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stutterfly · 5 years ago

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Love Bytes 04 | Addressing Error | KNJ (M)

Last time on LB03: You're ready to go home with Jimin, but obstacles arise, namely your own drunkenness. Namjoon helps you out of a tight spot and you find a new way to stave off loneliness: falling asleep in the comforting arms of a trusted friend. But is there more to it?

Rating: M (18+)

Word Count: 11.4K

Series: Love Bytes (4/?)

Genre: F2l, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, ANGST! pining, sexual tension, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, S O F T Namjoon

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

CW: anxiety, hidden erections, nip-slips, and masturbation(teaser)

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

A/N: Leave a comment if you like! It’s like fuel to my fire. 💜 Do not repost.

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“You’re stiff,” you murmur, nuzzling your head into the fabric of his shirt, trying in vain to get comfortable at a ninety degree angle. “Can you like… lay down instead?”

He sighs and repositions, wiggling down beside you. His massive hand cups your head close to his chest as he does so. His head falls against the pillow and he nudges the side of your face with his knuckles. “Better?”

Your face angles upwards and you can just barely make out the mocking flick of his tongue in the moonlight that slips through the blinds. You bury your face, humming a note of approval over his collarbone. You’re quick to splay an arm across his torso and uncurl your fingers against his chest. Heavy fingers climb on yours, trapping your hand between his and the heartbeat beneath your palm. His other hand lands on your shoulder and you shiver when he starts to trace lazy lines up and down your skin.

You don’t have time to fully appreciate the motion as sleep threatens to take you. The last thing you feel is his chin falling against the top of your head, both of you subconsciously snuggling closer. Never in your life have you felt so relaxed, so fast. You forget whom is resting beside you, holding you in a way that keeps you from drunkenly crying yourself to sleep. The world falls away. The thoughts of the night fall away. The emptiness is replaced by something good. Something tender. It’s a strange and foreign concept, and you can’t quite put your finger on it, but what you do know is that it’s the closest thing you’ve ever felt to a place you’ve never truly had: Home.

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The first time Namjoon awakens, it’s to the sound of your heavy snoring. He lazily removes the cocked glasses from his face, relieved they hadn’t broken when he fell asleep. Turning his attention to you, he holds in a laugh, then a disgusted snort when he feels the moisture leaking from your mouth onto his arm. You’ve managed to roll away at some point, which makes it easier to slip his arm out from beneath you in order to remove the two layers of shirts from his sweating body.

How many times had he told you to get on the landlord about fixing the broken air conditioning in your unit? On such a hot night, this is torture. He’s tempted to remove his pants, but even half-asleep he knows that would get awkward real fast in the morning. Instead he carefully rises from the mattress and turns on the fan idling beside the bed.

A deep, quiet sigh passes his lips as he rests his head on the pillow once more, a wave of relief flowing with the air towards him. He blinks a few times, eyelids incredibly heavy as turns to face you, letting the breeze cool his back. Your legs are out from under the sheets and you’re hunched over, oversized shirt scrunched up and exposing the small of your back. He catches the goosebumps that form on your arms and quickly realizes your body might not be running quite as hot. Maybe he can share his natural temperature with you?

He tries as best he can to slide back into position with his arm beneath you, gently feeding it under the crook of your neck. As gross as your drooling and snoring is, it isn’t going to stop him from holding you. He’s been thinking about this for too long to let the opportunity pass him by. He snuggles in closer, blanket acting as a barrier between his now bare chest and your back. His arm falls over your hip as he leans closer, inhaling your scent and committing as much as he can to memory before letting the sounds of your snoring lull him back to sleep.

The second time his eyes open, the sheet is partially draped over him along with an arm and a leg. He takes in the dimly lit view of your face pressed against the skin of his chest. It feels like he’s dreaming, hazy thoughts tempting him to press his lips to the precipice of your forehead. His fingertips twitch against your shoulder, tugging the sheet up and swirling his fingers across it a few times with a smile. That’s when he notices the subtle tremble of your form. Not knowing if you’re cold or having a nightmare, he gently presses you back towards the comfort of your pillow, slowly, regretfully untangling his limbs from yours. He reaches down towards the foot of the bed and hikes a soft, fuzzy blanket to cover whatever chill you may be feeling. He waits, studying the quake of breaths as your chest rises and falls.

He rolls towards you, cradling your head into him, arm draping over you. Your cold fingers quickly find their way to the heat of his core. He breathes a sigh of relief, taking in the beauty of your face before closing his eyes and letting sleep reclaim him once more.

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When the sun creeps in through the blinds, it’s a good sign that it’s a lot later in the day than you’d like. You groan, rolling away from the light hitting your face and splay your hand across the mattress. Your eyes flutter open with the realization you had asked Namjoon to sleep with you last night. The sight of the empty space next to you has you breathing a sigh of relief --and if you’re being honest with yourself, just a hint of disappointment.

The recollection of his hands intertwined with yours causes a dull ache to form in your heart. It had been so long since anyone had held you like that. It felt so good. You close your eyes, envisioning those long, slender fingers cupping your shoulder. Were you remembering the details correctly? Had he actually been as caring and sweet as your mind recalled? The blanket covering your torso says yes. Scooching over to the side of the bed, you grab at the phone on your nightstand, pulling it from the charger. Your mind struggles to remember the moment you had enough clarity to charge your phone; you quickly surmise Namjoon probably did that for you too. As you swipe the screen, a message is waiting.

Joonie 😬: Drink up

That’s when you notice the cup sitting on the nightstand. The sweating glass and remnants of ice indicate it’s been there for quite some time. You throw your head back against the pillow and look over at the place where he had been laying last night. Again your hand drapes across the empty expanse of mattress, missing the heat from his chest when it comes into contact with something hard. Your fingers clasp around the plastic frames of Namjoon’s folded glasses. You puff your cheeks and expel a burst of air, wishing he were here instead of the item in your hand.

You attribute the thought to the frustration coursing through your lower abdomen. You reach into the drawer of your nightstand, pulling out the pink vibrator nestled between the lingerie you never wear. You’re sorely disappointed as you bring it to your aching cunt. Of fucking course the battery is dead. Tossing it aside, your fingers work quickly to ease the tension radiating throughout your body, remembering the way it felt grinding on Jimin’s cock.

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It’s early in the week when you get the tech service request for Professor Kim’s office computer. It’s been relatively slow so far. If Namjoon’s good for one thing, it’s your job security. You’ve only gotten a couple repairs and a stream of basic support calls, most of which were fixed by turning the computer off and on again. You roll your eyes as you read the description of the problem, but when they click “in-person appointment: required, status: urgent” you hardly have a choice in whether or not the trek across campus is worth your time. How many times could you tell him what the ethernet cable looked like? Although with his luck, he might have ripped it from the tower with his gangly legs and broke it.

Regardless, you stuff an extra ethernet cable into your tool case and click “accept.” A message appears on your work tracker with a smiley face with thick black frames and buck teeth: “Your Tech Service Is On the Way!” On one hand you hate that stupid emoji, but on the other hand it makes you laugh that management is convinced this is the way you make people not scream at you when their wireless mouse needs a battery changed.

You begin the journey across campus on foot, knowing it’s a little over a kilometer to his office in the library. As you exit the computer science building, you longingly stare at the little golf carts you once had the luxury of using for quick transport from one end of campus to the other. However, since the last IT guy they hired took one for a joyride and crashed it into the koi pond in front of admissions, all carts had been recently restricted to security only. You also find the campus courtesy bike rack empty as you round the corner. You swear they should always keep at least one bike reserved for maintenance, but whatever. Your mood lightens a few steps in as sunshine floods your skin; it’s been a slow day anyway. Who knows? Maybe Joon actually has a reasonable problem with his network this week.

After a leisurely stroll in the sun, two flights of stairs, and stack after stack of bookshelves, you finally arrive at his office door. It occurs to you that he might be with a student as you approach the closed door, so you take a deep breath and try to put on your best fake customer service smile before rapping your knuckles against the wood, narrowly missing the plaque with his name engraved on it.

A few seconds later the professor is opening the door, with an expression as hard as stone. You can tell by the bags under his eyes that he’s fatigued, but physically composed nonetheless. It never ceases to amaze you the transformation he undergoes from slicked-back, slacks and suit coat “Mr. Kim” to mussed up hair, Saturday night baggy sweats Namjoon. The smile falls from your face as you look at him. You feel like Smeagol emerging from his cave for the first time in years, highly aware of the lack of makeup on your face, the disheveled birds nest that is your hair, and the cheap white t-shirt and cargo pants full of screws that loosely hang about your waist.

He blinks a few times and his expression softens, little dimples forming with a wan smile. “Oh good. It’s only you.” He nods towards his desk. “Come in.”

“Rough week, buddy?” you ask, half teasing, half concerned for his state of mind. When he doesn’t answer, you quirk an eyebrow at him, slipping in past his far-off stare.

The door closes softly a moment later and you’re already getting your case open in the event it’s needed. Clearly he’s not in a chatty mood, but you feel the need to offer anyway. Gripping his shoulder brings him back down to earth, looking at you through troubled brows. “Hey, if you wanna talk… I’m here, Joon.”

“I’d love to get your opinion…” A frustrated sigh passes his lips and he breaks past you to pace around the comfy chair across from his desk. “But... I can’t talk to you about my students, you know that.”

You cock your head to the side, sheepishly scratching your cheek with a fingertip as you watch him stride across his office. “Is this another one of those ethical things or an actual policy?”

You don’t take it personally when he glares daggers at you. As you settle in his computer chair you do a preliminary scan of his network settings, stealing cursory glances towards him. He plops into the cushioned chair across from the desk, sinking into it with a sigh.

“So there’s this student,” he begins, locking eyes with you briefly.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum in a tone that tells him to proceed, gazing at the screen as you wait for him to spill whatever he’s so preoccupied with.

“They’re brilliant, but they don’t care about the work. They don’t even need to try that hard; they have this natural talent, but they can’t be bothered to even put in the bare minimum. I don’t think they’ve even read any of the required texts for the course,” he continues, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t like seeing anyone fail my course, especially not someone as smart and creative as this. How do you reach someone who doesn’t want to try? How do you keep someone from falling through the cracks?”

Your eyes rest on the screen, not really looking at anything as your brain scrambles to piece together some kind of advice. “I learned years ago when I tutored people… you can’t make people care about the content. You can suggest ways of making the experience unique or fun for individuals. But ultimately, it’s on them. Three things I think when I show up for work every day: do your best, be patient, and don’t give up.”

Your eyes meet again and you can see him exhale, features still troubled, but the smile he sends your way is warmer, more relaxed. “Do you best. Be patient. Don’t give up,” he repeats softly and lets a halfhearted chuckle loose. “Thank you. I’ll think about it some more.” He groans, rising to his feet and smoothing back his hair. “After I grade the rest of the tests and essays.” You stiffen as he circles the desk, standing behind you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Make any progress?”

You tongue the inside of your cheek as you stare at the blinking cursor on command prompt. You haven’t actually done anything yet and in an attempt to look busy you run a quick ipconfig command, knowing it will look like a bunch of gibberish to someone like Joon. With the computer not recognizing the ethernet and no wireless adapter installed, you know the first step is to check the physical connection. You clear your throat loudly as you drop to your hands and knees, mumbling a quick. “Working on it.”

The tower is further back under the desk than you would like and you pull it towards you just a bit, falling onto your elbows to inspect the cables. Seeing everything in tact, your vision follows the cord to the jack in the wall; everything looks normal.

Namjoon keeps his hands tucked away, watching the delicious sight of you on all fours before him. This is easily one of his favorite parts about your visits, though he always tries to act casual about it. Face down, ass up; you really get into it. He wants to say you do it on purpose because maybe you know what it does to him--he had seen your games of chicken with Jimin, ever the tease-- but he also knows it’s more likely a side effect of you being passionate about your job.

Still, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get a sick satisfaction watching you like this. You grunt softly, lunging even farther forward onto one knee in order to physically ensure the cable is pushed into the wall. Namjoon’s eyelids close and he sighs, biting down on his lip to force the air through his nostrils. He turns towards the window to hide the way his pants begin to tent, but keeps his head turned to watch your ass sway from side to side, the thin outline of your panties visible through the cream-colored fabric.

God, he hates himself for being so gross, but he can’t seem to break away from the sight, especially not with the lingering memory of Saturday haunting the gap between his thoughts: your legs dragging across the sheets, enticing him to join you in bed with the subtle pout of soft lips that promised more than they could possibly deliver. He wonders if you even remember, but doesn’t dare to get his own hopes up by assuming you do. You were drunk. Didn’t really mean it. Cuddling you was a one time thing. He knew that and yet he was still trying to find a way to reassure himself that once would be enough to sate the craving deep inside. But now he knew how it felt to wake up next to you, and it only intensified his desire to repeat the interaction.

You reach back towards the end of the cable plugged into the computer and push against it with your thumb and forefinger. There’s a small ‘click’. That will probably do it, but you lean back and wiggle out of the crawlspace beneath the desk, staying on your knees as your eyes scan the screen for any difference in connectivity.

You feel Namjoon hovering behind you and your eyes dart to the face that appears beside yours as he leans in. “Did you fix it?”

You fix your eyes back to the screen. Network connected. You do another ipconfig and flush the DNS just for good measure. “Looks like it. Ever thought about not kicking your big clown feet into the mess of wires down there?”

“Is that how you talk to all your clients?” he scoffs as he stands up straight. He casually walks behind the computer chair and plants his hands on the back cushion, careful to hide the softening bulge in his pants.

You move to seat yourself as he nudges it toward you. “Just the ones that are incompetent enough to need my help every week when they unhook their ethernet."

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in a huff. "Okay well it could have been something more. You would have yelled at me if I tried to fix it myself 'cause you know I would have probably made it worse somehow."

"That's true," you mutter, falling back to rest against the cushion of the chair. "Alright, is there anything else you needed or is this it?" You tilt your head back up to look at him.

His eyes lock onto yours. Could he tell you? Is now the time? He starts playing all of the possible scenarios in his head of how this might play out. The anxiety bubbling in his chest causes an uncomfortable span of silence to choke the air out of his lungs. Nope. Not today.

You clear your throat loudly as you stand. "Okay well, as always, don't forget to leave a review on the app if I resolved your issue, Mr. Kim."

He blinks a few times in rapid succession, snapping himself back to reality. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

You grab your tool case and turn back for a moment, coy smile on your lips. "Just being professional."

"Professional, my ass," he laughs and you can still hear the tiredness in it. "Don't worry. I'll give you a good review."

"Okay, but like don't be too extra 'cause they'll know we're friends. Short and simple," you say, opening the door and flashing him a phony smile. In an attempt to make him smile, you put on your best customer service voice once more. "I hope my services were pleasurable, Mr. Kim!"

He chokes out a cough to restrain his laughter as you turn to face the student waiting outside the doorframe. You inhale deeply, holding the air in as you try to think of something that will save face with this doe-eyed, timid-looking girl --most likely a freshman.

The breath leaves you in a quick huff as you attempt to make a statement. "Sorry. I need to go service someone else, excuse me."

Hoping the words came out too fast for the poor girl to comprehend, you nearly sprint around the closest stack of books and try to purge the memory of the horrified look on that girl's face. Your phone beeps and a message appears: 'Feedback: Professor Kim Namjoon: "Better than GeekSquad."' You shake your head and mutter "he's so lame" as you travel through the stacks, but you can't help the smile that creeps across your face. Despite just embarrassing the shit out of you both, you take pride in the personal flare of his comment.

The rest of your day goes by painfully slow and for some reason you find yourself thinking how professional Namjoon always manages to look in his professor attire. Even dead tired, he still manages to look so good, so composed--again, not that you'd ever admit it to his face. You catch a glimpse of yourself in a blank monitor nearby and crinkle your nose at the reflection. Your boss is a pretty chill dude and is super laid back about dress code, but maybe you could stand to try a little harder. It's not like you're trying to impress anyone, but something about feeling like a shriveled goblin next to Namjoon today has you second guessing the laissez faire nature of your wardrobe.

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A little later in the week, you're sprawled across the loveseat after work, neck craned around the armrest as you're catching up on a tv show. The phone resting on your chest buzzes and your heart damn near stops beating for just a second. Panic slowly seeps into your mind. It's not often you get a direct message from Taehyung. Group chats are one thing. You seeking him out for advice is another. But unprompted texting direct from the god of baritones? Why do you get the feeling there's something sinister at play here?

Oh, right. Because Taehyung is a beautiful goddamn hermit.

You stare blankly at the keyboard on your phone. Over the last year, you've gotten close to the seven of them, but Taehyung has been the most closed off, the hardest to get to know. His resting bitch face makes for a great barrier between the outside world and himself and you can't help but think maybe he likes it that way. Come to think of it, you still don't know much about him, except for the fact that he's loaded, good at painting, and insanely attractive. And you know how he makes you feel: nervous, faint, like a helpless animal caught in a trap.

You've never been well-equipped to talk to someone of his stature. Just catching eyes with him makes you feel unworthy of his gaze, like you're so far beneath him that it's a crime to do so. You know he's not so scary, that he's not a god to be placed on any pedestal, but his presence intimidates you. His eyes, his body language, the way he talks; it's all very closed off compared to the others and you worry it might be that you've done something to upset him at some point and he's just held onto it instead of mentioning it directly.

In fact, you sometimes worry that you might not even be friends at all, what with the level of distance he seems to maintain. You hope that he considers you one, but you find yourself growing increasingly nervous the longer the message before you remains an inquiry in need of response.

Tae: Are you busy?

Should you just pretend you didn't see it? No. He has a fancy new iPhone. There's no way he won't get the read receipt on it. Stop taking so long and just act normal.

You: Haha just me and some Netflix. What's up?

The loud gunshots playing from the TV do nothing to distract you from the silence of your phone. Your eyes are glued to the image on your lock screen, waiting for Taehyung to message you back. You nearly jump when the vibrations hit your hand.

Tae: Come over

Your eyes feel like they're going to pop out of your skull. Why? An invite to his place? Are we on a group chat? No? Oh fuck. The panic sets in and you feel like you're going to pass out as you read far too much into the two simple words on your screen. A knot forms in your stomach and sweat begins to build on your forehead. Clumsy fingers fumble their way across the keyboard.

You: Excuse me???

Tae: Oh... has Hoseok not talked to you yet...?

You peel your eyes from the screen and stare blankly at the television for a moment, brows immediately furrowing.

You: about what

The knot in your stomach grows bigger as you wait for the response. What the fuck did Hobi do now?

Tae: ...

Tae: The photoshoot?

You rise from the couch, dread filling the expanse of your belly. What the fuck do you mean photoshoot? You're a bitch on a mission, already sprint-stomping down the hallway towards Hoseok and Yoongi's apartment. Your knuckles rap against the door in quick succession, not having time or the patience for your special knock. Almost a minute passes before you press an ear against the door. Nothing. Again you knock, louder this time. There's a grumble and shuffling from the other side before the door swings open.

You're about to vent your frustration and confusion when you realize it's not Hoseok standing before you, but his roommate. You don't know why it hasn't dawned on you until this very moment that there was a very good possibility Yoongi would answer the door. The annoyance in his face fades with the recognition of the shock on yours.

He flashes you a subdued smile, sucking his bottom lip through his teeth. "Yes?"

Immediately your posture becomes rigid, bristling at the innocent response to you pounding on his door. Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you prepare your lips for the words funneling painfully slowly out of your brain. You haven't had a chance to permanently quarantine the memory of Yoongi finger-fucking two girls at the club. You're positive that fact is written all over your face as he raises his eyebrows and darts his tongue out to wet his lips.

Amused by your silence, he leans against the doorframe and tilts his head up at you with a cocky grin. "Do you always freeze up when you see something you like?"

Your jaw snaps shut as you swallow the frog in your throat and shake your head. "Just when I see something I'm not expecting."

He seems entertained as he crosses his arms. "So did you actually need something or are you just desperate for attention?"

The direct nature of his question catches you off guard and you feel your pride take a hit. You mirror his stance, shrinking in stature as you fold your arms across your chest. "Y-You don't have to be rude!"

A smile cracks at the corners of his mouth. "Relax I'm kidding... Mostly."

You roll your eyes. "Well I'm not here for your mean jokes today. Where's your roommate? I've got a bone to pick with him."

You don't hear Hoseok approaching from behind you, a finger pressed to his lips as a signal for Yoongi to remain silent. The mint-haired man raises his eyebrows and cocks his head in the other direction, the anticipation of the upcoming scare growing the smug grin on his face. "Not up for banter? Tsk, tsk. That's not like you. Did your night with Namjoonie go that poorly?" he teases, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Are you sensitive because Jimin's rubbing off on you?"

Even ignoring the insinuation about Namjoon, which is totally ludicrous, the double meaning of his last statement is not lost on you. Yoongi laughs in his obnoxious way, shoulders rising and falling with the nearly breathless, croaky sound emanating from his throat. “Or is it because he’s not?”

The humiliation tints your cheeks with pink, although it's hard to hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears. Hoseok takes the opportunity to sneak in closer as you attempt to stutter out a defense.

He gives a sudden stomp towards you and grips your shoulders. “Again!?”

You jump hard, reaching out towards Yoongi for safety. The lurch forward is accompanied by a frightened yelp passing your lips. The two boys burst into a fit of laughter as you spin on your heels to face Hoseok.

"You're such a dick, Hobi!" you hiss, running shaky fingers through your hair, pretending you can comb the anxiety from your scalp if you just keep trying.

He grins and bows. "At your service. Still better than those Tinder dicks though."

"She's looking for you," Yoongi says with a yawn, scratching at the back of his head. "Sounded pretty pissed from the way she was stomping around."

Hoseok's brow knots and he puckers his lips at you as he whines, "Why?"

You note the duffel bag strapped to his chest and the sweat drenching every inch of his body. He looks absolutely exhausted. That almost lessens the desire to bring it up, but Taehyung's message is still unanswered. Every time you think about it you die a little more inside.

You take a moment to sharply inhale through your nose, sighing out a long exhale as you thrust the screen of your phone in his face. "Why is Taehyung texting me about a photoshoot?"

The way you're waving it around makes it difficult for him to see. He leans back, cupping his hands around the edge of the phone to get a better look. His eyes suddenly snap to you and a crooked smile splits his face in two. The knot in your stomach ties itself up a second time as he snatches the phone from your grasp and books it down the hallway towards your apartment. You blink a few times and give chase just as he steps inside; you want to scream at him but you're very aware of the public hallway separating you. Yoongi rubs his eyes and slowly returns to his lair, ready for the relief of sleep to cure the pain of extra shifts. "I'm not awake enough for this."

"I live here you know," you remind Hoseok as you close the door to your own apartment.

The man is oddly absent from the room, Netflix still blaring on the TV. The contents of his duffel bag have been dumped onto your living room floor and you can hear him talking to himself in another room.

"Hobi?" you call, rushing into the bedroom. "Hobi! What the hell?"

The duffel bag lays open on the bed, already half filled with clothes: your clothes. Hoseok doesn't bother to spare a glance as he tosses something in the bag; it looks vaguely familiar, but you don't bother to look closer because he's already taking out another item. He's careful with both delicate straps as he pulls it from the hanger, cellphone glued to his ear. A series of thoughtless one-word affirmations are mumbled into the receiver as he traps the device between his shoulder and neck. He cocks his head to the side as he inspect the dress, running his fingers down the material. Spinning on his heels toward you, he presses the fabric against himself, mouthing "WOW!" with a cheeky grin. You wish he'd act a little less surprised to find something sexy in your wardrobe. Dick.

You tongue the inside of your cheek as he runs one of his hands along the material draped across his chest and throws his torso back dramatically. That thing has been the back of your closet since the day you bought it; there is literally never a reason to wear it, but you can't exactly bring yourself to donate it either, not for the money you paid. He pauses a moment and notes the long slit in the side of the dress, playfully dragging a hand up his thigh. The impulse buy clings to him as he rotates his hips a few times to mock you, and heat rushes to your face. With a silent laugh, he tosses the garment into the bag.

"Yeah, we'll be over soon. See you in 15. Okay, bye." As he hangs up he slides the closet door shut, shining smile doing nothing to lift the frown from your lips.

"Hobi. What. Did. You. Do." The stippled words cut their way through your mouth. You can't help the bristle in your tone but your impatience has gotten the better of you.

His grin grows impossibly wider. "Ah, what are you mad for? Can't you at least hear me out before your face gets like this?" He scrunches up his features in an attempt to drop the scowl on yours, but your expression remains unchanged. "Hmmm. Okay!"

With a quick zip, he tosses the bag back around his shoulder. You raise your eyebrows at him and cross your arms. "You wanna tell me why you're packing my clothes?"

"We're going to Tae's. I'll explain on the drive," he responds simply, trying to loop his arm in yours but you shrug him off and step out of range. His face drops into a pout. "Come on. Why don't you trust me?"

"Because I know you," you snort, wagging your finger in his face. "You are not one to be trusted. Sneaky, Jung Hoseok."

He places a palm over his heart and looks at you as though you just wrongfully insulted his character, but you know better than to trust the dramatic act. He needs to explain himself and not just drag you off on some bizarre adventure. You're exhausted. While earlier this week had been pretty lax, an upsurge in service requests had you running all over campus on a tight schedule and not all of the issues were quite so easy as re-seating a loose cable. There’s a lot waiting for you tomorrow, so for tonight you want nothing more than to mindlessly binge TV and vegetate.

"Explain."

He shifts his weight to one foot and folds his hands over one another, sheepishly twiddling his thumbs. "Well... After looking through your dating profile, I thought maybe we could help you make it better."

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. "That's what this is about? Hobi…” You want to forget he even knew about that, but his words replay in your head. Your eyes narrow. "...Wait… We?"

"The group. Me. Yoongs, Tae, Chim, Kook, Jin... even Namjoon. We all wanna make you a new profile."

"There's nothing wrong with what I have. Give me my phone." You hold your palm out and flex your fingers at him a few times.

"Oh really?" He tosses your phone back at you, causing you to fumble. "Tinder's going good then? Talking to a lot of people?"

"I haven't really had time to look," you fib, an innate eye twitch threatening to give you away. Swiping is part of your bedtime routine and you haven't gotten any matches, but he doesn't need to know that. In your defense, you've only been shown bottom-of-the-barrel neckbeard types anyway. You look from the phone back to Hoseok's smug face.

"What's so bad about my current profile? I worked really hard on it!" The brittle tone of your voice betrays the defense of your words. Tears are building up behind your eyes, but you won't let them out yet. How embarrassing, how sad must your life seem if all seven of them want you to start over? He said even Namjoon was on board. Could it be because of Saturday?

Your eyes scan the disheveled blankets, remembering how stupid you sounded that night, how pitiful and weak you had been to practically throw yourself at him in a hopeless attempt to feel something with someone. Did he tell them? Or did Hobi just figure it out on his own? The lump in your throat makes it hard to swallow but it's all you can manage to suppress the rage bubbling inside you.

No no no no no. Do not fucking cry right now. The tears hold for now, but the dam can break at any second.

"Okay I'm gonna be honest. Your profile? Meeeeeeh." He holds out his hand and flips it rapidly back and forth. "But with our help we can make it like WOAH SO AMAZING!" He flips both palms and raises them to the ceiling before waving his hands around to further accent his statement.

How the hell did he have all this oomph left after dance practice? You can practically feel the positive energy radiating from him, doing your best to keep your expression sour. But the genuine smile on his face makes you want to believe he will make things better, not worse.

"...How?"

"Well, taking new photos for starters," he says, sheepishly scratching his cheek.

"What? What's wrong with my photos?" You're already pulling them up to review again, just in case they're actually embarrassing and you're just too clueless to realize.

"Ah! Nothing!" he yelps, pulling you into a hug. "But I think you can have better ones, not just selfies." He tussles your hair and you crack a smile.

The weight of his hands move down and tug playfully on the hair behind your neck, forcing you to look up at him. The memory of his offer at the club resurfaces in your mind. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire. You swallow, looking up into deep brown eyes that radiate hope. You lose the argument on the tip of your tongue before it can even form.

"I asked Tae if he could shoot something a little more sexy."

You step back to create some space, breaking the teasing hold he has. Your eyes drift to your phone and scour the app for your profile. You hold up the full body shot for him to see again, as if this time he will agree that you don't need their help. "Um, excuse me? This one is sexy."

He tilts his head to the side and throws up his hands. "Ah, yeah. That one's sexy and mysterious. I like the curves, but I think we can turn up the heat. I'm thinking more of you in that dress!" he adds with a wolf whistle.

A small chuckle escapes your lips. Of course he thinks that; he’s Hobi. His fire burns hotter than most people’s. Even so, maybe he has a point. "You think that will really help?"

"I know it," he says with the confidence of a man who knows he's got you on the ropes. "Ah... Look we all know how amazing you are. Let us help you show it!"

You're still not totally convinced this is a great idea, but your batting average is zero right now and you're at least somewhat willing to entertain the idea that they can help increase the number.

"Okay. Let me grab my makeup. We can't be out all night though. I have to work tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know it's a school night. Don't worry. I'll have you back before you turn into a pumpkin." He grins, jingling the car keys now between his fingers. You're already texting Namjoon to help you hatch an escape plan.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You've been standing with your arms covering your chest for the better part of five minutes, internally dismantling what little confidence you possessed before coming here. Hoseok had been persuasive enough on the drive here; he made a good argument for taking nicer photos in slightly sexier clothing with better angles and lighting. But you had gone far past "slightly sexy" the moment Hoseok abandoned you for a shower in Taehyung's master suite, handing you off to an almost too eager Jungkook.

Needless to say, Hoseok failed to mention Taehyung's gorgeous roommate would be involved, nor did he mention Jungkook would be planning your outfit combinations with Tae's scene setup. Did they really have to get so involved and make a huge deal about your stupid dating profile?

Standing in Jungkook's bedroom now clad in swimwear, you stare at the grumpy reflection in the full-length mirror before you. I can't fucking go out there like this. I feel practically naked.

You carefully open a dresser drawer in search of cover for your humiliation. Jungkook is just outside with the rest of your clothes Hoseok stuffed into his gym bag. If only he let you have it so you could at least see if there was something in there to cover up with.You can tell his patience is waning as the familiar quick rapping of knuckles comes once more.

"Y/N, are you okay?" The concern in his tone almost makes you feel guilty for going through his shit, but you can't just go out there dressed in just your bikini and some cutoffs.

You swallow hard, eyes scanning every last piece of fabric crammed in the drawer. How the hell does he even fit everything in here???

"Yeah, I'm fine," you call back, trying not to sound as distressed as you feel. "Just, uh.... struggling with the straps."

There's a short pause. "...Do you need any help? I'm pretty good with straps." The words travel to your ears accompanied by visions of the mischievous grin you know he's sporting.

Inhaling deeply, you hold your breath. When you had first met Jungkook, he was shy, timid, kind, and definitely not the teasing brat you had come to know. No matter how much time passes, he still seems to hold onto immature remarks that make you want to toss him out a window. Like you could. That guy is built like a brick shithouse.

You take a moment to collect yourself, grabbing at the nearest piece of fabric that catches your eye. "Aw, it's so cute when baby wants to help."

As you quickly slip the white flowing fabric over your shoulders, you check yourself in the mirror one last time. Thank god you shaved this morning or this would be way more awkward. Combing your fingers through your hair drives you to look for more imperfections, wishing he hadn't taken your hair-tie.

The groan from the other side of the wall pulls you out of scrutiny-mode. "I am not a baby."

"Bras are a little different than the jockstraps you're used to, Kookie," you sneer, pulling the door open in a huff.

Jungkook is hunched over the frame with an elbow. The rebuttal dies on his lips as his gaze travels from the floor up your body. Your ears start ringing at the silence and the undeniable thirst in his expression, the way he darts his tongue out, holding his teeth over his lower lip. His stare lingers a little too long on your breasts so you cross your arms, the flowing material around your form obscuring his view.

Agitated eyes snap to your face as he uses his tongue to poke the inside of his cheek. His features scrunch into a scowl. "I do have game you know. You're looking at an international playboy."

God he's so full of shit. Making out with a girl at the 'Small World' ride at Disneyland doesn't count.

"Yeah okay, Kookie," you scoff, rolling your eyes as you move to walk past him.

A rigid forearm reaches across the doorway to block your path, sleeveless shirt showcasing every bulging muscle in his arms. He straightens his posture to tower over you, flexing in a show of bravado. "It's Jungkook."

The air is sucked from your lungs as he pins you with a dark, taunting look that almost rivals Yoongi's. Almost. Needles prick at your ears and you can feel your hands immediately start to break into a cold sweat.

"What, you don't believe me, Noona?" he asks innocently, sweeping gentle fingers along your shoulder and around your neck. You grow tense at the sensation, doing your best to fight the stutter in your blink and the hitch in your breath.

The arm crossing the doorway drops and tugs on the material covering you. "Is that my shirt?"

"You're not using it," you argue, grateful for the distraction as you slip past him. "Does it really bother you that much?"

"No, I don't mind. But..." His lips pucker up into a ridiculous pout and he sways his body back and forth. "The whole point is to make you look sexy but you're here covering up. Hyung trusted me with this job. Promise you'll take it off when you're in front of the camera?"

"You're taking it off for the camera?" Namjoon's voice booms out from over your shoulder. He takes a second to snap his tongue against his teeth as he approaches. "Wow. Guess you don't need saving after all, Geeksquad."

You spin to give him a playful shove, but an uneasy sensation quickly settles in the pit of your stomach. Time seems to slow as the strap around your neck falls. The words passing your lips are frenzied nonsense, clumsy hands fumbling to keep soft flesh from spilling out of your top. Namjoon's eyes go wide, mouth falling open at the sight of your failure. You curse, turning back towards Jungkook as you manage to regain coverage.

If the smug grin didn't give him away, the cocky words that follow seal his culpability. "I'm pretty good with straps. Sure you don't need some help?"

Your eyes narrow, fingers floundering with the tie around your neck. "Don't you have something better to do?"

His obnoxious laugh echoes down the hallway as he slips past you. "I'll tell Tae you're on your way."

You fold the cover across your chest and face Namjoon, clearing your throat weakly. "Y-You didn't, uh..."

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, blush mirroring yours. "No, no. I didn't."

"Okay." You breathe a sigh of relief. "Good. Good."

"I-I mean I barely saw--" He puffs out his cheeks, guilt painting his features.

You inhale deeply, trying to quell the shame in your chest as you cast your gaze at the floor. Silence fills the air between you for a few seconds.

He sputters out a held breath and pinches his fingers together. "Okay, like just a-- just a little nip-nipple--"

"Oh my god! Namjoon!" You bring your hands to cover your face, wanting to slither back into Jungkook's room and seal yourself away. But you force yourself to brush past him and make your way to the room Taehyung had converted to his studio. You can hear Namjoon’s long strides behind you, barely needing to try to keep pace with your pathetic attempts at jogging. He keeps muttering out apologies, but every word only heightens your awareness to the awkwardness of the event rather than helping you forget it.

The door to Taehyung’s studio is already open and as you turn the corner to enter, you come to a screeching halt, causing Namjoon’s to smack against your back. He reaches to your shoulders to steady himself, but it doesn’t even register on the list of things currently buzzing through your brain. It’s so well lit in here. No one told you it would be this bright. You cross Jungkook’s shirt impossibly closer to your torso and swallow the hum buzzing in your throat.

Sensing your discomfort, Namjoon leans down and whispers, “Hey, we can just leave. This is too much. I’ll talk to them.”

A relieved chuckle bursts from your mouth with the breath you’ve been holding. He offers the escape you asked for. He offers the familiar comfort and safety of returning to your apartment. But these things bring you no closer to the companionship you crave, meaningful or trivial in nature. Maybe what you asked for isn’t really what you need.

Looking about the room, Taehyung’s back is to you as he works on finalizing the tripod in the middle of the room, focusing the camera atop it at the well-lit screen. Off to the side, a very casually dressed, very wet, curly-haired Hoseok holds both ends of the towel draped around his neck. Beside him Jungkook stands with arms crossed and crinkled nose as he throws his head back in obnoxious laughter that fills the room. The pair are speaking to a short, well-dressed blonde man who contrasts everything about the two standing adjacent to him. If his stature, tight pants, and billowing overshirt didn’t give it away, the way he quickly roams his fingers through his hair as he talks to Jungkook certainly does.

Jimin?! Jimin’s here too?! What kind of fucked up intervention is this? I’m going to kill Hobi.

Hoseok’s attention span wavers and settles on your form in the doorway as you all but cower back into Namjoon. Hoseok’s excited wave draws the attention of his companions and they turn their gaze on you. Jungkook’s smug smirk, Hoseok’s thrilled grin, and Jimin’s shy smile illicit extremely different fear responses, which mingle to form a deep panic in your gut that threatens to cause hyperventilation.

Namjoon’s fingertips dig into your skin, thumbs kneading soothing circles into the meat of your shoulders. He speaks softly, but his deep voice buzzes deep in your eardrum. “Breathe. It’s okay. I’ll tell ‘em to call it off.”

You let out a deep, controlled exhale. Then another. The panic attack that threatens to take hold quickly crumples in your belly. You often take for granted just how well Namjoon knows you, how well he can read the signals of your body and avert disaster before it arrives. Never once have you given it a second thought, never questioned the stability he offers with a touch, the praise that mollifies you. Today is no different; you push the gratitude aside and settle your eyes on the blonde man across the room.

“Good. Good...” The delicate string of breath against your ear trails off, knowing full well you’re already past it.

The others have fallen silent, waiting for you to move in and say something. The snarky comment on your lips shrivels and your lips melt into a goofy smile at the awkward air filling the room. Taehyung senses something is off and turns slowly, one hand still on the tripod as he locks eyes with you from across the room. An icy chill fills your lungs as his intense stare bores into you. Your shoulders raise, muscles tightening as you slink back into Namjoon’s chest. Taehyung slips his hands in his pockets as long, confident strides carry him towards you.

“You look terrified,” he mumbles with a stony expression that twists your stomach into knots. “Are you afraid of me? Of us?”

The hardness in his eyes fades in an instant and is replaced by a kindness you rarely see. His mouth curls into a warm smile as he leans forward with a slight bow. “You don’t have to worry so much, you know. We’re friends. We want to help, but I understand if it’s too much being put on the spot like this.”

We’re friends. You knew that and still the anxiety corroding your insides persists. The energy shift in his persona nearly gives you whiplash. Was this the same angry-looking man, poised like a god as he did his peacock strut over here? He raises a hand towards you, palm facing the ceiling. The rings around his fingers seem to shimmer as they reflect the lights set around the room.

“Only take my hand if you want to be here,” he says softly, the low bass of his tone almost apologetic. “There’s nothing joyful about taking pictures of someone who doesn’t feel like smiling.”

He seems so sincere and genuine. Is this what Taehyung is really like under that cold exterior? Your shoulders relax and your arms drop to your sides, allowing Jungkook’s shirt to partially expose your torso. His eyes never waver from your face as he waits for your answer. The others watch on, silently nodding at his words. You can feel Namjoon’s fingers drop down your back, tracing light, reassuring lines as they go.

“Taehyung,” you begin, voice stronger than you imagined it would be. You clasp your cold, clammy fingertips along the warmth of his. “I would be honored if you would photograph me. Sorry it’s not for anything more exciting than a dating profile.”

His smile grows wider and he offers a playful tug, lurching you forward. “It’s not the final output that matters so much to me as the moments spent taking them.”

Was everyone else seeing how sweet he was being? You look over at the trio, but they appear unfazed. Were you really the only one surprised by Taehyung’s hidden kindness? You suppose it makes sense, considering they have all known each other for much longer. Not everyone is going to spill their guts to someone after a year of only moderate interaction.

You nod, appreciating the sentiment. “Okay. Show me where I should stand and what I should do.”

He gently directs you to a seemingly random spot in front of the camera. You feel washed out under the heat of at least three different lamps shining at you. Taehyung steps back, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you. His brow twitches lightly and he shifts his jaw back and forth before turning his attention to the trio standing nearby.

“Jimin, warm ups. Jungkook, reflector. Hyung--” Taehyung starts barking orders, but Hoseok interrupts already on his way to you.

“I got it!” He cheerfully replies, pulling a small lip balm from his pocket and hastily twists it open. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I thought about it for a long time before finally picking this color for you.”

You purse your lips and reluctantly tick your jaw a few times. Reluctance has a strong hold on you.

“Oh relax, you big baby,” he chides, vicing your cheeks with his thumb and index finger to force your lips to pucker. He’s careful with his application of the color to your lips, making sure not to veer off course. “You’re gonna do great. Trust me. Just relax.” He demonstrates by taking in a deep breath, holding it, and then exhales. “Easy!”

"Yeah, easy." You sigh and force yourself to give him a smile and a thumbs up. "Okay."

"Oh, are you going to keep this on?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over the silky collar around your neck. His eyes drag across the faint glimmer of skin hidden underneath before darting to Jungkook as if to say 'you had one job.' Jungkook catches eyes with him and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with a pout.

"I don't know..." you trail, trying to find the right words to convey your feelings. "I just... don't feel very confident, I guess."

Hoseok dabs your lip with his pinky for good measure. "That's okay. That's why Jimin is here. He's going to help you warm up a little. Maybe you'll want to take it off after you get comfortable?" He smacks his lips a few times, indicating you need to rub your lips together to make the color even.

You do as he asks, feeling a little foolish as you share a shy smile with the blonde man nearby. There are certainly other ways Jimin could help you warm up; it was still pretty hard to face him after bailing last Saturday though. You do your best to push the thoughts from your mind and turn your attention to the doorway where Namjoon is standing, arms crossed with a sly smile decorating his features.

"What are you just gonna watch the whole time?" you call out, feeling uncertain about his cheeky grin. Suddenly you remember not too long ago he watched your tits come toppling out of your bathing suit and you fall silent, focusing on the legs of the tripod.

He licks his lips and takes a few steps forward with a sharp raise of his brow. "You texted me, remember? So now that you don't need me for anything," he pauses as he takes a folded chair from the wall nearby and sets it down a short distance behind the camera, "I think I'm gonna make it worth my while and see how this plays out. If you don't mind, Tae?"

Taehyung's eyes flicker between the both of you. "I don't have a problem with that. Having you here might be more relaxing, don't you think?"

You resist the urge to bite on your bottom lip. Relaxing. Right. Hoseok moves to quickly change the backdrop behind you; the image is that of an ocean, calm, peaceful, and absolutely gorgeous. You squint as Jungkook begins to blind you with the reflector.

"Okay. It's a summer day, very hot, but not as hot as you," Tae says, quirking an eyebrow up at you from behind the camera. "Compete with the sun for me."

What.

You swallow, staring into the camera like a deer caught in headlights, your body stiff as a board. The shutter sounds off only once before he shakes his head very lightly, a laugh escaping his lips. Namjoon brings a hand to cover his mouth as he manspreads and leans back.

"Ah, Jimin. Look at Jimin," Tae instructs, pointing to the blonde man close enough to touch, but far enough to keep out of frame.

Jimin sighs dramatically and cranes his neck towards the ceiling, looking up and blinking a few times. He angles off his body just enough to create a flattering view, balancing his casual stance with relaxed, broad shoulders. Oh right, he's a professional. You try to copy his stance, and do so perfectly, but you forget what you're supposed to do with your face. You steal a look back at him, almost immediately falling victim to his angelic features.

Your heart aches when you think about the way you left things last weekend. He seems unbothered but you wonder how; Joon had explained that he was used to keeping things casual, but you sure as hell weren't and that's why you needed to keep that sort of thing off limits. Saturday night was a big faux pas and you couldn't feel more ashamed about it if you tried. Yet somehow you head still found a way to be smitten.

The shutter clicks again and you look over at Jimin, who is already modifying his pose. You continue mimicking him for some time, slowly increasing pace every time the shutter clicks. It starts to come more naturally and you feel yourself opening up. Jimin drops his outer shirt down, revealing a bit of his shoulder and without thinking you do the same, exposing the bathing suit underneath. You look over at Jimin, feeling slightly embarrassed at the display, but he just laughs and drops the fabric from his other shoulder. You continue to mirror his actions until you finally slip the shirt off completely and toss it Namjoon's way, covering his face briefly before he pulls it down while sporting a coy smirk.

An hour passes as you continue on with Jungkook coordinating your outfits, Jimin helping you pose, and Hoseok creating ambiance while Taehyung does all the shot calling with his camera. Namjoon is your cheerleader, offering words of encouragement with each new scene. Honestly the weirdest thing about the night is that it starts progressing smoothly and you almost feel comfortable in front of the lens now. That is, until you’re standing in the dress Hoseok pulled from your closet.

They’ve turned most of the lights off to create a candlelight effect. The warm glow of the remaining lamps barely kisses your skin and you’re thankful for the loss in heat, as well as the cover of darkness. Whatever confidence you’ve built up quickly diminishes as you catch Namjoon’s expression off to the side. His jaw is tight, screwing into a lopsided grimace; it’s hard to read the rest of his face in this light, but it certainly looks like a cross between sympathy and disgust. It could just be your brain filling in the gaps with nonsense, but you hug your elbows close to your chest and shrink back, finding a spot on the floor to stare at while the rest of them continue to tweak the scene.

This is for sure the most beautiful he’s ever seen you; there’s no way you could look more breathtaking, yet there’s something hidden just beneath the surface of your beauty. Namjoon swallows hard, watching your hesitant movements. You’re uncomfortable; it’s hard to miss the uncertainty of your posture, the shaky exhales, trembling fingers, subtle quiver of your lip.

Okay, so maybe he searches for these things, but reading your body language has become a pastime. He’s not sure if it’s more for your benefit or his own masochistic torture --reading into every little detail to assure himself there’s no way you can feel the way he does-- but either way he can’t seem to stop himself from doing it.

He’s thinking of ways to assuage the anxiety, but a heavy fog blurs the possibilities. The words become scrambled on their way to his lips as he looks you over again, and again, and again. Desire clouds his mind, moving in like a storm to coat every last thought with obscenities. His cock twitches against his thigh, already rock hard and aching to be touched. He stares blankly ahead as he crosses his legs and hunches forward onto an elbow, trying to will away the tent in his pants by silently reciting the alphabet.

He’s absolutely disgusted with himself for being so lewd when clearly you’re in need of some support and he clenches his jaw in frustration. There’s no way he can stand right now without drawing attention to it, so the best thing he can do is try to compose himself and keep it that way. As he nears the end of the alphabet, he finally notices the way your gaze is cast at the floor and feels the need to say something, anything.

“Geeksquad.”

Your head snaps up to find Namjoon’s eyes locked onto your face, hard expression softening. “You look amazing. Try to breathe, okay? You’re doing fine.”

Your face brightens as you crack a smile, grateful for the reassurance. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, Joonie.”

He smiles back, dimples forming in his cheeks as he folds his hands over his lap. You fail to realize he’s equally happy about the lighting conditions in this moment.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The makeup is being stingy about coming off. You’ve been scrubbing remnants of eyeshadow and mascara off your eyelids for the better part of five minutes. A toothbrush lazily hangs from your mouth as you toss the makeup-caked pad in the trash bin. As you resume brushing your teeth, you pick up your phone with your free hand and begin texting.

You: hey… so

You: i may have overreacted earlier when i asked u to save me 🤔

You: but you still came through for me and i do appreciate it

When no response comes, you decide to come out and say what’s on your mind. You’d like to cut through any residual awkwardness left over from the nip slip incident because god knows it’s all that’s been on your mind since donning your regular clothes. As long as you can both pretend like nothing happened, you’re good.

You: i guess what i’m trying to say is thanks

You: it was nice that you made an attempt

You’re concerned about the amount of time that passes in silence as you finish up. You watched Hoseok drop him off at his apartment before returning home yourselves, so you know he got there safely. It’s only nine thirty. You doubt he’s asleep so you’re about to call, but you reconsider once you remember he’s had a lot of papers to grade this week and could be catching up on extra sleep. Or he’s avoiding you.

Your belly twists with the turmoil suffocating your brain. Do you just send something asking him if things are okay between you? It’s really awkward, but you can’t stop thinking about the fact that you accidentally flashed him. He’s probably avoiding you. Well fuck it.

You: are u avoiding me Namjoonie????

You: pls don’t :c

You sigh, falling back into bed as you open Tinder. What’s on the swipeLeft radar for tonight? A blue star appears, telling you this person “super-liked” you; he’s an average looking guy, but once sentence into the profile tells you all you’d need to know about his shitty personality. Douche.

You swipe left on a few more guys either holding fish, didn’t fill out their profile, or only have pictures of their current vacation destinations. There’s so much trash to sift through; it’s disheartening. Maybe Hoseok’s plan really will work and you’ll have guys eating out of the palm of your hand in no time. Maybe even eating you out. You’d have to find a viable candidate first, either way.

Your phone starts buzzing, familiar cross-eyed photo of Namjoon taking up your screen. Quickly swiping the green button, you answer, “Hello?”

“Geeksquad… Why you being paranoid?” Ragged breaths seep through his words just enough to pique your interest.

“Are you okay?” you ask, not entirely meaning to deflect, but still grateful for the opportunity to do so. “You sound a little out of breath.”

“Oh,” he sighs loudly, trying his best to reduce the sound of any following exhales. “Sorry I’m… just uh, working out.”

“You,” you begin in an accusatory tone. “...Working out?”

“It’s a great stress reliever,” he points out defensively. “Anyway, I’m just calling so you won’t worry yourself to sleep.”

“Wow. What? Pshh. I wasn’t worried, like, at all, dude.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah…” you answer, hearing the insincerity in your own tone. “I was just making sure you weren’t too mad about the false alarm.”

He chuckles. “Look, I’ll say it now and any time you need me to repeat it: I’m always gonna be there for you when I can. I wasn’t doing anything important tonight anyway and the uber ride was hella cheap from my place to Tae’s. Plus… I got to see you model next to Jimin, which was hilarious by the way.”

“Har. Har. Har. I got completely blindsided by Hobi and Tae. Super hilarious. Especially considering I haven’t spoken to Jimin really since Saturday. You know. When I made him think we were gonna hook up and then just peaced out. Like a bitch.”

“He’s not going to hold it against you. You know that.”

“Yeah.” You hum a sound of discontent as you fix your gaze on the ceiling. “Hey Joonie? Do you think those photos are going to look okay?”

“I think Tae can pull out some decent ones. He has an eye for that kinda thing. Once you started smiling for real and let go of that fake shit, I think those were the money shots.”

You can’t help but smirk at his words. “Good. I’m anxious about it still, but I feel slightly better.”

“Glad to help. Is there anything else?”

“Um….” You bite your lip, tasting the remnants lip balm. “W-We’re good right? I mean...about that whole thing with Kookie in the hall.”

Namjoon clicks his tongue against the receiver. “Ah, I hadn’t even thought about it all that much. But I suppose we need to address it.”

“Do you think you can pretend like it didn’t happen?”

“Like what didn’t happen?” he asks lightheartedly.

You fail to catch on and you grind your teeth together before hissing, “The nip slip!”

He fumbles with his words on the other line. “I-uh,Ah, yeah-Hmm. I know. I was, uh… making a joke Y/N.”

“Oh.” You breathe a sigh of relief, while filling with embarrassment. You force the words out of your mouth at torpedo speed “Well... I think that’s all we need to talk about. I need to go to bed. Thanks, Namjoonie. You have a good night.”

“You... too.”

“And remember to forget!” You want to die as the words pass your lips.

You wish the mattress would swallow you as your head falls against the pillows.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As you hang up, Namjoon sits back against his chair and stares down at the exposed swollen head of his cock, already dripping with precum and ready to continue where he left off.

“No worries… Hadn’t even thought about it at all.”

#bts #bts fic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenario #namjoon #namjoon x reader #bts scenario #fic: love bytes #love bytes #bts au #series: love bytes #love bytes 04 #ot7 fanfic #bts fanfic #bts smut #namjoon x you #namjoon angst

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ohn1m · 6 years ago

Photo

The Art of Being Mino

The South Korean hip-hop star wowed critics and fans alike with his solo album ‘XX’; but is he any closer to discovering who the ‘real’ Mino is?

Mino's journey is an ongoing one and 'XX' is a chapter that marks an artistic coming-of-age on this wild ride.

Understanding Song Minho is kind of like catching lightening in a bottle; impossible to do but the idea itself is so dazzling, you need to give it a shot anyway. Tall and blonde with bleached eyebrows and sharp features, Song–better known mononymously as Mino–cuts quite the intimidating figure. He’s intelligent, polite and forthcoming on every answer and there’s an elegance to him that’s instantly appealing. There’s one little thing that proves to be more charming than any of this, however, and it comes in the form of a little note he sends on email after the interview; “Thank you for your interest!” it reads cheerfully, accompanied by a smiley emoji. “I hope we do it again when Winner’s back!” It’s simple but sweet and suddenly there’s yet another dimension to the chic, fierce rapper we’re used to seeing onscreen.

Before sitting down with Rolling Stone India for a conversation in December, the 25-year old musician’s schedule through 2018 included the release and promotion of a full LP with his band Winner, a Japan tour, a more extensive Asia tour, a series of performances across his home country South Korea, starring roles in several variety shows and a feature on YG Entertainment labelmate and his senior Seungri’s viral hit track “Where R U From.” November was busiest for him with the release of his first solo LP XX, a 12-track feast of hip-hop, tradition, emotion and culture. December finally closed with yet another single with Winner and a series of year-end performances in Korea.

While a bit of a break is warranted after the whirlwind of activity, Mino confirms he has no plans to take it easy in 2019. “Winner will release a full album this year,” he reveals cheerfully. “I cannot talk about our plan in advance, but we are preparing a surprise gift with a great musician!” The four-member K-pop band are working on their upcoming third LP and have already begun their tour schedules in full force– they’re currently on a six-city run of the United States with stops in Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Dallas, Chicago and New York.

Over the past year Mino has embraced the avant-garde with ease, stepping away from his swag-heavy hip-hop image and slipping into a more elegant avatar.

As an artist, Mino is full of surprises with an evolution that’s been thrilling to map. He started his career as a rapper in South Korea’s vibrant underground hip-hop scene back in 2010 (when he was just 16) but success took a while to come along. He debuted briefly in 2011 with a group called BoM before its premature disbandment in 2013, and then finally signed with leading music label YG Entertainment as a trainee. In 2014 he got his big break after participating in TV channel Mnet’s reality-survival program Win: Who Is Next and ending up as a member of the winning Team A–which would go on to form Winner and debut that same year. He shot to fame quickly this time around, gaining attention as a solo artist after finishing as runner-up on the fourth season of South Korean hip-hop survival competition Show Me The Money in 2015. With several eyes on him, he wowed with a more bluesy, melancholic persona on Winner’s 2016 EP EXIT: E. That same year he and YG Entertainment labelmate Bobby announced a duo project titled MOBB, which showed off a completely different, swag-heavy, fun-loving attitude, but in that EP he included “Body,” a solo single that blended sex and passion with angst and regret. Winner’s discography as of late has been bright, tropical and electronic-pop and he’s able to adapt to it effortlessly as well. His career trajectory spells ‘chameleon’ and even in times of trial there’s a sense of chill around him, as though deep inside he knows everything’s going to work out.

Over the past year Mino has embraced a life of avant-garde with ease, stepping away from his swag-heavy hip-hop image and slipping into a more elegant avatar. He seems more comfortable and willing to express himself in ways outside of music. He’s always had fondness for art but now seems to revel in it, regularly posting images of artwork he’s created on Instagram, participating in media projects, exhibitions and editorials. Last year, he displayed some of his own artwork at an exhibit titled ‘Burning Planet.’ The pieces were a combination of installation art with media and performance art which explored the idea of burnouts, stress and humanity’s exhausting pace of birth, work, death. It’s morbid, futuristic and almost prophetical in its warnings about the pressure society puts on young people and quickly gained critical acclaim. Mino remains modest in the wake of all the praise, saying, “I do not know if I have had any talent when I was young, but I painted as a hobby since I was a kid. So I have become interested in art naturally. It was a very good opportunity to exhibit ‘Burning Planet’ with [eye wear brand and collaborator] Gentle Monster. It was a good time to learn and experience many things.”

It’s this artistic and emotional evolution which seems to have had the biggest hand in the creation of XX. “I wanted to give a tweak to my existing image, which I guess has been heavy with hip-hop and rap. I wanted to start afresh,” he stated at a press conference in November, according to a report by the Korea Herald. XX is an extension of his performance art–dramatic, creative with an ambiguous title to boot (he’s explained he wanted his listeners to have their own interpretations of it.) The video for the lead single “Fiancé” features imagery around birds, dreams, fantastical landscapes and more. In addition to being involved in the entire concept, Mino also contributed to the set design–there’s a giant mural of a bluebird featured in the video which he painted himself. Several fans as well as popular YouTube channels like DKDKTV have attempted to decipher the meanings behind it and he’s thrilled to see all the various discussions. “It is one of the things I enjoy the most,” he says when I ask if he ever watches these theories. “Making parts that can be interpreted in various ways… I love watching them in various interpretations.” Could he tell us which theory got closest to deciphering his work? “I will never tell which one is correct or incorrect for more diverse guesses!” he teases.

“Fiancé” has also been appreciated for its unconventional combination of trot, a form of Korean folk music, and trap. To do this, the track samples Korean veteran singer Kim Taehee’s 1969 track “Soyanggang River Maiden” and blends it with bass-heavy, rolling trap and Mino’s drawling rap. “There was no intention to use ‘Soyanggang River Maiden’ from the beginning,” Mino says. “When the song was almost 80 percent complete, [YG Entertainment CEO and music producer] Yang Hyun Suk gave me an idea of putting a part of ‘Soyanggang River Maiden’ as a sample source, and it fit perfectly into the message and vibe of this song.” The haunting sample had younger fans enthralled and searching through YouTube to listen to the original track while applauding Mino for putting a limelight on Korean pop culture and history. Because in addition to the retro sound, the music video for “Fiancé” is a fever-dream blend inspired by the Korean Joseon dynasty and modern-day angst. In the clip the rapper wanders between fantasy and reality, dressed as an emperor as he searches the past, present and future for his one true love.

“I was getting to love myself, and everything [about that experience] is in this album.”

Is it possible that with younger artists like him using older genres like trot or paying homage to their history in music videos, it can help young listeners appreciate tradition a little bit more? Mino reveals that wasn’t really his intention at all. “In fact, I considered this song for older people than younger people,” he says, adding his plan was to erase misconceptions about hip-hop and ‘young’ music in the minds of older generations. “Even if the genre of hip-hop is popularized, it is still hard to catch up with higher age. So it seems like sampling of ‘Soyanggang River Maiden’ was a good plan for this song.” “Fiancé” has indeed added to the buzz around rappers defying expectations and stepping into traditional musical and visual territories. Hip-hop no longer has one definition and inspiration can come from anywhere. For Mino, the ideas for “Fiance” and XX came from several fragments of art. “I have so many things inspiring me, so I do not know which one to say first,” Mino says. “Among them, some works of (Italian painter) Piero Fornasetti, various plants–especially blue roses– and the Japanese anime Devilman were in my mind. However, it’s my inner self that affected it the most. I stayed alone in the studio every time so I could be deeply involved in my work and I looked back upon myself.”

XX as a whole has been well-received thanks to its use of complex metaphors, puns and double meanings in its lyricism, but for Mino, making this record was about finding his true self. “I got down to work in earnest in the beginning of 2018 for this album,” he says. “It contains various songs ranging from a song written two-three years ago to a song written two weeks before the album came out.” The rapper has written and composed each and every track, taking a dive into his own psyche to unleash several different sides of himself. In a video teaser right before XX‘s release, Mino explained he’d made the album by “grating [his] soul into it” and the result is an LP that is diverse, clever, saucy and undoubtedly one of the best hip-hop albums of 2018. Lyrically, he tackles everything from waiting for a lost love (“Fiancé”) to calling out obsessive fans (“Agree”) and bold eroticism (“Hope”). He gets emotional on “Alarm” and “Her,” exploring heartbreak, his relationship with his fans and self discovery. “I was getting to love myself, and everything [about that experience] is in this album,” Mino tells me. “I got a lot of thoughts and experiences from it and I am so proud of the production process.”

It’s clear from the get-go that wordplay is key; in the vicious introductory track “Trigger,” Mino uses syllables in its Korean title to play on the curse word ‘shibal,’ blazing through verses of self-praise with swagger, while on “Rocket” he drops references to art, Korean mythology and more. It’s the realest taste of what he’s truly capable of and it surprises and delights in equal measure. The impressive roster of collaborators on the record include YG Entertainment’s biggest in-house producers Choice37 and Millennium, comedian and actor Yoo Byung-jae and up-and-coming vocalist Blue.D, among others. There was one artist, however, that Mino was particularly excited to work with. “It was all fun, but working with YDG was extremely impressive,” he says proudly of his collaboration with the Korean hip-hop veteran on “Bow Wow.” “It was one of my dreams from my childhood.”

Mino at a press event for ‘XX’ in November 2018.

With XX being his first massive solo effort, Mino confesses there were hurdles along the way that he hadn’t expected. “The toughest part was familiarity,” he says, adding, “When I listened to songs hundreds of times to make a song, I always got confused. That’s the hardest thing to me.” Working alone means more pressure and he says he finds it more peaceful when he’s working with the members of Winner– Hoony, Yoon and Jinu. “When I work alone… I get sensitive because I am dissatisfied with any result. When I work with Winner, it’s really a load off my mind. Each member has their own roles, and I think we fit in nicely with each other.”

Mino’s journey has been wild, difficult, rewarding and a little messy–we’ve covered a lot of it over the course of the interview, but it still feels like we’re scratching the surface. He seems to agree; there’s a lot more he wants to consume and learn and a lot more he wants to show all his fans, old and new. “I am always thankful to fans who have supported me from the beginning and everyone who has known me since yesterday,” he says. “I will try to put a little more of my own personality and style on next album, and I also want to challenge something that no one expected.” While the search for the ‘real’ Mino continues, XX is a chapter in his story that marks a significant turn; he’s found a balance between the sexy rapper we see with Winner, the exuberant hip-hop dudebro he turns into with MOBB and the expressive poet he is as a soloist. It might not be lightening in a bottle just yet, but it’s pretty damn close.

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#⟨ ✕ « info »▕ ▏ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡꜱ? ⟩#/ it's so damn long.#a l e!!! musiałam bo to ważny wywiad.

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drukkie-kookie · 7 years ago

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As the Day Ends

This is super short super abrupt oneshot, 2k ish of Namjoon (or is it categorized as drabble? idk). the feels were overflowing after I saw this teaser pic bcs he looked so husband material so here it is. A husband Namjoon for you.

“I’m home.”

Namjoon quietly closed the door behind him. The quick automatic lock echoed in the silent room. He was greeted with darkness. Namjoon sighed in relief, glad that the long day finally come to an end and he stepped back to his safe haven, his home. His eyes traveled to this penthouse of him. Of theirs. Still looked sophicasted without the help of the light. Namjoon put off his black shoes, alongside with the cream socks. Putting it all to the wooden rack next to the welcome mat. Thus he stepped towards the living room.

Namjoon lazily threw his leather suitcase to the sofa, feeling the soft brush of the thick Arabian carpet underneath his feet. He remembered when he was in Morocco with you, travelling with Kangjoon still 6 months old inside your belly, arguing which pattern they should buy. But Namjoon having so much soft spot for you, ended up going along with your pick. Namjoon smiled at the memory. Your taste wasn’t so bad, he liked it too in the end. He plopped himself down to the beanbag next to the window. A glass window right next to the living room, giving out the clear view of the pool and the sparkling night of Ilsan in this middle of the night. A soft moan escaped his mouth as he felt his muscles relaxed, succumbed into the plush of the sofa. It was so comfortable, he even closed his eyes in delight.

He was almost entered his sleep when a soft thud coming from the room upstairs. Namjoon instantly wake up, and walked to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are. The blue colored door, with a “Kangjoon” sticker pasted on was the first room he checked. Namjoon was greeted with his son sleeping soundly on his stomach, one hand hanging on the edge of the bed. Completed Rubik’s cube fell down on the floor underneath the tiny fingertips of his son. Namjoon chuckled, heart warmed by the sight on front of him. The bedside lamp illuminating the chubby cheeks of Kangjoon, his soft blush looked prominent, with a ghost of dimples adorned his face. He looked so much like Namjoon while he sleeps.

Namjoon fixed a little bit of his son’s messy sleeping position, as he tucked up the blanket back again covering his body, slowly but sure. Not wanting to wake him up. Kangjoon groaned a little, but he continued asleep afterwards. Namjoon ruffled his boy’s fringe softly. He didn’t expect him to grow up so fast, a boy who’s going to finish his kindergarten next month, in the age of five. A year faster than the other kids. As expected from a boy with IQ just a little bit higher than him. But Namjoon hoped he doesn’t grow too fast. He wanted his son to enjoy every stage of his growth fully, without skipping any chapters of life ahead. He didn’t want his son to feel what he felt in the past.

Namjoon walked outside kangjoon’s room, shutting the door as soft as he can. He loosened his tie and put off his suit as he walked down to the master bedroom. He left the suit and tie on the floor messily, knowing you’ll just nag at him in the morning for not putting it to the laundy basket. Because he just want to hear your nag, following your lean figure, usually wearing only his T-shirts which obviously oversized on your body, sulking but still cleaning up his mess and putting the suit and tie to the laudry basket downstairs, next to the kitchen. He just want to expect your attention every morning (beside being a messy ass). Because he knew after all those nags came out from your pretty little mouth, a morning kiss awaits him. A morning make out on the kitchen counter.

All the light in the room was turned off in the master bedroom, only the light from the night stars and sparkling lights from the buildings outside as the source of the brightness inside. Namjoon walked to the side of the room, next to the gigantic glass window was the twin baby cribs. Namjoon stepped closer, only to see Hyejin still wide awake, sitting in her pastel blue onesies next to her sleeping twins, Seojoon. Her soft straight hair was messy, her doe eyes instantly locked with Namjoon when he stand right next to her cribs. Her eyes were glossy with tears, pacifier held tightly in her left hand. She was silently staring at him, not even blinking. The more Namjoon looked at his babygirl, the more he realized she was the exact copy of her mother, with addition of dimples in both of her cheeks, the only traits of him inherited to her. Namjoon just smiled at Hyejin, waiting any reaction from her. Both of the twins almost reached 24 months old but only Hyejin haven’t said the word ‘Appa’ or ‘Omma’, while Seojoon has. So Namjoon thought this could be the moment, even thought the tiredness slowly crept into his body in bigger force than before as the clock ticking to midnight.

But suddenly, the longer he waited, the more Hyejin get irritated and starting to give I-am-going-to-cry-dad-please-hug-me vibe. Namjoon panicked so he hurriedly picked her up and cradled her in his arm. A tiny sobs was coming out from her but his soft hush and gentle swing managed to calm her down and suppress her choked sobs. Namjoon pacing back and forth, hugging his only baby girl in his arms lovingly. No matter how tired his arm was, after long night typing the end-year report, he always has strength for his daughter. Hyejin buried her face in his neck with her tiny arms wrapped thightly around Namjoon’s neck. After almost 30 minutes pacing back and forth around the room, Hyejin’s breath finally becoming even, steady thump of her heart mingled with Namjoon’s heartbeat, a sign that she’s finally fast asleep. Slowly but sure, he put her down back to the cribs, next to Seojoon. Didn’t forget to give a feathery kiss on both of their cheeks. What did he do in his past life to be blessed with two angles after he got one? Only god knows.

A content smile plastered on Namjoon’s face. He just wished this time will frozen, where his everything safe and sound, faraway from any danger and the cruelity of the real world. Namjoon finally glanced to the master bed, only to see your back facing to him. As Namjoon walked closer, he was surprised to see you in a different attire. All glory in pastel pink lingerie, one of the things you don’t like very much. You were curled in a fetal position, seeking warmth as much as possible due to the lack of garments you wear, while the bed cover already twisted here and there tangled below your feet (blame your messy sleeping habit). Namjoon was starstrucked. The last time you’d wear this kind of things were only at your wedding anniversary night-

Fuck tonight is the wedding anniversary night.

Namjoon fucked up so bad. You’re gonna be so fucking mad in the morning. Shit.

How can he forget such an important event??? Blame the Kim Inc he has to rule every single day. The consequency being the CEO of one of the biggest Wall-Street company in Korea.

Namjoon ruffled his hair in frustration. How is he gonna apologize in the morning? He tucked down three buttons of his blue shirt. The tiredness crawling again after he saw the comfy bed and the way you snuggled so deep into the pillow, making him wanted to join you. But before that, he fixed the cover back to your figure, hovering above you afterwards. The side of your cheeks looked so soft and your cupid’s bow adorned with a tint of strawberry lip-balm, Namjoon’s favourite. Namjoon couldn’t resist the urge to kiss you so he find your lips with ease. But you being you, even though you’re in your unconscious state, you groaned in disturbance and accidentally pushed Namjoon’s face with your arm as you shifted from your position. No one can disturb your sleep. No one.

You muttered something under your breath (similarly sounds like damn you Kim Namjoon, but he could be mistaken) after your find the comfort in your new position, facing Namjoon’s side. Namjoon chuckled, no wonder you ended up as his wife.

The thought of going to the shower was very tempting, but it was already so late, past midnight. And Namjoon’s sleepy eyes couldn’t hold it any longer. So he decided just to go to sleep in his working attire, his blue shirt and black trouser. He circled his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. You unconsciously complied, snuggling closer to the crook of his neck, limbs tangled together automatically, bodies molded into one perfect symphony. Namjoon inhale your scent, the earthy scent mixed with fresh lemon shampoo you always use.

Namjoon felt this silent happiness and gratitude.

Because as the day ends, you’ll always be there. The only home he’s always ever be.

Bonusssss :

The morning was so bright. Annoyingly bright. You squinted your eyes just to open your eyes slightly. But then you meet the slanted eyes of him, already looking at you with a lazy smile on his smile while his fingers playing with the curls of your hair.

“Hey.” He greeted you softly and you hummed back a response, as you stretched your limbs a little bit to find comfort. You looked back at him, head propped on one hand while the other now finding its anchor back to your exposed thigh, drawing circles there with his cold finger, resulting goosebumps all over your legs.

“I’m sorry, for coming home late, last night...” He muttered his apology slowly, but steady. Eyes never left yours, because you just know he’s that kind of man that’s brave to face the consequence. And that consequence is you (plus your wrath). Now that he reminded you his mistake, your smiley-happy-morning face turned sour in an instant.

“It was our wedding anniversary Namjoon, how could you?!” You whispered, trying to suppress the scream inside so you won’t disturb the babies sleeping. He sure knows where to open a fighting ring where you can’t scream out loud. But at least here you could strangle him. Figuratively.

“I know, I’m sorry, there was so much report that needs to be done and I-“ He tried to persuade you with another work excuses, and making effort by massaging your waist and your back right now, knowing you’re so weak for back massage. But you slapped his sneaky hand away and he was startled. His face from only guilty, turned super guilty, sad, and rejected. Like a fucking puppy being left outside by its owner. How dare he looked so damn adorable like that-

You closed you eyes and take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. You stared back at him just to find him already waiting for your response. You shifted from facing him now laying on your back, staring at the ceiling as you steady your breath, trying to find your inner peace again. All those yoga classes finally showing its results.

“Okay. Fine. But we have to celebrate it today, and I want to eat the chicken galbi restaurant that recently being opened last week and then we have to go to the cinema afterwads or the aquarium because Kangjoon wanted to see whale-

“Wait why don’t celebrate it right now.” He suddenly cut you off in the middle of your rambling. Swiftly changed his position from your side now hovering above you. The sneaky hand you slapped before already finding its way to the inner side of your dress, reaching upwards from your bare thighs to your stomach. Trailing his cold fingers sensually making shivers in every touch he made.

“Wait Kim Namjoon-“ and he silenced you with a passionate kiss. And there’s now way you’ll complain with this.

Y’all know where this all going.

#Namjoon #kim namjoon #bangtan sonyeondan #bts #bts fanfic #Husband Material #husband au!#namjoon x reader #김남준 #남준 #방탄소년단 #rap monster #랩몬스터 #bts fanfiction #AsTheDayEnds

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lonelyandgone · 7 years ago

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Previous Chapters: Teaser/Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Unexpected – Chapter 7

Do you have any plans tomorrow?

He wonders how many great adventures, or possibly dismal outings, started with that very question. Perhaps it was a lead in to boat trips to Catalina Island or road trips along Route 66. Perhaps to rain ruined picnics in the park or horrible first dates. He realizes he’s romanticizing the question. He realizes it but it doesn’t stop him from still wondering for a little bit.

It’s a simple question. One probably asked a million times each day. By bosses and friends, coworkers and family. It’s a basic conversation piece. A friend zone piece, he reiterates in his roaming mind. One that doesn’t necessarily mean anything other than the person who asked it is looking for some sort of idle chitchat and that’s the question they keep in their back pocket for such the scenario. Hell, he’s pretty sure the words have come out of his mouth in exactly that manner at least a thousand times through the years.

But this time, this time the question came from Taylor.

He had stared at his phone when the message popped up. Did he have plans? Yes. Pretty important ones at that. A hike with Dodger in the morning followed by a lunch meeting with his manager and then a photo shoot he committed to three months ago.

He considered why she had asked for far too long before cursing himself and saying it was that simple friendly question, no need for analyzation. And then he responded with the basic “yes.”

It took her over an hour to present him with her next question, one that etched a smile onto his face for reasons he’s not totally sure of. Would you cancel them for me?

He’s aware that no was the obvious answer. Completely and totally aware of it. Manager meetings is something he never cancels and photo shoots, while not his favorite of activities, is a commitment he always keeps. But yet when he opened his phone to type out a message telling her he was sorry but he couldn’t . . . well, he couldn’t. He typed the word “yes” again and hit send before he could erase it.

And that is how he ended up here. That’s how he ended up dressed like this.

He glances at his phone one more time, making sure that he’s at the address she sent him last night with a smiley face saying she would meet him there. There are a few cars in the driveway and a bouquet of red and blue balloons tied to a post on the front porch. Yeah, he’s at the right place, he thinks.

He's about to get out of the car when he sees her and he feels the muscles in his chest tighten. She’s stepped out onto the porch, her hand clasping a much smaller one, her smile radiating on her face. It takes him a moment to realize what she’s wearing and that muscle in his chest tightens even more. It’s his Captain America t-shirt. The one he threw at her that day at her house.

Fuck, he thinks, shaking his head with a laugh. This friend zone thing is going to be much harder than he anticipated. Which is probably not true because he had already anticipated it was going to suck.

She’s being pulled down the steps by the little hand in hers when he finally steps out of the car. The gasp that escapes the little boys mouth is unmistakable, his remarkable smile taking up most of his small face.

“Captain America,” the boy squeals, dragging Taylor closer to him.

“I told you I had a special surprise for the birthday boy,” she says, her eyes meeting his with a twinkle. She mouths “thank you” before looking back to the boy. “Leo, meet my friend Captain America.”

Leaning down, he reaches his hand out to Leo, allowing a gentle smirk to tug at his lips. “Nice to meet you young man.”

Leo grabs at his hand, his palm miniscule against his own and before he knows it, the boy has jumped into his arms. He wraps him in his embrace, lifting him as he stands. His eyes land on Taylor, both of their smiles instantaneous and he mouths a “you’re welcome” before he starts to walk toward the house, Leo still clinging tightly to him.

He finds himself swarmed by kids and adults alike when he steps into a large living room littered with balloons and streamers in familiar colors. Little ones with wide eyes raise their shields to him or tug at the bottoms of their t-shirts to show off their emblem emblazed garb. Leo sticks by his side throughout, leading him to a corner to show him his 3-tiered cake before clasping his hand back in his as more kids and adults arrive.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s not the only attraction in this room. The same wide eyes and awed expressions finding Taylor just as quickly as they do Captain America. He smiles every time they do, watching with his own awed expression as she delivers kisses upon small heads and hugs around tiny shoulders repeatedly.

He supposes that Jaime recognizes his amazed stare at some point when she offers him a “she needs her own superhero costume” statement with a laugh and a nod towards Taylor. He chuckles out a “yeah” but knows it’s not true. She’s perfectly adept at being the superhuman that is Taylor and everyone in the room seems to know it. He knows well enough that he wouldn’t elicit nearly the response he is getting right now if he arrived merely as Chris Evans.

He loses her amongst the guests a few minutes into the party, when he’s pulled with mighty hands into picture after picture. He talks to Kyle, to Jaime again and to several other adult guests, Leo’s admiring gaze never very far away. And then sits at the kid table to eat vanilla cake and Neapolitan ice cream.

She arrives soon after, pulling up a chair that hits at her calves and sitting beside of him at the table. She laughs when he knees rise to the height of her chest and then places her plate on her legs. “I’m not sure how much I owe you for this but I know it’s a lot.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “You don’t owe me a thing, Ms. Swift. I’m enjoying myself.”

Her baby blues rest on him as she stuffs a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. She licks at her lips before she responds. “I’m glad to hear that. They love you.”

“No.” He takes a bite of cake. “They love Captain America. I’m just the lucky bastard that gets to act like him.” She smiles, tilting her head down. “And I’m fairly certain they love you even more. I’m not sure how many cheeks you’ve kissed so far but I’d venture to guess it’s way more than I have.”

“Really? How many have you kissed?” She peaks an eyebrow at him before turning her spoon upside down to lick ice cream from it.

“None,” he confesses.

She smiles lightly, placing the spoon back down on her plate before she juts her face toward him slightly, raising her chin to expose her full cheek.

“Well then let me be your first.”

It’s a friendly request, he knows. He has to know. But he can’t help his mind from roaming, his heart from wanting the kiss to be elsewhere and to mean more.

She laughs when he plants a quick peck on her cheek and then returns to eating the food from her plate. “Thank you again,” she says after a few seconds, “I’m sure you had better things to do on a Saturday so I’m very thankful you took time out of your day to do this for Leo.”

“I didn’t do it for Leo,” he says quickly, his words slipping before his mind can stop them. He searches for a buffer and finds only a slight one. “I did it because you asked me to. I figured I owed you for letting my family invade your house for two days.”

He expression softens when she rests her gaze on him. “Regardless, I’m thankful.”

A pair of skinny arms engulf her neck at precisely that moment, pulling her back slightly as tiny wet kisses are planted on her face. “Thank you for the present, T,” Leo wails between slobbery pecks.

He smiles at the scene before him, watching as Taylor wraps her arms tightly around her godson’s waist and pulls him into a massive hug. She kisses all over his cheeks and forehead. “I’m glad you like it sweet boy,” she exclaims, her joy evident in her words.

Leo’s still giggling when she finally releases him from her grasp and he turns his attention to Chris. “Did you see,” he asks in a small voice, his speech not fully developed, “T got me a batmobile.”

Taylor’s eyes find his immediately, a gleam in them. “It’s not a batmobile. It’s a black corvette. I figured all 2-year old’s need to get around in style.”

“I was going to have to protest if it was a batmobile,” he winks before Leo grabs his hand and pulls him up, no doubt leading him toward Taylor’s gift.

He’s chasing behind the car within minutes, a small army of little humans running and laughing behind him. It’s a game that continues for at least a half hour, with Kyle sometimes giving him a two minute break before he gets pulled back into the car chasing drama again.

He tosses a football with a couple kids later and then pretends to be hurt when each child takes a swing at a Captain America piñata filled with hundreds of pieces of red and blue wrapped candies. When the little ones start to wear down, he heads back to his car to retrieve a large box from his trunk and places it in the middle of the yard. He searches for Taylor as hands grab at the shields in the box but he doesn’t find her.

He’s handed a beer by a sympathetic dad once the box is empty and the kids find their second wind, running around the yard mimicking their superhero. He laughs with him as they walk to the patio and he takes a seat at a table. They make chitchat, talking about baseball and the Avengers films for a few minutes until the man excuses himself and heads inside. His seat doesn’t stay empty for long, a leggy brunette sitting in it before it can even get cold.

Chris offers a quick “hello” before his eyes go back to scanning the yard full of kids.

“I’m Layla,” she says, her voice raised enough to prompt his gaze back to her.

He offers her his hand. “Chris.”

“I know,” she laughs, “everyone knows who you are.”

Chucking, he shakes his head. “No, they don’t,” he nods toward the kids, “they think I’m just Captain America.”

She leans into the table as she laughs, a gesture he’s familiar with. He’s seen it plenty of times around the table at get togethers at his parents’ house or parties at Jeremy’s. Women offering tiny glimpses of their ample cleavage in hopes that it appeals to him. He appreciates the effort, he always has, but he’s never found himself attracted to any who made it.

“That suit looks nice on you,” she continues with a wink of her hazel eyes.

“It should,” he laughs, “it was tailored specifically for me and I’m sure it cost more money than every piece of clothing I have in my closet combined.”

He expects what’s coming next and he smiles the moment she utters the first word. “I’d like to see your closet sometime.”

He takes a swig of his beer, merely chuckling in response to her and then turns his attention fully back to the play taking place in the yard. She gets the hint, reluctantly, sighing heavily as she pushes her chair back and walks away.

“Must be hard attracting women like that,” Kyle chides as he steps near him, not taking a seat.

“It’s the costume,” he laughs, nursing at his beer again.

“Nah. I’d say it’s you.” The older man hesitates momentarily before he continues. “Thanks for making my kids day. Maybe his life so far.”

He nods, glancing up at him with a smile. “You can thank Taylor. It was all her idea.”

“The power of Taylor,” he chuckles, “she amazes me sometimes.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Kyle continues. “She got you here. She’s amazing with Leo, always has been. She’s got him and all of these kids twrapped around her finger.” He takes another drink of his beer and sees Kyle do the same beside of him. “I don’t know if you know but she donated a ton of money to the hospital for his 1st birthday. He has a condition . . . I won’t go into that . . . but she donated this money in his name to the doctors researching that condition. Jaime and I didn’t even know she did it until we received a letter from the hospital. I know she could have gotten him anything but that was absolutely the best thing she could have done. Amazing lady.”

He smiles, his heart reacting to the story Kyle just conveyed. “She is.”

“She’s going to be a great mother,” Kyle states, catching him off guard, “you can see it in everything she does. How the kids respond to her, how she is so gentle and caring with them. And then to do stuff like what she did for Leo on top of that. And I’m not just talking about the donation, I’m talking about stuff like today too.”

He hates the image that Kyle’s words bring to his head. Beautiful images of Taylor as a mother, images that he has purposefully never allowed his mind to process because of the other images that ultimately arrive as well. Of Tom.

“Did you two become friends through Tom?”

The question breaks him from his thoughts and he nods his head. “Yeah,” he lies, not wanting to rehash their fated meeting on the airplane to Paris.

Almost immediately another thought sifts through his mind, one he hadn’t considered before but now he does. Why did she not ask Tom here today? Why did she not request him to dress as Loki? He’s well aware that even though Loki is a villainous character, Tom’s charismatic portrayal of him has always made him the most loved of the bad guys. But as quickly as the questions arise, answers arrive. Perhaps she did ask him and he was busy. Perhaps he was her second choice.

He knows he could probably press Kyle to see if a Loki themed party was every considered but he chooses not to. It would sound strange and look conspicuous. And considering the friend zone that he’s sequestered to, that wouldn’t be the best of choices.

Kyle chats with him for a few more minutes before he asks for directions to the restroom so he can change back into his normal gear. The older man then chuckles and offers his sympathy for him wearing the hot suit for so long before he directs him inside.

He takes his time cleaning up, folding away the Captain America costume and splashing cool water on his face before he walks out and tosses his bag in the corner, making a mental note to remember to pick it up before he leaves.

He grabs another beer from a cooler sitting on a counter in the dining room and throws his head up at a couple guests before he makes his way down a hall toward the patio door. He’s just about there when he catches a glimpse of Taylor standing alone in another room, her elbow resting against the wall just to the side of an open doorway.

His eyes graze over her, taking in the tense sight of her body, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyes are pierced downward. She holds a drink at chest level but doesn’t seem to be interested in drinking it.

He takes a few more steps in, stopping when he hears hushed voices, and placing the beer bottle in his hand on a nearby table. Taylor either doesn’t notice him or chooses not to. A few words are spoken and he recognizes the voices to be Jaime and a friend she had introduced him to earlier, Jared. He vaguely remembers Jaime mentioning Jared runs a website but he doesn’t remember the name.

“I don’t know why people would want to celebrate that like it’s a special occasion,” he hears Jaime say, barely audible. He realizes he has no idea what she’s talking about.

“Yeah well, as much as we know how nice Taylor really is, there are a lot of people out there who believe she’s the snake they made her out to be last year. You should see some of the messages my staff has been getting this week. I think I’ve spent 99% of my time dealing with things coming in about Kim and Kanye exposing Taylor and how we should be running pieces to commemorate the one year anniversary of it. Some of it has been brutal.”

“Please don’t run anything like that,” Jaime pleads from the other room.

“Oh, I’m not,” Jared responds, “but it’s getting hard to read. I had one the other day saying how Taylor makes herself look like an angel but she’s a devil inside. I’ve had so many saying she’s a snake, a robot, how much they despise her. I don’t know how many times I’ve read the word fake and snake this week. Then there are the ones I get on the regular . . . calling her a whore. It’s all so unfair because I know she’s not like any of that but I can’t even really write a piece trying to dispel all of that crap because I’ll just be called biased and drug through the mud too.”

He sees Taylor’s head fall even more, her body shaking slightly.

“It’s hard for me sometimes,” Jaime’s words fall back to his ears, his eyes solely on Taylor, “being her friend and getting hate for it. I despise seeing all the crap written about her, it hurts me to my core and I hate the thought of Leo hearing the stuff when he gets older because he loves her so much. I know it will hurt him.”

And that’s when Taylor turns, her eyes catching on him for the first time and the cup she’s been holding in her hand slipping out and crashing onto the ground. He lunges toward the ground just as she does, Jaime and Jared walking quickly into the room with startled expressions.

“I’m so sorry,” Taylor says breathlessly as she paws at the mess on the floor with just her hands. She doesn’t look at him, not at Jaime or Jared, but he can see her pained expression and he knows it’s not from the drink on the floor.

“I’ll go get some napkins,” she says, her body bolting to an upward position. He glances at Jaime, her face wrought with guilt as she knows Taylor has overheard her conversation. She nods toward Taylor’s retreating back and he turns and goes after her.

“They’ve got that,” he says when he catches up to her, sliding his hands along her waist in an attempt to stop her movement. He’s surprised when she does, stopping and moving her body slightly.

“I can’t do this here,” she says through broken and hurried words.

She doesn’t need to say anymore for him to understand what she needs and he quickly slips his fingers into hers, tightening his grasp and tugging to start her toward the door. “I need to call Brandon,” she murmurs and he shakes his head.

“I’ll take you,” he whispers before grabbing his bag and taking her purse from Jaime’s outstretched hand.

They’re in his car within seconds, pulling out right after and she turns her head to face out the window. They’re a mile down the road before he asks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not yet,” she says softly, her gaze never budging.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Home,” she responds simply, her voice low.

He takes a deep breath in and then lets it slip out. “How about this,” he says firmly, keeping his eyes locked on the road ahead of him, “I need to run by my house and check on Dodger. It’s close by. And then you can tell me how to get to your house and I’ll take you home. Is that ok?”

She barely nods, her body rigid, her gaze focused.

She says nothing more the remaining miles to his home, her voice still absent as they park and he steps out of the car. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s greeted immediately by Dodger when he walks into the house, the exuberant dog jumping up and licking at his face excitedly. It hits him then what he wants to do and he pats Dodger down long enough for him to toss his bag onto the floor and for him to head into the kitchen and grab a couple things from the freezer.

He sees a weak smile on Taylor’s face when he exits the house and starts back toward the car. It grows as he gets closer.

Dodger jumps into the back seat when he opens the door. “He wanted to meet you and he loves car rides.” When she glances at him, he winks. Just then, Dodger bounds from the back to the front, his full body landing on Taylor as he nuzzles his nose against her neck.

“Good god, he’s already smitten,” he jokes, watching as the sullen look vanishes from Taylor’s face as she giggles at the dog nestling into her.

He smiles when he tosses the bag from his hand into the back floorboard and closes the door, listening to Taylor talking to his dog, watching as she playfully pets him as he rounds the car.

“Thank you,” she laughs as he slips into the car, Dodger licking upon her cheek.

“For what?”

Resting her head back against the seat, she smiles. “I know what you’re up to Evans. And it’s working.”

He grins as he grabs his sunglasses from the visor and slips them on.

He watches the standoff taking place in front of him. It’s amusing to say the least. Dodger, standing near Taylor’s feet, his head down goofily as he stares at the cat scowling at him from under the chair ten feet away. Meredith, Taylor had told him when they arrived at her house. Another cat, Olivia, walks back and forth in front of Taylor and Dodger, more intrigued by his dog than annoyed.

“Stop being a diva, Mer,” Taylor instructs, laughing as she lays her hand on Dodgers head and rubs it hastily, “he’s a friend.”

“I don’t think she wants a friend,” he coughs through a chuckle.

Taylor glances at him, grinning. “Oh no, she definitely doesn’t. I’m fairly sure she would file for emancipation from me if she could. Meredith has no friends. She does, however, have a keen knack for being catty so don’t be surprised if she decides to cuddle with you sometime just to piss Dodger off.” She stops when the last word escapes her mouth, glancing downward for a moment before she returns her gaze to him. “Not that I’m expecting you to stay long. I know you were just doing me a favor and dropping me off. I’m sure you have a date or a meeting or something you need to do.”

She turns away then, placing her attention back on Dodger. “I don’t have anything to do,” he says, knowing he should probably tell her about Jenny, about there not being nor ever going to be a date, but he just can’t seem to do it. He knows part of it is because he doesn’t want to hear her talk about Tom and it would be almost inevitable in that conversation. Tom and Jenny seem to be intertwined in their minds and words. They have been since they met.

However, he does choose to tell her the truth about something else. “I did have a photo shoot scheduled but I cancelled it when you asked about doing this for Leo. I wasn’t sure how long it would take.”

“You did that,” she questions, quickly glancing at him.

“You asked me to,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

She smiles sheepishly then, lowering her chin until it hits on her chest. He believes he can see the fairest hint of tint rise in her cheeks.

“Anyway,” he interjects, “show me your house.”

She spends the next half hour showing him around the bottom floor, stopping in each room to show him design details or to tell him a funny story that happened there. He peruses over the slew of awards that line her shelves, the notes from admirers she has tucked in spaces around the house and the tons of pictures of family and friends that adorn spaces in every single room.

She doesn’t take him upstairs, opting to tell him instead that there are just bedrooms and bathrooms up there and then taking him outside to the patio. He laughs as Dodger follows happily behind. “Your cats don’t try to get out,” he asks when he notices Olivia stop just inside the patio door.

“No. They know better. Plus, they are a bit pampered so they wouldn’t know what to do if their pretty paws got dirty.”

“Do you know what to do if your pretty paws get dirty?” His question prompts a dirty look followed by a quick jutting of her tongue from her mouth.

“I am no prima donna princess. I thought you would know that by now.”

He takes a seat on one of the patio couches, tossing his feet onto the edge of the firepit in front of him. Dodger plops down just in front of the couch he is on. He watches Taylor as she sits on a couch perpendicular to him.

“You’re still a bit of a mystery to me, Taylor,” he says as he places his hand in his chin, “I like that. I like pulling back your layers and learning more and more about you.”

She cocks her head to the side, a grin tugging on her lips. “I doubt I’m that interesting.”

He stares at her for one second and then a few more, studying the intensity of her blue eyes, the wondrous depths of them. “Believe me, you are.”

She shakes her head as she lowers it slightly. “I’m interesting,” she mutters, “and I’m a snake and a whore and the devil.” She laughs in a tone he’s never heard from her before, one that teeters on a line of hurt and amusement.

He knows what she’s talking about, what’s she’s remembering. The words spoken about her at Leo’s party. One’s that he’s heard about her in the past and, no doubt, she’s heard just about every day of her career.

“I’ll need to apologize to Jaime for messing up her carpet,” she continues, raising her head but keeping her gaze torn from his, “sometimes I forget how to brush it all off, how to be strong.” She cracks a soft smile. “Or maybe it’s just hard to be strong all of the time. A kink in the armor I’ve worked so hard to build over the years. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re human,” he says softly, watching her so intently that he notices when she flinches the faintest of bits.

“No, I’m a robot. I’m sure you heard that.” She smiles. Fake, he knows. And then she shrugs one shoulder. “You know, what Jaime said is 100% true. It’s hard being my friend. People will attack you and drag you for the simple reason that you are my friend. You should really think about that . . . you should probably stay away.” When her words slip into the air, Dodger gets up from his place near him, walking slowly until he reaches Taylor’s feet. He rubs his head on her leg and Taylor smiles, placing her hand on his back and patting it.

He shakes his head, aware that she doesn’t see it, her eyes focused intently on his dog in front of her. “You’re far from that,” he whispers, “please always know that. You aren’t just interesting to me. You’re kind and caring, your heart is bigger than anyone I know. You’re intelligent and talented and irritatingly funny.” She smiles softly when he laughs. “You are absolutely not what they say you are and I’m not staying away from you because of them. Why would I ever choose the words of the naysayers over you, a woman that I know, whose heart that I know.” She raises her gaze to him, her hand still on Dodger’s spine. He smiles. “I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

With a shake of her head, she gives him his answer. “I don’t want you to.”

“Good,” he laughs, his voice echoing across her patio, “now where is my strong Taylor. The one that Jaime declared needed her own superhero costume.”

She smiles, her lips finally reaching her ears genuinely. “I’m still here. The strong Taylor is always here. She just takes a hiatus from time to time.”

She pulls her feet onto the couch, wrapping her arms around her legs in front of her. She’s still in his t-shirt, her makeup nearly gone after the long day. She looks relaxed, at ease, exactly the way he loves seeing her. Exactly the opposite as she was just minutes ago. He can feel the constriction in his chest just by his simple view, just by her sitting silently across from him. Yet here he is, feet away from her, the couch firmly providing his friend zone but his heart nowhere near it.

He shakes his head, forcing an ironic laugh from the depths of his lungs. “I almost forgot . . . . . I’ll be right back.”

He’s off the couch and into the house before she can protest, heading toward the freezer and grabbing the bag he placed in it when they first arrived. She’s lighting a fire in the firepit when he steps back outside, her eyes meeting his when he does.

“Pick your poison,” he says, holding the bag up for her to see and then lowering it to remove the items from it. “Poison number one . . . . Ben and Jerry’s chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. Because they couldn’t just settle for amazing chocolate ice cream, they had to add brownies to it.” She laughs, sitting back on the couch as she watches him hold the ice cream up. He places it on a nearby table before he reaches for the second item in the bag. “Poison number two . . . tequila.” He winks.

“Tequila,” she says, raising her eyebrows, “I would have never pegged you as a tequila guy.”

He chuckles. “Well you pegged me absolutely . . . . right. Jeremy brought it over after a fight with his ex. It’s been in my freezer ever since. I haven’t touched it. But since I didn’t have time to go get a more appropriate liquor, it’s gonna have to do. I figured you needed a little release after today.” She nods slowly. “So which poison do you prefer, Swift?”

Wriggling her eyebrows, she giggles. “Both.”

She eats half of the pint of ice cream after he searches her drawers and cabinets for spoons and glasses, stopping only long enough to let out a moan as she savors the bites. He opts for the tequila, his face drawing as the first drink burns ridiculously down his throat. She giggles, spoon in her mouth, when she sees him.

They laugh and joke, her about how very un-Superhero like his reaction was, him about how she seems to be making love to the container of ice cream before she places the carton back on the table and cocks an eyebrow at him. “You up for a little fun?”

“Always,” he chokes out, his heart racing up a bit at her question.

She disappears for a few minutes, allowing him more time to nurse the tequila in his glass. She carries a small box in her hand when she returns. If he’s not mistaken, it’s an old index card box.

“Are we researching your nanna’s recipes,” he jokes.

She smiles, shaking her head, and then plops back down on the couch. Dodger watches her every move as does he. “Nope,” she laughs, “pour me a glass and make sure your glass is full. We’re playing never have I ever.”

Glaring at her, he scoffs, “Like from the Ellen show?”

“Yes. But with a bit of a twist.” She flips open the box on her lap, taking the card out from the front and laughing. “I think in the original game, each person goes back and forth with a never have I ever statement but with this one, there are actually questions ready for you to ask and we both can answer. I don’t even know what most of these are actually. Camila wrote them the last time she was here but we were drinking wine and I fell asleep probably three questions in.”

“Party animal,” he goads.

She pierces her lips, moving her head from side to side as she fights to keep the smile forming on her face from growing. “I can hold my own. That you can believe.” She glances down at Dodger resting peacefully beside of her. “Dodger,” she says loudly, perking his dog’s ears right up. She leans down, resting her nose against his as she rubs behind his ears. “You’re in charge of keeping me awake, ok?” And just like that, the dog nods. Literally nods his head.

“Can I mention that my dog is a traitor,” he scoffs, holding his drink up, “he hasn’t left your side since we got here and he just met you.”

She scrunches her nose. “He’s a good judge of character. And obviously he thinks my character is better than yours.”

As if on cue, Dodger raises his head up and then lays it down on Taylor’s lap with a sigh prompting her to burst out laughing. “See.”

“Traitor,” he mutters again, shaking his head in disbelief.

He leans back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other and raising an arm to line the back edge of the cushion. “So how does this work?”

Taylor places the box on the wide edge of the firepit, an equal distance between both of them and then reaches over to pick up the glass of tequila she had asked for him to pour earlier. She pats her hand atop Dodger’s head as she sits back down.

“You pick out a question and read it out loud. If the card says something that you have done, then you take a drink of your tequila. Obviously if it’s something you haven’t done, then you don’t drink. Simple.”

“Simple until you get lit,” he adds with a headshake.

She lowers her chin with a quick, firm nod. “Hence why the cards were made. We had played the game the original way prior to that and thirty minutes and several drinks in, we were all so tipsy we couldn’t even come up with questions.”

“But you think you’ll be able to read them,” he teases.

She tilts her head back, looking toward the sky briefly and then lowers her chin again. “Point taken. But we’re still playing.”

“And if I get tipsy, or better yet, totally shitfaced . . . .”

“Then one, that’s your fault because you brought the tequila,” she cackles, her palm once again finding Dodger’s head. He yelps in appreciation. “And two, I have a bed.” His stomach plummets with her words and he watches as her cheeks grow red with realization. “I mean,” she corrects herself slowly, “that I have an extra bed.”

He’s abundantly aware this is a bad idea and the way he’s feeling at this very moment just cements that. Liquor plus a game of revelations with a woman you’re secretly in love with should not even be a consideration. But just like yesterday when he should have told her no, he finds himself saying yes yet again. Because as bad of an idea as he knows this is, he sure as hell wants to hear every miniscule detail about herself that she’s willing to share. Unless it involves Tom, he silently adds as an afterthought.

“Ok then, let’s do this.”

Famous last words, he considers before cocking his eyebrows and staring at Taylor.

They’re twenty minutes and he’s three shots in when he starts to feel it. The slight haze in his brain, the half second delay in his speech. Not noticeable enough for her he believes but sure as hell noticeable for him.

The questions have been easy so far, Chris taking shots on questions about drinking so much you don’t remember what you did that night, having secret fantasies about a current or former neighbor and having a treehouse growing up. Taylor though had only taken one shot on a question about being in a car accident.

He had scoffed at her when she didn’t drink on the being drunk question but she had defiantly shaken her head, insisting that while she’s been drunk, she’s never been so drunk as to not remember what she did. Regardless of whether he believes that or not, he’s currently sitting on the verge of becoming pretty tipsy while she’s no worse for wear.

That, he thinks, needs to change. Not only because, well quite frankly, he wants to see Taylor tipsy but because, more than that, he wants to soak up everything about her.

“How are you feeling,” she asks from her position on the couch. He glares at her, bare feet on the cushions, knees back up to her chin. She leans her head against her knees and grins mischievously.

“Great,” he lies, sorta, he actually doesn’t feel bad but great probably isn’t the most accurate of words.

He leans forward, grabbing a card from the box and reading over it before he throws in down in the pile he’s been collecting on the floor and picks at another one. “Didn’t like that one,” he mumbles as he reads over the next card.

“I don’t think that’s how this is supposed to work.” She laughs but he doesn’t look up.

Instead, he reads the words from the card in his hand. “Never have I ever drunk texted.” Immediately, he reaches for his glass and takes a drink. His eyes land back on her the moment his glass goes back down.

He watches her as she licks at her bottom lip, bites on it and then juts her tongue back out to lick the top. He won’t admit how much that arouses him and he hopes to hell that it’s not showing in his eyes.

Slowly, very slowly, she moves her legs off the couch, leans down and picks up her glass from the floor. When it reaches her lips, she throws her head back and takes the full contents of the glass down.

He smiles. He knew it. “I need details,” he chimes, his smile growing, “I thought you were far too controlled to drunk text.”

“No one is far too controlled after several glasses of wine.” She winks. “You really want to know one?”

“One? There’s more than one?”

She cackles when he wiggles his eyebrows, throwing her head back as she relaxes into the couch. “Met Gala.” As soon as the words come out of her mouth, he decides he doesn’t want to know anymore but he also knows he can’t stop her now. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his tequila glass dangling in his fingertips between his legs. “I had an amazing night with Tom. He was . . . perfect and wonderful and I had never felt the way he made me feel that night. But I had a boyfriend.”

He somehow forces a smile onto his face, the fakeness of the emotion paining him. He keeps his gaze from her as she continues. “So, nothing happened and he went one way and I went the other and then I went back to my hotel room and drank what was probably an entire bottle of Malbec and I texted him.”

For the life of him, he doesn’t want to know what she said. So, he doesn’t ask. And when she silences after a few seconds, he finally raises his eyes to her. “You don’t want to hear?”

He notices the confusion in her eyes immediately, her blue orbs darkening, her eyelids falling a fraction. He shakes his head. “No . . . I do,” he croaks, hoping he sounds the least bit convincing, “what kind of drunk text did you send Tom?”

She hesitates, her mouth falling open slightly and then she lowers her eyes to the ground. He knows she’s thinking, likely contemplating his reaction or perhaps her words and then after a few seconds she looks back to him again. “It doesn’t matter,” she says gently before she quickly leans forward and grabs a card from the box, “let’s do another question.”

He’s perplexed by her answer, by her decision to not continue with her story when he was the one who asked for details in the first place. But she pays him no mind when he narrows his eyes on her, quickly reading the words on the card aloud.

“Never have I ever liked a Justin Bieber song.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, she lunges forward, grabs the tequila bottle and takes a drink from it. He smiles, still perplexed, but also amused.

When she returns to her previous position back on the couch, she glares at him, her lips rising into a sinful grin. “But you can never tell anyone. I shouldn’t like any Justin Bieber song. But, unfortunately, some are catchy.”

Bridging the distance between himself and the tequila bottle, he grabs it and takes his own long swig. His eyes meet hers when he’s done. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

They journey through a couple more questions, both taking shots from the bottle in response to walking out of a movie because it was so bad and snooping through someone else’s medicine cabinet. Taylor narrowing her eyes on the latter question to ask if he’s snooped through hers only for him to respond, “not yet.”

She’s excused herself to go and check on the cats when he pulls the next card out and reads it to himself. Never have I ever sexted someone. He shakes his head, placing the card down in the pile at his feet. As much as he wants to know her answer to that, he equally doesn’t want to know.

Friend zone, Chris, he repeats to himself. Friend. Zone.

He doesn’t notice Dodger standing at the back door, patiently waiting for her until she returns, stepping outside and rubbing the dogs head again. He watches as his typically loyal dog follows on her heels as she reaches him and lifts a card from the box before she turns and goes back to her seat. Dodger does the same.

“Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex,” she reads, nodding her head as if she likes the question.

He closes his eyes, knowing what’s to come, and then reluctantly leans in to get the bottle. She’s laughing loudly by the time he finishes his drink.

“Who,” she questions, her voice reeking of amusement.

“RDJ,” he responds with a headshake, “it was a joke. Totally playing.”

She winks, a twinkle in her eye. “Totally.”

“And you haven’t,” he asks, “not even in jest?”

She grins, licking at her lips once again. “I have many fans who believe that I have. Not only believe that I have but believe I’m secretly a lesbian. But nope, I haven’t. As much as I love my girls . . . . my attraction is only to men. And actually, only to certain men.”

“Men of the British variety,” he says, the words coming out before he can edit them. He glances at her, expecting her to be annoyed but she’s not. Instead, her expression is soft, her lips upward in the faintest of smiles.

“Not all British,” she says softly and then hastily pulls her eyes away, leaning down and rubbing her hand along Dodger’s spine. “Your turn,” she says when she raises back up.

He pulls out another card. “Never have I ever said I love you and didn’t mean it.”

Neither moves, both remaining comfortably in their positions. Taylor shakes her head. “I don’t play with those words. If I say them, I mean them. I think people use them too easily and I know that I wouldn’t want someone to tell me they love me if they didn’t mean it.”

He watches her, watching the emotions spread across her face. “Do you believe someone has?”

She smiles softly, her eyes seeming to glaze over somewhat. “Yeah. I believe those words were used as weapons before. Or maybe weapons isn’t the right word. Maybe as a prison. He knew I would cherish them and so he threw them at me often, keeping me well in his control. It took me far too long to realize he didn’t mean them.”

He wants to ask who “he” is, wants to with every fiber of his soul. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Because he can tell by the darkness in her eyes that whoever “he” is hurt her to her core and the last thing he wants to do is have her rehash it, to remember him.

She gives him no time to consider it anyway, another question arising before he even realizes she has a card. “Never have I ever skinny dipped.”

They both lean forward, their hands brushing against each other as they reach for the bottle. She pulls back immediately, giving him access to it. He takes his drink, his hand still tingling from their simple touch, and then reaches it across the open space to give to her, noticing how careful she is to keep her fingers from his.

He shakes it off, knowing he can’t think too much into her action.

When her tequila is stomached, he removes another slip from the box and reads over it silently. “I’m gonna have to edit this question a little bit,” he scoffs, “never have I ever faked an orgasm . . . . other than for a movie.”

Her gaze falls down, a spiteful smile encasing her face. It takes her a few seconds, and no movement from him, to move her body and grab the bottle. His mouth falls open as he watches her take a long, long, swig.

And then a thought bolts into his head. “Wait,” he stutters, eyes glued on her, “it wasn’t with me, was it?”

The bottle is still on her lips when his question is asked and she almost chokes, gasping through laughs as she moves the container down. “No. God no,” she says, his body filling instantly with both relief and interest at her words. God no.

She tugs at her lip. “You want to know who,” she asks, a glint evident in her eyes. He nods. “Adam.”

Confusion fills his head. “Who the fuck is Adam,” he asks, tossing his head back.

Instantaneously, her laughter booms across the patio, seeming to echo in every nook and cranny. It takes her a few seconds to settle enough to answer. “Calvin Harris. His real name is Adam. The man I dated was Adam. Calvin is an entirely different creature.” He shakes his head at her words and then nods to her, urging her to continue. This is an answer he doesn’t mind getting. Doesn’t mind at all. “I’m fairly certain every orgasm I had with him I had to bring on myself.”

“What,” he basically screams, embarrassing himself with his tone as he finds himself picturing her bringing herself to arousal. Fuck, he thinks. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Friend. Zone.

“I faked many in between those I did myself,” she giggles, “you are the only person who knows that. And I can’t believe I’m sitting here telling you.” She throws her head back against the cushion, her laughter echoing once again. “Oh my god, I’m embarrassed even saying it.”

“Don’t be,” he sorta laughs, sorta chokes out, “but didn’t you date him for a while?”

“Yes,” she draws out the word, “he was amazing to me at the beginning. As a boyfriend. The sex was eh but I was very willing to look over that because he was such a good guy. To begin with. To end with . . . not so much but that was when Calvin took over.”

He glares at her, his mouth open. It takes him a few seconds to find his words. “But you had to use . . .”

“My hand,” she finishes and then winks at him.

He crosses his legs, fighting against the automatic arousal there while he struggles to push the images of her, and her hand, from his mind.

Friend. Fucking. Zone.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Clenching his eyes shut, he lets out a long and haggard breath. “Next question please,” he squeaks, keeping his eyes closed as he hears her start to read.

“Never have I ever masturbated thinking about a friend.”

Holy fucking hell, he thinks.

He hears the glass bottle clank and the sound of swishing liquid, hastily prompting his eyes back open. She grins when she sees him. “I’m not giving you details,” she says softly and then reaches the bottle out to him. When he doesn’t immediately take it, she presses, “don’t lie to me, Chris.”

He reaches for it, allowing his fingers to tease against hers on purpose, his eyes set solely on her baby blues. He sees her flinch, sees it vividly, and he knows he made her do it.

He also knows though that she has drank a lot of alcohol.

Taking his drink, he keeps his gaze on her and then slowly lowers the bottle, places it on the ground between them and reaches for another card.

It’s only when the card is in hand does he remove his eyes from her. “Never have I ever,” he chokes, “been envious of a friend.”

No hesitation is required for him to grab the bottle back up, taking a hasty draw. Taylor doesn’t move.

“Who,” she asks softly and he shakes his head, his mind suddenly much hazier than before.

“No details,” he responds, his voice equally small. Tom’s image clouding his entire head.

She leans forward, removing a card and reading over it. “Maybe we shouldn’t play this anymore.”

“What’s the question,” he chimes, raising his brows.

“Never have I ever been in handcuffs.”

She makes a face, one he’s not sure of and then scrunches her nose up. Leaning forward, she gets the bottle and drinks. “Tom’s kinky,” she says before she shoves it across the wide space toward him.

He grabs it with a lean, taking a long and hard swallow. He hasn’t been in handcuffs but he doesn’t tell her that. The drink is for the image in his mind. The fucking image there that the drink didn’t exactly erase.

He takes another one.

“Wow,” she says, her voice somewhat surprised, “apparently you are too.”

He doesn’t correct her, instead choosing to look at her and wink. He’s not totally sure why but he does. And then he watches as her already alcohol tinted cheeks brighten even more.

“Next one.” He grabs at the box, his hand feeling heavy from the combination of tequila and revelations. “This is fucking vague . . . never have I ever been jealous. Your friend must have been a few shots in when she wrote that one.”

Taylor smiles softly and then stands up, having to move her arms out in front of herself to steady her balance. Taking two steps to her side, she sits down on the opposite end of the couch, closer to him and closer to the bottle of tequila. She reaches down, pulls it up, and takes a drink.

He laughs as he watches Dodger scoot his lazy body closer to Taylor on the couch.

“I was jealous today,” she says, prompting his eyes quickly up to her. Her cheeks redden again and he expects her to pull her gaze away. She doesn’t. “That woman. Layla. I was jealous,” she stammers, “when she was talking to you.”

Her eyes are glassy but vivid and he feels his breath hitch in his chest as he looks into them and she finishes her words. And just like that, she yanks them away and he knows that the realization of what she’s just said has hit her. Just as it’s hitting him.

“What do you mean,” he asks, voice low.

“Uh.” She breathes in heavily. “I was being silly. I am right now telling you this.” She laughs unconvincingly. “It was probably because one of the kids had called me Mrs. Captain America before that because of my shirt.” She looks down. “Your shirt. Umm . . . yeah, that was probably it.”

“Probably,” he repeats. Or presses. He’s not even sure right now. His mind so cluttered and his chest so constricted, the alcohol seizing his body. The alcohol and her.

“Can I tell you something and you promise that after tonight, we won’t speak of it again. Because I probably shouldn’t even be speaking of it now.”

He nods, his head swimming. “Yeah.”

“From the instant I met Tom, I’ve thought about him as being my one. My guy forever. But lately, sometimes,” she stumbles over her words, “sometimes I think about you.”

In that moment, his body, his mind, his words, his movements . . . they all fail him. All locked up and trapped by emotions and alcohol and considerations of those exact things in her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, he tells himself, frozen in place, not knowing if he should even allow himself to feel.

“Never have I ever been so embarrassed,” he hears her say hastily, barking out a laugh as she stands up. He moves his head only enough to see her have to steady herself again and he knows she’s tipsy, maybe even drunk. And so is he.

And a whole fucking lot more.

She smiles as Dodger stands up beside of her and he watches as she places her hand on his head. He wonders if that is to steady herself as well. “We won’t speak of tonight after this,” she says, her body swaying back a bit. She stiffens and then grins and he can’t tell if it’s real or forced. And then she turns, muttering something about having to go check on the cats.

He can only watch, his body still rebelling against him, as she goes inside with Dodger following closely on her heels.

What the hell just happened, he thinks. What the hell did she just reveal? And better yet, does it mean a damn thing other than she’s drunk?

He leans his head back against the couch, punching his legs out in front of him. He closes his eyes, his head feeling muddled, her words swimming amongst the liquor there.

His body feels heavy, his limbs like rocks and his head starts to pound just as his heart has been. A quick, steady beat that gradually grows into a hammering hit. Over and over again, wrecking him.

The alcohol, or maybe her words, doing the damage.

He awakens a few hours later, his head still hurting and his body still swollen. It takes him a few hazy minutes to realize where he is, a few hazy more to remember his exchanges with Taylor.

The fire has died out but a dim patio light is now on and he can see a small white piece of paper tucked under a glass of water on the edge of the pit near him. Two capsules of what he believes is Tylenol lies beside of the glass.

His body aches and moans as he moves to get it, his muscles stiff, his head once again swimming with the new movement. He has to rub at his eyes to clear them enough to see. He recognizes Taylor’s handwriting immediately.

Drink the water and take the Tylenol. I know you need them (I did). I didn’t want to wake you but I fixed the guest bedroom up for you as much as I could.

Tossing the pills in his mouth, he washes them down with the full glass of water and then places the glass back on the pit and forces his rigid body up from the couch, stretching to try to release some of his stiffness.

He does this for a few minutes before he moves inside, navigating toward the stairs by the dimmed lights he figures Taylor left on for him. He tries not to think of the previous night, or the previous few hours before, as he slowly takes each stair until he reaches the top.

Another dimmed table lamp sits on a table a few feet away and he glances in each direction, noting the rooms on each side. He realizes he has no clue which one is the guest room. So, he guesses. Taking a few steps and pushing a door open to his right.

He guessed wrong.

There, underneath a big white comforter, is Taylor. Dodger lies beside of her, on top of the comforter, with Olivia cuddled up to him. He doesn’t go in but he doesn’t leave immediately either, allowing his eyes to take in the sight in front of him. To etch it permanently in his memory just as he did when he found her cooking breakfast with his niece and nephews.

He recognizes his t-shirt still on her, peaking out just a bit from under the top of the comforter. It sends a pang through his heart, a smile to his face.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, staring and etching, until Dodger raises his head and looks at him. He then lets his head fall back down onto the bed animatedly and Chris takes one final look before he steps out and closes the door.

Taylor’s words, her embarrassed revelation, spring back to his mind when he finds the guest room. He still doesn’t know if she meant what she said or if it was the alcohol talking. He still doesn’t know if he should even allow himself to wonder about it. But he does anyway.

And he allows himself to think about what he could have said to her after but didn’t. Even with her revealing her embarrassment, he had said nothing. And now, sitting alone in her guest bedroom, he regrets that.

So, he picks up his phone, finds her name in his text app and types out a message, hitting send before he can erase it.

He knows she won’t see it until the morning but he feels he has to do it. To give her an embarrassing revelation just as she did him. His though done a bit soberer. His though 100% the truth.

He glances at the sent message and reads over it one more time.

You left me speechless when you said you sometimes think of me as the one. So, here’s my admission to you . . . I wish more than anything that I had met you first.

He closes his phone, his eyes and falls back against the pillows on the bed.

He knows he’ll never be more envious of anyone than he is of Tom Hiddleston right now. The one who met her first and loved her first.

The reason he has to love her silently now.

Sometimes, he thinks to himself, sometimes. He knows he’ll have to settle for that.

#taylor swift fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #unexpected #chapter 7

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