze, and water, and a waterproof speaker and we just have a fun time. Oh, and this year, you're the DD."

"Me?" you asked as you pointed to yourself. Jay nodded. "But I don't know where to go! I haven't even been in Tennessee for a full 24 hours yet!"

"Kim's like the mom of the group," Adam supplied. "So she'll still be pretty lucid and could probably drive if she needs to. But, she'll at least be able to give you directions on how to get back here."

You sighed. "Good. That makes me feel a lot better."

"Where are the other two girls anyway?" Adam asked. "They're usually up a lot earlier than we are when we go on the river."

"I think they were a little buzzed last night," you said. "Might still be sleeping."

While you were unpacking, you took a few sips of your jar of blackberry moonshine, but not a lot. You'd never really drank before, much less drank moonshine and you didn't really feel like puking from being drunk or having a killer headache from a hangover...at least, that's what you thought happened from what you had read in books and seen in movies and tv shows. But, Kim and Hailey had each finished like a quarter of their jar, so they had been buzzed last night. They weren't drunk because they could still walk in a straight line and knew what they were talking about, but they did have little dopey smiles on their faces while they helped you unpack.

"She's right," Kim said as she and Hailey walked into the kitchen. Hailey's hair was wrapped in a towel, alerting you that she had just taken a shower. "Adam, can you grab me an Advil?" She took a seat on a stool and put her head in her hands. "My head is fucking killing me. I didn't even think I drank that much."

Adam laughed. "You do this every semester, baby. First shine of the year and you always drink a little too much." He handed her the pills and a cup of water and Kim quickly washed the pills down.

"I just need some coffee," Hailey announced.

"We know, you don't get hangover headaches," Kim groaned.

"Yeah, but I feel exhausted all day. Everyone goin' for coffee? I'll make a bigger pot if that's the case."

Everyone said yes and Hailey started on the coffee.

***

"Okay, we got the tubes, the speaker, swimsuits are on, we have the towels, cooler," Jay rattled off as the five of you sat in his truck. "Anyone double-check the cooler?"

"I did," Hailey said. "We got water, the same shine from last night, some white claws, the sandwiches me and Kim made for everyone, chips, and a few other snacks."

"And I threw in a little first aid kit with bandaids, alcohol swabs, Neosporin, and other stuff. And I've got the sunscreen, too," Kim said.

"See, what'd I tell you, darlin'?" Adam asked as he turned around from his spot in the passenger seat. "Kim's the mom of the group."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Kim said. "It means I'm responsible and prepared."

"Those two would get so damn sunburned and dehydrated if it weren't for Kim," Hailey said as she pointed to Jay and Adam in the two front seats.

"Thanks, Hails," Jay replied sarcastically. "Real nice."

"You're welcome," she said with a smile.

You leaned your head against the window. You were supposed to get stuck in the middle, but seeing as you got car sick easily, Kim said she'd switch spots with you.

"You okay?" Kim asked.

"Yeah, just, Jay really needs to turn on the AC before I throw up from motion sickness and how damn hot it is in here."

"Least you got that cowboy hat to puke in if you need to," Jay laughed as he reached for the AC. "You better not puke in my tuck or you will be walking home."

Adam smacked him upside the head.

"Ow!" Jay exclaimed and took one hand off the wheel and rubbed the back of his head. "The hell was that for?"

"Dude, be nice! Look at her!" Adam exclaimed.

Jay looked in the rearview mirror and saw you leaning your head against the window with your eyes closed and pinching your nose. You groaned.

"Here," Jay said and tossed you a blue bottle of Gatorade from his cup holder. "Drink this. Get you some hydration and electrolytes."

You took a few sips and then handed the bottle back to him. "Thanks."

"Mhm."

Kim moved the vents so that the AC was blowing on you more. "That help?"

"Little bit, thanks."

"Think you'll be good to go down the river?" Jay asked.

"Yeah, because then I won't be trapped in a hot box going sixty down the road!"

"She's right about that," Adam agreed. "You'll be lucky if you go five miles per hour, darlin'."

"Alright, so the motion sickness should stop. Thank God."

"Just rest your head against the window and listen to some country music," Jay said. "Speaking of that, who's controlling the music on the river?"

"I got it," Adam volunteered. "Everyone give me a song and I'll get the queue started."

***

You had been going down the river for about half an hour now and had finished a bottle of water and eaten a banana, too. You felt fine now. Adam was right, you were going slow enough that you didn't get sick, and you also weren't in the backseat of a truck.

"Hey, Kim," you started, "can you pass me my moonshine?"

"Mhm," she said. You guys had tied a cooler to a tube, which was then tied to Kim's tube. Because, the boys figured that between the five of you, she was the most responsible. They toyed with tying it to your tube because you probably wouldn't get shitfaced (like the boys most likely would) since you were underage, but you had never gone tubing down the Tennessee River before, so they decided on Kim. "Here, Hailey, hold my white claw."

She passed Hailey her drink and then maneuvered the cooler towards her, opened it, and handed you your moonshine.

"Thank you," you said and popped open the sip lid and took a sip. "Ahhh."

"Hey, drink it slow," Adam warned, turning towards you and practically yelling over the music. He and Jay were in front of the three of you girls so they could tell you if there were a ton of rocks coming or if it was super shallow coming up. "Heat makes getting drunk a lot easier because you keep drinking it because you're so thirsty."

"I don't think that's how it works, man, but whatever you say," Jay laughed.

Another song started.

"Hey!" you yelled. "I know this song!"

"Yeah, because it's old as hell," Jay laughed.

"Shut up! I like it!"

Baby you a song you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise. Down a back road, blowin' stop signs through the middle every little farm town with you.

"And this brand new Chevy with a lift kit, would look a hell of a lot better with you up in it. Baby you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise," the five of you sang Cruise by Florida Georgia Line while holding your drinks in pure happiness.

Because of this, you didn't notice Jay drifting off to the side toward the trees.

Jay let out a sinister laugh as he got closer. "C'mere, buddy, c'mere." The black snake stuck his tongue out and hissed. "Yeah, I know, you wanna scare Y/N, too." Jay held his hand out toward the snake. "I'm nice, I promise." The snake slithered and went up on Jay's hand and started up his arm. He turned once most of the snake was on him. He started using his other hand to paddle himself back toward the group. "Y/N!"

You turned and looked at him. You saw the snake on his arm and tears pricked your eyes. "No! No!" you shouted.

Snakes were your biggest fear and knowing that they were in the river that you were in right now was absolutely terrifying to you. And, with each paddle, Jay and the snake were coming closer and closer to you.

"Jay, please, please!"

Adam turned and looked at Jay and then back to you. "She scared of snakes?" You quickly nodded as tears ran down your face. "Jay! Stop! She's terrified!"

Jay laughed. "No!"

He was coming closer and closer to you.

Adam quickly paddled over to you and went in front of you. "I won't let it go near you, darlin', don't you worry."

"Uh huh," you said and grabbed onto Adam's arm in complete and utter terror.

Unknown to Jay, Hailey was making her way to him. But, she was behind him, so Jay couldn't see his girlfriend coming up behind him with her empty bottle of white claw raised high in the air.

He felt it before he heard her.

"Don't." Smack on the head with the empty can. "You." Another smack on the head with the empty can. "Do." Another smack on the head with the empty can. "That." Last smack on the head with the empty can.

"Ow!" Jay yelled. "Hails, stop!"

"Put the fuckin' snake back and stop scarin' the daylights outta your little sister or I will keep smackin' you, Jay!" Hailey told him.

"Fine, I'll put it back," he groaned.

"Hailey, keep that can raised above his head. If he tries to come back here, hit 'im again!" Adam yelled.

"You got it!" Hailey said. "Hear that baby? Your head is gonna come in contact with this 'ere empty white claw can again if you don't get a move on."

"I'm going, I'm going," Jay grumbled.

"Good, then you won't get smacked again."

"Just for all that," Adam started, "you wanna pick the next song, darlin'?"

"Can you play Better Dig Two by The Band Perry?" you asked. "That counts as country right?"

"Sure does, darlin'." He started messing with his phone. "Comin' right up."

"I told you on the day we wed, I was gonna love you 'til I's dead," you started to sing. "Made you wait 'til our weddin' night, that's the first and the last time I wear white."

"Snake's gone! Made sure he put it down and I even watched it slither away!" Hailey announced. "Put me in the ground, put me six foot down," Hailey joined in after she had finished yelling over part of the first verse.

"And, as for you, Jay," Adam started over the music and all of you singing. "You don't get to pick a song for the next hour."

"Son of a bitch," Jay muttered.

"Hey, you brought this one on yourself, buddy. So just sit back, relax, listen to our music choices, and enjoy your shine."

***

One week later

"And we're here!" Adam announced as the five of you pulled onto a long dirt driveway. "You ready to ride some horses, Y/N?"

"I dunno," you said. "I've never ridden a horse before."

"Oh, Adam'll make sure you're super safe," Kim reassured you.

"Okay, so whatever horse I ride won't buck me off?"

"Oh no," Adam said quickly, "we'll put Jay on Buck."

"Like hell you will!" Jay argued from the backseat.

Despite the studying the five of you had to do, you were at Adam's childhood home. Adam's parents had rented a cabin in North Carolina for the weekend since it was Labor Day weekend and needed someone to watch the five horses they owned.

His parents used to own a riding place with multiple horses, but since their kids got older, they stopped doing it because they were getting older and couldn't give the tours anymore. So, they sold most of their horses, left five so that their kids could ride them with their friends, but still kept the house and the land. Whenever Adam's parents went out of town, either he or his sister would come and stay over at their childhood home and take care of the horses. Seeing as his sister was married and just gave birth to a daughter, this left Adam. And, luckily for him, his parents were fine with some friends coming over to help Adam out.

"Relax, man," Adam began, "I'll ride Buck."

"Wait, is he called Buck because he bucks people off?" you asked.

"You would be completely right, darlin'. Which, would be the reason I'm riding him and neither of you four will be doing that."

Adam put the truck in park and you got out of the passenger seat. Yes, you had ridden in the front because Adam said you could because of your motion sickness. Jay wasn't too happy, but it was Adam's car, so therefore it was Adam's rules.

You got inside the house and it had two extra bedrooms, one of which was Adam's childhood room and had an extra twin bed in it for when his friends wanted to sleepover (Because, in Adam's words, it was only girls who shared beds at sleepovers and he said guys didn't do that, so that's why there was the extra bed). In his older sister's childhood room, there was a full-sized bed, so Hailey and Kim would share the bed and the boys said they'd move a couch into that same room for you to sleep on.

Adam opened the fridge once all of you had put your stuff in the rooms that would be yours for the weekend. "Ooooh, y'all, my mama left us some food!"

"Oh, he southern southern now," Kim laughed and walked over to the fridge. "What'd she make?"

"Let's see. We got fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cornbread, gravy, biscuits, grits, tater salad, peaches that she canned herself, and apple pie. She must really miss me if she cooked this much!" Adam laughed after he rattled off the food his mom made for all of you.

"Mama's cookin', paper plate, and tater tater salad," you said, quoting a song Jay had played on the way down here that you had taken a liking to and had added it to a playlist and been listening to it a lot the past week.

"Did you just..." Adam trailed off.

"She did!" Jay exclaimed.

"Is it that hard to believe that I know more than two country songs, y'all?" you asked.

All four of them gasped.

"She's southern! She's southern, y'all!" Hailey yelled.

"What?" you asked as you looked around at your brother, his girlfriend, and his two friends in confusion.

"That was yer first y'all, hun!" Hailey told you and pulled you into a hug. "Yer a regular southern belle now."

"Next thing you know, girl's gonna be fallin' for cowboys," Adam said.

"Aw, hell nah," Jay said. "Ain't no way she's datin' a cowboy. No way."

"Shit, Jay just went southern southern, too," Adam laughed.

"What can I say, when my girl goes hella Georgia, I go hella Tennessee," Jay said.

"That made zero sense, baby, but okay," Hailey said. She turned to Adam. "When we ridin'?"

"We can go right now if you want. Everyone good with that?"

You all nodded and then Adam told all of you to put on your cowboy hats.

***

"This 'ere's Maddy," Adam said before he helped you onto the horse. You put your feet in the stirrups. "They feel good? You can reach 'em well?" he asked.

"Yeah," you told him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, darlin'." He turned to Jay, Hailey, and Kim. "You three remember how to get on the horses since we rode so much last year?"

"We're good," Jay said.

"Hey, baby?" Hailey asked and turned to Jay. He turned to look at her. "You think you can help me on 'im? Pretty sure Diablo's gotten a lot bigger since I rode 'im last."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I got that."

"Did he just..." you trailed off and looked at Kim.

"He did," she confirmed. "She turns into sweetheart around this time every year. Jay gets really southern after only being here a week. Might also have something to do with Adam calling me sweetheart sometimes and he just picks up on it."

Jay helped Hailey onto the huge horse named Diablo and then got on his horse. You were riding Maddy, Adam was riding Buck, Jay was riding Sinbad, Hailey was riding Diablo, and Kim was riding Atta'Boy.

"All y'all need to watch me now," Adam announced from the front. All four of you gave Adam all your attention. "Well, mostly Y/N because she's never ridden before." He paused. "To make your horse stop, just give the reins a little tug. To turn, hold the reins on your right side, and pull towards your right hip, like this." He demonstrated and pulled the reins like he told you and Buck's head turned to the right. "And turn left, do the same thing on the left side. To make them go, just flick the reins a little bit, but they're pretty well-trained, so you shouldn't need to do that. But, if they still won't go, give 'em a little kick. I promise you won't hurt 'em. But, most of all, keep at least one hand on the reins at all times. Oh, and they will try to eat on the trails, but they ain't supposed to, so try and get them to stop by pulling up on the reins if you can.

"Any questions? Everyone sure their stirrups and saddles are good?" Adam finished.

Everyone answered with a chorus of "yeses" and then the five of you were off...that was until Maddy decided she was hungry about a quarter-mile (400 meters) in.

And, to make matters worse, you were in the mountains (because everyone is in the mountains here) and Maddy was bringing you closer and closer to a small ravine.

You did not want to have the experience of trying to control your horse and deciding whether or not to jump off or not and possibly being rushed to the hospital.

"Maddy!" you yelled and tugged up on the reins. Nothing. "Maddy!"

"Pull hard!" Jay yelled from behind you.

"I am pulling, Jay!" you yelled back. "Come on, Maddy!"

Shit, she was still moving towards the edge and trying to eat more.

"Pull to the left!" Jay yelled. You pulled. Nothing. "All the way around! To your left hip!"

You did so and she moved. Finally.

"Now straighten out the reins," Jay told you. You did. "And give her a kick to move."

You did and she continued walking...this time with a huge branch and leaves hanging out of her mouth because she had gotten herself a nice little snack.

"What's with all the yellin'?" Adam asked as he turned his head around and had Buck slow down a little bit. Then, he saw Maddy. "Maddy stop to eat? She acts likes she's starvin', but I promise you she's not."

You kept going and then you started going down a hill.

"Lean forward when going down a hill," Adam yelled back to all of you, "and lean back when going up a hill."

You started going down the hill and kept trying to maneuver yourself so you were in the middle of the saddle. You felt like you were leaning too much to the right, so you kept trying to fix it, but with Maddy still walking, it was kind of hard.

You clenched your stomach muscles to try and pull yourself back to center, but it wasn't working. You tried to push up with your left foot because you were leaning to the right, but that wouldn't work either.

"Just hold on tight, Y/N," Jay told you. "Adam!" Jay yelled as you kept leaning to the right and pulled the reins a little harder to make sure that Maddy would stop.

"What?" Adam yelled back.

"We need a little help back here!"

Adam turned Buck around and he got halfway to you and stopped next to Hailey and Diablo.

"She's fallin' off, you big dummy! You gotta go!" Adam yelled. He flicked his reins. "C'mon, go!"

It was like Buck knew what was going on because the minute he lifted his head up and saw you trying to stay in the saddle, he started coming towards you.

"Buck, stay," Adam said sternly and jumped off him. He walked to your right side. "Now, I'm gonna push your saddle to the left and I need you to lean the same way, okay?"

"Lean to the left?" you asked.

"Yup," he confirmed. "One...two...three."

He pushed up and you leaned to the left, which allowed the saddle and you to be re-centered.

"Can you reach the stirrups okay, darlin'?" he asked. "Or do you need 'em a bit higher?"

"I think I need them a bit higher," you answered. "I thought they were fine, but I guess not."

"That's okay. That's what I'm here for. Take your right foot out."

You did as he said and then he adjusted the stirrups and helped you get your foot back in. Then, he did the same for the left foot.

While Adam was adjusting your left stirrup, Maddy was curious about what was in his first aid bag that was attached to Buck's saddle.

"I ain't got no treats in there, you fatty." He put his hand on Maddy's head. "There's nothin' in there for you. Get out." She started chewing on a drawstring that was on the bag. "Okay, I guess you can chew on that."

"So, to get her to turn, do I just pull like this?" you asked and showed Adam.

"Yes, but put your hand further down the reins when you do that. Works better like that."

"Okay, thanks."

"And, if she keeps tryin' to eat, pull up hard--but not too hard and far that you make her walk backward--and if that doesn't work, give her a quick kick. I promise you won't hurt this little fatty right here."

"Okay, awesome."

"You good?"

"I'm good," you confirmed.

"Okay, so if you ever need to adjust yourself, just grab this 'ere saddle horn." He put his hand on the stub on the front of the saddle. "And put two hands on it...unlike me, and then just push down with your foot on which side you want the saddle to go. Pretty simple."

"Okay, got it," you said.

Then, Adam jumped back on Buck and you were off again.

***

You and Kim were sitting up on the bed in Adam's older sister's childhood room that you were staying in and watching a dumb comedy when Adam poked his head into the room.

"Both you up?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kim answered. "Why?"

"Well, I want to go to the rope swing, and Jay and Hailey both fell asleep spooning while watching some shitty movie in the living room, so do you two wanna go? I'm bringing alcohol."

"Adam, it's like 11 o'clock at night!" Kim laughed. "We won't even be able to see the water!"

"Honey," Adam laughed. "I'll leave the headlights of my truck on! I'm not that stupid to have us jump in blind!" He paused. "You two in?"

"Sure," Kim agreed and then turned to you. "Y/N?"

"Why the hell not? I'm in college, let's go!"

"Alright, I'll let you two get changed and I'll grab the towels and the booze," Adam said.

"Adam, if you're the one driving, you cannot drink a ton!" Kim told him.

"I know! I'll just take like two shots and use moonshine as a chaser."

"You got more moonshine?" you asked.

"Holy hell, Adam," Kim agreed.

"Where do you two think I was the past hour? I went into town and grabbed a few flavors. and, I got both your flavors, too. So, y'all can't yell at me. Now, get changed so we can go before Jay and Hailey wake up and decide they want in on this, too."

***

"You good to sit in the back, Miss Car Sick?" Adam asked you.

"Yeah, you said it's only like a five minute drive, so I'll be fine. Thanks for asking, though," you answered.

"No problem, darlin'."

Then, the three of you were off to this rope swing to jump into a river in the middle of the night.

Five minutes later, Adam threw his car in park and left the radio and headlights on. The three of you got out and Adam grabbed the booze and shot glasses and then you followed him around to the back of his truck. He handed the stuff off to you and Kim to hold while he flipped his tailgate down. Then, he used the flashlight app of his phone to see as he poured each of you a shot of gummy bear flavored vodka.

"Cheers to late night decisions and possibly bad decisions!" Adam toasted.

The three of you clinked your shot glasses together and then took the shots.

"Shit. That was strong," you coughed.

"Chaser, chaser," Adam said as he flipped open the sip cap on the blackberry moonshine.

He handed it to you and you took a few sips.

"Compared to that shot, this moonshine tastes like nothin'," you said.

"See? Told you it had a low proof!" Adam exclaimed. "Now, do you two want me to go first so I can show you how it's done?"

"That might be a good idea, yeah," Kim agreed. "You've only brought me here during the day and it's been over a year, so yeah, you go first, cowboy."

"Oh, that reminds me." He took his signature cowboy hat off. "Hold this for me, will you, sweetheart?" He held the hat out to Kim and she took it from him. "Thank you. Now, watch and learn, ladies, watch and learn."

Kim laughed. "Whatever you say, babe, whatever you say."

Adam walked up to the edge of the river and waded in the water to grab the rope. You and Kim stood on the edge of the river and watched as Adam dragged the rope with him as he stood on a rock, which was right below the tree that the rope was tied to. Then, he cinched the rope between his feet and jumped up and swung forward.

"Yeehaw!" Adam yelled.

Then, after a few seconds, he let go of the rope and fell into the river.

The rope dangled back and forth until Adam grabbed it and dragged it in with him.

"Who's next?" he asked as he held the rope out.

"You wanna go, Kim?" you asked.

"You sure you don't wanna go before me?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go ahead," you said.

"You nervous, darlin'?" Adam asked you as he took his hat back from Kim and placed it on his head.

"A bit." You looked down at your feet. "Are there snakes in there?" you practically mumbled.

"Oh, darlin'," Adam said with a wave of his hand. "I can promise you that there's no snakes in there. You've never seen a snake in there have you, baby?" he asked Kim.

"Nope, no snakes. I promise. Now, I'll go, and then you gotta go because it's so much fun!"

Kim grabbed the rope and then made her way up onto the rock. She did the same thing that Adam did and soon it was your turn.

"I'm stealing your aux, babe," Kim said as she walked toward Adam's truck.

Adam raised an eyebrow. "I don't know why you can't just listen to the radio like we've been doing, but go ahead, baby."

Kim walked over to the truck and changed the input to aux and then quickly pulled up Spotify. From there, she pulled up the song Like A Lady by Lady A, formerly known as Lady Antebellum. She turned the volume all the way up on her phone, plugged it into the aux, and hit play.

"Lady!" came out of the speakers as well as the opening chords.

You gasped as Kim came running back to you and Adam.

"How'd you know this one of my favorite songs?" you asked.

Ever since Hailey had played it for you on your first night in Tennessee when you were unpacking and sippin' on moonshine, you loved this song. It was all about feeling like a lady while wearing jeans and drinking and being comfortable with yourself and not needing a man.

"Y/N, I follow you on Spotify. I can see what you listen to. Now, go get to it, lady!" Kim cheered.

You smiled and turned around. You walked to the rock and climbed up on it just before the chorus. You grabbed onto the rope.

"'Cause I feel like a lady," you sang loudly to the music. "Sippin' on tequila with my Levis on."

You clamped your feet around the rope and jumped.

You felt weightless for just about one second and then you let go of the rope and fell into the water with a splash.

The water wasn't freezing, it was a little cold, but it was still decently comfortable. You started swimming back to the shore and grabbed the rope when it swung back toward you.

"Hell yeah!" Adam yelled as he ran up to you and took the rope so you could pull yourself up onto the river bank. "You did awesome! Did you like it?"

"I loved it! Let's do it again!" you yelled.

"See?" Kim said. "I told you that you'd love it!"

"I propose a celebratory shot for Y/N's first time jumping off the rope swing!" Adam said and the three of you headed back to his truck to have more booze.

And that is how you learned that you didn't get hangover headaches like Kim, but got hella tired the next day just like Hailey. But, a little hangover (despite not being old enough to legally drink) was all worth it because of how much fun you, Kim, and Adam had.

***

Months later

"Welcome to Chocolate Moose, everybody!" Adam announced and fumbled with the lockbox to get the key.

Since it was exam season, there was a tradition that started during the winter semester of their sophomore year that was where they'd all go up to a cabin (each cabin had a name and yours was Chocolate Moose) in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, which was an hour away from school, to go study without the temptation of parties and the libraries that were packed as hell and barely had any seats open because everyone and their mama had decided to study there.

He unlocked the door and opened it.

You walked in and were in awe. When you walked in, you saw a small kitchen complete with a stove, oven, microwave, and pots, pans, plates, bowls, cups, mugs, and silverware stored in cabinets and drawers. There was also a small pantry to your right the minute you walked inside.

Off of the small kitchen were the living room and the dining area. There was a circular wooden table with six chairs and there was a tv and a couch that folded out into a bed. Right next to that was a bedroom with a bathroom, which also had its own tv in it.

And, if you walked to the end of the living room, there was a door that led to the first-floor deck that overlooked the Smoky Mountains. On the deck was a wooden table that matched the wood of the deck and six stools, so it would be a nice place to study or eat breakfast or sip coffee in the morning.

The stairs to go to the second floor were above the table (so the table was tucked beneath the second set of stairs). When you got up there, there was a pool table, a bubble hockey table, another couch that folded out into a bed, and a coffee table in front of said couch.

To the right of the couch and coffee table was a California king-sized bed with a trunk in front of it which held the bedding for the pull-out couches. Then, there was a dresser with a mirror to the side of the bed and a closet. There was also a full bathroom with a washer and dryer and a dressing table (so tons of counter space and two mirrors) upstairs as well.

And, there was another deck on the second floor. This one didn't have a full-sized table, but it did have two chairs with a small table between, and a small couch complete with a bunch of throw pillows on one end of the deck. This deck too overlooked the beauty that was the Smoky Mountains.

"Who's that?" you asked fifteen minutes later after you had finished touring the cabin and figuring out sleeping arrangements.

It had been decided that Adam and Kim would take the first-floor bedroom and that you'd take the pull-out couch on their floor. Hailey and Jay would sleep upstairs and you wondered why you couldn't take the upstairs couch like you wanted to because Jay was quick to tell you no.

You knew they weren't gonna try to do the nasty up there since there was no door shutting the upstairs off from the downstairs, so you had no idea why he wouldn't let you sleep on the pull-out couch upstairs.

"Who's that?" you asked again while looking out the kitchen window.

Then, you saw a head of red hair in the driver's seat and rushed out the door to where the person parked their car.

"Will!" you shouted as he got out of the car. "I missed you!" You wrinkled your nose at what he was wearing: a pair of blue scrubs.

"I drove here right after I got off a twelve-hour ED rotation," Will told you. "Hence the scrubs."

"I would give you a hug, but who knows what kinda bodily fluids have been on those."

"Good choice. We'll postpone the hug until after I take a quick shower and change."

Adam, Kim, and Jay came outside and said their hellos to Will, and Jay took Will's backpack, making a joke saying that it felt like he stuffed a ton of rocks in there.

So, now you knew why you couldn't sleep on the pull-out couch upstairs: Will was sleeping there.

***

"Fuck!" you yelled as you felt a bee sting you on the upper part of your left inner thigh.

"What?" Adam asked.

You, Adam, and Kim were outside at the table on the first-floor deck studying while Will was upstairs studying and Jay and Hailey were studying one of their law studies classes at the kitchen table together.

"The fuckin' bee stung me!"

"Well, you were swattin' at him, darlin'," Adam said, which earned him a smack to the arm from Kim.

"Because he was between my legs!" you argued. "What was I supposed to do? Let him fly up my shorts and sting me there? Oh hell no!"

You got up and walked inside.

"Will!" you shouted the minute you closed the door to the deck.

"Y/N! Keep it down!" Jay scolded. "We're trying to study!"

You had made it up the first set of stairs and leaned over the railing. "Well, I just strung by fuckin' bee, so I think I can yell a bit, Jay! Will!"

"What?" he said and ripped out his headphones when you got all the way upstairs. "Med school's no joke, you know!"

"Well, what do I put on a bee sting?" you huffed.

Will sighed. "Hold on. They asked me to be the one who brought the first aid kit and I'm glad I did."

He got up and then came back with a bottle of lotion.

"Put this on it. Should cool down the stinging. Tell me if it gets worse or starts itching."

"Okay, thanks."

You put it on and hoped it would be better soon.

***

Okay, so this bee sting wasn't getting better. It was actually getting worse.

It had been itchy all day and you were currently shaving your legs in your shower. You felt the place where the bee had stung you and it was swollen as if someone had shoved a disk the size of an Oreo in your leg at the place the bee had stung you.

You got out of the shower, got changed, and walked out of the bathroom where country music was blasting and Jay and Adam were playing a friendly (okay, so maybe not so friendly) game of pool.

"Hailey, is my bee sting supposed to be super itchy?" you asked as you sat down on the couch next to her.

She and everyone else was drinking one of their two allotted white claws. Yes, during finals week you had all decided there needed to be a daily cut-off for alcohol so that you could all get your shit done. And, it helped keep everyone accountable since everyone in the cabin was only having two per day...and you weren't spending a ton of money this weekend on alcohol.

"Um, none of mine have ever been," she said. "Will!" He turned to look at her from where he was sitting and intently watching the pool game...mostly to make sure neither Adam nor Jay cheated. "Her bee sting supposed to itch?"

"Not unless she's allergic to bees...and she's not." He stood up. "Go lay on the bed and let me take a look."

"Oh, fuck no! I am not letting my brother look there!"

"Y/N, I'm a med student. I've seen a helluva lot more than a bee sting on your inner thigh. You can even go put on some short spandex if that would make you more comfortable."

You currently had on loose-fitting shorts that you knew would fall back to expose what underwear you were wearing if you let Will take a look. "Actually, I think I'll go do that," you said.

You quickly grabbed a pair of spandex from your suitcase and went back into the bathroom and changed into them.

"Y'all check for a stinger?" Adam asked.

Will must've filled him in when you were changing your shorts.

"Shit," Will cursed. "I knew there was something I forgot to do."

"What kinda fuckin' doctor are you if you forget to check something like that?" you asked Will rhetorically. "Hailey, I'm gonna need that empty white claw bottle to smack Will over the head with like you did to Jay on the river."

"Sorry, hun," Hailey apologized. "I ain't finished with this 'ere can yet."

"I'll hit him!" Jay yelled, putting down his pool stick and grabbing his empty can.

He hit Will on the arm with the empty white claw can as hard as he possibly could.

"The fuck?" Will yelled. "Why'd you do that?"

"I dunno." Jay turned to Adam. "Why were we hitting Will, again?"

"Holy shit," Adam muttered to himself. "Because he forgot to check Y/N's bee sting to see if the stinger was still there."

"Oh, okay. That was stupid, Will."

You laid on the bed and let Will look at the spot the bee stung you. Then, he put on a pair of gloves and pulled out a pair of tweezers.

"Hailey?" he called. She looked up expectantly. "Can you come over here and hold up a flashlight? I think I found the stinger."

Hailey got up and turned on the flashlight on her phone and crouched down next to Will.

"That good?" she asked as she finished positioning the phone so the phone's flashlight was pointing directly at your bee sting.

"Yup." He looked up at you. "Now, I'm gonna put one of my hands above the bee sting, that way you won't be able to see the tweezers go in. Sound good?"

"Mhm. At least this is better than when Jay tried to attack me with a snake!"

Will laughed. "I bet."

Five minutes later, the stinger was out and Will told you to put Neosporin and a bandaid over it just so you didn't keep itching it because he told you the itchiness wouldn't go away immediately.

"I need a drink," you said after you were all done.

Hailey handed you a raspberry white claw from the mini-fridge next to the couch and you popped it open.

"Thanks," you said.

"You're welcome."

"Everyone shut up!" Adam yelled. "This is Jay and Hailey's song...well, they didn't exactly meet at a bar and Hailey wasn't drinking a white claw, but it was a Saturday and those two did ditch us. So, dance you two!"

They tried to object, but Adam dragged Jay over to Hailey and Kim pushed Hailey up off the couch and towards Jay.

"Sittin' over there in the corner, baby, I saw pretty red lips workin' on a white claw," you all sang along to Single Saturday Night by Cole Swindell. And, you'd be lying if you said that this song didn't remind you of the story that Jay had told you about the first time he took Hailey out when she was bored one Saturday night in a sports bar. "Shakin' to a little Shook Me All Night Long. And I thought, man, what a beautiful sight."

You smiled. Four months ago, there'd be no way you'd know this song. But, thanks to your brother's friends and his girlfriend, you knew so many more country songs. But, most of all, if your first semester of freshman year was any indication, you were going to have the time of your life going to college here in Tennessee.

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading! Again, please remember to like/reblog and comment because I love reading all your comments and seeing that you voted because that means you enjoyed reading the imagine! As always, if you want to be added to my taglist, just tell me and I’ll add you! Again, I am donating all my proceeds on buy me a coffee until the end of AU-gust to Save The Children to help the children in Afghanistan. Buy me a coffee here.

Taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl@dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e @i-like-sparkly-things @herecomesthewriterwitch @liampayne88

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 

[kythed]

an age of miracles

synopsis: why do the most beautiful people always seem to get the short end of the stick? 

tagged: atsumu miya x reader, mentions of illness, mentions of god.  

commitment level: 3,617 words.

hospitals are liminal spaces. transitional, gateways between birth and death and the whole mess in between. (life.) they’re sites of both tragedy and miraculous recovery, and you’re not yet too old to stop praying for the latter. 

+

his name is atsumu. you skim the documents pinned to his door — atsumu miya. age 21. cirrhosis. 

cirrhosis is late stage liver scarring. nasty stuff. evidently, atsumu miya is in his third stage — portal hypertension. abdominal swelling. jaundice. 

for a bedridden guy with a serious illness, he’s not as justifiably depressed as one might assume. 

“hey, doc,” he says when you come in. he’s facing the window, letting the sunlight cast a saintly halo across his cheeks. blonde hair, an angular sort of face that’s been hollowed by illness. in another life, he might’ve been handsome. 

you clear your throat, and he glances back, surprised. “ah. you’re not my doctor.” 

“nope. nursing student.” you sit at the foot of his bed. “i’ll be monitoring you the next month or so as part of my studies.”

“monitoring,” he repeats drily. “you make it sound like i’m a lab specimen in a test tube.”

“means you’re special.” 

“sure. ‘specially fucked up.” he’s younger than you are, but there’s an aged weariness in his gaze. 

“aren’t we all, mr. miya?” 

he cracks a grin. “touche. call me atsumu, though. mr. miya’s my dad.”

“as you wish, mr. miya,” you say, biting back a smile. (there are those who say sarcasm has no place in hospitals. you do not fall into this category.)

+

atsumu likes to play chess. the second day of your clinical, he’s got a travel sized chess board set up on his bedside table. “been dying from boredom the past few hours. think you could take a break from ‘monitoring’ me to play a game?”

you set your clipboard down. “i could. i’d advise against it, though. i’m a pretty good player.”

atsumu grins. “not better than me.” 

he’s right. he beats you three games in a row before you finally snag a checkmate. (and you suspect this is only due to pity.) 

“what’d i tell you, baby?” he crows, and you shake your head, raising your arms in surrender.

“it was an off day. if i’d been on my game i could’ve swept the floor with you.”

“prove it,” atsumu says, leaning forward. he’s pale from a lack of sunshine, but you notice a faint pink glow in his cheeks now. “come back tomorrow.”

tomorrow’s a saturday, and you don’t have clinical. “of course i will.” 

you’re not one to back down from a challenge, no matter how trivial. plus, atsumu is fun. (and kind of cute.) 

+

“hi. brought you something.” you set a tupperware of cubed fruit on atsumu’s lap before pulling up a chair next to the bed. 

“did you make this?” he says, eyes wide. 

“i just chopped up a few apples and stuff,” you say, plucking a blueberry from the container and popping it into your mouth. 

atsumu shakes his head before biting into a chunk of pineapple. “you’d think it’d be hard to mess up fruit salad, but somehow this damn hospital can make a strawberry taste like cough medicine. everything they serve here tastes like cough medicine, actually.” 

“delicious.” 

“disgusting.” atsumu sets up the chess board. “so, like, thanks. for the fruit. can i keep the tupperware?”

you laugh. “why do you wanna keep the tupperware?” 

“it’s a reminder of normality.” atsumu shrugs. “i only ever eat off chipped hospital dishes here.” 

your chest throbs. “oh, atsumu.” 

“don’t you ‘oh, atsumu’ me,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

“sorry. yeah, you can keep it.”

(he wins at chess again.)

+

you’re only required to come in to the hospital three times a week, but you get into the habit of visiting atsumu every day. the first time you visit after class, you’re wearing a sweater and jeans. atsumu wolf whistles.

“damn. you look good when you’re not in scrubs.” 

“are you saying i don’t rock scrubs?” you press a hand to your chest in mock offense. 

“nobody looks good in scrubs,” atsumu says. “except for me, probably. i look good in anything.” 

you laugh. “i believe it.” 

“you’d better.” atsumu has a nice smile, you notice, wide and shiny. 

you plop yourself down beside him on the bed. “hey, you wanna see a picture i took on the way here? i found a stray cat near the convenience store.” 

“i’m a dog person,” atsumu says, but he nonetheless leans forward to get a look at your phone. “oh, cute.” 

“isn’t he?” you say, zooming in on the little orange cat. “i think i’m gonna name him after you.” 

“what?” atsumu huffs. “why?”

“because he’s good at chess,” you say. 

atsumu furrows his brow. “you played chess with a cat?”

“no, i just have a feeling,” you hum, and atsumu rolls his eyes with a small smile. 

“you’re stupid.” 

you slip your phone back into your pocket. “in a cute way, though.” 

“if you say so,” atsumu says, and you flick his shoulder. “ouch. way to bully a sick man.” 

“you deserved it,” you laugh, and he joins in.

“yeah, i did.” 

+

the next time you visit, atsumu’s family is there. his parents have kind, tired faces. 

“nice to meet you,” his mom says, grasping your hand warmly. “i’m glad atsumu has a friend here.”

“mom,” complains atsumu. “i have friends.” 

“none as cool as me, though,” you tease, and he smiles.

“you’re right,” he says, and his dad rumples his hair before turning to shake your hand. 

“it’s great to meet you, mr. miya,” you say, returning the shake. 

“the pleasure’s mine,” he says. he looks nearly identical to atsumu, just a little grayer. right next to him, there’s a boy who really does look exactly identical to atsumu, though his hair’s dyed dark and he’s a little more filled out. he has an air of begrudging maturity about him, the telltale sign of a young man who’s been forced to carry burdens that aren’t his. 

“i’m osamu,” he says. he’s sitting on the chair near atsumu’s bed. “this little asshole’s brother.”

“i don’t know why you keep calling me little,” atsumu says, lightly punching osamu’s forearm. “i’m the older twin.” 

“yeah, but you act like a baby.” osamu grins and leans out of reach when atsumu tries to swat at him. you chuckle behind a hand, leaning back against the wall as mr. and mrs. miya question you about your studies and hobbies. 

on your way out of the hospital a half hour later, you run into osamu at the lobby coffee shop. 

“so,” he says, sipping from a steaming cup. “you’re a nursing student?”

“mm,” you say, handing a fiver to the cashier to pay for your sandwich. “i’m in my fourth year at hyogo university. are you in college, too?”

“nah,” says osamu. “i play volleyball. professionally, i mean.”

“oh!” you notice the lettering on his sports jacket for the first time. msby black jackals. “that’s really cool.”

osamu shrugs. “sometimes it is. tsumu’s wanted to be a pro player since we were kids — but he won’t ever be able to do that now, of course. so that’s why i play. better to have one miya in the pro circuit than none at all.” 

your heart sinks. “you’re a great brother, osamu.”

osamu shakes his head. “i’m really not. it should’ve been me in that hospital bed.”

“osamu…” you trail off as osamu just shakes his head, giving you a sad smile. 

“it was nice meeting you,” he says before tossing his cup and heading back towards the elevators. 

+

“no,” atsumu says staunchly, crossing his arms. “definitely not. i don’t read.” 

“come on,” you wheedle, dangling the book in front of his face. “it’s one of my favorites, and i thought it might stave off some of that stifling boredom you always complain about.”

“i’m bored, but not that bored,” atsumu says, squinting at the book. “what is that about, anyways? the little prince? sounds lame.”

“it’s not lame,” you promise, bouncing slightly on the bed. atsumu sniffs. “okay, what if i read it to you? you don’t have to do anything but listen.”

“i’m not a child.” 

“you’re acting like one.”

atsumu throws his hands up in defeat. “alright, fine. you win. we can read the little prince.”

“excellent.” you beam. “scoot over?”

“what?” atsumu says, but he scoots to the side of his bed as you kick your shoes off and curl up next to him. you feel his breath hitch as he lightly lets his arm curve around your waist. 

you sigh, content, and flip to read the first page. “once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book…”

+

it takes three visits to finish the entire story. atsumu sniffles when you read the last line, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“did he die?”

you trace a light circle on atsumu’s palm, smiling slightly. “i don’t know. i think it’s up to the reader to decide. he left his body, but is that really death? or is it just… moving on?” 

“i think he just moved on,” insists atsumu. “he moved on and returned to the stars. he was just a kid. he was too young to have died.” 

“look at you,” you tease, and atsumu flushes. “waxing on poetic.”

“it was good,” atsumu says gruffly. “thank you.” 

“you’re welcome,” you breathe, and when atsumu buries his face in your neck, you realize he’s crying. 

+

he kisses you for the first time a week later. it’s late in the afternoon, and both your faces are tinged with gold. he slips a hand beneath your jaw, and you let him slowly guide your lips to meet his. they’re soft, hesitant, and sweet, pressing against yours with an uncharacteristic shyness. 

you sigh happily when he pulls you forward to straddle his lap, slipping your hands into his thick blonde hair, letting him press light kisses down the length of your neck. 

“hey, beautiful,” he breathes into your collarbone, and you laugh. 

“hey, pretty boy. nice to see you today.” 

+

atsumu’s discovered a newfound love for reading ever since you read the little prince outloud to him. you’ve been bringing him secondhand books from the thrift store near your house, and now there’s a sizeable stack of novels out on the table. 

“i think i’ve read more in the past couple months than i ever read in high school,” he admits, running a finger down the spine of treasure island. “you’ve turned me into a nerd.”

“you’re welcome,” you say, straightening his collar.

“it’s kind of nice, though,” he says thoughtfully, tossing the book back on the table. “to read about all these different people, all the things they do. all the stories i’m never gonna get to experience.”

“you’re getting to experience them through reading,” you correct. “that’s the beauty of fiction.”

atsumu laughs. “you’re such a sap.” 

“it’s true,” you insist. “god knows life is too short to live through everything we’d like to. that’s why he gave us imagination.”

“do you believe in god?” atsumu asks softly. his stare grows distant.

you think for a moment. “sometimes i do. do you?”

“same. sometimes.” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “sometimes i wonder, though… like, if there’s a god, why does he hate me?” 

you chew on your cheek. “why do you feel hated?” 

atsumu laughs a laugh tinged with slight bitterness. “sweetheart… i’m not going to live past twenty-five, if even that.” 

you swallow the knot in your throat, letting it sink deep into your stomach where it sits like a lump of copper. “well… the little prince is less than a hundred pages. sometimes the shortest books are the best reads.” 

atsumu nods silently. he’s not convinced. you’re not sure if you are, either. 

+

atsumu sleeps a lot these days. you spend as much time with him as you can, but more often than not, he’s in a half conscious daze, curled up beneath the white hospital comforter. during these times, you just set your backpack by the door the slip into bed next to him, wrapping yourself around his back and pressing your palms to his chest just to feel his heartbeat. it’s faint, but it’s steady and rhythmic. ba-dump. ba-dump. ba-dump. 

sometimes, atsumu’s his usual, lively self, cracking bad jokes and poking fun at you. his smiling face has come to be your favorite picture. on these days, you bring him a hot chocolate from the coffee shop and split it with him, kissing off the whipped cream that finds its way onto his lips. he still likes to play chess, and, though he won’t admit it, you’ve been getting better. one day, you beat him, two games to one. 

there are solemn, quiet times, and there are bright, cheerful times, but you savor all of them. every moment spent with atsumu is valuable in your book. occasionally, you’ll go with him out into the hospital garden, into the warmth of the sun. every so often he’ll stop, lean on you to catch his breath, but he never complains. 

“look,” he’ll say instead, pointing at a vine of jasmine, or a single daisy swaying in the breeze. “almost as pretty as you.” 

+

one day, as you’re leaving atsumu’s room, you run into his doctor in the hall. 

“keep your chin up,” she says, straightening her glasses. “it’s possible he could still recover. strong young men often do.” 

you nod slowly. “is he going to need a transplant?”

“well,” says the doctor, clicking on her pen absentmindedly. “if it gets any worse, yes. but i’m going to be honest with you — it’s unlikely we’ll find a donation with both a matching blood type and in good condition.”

“ah.”

“so just hope for the best.” she slips into his room before you can say another word, leaving you to lean heavily against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. miracles happen every day, you remind yourself. there’s no reason atsumu shouldn’t be the recipient of one. 

+

“hey,” atsumu says. he whispers your name with an unusual tenderness. “i have to talk to you.”

it’s been five months since you first met atsumu on a clinical, and it’s been three months since he began to call you his girlfriend. you lace your fingers between his, giving his hand a light squeeze. “yeah, ‘tsumu?”

he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i don’t think i’m going to… be here much longer.” 

“no,” you say, chest tightening. “don’t say that. you’re gonna be fine.” 

“sweetheart,” he says, voice low. he takes your chin and firmly turns your head to look at him. “i’m sorry. you know i am. i just… i’m sick. it’s hard to think straight sometimes, so i just wanted to tell you before i can’t anymore.”

“tell me what?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“tell you that i love you.” 

“atsumu,” you breathe. a frustrated tear finds its way down your cheek. “i… i love you, too. but please… just hang on. they’ll find a donor. they have to.”

“they might not,” he says, and he smiles, pulling you close. you knot your hands in the front of his t-shirt, pressing your face to his chest. “don’t cry. i’m just going to go live in the stars, right? like the little prince.” 

there’s so many things you want to say, like, you nerd, can’t believe you’re making literary allusions or shut up, asshole, or i’ll miss you if you do, but you say nothing, because if you open your mouth you’re sure you’ll just sob. 

“don’t cry,” he says again, but he’s crying, and you lift your face to see the tears streaming. “i love you.” 

your throat is too thick to say it back, but he sees it in your eyes. i love you, too. 

+

you spend the rest of the night with him before leaving at a little past 2am, and the next morning, you get a text from osamu. 

he’s gone. 

you don’t cry at the funeral. it’s small, just his family, a group of close friends, and you. you don’t look in the casket, either, because you want to remember his smile, and empty bodies don’t. you sip on a paper cup of water and lean against a wall, where osamu finds you. 

“hey,” he says, and you nod in return. “he left this for you.” 

you take the letter from him, and after he gives your shoulder a squeeze and heads back to his parents, you tear it open. 

hey, you. i’m writing this two months after you first came into my room in that god-awful set of scrubs. right now, you’re napping in the chair near my bed. you look cute. we had our first kiss last week, and i’m still walking on air. fuck, that sounds dorky. oh, well. guess i’m a dork. only for you, though. 

anyways, if you’re reading this, it’s because i’ve died. whoop-dee-doo. i’ve moved on to the great beyond. i’ve fallen past the veil. whatever it is you nerds like to say. there are probably things i’m going to say to you in the next few months that are a little more… intimate, i guess? but i wanted to tell you this while it’s still fresh in my mind: you’ve honest-to-goodness saved my life. i mean, it might not go on for much longer, sure, but you really have, in a way. being sick is weird. it makes you a lot more sensitive to miracles. 

you start. you don’t remember ever talking to atsumu about miracles.

someone from the outside might look at me and call me unlucky, but i feel pretty damn lucky right now. meeting you was without a doubt a miracle, and if i never got sick, it never would’ve happened. take that as you will, i guess. all i know is i’m not angry at god, even though maybe i should be. i mean, i’m still not sure he’s even out there. but there’s gotta be something, or someone, because how the fuck else could i have possibly recieved something so… great? i sure as hell never did something to deserve it. (god, i sound stupid. but it’s just hard to chalk up to coincidence.) 

anyways, i love you. not sure i’ll ever get the guts to say that out loud, so i’m saying it here. i love you, and i hope you love me, too. 

- atsumu

“i do,” you whisper. “i do.” 

+

on your way home, you stop at the convenience store for a bottled water, and the little orange cat comes out and winds itself around your leg, purring. 

“hey, ‘tsumu,” you say, squatting down to scratch its head. “fancy a game of chess?”

it meows back. 

“yeah?” your eyes grow wet, and you wipe them on the sleeve of your sweater. “wanna come home with me?”

it meows again, and this time, you break out into full scale crying. you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think you can see a tear in the cat’s eye, too. 

he follows you home, and the next day, you purchase a water dish, a big bag of cat food, and a blue collar. (blue was atsumu’s favorite color.)

+

three years later. 

“honey?” 

“yeah?”

your husband comes out from the hall, buttoning up his shirt. “you almost ready to go?” 

“almost, ‘samu,” you say, slipping on a bracelet. your hands are shaking, and he notices it, too. today’s the third anniversary of atsumu’s death, and it’s also the date of osamu’s first big press conference. “he’d be so proud of you, you know.” 

osamu smiles. “he would. he’d be proud of you, too.”

you laugh. “what for? for marrying his little brother?”

“no, he’d probably be kind of pissed at me,” osamu jokes, before coming to stand behind you. he wraps his hands around your waist. “he’d be proud of you for finding happiness, i think.” 

“i am happy,” you say, tilting your head as osamu presses a kiss to your temples. there’s a beat of silence. “but i miss him.”

“i do, too.” osamu rests his chin on your head. “he probably misses us.”

“mm,” you say. “i think he might be having too much fun for that, actually.” 

“maybe,” says osamu, and he leans forward to grab the keys from the counter. “i’m gonna go heat up the car, okay?” 

“sounds good,” you say, as the cat dashes into the room with a meow. a nameplate that reads ‘tsumu’ dangles from his collar. “oh, hey kitty. i forgot to feed you. i’ll be out in a minute!” 

after you fill the cat’s dish and pull on a cardigan over your dress, you slip outside, shivering in the night air. the sky is clear and full of stars, and as you walk to the car, you crane your neck up to see. 

“hope you’re doing well, ‘tsumu,” you whisper to the gleaming constellations. 

you still have things you want to say to him, even after all these years. you want to ask him how the weather in the cosmos is, and if the fruit salad is better up there. you want to ask if he’s read any good books lately, or if he’s seen how great osamu’s serve has gotten recently. you want to laugh with him. 

most of all, though, you want to let him know that he was your miracle, too.

[luvdsc]

i dare you.

truth: do you like me? dare: prove it.

pairing :: lee donghyuck x reader genre :: angst, fluff / best friend + college au word count :: 3,176 words warnings :: none playlist :: cover up (taeyeon) ⋆ wish you were sober (conan gray) ⋆ fever dream (mxmtoon) ⋆ candy so good (the rose) ⋆ bubble gum (clairo) ⋆ can i call you tonight (dayglow) author’s note :: this is a bff2lovers support blog

The game of truth or dare has been going on for several rounds already, and Donghyuck comfortably lounges on the couch tucked in the corner, leaning against an armrest. He lightly shakes the cup in his hand, swirling the last remnants of jungle juice around, before nimbly tossing back the rest of it. It’s a circle of sixteen or so people, and as he looks around, he can somewhat make out the faces of his closest friends. Except he’s missing one: you, his best friend ever since you handed him your red crayon after he broke his in preschool.

But now, for a little over a year, he’s been wishing that being your BF stands for more than just your designated Best Friend. Maybe, it can also include BoyFriend. But that’s just wishful thinking.

Hazy eyes flitting around the entire expanse, Donghyuck looks for the reason of his heartache and finally finds you standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall and accepting a red cup from Hyunjin with a pretty smile. Who invited him? He definitely wasn’t a part of Nu Chi Theta.

The familiar green eyed monster rears its ugly head again when he notices how the distance between you and that pretty boy decreases. Grimacing slightly, he reaches forward and grabs a shot from the table, quickly swallowing all its contents.

Renjun lazily spins the bottle in the center after answering his truth from Tzuyu, and it lands on the unsuspecting Donghyuck. He notices the distracted look in his friend’s eyes, following his gaze until he sees you, and a mischievous glint appears in his eyes.

“Hyuck, it’s your turn,” Renjun announces, and Donghyuck is startled, turning to face his grinning friend. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he replies confidently, and Renjun’s grin only widens. His friend’s gaze darts towards you and then back at him knowingly, and Donghyuck starts to feel his hands growing clammy. It seems that he was a little too obvious.

“I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

The dare that comes out of Renjun’s mouth has Donghyuck tensing up in his spot, sobering him up for a split second. His friend merely raises his eyebrows, challenging him, and he swallows hard before putting on an air of nonchalance. He wipes the sweat on his palms against the fabric of his jeans and grabs another one of the shots from the center of the circle, downing it before standing up. He’s not one to be nervous, especially with the amount of confidence he possesses and the amount of alcohol currently swimming through his veins, yet he is.

Jaemin and Jeno lift their heads up in interest as they watch him make his way towards you: you, who is unsuspecting and laughing at something that Hyunjin just said.

Have you always looked this gorgeous?

You are so damn stunning, throwing your head back and letting the prettiest sound Donghyuck ever heard escape from between your lips. The bright strobe lights don’t do enough justice for you, but he can see the way your eyes glimmer and the flashing of your teeth as your lips upturn into the loveliest of smiles. Yet, the blood in his veins boils because he should be the only one who makes you laugh like that, and not some other pretty boy.

He marches his way over there, swaying slightly from the beers he downed earlier, before looping his arm around your waist and pulling you towards him, placing the most delicate, softest kiss onto your lips.

Startled, you nearly drop your red cup and take a step back as you stare your best friend with wide eyes, your heart now beating faster than ever. And perhaps, it was more because of the boy in question, rather than the unexpected show of affection. “What the heck, Hyuck?”

He tugs you close again and merely nuzzles his face in your neck, wrapping himself around you even more. You turn to face him, and he lifts his head up, clouded eyes and flushed skin in full view now. His face is close, too close, and his lips are painted in the prettiest shade of rosy pink. If you move just a few millimeters forward, your lips would brush his again. Hurriedly, you toss away that silly idea as your cheeks warm up at that thought.

When did these feelings start to show up and skirt around your heart? Was it when you noticed he always added a pack of Haribo sour gummy bears for you to the shopping basket during those late night convenience store runs without you asking? Or was it when you texted him at 3 a.m. about a Pokémon you don’t have that’s nearby outside and he tells you to go to bed, but five minutes later, he’s standing outside of your dorm, knocking on your door with mussed hair and a haphazardly thrown on sweater, telling you to hurry up, so he can go back to sleep? Or maybe it’s when you realized just how happy he makes you when he laughs at your lame jokes that he would’ve made fun of Jeno for saying?

Or perhaps, it’s a culmination of all those things plus all the other tiny moments and endearing, although sometimes infuriating, attributes of his that made you fall in love with your best friend.

“You’re really pretty, y’know?” He mumbles, and your cheeks burn even more before you shake your head, noting bitterly to yourself that your best friend is completely intoxicated. Of course. He doesn’t like you in that way at all, so there’s no use in getting your hopes up. Drunken kisses are sober mistakes.

“Hyuck, you’re drunk.” You let out a sigh before wrapping an arm around his waist and throwing an apologetic glance towards Hyunjin. “Let’s get you home.”

“Let me help you,” Hyunjin offers, reaching out to take some of Donghyuck’s weight off of you. Your best friend swats his hand away from you. “Get your own Y/N. This one is taken.”

“He’s just trying to help,” you scold him, blood rushing to your cheeks at the sound of Donghyuck calling you his. He simply ignores the other boy, clinging onto you even tighter. You say good bye to Hyunjin, who kindly takes your empty cup, before tugging your best friend towards the stairs and to his bedroom upstairs.

On your way there, you catch Renjun’s attention. He smirks at you, eyes twinkling, as he glances towards Donghyuck and then back at you. Face burning, you roll your eyes before giving him the universal middle finger salute, his laughter subsequently echoing behind you.

You’re just best friends. Friends take care of each other. And so what if he kissed you? He’s naturally affectionate. And add on the fact that he’s drunk, so his affection just came out tenfold. It meant nothing.

Right?

Something’s been bothering you for the past few days, and Donghyuck can tell as he sits across from you for lunch. You’re doing that thing where you fiddle with the small Winnie the Pooh charm on your iPhone, wrapping the string part around your finger before letting go and repeating your earlier actions. He reaches over and untangles the charm from your hand before putting your phone in front of you, his hand grazing yours for a millisecond, and your heart nearly stops at the sudden contact.

“Something’s been on your mind. Spill it.” He studies your reaction, and you know you can’t lie to your best friend. He’ll know even before the words are out of your mouth.

“Do you remember the Theta party last Friday?”

“Yeah, I kinda have to,” he snorts, resting his chin on his hand. “I had to help clean up the next day with a raging hangover.”

“Why’d you kiss me?” you ask abruptly, twisting the hair tie around your wrist a bit nervously. It’s better to just rip off the bandaid and let it out in the open after all.

Donghyuck freezes, brain short circuiting. He had hoped that you’d just chalk it up to his drunken state that night, and he could continue to ignore his feelings like he’s done for the past thirteen months, six hours, and twenty seven minutes. But he can’t. He shouldn’t. So maybe he should just say it. Tell you the reason why. After all, drunken actions are sober thoughts.

Yet, although he prides himself for being brave, for being outspoken, when it comes to his feelings, when it comes to you, he feels like a coward. At the thought of rejection, the fickle feelings of love, and all the what if’s, he thinks it’s better to remain your best friend than lose you altogether. So he racks his brain for an excuse, but all he can come up with is the half truth. 

“It was a dare.”

Your face falls before you can hide the disappointment, and it yanks at his heartstrings, leaving him to stammer out a poorly executed follow up, back tracking as fast as he can. “It wasn’t a bad dare! Renjun made me do it, and I just...”

“A dare?” you say softly before giving him a half hearted, teasing smile, desperately trying to conceal your true feelings. “Like what? To kiss your best friend? So I beat out Mark, huh?”

Your response has him pausing from blurting out the rest of the truth. You seem so calm and nonchalant about it, like the kiss has no effect on you whatsoever, an unspoken rejection. The mere thought of that almost cracks his heart in two, and he crumples the napkin in front of him, lowering his eyes.

“Uh, well... something like that.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that, a stifled awkwardness plaguing the table, before it becomes unbearable for you, and you stand up, picking up your empty plate to drop off at the cleaning station.

“I gotta go. I have class soon.”

Donghyuck murmurs a quiet good bye to you and helplessly watches as you walk away. He knows you’re lying. He memorized your schedule by heart the second you sent it to him at the beginning of the semester, and you finished all your classes for the day in the morning already.

He flattens out the balled up napkin, staring at the confession he had carefully penned down earlier before you sat down. The black scribbles stare back at him, almost as if they’re mocking him. He rips up the paper into shreds.

He wishes he was braver earlier.

Friday night brings you back into the all too familiar atmosphere of the Nu Chi Theta house. You entered the scene later than usual, caught up earlier with a paper on sustainable technology due at midnight. You were more than content with staying in your dorm for the night, curling up in a blanket for a Brooklyn 99 marathon, but your roommate, Lia, insisted you go out with her.

When you had told her about the conflicting matter regarding a certain dark haired boy swirling around in your mind, she had frowned, calling Donghyuck a complete idiot, and her next words still echo in your head.

“That’s what the idiot said? That wasn’t the dare. Renjun dared him to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

So why did he lie?

The butterflies in your stomach refuse to settle, whether it was from knowing you’ll see him tonight or the implications behind that kiss or possibly a combination of both. Renjun easily spots you in the crowd, and refusing to take no for an answer, he pulls you over to sit next to him and to partake in the game that started this all. Lia had simply laughed and waved you good bye before nimbly making her way into the dancing crowd.

Your eyes easily finds Donghyuck’s across from you, and his eyes widen in surprise. You haven’t seen him since the lunch incident, and you should’ve known that you’d see him tonight. He’s a member of this fraternity after all. You give him a small smile, and maybe it’s the alcohol running through his veins, but you could have sworn his cheeks turned a darker shade of red under the harsh neon lights. He looks away, and it stings a lot more than it should. Biting your bottom lip, you focus your gaze on the bottle in the center.

Jaemin reaches for the glass and gives it a twirl. The bottle neck ends up pointing just left of Donghyuck towards Yerim, and you notice Jeno not so subtly kick the table. The bottle rolls slightly before facing your best friend.

“Oh, would you look at that! Hyuck, truth or dare?” Jaemin exclaims, grinning a little too brightly.

“Jeno did that on purpose,” Donghyuck grumbles, throwing a stink eye at the aforementioned boy who merely offers him an innocent smile. “Dare.”

Renjun leans over towards Jaemin, whispering something to him, and he only brightens up even more. There’s that sinking feeling in your stomach, and you know they’re up to no good. Looking around the room, you catch the eyes of Hyunjin, who waves at you happily with a broad smile. Maybe you’ll feel better if you hang out with someone else for a change and take your mind and heart off of the boy in front of you.

Donghyuck’s eyes darken when he notices your attention directed at Hyunjin. He almost scoffs. Again, who invited him? And what’s Hyunjin got that he doesn’t? Okay, so maybe that pretty boy is a few centimeters taller than him, but Donghyuck is still prettier, wittier, funnier, and smarter, right?

Does Hyunjin know the exact number of miniature marshmallows that you like in your hot chocolate? Does he know that you have a tiny star shaped scar on your knee because you fell off your bike in first grade, and Donghyuck was the one who put a dinosaur patterned bandage on it? Does he know that when you’re happy, you like to play Avril Lavigne’s Sk8er Boi on blast and belt out the lyrics? Does he know when you think a joke is really funny, you let out the smallest snort at the end of your laugh which you try to cover up, but Donghyuck thinks it’s the cutest noise ever?

Does Hyunjin know how much he loves you?

“Hyuck,” Jaemin pokes him. “Are you listening?”

“No,” he deadpans, and Jaemin sighs. Your attention is on Donghyuck now, head tilted slightly as you softly smile at him, raising your eyebrow. Your expression is guarded, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know why. But Jaemin nudges him again, and he lets out a huff before turning toward his friend, who smiles impishly before saying:

“I dare you to call your crush and confess.”

You and Donghyuck both inhale sharply at that.

Thousands of thoughts rush into your mind, yet the most prominent one is: your best friend has a crush, and he never told you. The two of you have shared your previous crushes in the past, yet he’s never mentioned this one? A shock of betrayal runs through your body as you wrack your brain to think back to any previous hints or mentioning that he liked someone. Never mind the fact that you didn’t tell him about your current crush because that would mean confessing, but if you were in love with someone else, he would definitely be the first to know.

But maybe it’s for the better, you think bitterly to yourself. It would be near impossible for you to hide your feelings any longer. Perhaps, this is the reason why he didn’t tell you about the dare. It would make everything so much more complicated.

But your stomach twists and turns at the thought of him asking someone out, kissing someone else, loving someone who isn’t you, and suddenly, you don’t want to play anymore. You mumble something about getting a drink from the kitchen to Renjun before standing up, easily brushing away his hand when he protests.

Donghyuck watches as you begin to get up, panic rising in his chest, and before he knows it, he’s scrambling to pull out his phone. All it takes is five seconds. Five seconds for you to walk away. Five seconds to lose you. Five seconds to type in that familiar string of numbers and hit send. Five seconds of courage. Five seconds to take that leap from friendship to something more.

It’s now or never, and he’s never been so sure of one thing in his life until this very moment. Heart thudding erratically in his chest, he hurriedly types in the number he’s memorized by heart—the one he secretly saved as My Sunflower 🌻—and finally presses the green button.

You pause when you hear the familiar blaring ringtone and feel the vibration in your back pocket. Immediately, your eyes land on Donghyuck, and he’s already looking at you with the softest, most endearing, most vulnerable expression on his features that wrenches your heart. Eyes glimmering, he smiles at you a little bit uncertainly before speaking up, voice wavering at the end.

“Someone’s calling you, and I think he has something really important to say, so will you please pick it up?”

With shaky hands, you take out your phone, heart nearly leaping out of your chest, as you stare at the screen, lips curving into a delighted smile that you cannot suppress.

Full Sun ☀️💘 is calling.

“Hello?”

Phone pressed to your ear, you slightly tilt your head to the side, shyly smiling, and relief is written all over his face for a split second before Donghyuck positively beams. He continues to gaze at you, pretty little stars dancing in his eyes that crinkle in the corners and the rosiest hue of red blooming on his cheeks.

“Hi. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me. Because I kinda, sorta, maybe am completely in love with you.”

This is the boy who made fun of you for wearing glittery Mary Janes on the first day of kindergarten, but also threw sand at the other boys who decided to poke fun at you. This is the boy who saved all the blue raspberry Jolly Ranchers he got on Halloween to give to you. This is the boy who brought you tubs of New York Super Fudge Chunk when you experienced your first heartbreak and refrained from saying “I told you so” until after you finally got over that douchebag. This is the boy who made you stay up all night before a final to help him put rainbow streaks in his hair, but also helped you ace the exam. This is the boy who has the biggest heart out of everyone you know, and he’s wearing it on his sleeve for you.

This is the boy whom you love.

And he loves you back.

“I’d love that. Because I kinda, sorta, maybe am completely in love with you, too.”

[chocoholicannanymous]

Concepts of Insanity (Glee)

AN: No proofreading whatsoever. Subject to rewrite if I change my mind about it. Take it or leave it.

Concepts of Insanity

“Kurt? Oh, there you are, good. We have an emergency!”

Kurt smiles a little as he finishes up rearranging the flowers. He adores Isabelle, he really does, but she's a bit...excitable. There's always an emergency, or a disaster, or a catastrophe. So far today there's been four, unless he's miscounting; a lose hem, a missing delivery of non-alcoholic champagne, Isabelle almost fainting from forgetting to eat, and the flowers he's currently fixing not being enough something or other. He's actually kind of curious what it is this time.

He gives the flowers a last look, nods with satisfaction and turns around. The smile on his lips dies the second he meets Isabelle's eyes. This isn't a normal emergency.

“What's wrong?”

“The musicians are here, only the vocalist is currently throwing up to the point where they've called an ambulance.”

Kurt winces. That doesn't sound good for whoever it is. Also it really doesn't sound good for them. Isabelle had gone out on a limb with the small ensemble she'd hired for the event, deciding to make the music more than a background by having some songs performed with vocals. To have the vocalist missing would throw off the setlist. Maybe not enough for most people to notice, but at an event like this? Someone would definitely notice.

Especially since word seemed to have spread.

“I've spent the last ten minutes on the phone, and there's not a single vocalist to be had. This is so bad, Kurt! I'm never going to hear the end of this.”

Kurt hesitates, uncomfortable with voicing his possible solution, but deciding to offer it up anyway. It's Isabelle.

(Plus Rachel will never forgive him if he doesn't and she finds out.)

“I know it's not what you were aiming at, but my roommate is a NYADA student, and I know that most of the songs you picked out is in her wheelhouse. I could call her? If she answers she could hop in a cab and be here in 30 minutes.”

Isabelle looks a bit hesitant, but nods.

“Please do. I'll pay for the cab too, obviously. Check back with me in 5 minutes?”

Kurt agrees and hurries out to a silent space, phone in hand already dialing as he walks. There's no response for his first call, and Kurt leaves a hurried voice mail for Rachel to call him asap as it's an emergency. He then sends the same message as a text before trying to call again. He manages to squeeze in a total of five calls before he has to return to Isabelle, without response.

Maybe Rachel's in the shower again. Or singing. Or on a date with Brody.

“I'm sorry, Isabelle. I couldn't get hold of her.”

“Never mind, I have an idea. Can you do it?”

Kurt stares at her, not quite believing he heard her right.

“Me?” She nods and he shakes his head. “Isabelle, you've never even heard me sing!”

“True. But honey, I know how good you are with fashion. For you to chose music over that you have to be either insanely talented or just insane. So, will you do it?”

Kurt wants to shake his head again. What she's suggesting is crazy. Yes, Kurt can sing, but... His focus on music is more and more looking like insanity. He's just gotten rejected by Carmen Tibideaux a second time, for crying out loud. “Devoid of complexity and depth” echoes through his skull.

Except. This is Isabelle asking. His fairy godmother of sorts. He owes her.

“Are you sure? I'll do it, if you really want, but I'm not going to be anywhere as good as whoever you'd hired,” or Rachel for that matter, “and I don't want to ruin this for you.”

“You are going to be amazing. Thank you, Kurt, you're a lifesaver!”

And with that Isabelle floats off, leaving Kurt in a dazed state. He's going to panic, sooner or later, but for now he's still too stunned for it.

Right. His first action has to be to talk to the ensemble. The plan was to have the vocalist on three sets of three songs throughout the evening, but he's not entirely clear on what numbers had finally been picked. He will probably need to review lyrics up until the guests arrive, provided he can actually manage all of them. He's got a good range, yes, but that's not everything.

Oh, and he should swing by Isabelle's office and nab the blue west he'd spotted earlier – he'd dressed to fade against the wallpaper, not to be seen.

The first set goes well, as does the second. By the third and final he's lost enough of his nerves to let Isabelle drag him out on the floor instead of going off to hide as he'd initially planned. Several people drop by to talk, and he gets more than a few compliments. Maybe it's more about looking good to Isabelle than about actually liking it, but Kurt will take it anyway.

“So, you must be not just a talented singer but talented in fashion too for Isabelle to have taken you under her wing. Do you study fashion or music?”

The woman, Nadia something, asking sounds genuine and so Kurt gives her a small smile and answers as pleasantly as he can.

“Neither actually. I'm applying to NYADA though.”

There's a flash of something in her face, but Kurt can't quite make out what it is.

“For the spring semester? Ah.” She hesitates, sends a look towards where Isabelle is talking animatedly about something, and then looks at Kurt again.

“Can I be honest? Carmen Tibideaux is a very talented woman, in everything she does, and she's got an eye for picking out talent. However, she's also got a bit of a reputation.

“She loves to discover new talent that others overlook. Except every now and again she'll go about it in a rather underhanded way. She'll have someone audition, someone talented but a little raw around the edges. Someone with a ton of talent but a weak resumé, often with a little less self-esteem than most performers. She'll praise them and then turn them down. Most of the time they'll come back, looking for a second chance – she said they were great, right? Surely that means they'll get the part sooner or later, if they just approach it right.”

Kurt swallows. It sounds a little too familiar for comfort.

“Sometimes she'll turn them down both a second and third time, and then she'll put them on the spot, giving them another chance as long as they step out of their comfort zone and perform to her standards. And then she'll take them, and she'll own them. They'll go through their whole careers claiming they owe it all to her.”

She looks Kurt in the eyes, sincerity radiating out of her – but Kurt knows how little that means, in these circles – and a kind expression on her face.

“I'm not saying that's you, but for you to be applying to the spring semester, with your level of talent... If she's doing it to you, you should know you're not the first, and I doubt you'd be the last.

“Any school would be well served to have you as a student, I think. I already know you're talented, and as I know Isabelle I also know you have to be hardworking. Plus, seeing as that ensemble always works with a female vocalist I'm assuming something happened to have you step in at the last minute, meaning you stand up to pressure.

“NYADA is not the only school in New York for a young man like you, and I'd argue that it's not the best either. Think about what I've said, will you? And thank you again for a very enjoyable performance.”

It's only years of pretending in the face of bullies and a worried father that allows Kurt to pull of a believable goodbye and graceful exit. After this he's definitely hiding in Isabelle's office, damn it.

When Kurt comes back to the loft it's late and he wants nothing more to fall into bed, nighttime routines be damned. But Rachel's sitting on the couch, waiting for him judging from the expectant look on her face.

“I tried to call you.” It comes out a little flat, but Kurt doesn't have the energy to pretend. He needed her, called an emergency damn it, and she hasn't even texted him back in the six hours since his frantic calling.

“I heard, but I was busy practicing my number for tomorrow.” She doesn't even look sorry.

“Oh? I thought you said you didn't have any assignments for tomorrow.” That was why he'd felt safe calling her, after all.

She just waves a hand, clearly not too bothered.

“Nothing official, no, but that's no reason not to be ready to perform. I'm sure there will be an opening for me to dazzle my classmates.” And she goes on to describe the songs she's considered, and who's done them, and why her version is better, and Kurt just...tunes her out.

She hasn't even asked what he wanted. It's as if the thought hasn't even passed her mind. Well. If she's not interested then he's not going to waste his time telling her – especially not since she's bound to get upset over losing an opportunity to perform for an actual audience. He's also not going to waste his time listening to her go on about what she'd done instead of checking in on him.

“I'm going to bed.”

“Kurt! I need your input on this, surely bed can wait a bit?” When he shakes his head  her face hardens. “Fine, be that way. NYADA is hard, you know. It takes dedication. Maybe if you showed a little more of that you would have gotten accepted.”

Kurt shoves down the desire to slap her and bites out a “goodnight” before stalking off to bed. He can't believe she went there. Oh wait, he can. It's so Rachel, to just look at herself and ignore everything else. Show more dedication? Devoid of complexity and depth. Fuck her. Fuck them both.

Kurt had knocked his audition out of the park. Rachel and madam Tibideaux both had admitted that. Meanwhile Rachel had choked. Yet he'd been rejected while Rachel fucking Berry swanned around NYADA claiming to be dedicated. She never should have gotten accepted based on her audition. And somehow he just knows that there's no way she'd admit that Kurt should have been given that spot, not her.

As for madam Tibideaux and her “I rarely give anyone a second chance and if I do it's on my terms”... Bah! Rachel had harassed her way into her second chance. Hell, she'd recruited several others to also harass the madam on her behalf.

But somehow Kurt reapplying was the foul thing here. Right.

Maybe it was time he looked at options other than NYADA. That woman at the vogue event, she'd said that other schools might be a better fit for him. She'd sounded like she knew what she was talking about. Unlike Kurt, honestly, who'd pinned his hopes on NYADA based on Rachel. Hindsight has him questioning if he'd been slipped something, because leaving his college education up to whatever Rachel wanted? Insanity.

Well. Insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result, right? Clearly it's time to change his approach.

O--o---o--O

A week later Rachel comes home from the NYADA Winter Showcase bubbling about her success and how she's taken them all by storm. She makes a snide comment or two about how Kurt should have been able to see it for himself, had he taken the ticket she'd gone through so much trouble to acquire for him instead of doing whatever (it's called work), and Kurt just nods. He doesn't really care, but. He has to at least pretend to listen to preserve peace in the loft.

“Oh, I almost forgot! Madam Tibideaux asked after you.”

Kurt stills like a dog scenting prey. This he wants to hear.

“Oh?”

“Yes, apparently she was considering giving you another chance at applying. I don't know why she had to do it tonight, as it's for NYADA students and you're not, but she did. You should probably contact her. If you apologize properly she might still be open to it.”

Rachel looks at him, waiting for a reaction and clearly not pleased with what she's seeing.

“Well?”

“I'll think about it, Rachel. Calm down.”

And he will. Only he's not too eager to apologize to madam Tibideaux, or give her another chance to toy with him and probably reject him (he didn't show up for what she had planned, after all). It all sounds very much like what Nadia described at the vogue event. He listened. He might not have liked what he heard, or wanted to believe it, but he listened. In more than one way.

Over the past seven days he's written half a dozen applications to various music schools in New York, and sent them out. His current favorite is the New School, where a tour of the campus has given him a very good vibe. He'd be happy there, he thinks, and they might be happy with him. At least that's his take from meeting a couple of faculty members, one of the more prestigious of which just so happens to be Nadia.

Who would have guessed that doing a favor for Isabelle would lead to this? He might just owe her even more by now. Fairy godmother indeed.

~ The End ~

[free-falling-grenade]

Promt: raya sees namaari sparring/having fun with her closest friend from fang (which is a girl her age) and gets jealous and competes with said friend for namaari's attention, even though namaari and her friend have no idea what's happening.

With @killjo-qartz permission, I borrowed her OC, Somwang for a cameo in this fic! Hope I got her characterization kind of right & didn't butcher her. (I'll take it down if you don't like it) Can read in ao3 or keep reading down here 🤙🏽: Anger wasn’t new to Raya. She had lived through it within the six years of being alone. Used it as fuel to get through her encounters with bandits and mercenaries alike, to leave them begging for mercy. Used it to push through every obstacle in her way to prove each of these damned binturis wrong in this cruel, broken world. Anger was comfort as misery was company, that flowed like blood in her veins, reminding her that if she couldn’t use hope to live, then at least she had rage to build her up. If she couldn’t feel anything else, then why not let anger take control. However, as comfortable negative emotions could be, its goal was to bring anyone down.

However, as comfortable negative emotions could be, its goal was to bring anyone down. The princess of Heart stood warily outside the training grounds, her patience ran out while waiting for Namaari to finish her princess duties. They hadn’t seen each other for a while. Her own duties at Heart taking over most of her schedule, it was utterly grueling and overwhelming. When her Ba gave her the window of opportunity to take a break, she did not hesitate to flee and visit Fang, since in all honesty, she didn’t have close enough friends in Heart. Sisu was busy with her siblings, and she really didn’t know if she wanted to see the rest of the crew who were probably busy with their own families. Plus, if she was being honest to herself, she just really wanted to see the Fang princess. Her feelings had become clear, the burst of realization came upon her during a council gathering as she was lost in admiring the Fang princess instead of paying attention to the monotonous negotiations and arguments that was going on across the meeting hall. Everything becoming muted as she watched how Namaari seemingly managed to quiet down the Chiefs with her compelling and confident voice, her point somehow settling the previous argument they were having. But it wasn’t exactly that that made the Heart princess realize, no. It was the look right after they had move onto another topic of discussion, Namaari had turned to catch her gaze, her eyes speaking volumes of the actual anxiety it held after her speech. But her features instantly softened as she sent Raya the warmest smile Kumandra could offer, her body relaxing from her stiff posture as the Heart princess returned the smile as equally loving. The Fang princess somehow beamed brighter. Raya knew right there and then that she wanted to have that woman. To jump over the table and kiss that smile on her face, if it would taste like how it felt when she saw it. After that day, her emotions had been all over the place. Her heart had yearned for the other princess’ presence like a thirsty traveler to water. She needed her, she was unsure how healthy that need was. Hence why she stood outside Fang’s training grounds hoping to get some of her frustrations out of the way. However, at her arrival, she found that it only seemed to tremendously increase. She leaned by the entry way, her arms crossed as she eyed the two occupants suspiciously. Their laughs had echoed through the hall, the sound distasteful to her ears, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She glanced at the taller and even more defined warrior of the two, one she didn’t expect anyone else to have a well physique like the Fang princess, but she stood there towering over Namaari, looking closely as sturdy as a Spine guard, a bright grin on her face as she charged at the princess lifting her up from her torso and throwing her over shoulder. The laugh that had come out of the Fang princess Raya had only heard when they were together. Her heart painfully clenched inside her, her stomach churning unpleasantly and the corner of her lips falling downwards. “Put me down, Somwang!” Namaari complained, but there was an obvious lightness in her voice. The sturdy warrior, Somwang, listened to the order and gently placed the princess down on her feet. Her arm remained around her waist, the furrow on Raya’s brows just deepened, her grip on her bicep tightening. She remained still, quietly scrutinizing every move Somwang made as she made Namaari carelessly laugh and grin freely unlike her personality towards her other guards which usually came off as polite and civil. The Heart princess remembered something her Ba used to tell her before her bedtime at a younger age, when she had used to complain about others having their own mothers, how she would throw bitter angry words at them, words she shouldn’t even know. Or when she overheard about some Tail people purposely attacking their trade ships to steal their produce and goods that was for their people. Or Fang, their worst enemy refusing to share their medicine expertise to

their land causing a great amount of people to die. Or simply when her Ba decided to court some older lady and spent more time with her instead. She asked her Ba why she felt so angry when other people were happy, when other people had it better, or when the people she cared about felt happier even when she wasn’t there. He would say, “Dewdrop. Anger, resentment, and jealousy doesn’t change the heart of others – it only changes yours. It is never wise to seek or wish for another’s misfortune because everyone deserves to be happy. Jealousy is just drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. So don’t let it take over you, okay?” However, Raya couldn’t help the way her anger was bubbling over her. She shouldn’t be jealous because Namaari wasn’t hers to claim. She wasn’t even an object to claim, and she had every right to be happy with anyone else. She was allowed to have friends, she did have that chance, compared to her who didn’t. But why was it that her heart twisted when she thought she was the only one blessed to see that smile on the Fang princess’ face, or how she thought she was the only one capable to let her relax and laugh the way she did. She didn’t know Namaari let other people touch her further than a handshake.

The lump in her throat grew as she watched them longer. Her jaw clenched and her teeth gritted harshly. She felt the familiar anger flowing through her veins, reminding her what she had used as fuel to get rid of any obstacle out of her way. She felt things too deeply, it was how she had always been, to feel each and every bit of it so she could use it as energy to punch her way out. Her body was buzzing with the need to hurt, her blunt nails digging through her palms with force willing herself to ride the anger out. She took in a sharp breath, her fist clenching with the inhale and unclenching as she exhales. She willed herself to turn around from the sight but just as she was about to walk away, a voice pulled her back. “Raya! You’re here.” Namaari’s voice contained a hint of excitement. The Heart princess immediately swallowed the bile in her throat, letting out a smile that only came naturally because of the other princess’ beaming expression, otherwise she didn’t know how to explain the grimace that would’ve come out instead as her eyes spared a glance at the tall figure beside the warrior. Raya felt the other girl’s penetrating gaze piercing through her, but she kept her attention at Namaari as she slowly approached them. “Hey, dep la” She purposely spoke out enchantingly, or at least she hoped so.

Her flirting skills lacked incredibly so, and she was way too embarrassed to admit that to anyone. Although, Sisu had called her out on it during the times she tried to woo the Fang princess, but it never got through. The way Namaari’s smile grew told her enough it worked. She pushed back the urge to bite her lip and pull her close. “Are you up for a spar?” Namaari offered, her cat like grin challenging her. Raya would usually say yes but her gaze shifted to the sturdy woman beside her, “Actually, I saw you guys sparring earlier. I want to challenge your friend into a spar instead” Somwang narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the Heart princess, sensing the slight tenacity in her words. Her polite smile slightly wavering as their gazes turned heated. “Actually, she’s my—" “I accept your challenge, Princess Raya.” The taller warrior spoke up, cutting off Namaari entirely. Her attention was now too fixated on the Heart princess. The Fang warrior stepped closer, raising a hand out for Raya to shake, “I’m Somwang, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you” The princess sensed the sarcasm in her voice, her lips tugging into a mirthless grin. “Likewise,” Even if I wasn’t told of your existence. She wanted to say but bit her tongue. She raised her own hand to shake the warrior’s, her grip purposely hardening. She was fully aware the other woman was twice her size, but she was taught not to let her enemies physique dull her chances on winning. Her fighting style specifically aimed towards people who were bigger than her. Somwang returned the firm grip, her own shit-eating grin on her face, “Hand-to-hand or would you prefer weapons?” She asked as she scanned her petite body full of judgment. The condescending tone struck a nerve on the Heart princess, her eye twitching as she held her stare looking up the warrior, “Hand-to-hand is perfectlyfine” She exclaimed sarcastically. She might regret this later, but she wasn’t about to let brawn and no brains binturi get to her. Namaari stood there, her face scrunching up at the sudden tension in the room. She was beyond confused but she guessed it was just both of the people’s traits of being competitive. She shrugged it off stepping back to let them do their thing. Raya finally let go of the warrior’s hand, her skin buzzing from the touch. She felt the anger boiling in her veins, her heartbeat increasing rapidly at the rush of adrenaline that surged through her skin. She hadn’t faced a big challenge like this in a long time. She was glad for the further training from Namaari herself and her Ba. She had been doing a lot to improve her hand-to-hand, the meat in her bones also had returned from the proper nutrition she was now receiving compared to the six years alone. Her mind flashing through the match against Namaari in Spine. Her body lacking the nourishment was a huge disadvantage at her strength, she may be good at weaving her sword, but she wasn’t that great with the strength needed in hand combat. She strived to be better from then on.

She stretched her limbs as she watched the Fang warrior step back a few steps, she cracked her knuckles then proceeded to a fighting stance. “You both know the rules” Namaari reminded. The Heart princess seemingly had forgotten that she was there and why exactly she was doing this, the excitement was coursing through her veins. She got into her fight stance nodding, her eyes narrowing mischievously at the sturdy woman in front of her who matched the same fiery in her gaze. As the Fang princess signaled the start, Raya didn’t hesitate to charge first. Her legs had been impatient throughout the day, aching to be moved. She raised her fist feigning a swing, the Fang warrior instinctively moving to block it, but Raya grinned as she used her speed to slide in between the other woman’s spread legs. She quickly scrambled up and used the distraction to kick her in the back forcefully causing her to stumble frontwards on her knees. “Oops. Sorry, khun Bulky.” She taunted jokingly eliciting a slight snicker from the Fang princess on the sidelines. Raya charged once again ready to kick but Somwang rolled on the floor catching her foot on time. She locked her grip on her ankle tripping her in the process then pulled her towards her fist as she swung to punch. The Heart princess blocked it in time, but the impact of the strike caused her to inwardly flinch. She managed to use her other foot to kick the warrior’s face, freeing her ankle as she scooted backwards to stand. Somwang stood along with her charging with a series of well calculated punches that she dodged swiftly. She acknowledged the force behind her jabs, each blow she blocked leaving a pleasantly painful feeling around her arms. But the slow speed in which it came she used to her advantage to slip her own fast blows on her midsection. “You are annoyingly fast” Raya heard the Fang warrior grumble under her breath. A cocky grin made its way to her lips, she was about to spurt out another retort, but the short distraction was enough for her to feel a terribly harsh blow on her cheek that was definitely going to leave a mark. She temporarily saw white spots clouding her vision, but quickly blinked them off as she backflipped away from the next punch. She ran her tongue inside of her cheek, tasting the copper in her mouth. She grinned in delight at the burning sensation, “And you’re annoyingly tough.” The Heart princess charged once again, she used the other warrior’s towering height to her advantage as she stepped on her thighs using it to boost herself up letting the tip of her boot kick her under her chin with much force. She flipped back over quickly before spinning around throwing a roundhouse kick on the side of the warrior’s cheek. The tall woman stumbled to the side clumsily, the impact momentarily pausing her movements. The satisfaction buzzed through Raya’s body, giving her time to get her bearings. Usually, she would have ended the fight, but she was having too much fun. Long gone was the anger that fueled her, instead replaced with a questionable excitement. “Don’t tell me your body is just for show. I didn’t know the princess of Fang associates herself with walking tree trunks” The familiar eccentric laugh she heard behind her caused the hairs in her body to stand, the goosebumps on her skin spreading happily. She watched the sturdy warrior in front of her chuckle lightly as she wiped the dripping blood of her cut lip. She didn’t reply, instead charging at Raya with newly found strength, her punches landing ruthlessly this time, the princess’ blocks slightly wavering. She used her fatigue against her as she pushed her elbows away and jabbed her right on the abdomen. The Heart princess huffed in irritation, her chest heaving after the strong blow on her stomach, stumbling backwards. The warrior kept going, striking and kicking her vigorously as she hastily flipped, spun, and dodged her strikes. How persistent. Raya thought to herself. She inwardly sighed, deciding it was time to end the match. She backflipped away once

more, making sure there’s enough distance to do her final trick she had learned from the princess of Fang herself. “You are one slippery and bouncy binturi, Princess gremlin.” The genuine smirk on Somwang’s lips caught her off guard. Raya narrowed her eyes but let an honest smile tug on her lips, “You’re not so bad yourself, khun giant” She dashed to her, raising her arms to feign more punches. Luckily to her prediction, Somwang steeled herself, ready to block, and possibly to grab her ankle again if she used it to kick. The Heart princess just scoffed, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She used her momentum to boost herself up into a jump, tangling her thighs around the Fang warrior’s neck before bringing her pelvis forward, her hands coming up to the floor using all her body strength to flip her tall, heavy figure over. Somwang landed with a loud thud and skidded behind her, her back arching in pain, her chest heaving as she stayed motionless on the floor. Raya walked over the fallen warrior, locking her arms in between both of her feet before crouching down, a victorious smirk on her lips. Somwang blinked blankly at the princess above her, her face flushed at the sudden proximity. “You’re pretty—" The Fang warrior started but was cut off. “—pretty good. You’re not wrong”

The warrior scoffed grinning, “That too but I mean, you are pretty.” Raya raised a brow curiously, taken aback at the sudden compliment, “Maari, I get it now” The warrior called out, twisting her head to face the Fang princess on the sidelines. Namaari’s eyes widened at what the other girl was insinuating but before she could say something, the Heart princess met her gaze, the words refused to leave her mouth then. Raya just slyly smiled before standing up and offering a hand to the Fang warrior under her. She gladly took it dusting herself off as she stretched her now pained limbs. “You are no joke, Princess.” Somwang commended, this time her look held no tenacious intent. Raya suddenly felt guilty for the previous ill thoughts she had against the warrior. She shrugged shyly, an apologetic look crossing her face, “Sorry for beating you up.” The sturdy woman raised a hand to wave her off, “No lasting damage. Plus, I think that was probably a perfect way to go.” The corner of her lips forming a smirk as she winked at the Heart princess. Raya blinked in surprise, her cheeks slightly coloring pink. Namaari, who finally joined them, grimaced at the comment, playfully shoving Somwang away, “Okay, match over” The Fang princess stepped closer to Raya reaching for now bruised hands and arms, “I’m sorry about my cousin. We should probably get your bruises treated” She spoke softly. The Heart princess flushed as she felt Namaari’s hands reach up to her cheek where Somwang had punched her forcefully, her thumb caressing the tender spot. She felt her heart doing somersaults as she instinctively leaned to the touch. She let out a tired sigh until the other princess’ words just processed in her brain. “Wait, she’s your cousin?” She blurted out before she could even think about it. Namaari quirked an eyebrow but nodded, her hand falling back down. Raya instantly missed the feeling. Somwang popped up from behind the Fang princess, a goofy grin on her face as she wrapped an arm around Namaari’s neck pulling her into a deadlock and ruffling the top of her neatly combed hair. “Yep. This kid is my cousin. I can’t believe we’re related sometimes because of how uptight she is.” The tall warrior stated as she casually smiles back at Raya while not even struggling at Namaari’s attempt to pull free from her grip. The Heart princess gaped in bewilderment. She felt the dread and guilt swimming through her body as she recalled her foolish actions for even thinking poorly about the other woman in the first place. She let out a huff of relief and shame, running a hand over her face. The Fang princess managed to jab her cousin hard enough in the stomach causing her to let go, she pushed her away fixing her shirt and adjusting her hair back in place as properly as she could. She turned to Raya, her forehead creased in concern, carefully grabbing her hand to gain her attention, “I was going to tell you, but Somwang here cut me off earlier and you guys were too focused on the spar to listen.” She tried to explain. Raya felt her squeeze her hand to emphasize, she offered back an understanding look. Somwang frowned wrapping her arms around her stomach, “That hurt you know. Your girlfriend already beat me up pretty damn well. Also, I can never turn down a challenge. She was more of a challenge then you are when we spar” She purposely jested, her vexing grin causing Namaari to twist her head and scowl at her, heat rushing to her cheeks. Before the Fang princess could comment and correct her, she felt Raya interlock their fingers, “She’s right, dep la. You’re losing your touch. I think that spar was the most fun I had in a while.” The Heart princess ignored the way her heart fluttered at the word girlfriend, a hopeful part of her mind celebrating the possibility that other people saw them that way even if it weren’t true. Namaari threw a betrayed look at her, she didn’t know how to feel about both of her favorite people ganging up on her. The sturdy warrior forcefully clapped Raya’s back causing her to stumble a

little, the blow leaving a stinging feeling behind her, “I think I don’t mind you as much now. You’re fun, Princess” Somwang complimented, cheerfully grinning. “I don’t know what Namaari told you about me, but I can assure you, they’re only partly true.” Somwang lets out a good-natured belly laugh, the Fang princess grimacing as she glanced between the two, “I can beat you both up if I wanted to” It was a weak retort, they all knew it, but she wasn’t about to let them team up. “You wouldn’t stand a chance, Náwng.”

The Fang princess simply rolled her eyes. She gripped back Raya’s hand tightly, before turning away and dragging her out, leaving Somwang’s protests behind them in the air. The Heart princess flushed at the warmth that spread through her body at the touch, the doubt in her mind slowly fading at the possibility of Namaari returning her feelings. Maybe she was wrong, energy wasted on jealousy. The Fang princess didn’t hold anyone else’s hand the way she held hers. A part of her couldn’t help but be thrilled at that revelation. They finally slowed down once they were far enough from the training grounds, Namaari’s hold on her hand still solid. She smiled quietly to herself, enjoying the comfortable silence as they strolled past the garden. “Sorry if I took too long. I know I said I’ll meet up with you, but I got pulled back by Somwang forcing me to spar with her for a while.” Namaari bashfully explained. Raya shrugged, “That’s okay. I happen to stumble by you anyway.” “You sure you weren’t just looking for me, dep la?” The Heart princess playfully shoved her, “You wish. I was itching for a spar. Good thing you guys were already there.” Namaari hummed, a knowing smirk on her lips, “Speaking of, since when did you learn to copy my move?” She asked recalling the last trick Raya had pulled against Somwang.

She was surprised she even managed to flip the sturdy half Spine woman over. Her strength left her wondering what else she could do with it, Somwang’s comment about it being the perfect way to go echoing in her head. “Why? Want me to try it out on you?” Raya raised a teasing brow twisting her head to look at the Fang princess who was fighting back the blush on her cheeks. She knew she failed when the other princess’ smirk just widened. Namaari cleared her throat an idea popping in her head, “I mean it’s only fair. I wouldn’t mind you returning the favor” She managed to quip back almost hesitating at the stimulating thought. However, she grinned victoriously at the widening eyes of the princess. The highly suggestive tone in her voice caused Raya’s heart rate to spike up, sinful actions flashing through her head. She licked her lips unconsciously, her teeth grazing the bottom as she imagined the feeling of her face between – Raya caught herself immediately, shaking away her thoughts as she swallowed to dampen her drying throat. She turned away from the Fang princess, her gaze focused on path in front of them but her mind reeling back to the way her hands felt under her fingers and how it would feel to explore further parts of her body like how she explored the whole of Kumandra.

She really needed to find a way to confess first, asap. -x- Oops, that's a long one. Sorry 🤷🏽‍♀️ Anyway. Hope you liked it, anon!

[imaginesforjohnnydepp]

New Home (Johnny Depp x reader)

Mid-October 2002

You leaned back on the couch and rested a hand on your sixteen week pregnant stomach and tried to collect your breath. Finally, after two months of unpacking your new home, you were officially moved in. This time last year, you and Johnny had been talking about moving away from Los Angeles and spent months figuring out where to live and finding the perfect house before deciding to raise your small but growing family in New Orleans, Louisiana, a city that was rich in culture and history, plus you filmed a movie here about ten years ago so it felt familiar to you. Though you had been in the city since early August, it had taken those two months to get everyone unpacked and there was always so little time to do it: you had to find a school for your ten year old son and six year old daughter and get them situated, get a Louisiana driver’s license, find pediatricians for the kids, an obstetrician for you and figure out a birthing plan all while Johnny is away preparing for his newest role. it was a lot.

When your heart rate turned to normal, you dragged the last of the boxes to the curb and returned to the kitchen for a snack. Once you selected a grape popsicle, you pulled out your phone from your sweater pocket and scrolled until you reached Johnny’s number to send a text message; he’d see it eventually. Finally unpacked the last box. We are officially moved in! you typed before hitting send. You knew you’d have to prepare snacks once the kids got home from school (in another hour) and then cook dinner, but you were so damn tired and you wished Johnny was with you. It was too much do do by yourself.

You’re pregnant with twins and you were starting to think that maybe you should’ve held out until the babies were born or at least until Johnny was done filming, but there’s nothing you could do about it now. After your popsicle you lad back down on the couch, hoping to catch a quick nap. You woke up when you heard the front door slam shut, jolting you awake. “Mom? We’re home!” your husband’s name sake called from the entrance of the house. “In the living room! Change out of your school clothes and get started on your homework,” you replied, your brain going to instant mom mode.

While they got started on their homework, you got to work on their snacks, fixing two PB+J sandwiches. “So what’d you guys do in school today?” you asked them. This was your favorite part of the day, hearing the things they did. John Christopher and Camille are sweet kids, and good students. They’re four years apart, your boy in fifth grade and Camille in first. John Christopher went first: “Today in Social Studies, Will Hopkins and Michael Juergens got into a fight and it took Ms. Davis and two other teachers to break it up.”

“Did you see who won?” While you don’t want your son to get into fights at school, that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the drama of his classmates (as long as he wasn’t involved) to lighten up an otherwise boring Monday morning. “Not the whole thing, but I’m sure Will definitely won because he got in the most hits.” You put the paper towel with the sandwich on it and gave the other one to Camille, and poured two cups of milk. “What started the fight?” you asked, a little more interested; it’d been a long time since you’ve seen a good fight that wasn’t on WWE.

“During P.E. last week, I was on the same basketball team with Will and Michael and when our team lost, Will kept blaming Mike because he didn’t get enough baskets.” Then it was Camille’s turn to talk about her day. “We read Frog and Toad today, and in Math, we’re learning to tell time.” You helped them both with their homework, and finally after an hour, they were done, so you let them do whatever until dinner was ready. As you put a bowl of salad in the fridge to chill before dinner, the house phone rang and grabbed it off the receiver in the living room.

You hoped it wasn’t your manager calling about reports coming out LA. Thankfully, you were wrong as you recognized the area code. “Baby!” you squealed as you seasoned the ground beef you were going to use for meatballs. “Hey darlin’, I got your message. How are the kids?” “Kids are fine. Got home two hours go, homework is all done. Hang on, I’ll call ‘em down.”

You turned the phone away from you as you called Three and Camille down to talk to their dad; you handed them phone. They both tried to talk over each other and you laughed as you prepared garlic bread to put in the oven. When they were done, they gave you the phone back and went into the living room to watch some television and you sat down in a chair. “I thought you were on set. Isn’t it supposed to be seven p.m. there?” “Yeah, we’re just taking a dinner break. Are you okay? Are the babies okay?”

“I’m fine, the babies are fine. We just miss you is all.” Johnny would be away for the bulk of your pregnancy to film Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, depending on when the twins decided to make their arrival. “I miss you too,” he said, “so what else is new over there?” “Sarah’s still getting calls asking for our whereabouts, but they know we’re not in LA. Oh, and this woman at the checkout register said I looked like Y/N Y/L/N.” Your conversation carried on a for a few more minutes until Johnny was called back to set. “I love you Johnny.”

“I love you too Y/N. I’ll talk to you later tonight, okay?” “Okay.” You smiled as you hung up. You finished up dinner, pulling out the garlic bread and setting the table before calling the kids to dinner. “Three? Camille? Dinner’s ready!” It didn’t take long for them to come rushing down the stairs to the kitchen.

When the hands were washed drinks in cups, and food were on plates, you dug in. It felt so good to eat a nice family dinner in a new house, and you couldn’t help imagining two more places at the table with the impending arrival of your twins sitting next to their brother and sister. You just wished Johnny was here to experience it.

[gukyi]

the courtship chronicles | ksj

summary: dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

{friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, and emotional hurt/comfort! word count: 20k a/n: big, big, big thanks to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this piece!! i honestly am so happy with this fic and even happier to give my main man kim seokjin the love and attention he deserves!!! this fic is pretty much slow burn from start to finish, so enjoy!

check out the post-script drabble here!

“You’re bringing a plus one, right?” Cynthia demands on the other end of the line, voice frazzled and breaths quick. “You better, because I already factored it into the wedding budget. There will be food meant for a plus one for you which I already paid for so you better bring one. I paid for it already.” She’s running in circles, trying to make her point. It’s clear she’s got an awful lot on her plate as it is. 

“Can’t I just eat their serving myself? You know I’m a growing woman,” you plead. Cynthia and the rest of her bridesmaids have been on your back about bringing a plus one ever since she got engaged. 

“No, you have to bring a plus one. Even if it’s your mom, Y/N, I don’t care,” Cynthia says. She makes to say something else, but then pauses. “Actually, I do care. Can it please be a date? Even like, someone you met off of Hinge. I don’t know. Not your mom. Don’t bring her. That would be only a little weird,” she corrects herself. 

“Weirder than some stranger I met off Hinge?” You ask pointedly. 

“No. At least they’re around your age. I want to see you applying yourself, Y/N!” Cynthia scolds. “Go out there and find a man! Pick him up off of the street if you have to! Anything!” She rallies. “Being single is cool and everything but being in love is just as fulfilling!”

“Of course you would think that, you’re getting married tomorrow,” you tell her, sighing. Can’t she just accept that you aren’t really looking for a relationship right now? And haven’t been looking for one since you graduated college three years ago?

“I love my future husband, thank you very much. We plan on leading a very full and extraordinary life with our fifteen dogs and eighteen geckos.”

“Okay, Miss We Bought A Zoo,” you tease. 

Cynthia laughs. “Pretty soon it’ll be Mrs. We Bought A Zoo, thank you very much!”

You hear a knock on the door, turning to check the kitschy cuckoo clock you had found at a flea market for five dollars for the time. It’s six on the dot.

“I have to go, Cynthia, Seokjin’s here,” you tell her, already making to hang up the phone as you head towards the door, using your shoulder and ear to hold it in place. “We’re making a family dinner for two, tonight.”

“Bring Seokjin! He’ll charm the shit out of my mom, I just know it,” Cynthia tells you. “Bring him! Tell him to clear his fucking calendar for tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cynthia,” you say as you reach out for the doorknob, twisting it to reveal your grinning best friend with a bag full of goodies on the other side. “I have to go.”

“Send Seokjin my love! I don’t even expect a wedding gift from him! His presence is enough!” Cynthia shouts, loud enough for Seokjin to hear everything despite the phone not even being on speaker. You hang up before Cynthia can say anything else to goad Seokjin into accompanying you to her wedding, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

“Sorry, that was—”

“Cynthia?” Seokjin finishes with a grin. You usher him into your apartment, letting him place his bag on your kitchen countertop as he pulls out two wine glasses to get the party started. You sigh, helpless. “Yeah, I figured. She’s getting married tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“She’s uber stressed, if that’s what you mean to say,” you correct, joining him in your kitchen as you start to unpack what he brought, countless tupperware containers filled with vegetables, meats, pastas. There’s even an entire bag of rice. Does Seokjin really think you have no rice in your apartment? Seriously? 

“I can imagine,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “Thank god you and I aren’t getting married anytime soon, right?” With a flourish, he produces a bottle of red wine you had been saving in your fridge for this very occasion, filling up half of each wine glass. 

“I’ll toast to that,” you say, smiling as you hold up your glass. Seokjin swirls the wine around in his own before holding it out. 

“Here’s to not being romantically involved whatsoever!” Seokjin hurrahs, and you laugh at his honesty as your glasses clink together, the sound echoing around your kitchen. “Who says you need to be married to prepare a kickass meal together.”

“You’re in charge of the meat,” you immediately tell him. You’ve never been the biggest fan of handling it. Vegetables are much more your speed. They also don’t get angry at you when you make a mistake cooking them. Besides, Seokjin’s always been the better food mediator between the two of you. 

“Like always,” he teases, giving you a nudge as he pulls the pots and pans from the cupboard beneath the counter and hands you one of the seventeen different cutting boards you have in random places in your kitchen. You don’t know what it is about them, but every single month you find yourself buying a brand new cutting board. They may as well be drugs. “You should really branch out and try cooking beef sometimes. I’ll teach you, hey? So you don’t have to be scared of it.”

“I am not scared of cooking beef,” you tell him sternly, flinching when Seokjin places the meat in the oil-slick pan and it begins to sizzle and pop. 

“If you say so, Y/N,” Seokjin singsongs. “You know, I’d make a pretty good teacher. I reckon I could show you a thing or two about cooking.”

“Okay, Mr. Cooking Is My Passion,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Just because I can’t make a damn filet mignon does not make me a bad cook,” you tell him, “whose soup do you ask for when you’re sick and in bed with a cold? That’s right, mine!” You poke his chest for good measure, making him put his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I concede,” he says with a laugh. “Your soup is delicious.”

“Thank you,” you say, proudly. “How about I make a couple of servings while you cook the meat?”

Seokjin blows a kiss your way. “Y/N, You know just the way to my heart.”

An hour later, you and Seokjin have whipped up an impressive set of dishes, from your homemade vegetable soup to his traditional bulgogi bibimbap, a small bowl of kimchi in the middle of the table accompanied by some sauteed vegetables and a serving of glass noodles. There’s enough to feed a family of four (one of whom could be a ravenous high-school football player) on your table, and yet, you and Seokjin never fail to finish it all. 

Seokjin takes one bite out of his bulgogi bibimbap and moans in delight, tossing his head back as he holds out two thumbs up, chopsticks clanging onto the side of the bowl as he drops them. “Wow,” he says loudly, patting himself on the back. “I’m amazing. Gordon Ramsey wants what I have.”

“There’s no way it’s that good,” you tease, even though it most definitely is that good. Seokjin is, without a doubt, the best chef you have ever met, the best chef whose food you have ever had the pleasure of eating. If he weren’t employed by a publicity company he would almost certainly be the owner of the best restaurant in the city. The New York Times would visit his restaurant and write a five-star review to be published in the paper the next morning. You take a bite of it yourself, chewing it slowly and pretending to ponder its flavor. It’s delicious. It’s never not delicious. “Hmm… it’s alright.”

“‘Alright’?” Seokjin shouts, slandered. “Just ‘alright’?” He slams a fist onto the table in anger. “This is blasphemy! It’s amazing!” Grabbing the knife beside his plate, he holds it under your chin dramatically, glaring into your eyes. “You better retract that statement, or else!”

“Or else what, Mr. Kim?” You say, desperately resisting the urge not to burst into laughter. Seokjin’s not doing much better, lips pursed tight in an effort not to cackle aloud. 

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to eat all of your bulgogi bibimbap for you!” He cries, reaching over with grabby hands to take your plate away from you. 

Just as he suspected, you hold on tight to your plate, refusing to let such good food go into the mouth of someone who has his own plate. It’s then, as you’re playing tug-of-war with your food, that Seokjin finally breaks into chuckles, hiccuping out his laugh as he concedes and lets you eat your food in peace. 

“Just as I suspected, peasant!” He says proudly. “It’s delicious!”

You put a heaping chopstick-ful into your mouth. “It really is, Seokjin. You always do such a great job.”

“I’m honored,” he says, bowing slightly. “Food is what brings people together.” He holds out a piece of kimchi in front of your mouth, and you eat it obligingly. “Speaking of bringing people together, what was Cynthia shouting about on the phone?”

“Oh, just her wedding, you know,” you tell him with a shrug. “The usual. She’s desperate for me to bring a plus one,” you say. Marriage is disillusioning her. She thinks everybody around her should have a love like her own. And while it is a wonderful, fairytale-esque thought, you just aren’t really on the same wavelength. You never have been. “She even factored it into the budget to guilt-trip me into doing it.”

“Why don’t you?” Seokjin asks, downing a spoonful of soup. “Going to a wedding alone can’t be too much fun.”

“I won’t be alone,” you protest. “I’m one of her closest friends. I’ll know a bunch of people there.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have brought someone who, by way of how plus-one’s work, will be obligated to be by your side the entire night. Who are you gonna dance with when Crazy in Love comes on, huh?” Seokjin points out. 

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

“Yeah, but a plus-one would make it more fun! You guys can dougie, or whatever it is the cool kids do these days. Is dabbing still a thing?” He dabs, just to make a point. It’s cringey and awful and hilarious, all at once. 

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself and I’m the only other person here,” you plead. “You and Cynthia are so on my ass about bringing a date, God. I just—I’m not really interested in anybody right now. Dating just isn’t my thing.”

“Has dating ever been your thing, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, even though he clearly knows the answer already. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date since sophomore year of college. Do you even know what dating is, anymore? Love?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s one person who’s a bigger hopeless romantic than Cynthia, it’s Seokjin. The man has an entire bookshelf of romance novels in his bedroom. He waxes poetic about falling in love every other day, about coming home to a significant other, a family, to cook for, to spend time with. He’s been on more Bumble dates in the past year than you can count on both hands and feet. 

“I know what it is,” you defend yourself, “I’m just—I don’t really believe in that, for me. I don’t ever see myself having it. I have friends. My family. That’s good enough. I don’t need romantic love.”

Seokjin scoffs. “What? You mean to tell me you don’t ever want to fall in love? Never ever? Come on, Y/N. Love is great! It makes you feel warm and happy, like one of those giant Costco teddy bears. Those are the material equivalent of love. Haven’t you always wanted a giant Costco teddy bear?”

“When I was five, yeah,” you tell him. “Listen, Seokjin, I get it. Love is great and amazing, I’m just not that interested. You and Cynthia have been trying to get me to go on a date for years and it doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”

“What about dating is unappealing?” Seokjin inquires. He’s determined. And you, the best friend, are weak. 

“I don’t know, having to meet new people, talk about yourself, try to see a future with them. It seems so tiring,” you say, sighing. Seokjin looks positively bewildered, because of course he enjoys dating—he’s so charismatic, charming, and outgoing. Even if a date goes poorly he still ends up with a new friend. “I’m just not that into doing that stuff.”

“Psh,” Seokjin says casually, skeptical. “I bet that if you just gave the whole dating thing a try, you might actually like it. You haven’t gone out on one in so long—maybe it’s different than what you remember. The last time you did it, we were all just college students.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “How exactly do you expect me to ‘give the whole dating thing a try’, then? Last time I checked, I wasn’t particularly interested in anybody.”

Seokjin pauses, pondering for a moment as he taps his chin with his pointer finger. Then, like a smack to the face, it hits him all at once, and in his excitement, he pounds his fist right onto the prongs of the fork by his plate. “Ow, holy shit!” He shouts, excited nonetheless.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” You ask, a little concerned and a lot amused.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, rubbing the side of his palm. “But what I was about to say, is why don’t we go out?”

You sputter, choking on the soup you had just taken a sip of. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we date? It’ll be fun!” He says happily. 

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say. 

He shrugs, carefree. “Yeah, sure we are. But think about it: since we’re already so close, you won’t have to worry about introducing yourself to someone new. You won’t have to go through the whole tell me about yourself thing, we can just jump right into the dating part! It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see what dating is like past the introductions. How about it?” He asks. 

He thinks it’s brilliant. 

You think it’s ludicrous. 

“But, Seokjin, are we actually going to date? Like, be a couple? Because I don’t know if that’s what I was really aiming for with our friendship today,” you say hesitantly. You love Seokjin, sure, but you aren’t in love with Seokjin. You’ve been best friends since college. Won’t it be weird if you suddenly start dating? And doing other couple-y things?

Seokjin waves a hand around like a nonchalant businessman. “No, we won’t actually be boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything,” he promises. “It’ll just be fake. Make believe! Think of it as a dating test-run. What do you say?”

“You sound too enthusiastic for me not to be worried,” you tell him tentatively. He’s like an energetic salesman. It’s a little frightening. There must be some fine print you aren’t looking at. Something that you’re missing. “Are you sure about this? Like, do you want anything in return?”

“Anything in return to help my best friend find love?” He asks, scandalized. “Of course not!”

You frown. 

“Okay,” he gives in, “maybe some more soup. I’m about to visit my mom and she loves it.”

“Why don’t I just come with?” You suggest. Seokjin’s mom is the second-best chef you’ve ever met. Somewhere along the line, Seokjin took what he learned from her and improved it ten-fold. 

“Even better! Mom’s been begging me to bring you around sometime. How about it, do we have a deal?” He asks, holding his hand out. 

You sigh. He’s your best friend, and all he wants in return is for you to visit his mom with him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Sure,” you say, conceding. “Why not?”

Seokjin’s first order of business as your self-appointed brand new not-real boyfriend, is to accompany you to Cynthia’s wedding as your plus-one. He does actually find a wedding gift on such short notice—a fairly new cookbook from which he had memorized the recipes already, so it was no longer of use to him. Because of course, Kim Seokjin is the only person on Earth who memorizes the one hundred recipes in a book just because he wants to. Where does he find the time?

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

Seokjin: Are we wearing matching colors? Seokjin: Or is that too senior prom?

You: As long as you don’t show up wearing white you should be fine

Seokjin: >_> Seokjin: You know that if I wore white the groom would drop everything and marry me instead ;-)

You: Only because of your charm You: I’m wearing pastel pink! I don’t suppose you have anything in your closet to go with that, do you?

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

Seokjin: Oh, Y/N, you don’t even need to ask twice

An hour later, Seokjin pulls up to the curb outside of your apartment complex in his Volkswagen, which is every bit as charismatic as he is, right as you’re scrambling to tug on your most comfortable heels (as if such a thing could exist!), running late, as per usual. The ceremony begins at 5:30 and you and Seokjin were meant to leave for the venue at four. 

It is 4:19. 

Frazzled, you rush around your apartment movie-montage style, tweaking strands of your hair in the mirror in the hallway and nabbing your bottomless bag on the coffee table. It’s not even really summer yet, but your apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s becoming more and more of a curse as the globe slowly warms multiple degrees over the years. The true loser of climate change, rather than the polar bears, the bees, and coastal cities, is you, who thought renting a place with no air conditioning would be just fine. 

Desperate not to open the door to Seokjin with your forehead dripping, you dab off the beads of sweat gathered by your hairline with the skirt of your dress—whatever, you were going to sweat in it at some point—right as you hear the first knock. 

Seokjin’s fashion choices are usually rather conservative. He does work a somewhat menial half-office job, so he can’t roll up to his desk wearing the exceedingly stylish and exceedingly adventurous clothing that Namjoon and Taehyung wear, which, in turn, limits his closet. Lots of plain or argyle sweaters pulled over dress shirts with the collars peeking out, lots of navy jeans, lots of white sneakers and loafers. The only clothing item Seokjin does experiment with is socks, of which he has an impressive collection, ranging anywhere from corgi butts to Santa Claus. 

You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Seokjin said you didn’t need to ask twice after mentioning that you were wearing a pastel pink dress. He does own a couple of pink things, but as far as you’re aware (and you’re pretty aware, considering you’ve been best friends with him since the beginning of college), it amounts mostly to his sock stash and a couple of sweaters, which he most often wears under denim jackets or over dress shirts. 

What you most certainly aren’t expecting when you open the door is to see Seokjin standing on the other side in a full-on suit, a light grey color that complements the peach in his skin tone perfectly. More so, however, you hadn’t at all anticipated for him to be wearing a perfectly-matching pastel pink dress shirt underneath, complemented by a rather obnoxious bow tie with red hairs littered all over it. 

“Wow, okay,” you say, blinking just to make sure that your eyes are working perfectly. “It’s May, why do you look like Valentine’s Day threw up on you?”

Seokjin opens his mouth to send a witty response back to you, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all of the words have fallen from his lips. He swallows, hands fumbling with the bouquet in his hand. “Don’t say that to me like you aren’t also wearing the most Valentine’s Day dress I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a pastel pink midi dress,” you tell him, frowning. “At least I’m not wearing something that has cartoon-y red hearts all over it,” you accuse, pointing to his bow tie. 

Seokjin gasps, offended. “Hey! This is my lucky bow tie. It’s never steered me wrong when it comes to love.”

You scoff. “I don’t think Cynthia and her fiancé need your bow tie’s help today. Have you ever seen someone more in love with another person than they are with each other?”

Seokjin pauses. He sighs a little bit, like there’s something weighing on his mind he refuses to divulge. You won’t press. You may be best friends, but you aren’t mind-readers, and sometimes, there are some secrets that have to be kept even from each other. Yours is that when you guys were juniors in college and Seokjin was running late for class because he was desperate to find the last Pop-Tart in his apartment, you had actually eaten it the night before when he was in the bathroom. 

You wonder what his is. 

“You never know,” he finally says, “we could always use the extra luck, don’t you think?”

You nod, “I suppose. What’s with the flowers? You know you aren’t supposed to bring them to a wedding. They probably have enough flowers as it is.”

As if caught off guard by the flowers held in his very own hand, Seokjin turns his gaze down to look at the bouquet, a collection of baby’s breath, tulips, and carnations. “Oh,” he says, speechless. “Well, I was dropping by the flower shop anyway to bother Hoseok, and he said that they had some leftover stock that nobody wanted because they were a little smaller than the other flowers, so he gave them to me at a discount. They’re for you, I guess.” Like a nervous high schooler going on his very first date, he shoves them towards you, making you step back to avoid getting punched in the chest. 

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do that, Seokjin,” you say happily, pleasantly surprised at the bouquet. Sure, some of them are a little wilted, a little dehydrated, but you get flowers so infrequently (in fact, you don’t think you’ve gotten any since Seokjin sent you one of those singular rose grams during your first Valentine’s Day at college), that the gesture is as good as gold. 

“Eh,” he says, shrugging casually. “I don’t really have anybody else I would want to give them to.”

Gleefully, you take them from his outstretched hand and immediately rush to put them in some sort of vase. You, like the piece of millennial trash that you are, end up using a random empty mason jar you find in one of your kitchen cabinets. 

“What time is it?” Seokjin asks, looking around for a clock. 

“Late, we have to go,” you instantly respond, shooing him out of the door and darting down the stairs because the elevator in your apartment building is about four hundred years old and doesn’t even have a light bulb inside of it. You cram into Seokjin’s tiny white Volkswagen, which just screams hipster-mom-in-her-forties, and he speeds off at a velocity that tiny Volkswagen beetles were not meant to go at. 

Surprisingly enough, you make it to the wedding venue with a few minutes to spare, which you largely attribute to the fact that Seokjin was driving faster than some of the SUVs on the highway on the way over. He isn’t a bad or reckless driver. He’s just a driver with certain priorities that rank higher than the act of driving itself. 

“Ah, the smell of nervousness and love,” Seokjin says as you step out of the car, inhaling dramatically. “Smells like a wedding.”

“Smells like the ceremony is about to begin,” you say, and you both rush over the pebbled path to the entrance, giggling like a bunch of high schoolers as you stumble through the front doors very ungracefully. 

“Wow,” Seokjin says, impressed at the extent of decoration. Cynthia had been raving on and on about how she was aiming to have a sort of romantic, Impressionist art painting vibe to the wedding, lots of pastels, flowers, twinkling lights. “This is very impressive. One hundred out of ten.”

“Cynthia’s been planning this for months, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it,” you say, ushering yourselves into the main wedding hall as the rest of the guests file in from chatting outside as the clock ticks down. There are two seats close to the front that Cynthia’s saved for you and your plus-one, which she most certainly will be very happy to see you have brought with you, in the form of your best friend, Seokjin, of course. 

“Aren’t you excited?” Seokjin whispers as everyone settles down. “Can’t you feel the love in the air?”

“It’s not in my genetics to feel that sort of thing,” you retort back, earning a pout from your best friend in return. 

“Well, it’s in mine, and let me tell you, Y/N, it feels like love!” He exclaims happily. “You should be basking in it.”

“Are you?” You round on him. No point in not practicing what you preach. 

“Always,” Seokjin says, gazing at you happily. He seems so content, in this very moment, about to watch a ceremony that will bond two people together for the rest of their lives, devote themselves to each other, wholly and completely. “I’m always basking in it.”

Then, the officiant steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Seokjin reaches his hand over to grab yours, letting it rest in his palm on his lap, and the ceremony begins. 

Going to weddings as a child, even as an adult to a fairly distant coworker, they’ve always felt so detached from you as a guest. Sure, the ceremonies are wonderful and you’re happy for the newly-married couple, but it’s almost as if you’re watching a movie and instead of being another character, you’re part of the audience. When you leave the wedding venue, when all of the dancing and eating and celebrating is over, you forget all about it, and you move on with your life. 

But knowing the two people standing up at the altar as more than just coworkers, or a distant relative, knowing them as friends, as near family, tints everything in a rosy pink. It’s the most beautiful wedding ceremony you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. It’s humbling and real and unrehearsed, romantic and funny and meaningful all at once. It makes you feel warm inside, truly, truly happy for your friend and for what is to come in the next chapter of her life. 

Crying was pretty much unavoidable. It was mostly on Seokjin’s end—he’s not as close with either of them as you are, but he certainly loves love much more than you do—but some tears were shed on your end, as well. This is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about for years to come, even after you walk out, in the hopes that a constant reminder will prevent it from ever fading from your memory. 

As weddings go, the next part is the best part: free food. You get to your tables and Cynthia’s fancy (and expensive) caterers come whooshing around with bottles of wine and pitchers of water, filling up the glasses on your tables as the wedding party prepares to enter. You’re seated next to some other old friends from college, ones you recognize and ones you don’t, and ones that Seokjin is very happy to start chatting up the moment you take your seats. 

“Are you here together?” One of the men—you think his name is Nathan(?)—asks, pointing to the two of you. 

“No,” you say. 

“Yes,” Seokjin says. 

You both turn to glare at each other as Nathan—no, maybe Noah—furrows his brows, clearly having not received the response he was aiming for. Seokjin makes a bunch of aggressive and dramatic facial gestures to remind you that you two are fucking dating, remember? Even though it’s not actually real, and that was the part you were focusing on. The not real part. 

“We are,” you correct awkwardly, even though Whatshisface seems to have moved on from the topic. “He’s my plus-one.”

“I’m not as tight with the bride as I am with one of her closest friends,” Seokjin says jokingly, even though you’re the only one who laughs. 

“Yeah,” one of the girls chimes in. “You guys were best friends in college.”

“Still are,” you say, grinning. At least you don’t have to lie about that. 

“So cute,” the same girl says romantically. “I wish I could fall in love with my best friend,” she turns to the man she’s with who clearly doesn’t want to be here whatsoever. “You guys must be so happy.”

“It’s not always a walk in the park,” Seokjin warns, and you don’t have time to smack him in the chest and ask him what the hell he means by that, as the officiant taps onto the microphone to begin to announce the entrance of the wedding party. 

As each couple, each bridesmaid and groomsman, walk through the door, you can’t help but wonder why Seokjin said it wasn’t always a walk in the park to be together. Are you that awful to fake date? 

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Cynthia’s father asks, tapping his teaspoon against the wine glass in his hand. “I’d just like to make a toast.” He turns to where Cynthia and her fiancé are seated, and he looks on the verge of tears. “For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen two people love each other so selflessly. When they’re together, they make grey skies turn blue, turn night into day. All I can wish for you both is that you will forever be each other’s best friend, each other’s rock. There is no greater joy in life than to get to spend the entirety of it with your best friend. Congratulations, Cynthia and James. We are so lucky to know you both.”

Everybody begins to clap. 

Everybody, except Seokjin. 

You notice that his hands are resting in his lap, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyes welling up, his smile soft and wistful. 

“You alright?” You ask quietly, giving him a nudge with your shoulder. 

Seokjin looks back at you like you’ve caught him off guard. “Me? Yeah.”

“You’re crying,” you point out. 

He shrugs, blinking to let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I just love that,” he explains. “Love knowing that some of us can be so lucky to spend the rest of our lives with our best friends by our sides.”

 According to the ancient law of weddings, the reception is where all guests are mandated to get out of their seats and boogie-oogie-oogie. At least, that’s what Seokjin says, when the food gets whisked away and the space morphs into a dance floor, tables in the center cleared as the bride goes to change in her mandated second dress, because one just isn’t expensive enough as it is. Seokjin just seems to know everything about weddings. It’s almost as if he’s planned one himself. 

“Just wait until all of the stuffy, traditional dances are over,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as Cynthia and her father share a dance. Seokjin looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat, desperate to get onto the dance floor. “You’ve never seen me dance at a wedding.”

“I’ve never seen you dance at all,” you correct, excluding all of the dabbing he did in 2016 when it was still a cool thing to dab. 

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he says smugly. 

Sure enough, the moment the rest of the guests are invited onto the dance floor to drop it low, Seokjin is the first one out of his chair, and you, the second, begrudgingly dragged to the center by your over-enthusiastic best friend. He’s always been absolutely shameless in everything he does, which makes for high confidence and low embarrassment, two things you are certainly not the strongest in. Which is exactly why you end up side-stepping awkwardly like a geek at senior prom, while he uses every single one of his limbs to express his passion for whatever generic pop song is blasting through the speakers. 

Cynthia’s never been one for niche, hipster music.

“Come on, Y/N, have a little fun!” Seokjin encourages, grabbing onto your wrist and rapidly waving it up and down, making you shake. 

“You can have enough fun for the both of us,” you tell him, still just as aware of everybody else’s opinion of you as you were in high school. Some things really never change. 

“Impossible! Come on!” He says, and you have no idea what dance move he’s about to break into from his positioning, and then you suppose you’ll never know, because the song immediately switches to an acoustic one by Ed Sheeran, which is the most generic type of slow song you could possibly think of. 

“Grab your boys and girls, everyone,” the DJ says, a random white guy who definitely would prefer to make mixtapes in his basement than do this shit. “This one’s for love!”

You don’t even have time to take another step before Seokjin is grabbing your hand with his own and pulling you in close to him. He holds your one hand out and places his other on your waist, and instinctively, you rest your hand on his shoulder. 

When you went to senior prom in high school, your date was this terribly nervous friend of a friend, who asked you because you both didn’t have a real date to go with, and you figured it would be better to go with an acquaintance than nobody at all. And it was sort of fun, because you sat at a table with all of your friends and ate decent senior prom food, and it wasn’t in your stinky high school gymnasium but a fairly nice country club. But when the only slow song of the night came on, thus ensued the most awkward three minutes of your entire high school career. 

This is by no means an exact science, but you figure that the people you are closest to are the people you can slow dance with without it being terrible and awkward and awful. You did it with your parents when you were a little girl in the living room of your family home. You did it with Cynthia at two in the morning one night when she had just gotten dumped by this absolutely rotten boy. 

And now, you’re doing it with Seokjin. And it isn’t terrible or awkward or awful at all. You sway to the soft strums of the guitar and it feels just right. The feeling of his hand in yours, on your waist, of yours on his shoulder. There’s less than a six inches of distance and you feel as close as you have always been. Seokjin feels so natural. He always has, and you know that he always will. There’s no doubt when it comes to him, no regret. 

“Isn’t this nice?” Seokjin asks, grinning at you. 

“Only because it’s with you,” you say back with a smile. Seokjin beams. 

Later, when the slow dance is over and you make your way back to your table so you can watch your best friend make a fool of himself from a distance. Cynthia drops by, blissful. 

“I knew you’d bring Seokjin! He’s charming the pants off of my mom as we speak,” Cynthia says happily. You both crane your neck to see him teaching Cynthia’s mom the floss, outdated as per usual. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you say with a shrug, “who else was I going to bring?”

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Cynthia asks. She looks proud. She deserves it. 

You turn back to look at Seokjin, on the verge of tears of laughter as Cynthia’s mom successfully flosses for the first time. He’s so wonderful. The light of your damn life. “Yeah. He does.”

When the fair comes to town, you don’t find out from posters stapled to utility posts and taped to traffic lights. Nor do you find out from word of mouth, from the two strangers in your favorite (slightly overpriced) coffee shop ahead of you in line. It’s not even your coworkers who mention it to you in passing one day because their eight-year-old has been begging them to go but they can’t because they have a dentist appointment.

It is, because who else would it be, of course, Seokjin, who texts you at 4:18PM on that Saturday and says:

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment to pick you up Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

And it is, in every possible way, the scariest thing you have ever received on your phone. Seokjin’s always been one for spontaneity, but ever since the two of you graduated and stopped feeling the urge to go out to McDonald’s at three in the morning, random activities have become less of a rule and more of an exception. But it’s a Saturday, which means you don’t have to go to work, and it’s near-evening, which means you’ve been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing all day as it is. And it’s May, which means that the sun only sets at seven at night and there is so much to be done in this wonderful weather. 

So, Seokjin’s on his way. 

You spend the next seven minutes (Seokjin lives approximately eight minutes by car from where you live, not that you’re counting, or anything) changing out of the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since you returned from work Friday evening and trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You don’t know where he’s taking you. He could be bringing you to an alley to murder you for your inheritance. He’s definitely on your will, that’s for sure. You want to look nice. 

Seven minutes later, you see his tiny white Volkswagen pull up outside your apartment complex as you’re slipping on some sandals. He hops out of the driver’s seat and scurries into the lobby, which signals to you that he is a man on a mission, and you are simply the best friend who gets roped along for the ride. He knocks on your door thirty seconds after that, and you linger for a few moments so as not to seem like you’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“Let’s go,” Seokjin declares in lieu of a hello. He reaches out to grab onto your wrist, pulling you out of the door as you frantically make sure you have your bag with you, otherwise you’ll be phone-less, key-less, and lip-balm-less. Three equally terrible fates. 

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

“I parked in the no parking fire lane with my blinkers on, which means we have to go right now. We also have to go because I am very excited about where we are going,” Seokjin elaborates, though it does nothing to clarify the situation at hand. Other than the fact that if you don’t get into his car right now, he’s got a ticket to pay. 

“But where are we going?” You ask again, as Seokjin and you scramble down the stairs to make it to his Volkswagen before the security guard in the lobby starts shouting at him for his illegal parking job. 

“The fair!” Seokjin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you see it was in town?”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Oh,” Seokjin says awkwardly. “Well, it is, and I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while—”

“It’s been three days.”

“—and we haven’t gone out on a real date yet, you and me.” Seokjin explains as you get to his car. Luckily, there is no angry security guard nor a ticket underneath his windshield wiper, so you slide into the passenger seat and he drives off. 

“Yes, we have,” you object. “Cynthia’s wedding counts as a real date.” He was literally your plus-one. What more could define the word ‘date’?

Seokjin scrunches his nose up in clear disagreement. “No, it doesn’t,” he argues back. “Cynthia was going to tear your arm off if you didn’t bring me with. That was a date out of obligation.”

“Aren’t all of these dates out of obligation?”

You expect some sort of witty response, but instead, you’re met with silence as Seokjin opens the driver’s side door, the two of you looking over the top of his Volkswagen wordlessly, each waiting for something. 

What? It’s not like you’re wrong. Seokjin is taking you out on dates to get a feel for what a real, blossoming relationship is like. Except this isn’t real, and your relationship is far from blossoming. It’s bloomed, already. Into an irreplaceable friendship. 

“Yeah, well,” Seokjin sputters, for once in his life, speechless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sitting roughly in the driver’s seat as you get into the passenger side, watch as he fumbles to put the keys into the ignition. “Don’t you want to know what a first date is supposed to be like?”

“You don’t have to take me on a fake first date just to spend time with me,” you tell him, the two of you facing forward, staring at the road in front of you as he drives. The radio is playing, some generic alternative rock song that neither of you are familiar enough to warrant turning up the volume for. Seokjin’s always preferred listening to the radio over his own music. Something about ambience while he drives. “We can spend time together wherever. Even if we’re just in my apartment.”

Seokjin’s wonderful and the best and one of the (if not the) greatest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he doesn’t need to do all of this for you. It’s enough for him to text you in the morning to remind you to drink a glass of water before you eat anything to wake your body up. Enough for him to leave leftovers from your dinner nights in your fridge, so you can savor the taste of his food after he’s gone home. Enough for the two of you to be as you used to be, as you always have been and always will be. 

Seokjin scoffs, honking at a driver who sped through a red light. “Those aren’t dates, Y/N,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “They’re just ways that we spend time with each other.”

“So then what makes this a date? What’s the difference?” You demand. Seokjin’s not making any sense. Sure, you aren’t nearly as well-versed in the dating scene as he is, certainly haven’t been on as many as he has, but from your limited knowledge, you’d always thought that what makes a date is not the setting, not the time or location, but the person you spend it with. 

Arguably, that would mean that all of the nights and days you’ve spent with Seokjin could, by that definition, be dates, but that’s obviously not the case. You’ve always just been friends. 

“It’s a date because I say it is,” Seokjin declares. “You wanna know what makes a date? It’s when the two people—or more, depending on how you swing—decide that it is a date. It’s just a label.”

“If it’s just a label, then why are you making such a big deal out of it?” You ask. You know you’re being a bit annoying with all of the questions at this point, but who’s to say you couldn’t have spent the evening curled up in your apartment and called that a date as well? 

“Because,” Seokjin begins, sighing. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. “Because,” he repeats, “if someone really wants to impress you, then they will make a big deal out of it. Because you deserve it.”

Eventually, Seokjin pulls into the giant open field designated for parked cars, and expertly squeezes into this tiny space between two absolutely massive SUVs, likely once filled with five children and two very, very tired parents. Sure, you both only have about six inches of space to shimmy out of his car, but it was a good parking job nonetheless. 

“Get you a boyfriend who can park as well as I can,” Seokjin says, patting himself on the back as you head towards the entrance. 

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have you?” You tease back.

You wait for a cheeky response from Seokjin, turning to look at him when he delivers the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, Seokjin reaches a hand down to grab onto yours, and you walk hand in hand towards the entrance, wordless. He pays, which makes you angry, but he tells you that you can buy a funnel cake for you to share to make up for it, and that’s good enough. 

In movies and books, a fair is a very high-school event for people to attend. Lots of bright flashes of color, loud noises, and junk food, which are three things that society believes deters anyone over the age of nineteen from attending. You can’t name a single piece of pop culture that features two fully-grown adults eating cotton candy and sitting in a ferris wheel carriage. Because the moment you turn twenty, your back starts to permanently ache and noises louder than the sound of your refrigerator making ice give you a headache, of course. 

Seokjin, of course, has never been one to let the media define him. 

He lights up like New Year’s Eve the moment you walk through the gates. Like a child on Christmas day. 

There’s a difference between being immature and being youthful that people often fail to realize, confusing the two, or worse, thinking they’re the same thing. But there are sixteen-year-olds out there who are more mature than middle-aged adults, and there are middle-aged adults who still act like they’re going through puberty. Seokjin was immature when you first met him, the same way all college freshmen are, but over the years lost that mindset while still never parting with the youthful part of himself, the part filled with childlike wonder, with innocence and hopefulness. It has always been part of him. 

When Seokjin looks at the world, he sees it bathed in light, in color. He sees people in their most wonderful form. Sees every day, every moment, as something worth remembering. Sees the future as something worth looking forward to. 

You’ve always envied that about him. Perhaps it’s just in your nature, but you’ve always been jaded, a little cynical. 

A realist and a dreamer. 

And they always say that opposites don’t really attract. 

Here at the fair, Seokjin is more than prepared and willing to have enough fun for the both of you, even as you pull up to one of those impossible-to-win water-squirter games. He’s already pulling out his wallet to hand a couple of bills to the angsty-looking teenager behind the booth. 

“You know that these are totally rigged, right?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Seokjin rubs his hands together with a wide-eyed excitement. 

“Just because they’re rigged doesn’t mean winning is impossible,” Seojin says confidently, taking a seat and gearing up to begin. You stand to the side, arms crossed, waiting to be sufficiently unimpressed. “What are you doing standing there? I paid for both of us.”

Before you know it, Seokjin is pulling you down into the seat next to him as the teen counts down, giving you a very monotonous three seconds before the bell rings and you have to aim weakly-pressurized water into the mouth of a faded plastic clown. 

You’ve never had the best hand-eye coordination. On multiple occasions, Seokjin has tossed you a fruit, a bag of rice, something non-dangerous and relatively large, and on multiple occasions, you fumble to grab it and it eventually ends up on your kitchen floor. It takes you about half of the minute you’re given to blow up the balloon to get your aim straight, and by then, Seokjin’s balloon could eat yours for lunch. 

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Seokjin teases, relishing in his lead. This is embarrassing, and you’re better than this. And yet.

“It’s working against me and you know it!” You defend yourself. Because their unfairness is the reason Seokjin’s about to win and you’re about to lose. 

“How can you say that when I’m doing so well?” Seokjin laughs, and his balloon pops the moment that the sixty-second countdown ends, an underwhelming blare of celebratory music playing through the speakers at the corners of the tent. 

A sad little “Better luck next time!” echoes from the clown in front of you, and you slam your water gun on the table as Seokjin gloats in your face, the teenager coming over to hand Seokjin his prize, looking dead on his feet. 

“What should I get, hmm?” Seokjin asks. 

The selection is pretty weak. A lot of Frozen merchandise, two-dollar stuffed Olafs and capes with Anna and Elsa’s faces on the back. A couple of nondescript stuffed animals, from glittery lizards to pastel teddy bears. What looks like a generic-brand Whoopee cushion. 

“You don’t want a stuffed Olaf?” You ask innocently. The design is a little off, so it looks like Olaf is staring into your soul, Mona Lisa-style. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, pretending to think about it. The poor kid looks like he’s about to faint from boredom, desperate for two fully-grown adults to stop acting like they don’t know what prize to pick from an amusement park booth. “How about the pink teddy bear?”

Very on-brand for him. The teen hands it to Seokjin and the two of you go on your merry way, Seokjin demanding the two of you go to stuff your faces with funnel cake before rounding out the night on the ferris wheel. 

“For you,” Seokjin says, holding the teddy bear out to you as the two of you stand in the surprisingly-long line for funnel cake. 

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as your fingers curl around the fluffy fabric. It’s softer than you thought it would be. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, certain. “To remind you of me.”

You grin, holding the bear close to you. Sure, it’s a little bit kindergarten, like the cute boy on the playground placing a quick kiss on your lips before the teacher calls everybody in after recess ends, but the gesture is more than enough. To know that Seokjin won something, even something as plain and inexpensive as a prize from a fair, and his first and only thought was to give it to you, well, that makes you happy. “I don’t need a bear to be reminded of you,” you muse. Not when there are pieces of your friendship lingering everywhere you walk, from your apartment to your old university to your mind. 

“Can’t hurt to know you’re always thinking about me,” Seokjin says, and it’s not greasy or smug or weird. It’s honest.

You laugh. “When am I not?”

Funnel cake starts with a black t-shirt and the two of you arguing over who’s going to foot the ten dollar bill, much to your dismay. Even though Seokjin had explicitly said that you could pay, since he covered your entrance ticket, he still makes a big deal about doing it himself in front of the poor funnel cake girl, who definitely doesn’t get paid nearly enough to watch two grown adults fight over a ten dollar funnel cake. Eventually, you get your way and successfully hand the girl a ten dollar bill and she hands you a paper plate piled high with funnel cake as you begin to search for an open place to sit. 

“Just because I said that you could pay for the funnel cake doesn’t mean I actually meant it,” Seokjin says with a frown as you scope out a place to sit. At evening’s peak, it’s nearly impossible, which leads the both of you to a curb next to a recycling bin piled high with plastic cups, stained with Coca Cola and Fanta, knees up to your chin as you crouch over a single plate of funnel cake.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Seokjin says with a grin as a burly middle-aged dad steps on Seokjin’s clean white sneakers to throw something away. 

“We’ve been in more cramped quarters before,” you say. One of the many instances that immediately comes to mind is when the two of you were trapped in a closet in a frat house for nearly two hours because two people on the other side were having sex, the entire time. It was a good bonding experience. The two of you got very acquainted with each other’s scents. 

Seokjin’s hasn’t changed. Still sweet, sugary and vanilla from all of the baking he does, and a little bit like raindrops.

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours. 

“You know I don’t mind where we are and what we’re doing when I’m with you,” Seokjin says, and it sounds like a line straight out of a Hallmark movie, cheesy and cliche and rehearsed. But it’s none of those things. Seokjin says it and it’s real. And it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder if you’re ever as true with him as he is with you. 

“Even when we’re sitting on the ground and eating funnel cake next to a recycling bin in a fair filled with messy children and their deadbeat parents?” You ask. 

Seokjin nods, taking an enormous bite of funnel cake. “Yes, even then.”

“True love,” you muse. Very few people would you do this for. Seokjin is one of them. 

Seokjin coughs at the words, his whole body shaking, and the powdered sugar from the piece in his hands goes flying, like a tiny little blizzard, falling onto his skin, his shirt, his lips, and everywhere in between. Snowflakes. 

Funnel cake ends with Seokjin trying to wipe the white dust on the front of his pitch black t-shirt away with a napkin, and only smearing it further into the fabric, cotton turning sticky from the sugar. It looks like a cocaine bust gone wrong. It looks only slightly not-kid-friendly. 

“Am I addicted to cocaine or did I just spill powdered sugar on myself?” Seokjin jokes, much to the horror of a family passing by, the mom giving you and Seokjin an alarmed expression as she picks up the pace. “It was powdered sugar!” Seokjin calls after them, making the two of you laugh. “Or it was cocaine. Whatever you want to believe.”

“You’re too soft to do cocaine,” you tell Seokjin, a very strange sort of compliment. 

“Maybe powdered sugar, though,” Seokjin says with a laugh as you heave yourselves off of the curb, tossing out the paper plate and dusting off your hands, flakes of powdered sugar falling to the ground. “Ferris wheel?”

“Anything you want,” you tell him, letting him lead you towards the ride, lit up like a Christmas tree. 

It’s as if every possible holiday threw up on the damn thing, a jumble of rainbow flights flashing erratically as a generic carnival tune plays in the background, sluggishly moving on its axis. It couldn’t have been built before this century. 

You squeeze into the carriage, clearly built to fit a child and their father at most, let alone two adults who both don’t have a regular exercise schedule. In order to fit, you have to stretch a leg over Seokjin’s lap and lean so that part of your shoulder is against his chest. It’s… cozy. It’s most definitely not the most cramped either of you have ever felt. 

“This is the part where I pretend to yawn and then stretch my arm over you,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if that particular action is a mandatory part of the date.

“Oh, is that proper first-date etiquette?” You tease. 

“Only for me,” Seokjin says, cheeky, and it’s the greasiest thing you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. Even so, you let him fake yawn, melodramatic and totally contrived, feel as his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, hand swinging down over your side. Instinctively, you reach up to grab it with your arm, letting the two of you sit like this as the ferris wheel creaks, slowly moving you upwards. “Aren’t you having the best first date ever?”

“It’s the only one I can remember,” you admit, especially since it’s still in progress. 

“That means it’s the best.” Seokjin grins. 

“And the worst,” you add on, making Seokjin laugh. 

Finally, finally, finally, you reach the top, overlooking the entire fair, lit up in the night in a warm pink and yellow haze. At this hour, only the teenagers are left, families having gone home for the night, and you can hear the cheers even from up here, hear the laughter and jokes and chatter. it’s a sort of ambience you’ve never had the pleasure of listening to before. One of an active night, filled with people, and you, far away enough to be out of the action but close enough to enjoy it nonetheless. 

“Isn’t this nice, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, the two of you looking out into the distance, wishing you could stay like this forever. “When we’re up here, it feels like I can forget about everything and just think about now.” If only you could stay like this forever.

“And what are you thinking about, right now?” You ask, head resting on his shoulders. 

Instinctively, his arm moves from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you into his side, letting you rest your legs on top of his own. Seokjin’s never needed to be more honest than he already is. He says what he means, and he means what he says.

It’s always been so easy when it comes to him. 

He lets out a breath, and you can feel his chest rising beneath your hand on his torso, feel the subtle beat of his heart beneath your fingers. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He rests his head atop yours. “You,” he says.

Seokjin, a man of his word, holds up his end of the deal like he does everything else: honestly and fully. Little has really changed about your relationship dynamic—he still sends you good morning texts and reminds you that you need to drink your eight glasses of water (which you never do, and he consistently does because he’s an organized man with perfect skin). Still randomly comes to your apartment with two brown bags filled with groceries to last you the next two weeks. Still makes time for you.

But now, it’s all being done under the guise of courtship. Of what it’s like to have someone romantically interested in you. 

Of course, Seokjin’s not actually romantically interested in you, but he does a damn good job of pretending to be. For the sake of this whole thing. Seokjin still has one objective in mind: get you to believe in love again, and that all of these things he’s been doing, from taking you to the fair to dancing with you at Cynthia’s wedding, are means to accomplish an end. 

(The stuff in between, the texts, the calls, the visits, those are just part of your routine.)

It feels completely normal and totally unnatural, all at once. Like a new kind of relationship neither of you have really ever delved in before, toeing the line between friendship and this other feeling, one without a name. Seokjin will do something that you and he have always done, long before any of this was in motion, like ordering Indian takeout to your place unprompted, and then he will say that that’s what people are supposed to do when they’re courting someone. As if he is the end-all be-all of chivalry. 

Truth be told, you can’t wait for this to end, for things to go back to the way they were. You never did set an official fake breakup date (if that’s what it’s even called), but you suppose that that means that you can just call it off whenever you’d like. You don’t feel as though anything he’s doing is working. He treats you just the same. What is there to fall in love with, other than familiarity?

But Seokjin’s diligence makes you diligent, too, which is why you’re standing in your kitchen, outnumbered by vegetables (ten to one, which means they could definitely kill you if given the chance—and opposable thumbs), a gigantic pot on your creaky gas stove, boiling soup swirling inside. Even though your kitchen is nowhere near the level of organized and systematic as the Chopped set, it certainly smells like it. Your cooking can hardly compare to Seokjin’s (you roughly chopped vegetables and put them in broth, he makes kimbap for fun), but, like all other aspects of your life, he rubs off on you, one way or another. 

Seokjin seems to think that this transference of his personality will apply to how he feels about love, too. But time can only work so much magic, and ever since freshman year of college, for the seven years you’ve known him, it’s always been like this. 

You let the soup simmer on your stove as you begin to pack up the food scattered on your counter, unsure when next you’re going to use it, especially since your daily meals usually consist of leftovers and, if you’re feeling exotic, stir-fry. It’s then that you hear the knock on your door, and you don’t even need to think before you’re scurrying over to pull it open, revealing Seokjin leaning over to peek happily into your peephole.  

“Look who it is, for a change,” you say sarcastically.

“You mean your favorite human being in the entire world who is about to take you to see his mom and enjoy a nice home-cooked mom meal?” Seokjin corrects obnoxiously, making you laugh as you let him inside. 

“You blackmailed me into this,” you remind him, pointing an accusing metal soup ladle his way. “You convinced me that you’re doing me a favor by treating me like someone you’d want to court, and tricked me into making an enormous pot of soup for your mother!” A lose-lose situation. 

“I am doing you a favor,” Seokjin defends. “Don’t you love having a doting, attractive young professional taking you out to fairs and ordering you take-out? This is what the beginning of a relationship is supposed to look like.” Emphasis on supposed to. “Also, I accompanied you to Cynthia’s wedding after she had been talking your ear off trying to get you to bring a plus-one, so…”

A dirty, dirty play. 

“Fine, you win,” you concede. You did really appreciate him coming, especially so last minute. “I better hear nothing but pure, unadulterated praise coming from your lips when you eat my soup, or else.”

“I would have showered compliments on your soup even if you hadn’t sent me a thinly-veiled threat,” Seokjin says proudly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Perhaps one that confused you a little less. 

You spend the entire car ride to Seokjin’s mom’s house (who lives forty-minutes out of the city) listening to him ramble on about how desperately his mother wants him to get married, settle down and have kids or a dog or two. The two of you still have half of your twenties to go, but the moment he graduated, Seokjin got a steady job and a nice apartment in the city, which immediately equates to marriage material. 

At least, that’s what his mom thinks. 

But those aren’t the sort of things that make Seokjin marriage material. You’ve known him for years. Ever since he first spoke to you, it was immediately obvious he was always the sort of perfect, dreamboat husband material that teenage girls fawn over, that characters in anime fantasize about. 

At the most basic level, Seokjin is goddamn attractive, and even if you’ve seen him in nothing but tighty-whities as a nervous eighteen-year-old, seen him with tomato sauce in his hair, seen him sick with a cold and strep throat, you can’t deny him that. He’d got the sort of looks that make people on the street take photos of him, thinking he’s a celebrity. 

But not only is Seokjin undoubtedly gorgeous, he’s an entire package. He’s an excellent cook, capable of impressing any and all parents, hilarious, charming and charismatic. Professional but never dull. He does his part in group projects, studies for his exams, listens to the music recommendations you give him even if they aren’t his style. The girls he dated in college knew exactly what they were doing when they went out with him. They were attempting to secure their future. It’s a shame none of them stuck, not like you, Elmer’s glue on his skin. 

Seokjin’s mom, the lovely woman she is, is under the impression that Seokjin became husband material when he graduated, got a job and moved to the city. But you know better than anyone—Seokjin’s always been husband material. Now, he’s just old enough that he knows he could be looking for himself. 

When you pull into Seokjin’s mom’s driveway, a little suburban home with a freshly-mowed font lawn and flowers by the mailbox, she’s already opening the front door and scurrying out, still wearing her slippers. 

“Eomma!” Seokjin says happily, getting out of the driver’s seat as she bounds towards him, the two of them wearing the same smiles on their faces. Like mother, like son. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long!” She chides, smacking him slightly. “You have to come and visit me more often. I don’t live that far away from you.”

“I’m busy, Ma,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I have a job.”

“A job and no wife!” She exclaims, though her attitude immediately changes the moment you exit the car, pot of soup still warm in your hands. “Y/N!” 

She rushes over to give you a hug as well, albeit a much more careful one. She looks positively thrilled to see you. Seokjin’s mom has always liked you, even when you were an insufferable eighteen-year-old. They would invite you over for their Chuseok celebrations every year, and sometimes to their New Year’s Eve parties, if you were in the area over winter break. 

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” Seokjin’s mother tells you. She takes the pot from your hands wordlessly, refusing to listen to your protests as she shoos you both inside. 

The house smells of a home-cooked meal, savory and salty and sweet all at once, and you can see several dishes already laid out on the table. It’s both a familiar sight and scent, something you all too frequently experience whenever you barge into Seokjin’s apartment around mealtime. Seokjin immediately joins his mother in the kitchen, scrambling around to help her finish cooking, as you wait awkwardly by the table, easily the most inexperienced of the three of you. 

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks. 

“Yes, I thought to make some to bring tonight,” you say with a smile. Seokjin’s mother beams. 

“Delicious! Seokjinie always tells me how much he loves having it when he’s sick. You take care of him very well,” his mother grins. She places it on the stove, turning on the heat to warm it up. 

“Only because he does the same for me,” you say, sending a grin Seokjin’s way, one he returns instantly. 

The rest of the meal preparation (which doesn’t take long, especially with an extra pair of equally-gifted hands) goes by like this, Seokjin’s mother heaping compliments onto you as you stand there, helpless, watching as the two add the final dishes to the dining table. Seokjin dodges every question about his lack of engagement, always deflecting and shifting the topic to something you’ve done. Maybe this is why he wanted you around…

Finally, when dinner is ready, the three of you sit down, eager to pick up your chopsticks and dive in. 

“Seokjin’s father is away on business,” his mother explains after you note the empty place setting. “He sends his love!”

“I knew I was missing the dad jokes,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head. “Luckily, I can make up for them with my own.”

Seokjin’s mother laughs. “You must get a lot of this, don’t you?” She shoves an extra serving of fish onto your plate, letting it plop on top of the kimchi she had previously spooned onto the dish. “Eat, eat. I made it for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a smile. You’ll probably walk out of this house with a food baby the size of Jupiter. You always do. “And yes, but it’s nice. I like spending time with him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seokjin says dramatically, a hand to his chest. “I was worried about that, for a second.”

“You two have always been inseparable,” his mother comments. “Don’t tell me this is why you haven’t married yet, Seokjin-ah.”

“What do you mean, Ma?” He asks over a mouthful of naengmyeon. “You know that I’m waiting to get married.”

Seokjin’s mother scoffs, shocked. “What? But Y/N’s right here! You two make an excellent couple.”

“Eomma!” Seokjin admonishes, even a little taken aback himself. You had no idea this was the secret plan his mother’s been plotting, all this time. It seems both you and him were just operating under the assumption that she was doing what all mothers do when their children are adults—dreaming out loud for grandchildren. 

“I’m sorry, did I misread something? You two are a couple, aren’t you?” His mother asks, positively bewildered. No wonder she’s been grilling Seokjin so hard about getting married. She had thought he was halfway there, already. 

You open your mouth to correct her, but your mind gets the best of you. Isn’t this what Seokjin wants? For people to think you’re a couple? For the true dating experience—are they, aren’t they? 

“No, Eomma,” Seokjin says, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re just friends.”

Nobody mentions marriage, dating, or love for the rest of the meal. 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom once everyone is finished, Seokjin’s mother shooing you away from the kitchen sink, refusing to let you partake in any sort of clean up as the honorary guest. You’re glad to get away, the tension palpable and thick, looming over your heads, a reminder to all three of you that friends is all you have been, and friends is all you will ever be. Strangely enough, Seokjin had seemed the most disappointed out of all of you, even more so than his mother, whose dreams of grandchildren were crushed before her eyes. 

You wonder why. 

If Seokjin had been so adamant about the two of you calling yourselves a couple at the wedding, then why did he backtrack here? Was it his mother? Was it you? What could have made him change his mind?

As you walk back to the kitchen, you can hear the two of them having a conversation, hushed voices so as not to alert you. You take a step back from the entryway, hiding behind the wall to eavesdrop. 

“You must see the way she looks at you, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says. 

“No, Ma, that doesn’t mean anything,” Seokjin says, voice cold. 

“Yes it does, my boy,” she says. “Can’t you see it? The way she cares for you.”

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Seokjin-ah, please. You’re being stubborn.”

“Eomma, believe me, I know better than anyone else that we’re only ever going to be friends.”

“You don’t see it, then?” His mother’s voice is sad, helpless. “The way she loves you.”

You hear Seokjin suck in a breath, a deep, heavy inhale, weighed down by his thoughts. At that moment, you decide to round the corner, pretending like you haven’t hear a thing. 

“Y/N!” Seokjin’s mother exclaims happily. “Your soup was delicious. You’ll have to come over more often so I can keep having it.”

“I’ll have Seokjin send home a thermos with it,” you joke, lightening the tension you can still feel lingering in the air. 

“Ah, you’re too kind!” She says, sending you a warm smile. Seokjin hasn’t turned around from where he’s facing the sink, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows as he scrubs the dishes clean. “Seokjin-ah, you must remember to bring Y/N more often. I love seeing her.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Seokjin says dutifully. When he finishes, he packs up the leftovers his mother is sending him home with, placing tupperware after tupperware into a plain brown bag. “Y/N, ready to go?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” you say, the words stiff on your tongue. Seokjin seems closed off, bottled up. There’s something he’s not saying, and you can feel it weighing on his tongue. “it was lovely to see you again.”

“Of course!” Seokjin’s mother grins. “You must visit me again soon. I’ll be waiting!”

“Bye, Eomma,” Seokjin says as you head to the front door, pulling on your shoes as he opens the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Remember what I said, alright, Seokjin-ah?” His mother says, pulling him in for a hug. “You mustn't ignore what’s right in front of you.” You can’t help but wonder if maybe, you had overheard something you weren’t supposed to. 

In the car, you ask, “What was your mom talking about? When we were saying goodbye?”

Seokjin shrugs, nonchalant and calm. It’s so plain that it’s uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, nothing.” You hate not knowing what really lingers in his thoughts, rests deep in the pit of his heart. You want nothing more than to reach over and promise him that, no matter what, you’ll always be by his side. “She just wants me to look out for myself.”

Even on this clear night, the moon and stars visible above your heads, your mind (and heart) couldn’t be foggier. 

In your freshman year of college, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 had just been released on DVD, digital, and Blu-ray. Seokjin, the eighteen-year-old genius he was, had brought a projector to school that year, and so, one chilly November weekend, you and him set up in an empty lounge with a perfectly white wall and watched (spoiler alert) Voldemort get Avada Kedavra-ed at one in the morning. 

Ever since, monthly movie nights have been ingrained into your routine, even when Seokjin was in London for a semester in your junior year and you used a shady website so you could stream Netflix movies together. You think, that semester, you watched every Certified Rotten movie on Netflix possible, relishing in being able to joke about how terrible the films you were watching with your best friend. You almost thought you would break your tradition, just because of how difficult it was to organize. 

But still, you persisted. 

Of course, now, in the age of platform subscriptions and renting on YouTube, it’s a lot easier. Seokjin has a subscription to every movie-streaming platform under the sun, which means that by default, so do you. One of the many perks of having Seokjin as your best friend. 

As two mostly-functioning adults in the real world, this is how your movie nights typically go: you will alternate apartments as the designated living room of the weekend, the host is in charge of arranging a pre-show dinner, and the guest is in charge of bringing a bottle of wine as a gift. You eat dinner, drink wine, and watch a movie together, either on the couch, or, in emergencies, in bed. The host always chooses. Three years out of college and running, neither of you have been able to come up with a system more foolproof than this. 

Tonight, it is Seokjin’s turn to host, which you always prefer because he cooks dinner on his own instead of giving up and ordering takeout like you always do, and because his couch and bed are much more comfortable than your own. Not that you frequent his bed. Because you don’t. You just know that from your limited experience, it’s much more comfortable than your own bed. It’s probably his mattress. 

When you arrive at his apartment, his door is already cracked open, resting on the door frame as you can hear him whistling a tune you don’t recognize. Almost like he’s been expecting you, or something. 

“If you leave your door open like this, you’re gonna get robbed,” you announce, forgoing a hello as you barge inside, the apartment smelling of smokiness. “Whoa, what the hell are you cooking? Lava?”

“I accidentally set off the fire alarm,” Seokjin explains, back turned towards you as he bends down to pull something out of the oven. “That’s why the door’s open.”

“Oh, not because you were expecting a guest?” You tease, placing the bottle of wine on the counter as you join him in the kitchen. 

Seokjin turns around to reveal a baking dish with four chicken legs, drenched in a sauce that smells of spice and flavor, charred on the skin. Gourmet restaurants couldn’t even compare. 

“No,” he jokes. “I was gonna eat all of this food and drink this wine by myself.”

“Hey, that is my wine!” You shout, making grabby hands towards the neck of the bottle. Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed, as he dishes up the food, two chicken legs a piece on some luxurious paper plates. “Fine, I guess we can share.”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Seokjin tells you, and you hate it, because it’s true. 

 As you finish up, washing the pots and pans as Seokjin puts away the various bottles of seasoning on his counter, some of which you can’t even name, he asks, “Couch or bed?”

You turn, scandalized, swatting him with a fork lathered with soap, “So forward!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You know I don’t mind where we watch our movie.”

(So long as he’s with you.)

You give the two options not another second worth of thought. You’re in the mood to lounge around on Seokjin’s terribly comfortable mattress tonight. You’ve had a rough past week at work, and sometimes, if you complain enough, Seokjin will massage your shoulders as you watch the movie. 

“Hmm… bed, please!” You say like a child, wrapping up the dishwashing as Seokjin grabs his laptop from the coffee table by the couch. You skip into his bedroom, giddy and only the tiniest bit wine-drunk, Seokjin following like the heavyweight best friend he is. 

Seokjin’s bedroom space has always felt so familiar to you. Plants along the windowsill, shelves with photos of his family, an enormous full-length mirror for gratuitous outfit-of-the-day pictures. Even in college, it felt this warm, this cozy. When you knocked on the wooden door of his dormitory at midnight to go out and get McDonald’s, coming back and gorging out on your McNuggets, it felt like this. 

People always say that your bedroom should be your little sanctuary, a home within a house. But instead of your own bedroom giving you that comfort, it’s Seokjin’s. Here, more so than anywhere else, you feel safe. Warm. Loved. There’s something magical to it. 

“What are we watching?” You ask happily, jumping onto his bed and grabbing the nearest plushie to hold onto. Seokjin plugs his laptop charger into the nearest outlet and sets it up on a couple of pillows for optimal viewing pleasure, the two of you leaning against a mountain of pillows as he pulls up Netflix. 

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, have you heard of it?” Seokjin asks, clicking play on the movie. 

You furrow your brows as you curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Really? I thought you were gonna pick something cool, like Interstellar, or something. Not something my fifteen-year-old cousin loves.”

“First of all, your fifteen-year-old cousin has great taste,” Seokjin tells you, offended. “Secondly, just because this is a teenage romantic comedy doesn’t mean it’s any less cool than Matthew McConaughey in a spacesuit, okay?”

You’re still skeptical. The New York Times gave To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a pretty decent review, but you have long outgrown your teenage coming-of-age romantic-comedy movie phase, even if you still quote Clueless regularly. As you’ve gotten older, your movie nights have transitioned away from young adult books turned into movies and more towards films that people like Lupita Nyong’o star in, movies with sad endings on purpose. So this is very out of character, especially for a movie junkie like Seokjin, who sends you weekly movie reviews of the latest indie divorce drama.

You snuggle in closer, accepting defeat. It is Seokjin’s turn to choose, after all. And you suppose, that after a long week of unforgiving work, you could use this time to unwind, mindlessly watch a movie geared towards high-schoolers instead of analyzing some unknown French historical drama. “Alright then,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

Famous last words. 

You always have a habit of putting your trust into your best friend at the absolute worst times. Example One: In junior year, when he swore that the new salad place on campus was delicious until you got food poisoning from their chicken. Example Two: The summer after you graduated, when he promised you that roller skating was “easy” and “fun”. Example Three: Two months ago, when he blackmailed you into letting him take you out on dates after promising to go with you to Cynthia’s wedding. 

Example Four: Right now, as you’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather, watching two sixteen-year-olds agree to fake date for personal gain. And even though they’re high schoolers, and even though he’s going through with it to get back at an ex-girlfriend and she’s trying to recover from her disastrously-mailed love letters, it feels too similar to be something that Seokjin just happened to stumble upon. 

You turn to look up at Seokjin, the movie a distant hum in the background, hardly at the forefront of your mind, but he doesn’t spare you a second glance. Instead, he pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your torso as his fingers dance across your own, mindless. He doesn’t have a damn thing to say, a rarity in your relationship, letting the movie do the talking. 

I think it’s funny, the boy says as the two main characters sit in this absolutely ancient diner, you say that you’re scared of commitment and relationships, but you don’t seem to be afraid to be with me. 

Well, there’s no reason to be, the girl responds casually. Unbothered. 

Why’s that? He asks. 

She shrugs, nonchalant. Because we’re just pretending. 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tighten, feel his skin pressing against your own, the exposed part of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. It’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you. The mere sensation, one you have felt hundreds, if not thousands of times before, sends shivers down your spine. 

“You cold?” He asks softly, pulling up the blanket that’s crumpled up by your feet, placing it gently over your bodies. 

You couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you. Not when Seokjin’s this close, not when he’s got his arms wrapped around you, not as you feel his soft breaths against your forehead, as he tucks you underneath a blanket. You’re frozen still next to him. You think that even your heart has stopped. 

Dozens of movie nights, but never one like this. Dozens of cuddle sessions, dozens of nights in. But this one feels brand new. 

Seokjin adjusts himself, turning in towards you. You can’t even feel yourself breathing. 

When did this start happening? You ask yourself. Why do your palms feel clammy? Why does his touch leave little embers along your skin? 

Traitorously, your mind responds, a question to a question. 

Hasn’t it always been like this?

Tuesdays have always been your least favorite day, because they’re Monday’s shitty cousin. They’re far enough into the week to have you not complain about it being the beginning of the week, but they’re too soon into the week to warrant any excitement about it ending. At least, when you wake up to go to work on a Monday, you know it’s a Monday. When you wake up to go to work on a Tuesday, you think it’s a Wednesday. Tuesday is the day of the week that wears a mask and tries to make you think it’s something else. 

After the printer jamming, salad dressing getting spilled on your pants, and your coworker losing his cool in the break room and breaking a cabinet door off of its hinges, you think that, when you get called into your boss’s office in the middle of the afternoon, there could be nothing worse for him to tell you. 

Instead, you walk out of his office with a brand new job title and a salary increase to match, positively ecstatic as you bounce all the way to your desk, whipping out your phone to text, well, who else?

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

Seokjin: OMG SERIOUSLY?? Seokjin: CONGRATS YOU DESERVE IT !!!!

You: thank u jinie 8) now i can buy us more expensive wine for our movie nights

Seokjin: :D Seokjin: I’m so proud of you, you’re amazing!

And it’s the sort of text exchange that makes your heart soar, even more so than the promotion itself, because there is truly nothing more fulfilling than sharing your accomplishments with the people closest to you. 

You pack up later than usual that day, sitting at your desk for a little bit longer as you wrap up some emails and reorganize the space, determined to make it suitable for someone who just got a kick-ass raise. You’re leaning underneath your desk to gather your belongings, plopping your phone charger and a couple of nice blue pens into your bag, when you feel a sudden tap on your shoulder, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of you.

“Ow!” You shout as you bang the back of your head on the underside of your desk. Angry and in pain, you turn to face the asshole that’s just given you a bump on your scalp for the next week, only to find your expression lightening the moment you lay eyes on Seokjin, fresh from work with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you say, “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Seokjin jokes, rolling his eyes as he reaches a hand out to help you up. “You alright? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Rubbing the nape of your neck, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m alright. You just caught me by surprise. What’s all this?” You ask as Seokjin reaches his hand towards you, the flowery scent permeating the air around you. The bouquet in his hand is a collection of various pastel-colored flowers, baby’s breath and lilies, carnations and hydrangeas. 

“A congratulations,” Seokjin says in lieu of any other sort of explanation. “You deserve it.”

“You make it sound like I’m pregnant,” you tell him, grabbing your bag as you double-check your desk, making sure you haven’t left anything behind. 

“Oh my God, are you?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you accept the flowers graciously, immediately holding them up to your nose. “No, I’m not, Seokjin. You’d be the first to know. But this is so sweet of you, you didn’t have to come to my work like this.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to pick you up for dinner?” 

Stopping in your tracks, you knit your brows together in confusion. “Dinner?”

“The reservation is at 5:45 so we’re already cutting it close,” Seokjin informs you, offering no explanation. “Come on. I had to pull a few strings to get this, so over my dead body will we arrive late.”

Seokjin reaches down to take your hand in his own, giving you no time to ask any more questions as he tugs you out of your office and into his little white Volkswagen, the scent of the flowers filling the air in between the two of you. 

When Seokjin somehow manages to get a parking spot a block away from the restaurant in question, your mouth practically drops open. 

It’s a cozy Lebanese place, complete with more plants you could ever dream of owning, and an outdoor patio decorated with warm fairy lights, lanterns hanging from strings above your head. It’s been ranked one of the best restaurants in the city for years now, and it is practically impossible to get a table (that is, unless you book a year in advance). 

“Seriously?” You ask, in awe, as Seokjin leads you towards the restaurant, the flowers resting safely on the passenger seat. 

“Of course,” Seokjin says like it’s nothing. “You deserve it.”

You aren’t a moment too late, the hostess happily seating the both of you at a corner table on the outside patio, the evening breeze sending flutters through your napkins as she hands you your menus and the wine list. 

“How did you swing this?” You ask, blown away as Seokjin grins. 

“Well, you know my friend, Yoongi?” He asks. You remember him, having met him a couple of times at Seokjin’s few-and-far-between house gatherings. He’s a dainty man with colorful hair who’s got the biggest alcohol tolerance you’ve ever seen. “He’s a food critic, so I had him do me a favor…”

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” you say. Seokjin probably owes Yoongi his first-born child, now. 

“But I wanted to,” Seokjin says firmly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate something like this with you?”

Seokjin must know, after all of these years, that you aren’t one to make a big deal out of things. That you vastly prefer staying inside, curled up with a good book or an even better best friend, over going out and getting wasted, over eating at a too-expensive restaurant with portions the size of your fingernail, because that’s who you are. And still, he insists, because that’s who he is. Someone who thinks that everybody deserves a little celebration in their lives, a little love from the people closest to them. 

“You’d be my best friend no matter what,” you tell him, because it’s true. Because Seokjin has always been and will always be that person: the one you’ll never second-guess. “Even if you had gone home after work and passed out on your couch, you’d still be my most favorite person.”

Seokjin grins. “I’m your favorite person?”

“Well, other than Yoongi,” you tease. “After all, he did get us this reservation.”

“Can’t believe that I’m second best to a friend you’ve met like, twice,” Seokjin says, mock-offended. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You’ll find a way,” you muse. He always does. It’s incredible—ever since you met Seokjin, you don’t think anyone’s ever quite stacked up to him. Nobody has ever compared. 

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N,” Seokjin says, the two of you clinking your wine glasses together to celebrate your promotion, celebrate the night, celebrate being together. “You deserved that position more than anybody else.”

“You don’t even know half of my coworkers,” you joke. 

“But I know you,” Seokjin reminds you. “And I know that you’re the most hardworking, determined, focused person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you get it.”

“What?” You ask, a hand reaching out over the table to caress his own, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand. “You’re like that, too. You’re honest and real and certain.” They’re traits you’ve always admired about him, things that you wish you could be but know that you’ll never compare to him. 

“No,” Seokjin says, with a shake of his head. “I’m really not. I wish, though.”

Seokjin’s the truest person you know. What secret could he be keeping? Why hasn’t he told you? Doesn’t he know that you’d care for him, stay by his side no matter what? Not a damn thing in the world could ever make you leave him. 

Your waiter comes around to take your order, and you and Seokjin order a variety of appetizers that you fully intend on sharing with each other. You’ve never really been able to keep to your own plates. There is something so genuinely wonderful about sharing. Afterwards, Seokjin launches into this hilarious story about some old college friends that he had recently heard back from, ones that you’d met once or twice during university but never cemented a real friendship with, unlike Seokjin. 

Quite honestly, you couldn’t care less for them or what they’re doing, but Seokjin is so animated, so vivacious and excited to be telling you about them, that his words are music to your ears. Nothing makes you quite as happy as Seokjin when he smiles, when he laughs, when he’s fucking effervescent. His joy brings you joy, and you suppose that that’s really what it means to care for someone. To love them. When even something as simple as being in their presence makes your heart feel lighter. 

In the evening light, illuminated by the warm flame of the lanterns littering the sky above you, the fairy lights along the fence that encloses the patio, the house lights from the building next door, Seokjin glows. The way his body bounces as he speaks makes it look like a yellow halo surrounds him, his gold jewelry glinting when it catches the light, shimmering. He looks straight out of a movie, straight off of a red carpet, warm brown eyes and an honest smile to match, charismatic and golden and real. 

The craziest part is that he’s always looked like this. Always outshined everybody, no matter his surroundings. Every day, you wonder how on Earth you could have gotten so lucky to have been able to meet him. How blessed you are to be his best friend. How fortunate you are to love him. 

When your meal arrives, the two of you take a break from laughing aloud in this ambient, cozy restaurant, likely bothering all of the people within a twenty-feet radius of your table, and dig in, only emitting the occasional groan of pleasure. It’s no wonder this restaurant has been ranked the best in the city for years on end. Every bite explodes on your tongue, decorates your taste buds. You won’t be surprised if, next time you go over, Seokjin’s recreating every dish you have tonight. He’s always had a knack for it, anyway. 

“You know,” he says over a mouthful of zucchini, “you’re my favorite person, too.”

Normally you’d say something cheesy and dramatic, something along the lines of a sarcastic I’m touched or even a self-deprecating At least I’m number one at something, but instead, you smile softly to yourself. You always knew you and Seokjin were entwined with each other, but it makes your heart flutter to hear him say it for himself. 

“I know,” you murmur. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t know, I just—” Seokjin begins, pausing. It’s not the sort of stop where he’s trying to figure out what words to say. He already knows. He’s just waiting to see if they’re the right ones. “You know, it’s always been you, Y/N. A lot of my life has always been uncertain, but you—you’re the only thing I’m always sure of.”

Afterwards, Seokjin walks you to the door of your apartment, the two of you lingering in the doorway, him refusing to leave and you refusing to say goodbye. 

“Don’t forget these,” Seokjin says, handing you the brown paper bag filled with your leftovers, various to-go boxes filled with treats. 

“What? I thought you wanted them,” you say, eyes wide. “Don’t you want them as reference for a recipe?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin tells you with a shake of his head. “I’ll remember.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask. Seokjin nods, certain. He’s got a steely expression to him, one filled with determination. There’s something he’s not saying, and you’re almost positive it’ll come out tonight. Maybe he knows that you ate that Pop-Tart in junior year. Maybe he’s about to get his revenge. To protect yourself, you smile, telling him, “I had a really nice time tonight, Seokjin. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Seokjin repeats. He need offer no other explanation. “Any excuse to spend time with you, I’ll take.”

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?” 

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own. 

They’re swirling in ink. 

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you. 

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air. 

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips. 

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him. 

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever. 

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether. 

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry. 

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run. 

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life. 

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon. 

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is. 

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you. 

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself. 

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out. 

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you. 

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do? 

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him. 

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity. 

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe. 

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up. 

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along. 

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be. 

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be. 

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse. 

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity. 

Well, look at him now. 

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t. 

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint. 

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled. 

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other. 

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space. 

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life. 

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment. 

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance. 

“Long time no see,” you tell him. 

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something. 

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment. 

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show. 

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you. 

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last. 

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

It’s high time you were honest, too. 

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be. 

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[theglowyscorpio]

all set | eren x reader

a/n: this is a story in the making, currently available at AO3 and Wattpad. If you like it, please don't hesitate to give me some kudos, leave a comment or maybe follow me on my social media! <3 Any feedback is highly appreciated since I'm just getting started!

pairing: eren yeager x female reader

tags: mature content, alternate universe (modern setting), college/university, recreational drug use, implied sexual content, M/F, F/F, the author is not religious lmao

word count: 4.3k

current chapters: 2/?

playlist: this one was made with a particular playlist in mind. they are really great songs that help to convey this chapter, so I hope you have a time to check them out! :)

a. slomosa - kevin b. upsahl - drugs c. rosenfeld - like u d. kaiba - overdose e. lil kapow - tinman f. bodega - how did this happen!?

***

all set

I lost count of how many parties I went to this week. There was one at Shina, another at... Sasha's. Wait, was it? Or Ymir's? Honestly, both their houses look fairly similar and we always see the same faces over and over again, regardless of where we are getting wasted. Definitely two at my house. The timeline is blurry at this point. If my liver could talk, it would spit out "Screw you, Eren." and I wouldn't be able to disagree.

Classes will start next week so everyone is acting like we're going to stop doing all this for the rest of the semester. That never happens.

I barely enter Reiner's house and the music is already piercing my head. My ears will soon tell me to go screw myself too. The bass was loud. But it was good.

— Hey, finally — Reiner says, giving a hard slap in my back. I can't even get mad at him because he probably didn't mean for it to hurt. Fucking strong bastard.

— Sorry. Lost track of time.

— You know where the things are — he leaves me behind and disappears through the noisy music.

It's hot inside. August has been particularly cruel this year. I'm using a black t-shirt, which is luckily pretty thin, and my black Adidas pants that are somewhat breathable. My hair is in a bun. I will probably be sweating soon, though. Reiner's AC won't do miracles with this amount of people since it is specially packed today. I guess I might see some new faces tonight, huh.

This fact already makes things more interesting.

I walk through the room and then arrive in the kitchen. Connie and Sasha are there.

— Eren!! — I barely open my mouth to talk and Sasha is already giving me whatever weird drink they made. Their drinks sometimes are... unusual, for the lack of a better word. Most of the time they are simply pure shit. They call it scout's fuel, always the same name regardless of what's inside. Maybe that's why my liver hates me so much.

— Thanks — I'm already used to the goddamn gasoline taste — I guess you both want to get us wasted tonight.

— It's our personal mission, so enjoy the fuel — Connie says laughing, raising his plastic cup. I love this duo – who doesn't? – and I can't help but laugh with them, even though it tastes so bad — Everyone is already here, come on — I follow them and find all the familiar faces I've seen all week: Bertholdt, Historia, Ymir, Mikasa, Annie, Armin, Jean, everyone.

The girls look hot, even though I'm used to them. Either way, I avoid hooking up with my friends since the last time didn't work so well. It's better to avoid Mikasa today.

We all sit together while drinking. I light a joint I had already prepared at home and say — Am I crazy or is Reiner's party bigger than usual? —, releasing the smoke a few seconds after. This one is the best grass we could get around our area, I've saved it primarily for today and now I see that might have been a great decision on my part. I'm glancing through the room and looking for some girls, might share this shit with one - or a few - of them later.

— Thank god, I was tired of seeing your ugly faces every fucking time — Jean says. The girls look at him and he rushes to add — I mean, the boys, of course. It's always nice looking at all of you, ladies.

It's not enough to avoid Annie's kick anyway — We can say the same of you, horse face.

Reiner arrives at the perfect time and explains — Since the new semester starts Monday, news about today traveled fast and we got a lot more company than usual.

— Do you know all of them, Reiner? — Historia asks — I've talked to a bunch of them tonight and there are people from all over the campus and from all years as well — Historia always looks pretty, her blonde hair shining even in the low light of the party. Guys make a line to talk to her at all parties so there's no surprise that she's already familiarized with the whole scenario. I wonder what Ymir thinks of it. Probably followed her during this little field trip.

— Hell, no — he grabs the joint of my hand and sucks deeply — I know some of them and some are Bertholdt's friends but there are some random people.

— I bet Reiner knows a lot of the girls — I take my joint back from his fingers — I assume they aren't Bertholdt's friends, though — and grin.

— Hey, I don't see you with any new company either, dude — Bertholdt tries to grab my weed as well, but I avoid his advances. He instead grabs my cup and drinks all of it, leaving me empty. He makes a funny face at the taste. Suit yourself, man, I think to myself, laughing on the inside.

— Yeah, but I'll work on it in a sec — I tease him knowing that he can't handle much of Sasha and Connie's fuel. He always knocks out before everyone. I hope he realizes he needs to stay awake to try anything with Annie. Someday. He simply never gets there.

Hange arrives almost falling over Ymir and spilling her drink on the floor in the process — I think we should all make a toast and make this last party a wild ride!!! — her yelling stabbing us louder than the music.

— Bitch, you are this fucking drunk already? — Ymir says to her, holding Hange's weight on her back — What the hell did the gasoline duo do to you?

— Okay okay, enough with the questions, let me fill your cups because this is the night! — Sasha says, just pouring all that mystery liquid that soon will go straight to our heads — Also, Reiner, where's the food?

We raise our plastic cups and Connie yells — To the new semester! — and we drink, feeling the immediate burn on our throats. It's hard being a scout.

— I need to get laid today — Jean says as he lays his back on the couch — Gonna arrive for the classes pretty motivated next week — he then rests his left arm at the back pillow, behind Mikasa's head.

— You should start roaming, then — her cold delivery puts Jean's subtle attempt at flirting six feet under the ground, as usual. It was pretty damn quick, but I could notice Mikasa glancing at me and then looking the other way. Yeah, I think I need to start roaming soon, too.

— That sounds great, then let's do that!!! — Hange grabs Jean by the arm and they disappear amongst the crowd.

— When all this fun ends, I'll be the one who will probably have to take him home after he gets slapped by some girls — Armin and Jean live with me so we normally go back together. Armin is the responsible one between us, which is not exactly hard considering how Jean and I are — Gonna at least drink some beer before that happens.

— I'll go with you, this drink sucks — Annie says, finishing the drink anyway and following him. We always drink the last drop of it, we never learn.

The girls went dancing, the music was exceptionally good today. A lot of bands I already liked plus some I have never heard before. I need to remember to ask Reiner for this playlist later. Connie was already surrounded by a different group, everyone likes to talk to him. He is popular. The rest dispersed as well and I could hear Hange's screams far away. This is going to be a night for her, indeed.

I start walking around, meeting a lot of people from my classes and others from the campus in general. I talk to all of them and drink a lot in the process, which feeds my need for nicotine every time. I grab my pack of cigarettes and while smoking, I see Levi.

— I must be dreaming — I say, letting the smoke leave my lips with a smile. It reaches him and looks at me with a deadly expression. He is smoking as well, but he only admits one specific brand of cigarettes and hates all the others. Levi usually doesn't show up at these "brat" parties, as he likes to say, since he's a few years older than us. I normally see him at Shina's, which is a popular club slash bar near our university. He's the owner so we all met him there, after going so many times. Shina has the best parties and the best drinks of all the clubs near us. And it couldn't be any other way, since Levi is a perfectionist. There's also a small stage there, where indie bands perform from time to time. My band does some gigs there sometimes.

— Hey — he replies, as cold as ever. He's Mikasa's cousin, so they have the same expressions and hard-to-approach vibe — Already high, I see.

— Always. In fact, today I hope to be higher than usual. What miracle brings you here?

— Some people from the staff decided to come here today so there are fewer brats to piss me off — he drinks what's probably a high priced whiskey and continues — and there's a new girl at the club so we have been showing her the area for a few weeks now.

— There's a lot of new girls here today — although I know Levi doesn't give a crap.

— So? — yeah, he doesn't.

Levi is a pretty successful business owner and even I have to admit that he's hot – is not only common knowledge but a mutual agreement between everyone –, so girls are always trying to get him, but he doesn't screw most of them. He doesn't fuck brats, period. He says he doesn't have the patience. That makes the girls even more desperate. He has the highest standards of every guy I know. When he was still in university – the same we all go –, he screwed not only the hottest girls but also the professors - which went after him and not the other way around. At least that's what I've heard. I think Levi never had to actively look for any girl, to be honest.

I can only laugh at his reply. That's just so him.

— If you want more stuff than what's already in your system, Floch is over there.

— I want, actually. I was going to look for him — I see Floch's red hair among some folks. Floch is usually as busy as Connie but with less than half of the charisma.

He finishes his cigarette, blowing its last white smoke into the air, and we both hear a loud HELL YEAH!! coming from all the other way across the room — Tsk, is that Hange?

— Pfft, it was before, I think it's Sasha now — he doesn't laugh at my reply. He never does. I think hell would freeze while heaven catches on fire.

I think about the music again. It's so good today, what the hell — Hey Levi, don't you think this playlist is too high quality for a Reiner party? I don't get it, his music taste is always pure trash.

— That's from our new girl — he drinks the last drops of his whiskey and starts to leave — You might find her around here — he then suddenly stops and looks at me — Don't get your hopes up, though.

I am not able to ask what he meant by that because he leaves too quickly. Time to look for Floch.

— Hey, Flo-

— Here.

— You didn't even let me finish.

— I know what you want. You are not in the mood for cocaine so you want MD instead, blah-blah-blah-blah. Is that kind of night — he pauses for mere seconds — Am I wrong, Eren?

— Nope, right as usual — Floch is the main person you go to when you need drugs. I mean, good drugs. He looks like your standard rich boy – which he is, by the way – that can do no wrong, but you can get the best stuff from him. I've always found this funny. The weed I have today was his work. He knows my taste well.

Reiner's frat house is huge, so there's plenty of room to walk. I'm approached by a bunch of girls on the way but for some reason, none of them piques my interest. I am pretty set on going after something new today and I have no problem getting laid. It happened every single day this week and it truly happens anytime I want. Which, okay, boosts my ego a little bit. Maybe a lot. I might even have hurt some girls in the process. I was never slapped though, unlike Jean. So that's a win in my book.

I see a few of my friends again, mainly Historia and Reiner, and they are talking to a girl I've never seen before.

She has long black hair and short messy bangs, the kind that goes a little above the eyebrows. I didn't know black hair was my thing until now. Her face has the perfect features, at least for me. She's wearing a sleeveless white top that is so tight that hugs her figure perfectly and makes her breasts look amazing. That type of top that shows the girl's side boob, and I'm a total sucker for those. It is also short so you can see a bit of her waist. And I don't even have to see her ass because I already know it is probably too damn good. Her light blue ripped jeans are cool as well and she has black sneakers. I like her style. She has a bunch of tattoos - a lot on her right arm, one on her left hand, and probably some that I couldn't see because they were behind her clothes. I intended to, though.

Fuck, she's hot.

Historia looks mesmerized talking to her, which is a very privileged view from where I stand because, as I've already said before, she is also beautiful. But she isn't exactly hot. This girl is. Way too much. Oh, and Reiner is there too. Whatever.

I can see a lot of guys want to approach her but none of them do. I went for it. Wasn't this night supposed to be wild?

— Hey, Eren! Guess what, Y/N is the new DJ at Shina! I was telling her how we go there all the time.

— Hi, Eren, nice to meet you — she says, with that kind of smile that people who know they are hot make. I do that too.

— Hey, Y/N — I say. And as I told you seconds before, I'm good with that type of smile as well so that's what she gets — Levi told me he came with the staff and a new girl, so I suppose that's you.

— Yeah, I'll start there next week.

— I talked to him about the party's playlist because I knew it couldn't be Reiner's.

— Yeah, it's Y/N's. She prepared it for the party when I invited the guys from Shina yesterday. We were in the same high school. — Reiner says that looking at me with a face that shows "See that, dickhead? I've known her for some years now".

— It's pretty good! I can't wait for the next party at Shina's to see your set! — Historia was always an angel.

REINER, WHERE'S THE REST OF THE ICE, MAN??, someone screamed far away.

— Shit. Catch up with you later, Y/N.

Too bad, huh, Reiner? He gives me a look that I can't quite figure out what it is, but I know for sure it wasn't a look of support. In the fucking slightest.

— I think Ymir is calling me as well, sorry!! — It was painfully obvious that Ymir wanted to make out with Historia for some time now. They never did. I think only Historia hasn't realized yet that Ymir is thirsty for her for god knows how long.

After Historia left, there was only me and her — So, by any chance, do you go to the same university as us? You look our age but Levi said you are new here — I tried asking this without looking at her body, but looking at her face was even worse. Her eyes were piercing me in the best way possible.

— I'm not exactly new, I'm from the same uni as you guys, but I took a gap year — she takes a sip of her drink — You probably never met me but I'm in the same year as you all are now.

Since Reiner knew her from high school, he also knew she was at the same university all along and never told any of the guys. Smart fucker.

— So that makes you a year older than me — I smirk at her.

— I guess it does — she smirks back as she lights up a cigarette and blows the smoke at me.

Ok, looking good so far.

I'm pretty high at this point, the MD and the music are making me horny, so I don't even bother to pretend that I'm not looking at her body. I'm looking at everything.

— You took something, didn't you?

— Do you want some? I can show you later where to get the best stuff. Anything you are in the mood for.

— I'm all set — she shows me her tongue and I see the acid. The view makes my own tongue feel lonely, maybe I should use it to steal that from her mouth. I hope she's horny as well.

We talk a lot about music since it's something that we both enjoy. She's passionate about it, I can tell. She asks about my band with true interest. Doesn't sound like small talk. She touches her hair and it makes me want to stuff my face in it. She has the smile that makes you want more. Her voice has the same effect.

The loud music allows us to talk near each other's ears. I hope she moans as loud as her playlist. The girls usually love my hair for some reason, either if it's in a messy bun as it is right now or if it's loose. They all love my green eyes too. She can see all that with somewhat detail since we are so close, even though it is a little dark here. If I take you to a room you can see me better, I almost blurb it out. I can see her too and that kills me.

She looks receptive to me but normally at this point I would be already hooking up with the girl. This time it isn't happening. I never have to work so much. I think I understand why the other guys didn't approach her before. She's a little intimidating to talk to, and that comes naturally to her – it doesn't seem to be on purpose. I flirt with her the way I normally do but she is hard to get, she hits every ball I throw. I remember what Levi said before. Oh, right.

But I'm vibing way too much at this point, I think if I touch any part of her I'll get hard immediately.

— This gap year you've mentioned... Did you go anywhere specific?

— I know it will sound cliché, but I went to Europe.

— Where in Europe?

— Everywhere — she says — I went down — the corner of her lips forming a smile  — And up. Everywhere. — and I can swear she sounds flirtatious as hell. I want to bite her lip.

— That sounds... Awesome. — I think she wants to bite me too, or at least I hope she does — Was there any particular reason to leave? If that's not too much to ask.

— Hm, I was kinda... — she stops to think for a few seconds as she holds her hair up and makes a ponytail, looking at the ground, the cigarette glued to her now closed lips. Her neck became exposed, it looks soft as hell and I can't wait to bruise it. She releases the smoke, that flows into the room, and looks deep into my eyes, as deep as I want to be inside her right now — ...stressed.

I reach my limit at this point.

— I can help you with the stress if you want.

— Really? — she's looking at me with the same teasing look and I'm doing the same, so we both know that's not a question I have to answer. Her tongue quickly passes through her top lip, her mouth forming a little wet smile — I don't think I need any help though.

I threw the ball and she hit a home run. My team was out.

I was not expecting that.

We hear some of the guys from Shina calling for her — Oh, they are calling me — Y/N looks at me again and says — See you around, Eren — giving me the same fucking grin I wanted to bite before.

She walks away and I see that her ass is, as I suspected from the very beginning, too damn good.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

After this, some time has passed. I look at the clock. Yeah, maybe a lot. I couldn't tell before because I'm drunk and drugged. I see most of my friends, all fucking wasted. Armin is holding up pretty well, Bertholdt's is knocked down for God knows how long, Mikasa probably smoked way too much weed (who am I to judge?) and looks dead on the couch. I don't see Ymir, Historia nor Reiner - there are too many people in this house to keep count. Sasha's eating something in the kitchen, I can't see what it is, but certainly, she got hungrier than normal after smoking some pot Connie gave her. Connie always holds his drinks well, he's still talking to a lot of people. I pass in front of one of the bathrooms and Hange is there, getting everything out of her system. Oh, and Ymir. There she is, holding Hange's hair, looking as pissed as ever. Levi probably went home hours ago. Jean is making out with some chick, he's going to score tonight. To be fair, he always does, but never with Mikasa.

I saw a lot of pretty girls today and I went for none of them. They tried and I shut them down, even the ones I normally fuck. There's someone I want to taste tonight and she's nowhere to be found. The guys from Shina are missing too, so I know I won't see her today anymore. Damn.

I'm not pissed at her but I'm pissed at the situation.

— Armin, I think I'm going to take off, are you coming?

— Yeah, I'm already pretty tired — he gets up — Jean's probably going to stay here.

— Yep. Probably. — Am I pissed that Jean's getting laid? Even though I could have as well? With someone else, at least? My mood feels off.

— I'm going with you too, I've lost count of how many assholes I had to shut down today. I think I even punched a few — I don't have to look to know that's Annie speaking — You were right, Eren, is it especially crowded today. In the shittiest way possible.

— Then let's go.

— Wait, I need to get my bag first, I left it in Reiner's room.

— I can get that for you, wait up.

— It's a black one. Small.

I sign a thumbs up for her and climb the stairs. I am hundred percent sure I'm going to see someone fucking there but that's the usual. I'm pretty sure I've already seen some people screwing in the corner of the living room minutes before. No one cares.

I open the door and see Y/N in her underwear, putting her white top back on. She does indeed have other tattoos.

— Hey there! — she says smiling, as she also puts her jeans back up, making little jumps so they pass through her ass. Her hair is not in a ponytail anymore.

I say hi in a confusing way.

— I came here to get my friend's bag — I look around for milliseconds like I don't know where the hell I am until I see Reiner lying - clearly naked - under his sheets. Can't be anyone else, with that bleached hair and huge biceps.

What? Ahn?

Hey... Wait a second.

Historia? Clearly naked as well? What. The. Hell. I guess she's not exactly the angel I thought she was?

They are sort of awake, sort of sleeping, kinda like on a different planet. You know, the type of thing that happens after a really strong fuck? That sort. They look exhausted. They look destroyed. And not in a bad way. AT ALL.

— Oh, I saw a bag before. Here you go — she gives me Annie's bag. She's all dressed now. She notices my confusion, I'm too high to act any other way — I've told you I don't need any help — her eyes piercing mine for the hundredth time tonight. Her smile hurts now. Ouch.

She grabs her sneakers and walks towards me and the door:

— I'm all set.

She leaves the room as I hold Annie's bag.

Yeah. I was not expecting that.

***

Thanks for reading (if there's even anyone here lmao). Chapter 2 will be uploaded later but it can be read now at AO3 or Wattpad.

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Three

(Gif's not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Three starts after the cut. (Chapter Two can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

Chapter Three

Chapter warnings: Smut, alcohol consumption (moderate), mentions of contraception and of pregnancy.

I think that’s it, but this chapter killed my brain – it was very difficult to write and I feel like I botched it. There are various important moments in this chapter that I found very hard to translate from my brain into words. And the smut, oh my God, it’s so bad!

"You know, when you came to me all bossy and told me to lose my clothes, I had something a lot different in mind." Sy grumbled from the bed, where he was sat wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

Ada laughed and turned around, sticking out her tongue at him before going back to what she was doing, namely sorting through Sy's clothes in the walk-in closet. She slid a pair of jeans off its hangers and threw it at him without looking back. "I admit that I probably don't need as many clothes as I own, but you're definitely a minimalist."

Sy grunted noncommittally, he was not amused, but tried on the jeans all the same. They didn't fit, he couldn't pull them up past the thighs. "Hey darlin'," he called her, a hint of amusement audible in his voice.

She turned around at the pet name and then forced herself not to laugh at the sight in front of her. Sy had already been a burly man when they had met, but it seemed he had managed to gain even more muscle mass in the past few months, now looking like an absolute bear of a man. Ada grinned and tilted her head at the cardboard box at the end of the bed. "Put those in the donation pile."

"Yes, ma'am," Sy said, getting up and doing as asked.

Ada grabbed her small pencil and added another item to the list. "So, you need jeans, new boots, sweatshirts, t-shirts..." She went on, listing the items. What he needed was a whole new wardrobe and she was the woman for the mission.

Turning around, she found Sy rolling his eyes at her. "I ain't need no new t-shirts, woman. I got the black one, the red one and the khaki one."

Ada chuckled and approached him on the bed, coming to stand between his legs. It was unusual for her to be taller than him, and with him sitting on the bed and her standing up, she still didn't have that much of an advantage. With a grin, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead before pulling back to look into his eyes. Instinctively, almost an automatism, his hands found purchase on her hips.

"Last time you wore your red 'DILLIGAF' t-shirt, three separate kids stopped and asked you what the acronym stood for and you looked at me for help."

Sy held her gaze, not keen on losing the staring contest. Ada didn't want to relent but she didn't want to force him either, not after what had happened while grocery shopping. "It's okay if you really don't want to go, I won't for-"

Sy shook his head, silencing her before she could even finish. "Let's get this shopping over with. But I'm warning you: I'll be complaining the whole time."

For a moment, Ada pursed her lips, seemingly unconvinced but eventually her frown was replaced with a grin. "I would expect nothing else from you, grumpy bear," she teased before turning around, excited about the task at hand.

Sy left to get dressed but not before landing a playful smack on her ass.

°°°

It went just as Ada had imagined. Sy sat down on the sofa at the far end of the store, keeping everything in sight, and she would occasionally come up to him with suggestions. To an onlooker, they resembled a devout worshipper trying to make offerings to a very picky and very handsome god.

His replies to the items she presented to him went anywhere from 'no' to 'not a chance in hell', without forgetting the classic 'you lost your mind, darlin’'.

After visiting three stores and Ada trying to visually guess his size because Sy absolutely refused to try out any of the clothes, they had managed to get most of what he needed. It just turned out to be near recreations of the clothes he already owned, just bigger and newer. And with more child friendly texts.

They stopped for coffee by the center of the open-air mall. True to himself, Sy ordered just that - a coffee with 'none of the fancy shit'.

"You're sure you don't want to go to any of your stores?" Sy asked, watching her sip on her colorful drink.

Well, the idea was tempting but she already had more candles and blankets than necessary. And she knew he was uneasy even if he was hiding it well. "No, it's okay. I know you don't like shopping and I can just ask some friends if I really want to go." Sy hummed.

By the time Ada finished her season exclusive drink, she noticed Sy was staring at a shop window. She was almost excited that he was finally interested in buying clothes before noticing that it was some video game advertisement.

"You can buy the game, if you want. No need to stare," she teased.

He reverted his attention back to her. "It's only compatible with the new console that came out last month and that one's sold out." Ada started beaming as he spoke. "What?"

"Well... a few months ago, I came across the launch announcement on the Internet. And I had seen the old model in the study, so I knew you liked it and since you were coming home soon..."

Sy's eyes became even bluer for a moment, a huge grin threatening to illuminate his face. "Are you saying that...?"

Ada laughed, shaking her head. He looked like a kid on Christmas Day. "Yes. It's wrapped in gift paper in the basement under the utility sink."

"I love you, wife."

Again, she scoffed. "Yeah, yeah... Now let's go get you that damn game."

°°°

Later that day, or rather night, Sy wasn't even paying attention to the movie they, or rather, she was watching. He had gotten the gist of it - superheroes teaming up together to save the world - that sufficed him. His focus was entirely on his wife nested between his legs, her back resting against his chest.

When they got home from the mall and went to sort through his clothes and belongings, finally unpacking the rest of his duffel bag, Ada came across his dog tags. She asked if she could keep them. Sy frowned at the odd request but agreed nonetheless, shrugging dismissively.

Ada then proceeded to put the chain around her neck and slide the tags under her blouse. He had stared at her a little confused; she was smiling, looking all smug as if she had managed to trick him out of something valuable and not just two cheap metal tags hanging off an equally cheap chain.

"The fact that I get to have both your tags means I am very lucky to have gotten you back alive and in one piece. I don't want to ever forget that."

With his height advantage, even sitting behind her, Sy could see the chain disappearing under her pajamas and the tags resting in the valley of her breasts. Somehow, the sight made him feel even more possessive than the wedding band on her ring finger.

Things always had felt slightly uncertain with Ada, there had always been the shadow of a doubt in his mind when it came to her. They had gotten married on a whim and she knew he was a green beret, deployed most of the time. It's an entirely different thing to marry someone you get to see for a couple of weeks every once in a blue moon and to actually live, share a home with someone. When Sy had told her, he was coming home for good over the phone, he had half expected her to ask him for a divorce or to find himself alone at the airport. His face hadn't shown it, but when Ada put on the damn chain he had hated wearing in the goddamn desert where it would chafe his nape or get tangled in his chest hairs, Sy felt as happy as a sand boy.

She seemed honest when she said there was nothing going on with that Tom guy. Not that he could truly blame her if there was, even if it would have broken him. His parents had been married for over thirty-five years and his mom found a new boyfriend not even two years after his father's passing.

And yet, Ada was there, cuddling with him on the couch. She hadn't served him with divorce papers upon his arrival. Instead, they had spent the past few days pretty much glued together as they usually did when he was on leave.

Maybe it was time he started to believe that he had come home to his wife and she really wasn't going anywhere. Especially since she hadn't asked him to wear a condom ever since he got home and he hadn't seen her contraceptive pills on her nightstand either. Sy even checked the bathroom cabinet where he knew she kept some medication, but he didn't find anything there either. This morning, he had even considered asking her about it, but he figured that if she hadn't mentioned anything so far, it was because she wanted it to be a surprise and he didn't want to ruin it. Though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't going to be checking the same cabinet for pregnancy tests in the future.

"You good?" Ada asked as the film came to an end, tilting her head back but only getting a view of his beard. It made her smile, though. Sy really was her bear: big, strong and hairy.

"Yeah, I just," he stammered slightly as if waking up from his thoughts. "I was thinking we should probably change the stairs' railing into something safer before we have kids running up and down."

"Yep, that's not gonna happen," Ada chipped in, jumping off the couch before starting to fold the blanket.

"What?" Sy blurted out, turning all his attention to her. "The railing or the kids?"

"The kids," she replied nonchalantly, now laying the blanket in the basket by the sofa. "If you want to redo the stairs, that's fine. I think we could even paint them white."

In a second, Sy was up on his feet, his imposing stature crowding her. "What do you mean, that ain't happening? You don't want kids?"

Ada frowned, suddenly uncomfortable at his intense stare. "No.”

"Why did you never tell me?"

"Why did you assume kids were a given?" Ada retorted, taking a few steps back to put some distance between them. "I figured that if it was important to you, you'd have mentioned it sooner, at some point at least."

Sy had to fight the urge to yell at her, the feeling of betrayal and even anger overwhelming him. If he never spoke of it before, it was because he didn't want to have kids while he was deployed and miss their first years. Instead, he forced himself to calm down, taking a deep breath. "Is that a not now or a not ever?"

Ada looked away for a second, gathering her thoughts before moving her eyes back to him. "I got a new Mirena coil a couple of months ago, so I'm set for the next three years at least."

He had no idea what the fuck a 'Mirena coil' was supposed to be but it wasn't hard to figure out. Instinctively, his hand went to the back of head, raking through his short hair. "Just to be clear, Ada," Sy paused, his nostrils flaring, "you don't want children?"

It didn't even take her a second to start regretting her counter after it came out. "Do you?" She snapped back, the enunciation of the 'you' harsher than she had intended.

The effect was instant, her question giving him pause. Did he? Now reflecting on it, Sy realized he had never asked himself that question. It was just something that you did. First you got a house, then you found a wife and started a family. He had never thought about it as an option, just as the next step if he was lucky enough not to die in Iraq.

"I'm so sorry," Ada apologized, her tone alone expressing her regret. She took his hand, forcing him to look at her only to find her eyes glistening as she attempted not to cry. "I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't questioning your parenting skills. I know you'd make a fantastic father, Sy." Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath before opening them again, their corners wet with tears this time. "I just never saw myself having kids, but if it's something you really -"

"I ain't gonna force you to start a family with me," Sy rebuffed, offended at the very thought. The abruption of it even making Ada smile, if only briefly.

She shook her head quickly. "What I meant was that if you want to be a father, then I wish for you to become one. But... I won't be a part of that scenario."

"No." He said, dismissing the idea as soon as she voiced it, catching her hands in his and stilling them midair when she started gesticulating instead.

"No, this is important!" Ada protested. "I want you to be happy, Sy. And I won't stand in the way of your happiness. You deserve to live the life you want and if that includes a family -"

"No." Sy ordered, his tone final and resolute, silencing her instantly. He had never used this voice with her in the past, usually reserving it for the soldiers in his unit. "Stop with that ridiculous suggestion, woman." Ada blinked. It was obvious in her eyes that she wanted to argue but she didn't dare defy his hard stare.

Sy closed his eyes and swallowed, searching for the right words. "The choice between having kids with some other woman or getting to be with you, is a damn easy one. I'd rather we be a family of two than have children with some woman I could never love."

She was crying again, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. Had he said something wrong? Ada didn't let him wonder for too long, her hand fisting in his t-shirt to pull him down to her lips for a ravenous kiss, their teeth clicking together.

"You know," Ada breathed out against his lips once they parted for air. "It doesn't have to be just the two of us. I am partial to pets."

Later in bed, with his sleeping wife snoring softly and her head resting on his chest, Sy tried to process their conversation only to realize there wasn't much to process at all. It didn't feel that much like giving up on a dream, as it felt like defining the contours his future with Ada. All that mattered to him was that it was a future with the woman whose contagious laugh he had manifested in his mind time and time again to drown out the sound of gunfire and make it through. Children might have been a bonus, he wouldn’t deny that, but their absence was something he could live with. He couldn’t same the thing about Ada.

°°°

"Got your," Sy paused, frowning as he read off the label, entering the kitchen, "Willamette Valley Pinot noir. How many do you need?"

Ada looked away from the oven to find him carrying four bottles of her favorite wine. Did he think they were drunkheads? "Do you want for Tom to have to spend the night here because we're all over the legal alcohol limit and unable to drive?" She laughed.

Sy grimaced. "One bottle it is," he announced, making her laugh all the harder as he set down a single bottle on the table that was already set before casting away the other bottles in the pantry - where they did not, in fact, belong.

Just as was his habit, Sy sneaked up on his wife as she leaned over the kitchen counter, putting away the remaining ingredients and hugged her back to him with one arm. He then dipped a finger in the jar she had filled with leftover caramel and brought it to mouth.

She gasped at his manners. "You can't just stick your fingers in everything that's sweet and lick it off, Sy," Ada chided. She heard it as soon as the words left her mouth, but it was too late.

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest behind her. "Can't I?" Sy goaded her mockingly.

Ada took a deep breath. She knew where this was headed and they didn't have time. It was primordial her pie didn't overcook, and Tom would be there soon. "You know what I meant," she groaned, attempting to sound annoyed but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Do I?" He whispered against her ear, his beard tickling her skin and his warm breath making her shiver as he slid his hand under her skirt until he was cupping her damp sex over her panties. "Are you certain about that, darlin'?"

Her hands held on to the counter and her eyes closed as he started rubbing his hand along her folds over the fabric. He was also beginning to harden behind at an impressive rate. The temptation made her whimper. "We don't have time," Ada protested, even as her head fell back against him and she leaned into his touch, silently begging for more as she not-so innocently ground her ass on his crotch.

A swift glance at the clock on the wall told him all he needed to know. They had seven minutes. It would have to be enough, Sy decided. Time being of the essence, he was determined not to waste any.

“Open up your legs for your captain, darlin’,” he rasped, his nose nuzzling in the shallow of her neck, his hands already busy bunching up the soft fabric of her skirt around her waist.

“Sy,” Ada lightheartedly protested his eagerness. The idea was certainly enticing but they truly didn’t have time and she really needed to keep an eye on the pie. “We can’t-“

“I said, open your legs,” he repeated, gritting out the words as his foot snuck between her ankles, forcing her legs open himself. Sy barely had to apply any pressure, Ada complied instantly at his tone. There were very few situations in which she let him boss her around and this was one of them.

His hands brushed over her naked thighs, enjoying the way she shivered as he did so. Sliding his fingers higher up her inner legs, Sy expertly slid the scanty lace of her thong aside in order to access her clit. Ada keened under his touch, the rough skin of his finger pads slowly circling her already swollen nub. She couldn’t decide between pressing into his touch or attempting to pull away from it; it was both too little and too much all at once. “Already so wet and I’ve barely done anything to you,” he teased, hoping to sound less worked up than he was. Sy was set on keeping the upper hand. “Tell me, what is it that you want, darlin’?”

Ada whined as he removed his fingers from her core, his hands going to her hips instead and pulling her to him, letting her feel how hard he was for her. His wife reacted by rubbing her ass against him, determined to get what she wanted without having to voice it. “Sy,” she complained when he didn’t bite the bait, still grinding on him, surely getting his jeans wet with her slick.

“That’s not how it works, darlin’,” he chastised, going back to teasing her. His touch was ghostlike, too light to provide any real satisfaction and she groaned in frustration. “You have to ask for it like a good girl.”

He felt her body tense up against his as she tried chasing the friction of his fingers where she wanted them most, but Sy drew away before she could. “I swear to God I am going to make you regret-“

Smack. Ada gasped at the sharp spank on her ass, her body bending over the counter at the impact. Her ass was just too tempting in this position and Sy was running out of patience. “Ask like a good girl,” he ordered between gritted teeth, his hand descending to palm his crotch, hoping for some relief. Her little stunt was turning him on more than it should have.

“God, Sy, just fuck me already!” She sobbed, her legs rubbing together out of their own volition but her husband stayed put, rubbing his palm of his covered cock as he watched her. He wasn’t going to give up any time soon, she realized with a strangled sigh. “Please fuck me, captain,” she whispered, relenting.

Within a second, Sy was unbuckling his belt and pulling down his zipper. His cock was red, hard and throbbing impatiently. With time running out, Sy pushed himself into her without a warning. Ada whined at the stretch, gripping at the flour covered kitchen counter as one of his hands grabbed hold of her hips, the other moving to her breast. Then he started ploughing into her like there was no tomorrow.

Ada kept whimpering his name, but even she didn’t know what it was she was asking for. Her hips were digging into the cold stone and she knew there would be bruises come morning. He had barely started fucking her and she was already beginning to tense up with how worked up she was. “Are you gonna cum for me, darlin’?” Sy grunted, his jaw tense as her inner muscles clenched all around his cock. Ada nodded meekly, unable to speak. Just when he was starting to doubt he’d be able to hold off long enough for her to climax, Ada cried out, her tight walls milking him as she came. Sy exploded inside her with a strangled groan, slowly coming to a still inside her.

The doorbell rang. At seven o’clock on the dot.

"Fucking Brits and their punctuality!" Sy cursed, still panting before pulling away from her and tepidly leaving her warmth. Ada chuckled at his reaction, holding onto the counter for support for a few more seconds until she felt somewhat steady on her feet.

Sy tucked himself back into his pants and she adjusted her skirt over her thighs again before letting out a panicked squeak and turning around. Her front was covered in the flour she has spread on counter for the pie and the white handprint on her breast where he had held on to her was very visible on her black blouse. Sy couldn't keep himself from laughing. She looked great if you asked him, especially since Tom would be going to see just how well he took care of her. "I'll go get changed and you get the door!"

°°°

Sy’s eyes widened, positively surprised as he brought the first forkful of boeuf bourguignon to his mouth. The dish hadn’t appeared particularly appetizing on the plate, but it tasted so much better than it looked. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ada glancing at him with an ‘I told you so’ smirk.

“I received a new shipment of books at the store today,” Tom told Ada in between bites. He owned a bookstore downtown, Sy had learnt. “There’s a new murder mystery I’m sure you’ll love.”

Ada stilled, a look of excitement washing over her face. “Is there… poison?”

Tom laughed. He had expected that question from her. “Ah, yes. And it’s set in the 1920s!”

Sy glanced from the one to the other, forcing himself not to sigh. Ada’s excitement was adorable, but Tom was grating on his nerves. All the conversation so far had been about novels they’d read recently.

“Please tell me that you saved me a copy.” Ada shrieked enthusiastically, prompting Tom to laugh before he suddenly producer a hardcover out of seemingly thin air. As if she was scared that he was only taunting her with it, Ada leaned over the table and snatched the book out of his hand, a smug look on her face before she started reading the back cover. Sy looked at her and chuckled, shaking his head fondly at her almost childish elation.

"So, where did you two meet?" Tom asked, shifting his attention to Sy. "Ada always told me that it was a story for another time."

Sy's grip tightened on his cutlery. Admittedly, the strong animosity toward the man had faded, but he was still not keen on making conversation with the man. "Here in Austin," Sy replied before going back to his food. Ada had to stifle a laugh at the face Tom made at the curt answer.

"I'll tell you," she offered, capturing Tom's attention. "I had just graduated with my Masters and managed to land a PhD position here in Austin. I was freshly debarked out of France and I was only to start to start mid January but I flew over in December already - wanting to fly with my own wings and all that." Tom chuckled as she gestured derisively with the story.

"Anyway, I hadn't found a flat yet, all my stuff was in a storage unit and I had the brilliant idea of going to Vegas. On my own. In a 1979 black Camaro rental."

Sy finally looked up from his plate. "It was from 1980 and it was dark gray, not black, darling’."

Ada found herself staring curiously at her husband as he interrupted her story before laughing. That's what it took to get him to talk?

"So, it was a 1979, dark gray Camaro,” Ada correctly herself. “Anyway, obviously it did not have a navigation system and I stopped at one of the few open bars open at 5pm on Christmas Eve, ordered a beer and tried making sense of the maps I found in the glovebox, making a list of the different exits and turns I would have to make.

"Sy was there drinking with some friends – loud friends, might I add. Well, I am struggling with the maps and he must notice because he approaches me at the counter, takes of his cap and asks me if I need help, in his southern drawl. Actually, no wait, his exact words were” Ada paused, clearing her voice. “’Need some help reading that map, darling?'" Tom laughed at her ridiculous attempt to imitate Sy’s baritone voice. To Ada's surprise, Sy blushed. It was barely visible beneath his beard, but it was there and it was the cutest thing she had ever seen.

"I looked down at the map she was studying and asked her if she was headed somewhere on the east coast. She then slowly looked at me and confidently told me she was going to Nevada, until I pointed out that she was highlighting the road that went East and her face burned up, all self-conscious." Sy recounted, now laughing as well and even Tom scoffed. " I said: ‘At this point, even a navigation system can’t help you, darlin’. You’d need an escort.”

Ada bit her lip, remembering that moment clearly in her mind. She had flushed, staring at the muscular man that towered next to her. He was burly and rugged and yet still exhaled a little softness behind it all. 'Well then, will you be my escort to Vegas? I am leaving tonight,' she had blurted out before she could stop herself.

"I cannot believe you drove from Austin to Las Vegas with a stranger, Ada!" Tom said teasingly, clearly surprised by his friend’s spontaneity and recklessness.

"Yes, I made him miss Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family, and the best part is that we got married the day we reached Vegas on New Year’s Eve.” They had stopped a few times along the way, visited some towns and she had only known Sy for seven days when we got hitched at the kitschiest chapel imaginable. “We had to hurry to get a marriage license before the courthouse closed and a half-naked dude officiated because everyone else was already booked.”

Sy chuckled, sitting back against his chair and wrapping his arm around Ada's shoulders possessively. "She made me wear my old uniform that lasted all of fifteen minutes and was presided by an officer dressed as a cherub." He gestured at the framed picture standing on the cupboard next to them.

They looked absolutely ridiculous. Sy's uniform made him look too serious next to a tipsy Ada who wore the only white dress she had been able to find on such short notice and that definitely hadn’t been meant for a wedding because it turned out to be partly see-through under the camera flashes.

Ada shared some more stories about Vegas before excusing herself to the bathroom, the conversation instantly dying out as she disappeared, leaving both men in an uncomfortable silence until Sy’s curiosity got to him.

"So, you and her...?" Sy left his question unfinished. He wasn't sure what exactly it was that he was asking, he just wanted to know all there was to know.

In front of him, Tom gracefully dabbed him mouth with the ivory napkin and shook his head, with a tight smile. "No, nothing of the sort," the Englishman replied dismissively before Sy's inquiring stare forced him to expound. "It's not that I didn't think of pursuing something more with her, but Ada made it very clear from the beginning that she was a married woman and a faithful wife."

Sy hummed noncommittally, though internally he was reassured and maybe even elated. Mike had really filled his head with shit. Deep down, he always knew his Ada wasn't like that, it just felt good to hear it.

"My wife, for whom I left England, passed away only two months before Ada and I met. I was going through a rough patch then - and that's a euphemism. Carla had been talking to me about watching a particular film ever since it had been announced, it was an adaptation of her favorite novel." Tom explained, a smile warming up his features. "When she died before it premiered, I wasn't even sure if I even wanted to watch it without her... But the tickets had already been purchased and part of me hoped that for two hours, it would feel like Carla was sitting right next to me."

Sy listened, feeling sympathetic, if not a little uncomfortable by the man’s openness. He still wanted to dislike Tom but at the same time he couldn't imagine the wreck he'd be if Ada were to die on him.

"The cinema was packed and to accommodate a large group, Ada asked whether I minded if she sat down next to me,” Tom paused briefly, smiling at the memory. “I think it was listening to her laugh, cry and eat popcorn next to me during the movie that gave me the strength to drive home instead of off a cliff that night."

Sy gulped down the rest of his wine, still not a fan of the taste as he faced the Englishman before him. Not that he would ever say it out loud, but if he had failed to make it alive out of that godforsaken desert, he had to concede Tom would not have been the worst for Ada.

Silence fell again and Sy became uncomfortable, deciding to pour Tom some more wine. “I am glad Ada and you were there for each other.” When I should’ve been there for her myself but wasn’t, Sy thought but left it unsaid.

Tom chuckled as he observed the burly man in front of him. For all his muscles and gruff exterior, he carried the slightest of insecurities when it came to his wife. "There's a thick silver notebook Ada has kept for a couple of years. Maybe you should have a look at it.”

Sy wanted to ask what he was talking about but was interrupted by the sound of Ada's high heels clicking on the wooden floor as she made her way back to them. "I hope you weren't talking ill of me behind my back," she teased, squeezing Sy's shoulder absentmindedly. "Now, who's ready for my slightly overcooked tarte tatin.” Ada eyed her husband pointedly.